Springtime in Reno!

Been busy freaking out (Chic! Le Freak!) so here’s a post that I liked and didn’t seem to garner a lot of readers when I first wrote it. Now re-presented in all it’s glory,

Springtime for Hobos in Germany! Reno!

ittle Nugget Reno

the famous (and infamous)Little Nugget in Reno. NOTE: guy in picture NOT a hobo

Not sure if you’ve noticed but the increase in hobos? At least here in Reno . It’s Spring-time!

Sadly not trampoline-spring-like but season-Spring-like.

The sewer grates are no longer frozen closed and the parking garages have already had cars broken into. Not to steal a stereo. To piss in. Maybe take a nap as well. Hopefully the latter first. At least when I lived in Brooklyn they just stole your stereo and broke your window. Which is why only a cretin has a car in New York City.

Please pay attention to the examples of Springtime for Hobos and Germany as  there will not be a test later. These are the finest in Reno Hobo quotes of the last few days.

1.” Can I mow your lawn? If it gets any longer it’s very bad for the yard ” Lawn? Are you fucking kidding me? Big-ass Weed patch is a kind description. Then noted that the hobo has no lawn mower or shears. Pretty sure this guy was the ACTUAL Green River killer. Told him that the herd of hobo-eating goats would be here within 24 hours.

2. “You do realize that your house number has to painted on your curb to confirm to law? I’m willing to splash water color numbers using paint from my filthy, inbred, homeless F student’s paint set using this stolen stencil from the Dollar Store . For $5.00.”. Almost fell for this one.
Too bad for this guy; was going to trade him a can of Sterno and a piece of white bread but I’d already used those items to trade for a car wash by another hobo. You should have seen him. Hauling buckets of water from the back yard.Told him the hose was broken and the only water was around back of the house,then through the mud, and out on to the street. Heh. There are actually three spigots along the front of the house. They’re hidden by the weeds that I refused to pay Hobo Number One to cut down.

3.” KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!” There’s a sign on the door (placed Prominently) that says Please Ring Bell. If you are that illiterate yet are still able to find Thunderbird and a shopping cart  to perambulate along the boulevard you are a hobo. And I’m not getting off of my beautiful little ass to answer the door for stupid people. This includes family. Hell, hope it wasn’t Zombie Ed McMahon with that 10 Million dollar check. Hmmmm.

4.  The well-known alkies in front of the ‘Little Nugget’ downtown. Home of the  famous Awful Awful burger and BEST burger in town. Normally there are a group of hobos collected here, only because the Little Nugget (yes there is a big Nugget but that’s another blog) can’t afford the outside security available at Harrah’s, The El Dorado, Circus Circus  or any other of the more upscale casinos in town. Actually the Little Nugget Hobos are off about 10 feet from the front door of the Casino.
I give these hobos my left-over burger and fries. Trust me, these are the  high-end Hobos. Well-fed. Usually have a little booze, a kind word (as opposed to the usual grunt or attempted wolf-whistle; difficult with 7 teeth). Speaking of which I’ve noticed a higher ratio of teeth-to-Hobo on these guys.
Have a  good friend that gave them $5.00 one time; to split between them for some booze. Have no idea how many were kneed that night in the melee.
No not really. There was no fight. Above mentioned friend TK asked which among the group was their leader. After some head lice scratching, beard fumbling, apparent concentration one of the men stood tall and announced ‘I’m the leader.’  TK handed the Hobo the fiver and told him to get a bottle to split amongst he and his friends. A cheer went up and we made a lot of Hobos very happy that night.
That man, leader of the Little Nugget pack, truly is…..King of the Hobos.

So one day, if you’re in Reno looking for a dive to play slots at, the best burger for a 100 miles and good strong cheap drinks remember me. No really. At this rate I’ll be there (outside) with my melodica, flute and a hat to collect tips.

Don’t feel sorry for me. Just save some fries and half of your burger; easy to do. An Awful-Awful can feed two easily.
Really, anything for a half of an Awful-Awful.
Especially after 2: 00 a.m.

And maybe, just maybe, someday I’ll be Queen of  The Hobos!

