bingo!...and beyond.

so i'm going to start this on a happy note. because my night started out well and then took a left on downer avenue.

today was bingo night. i love bingo. i don't care if i am an old lady for it (i drink gin anyway so it's not an issue), it's great. you get a bunch of old jersey ladies and bunch of people that are of the bruce springsteen/blue collar generation together with dirty mouths and nicotine addictions cracking jokes with each other and gossiping. it's partly about winning the money, partly about the social event following it.

for example, the bingo caller in this nameless jersey bingo hall is hard of hearing, and a bitch about it. every other number she would repeat, "you have to call bingo loud enough so that i can hear it." which of course, brought bitching from everyone for her to shut the hell up. one of the old ladies at my table says "she needs a goddamned stiff drink." johnny, who is the brother of my friend's old coworker..one of those relations, says "i think she needs something else that's stiff!" or, when O-69 is called, a lady has like 5 of those noise making keychains that goes off. good, clean fun.

i lost money, but i only paid 7 dollars to get in for one of each board. some of these ladies have like, 6 boards at once, plus other side games on top of that. it's fucking intense, don't take them for granted.

anyway, the bullshit about after bingo is that one of my friend's old lady made him bitch out about coming. i don't drive. this means i'm forced to use the bus. i love public transportation, i appreciate the MTA, but the NJ transit system is shit. i had to go south to go north. and i was forced to transfer in a shit neighborhood. it's like the worst part of washington heights you wouldn't want to walk down at night, magnified. i was honestly afraid of getting raped and/or mugged. i by no means dress at all like i have money, however, my pair of adidas are a little too new, i was wearing a leather jacket and had huge cans for headphones. plus, my blackberry, as beat up as it is, could still easily get money on the street. and i'm a girl. and it's way colder than i expected on, and underdressed. you would think living in the northeast my whole life i'd figure out to expect the worst until mid march.

so i think to quickly call one of my friends, who lives in new brunswick. worst situation, i camp out down by the bingo hall in a diner or something for an hour and wait for him. he picks up the phone to tell me he's in cambridge (it's like the williamsburg of boston, with colleges, for you non new englanders), visiting his friends. i'm basically fucked out of luck, i have to take this goddamned bus.

so i get into this shit neighborhood and just keep my head down. i'm lucky that at some point in my life i lived in a mile radius of said shit neighborhood and vaguely knew the area, so i looked like i knew where i was going. plus, it was basically a ghost town.

i also failed to mention that on the first bus i took, one of the speakers on my cans busted, so all my music was being blasted into one ear. i get to the next bus stop in front of this gas station, where two gypsy cab drivers were hanging out in front of the minimart, talking in their language. this particular bus stop was an unfortunate one to stop in front of, because half a block away a huge truck was parked, and i was forced to walk in the middle of the road to see if my bus was coming. on top of this, new jersey drivers are vindictive assholes out for blood, and if they see you looking for the bus, they aim for you. and this road was an entryway to the highway.

so i'm playing cat and mouse for 5 minutes with traffic until i gave up. some of the busses, and all the minibusses, pass through this particular neighborhood to one of the most crime ridden cities of northern new jersey that isn't newark/east orange. most of these busses are driven by these lecherous men, that, even though i put my head down and step back when i see them coming, still open up the doors of their busses to ask me in broken english where i am going. and not in a nice, trying to help way. it's common sense, if i'm in need of your bus, i'll flag you down. if not, i'll step back. maybe shake my head if you signal right to pull over. this then forces me to say in english, spanish and portuguese, sorry, you're not going in my direction.

my bus finally comes as my legs got tired of dancing around, but my night is far from over.

i get on the bus, and everyone looks at me, as to say "why's this lily white girl doing getting on HERE?" on top of it, some crazy ass bitch got on, thinking she was going to atlantic city. she was strung out on something and writing in the fogged up glass windows "SCORNED WOMAN" and talking about gambling away all her man's money and "showing him". i don't know what she was thinking, this bus was headed north far from atlantic city. she got out in the corporate building park to cop cars the bus driver called. i don't know what happened to her after that.

i finally get home to nervous dogs concerned about my whereabouts and jitters and nerves and inability to sleep. halfway through typing this i decided to go for my two sam adams i had left in the fridge, to find they had been drunk. i'm forced to drink boxed wine that tastes like alcoholic grape water. it doesn't nearly have as much of a quench as that boston lager i was pining for since the scorned woman got off. at least i have a little buzz now that i can sleep for 6 hours until my dog's vet appointment and my job interview.

i'm going to dallas!
mini vacation of sorts, for 4 days. getting tattooed at elm st. (something i've wanted for awhile), eating bbq, and just generally getting the fuck out of here for a few days. really excited.

the only time i was ever in texas was on a tour, and there wasn't any sightseeing. you know, it was like i was there, but not THERE.

a PSA to the men of the new york city metro area.

CUT IT THE FUCK OUT WITH THE HANDLEBAR MOUSTACHES.

you don't look cool. you look like a douchebag. you cause me to have to look at you longer and imagine how possibly goodlooking you could be without the moustache. this then causes you to think i'm actually interested in a man with a handlebar moustache. i'm not. this then causes you to think the moustache is actually a chick magnet, and reinforces your behavior. it's a lose-lose situation.

fact: someone i was dating did have a handlebar moustache at one point, but we then broke up a week later. the moustache had nothing to do with it, i would have just refused to have had sex with him until he got rid of it.

this isn't 1889. or 1909. shave that shit off.

MEGA. CRAVING.

i just really want some fucking charlie's kitchen. like a thing of waffle fries and a burger and a can of foster's the size of my head.

if i could, i'd travel back in time and teleport to cambridge right the fuck now. you know, to make it early enough before last call i can catch a buzz.

for the record

i'm really happy i never have to deal with a certain someone at my old job ever again. that said, i'm really sad that i didn't run into anyone from the kitchen. i really miss martín, he was my mexican bff at angelique. he had the most beautiful blue eyes and looked like a pirate and told me he loved me. he gave me his email and his phone number, but i'm sure we all know my keeping in touch track record and ability to hold onto little pieces of paper.

i however, am very happy that i am getting about $880 and change from the feds and from the state. maybe patterson will forget to squint when he writes and add an extra 0.

anyway, i did some thinking, and that is a lot of money to an unemployed person. i'm getting tattoos, first and foremost. then a new ipod, because my 2nd gen pink ipod nano which has been bent due to being closed in a cab door, the screen is branch cracked in the corner from falling on a steel cellar door the wrong way, the hold button and top no longer exists due to a&b, the headphones input is bent inward on one side and i have to force the jack in, and it's 4 gigs and my music library is too big for it and i'm forced to pick and choose.

basically, i need the money.

i'm having an in n' out burger night friday night, i decided. i can't afford to go to LA, especially just to enjoy the in n'out goodness. so i'm going to get some ground meat, thousand island dressing and kraft singles.

and to end this, one of my friends has a review on google maps. you know, in case there are some single ladies in the 'hood, the word is out there. and it's true, he's totally handsome, brilliant and charming. he's going to totally be one of those sex older bachelor men one day.

i'd just like to state for the record:

billy corgan is totally one of those musicians that was meant to die at 27, but lived, and now he's torturing us for it.