R-r-r-rewind.

This weekend rocked my face so hard I didn't have time to blog about it. It had everything a weekend should have: snow cones, gut-punching laughter, tennis elbow and money winning. I just hit rewind so we're taking a (rather long) trip back in time.

Friday night I was psyched to have no plans. It was an insanely busy day at the office, a day that followed in the footsteps of the four days previous to it. The week decided that it was going to be a crazy bastard and throw everything my way. No time to file? Here's 50 things that need to be copied, collated and filed by the end of the day. There were so many people at my desk that I was considering opening a small bed and breakfast on the side. I would've called it I Need A Break(fast). Which is probably why I don't have a bed and breakfast. But I digress.

All I wanted to do Friday night was put in my time at the college track, rent a movie, change into pants with an elastic waistband and call it a night. I texted my pal Deezy to see if she wanted to join me at the track. She gave me a call a few minutes later.

"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on a date with me?" she asked. "We could maybe go walking and then grab some appetizers and then maybe see a movie."

Food? Movies? Lady date? It took me a grand total of five seconds to say "hell motherfucking yeah!" before heading over. When I got to Deezy's place, she said she had a surprise for me. I was instantly excited. Deezy is the type of lady who is the epitome of spontaneous. I've always been intrigued by that, so when Deezy says "surprise" it usually means that she has something that will make me squeal in delight and/or poo myself with excitement. I mean, what? I don't poo my pants.

Awkward.

Deezy, as always, delivered the goods. She took me to a raspado place by her apartment. A raspado, for my non-Mexican, non-Arizona living folks, is a snow cone but made with real fruit. It's like a Mexican Diet Coke; not really healthy for you, but it tricks you into believing it is. And this place was legit*. It was a shabby little building on the side of the road in the ghetto part of town and everyone there spoke Spanish. I even ordered my shit in Spanish because I wanted to fit in. The signs were hand lettered on cardboard and the inside of it smelled like fruit. I got a little something called a mangoyada, which was mangos, lime and chamoy. Holy God, it was delicious. The raspado burst into my mouth and held a fruit fueled rave on my tongue. My taste buds were flipping the fuck out.

KV: I'm so excited I can't even get it in my mouth!
Deezy: THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!

If it were possible to marry, impregnate and spawn more baby raspados, I would've done it. Let's legalize that, America.

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Saturday some of my aunts and cousins came down to spend the weekend with us. It's always amazing to me that my cousins aren't the babies I remember them being. Suddenly everyone is 16 and pretty and muscular and knows everything about Ozzy Osbourne and Rhianna. And before you know it they're finding your phone, scrolling through your texts and asking why you say fuck a lot and asking what being drunk is like. Go ask your parents.

My cousins are awesome though. It's nice that they're older because I feel like we have more to talk about. I finally have someone to impart life advice to, like when I told my 16 and 14-year-old cousins that "High school should be fun. Don't spend it listening to Radiohead and writing shitty poetry." Take that all the way to the bank, kids.

But the real joy in Saturday was Cosmic Bingo. Yes, bingo. And let me tell you this shit is the greatest discovery I've ever made. Before you judge me and think, "So when did you turn 87 again?", you should know the tagline for Cosmic Bingo is "it's not your grandma's bingo". So suck it.

Bingo is hosted by a drag queen and there are drinks, food and music. Those last three are pretty much all the incentive I need to go anywhere. Usually Garland, M and myself are the only ones down to go, but this weekend we packed up and took my parents, my aunts, Garland's sister and her fiance and Tata. We've been plenty of times but have never won anything but the shaft and a sense of failure. The drinks help ease the bingo losses.

Saturday night was a different story. There I was, playing my bingo cards, following every number the caller called out. I had one number to go, O-74. And let me tell you, that bastard took it's sweet ass time showing up. Oh hey, O-74, glad you could make it to the party. Why am I sweating so much? No reason, just wondering if you were going to bingo rape me again.

But there it was in all it's glory. O-motherfucking-74. BINGO! I screamed it at the top of my lungs. Unfortunately, so did someones grandma with a breathing tube. Even though breathing tube, pink pantsuit lady edged in on my bingo winnings, I still collected $100 clams. A single, beautiful Benjamin was heading my way. In your face, Indian Casino. It only took me a year of -coming to bingo to win my money back. Eff. Yes.

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After Saturday's bingo excitement, Sunday was relatively low key. We headed to a street fair downtown. There were all your usual assortment of downtown Tucsonans: hippies, college kids, drunkards, wannabe revolutionaries and people like me, who just came for the snow cones.

And all I had to do was sell my soul!

After the street fair, Red and I headed to the high school across the street from our house to play some tennis. I should start by saying that I don't play tennis. Red has a friend who is teaching him, and when I found out about this I insisted that he teach me. We went out and bought the cheapest racket we could find. A tennis racket that, apparently, was special made by Thor for The Hulk. This racket will fuck shit up. It also gave me the urge to talk mean shit.

The phrase "Suck Penn balls!" was uttered more than once.

Fortunately, Red and I were the only ones who were on the courts so nobody could see how awful I was or how many tennis balls I had shoved in my pants. I might suck at tennis, but my right arm is going to be ripped. I'll look like Freddy Rodriguez in Lady in the Water.

Discounted tickets to the gun show sold here.

The weekend was great. Most weekends serve as a reminder that there's more to life than the work week and school. This weekend, however, blew my shit up and was like, "Fuck being depressed. Put the sucking on hold and have some fun." Thanks for being such a foul-mouthed joy, Weekend.

*I was wearing a band t-shirt that said Dios Malos on it. In Spanish, it translates to Bad God or something along those lines. There was a Nana in front of me who looked at my shirt, looked at me and then gave me a rather disapproving look. I could hear her thinking, "This bitch better be going to church after this." If a Mexican Nana isn't silently judging you, it's not a legit Mexican place.