I met a gorgeous GORGEOUS young guy from New Zealand (at my age this means he was in his early 30’s. Maybe. Maybe late 20’s but who’s counting) while bartending.

This was at about 3:00 a.m. after the Burning Band (I play flute) gig when I showed up at camp with NO uniform or clothes except my name tag on my bra. Which as we all know basically says “If found wandering in a black-out please return to Spanky’s”

The hottie and I hit it off and when I closed up Spanky’s at 6:00 a.m. he came back to my RV. Well….. he’d been up too late. Uh huh.
I was nestled in the area with OC Charlie, Gina, Birdsong, Catfish, Lucky Bastard and the main Spanky’s thoroughfare.

I come out of the RV at 7:00 a.m. and OC Charlie, Gina and Birdsong are sitting outside our RV’s having a beer. As you do.
Charlie says “Hey Rach how’s it going in there?”
I say “Not so good dude. The guy’s having serious problems gimme a beer.”
After hanging out with my Spanker friends for a while I return to the RV.
Suddenly I hear – on a fucking Bullhorn- Charlie’s voice
“ATTENTION THE DUDE IN THE BACK OF RACHAEL’s RV! ATTENTION! IT’S CALLED A CLIT. THAT IS ALL”

This entire scenario went on for at least 5 hours. The poor bastard (gorgeous did I mention that) finally said good-bye in between bullhorn blasts and the rest of the camp looking over to see who was being ummmmm Blasted At.

Final Note: He came back 2 days later wondering where I was and asking if he could  join Spanky’s Village next year.
Mission Accomplished.
~PianoWench

Today I needed a smile. Okay a hug would be fab too but that ain’t gonna happen.

Something positive was clearly indicated by my melancholy upon waking.

So, I went to Mystery Google and typed in ‘depression’

Here is my result: MLIA, Harry Potter, Dinosaurs, Marshmallows, Walmart, Waldo, Google = WIN.

I nearly spit coffee on my keyboard because it cracked me up.

If you’re not familiar with Mystery Google it’s a site that allows you to type in a search and your result is  the result of the last person who searched. Totally random and good for a peek.

Check it out and have a smile, or at the very least a WTF headshake and surreal moment.

~Miss R

Look outside! Snoooooooow.

Welcome to Reno, Nevada.

Saturday you’re cruising a book sale in a tank top and the next day it’s snowing and you’re inside with a bottle of wine and your PJs.

Here’s my link of the day. You’ll thank me later. When you’re too tired to look outside of your window.

The Fucking Weather

So if you’ve read any of my older posts -going back 3 or 4 years-  you’ll notice some pointless surveys mixed amongst the other detritus of my mind.

Since it’s been months since my last post this is a warm-up to try and get myself back into the groove of writing. Yeah it’s a knock-off quickie (Mmmmm quickie) but it’s something.

There’s a great blog that Celluloid Blonde turned me on to today. It gave me the inspiration to re-activate the wordpress machine. If you’re a screenwriter you’ll dig this. If you’re  an amateur writer you’ll dig this. If you have ANY brains at all you’ll dig this.

Dig it?

Twenty Questions with Absolutoly No Coherent Theme

1. Beatles or Stones?
Beatles While Stoned

2. Have you ever vacuumed the house in your underwear?
WTF is underwear?

3. Do you secretly like disco?
Do you secretly like Screamo?

4. Have you ever had a monster under your bed?
Does my ex-husband count?

5. Coke or Pepsi?
Cabernet

6. If you thought you could get away with it, would you?
Yes. I have finely honed instincts of preservation

7. If you thought you would get caught, would you anyway?
No. I have finely honed instincts of preservation

8. Do you have an adventure fantasy? If yes, what is it?
It involves leather and restrains

9. You’ve lost everything. Do you lie, beg, borrow or steal to get it back?
You phrase this as if it’s THEORETICAL. Sheesh.

10. You’re driving too fast thru a residential neighborhood. A dog and a fat man are crossing the street from opposite directions. You have to hit one to avoid hitting the other. Who gets run over?
Aim for the Fat dude, use him as a cue ball and take out the dog

11. Are you saving that morsel of food that is stuck in your teeth for a special occasion?
No. It’s for you.

12. If you were invisible, where would you hang out?
I am invisible dimwit

13. You are drunk as a skunk. Do you ride A) a mechanical bull B) a stolen motorcycle C) A butt ugly member of the opposite sex
Define”butt ugly”

14. Are we human? Or are we dancer?
We are Devo

15. A train leaves NYC at 2PM EST, heading west at 140mph. A plane leaves LA at the exact same time, heading east at 700mph. Where’s Waldo?
Fixing my goddamned dinner so I don’t miss the connection in Denver

16. You’re standing butt naked on a street corner. Are you A) a pervert B) waiting for the bus C) The Emperor
The EmpRESS

17. What is the color of love?
Black. Just like my heart.

18. Will Michael Jackson be allowed into Rock & Roll Heaven?
They have stricter immigration laws there

19. In one word or less, describe your nose.
It smells terrible –rim shot-

20. Do you think the world is going to end in 2012?
Only if I’m very very lucky.

I’ve been thinking. No comments about my working without tools again please.