~Miss R

The Time Has Come

To Say What’s Fair.
Oh hell. Started singing instead of making a point.
Still, where can we go when our beds are burning.
-slaps self in face-.

Have more than 400 emails to catch up on. Yeppers all my fave bloggers. Sure lots are comment to return. I’m that kinda gal. Can’t do it all though. Even a bumbling genius needs Fresca, bed rest and duct tape.

Wish I had a male secretary. Or a 19th century hand carved secretary. Both are nice to look at when you’re working.

you thought PIZZA was a guy's Obsession

Speaking of which…

There are a few of our oddball cabal  that live in the same area of town. MILES (at least 5) from cheap ‘Indian Reservation’ ciggies (no tax YEAH) and  BoozeWorld.  Apparently the store sign actually says Taste of Wine.

When one our of southwest Reno tribe makes the journey we make calls: whaddaya need?

Lots of stuff on the other side of town: Grocery Outlet,Trader Joe’s,  99 cent food store and of course Boozeworld; for those who imbibe.
Today picked up some smokes and gin for my long time friend TK.
Dropped off said evil vice deposit. Was invited to dinner for my troubles. Gratis. My favorite price for dinner.
Seriously. Would you say no to a promise of pizza that has been proclaimed ‘BEST’ you’ve ever had?

Am a Brooklyn gal. Know my pizza. Still looking for the noms out here in the Wild Wild West. Hell there is (was?) a place on Avenue U near my old apartment on 19th and Ocean Ave in said borough, with the best white sauce brick oven pie. Nothing like it put here. Digressing. As fucking usual when discussing food.

Supplies! Utter noms in Reno.

I promised to drive (hahaha) and TK would buy dinner. Sounds good to me.

We get into Abe (it’s a Lincoln, duh). On the floor is a roll of duct tape, wires and a pocket knife. Oh, and TK had just sharpened 8 of my cooking knives. Located on the front seat.
We looked at each other and said in unison:
‘We’re fucked. We’ll be pulled over as serial killers and we’re not even drinking. and the body parts are already buried.’

Luckily it’s Reno and if you don’t have duct tape, razor-sharp chef and butcher knives plus a gun (which we were missing; left them in the safe) there’s no chance of being pulled over.

Great dinner. Eclipse Pizza. Great people. great food. The kind employees let us take over -as we do- and plugged in TK’s iPhone/Tunes. Joe Jackson with dinner. Can’t beat it with your dick. Maybe stick. Damned auto-correct.

    Secret Menu online. TK ordered the Slumberjack…Pesto sauce, buttload of meat, extra fresh toppings cheap, home made thin crust. Newcastle to drink per TK, as well as many other selections including Icky (a local brew)  on tap.

Gimme time to catch up on mail.
Knew there was a point to this.

~Miss R

Night of the Living Wine Gums

They’ve come. You could say the same of myself.

It was a dark and not particularly stormy night in Reno, Nevada. The wasteland of the west.

Here is a bit of background: Read it. Jesus quit your paragraph skipping.

After several successful careers in various states (both physical and mental) your humble writer was forced from the United States into banishment. Threats of burnings in effigy, psychotic villagers with dull pitchforks and letters to editors across the country brought about this bizarre event.

I’m not one to brag, but it may have been partially my own fault. Potentially my fault. Okay entirely. I’m that good.

Reno is similar to Vegas. A Vegas bereft of large food markets, any type of whacko culture –yes the Reno Strip looks like Meth Central- and graced only by a single Trader Joe’s. A Vegas run by a dying mob family turned hobo.

Reno: Home of the homeless. My bastille, trap, and foreseeable residence. All that is missing is a fine cask of Amontillado. Some fava beans would be nice.

Armed only with a piano and Internet connection this author was able to interact with the outside. To her consternation there appeared to be something missing. Something available to people from the UK to Canada to Rwanda.

wine gums

The fascination became overwhelming. After world-wide travels, residency in large wondrous cities, and the surreptitious sojourns to Tijuana, it became clear that I had been truly cheated of a life experience.

WINE GUMS!

These seemingly epicurean delights were mentioned by bloggers comprised of French, Goth, Australian, Canadian, and even some crazed redhead located in –shudder- the southern United States.

