Lisa Carnley is managing editor of the Lampasas Dispatch Record. OK, I admit it. I love to gamble.

I could easily see myself becoming an addict. From playing the lottery to scratch-off tickets to slot machines and bingo, I love them all.

I have that compulsiveness in me, and occasionally it rears its ugly head. And because I know I have it, I am able (most of the time) to stop myself from going overboard -- except on the occasional Sundays when I love to play bingo.

My mother-in-law and I have played bingo together for years. We used to play every week, and I would get very upset if I couldn’t be there. Then we played about once a month. Now it’s once every six months or so. And I have discovered I miss it.

When we went a couple of weeks ago, I found myself caught up in the excitement of the game. There is always the chance to walk out of there with a lot of money.

I said a chance, not a likelihood.

Bingo isn’t very expensive if you don’t go overboard with buying paper cards. And I try not to. I really do.

But you should see the real bingo-holics (I just love that term!). You can tell right away who they are. They are the ones who sit in a smoke-filled room for hours on end. You can hardly see them for the smoke rings encircling their heads. I do not exaggerate. The smoke in a bingo hall can be so thick that your eyes water constantly.

I used to be one of those bingo-holics. I would almost jump out of the car and run into the bingo hall to be sure I got a table with an ashtray. Ashtrays are at a premium in a bingo hall. I would light up a cigarette with my right hand, and cover the numbers with my special bingo marker with my left hand. That seemed the perfect way to spend a weekend afternoon.

Now that I don’t smoke, I find the air (or lack of it) really bothers me. I won’t go anywhere after I get through playing bingo because I know I reek of smoke, and people who get a whiff of me must think I was holed up in my house smoking all day. It’s pretty embarrassing. Kinda reminds me of Cheech and Chong (for you ’60s and ’70s kids) when their car rolls to the curb, and they fall out followed by billows of smoke.

It’s so bad that I don’t even like to go into the house with those nasty clothes on. Thank goodness I have a privacy fence so I can remove select pieces of the offensive smoke-filled clothing on my back porch which is adjacent to the laundry room. Even my dogs make snuffling noises when they sniff my “bingo” clothes.

But it is priceless watching some of the regular bingo patrons. You can tell who they are because they have 20 different daubers (special bingo markers) lined up in front of their cards in every conceivable color. Many have “bingo bags” in which they store their daubers. They bring rolls of tape or glue sticks to attach their cards together.

But the biggest giveaway to a bingo-holic has got to be the good-luck charms displayed on their tables. I have seen Kewpie dolls, dog statues, pictures of family members, four-leaf clovers, lucky pennies, rabbit’s feet ... you name it, and it probably can be found on someone’s table.

Bingo is a game of luck. Pure and simple. You either are lucky, or you’re not. That’s it. No charm is going to make a difference in whether you win or not. Rubbing the head on the dog statue won’t guarantee a win, and massaging the rest of the hair off a rabbit’s foot isn’t going to help either.

What are people thinking? When you walk in that door, it is predetermined who is going to win and who isn’t. It is the luck of the cards. Nothing else.

But just to be on the safe side, I keep a picture of my grandson in my purse. And right before the caller pulls the first number, I take Landon’s picture out and stand it up against my bingo daubers (yes, I have more than one) and near my glue stick.

I only do it because he is so darned cute that I want to look at him while I’m playing. And you never can tell; maybe it will bring me luck.

Yep, I’m a regular -- a bingoholic. They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. I admit it. Now it’s time to get on with the game. They are calling my numbers.