An Early Loss

6 04 2010

It’s somewhat fitting in a sad way that the last post I wrote about, Dude It’s a Dolphin, was a story told to me by my husband’s ex-best friend.  He passed away on March 1, 2010 one week shy of his 42nd birthday due to complications from pancreatitis.  He left behind his 36-year-old wife and 12-year-old son.  At one time, he was my husband’s best friend and his wife was my best friend.  In fact, it was because of our best friends dating that my husband and I were set up in the first place.  Over the year, we drifted apart as friends sometimes do.  We reconciled with them many years ago and then went our separate ways for good.  In hindsight, stupid arguments gave way to hurt feelings and a break in the friendship that would never be healed.  In fact, my husband hadn’t spoken to his best friend in over 10 years at the time of his friend’s death.  We had some mutual friends, which was how we found out about my husband’s friend’s death.

My husband was completely shocked by how deeply this had affected him.  They hadn’t spoken for almost 4 years, which was the last time my husband attempted a reconciliation with his former best friend in person.  Anyone that knows my husband, however, was not surprised at the depth of his pain.  At one point in their lives, these two had been closer than brothers.  His biggest regret?  He could never “fix it”, meaning their broken friendship.  There was now a finality to everything.  He would never again have the opportunity to extend a hand and have the hope of reliving the great brotherhood they shared so many years ago.

The oddest/best thing to come out of this was that my ex-best friend and I have seemed to mend our broken friendship in the wake of this tragedy in her life.  Out of the mulch buds a rose.  I didn’t want to have this chance to “fix it” pass me by like it had my husband.  It’s just one of life’s lessons, I guess.

B.W.

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Bingo Balls

10 12 2009

Bingo Balls (sung to the tune of Jingle Bells)

Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall and waiting here to play

Sitting in your chair, arranging all your cards
Fluff the troll doll’s hair, shake your dauber hard
Take a look around, all you see is grey
You don’t really care because you hear the caller say

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play

The bingo hall is full of characters galore
Right across from you, another Bingo Whore
Eight troll dolls lined up, to bring the player luck,
Rolling storage set aside for lucky charms to tuck

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play

You’re squirming in your seat, the greys get quite upset
You start to laugh too loud, you’re eyeballs are all wet
Why are they sedate? Why must we all behave?
It’s probably because they’ve all got one foot in the grave

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play

B9 comes up first, then G52,
If you win this pot, whatever will you do?
I16 is called, you only need one more
The free space is your friend, where is O64?

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in a Bingo hall, waiting here to play

Your mouth starts to get dry, you sit straight in your chair
With each number called, you’re pulling out your hair
You only need one more, why can’t they say it now?
You don’t think you can wait, sweat rises up upon your brow

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play

Regular I get, diagonal or two
Four corners are OK, a picture frame is too
But when they start to get, creative in their games
I get confused and stumble to keep up and call them names

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play

We’re getting towards the end, you haven’t won a pot
The giggling’s all gone, you’re giving all you’ve got
Blackout is the game, you only need B5
What did the caller say?  You’ve just won the grand prize!

Oh, Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play
Bingo Balls, Bingo Balls, Bingo all the way
Sitting in the Bingo hall, waiting here to play

B.W.





The Refrigerator Bandit

5 12 2009

A few years ago, I worked in an office where we had a community refrigerator.  This was where any food brought from home would be stored until lunchtime, snacktime, whenever.  For several years before that, we had the refrigerator and had never had a problem with anyone eating someone else’s food.  Of course, that could be because there were only 3 of us in the office.  So, it would be pretty easy to find out who took something that didn’t belong to them.  However, when we merged companies, we grew into a bigger office, bigger warehouse and more people bringing their food and keeping it in the fridge.  It was only a matter of time before the refrigerator bandit would rear his ugly head.

Within weeks of moving into the new office with our new workmates, stuff started mysteriously disappearing from the fridge.  A soda here, a power drink there.  As time went on, the refrigerator bandit (“RB” as we affectionately started calling him) got more and more daring.  Since he wasn’t getting called out on it, he started taking leftovers in the afternoons from the takeover someone would put in the fridge, eating parts of the food in the container and actually putting it back in the fridge.  One of the girls had Chinese takeout that she couldn’t finish and had put in the fridge to take home for dinner later.  She had to throw it out when she realized that someone had eaten part of her food and left the used plastic fork right on top of the food in the container.  Yeah, gross!  During inventory, we always worked late into the evening to finish.  I had brought a Diet Coke (my only source of caffeine since I don’t drink coffee) as a treat for later in the evening and to give me that much needed caffeine rush to finish the day.  “RB” had taken it, opened it, drank it, apparently realized it was “diet” and didn’t like it and put the rest of the opened up, backwashed laden Diet Coke back in the fridge.  Did he think I would think I had opened the soda myself and stuck it back in there?  Really?