Today, while sitting in the desolate yet bizarrely charming Castille du Blaque, daydreaming of trimming the crypt with festive Festivus black and zombie green lights, a knock came at the door.

Welcome 'O Seeker of Knowledge

Welcome ‘O Seeker of Knowledge

Now realize, I do not leave the house during the day. Receive no mail save the daily carton of past due notices, and rarely answer the phone. The doorbell is anathema. Despite these fine character features I made an exception. I answered the door.

The exception that Changed My Life.

Wine Gums, directly from the Great White North. Sent by the god Peter, King of Wombania. Savior, Saint, Artist and All Around Amazing Dude.

The Wine Gum packaging was inviting. A black background festooned with images of the delights hidden within. With trembling hands I carefully reached for the scissors to open the first of three packages. Then threw the fucking shears to the floor and ripped open the bag with my teeth.

As you do.

Oh heaven moved upon the first taste. The flavors of fruit that pop. The chewy consistency. The feeling of… a life complete.

I shall Yelp my findings to the world. Offer a Laurel (and hardy) handshake to Peter, and emerge from this fortress of neurosis a new woman.

A woman ready to take on the world, fighting for rights of the oppressed free-thinkers, coffee addicts, and slightly used Guapola ferrets.

I KNOW THE SECRET OF LIFE AND THAT SECRET IS WINE GUMS

Piss off ye Philistines and rednecks of Nevada. Kiss my lily-white Irish-Hebraic ass you uneducated cretins of Reno. Oh, and a big Fuck-Off to gummy anything candies.

Tasty Goodness is mine. I owe it all to Fraz, Winky, Binky, and an amazing artist named Peter.

To paraphrase Rufus T Firefly….Hail Hail Wombania!

 Now phuck off and let me nosh on these wine gums until my remaining 3 molars fall out.

Mmmmmmmm Wine Gums.

~Miss R

Erection Night 2012!

Like many of my fellow Americans I shall be happy when the election is over.

Am only hoping that we do not receive the same fabulous result as 2000. Some of you may remember that the country elected Al Gore as our President. Bush was placed in office.

This is another close race. Please goddess, let this shit be over by the time I go to bed tonight.

Have no idea who will win. Placed my vote; which cancelled out my roomie.

As it should be, we both laughed our asses off  just thinking about it. Hey America: Wake up. Read your constitutional law and the codes of jurisprudence, electoral statutes and oh I dunno… history?
Difficulty Rating HIGH: Describe the manner in which laws and bills are made and passed.

We’re frighteningly similar (and ignorant) to Britain or any other monarchy with a ‘democratic’ process.
Who is in the congress and senate? Who is president? They balance (or unbalance) each other. Or in this country’s case…. fight each other to the death.
Of the public.

Will be slap-happy glad to see the unending and mind numbing political TV advertising go away. Thrilled to keep my head down as zealots begin their arguments around me. Orgasmic to begin watching my other favorite sport… Hockey!
Oh wait. I’m fucked.

Think it’s time to move. An exotic island in a banana republic. You know, just like Nevada, but with beaches and boat drinks.

It’s time to stop hating people for their political ideology and go back to hating them for who they are.

~Miss R

* Thanks to Ahmnodt Heare, Scholar Mel and the Wombies for their tireless support during this campaign

Horace and Cornelius

Love local stations. So few left. Even in Northern Nevada, even in our ghost towns.

Gerlach for instance;

    KLAP – 89.5 FM Gerlach

Might hear classical, could be 80’s. jazz, trance, or Tony Bennet. Gerlach has gone from about a 1000 population to almost 35. The only local mine closed.
Last town before you drive the 6 to 10 hour wait that is the 4 mile distance to Black Rock City -Burning Man. Last radio station for hundreds of miles. Best for a thousand. You know, I would walk 500 miles.
Think there a few low watt religious and Mariachi, but they barely come in.

So tonight was Hello Dolly on local TV. The film version.
Let me say now I have seen Carol Channing perform the part. A revival in the late 70’s/early 80’s on Broadway. She’s 91 now. Holy shit. Still looks fab and makes appearances.

