In a church social hall or community center multi-purpose room with bitter old women with perms wearing plastic visors and salmon colored tank tops smoking filter-less Pall Malls and using their floppy sun damaged arms to man 4 or more bingo cards at once. I've wanted to be the beginner they all hate and silently rally against. At least I would be giving them that sense of being superior as payment for the privilidge of observing them while in 'the zone,' at their most vulnerable.

And maybe if the church social hall and community center multi-purpose room weren't available, bingo would be held in a non-denominational center for worship which would be located in a cowboy-themed mini mall that used to be a motel many times repainted, recently white, and never once stripped of its old coats of varying browns and greens.

In these recurring dreams, I don't dare hope for "bingo," only to be with them seated on a wood-laminate bench attached to a matching table, stepping around their walkers with my arms full of popcorn and cans of Coors original.

Today my dreams came somewhat true at the company christmas party where we got blasted on sangria, cowed out on bbq and played round after savory round of bingo.

I won an iPod but please don't tell the ladies in my dreams. They'd be so pissed.

08 December 2006 - 5:36 PM

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