The past few weeks have found me awash in various levels of depression, obsession, worry (about things financial, physical, blah blah blah) and stress.

There’s a roof over my head. Food in the fridge. A car that runs (knocks on her head). My daughter is healthy and doing well.

Still this miasma of unhappiness, uncertainty, fear and the longing to simply give up permeates the waking hours and the dream time.

Now, don’t get me wrong. The days and nights have been punctuated with laughter, self-deprecating humor, and the usual day to day crap that can make one smile. It’s just that… they’re so far and few between. Couldn’t even get into ‘the zone’ when I went skiing today. A bad sign.

I think I know what’s wrong. I may have an axiom here.

All people require two special items to survive:

1. 1. Physical touch.

2. 2. Encouragement  and kind words

Seems to me that these two facets of life are as indispensible as food, shelter and health.

I’ve been missing both. For a long time. So holistically I’m not healthy. Ya, no shock there but bear with me.

Humans are programmed to feel comfort from touch, from words of solace or compliment. Those wacky fun-loving serial killers you read about were all missing these two critical objects in their lives.

So, I feel better identifying what may be a major cause of this current desolation. There’s no cure on the horizon which gives me little hope, but there’s something positive about all of this self-discovery:

I’m too old to start a new career as a serial killer.

So here’s the problem.

Once again I find myself sans boyfriend or dates. Okay, it’s not as if this hasn’t been a given in the last few years but it’s really getting to me now.

Hell if I know why.

I’ve  given the heave-ho to the  few of the boy-toy/dinner dates I had over the past year or so. What’s the point?  There was no future in any of them. Hell there was no present. Try discussing Mahler, Hawking or Bukowski  with a snow-boarding-hey-dude guy who’s idea of art is the new album cover from Death Cab for Cutie.

At least they looked good.  Of course so do I. With the lights off or my corset cinched tightly, then the lights dimmed.

So let’s say, just for a left-field example, that you were a late forty-something, eccentric, neurotic, darkly witty, moderately talented, exceptionally brilliant woman? Carrying around 20 pounds extra on her frame.  Oh, and you don’t like meeting guys in bars, your weekly outing consists of wrapping yourself up in a parka and a pair of skis to hit the slopes, or going to freaking Costco?

The roomie says ‘Oh Rach guys still hit on you.’ Yes they do! They’re

a) Drunk

b) on day pass from the Helen Keller Institute

c) Northern Nevada Mental Health and Retard Services clients

Here’s the bottom line: I’m about ready to try…. Craigslist.

Don’t say it. I know. I’ve tried it before. Hell, it’s more than a crap shoot. It’s more like Russian roulette. With a fixed table.  And misshapen balls. But those are more balls than I’ve seen in a helluva long time.

Jimmy the Greek wouldn’t front me $5.00. That was before he was dead.

People my age are married, or divorced and married again. And divorced. Wait. So was I. Forget that. The point is that it’s a bitch to find so much as a date, nevermind a steady relationship. I can go out to a bar tonight and get laid but fuck that, pardon the pun. I’m getting too old for that crap. Not the fucking, the one night stands. Hell, I’m tired of being alone. Two of my marriages sucked but hopefully I’ve learned something. If not, at least I can check out those balls.

~R

My face was practically pressed against the glass. Through the train window I could see the green hills roll by. Then a factory perched atop one, past the old Busch plant that had been closed for years. Finally the sea came into view and the amusement pier was faintly visible.

One more stop after this.

As the train slowed to the platform I tried to gather all of my things, unsure of how I’d make it out the door on time with all of this crap. A large black valise containing a change of clothes and a few books, my over-sized purse and a black leather jacket.

The woman in the seat next to mine asked how many more stops it was to the zoo. I looked over and said that she may be on the wrong train. Feeling badly (guilt about things that aren’t my fault is a specialty) I tried to grab my belongings while climbing over her, her son and the two seats between myself and the aisle.

The train had stopped and the doors opened. Suddenly that feeling of being underwater occurred. The slow motion feeling of being in a dream.

How in hell would I make it to the platform before the train took off again? Struggling with the bags and jacket it seemed like forever to pass through the rows of passengers and seats. Finally I emerged from the car and ambled to the station. After crossing the worn green tiles and emerging from the building I could see the steep hill ahead.

The hill that wound and curved upwards towards my house. Almost there I considered, and began the long walk.

I just finished a wonderful book by Larry Brown. It’s the second book of his that I’ve read. The first one was Fay, a novel. Billy Ray’s Farm is a collection of essays and non fiction.

The writing is lyrical, smooth and graceful. Passages that are haunting, brutal, and overflowing with the author’s feelings cut into my heart and head.
Harry Crews has this effect on me, as does Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor.
What is it about the South that breeds such amazing artists?
I don’t think it’s the land itself but who knows. It’s as much a mystery as is the wealth of their talent.