Carol Channing is the bomb, She’s the Louvre museum.
Only high point in today’s cinematic weirdnesss is the Hello Dolly sequence. The Diva actually speaks to Louis Armstrong and credits he and his orachastra.
May be classically trained on piano (and the only other thing allowed in our home was light opera) but the bete noire which I hid from the parental units (I’m Jack Benny’s age..19 forever as well) was and is Jazz(forte is Ragtime and stride), 70’s R&B, and punk (The Circle Jerks never heard of them).
The point is (GET TO THE DAMNED POINT!) is that I adore musicals. Grew up with them. Still dig ’em.
Louis Armstrong was one of the best trumpet players and fun vocalists ever. Ah, together is divine.

Been a great damned day. Walked all over, found at least 6 new places of business within a few block radius, including a cheese shop, new pub about to open, juice bar, pastry and espresso place and three clothing stores. The Irish bar that has been a block away on Virginia for 50 years is still there -grin-.

    Midtown Reno

Fuck, thought I lived in the ghetto. Cooler every day…. because I can walk around here!
It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood.

Accomplished nothing. A serene, private, blissful afternoon even with no money except for a $2.00 beer, is damned fine on a hot summer day.
~R

I Rarely Leave The House…but When I Do

Been pretty quiet here recently, and have not commented on many blogs. Been busy herding 200+ cats. Which is nothing compared to what Admiral Painjoy has to accomplish. Painjoy being our Fearless Leader at Spanky’s Wine Bar at Burning Man.

Not that my weekends in Fallon (or as we call it here Falla-bama), data entry, checking up on dues, re-bolting dangerous rides, painting, etc etc  is an amusement park ride. Well, maybe if the coaster car went off the rails. Hmmmm off the rails….

So, I went out to lunch with my bestie on the 1st. She bought lunch, took me to our favorite dive bar afterwards, then the fab Mexican market, finally back to my house.

Then…. We decided to walk a block and a half to a wonderful (and pretty damned upscale) Irish pub call Ceol.

My wallet was pilfered there…. And returned to my purse. Did not even know until the 3rd when I checked my online bank account; wanted to see how much was taken out as they have overpaid me for two months by $100.00

Imagine my surprise (SUPPLIES!) to see the account cleaned out. Completely. Starting with a Burger King debit (fucking cheap-asses) then moving on to several different bank ATMs in Sparks.
Total theft: about $850.00… just about what I make in a month.

Now, I rarely do leave the house. There’s a reason the government pays me not to interact with other humans. The thieving part all took place in the town over (You know you live in Hell because you can see Sparks), Where I have been maybe 3x in 8 years. Yeah, I get around. Party on Garth.

Bank investigation did not begin until today. Apparently the financial institution of choice has no fraud employee hours over the weekend. When most people go out. Convenient eh?

My bestie spoke to her friend in the Reno DA’s office, during our lunch. Was told to not even bother filing a report; as it was under 1000.00 they probably would not even follow up. Niiiiice.

Filed a report today anyway. Online. Reno PD doesn’t have time to actually speak with you. Move along citizen.

Sent Ceol’s owners an email today demanding the bartender/server’s name for the date and times we were there. Had to be a customer or bartender or both to get my PIN.

On the bright side Michael Phelps can wrap another ribbon ‘round the old oak bong…

Yours in the 5th Circle,
~Miss R
-Certified Genius. Certified Dingbat. Certifiable.-

Addendum: Wrote three hysterical (no. really) radio ads for our camp and recorded them for BMIR -the Burning Man radio station. Population at Black Rock City/Burning Man (3rd largest city in Nevada for one week a year) is 60,000 beings this year.

Will post them as soon as I can find the correct embed code for the format. Derp.

Where the fuck have you been?

Missed you all! Missed seeing myself in print too. Okay maybe not. The self-centeredness that consumed me is long gone. When I sleep.
Your Trusty Reno Writer always puts far too much on her plate. Sometimes really great friends and life itself add extra servings.

