B-I-N-G-O, and FREAK was its name-o

First things first: FUCK YOU, National Bank of Commerce. Fuck you running. With a chainsaw.

Unfortunately, the above didn’t cure me of my deep desire to firebomb said bank.

Onward.

Friday night will live in infamy as The Night Our Waitress Kicked Serious Ass, and also The Night When Eating Dinner Would Have Been a Good Idea.

We went to our favorite Mexican place for margaritas to celebrate Boss getting the new job. We belong to that uber-elite group known as Regular Customers among the lunchtime crowd, and it just so happened that our Regular Lunchtime Waitress was our waitress Friday night. Waitress rocks because after our third margarita or so, she started hooking us up with free drinks. And THEN she started bringing us tequila shots on the house.

You can see why we love her.

We got a bit belligerent. We called Boss’ boyfriend to come party with us, and he complied, and we made a loud raucous scene. It’s bittersweet, in retrospect, because it’s one of the last times we’ll have with Boss, but damn, did we enjoy ourselves.

Highlights include: various accusations of gayness; the introduction of the phrase “gayest gay in gaytown” to Boss and Mindy; new use of the phrase “whitest white in whitetown” to describe Boss’ lack of tanning ability and my lack of rhythm; utterance of the phrase “some of my best friends are lesbians,” which happens to be absolutely true; a below-the-belt insult match when I called Mindy old and she called me Matt (a co-worker I intensely dislike); oh, and much reminiscing of the time when I got smashed at my first professional conference and, while Boss was walking me home, asked her about a hundred and eighty-four times if she was going to fire me, not realizing that she was almost as drunk as I was. That night’s a story for another time.

But we had a fabulous time, despite our lack of sustenance. I crashed with Mindy because there was no way I was making the hour-long trek home that night.

Saturday was when barybabe and I were roped into volunteering at the bingo hall. Let me tell you – Bingo people are FUCKING FREAKS. The amount of money that poor people and old people drop on bingo cards is completely astonishing. We sold bingo cards from the front registers until the games started, and then spent the rest of the evening working the floor, selling bonus sheets and verifying winners.

People really did have troll dolls and little elephants and Buddha statues and shit. Because I’m sure Buddha has a vested interest in helping you win a bingo game. One old pimpin’ dude had a cane with a cobra head, an old radio, a photo album, and various pink shopping bags full of who-knows-what. These folks are hard core.

It was fun in a freak-show kind of way, for sure.

Oh, and last night after Jamie’s all-star game, we went home and I finally got to see Vertigo, which is every bit as good as I hoped it’d be. I’ve been working my way through Hitchcock’s oeuvre for a while now and have just gotten to this one, and I’m probably going to have to join the legions of Hitchcock fans who consider this his best and most intensely personal work. It was truly incredible.

And now, since I just got to work an hour ago, I should probably actually do some work.

Or I might go watch the new Strong Bad email again.

Neverending so-daaaaa, whoa-oa whoa-oa whoa-oa…

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.