I think about writing every day yet have been able to do so for some months now. Looking back I think maybe my father’s death contributed to my sliding off the rails a bit. My ‘coper’ broke and an inability to concentrate, take care of mundane daily tasks or find motivation for the things which made me sing died.
Note: The dust hasn’t settled over dad’s passing and as of two weeks ago I’m no longer speaking with my sister or my step-mother. More on that in another post.

My daughter arrived from southern California last night. She’s 14, 15 in August, and will be with me for a little over a month. I’m flying her back here again at Thanksgiving and again at the holidays. Then I’ll have to wait until next summer and hopefully three months then. If she doesn’t decide to stay here with me, which I doubt. She’s been with her father for a little over a year and seems settled there now.

Thus far I’ve seen Cate for about 20 minutes. Her friends here in Reno have consumed her time already. Several of them had taken a bus to the airport to meet her at the plane, unbeknownst to her or myself. Waiting for her plane to land a familiar gang of teens surround me, resplendent in their teen Goth glory. They had all taken a bus out to the airport.
I fed them pizza and cokes and her best friend spent the night.

This morning I took the two of them to Zephyr Books. Afterwards Cate announced that she was going to another friend’s house to have pink (or purple) streaks put in her hair and also have that friend use her ‘professional piercing kit’ to pierce another hole at the top of her ear.
I rolled my eyes and said “Okay. This should well.”

In 15 minutes I’m off to pick the little demons up at the Starbucks down by the Truckee River, across from the movie theater.
Then I’m taking best friend back to her house.

Cate wants to watch Shawn of the Dead tonight and eat popcorn and candy. Sounds like a plan.

Goddess only knows what tomorrow will bring but it’ll surely be interesting.
Hormonal Outsider Teenager + Angst = Rachael’s Interesting Summer.
If only I could put my thoughts into the kind of writing which lifts me up. Maybe my favorite authors will send a muse over in dreams tonight.
I can hope but better yet I can start writing again.

~Miss R

After languishing in bed for a full 4 hours of sleep last night it was up and off to a waiting room full of desperate uninsured indigents to wait for a doctor’s appointment.
Yes, that would make me one of the above mentioned group.

First come first served (and boy do you get what you pay for) so it was a long-ass wait. For a short-ass visit.

On the way home I passed by the courthouse where I was treated to a group of fabulously bedecked women playing rhythm instruments and waving a sign proclaiming “Prom Queens for Peace!”
Since I’d already driven through our neon strewn downtown, narrowly avoiding tourists, drunken businessmen, gamblers, Stephen Hawking in his souped-up diet coke-menthos powered wheelchair and the homeless this didn’t strike me as particularly odd.
Crosswalks and streetlights mean nothing in this town. Drive at your own peril my friends.

As a trip to the doc’s is normally depressing it seemed a fine idea to stop by Zephyr Books. This is a fairly new used book store located on Virginia and only a few blocks from my house. I was in the mood for another Harry Crews book.
Nothing like a bit of seriously twisted southern gothic to cheer me up.

I asked the proprietor where to look and he directed me to the fiction section where, alas, there were no Crews books to be found. So I diligently looked for something else to cheer me up. Perhaps John Fante, Bukowski, or Augusten Burroughs.
Seems I’m going through a fiction phase right now. I vacillate between this genre and the physics and science tomes. Depends on my mood.
Doesn’t everything.

Well I did find Running with Scissors (recommended by my friend Rebecca) which cheered me up. I also found The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, which surprised me since I was about to order a new copy from Amazon this week. The latter was recommended by TK who is reading it now.
So a bit of fiction and a bit of non-fiction in the mix for this week.
It’s a nifty bookstore. Check it out.

This afternoon it was time to get out of the house again. The sun came out even though the fucking Reno afternoon winds are blowing. I took a walk around my new neighborhood. A strange mix similar to my old place. Immaculately kept Craftsmen homes from the 1920’s next to unkempt 1930’s bungalows next to beautiful brick homes built anywhere from 1910 to the mid 1940’s.
It’s pretty cool. There’s so much to look at if you have an eye for architecture and, well, life in general.

The reason I was able to take a walk was that damned wind. I was supposed to be out on the Reno Chicken Cam Project.
Suffice to say that it involves Nino (one of the other Producers from the TV station where I used to work), similar video mavens, and of course a live chicken fitted with a harness and wireless video cam.
The shoot was supposed to start downtown in front of the El Cortez (a hotel and peculiar bar) at 4:00 and move on from there.
I got an email informing me that the possibility of the chicken literally being blown down the street may put a damper on the project. So, shooting was cancelled for today.

That brings us to right now; where I sit at my desk listening to Joe Jackson, American Spirit burning in the ashtray, beverage of choice at hand and typing this treatise. I gotta tell you that tomorrow may not bring me as many glimpses into Life in Reno.
Unless I leave the house.

~Miss R