You got yer bi-monthly trips to Fallon, NV to work up sweat, get covered in safety-red paint, destroy fingernails, avoid horseshit, flies, Dalmatians, lizards, brown recluse spiders and acres of lung-loving dust. It’s always laugh as hard as you toil too. This describes our Work-Parties prior to Burning Man and 4th of Juplaya. Add recovery from the back surgery, a soothing girls-only weekend to Calistoga and Napa Valley wine country, then a dash of parenting, typical familial tribulations and a few naughty bits. Not even close to enough naughty bits.
Life is busy! The body is mangled and the pain pills are being toned down; it’s healing. The heart is a boomerang, my Spanky’s Wine Bar (our infamous Burning Man theme camp) family loves me. Might be homeless by summer’s end. So much to worry about but so much more to grin about.
Life is also a wreck! Am one of the lucky ones to walk away with a smile after the crash though.

Work Party at Skunkworks

Christopher Robbin, Sir Wheezy and Piano Wench aka Miss R. Work-Party at Skunkworks in Fallon, Nv

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Demon Seed (my daughter) moi, Sir Wheezy. Working on the Teeter Totter of Death

4th Of Juplaya Pics

Image

This pilot has flown into Burning Man and 4th of Juplaya for years. This time he landed within 20 yards of our camp. FAB peeps.
Screw the FAA when it comes to the playa.

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4th of Juplaya
Playa

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It’s a Sloth!

Missed all of you talented writers. Have been reading your posts but no time for replies. Throwing off the shroud of sloth now.

Apologies. Missed all of you.

~Miss R

Where the HELL have you been?

Dear John,
Oh hell. Wrong document.

Dear Readers,
yours truly has been busy out of town every weekend; drinking the kool-aid flavored arsenic water, digging up sagebrush, painting , burning her lily-white Irish-Hebraic skin and this weekend another ‘work party’ for Spanky’s Wine Bar.

spanky's wine bar work party

Christopher Robin, Sir Wheezy and Piano Wench (yeppers me)

Too exhausted to read anything over the past month, which by extension means too exhausted to write. Hell, my assignment yesterday (out at Skunkworks) was to ‘be funny.’

True story. Was given the task of writing a ‘Burma Shave’ type series of signs. If you don’t know what the hell I’m talking about then get the hell off of my lawn ‘ya damned kids.

Okay I’m pretty fucking funny. Ask any of the ex-husbands.No wait, ask the damned attorneys who have the cash, Anyway, amusing on command? Takes actual work. Have to say I was one of the two people delegated work inside the house. As opposed to outside in the 105F+ heat (yes really) working construction, painting, the usual pre-Burn manual labor.

Mercifully Lucky Bastard, who had a graphic to create, and yours truly, were privy to cold tasty malty beverages. Next to the swamp cooler. The Ha Factor rose exponentially for both of us after the keg was opened. Wait. Of soda. Yes. Giant metal container full of soda.

HALF of the Teeter Totter of Death: Demon Seed, Piano Wench Sir Wheezy

Would pass along a few of my better sign posts but it’s top secret. If you didn’t get the Skunkworks reference then you’re already lost. Happen to be out at Burning Man you may notice them out and about though within a mile of Spanky’s.

What the hell was this person thinking?
You call this funny?
You may remember.
It’s the wench from YoYo-Dyne
Burma Shave.

(Trust me my camp ones ARE funny. Pinkie swear)

Burning Man spanky's work party

Prison shower: Mayor Joey behind bars and Brett painting him into a corner

That’s it for now, and probably for a while. Still looking for the perfect free piano to haul into the desert come August. A piano player gotta play…. Tired of just the marching band, even though I’ll be doing that too.  Making costumes, hanging out with my fab daughter when we can, and seeing my very best friends during the dirt/no shower/lack of water/work parties. Being funny on demand too goddamit.

Big news tomorrow! New back pain management doc. Needle stuck into a nerve at the base of my spine. No sedation. If it works, I’ll get one more after this THEN the sedation and he’ll burn off the nerve endings. Good Times!

Kids, it never fucking ends.
Best Wishes to all. Remember: Keep the razor blades sharpened and the Hefty bags stocked.

~Miss R

So You Wanna Know About Reno!

