Once upon a time I had a next door neighbor that was just about my age. Unfortunately that time has past, and all the neighbors on my street that were anywhere close to my age have been replaced with neighbors that have white hair, grandkids, and collect social security. My old neighbor though, she was pretty cool. She had a couple of little kids, a husband that played golf way too much, and a lifetime full of amazing stories. So in other words, she was just like me only replace golf with computers. We were destined to be friends.

One day she called me up and asked if I’d ever heard of the game Bunco, because her group was playing at her house that night and they needed a substitute. I was familiar with the game, having played it once during a visit with my best friend from high school. Unfortunately I didn’t remember anything about how to actually play the game because I had gotten fantastically drunk that night. So fantastically drunk, that toward the end of the game I was no longer playing, just yelling loudly about my personal sexual preferences in between trips to the bathroom to vomit. So of course I jumped at the opportunity to play with my neighbors group.

The group she played with had a slightly different dynamic than my previous experience. It wasn’t so much her group, as it was her Mother-in-Law’s group, made up of a bunch of ladies that she worked with. I think the median age of the group was 57. Still, I thought it was a fun night away from my kids and husband. I got a free dinner, and adult conversation, and for $15 the possibility of winning one of 6 prizes. It was totally worth it.

Substituting one time turned into two times, then three, and eventually a permanent position in the group was offered to me, which I gladly accepted. I had come to enjoy listening to their stories about their grandkids, or the cruise they just took, or getting eyebrows tattooed on their face. And I won prizes from time to time, though they were mostly really ugly nicknacks. For example, I won a candy dish three months in a row. And even though that’s at least two more candy dishes than anyone could possibly need, I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy winning them.

Then out of the blue one day my neighbor called and said she was quitting the group. She had gotten in a huge fight with her mother-in-law, and they weren’t speaking to each other anymore. And, of course it was up to me but she thought I would probably want to quit the group as well. So I quit.

A few months later my neighbor called me…again. She said she had joined a bunco group…again, this time with all young, hip girls like ourselves. And… again she asked if I wanted to sub. I agreed to go, but with mixed emotions. I mean, I didn’t really want to have to break-up with another bunco group the next time my neighbor got in an argument. Plus, I found the idea of young and hip Utah girls a little suspect. And rightly so.

I can’t remember a time where I felt more awkward and outcast than I did at the hip bunco group. (There are however SO many times in my life that I have felt JUST as awkward and outcast that they cannot be counted). While all these girls were about my age I had nothing in common with them, for example: 1) my hair is not blonde, bleached or otherwise, 2) I know nothing about scrapbooking, 3) I have not had a boob job, 4) my idea of a perfect Sunday is laying on my ass at home, NOT in a church worshiping Joseph Smith, and 5) I actually have a personality. And to top it all off these girls were really really not nice and just plain unfriendly. Seriously, I can’t hang with that shit.

So when, surprise surprise, my neighbor asked me to sub for that group again, I said no, and THANK GOD she never asked again. My fabulous life as a bunco player was over. All the camaraderie and friendships finished. Oh well, easy come easy go.