Thanks for the Comment. Not.

Are you Kidding??

I finally log back on to blogger...it has been awhile...I was discouraged because it seems no one ever read what I wrote!! There's just too many 'bots' out there...advertising, smut, news articles, and weird random oddities. I don't even know how many REAL people are REALLY writing about REAL stuff on here these days?

Take, for instance, my heart-in-my-throat trepidation and excitement when I realized I had TWENTY-ONE comments from 'readers' on one of my posts!!! Wow. I thought I had gained some kind of celebrity or notoriety, or a brief flame of popularity! My elation turned quickly to disgust when I realized that all the comments were electronic 'ghosts', programs designed to draw traffic to their own websites promoting all sorts of dubious things from personals to pool chemicals. What a letdown!!!

I believe I have as much chance of being 'discovered' here as if I stapled stories to telephone poles in random cities!!!

I am being marginally sarcastic, as I actually DO realize that the chances of anyone of note reading, liking, and requesting my 'blogger-isms', is unlikely...nay...dare I say...impossible? Call me a pessimist.

As it is, I am disappointed that the marketing junkies have found a way to pervert even a lonely housewife's musings with their auto-tagged comments. Sad, sad, sad world we live in, where a 'compliment' is generated via computer program, and hooked with a sell!

Apparently I am more likely to become the first female president of the United States, than to be read by ACTUAL human beings with the ability to offer me sound advice, true compliments (if warranted), or a job offer writing a column. I am Canadian. You see the likelihood.

As it is, I am rambling on to the echoing sounds of my own typing in an empty and (rarely) quiet room to release the frustration reading TWENTY-ONE comments that are really ads...has created.

Good night...and good luck.

Sigh.

K.

And Bingo Was It's Name-o!

I still wake trembling in the night, sweaty and disoriented, with the ghostly echo of rustling sheets and Bingo-daubbers...well...daubbing.

I think I can keep myself from falling into the geriatric Bingo revolution that has swept our nation...but sometimes I fear I shall find in my later years that the 'Bingo-Gene' has somehow been passed to me.

Several months ago I attended Bingo night in my (mostly) retired community with my (non-member) mother-in-law and her aging friend, (as a favor). It was frightening, occasionally exhilarating in a depressing way, overwhelming, boring, and yes, stressful too. This mix of emotions warrants some explanation so I shall attempt to share with you my experience.

We walk into the large gymnasium-style room of the local church, under glaring fluorescent lights and the scrutiny of seemingly hundreds of Bingo "PROS". These PROS are defined by their array of multi-pack playing sheets, rainbow-colored daubers lined up like marching soldiers in brightly quilted carrying cases, good-luck charms laid out precisely to assure the best luck possible, and assortment of energy-boosting carbohydrates in the center of the table. Many of these people are wearing Bingo-inspired clothing, or carrying Bingo-bags.

It was overwhelming to be so unfamiliar with the serious game of such a serious crowd. My mother-in-law informed me that I was to play the 'regular' game, (a value at $12 and roughly 8 games that to my horror, would last four hours of play!!!) I was NOT to try the 'fast play' sheets after the break, it would be too difficult for me to follow not having played before. (I was mildly offended by this...until we actually began playing.)

I mean, REALLY! Who couldn't manage to dot a few blobs of colors over the numbers when called? Well...me, apparently. Not only did I struggle to keep up to the calls, but my goodness, there were THREE patterns to find for each sheet played! Patterns?! Yeah, like the 'box kite', or the 'four corners'. What on earth happened to BINGO...five across, down, or diagonal? OH NO...my sheets were so covered in pink splats, you'd think I'd run through a paintball range. I could hardly make out what pattern there might be, never mind remembering which ones there were supposed to be!

Then one has the choice of following the TV monitors, (which are one step AHEAD of the caller), or wait until the mumbling elderly gent on the reverberating mike announced the number on the ball. I learned quickly it was a problem to play both. I was soon lost, and found myself stressing out over what numbers were called, what numbers I had, and what pattern I was supposed to look for.

And HEAVEN FORBID I should make ANY noise while fumbling lost and confused in the process. When I asked "What number was that?" in a 'stage whisper', I just about got my block knocked off by four bingo-bagged pros at the tables around me! I was blocking their bingo-karma...or wrecking their mojo while they played six sheets (roughly a thousand numbers) at a time.

Not only that...but I had the NERVE to get, (and take) a PHONE CALL on my cell phone in the middle of a game?? If looks could kill...they'd have had to call an ambulance. That was the shortest phone call of my life. I'm still afraid to answer my phone.

Then...there were these bitter-sweetly triumphant moments when I'd get three squares away from a 'win'. I'd start to get the bingo-buzz going on and I'd think "yeah baby...bring it!" Only to hear fourteen simultaneous "BINGO's" on the next pick. Sucker.

Round after endless round creeps on, the fluorescent lighting is starting to make my eyes water, the numbers are swimming in front of me, (definitely adding to the degree of difficulty), and each new 'call' is like blunt-force trauma. And...it's only half-way through the night.

I console myself with a few stale crackers and some ice water. I have fifteen minutes to 'stretch'...as I certainly won't brave the line for the bathrooms!! I head outside for a breath of fresh air, six mosquito bites, and fight the temptation to flee.

Upon returning I force a cheerful smile and make inane comments to my mother-in-law. Fortunately, she's delighted I attended and doesn't notice my distress. She chatters on happily while my eyes glaze over and I pray for a hurricane to strike us immediately.

Since I am playing Bingo...my prayers are not answered, and it's time to 'belly-up' to the table once again. This round, someone wins $500! The next...a winner walks with $250! Maybe there's something to this 'gambling' after all. Not. I'd rather pay NOT to have to play. Call me a cynic, call me a loser, call me a pessimist, call me a realist...just don't call me to play Bingo!!

Uh...no offense to the Bingo-lovers out there...it's just not for me. (See earlier Blog RE: Sudoku).

Peace out all!

K.