As I paid the man at the door for my game cards and Beetle Bailey blotter, I thought to myself “I wonder if they serve cosmos here?” The Anti-Couric and I thoroughly scanned the room trying to find the craziest person there to sit next to. Apparently, as we would later find out, we missed the mark. There was a whole lotta crazy in that room, but not so much at our table, except for the two women sitting across from us who each pulled approximately seven different color blotters out of their purses and had spent the price of admission on their tackily decorated nails. (Here’s a free tip on staying classy, rhinestones do not belong on your fingernails.) Anyway, they obviously were not there for the Gay as they grimaced every time the gays made a sex joke.

    The theme on this particular eve was Murder Mystery Bingo. It fit perfectly with the night’s sinister downpour and the fact that we had to walk through a graveyard just to play a little gay bingo…. I mean, really, how uncivilized. One can’t help but have visions of big gay zombies eating your brains. Thankfully the Anti-Couric knows where I keep my pills and helped assure me that Gianni Versace was still safely in his grave.

But I digress. The cast had cleverly devised 10 riddles for audience members to answer. Sybil Bruncheon, a.k.a.  “Surelikes Homos,” a tall drink of water in what must have been size 12 women’s pumps, leads the audience in song and game throughout the evening. She responds only to “Oh Mummy!” and belittles people like it’s her job... which I guess it kind of is. In any case, I immediately envied her. Upon wrongly attempting to solve one of the riddles, a middle aged woman was met with, “Sweetie, you are as dumb as a post. No, wait. Stay standing up so we can all point and laugh at you. Really, you should be taken out back and killed with a pitch fork.”

    Sybil’s right hand, um, man was none other than Fabio Gorgisimo himself, also refered to as“Inspect Your Gadget” that night – or at least somebody was referred to by that name, it’s hard to keep track of people and their inconsequential appellations. Fabio, with his flirtatious eyes and handsome smile quickly won the hearts of all the lesbians in the room – even the disgruntled looking ones in the back. (It has been my experience that lesbians and Drag Queens do not enjoy one another. They often find themselves with, um, let’s call them “conflicts of interest.”) I seriously considered asking him to be my GBF (gay best friend) after the show, but alas, I beg no man for his friendship.

Fabio was the rouser of a select list of “bingo karma” chants we received with our game cards. Apparently professional bingo players (I don’t have time to delve in to the MANY things wrong with that phrase) participate in said rituals to increase the fortune bestowed upon them by the bingo gods. Riiiiiiiight! Anywho, my personal favorite was “O-69. Dinner for two. Chicken or fish…or steak?”

    About half way through the night, the air thick with show tunes and bad British accents, the Anti-Couric let a “Bingo!” escape from her normally tight, disapproving lips. (I was already considering sending her to the back of the room with the angry lesbians – they seem to have a lot in common.) She had won a $50 gift certificate to g/r/a/n/d, a restaurant in Stamford. I was jealous at first, but then remembered that I’m on this new diet strictly consisting only of nuts, veggies and fruit….and wine, because it comes from fruit. I’m trying to stay thin enough to keep the respect of my friends and colleagues (other housewives can be so cruel).

Two other characters I have failed to mention yet are “Fagetha Christie” and Jeff. I can’t pronounce or spell Fagetha’s real name – it sounded like it may have been derived from “Fiddler on the Roof” – but this queen was the Vana White of the show, the seamstress and a “bottom” as it turns out. Then there was Jeff. Poor, poor Jeff. Probably a volunteer, he was a lanky, pubescent teen with a squeaky voice who had a perpetual look of fright and unease on his face. I’m not sure what his official job was, but they were constantly pestering him to check game cards and give out prize money. I’m guessing he’s an altar boy at the church by day and a naughty Episcopalian by night. Whatever the case, I’m quite certain he’s been scarred for life.  

Of course, the other Gay Bingo patrons often showed up our hostesses. For once, the Anti-Couric and I were in agreement when judging the people Sybil seemed to know by name. I don’t even know my neighbors’ names (and I’m pretty sure the Anti-Couric steers clear of “friends” at all costs.) Soon it became heartbreakingly obvious that we managed to miss the craziest person in the room by several tables when a large, pale person stood up and began to sing, hands in the air, arm-fat flailing. At first we thought this person was part of the act – mostly because we weren’t sure if it was a man or woman and therefore decided it must be a Drag Queen. But no, my pets, this was just a stifled “American Idol” contestant eager to show us her skills.

Looking back on the experience I am happy to say that mysteries have been unlocked and a verdict has been given. It’s simple really, Gay + BINGO = Fabulous. Seriously, check it out. Oh! And bring a flask full of vodka, because as it turns out they DO NOT serve cosmos there.