2004-07-11 @ 10:45 p.m.
|It was such a strange experience for me yesterday to be write out deposit slip for my bank account. I have direct deposit for my disability check, and I sure donít have any other checks coming in. Once in a great while Iíll get a tiny check for a graphics job which are usually small enough I can cash them but with a whopping $150, I actually had to snap out a deposit slip and try and remember how to fill it out. Ah yes...thatís how. When I got my ATM receipt I got the
Yay, me. You da wittykitty! ....fuck.
So I was sitting there trying to decide which bill needed to be paid the MOST. Probably the insurance and electric bill, since they were both double bills. They add up to about $130, so thatíll leave me $37 for 3 weeks. Yippie skippie. Ummmm...fuck.
Man, this poverty thing really cuts into your leisure activities, like eating and feeding the cat. So I decided to go to some garage sales. Maybe I could find some good stuff to sell for a large profit. Like that Frank Sinatra record I bought for 25 cents and sold for nearly $30 a few weeks ago. Yeah, thatís the ticket. Unfortunately, you have to drive 30 miles and go to 43 garage sales before you might discover a rare cache of Star War figurines or a vial with Abraham Lincolnís nose hairs in it.
The first sale I went to was an estate sale. Those can be absolute treasure troves if the former owner was smart enough to collect something valuable. One sale I went to two summers ago had this suit case up in one of the bedrooms. The suitcase itself wasnít worth much, but it was jammed with hundreds of postcards and souvenir books from amusement parks in the 1960ís. I donít know that the person running the sale knew it was packed full of goodies, and I wasnít telling, since thatís their job to know, so she gave me the whole thing for $3.00. I ended up making almost $80 from all the various kitschy doo-dads within.
So I was walking through this house, eyes cast downwards looking for something good, rare and exceedingly cheap, since Iím so broke and shouldnít be doing this, but this may be the only way Iíll make any money this month, so little voice in my head, just shut the fuck up....
And I hear, HELLO WITTY!
I look up and there was Jim, my first Art Class Potential Husband Person, who I had later determined was gay. He dressed like someone in an L.L. Beane catalog. He seemed to take particular interest in the male models. He was soft spoken. He had good taste...all landmarks for gayness, right? Just two weeks ago I had bumped into him out in front of a local library. He was smartly dressed in bike riding apparel. He had said he was waiting for his ďfemale partnerĒ. And I was thinking, you mean like Grace Adler? That wasnít meant to be catty. My best friend is gay. But then I never saw her, and I figured he was covering for someone else, like Bruce the cake decorator.
So he was looking at this blonde 1950ís dining room table (oh, yes, he is definitely gay), and was negotiating with this bombastic auction-type guy who was trying to convince him that a table like this would probably sell for $1200 at the local furniture store, so it was definitely worth the $500 they were asking, so I just gave Jim a little wave and headed for the basement. Basements in estate sales are always the best place to find things cheap. I did find an old book for a famous movie in the 1950ís which I will put on E-Bay tonight. But when I came upstairs from the basement there was Jim and this blonde woman, right at the top. It was then and there I learned the truth. Jim is married. His female partner is his wife. Ya could have knocked me over with a feather. She was nice though. Together they reminded me of a couple in a Woody Allen movie. Later when I told my mom about it, she thought maybe the wife was a cover for his ďgayshipĒ.
Gayship? Ya mean, like the Queen Merry.
I hit quite a few garage sales, but it was a very uneventful day, except for one sale where they gave me a cute little Boyd Bear for free. I love bears and this one had a little brown velvet tam with a rose on it was really cute. And it was a Boydís! And free!
I was also noticing as I was driving around, that I was really starting to feel very depressed. It was a combination of not having any money, thinking about the boys up at the nanny job, feeling like a failure at not following through on that, not having heard from Married Guy in over a week and thinking he was angry at me for not telling him about the nanny job when I saw him, but in an e-mail. I also have some anxiety about seeing ďAĒ after all this. I feel like I have failed him too somehow. He tried to get me a job to make my life better and I failed. Plus I was eating like a maniac all afternoon. Mostly caffeinated sodas and sugar shit and chocolate. I was really wired and anxious.
Mid-afternoon, I stopped at the grocery store and picked up some fresh food. After a week of eating grizzly, fatty frozen hamburger patties everynight (and Iím not particularly fond of hamburger anyways), and grilled cheeses, I really felt like I needed to clean out my system. Bought some fruit and vegetables and yogurt and some oat grain bread and milk (Sir G only had milk on Tuesday and never again). It felt good to have control over what I was eating instead of depending on someone who only buys bulk canned foods at Costco. I even popped open the skin milk on the way home. I think I must have consumed about 30,000 grams of fat in the last week, because that was all they had cheese, salami and fatty hamburgers products.