We knew who “RB” was.  He was never officially caught red-handed.  But, some of the warehouse staff had seen him lurking around the fridge and actually taking stuff out of it.  He never brought anything with him to put in the fridge so there was no reason for him to go into the fridge.  And the fact that he made more money than ANY of us who worked there was a real rub.  So, the other office girl and I hatched an evil plan to get back at good ol’ “RB” and teach him a lesson.

“RB” had a real affinity for iced tea, it seemed.  That and the power drinks (like Monster and Rock Star) seemed to disappear with an alarming frequency from our company refrigerator.  So, my friend brought a good size bottle of Snapple Ice Tea and I brought a huge jar of the hottest chili peppers I could find.  She opened the bottle, drank more than half of the ice tea and we filled the rest with the juice from the entire jar of chilis to the very top of the bottle.  She then put the lid back on so tight, that it appeared to not have been opened at all and we stuck it back in the fridge.  A little while later, “RB” came storming into the office and headed straight for the bottled water, tears streaming down his eyes.  We immediately went to the refrigerator to check out the bottle of ice tea.  There was a nice big gulp of it gone.  We laughed so hard.  The only way I can figure that he didn’t realize there was chili juice in the jar was because he was in such a hurry so he wouldn’t get caught, that he just guzzled the ice tea without stopping long enough to smell it as it came close to his nose to drink. 

Needless to say, “RB” didn’t strike again for the rest of the time I worked there.  That’s what you get when you start pilfering what is not yours from the company fridge.  Beware!

B.W.





The Most Romantic Proposal in All the Land

6 09 2009

Valentine's Day proposalThe most romantic proposal story that I have ever heard of happens to be my very own.  After dating for just over two years, I knew it was time to decide where our relationship was heading.  Yes, I’m a planner.  So, I can’t ever just be wading around in the universe with no direction, no goal.  That’s just me.  I mean, I didn’t want to be married right now and that’s that!  I just wanted the relationship to be heading in a direction with a single goal in mind.  Since Valentine’s Day was coming up, I set that as my target date.  I told my roommate that, if my then boyfriend didn’t propose by midnight on Valentine’s Day, then I was going to propose to him.  She asked me, “But what if he says ‘No’?”  I said, “Then, I guess we’ll have to call it quits.”  I was barely 21, but I’ve always been an old soul.  It seemed logical.

What I didn’t know was that my then boyfriend, who worked with my roommate, had already told everyone at work that he was going to propose to me on Valentine’s Day.  He even brought the ring to work to show everyone.  They took one look at the ring he happily held up for them and remarked, “How sweet!  It’s a promise ring!”  (We did end up going to the jeweler the day after he proposed to me to, well, get an engagement ring that LOOKED like an engagement ring.)

Mr. Bingo Whore had arranged with my boss at work for me to take a long weekend so that he could whisk me away for a romantic Valentine’s Day in Big Bear.  He had told my boss the true reason for the romantic getaway and my boss never said a word.  When I asked Mr. Bingo Whore what I should pack, he was being very coy because he didn’t want me to know where we were going.  It was a surprise, you see.  If you knew me, you’d KNOW how much I hate Roses for the most romantic proposal ever.surprises!  Again, I’m a planner.  I ended up paying for the Jack in the Box meal we ate on the way up the mountain because he “forgot” his wallet.

We pulled up to this beautiful Bed and Breakfast in Big Bear around 7:30pm.  He had arranged to have my favorite movies stocked up in the main living room downstairs next to the roaring fire.  He then told me that he was “…kinda hungry.  Let’s go get something to eat.”  Still oblivious to the whole deal, I told him I was fine, but we could go out for a drive in the snow and check out the town.  We ended up, funny enough, at a little French restaurant.  “This looks like a good place,” he said, nonchalantly.  “Let’s try it.”

We were shown to a lovely little table by the front window.  I was unaware that the roses on our table were not the norm until the waitress commented on what a lucky lady I was to have such beautiful flowers on my table.  It was then that I realized the other tables only had a single red rose on them for Valentine’s Day, while our table actually had a bouquet.  I could feel my face get warm as I leaned towards my beloved and told him “thank you”.

