B-I-N-G-O

(...was his name-o)

he and i went to bingo at benders. we won the first two rounds we played: he won first, i won second. he yodeled 'bingo' through his cupped hands, and the hipster bingo-caller said it was the best bingo she'd ever heard.  i just yelled loud, no yodeling, but still won an awesome prize (see below).

he taught me how to play coasters, and soon after i got the hang of it, my natural coaster-flipping abilities were challenging him to stack more and more coasters on each other, just to prove he could beat me.

we marked our 2 -for-$1 bingo cards with a magnum sharpie, which he later wrote on me with. the smell of it made us both high (or maybe it was the double diet coke i downed?). we drew on our cards with the purple sharpie, marking our free spots with stars and swirls and criss crossed lines. he drew me a treasure map (or a map to costa rica, pretty much the same thing).  

we made a bet, and he lost, so he did a cartwheel on the carpet of the bar. then i fell for the 'high ten' afterwards, slapping both of his bar floor, germ-infested hands to congratulate him on his (lack of) physical prowess. we threw coasters from our booth to the bingo stage, trying to make it into the small bucket of prize money. we didn't make it, and he cleaned up all the coasters we threw, like a true, rambunctious gentleman.

 and we laughed all night til i almost cried.