Not as much fun as bingo....

Okay, so all my plans for this weekend fell through. And that, my friends, really pisses me off. I had planned to go to the bar Friday night with Brad from work. That was until all the guys at work heard us talking about where to go and invited themselves along. Okay, I could work with that. Yeah, it may have become a little uncomfortable me the only woman with seven guys out for the night. But hell, I can hang. And I can probably drink most of them under the table. No fou-fou drinks for this girl. Give me a Jack and Coke, and I will thank you with a smile. I was planning on getting "nicely drunk". You know nicely drunk.. it is the stage just before I get ten foot tall and bullet proof. You know, when I am happy go lucky and singing off key to every song on the jukebox. The stage when I come home and want to "chaca-chaca" all night. (Chaca-chaca is the newest term in my Spanish vocabulary. I learned it Thursday, and although I may not have spelled it correctly, I think we all get the drift.) So now we were to be a party of eight. Cool right? The more the merrier. That was until they decided that where we needed to go was The Bottoms Up, a local titty bar. Now I have nothing against breasts. (Hell, mine are better than ninety percent of the dancers around here, and mine are real.) And I could care less if some half naked girl wants to gyrate on a stage for a few bucks worth of tips, but I refuse, absolutely, to pay eight dollars a drink, for what would cost me four bucks somewhere else. If they were willing to buy my drinks all night, then fine. But since they all know damned well that I am faithfully wed, and not one of them has a chance of getting lucky no matter how much they spend on me, well, we all know how that turned out. So, I spent Friday night playing text twist until my brain refused to turn the letters into words, and I finally gave up and went to bed. I was okay with it. I had bingo to look forward to. Except now, that is a bust too. Todd's girlfriend has developed a jealous streak a mile wide. Why? Who the hell knows. I wouldn't have sex with Todd if he was the last man on earth. I wouldn't do him with your private parts, let alone my own. But apparently, she thinks that we are going to wipe all the bingo cards off the table, and have sex in front of all the little old ladies and housewives with their rows of lucky troll dolls and pictures of their dead husbands. Ugh. Some people just really fucking annoy me. So now, I get to sit here all night and watch you tube till my eyes explode, or I fall into a coma from listening to too many bad singers attempt to sing Christina Aguilar's (spelling?) latest hit. I think I would rather lay naked covered in honey on a fire ant hill. Or maybe I could watch all those new movies I have bought and never had the time or the desire to watch. Or I could play some other useless online games. Or I could take a long hot bath, actually shave my legs, and see how long I can hold my breath underwater before my lungs explode. I could mow the lawn that is tall enough to lose my youngest child in. I could wash the dirty dishes that have sat so long that it would be better if I just threw them away and bought new ones. I could give myself a manicure and a pedicure. I could go for a walk. (No, I do not jog and I never run unless I am being chased by a chainsaw wielding maniac.) I could trim the dogs' toenails. I could bake a pan of brownies, and then eat them all while they are still warm and gooey with a half a gallon of milk. Or I can sit here like I am doing and bitch about how nothing ever seems to work out the way you plan it. None of them seem like as much fun as bingo though. Damn it. That's all, Bye.