We had a lovely meal and enjoyed each other’s company while the couples at the other nine tables were wrapped up in each other’s eyes.  When desert came, I was fully aware that my husband had set this whole romantic dinner up during several of the trips he had made as a volunteer for teaching handicapped children to ski.  This had taken him weeks to plan.  I was very grateful and touched that he would take the time to plan this all out for a simple Valentine’s Day celebration.  I was still blissfully unaware of the true reason such careful planning had taken place.

Engagement ringDessert arrived on a covered silver platter.  When the waitress removed the cover with a flourish, I saw what my honey’s true intent for the evening was: a solitaire diamond in a velvet box set atop a bed of garnish.  On the overhead, strains of “When a Man Loves a Woman” were filling the air as my boyfriend got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.  I couldn’t say anything through the tears welling up in my eyes and simply shook my head as a chorus of clapping and “hoorays” were thrown about the place from the other patrons as well as the waitresses.  My face grew 20 shades deeper in redness (I am VERY uncomfortable with being the center of attention).

The waitresses came over and fawned all over me and my husband, explaining that they were all nervously peeking around the corner when our waitress came out with the special desert.  They didn’t want to miss a thing.

My now fiancee kept nervously looking out the window as if to try to catch a glimpse of something else.  I asked him what was up.  He didn’t want to tell me at first because he didn’t want to me to be disappointed if it didn’t happen.  After about 30 minutes of waiting, he finally explained that he had arranged to have a horse-drawn sleigh pick us up at the restaurant to take us around the town.  Unfotunately, the man that he had made arrangements with also worked the snow plow and it had snowed heavy that night.  I assured my fiancee that there was nothing to worry about.  I couldn’t possibly be disappointed about that evening after knowing how much thought had gone into it.  He told me that he only planned on asking someone to marry him once, so he was going to do it right.  I’m just grateful that I was the one he chose to ask.

And that, my friends, is the most romantic engagement story I have ever heard.  I haven’t heard better in the 17 years we have been married, either.  So there!  Nyah!

B.W.





Bingo Whore’s “John”

14 08 2009

My hubby had to go in for his pre-op appointment today.  In a couple of weeks, he will be having surgery on an umbilical hernia.  In other words, his “innie” is now an “outie” and they have to make it an “innie” again.  Too technical for ya?  He  was surprised when he went in for the pre-op and the nurse pulled out a gown to put on (medical gown, not evening gown).  He was to disrobe down to his undies, then put the aforementioned “gown” on, open to the front.  He refused to take his pants completely off, choosing instead to just pull them down to his ankles.  Then, he decided that he didn’t want to put the gown on open to the front (this would expose his “moobs”).  Picture if you will (sorry), a 280+ lb man sitting on a strip of paper backing in his undies with medical gown, boxers and pants around the ankles.  Not a pretty picture.  But, he felt this was much better than only boxers.  Obviously, he couldn’t see the mirror.  I just told him to “shush”.  I didn’t even get to keep my undies on for my hysterectomy pre-op earlier this year.  Why do the guys get to have so much less invasive exams?  I still wouldn’t want to be one, though.

B.W.





The Birth of the Bingo Whore

12 08 2009

I am the Bingo Whore and welcome to my world.  I developed quite a fondness for this sport of the “blue hairs” a few years ago while on vacation with my mother.  One thing lead to another (as vacations with your parental unit often do) and “Bingo Whore” was born.  It’s a quite a tasty morsel of a story that I won’t be divulging in this little blog.  But, I promise, full disclosure WILL happen eventually.

I am a Trivia Tart as well, by the way.  In fact, my love of trivia definitely pre-dates my bingo whoring.  Give me a good Trivial Pursuit match and I’m yours forever.  It’s gotten so bad that, at family gatherings, everyone wants to be on my side or they don’t want to play.  It took my whole family (and that’s a large family) to go up against my brother and I to actually win.  And that was a really close game, too.

I believe everyone has a story to tell.  On this blog, I intend to tell mine.  Some are great, funny stories.  Some are more tragic.  But all of them are interesting.  I hope that you will get to know me through my storytelling and maybe tell your own as well.  I’ll be back soon, I promise.  Please come back as well so we can swap stories, gossip, exchange trivia and forward the best places to call some balls (Bingo balls, that is).

B.W.