sure as hell doesn’t stay in reno. …not with this blog.
When we last saw our heroine she was busy making plans, but not for Nigel.
In the intervening week things have just gotten funny. Yeah both ways.
I’m not gonna say things have become weird or strange. The last time I typed those words –at the New Year- my dad died, the debacle with the family occurred and life generally went fucking sideways.
We’re gonna try the adjective funny today.
Oh hell. What if I’ve just cursed Mom?
Well at least I wouldn’t have suffer through the nightly 20 questions over the phone.
Anyway, last Saturday brought a visit from Washington State’s own Dave and Lisa. The last time they were in town we peeked into a swinger’s club, pole danced, and generally wrecked havoc throughout Reno. That was also the infamous weekend of Turn Down The Stereo Immediately Or You Will Be Evicted Tomorrow.
This time my friends had a room at the Peppermill. I thought ‘what could possibly go wrong and if it does it won’t be at my place.’
Being a genius I decided to take a cab over there; no chance of the decrepit Zamboni being used as multi-passenger transportation.
It took 20 minutes to get ahold of them after I’d walked into the casino. The casino/hotel switchboard wouldn’t put me though on the phone without the last name, even though I had the room number. So I called back to get a different operator but she told me that there was something wrong with Dave and Lisa’s room voicemail.
Alright Plan C.
I sashay over to the hotel concierge, bat my eyelashes, lean my cleavage into his direct line of sight and sweetly ask how to find room 3121.
Hugs all around and then back downstairs to the casino for the three of us.
Now, Dave is a serious blackjack player but neither Lisa nor I do much gambling. I don’t gamble because I suck at it.
We go into one of the lounges, play some video poker and then head back out into the neon monstrosity that is the Peppermill. Here we bump into Dave’s old Reno roommate and friend Mike.
Mike is a professional gambler. For real. For years. Poker. He especially loves going out on Friday and Saturday nights to play cards because the tourists are in town. Heh.
Lisa and I are then schooled on the salient points of poker. Somehow I managed to leave the friggin casino 35 cents richer than when I’d come in four hours before.
We’re hungry at this point. It’s around midnight.
Where better than The Men’s Club. Yes kids it’s a sushi bar on one side and a strip bar on the other. Gotta love Reno.
We went into the restaurant and spent an obscene amount on all manner of delicacies. This is not an All You Can Eat place. Even though it adjoins the strippers and lap dancers.
Our restaurant bill was high enough to merit non-payment of the cover charge upon entering the strip club.
I will say that the girls at the Men’s Club look a bit finer than their counterparts at the Wild Orchid. Don’t push me on the point since it’s been a long time since visiting the latter platter ‘o boobies.
Here’s a bottle of water I ordered:
Yep. A tit bar with their own privately labeled water. As well it should be since I paid $3.00 or $4.00 for the stuff. Boobylicious. I’m sure.
My friends dropped me off at home somewhere around 3:00 am. The next morning I was up at 7:00 feeling dehydrated from smoking an entire pack of ciggies in one evening.
Dave and Lisa made their flight the next day and back to Washington. My apartment was noise and litter-free. I’m thinking that a fine time was had by all.
Haven’t had but one cigarette in the past week though. Back on the Nicorette/Commit and club soda diet. It’s a goddamned good thing that those two only come into town every month or so. Fuck me.
The seven days since have been a slow-motion blur of getting new glasses, avoiding the computer, avoiding people, reading, isolating, screening phone calls, contemplating which caliber bullet would have the best taste, and going to doctor’s appointments.
This morning has been spent pirating music for my collection and burning CD’s into iTunes.
I’m on an 80’s Big Beat/Power Pop jag: Graham Parker, Nick Lowe, The Plimsouls, Dave Edmunds, Phil Seymour, The Romantics, 20/20 etc.
Oh yeah, and waiting for my ’94 Audi to show up. The Zamboni is going bye-bye. So long ‘ya bastard.
I’ll now bid you all a fond adieu. Been up since 4:20 this morning (fucking sleeping pill at midnight gives me a grand total of almost four and a half hours of sleep) and need a cup of coffee and some toast.
Do I live the life or what.
The correct answer is Or What.