I called my mom when I got home, because I knew I was heading for some kind of emotional meltdown if I didnít. We talked for quite a long time. I got out some more of my angst and anger about the last week and my anxiety about the money situation, and I didnít know what I was going to do about it..blah, blah, blah. And then she suggested that we go to BINGO.
Now I havenít been to BINGO since probably the late 1970ís. I donít particularly like gambling. I have the most incredibly bad luck of anyone youíd ever want to know. I just cannot win anything. And yet I am perpetually buying lottery tickets, in hopes of hitting some kind of jackpot....ANYTHING!!! I berate myself for doing so, since I really canít even afford $1-3/week for stupid lottery tickets. I canít even win the $1.00 ones for God sakes. I might as well just stand on a highway overpass and dump one dollar bills out of my purse out. My biggest win to date? $4. Whee! And thatís in 20 years of playing.
So, since I am totally desperate for money and this church pays out $3500 a week, and my mom offered to pay for my night of BINGO playing, I decided to go with her. And happily, in our state, us non-smokers no longer have to huff in the poisonous gasses of you smokers, so it was certainly doable.
We got there an hour and 15 minutes early. My mom was all excited because she used to be addicted to BINGO. As a child, I spent many a night, in the local BINGO childrenís nursery...AND I HATED IT. She was having fun, and I was stuck in a classroom with a bunch of weirdo kids with very little to do. Sometimes theyíd let us play a junior version of BINGO with the prize being a candy bar or something, but unfortunately my bad luck involving anything gambling extended back even to 1966.
As we walked in I was like, hmmm...is this a Weight Watchers meeting? Or maybe a casting call for The Jerry Springer Show? Oh...its a Bingo Hall. Itís pretty bad when Wittykitty is the coolest person in the entire building and Iím only wearing shorts and a Jersey Shore t-shirt.
And what is it about old ladies? Why do they all wear flower print shirts and pastel color pants? Is that like the official uniform of old ladydom? And those flower print shirts must really have some good stretchy material, because these old broads have the most bodaciously upright boobs. Is that a steel plated bra under there, Bertha? How do you get your boobs to aim towards the ceiling like that? Is there a switch under there like at the planetarium when theyíre adjusting the telescope? All I have to say is if I ever attempt to wear a flower print shirt and stretchy pink pants anytime before the year 2029 or even after, can you just please whack me in the back of the head?
There werenít many men there, but the ones who were there, were probably just there because there was no NASCAR races on. Saw one dude with this ridiculously huge red-white-and-blue cowboy hat on. He had hundreds of metallic pins all over it. I figure his wife probably has him stand near the TV with the cable in his hand, in order to improve the television reception. I figure with all those pins, they can probably gets Al Jahaira Television from Iraq.
We sat behind this table where all the women looked like they went to the same hairdressers. Mullets-R-Us. Itís weird enough when you see a guy with a mullet, but to see a herd of Mullet-Women, none of which weighed less than about 350 pounds, sitting so closely, I couldnít help but stare. Why? You already weigh 350. Why are you aggravating the condition by having the worldís ugliest hair cut? They did have a little girl with them, about 12. She didnít weigh 350, but she had the biggest ass I had ever see on a child. You could have rested a 10 pound sack of potatoes on her ass and still had room to cut fries.
And speaking of fries. If youíre on a diet when you go to BINGO, donít expect to find any healthy snacks to munch on. It went pretty much like this: Greasy hotdogs. Greasy hamburgers. Greasy french fries. Greasy potato chips. Nachos with greasy cheesy stuff. Greasy donuts dipped in solidified cholesteral. About the only thing without fat was the Sierra Mist soda. I tried to order that... but they were out. Or maybe the spigot was blocked with a lump of grease.
I was also worried about my mom eating this shit. She is a heart patient with bad cholesterol. So she arrived back at the table with a hotdog and a headlight donut. The donut had this hard crunchy yellow shit on top of it. She offered me a bite. Normally Iíd jump at a bite of something with sugar, but the yellow crunchy shit looked so incredibly unappetizing, that I passed on it.
The games finally started at 7:30. My mom had marked up all my cards with all the weird games they play...the Little Joes, the B and N Railroad, Crazy Tís. The more she tried to explain it verbally, the more my brain reacted in confusion. Like huh-what? So she took a highlighter pen and drew it out. See, that I understand...visual examples. She then gave me this really pretty purple dauber. Gee...what a pretty color. I wanna draw some pretty pictures....
YIKES...I think I just missed 2 letters. Oh no, they just said two more and thereís another one up on the screen. Now what did my mom say? I canít mark the one on the screen until they say it? Oy, Iím so confused. I looked over a few rows and there were three Filipino women with about 47 cards each. They are marking them so fast, that sparks are flying out of their daubers. Shit, I donít want to be beat out by a stupid Filipino...AGAIN.
I finally got a rhythm going. Daub...daub...daub. Fuck...who am I fooling, I never....HEY IíM SET TO WIN, IíM SET TO WIN....
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty