Bath salt zombies and ugly swingers

Since moving to the south side of the lake last year, Chuck and I have made some efforts to meet new people and make some new friends here. We’ve been pretty successful overall, but we are still looking for a solid crew with kids Ava’s age, who like to travel and do the same kinds of things we like. And let me tell you, this is no small feat. Finding friends in your late 30’s isn’t an easy thing to do, but it can be pretty freaking hilarious.

A couple of months ago I joined a mom’s group. I’ve been to one event, which was fun. And another event last week that was…interesting. It started harmlessly enough. Eight nice ladies all getting together for an innocent game of bunko. If you don’t know what bunko is, you clearly are not a suburban wife. Google it.

There were snacks and a rum punch and chit chat and the telling of the rules of bunko. Nobody really knew each other so the conversation was light and awkward. At least it was until I drank an entire $6 bottle of Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. Then the games really began. Well, after the game ended.

We were all sitting around talking about our situations: kids, marriage, jobs, etc. And then someone mentioned that they moved to Houston from Miami. Then someone mentioned watching the news. Which naturally prompted me to mention the guy that was high on bath salts and ate another guy’s face off under a bridge in Miami. It just came out of my mouth. And they all stared. And then I just couldn’t stop. I went on and on about bath salt zombies. It trickled into the suburban drug issue in our little ‘burb. Which trickled into swingers and how they are typically unattractive and how sad that is because it really limits their options. I was on a roll.

Then I overheard someone mention a ghost tour. So naturally that prompted me to talk about my butter knife stealing poltergeist. Silent stares. All around. And then the police showed up.

Yes, our tame little bunko group of eight was broken up by the cops at 9:30 on a Thursday night. Apparently you can’t park on the street  past 9 p.m. in the host’s tiny waterfront neighborhood. It was hilarious how quick everyone scattered. I know they were all just looking for an out.

On the way to my car, one of the ladies pulled me aside and said, “I just wanted to thank you for your interesting conversations.” I laughed, said thank you and then got in my car to tweet about the hilarity that had just happened. I was a total train wreck and I couldn’t stop laughing at myself.

Oh, and somewhere during the expeditious exit I offered to host the next game in August. I promised that it would be free of bath salt zombies and unattractive swingers. But I made no promises about the poltergeist.

Good times, indeed.