Reno: The Biggest Little City In The World

It’s very important that you know the Weather Forecast for Reno.  Luckily there are only two seasons!
Winter: Six months of bone-chilling cold, snow, five layer (clothing) dip and an unavoidable wish to die.
Summer: Six months of skull melting heat from that big shiny hurty thing in the sky, literally cooking eggs on the sidewalk, foxtails, ants and an unavoidable wish to die.

Hell, I’m not only a resident but a correspondent. Well used to be the latter.
The –redacted- Network had cretinous people that actually Paid Cash Money for text weather updates. This was the most boring and mind numbing facet of an otherwise kick-ass job. So, the asshats who couldn’t be bothered to look out the window in the morning would get a text advising that day’s weather.

Okay, for six months it’s fucking hot and sunny. For six months it’s fucking cold and/or snowing. Only had about 35 characters to work with so you can imagine the excitement of these mass texts. One day my mind went. On a July day sent out to thousands of subscribers ‘Hot. 90% Chance of Snow. High 135F. Low -65F’
Thank god my boss had a sense of humor. Seems a few people were actually confused and called in.

Second: Reno’s Economy

Reno Foreclosure Fun

Frankie, Dean and Sammy played the casinos here in Reno. Frankie owned a portion of one.
There was a Flamingo, Sands, two Hiltons, Hyatt, Fitzgeralds, and all of the originals that are no longer here.
Well some are here. Most of the others have been bulldozed or decaying on the strip.
Thanks to the northern California Indian casinos and utter Idiocy of the City of Reno.

Third:Average People of Reno

In late August there’s a world famous annual art event and temporary community in the desert outside of town..
Come October the citizens who couldn’t get tickets set fire to the city.

Fourth: Modest Mouse

One of the best heart-wrenching videos ever was filmed here.

Tune in later for Part Two: So You Wanna Know about Las Vegas; that other city in Nevada

~Miss R

listening to: Bette Midler; Radio City Music Hall Live 2004

J is for Jerk

J is for Jerk: All I need is this pigeon, Nevada nuke farm and inbred cat… that’s all I need….

Just back from another weekend in X—— Nevada at my friend’s ranch. Lots of hard work. Neither rain, snow, raging winds, sunburn, gourmet food and cheap-ass booze  shall keep us from our appointed rounds.  All within 48 hours.

Sagebrush clearing, last year’s Burn camp trash destruction, garbage sorting, bicycle repair and/or trash pile fixin,’ burn barrels, dog and horse crap clean-up plus the small town amusement of breakfast at The Eagles Lodge with the octogenarians on the third Sunday of every month.

All you can eat.
Not all you want to eat.
All you can eat.
And it ain’t much. The little old ladies are cool though.

Just got home. Have not checked the (surely) new 200+ emails yet. Opened the door and first thing I see is  sheet music all over the floor. It had been on the piano top prior to leaving Friday.

If you are a musician you know what Cakewalk is. Great software! If you have crap notation skills on manuscript paper, dig buying $150.00 worth of extra equipment to use your ancient MIDI keyboards (love my D-10) to computer interface (answer to everything new according to the 1980’s… you Jerk), write string and brass parts, print out your tunes, create full orchestration, change said ENTIRE orchestration into another key without doing so manually you know what Cakewalk is.

Best part: Cakewalk is now owned by Roland –my old employer. Hence the D-10 I use along with my trusty old Yamaha DX-7, to compose with. Play the grand piano for recreation, love, singing and feeling/finding new tunes.  The workhorse synths are to create orchestration and play gigs. Too many keyboards!
D’OH. Sorry J’OH.

Wait. Digressing. Again –sigh-

So I walk into the house with the luggage, see my newly printed sheet music everywhere except on the piano- the Cake Walk Connection- and begin yelling at Lizzie Borden. Obviously the hairball had been on the piano.

If you’re a regular reader you know that Lizzie is dumb as a box of a hair taped shut… but gorgeous and sweet. Damned Persian rescue kitty.

Suddenly, and I DO mean suddenly, as I’m swearing at Liz a F*CKING FLYING RAT comes at me.
Second time in three months.

Pigeon had gotten in though the fireplace. Same as last time I had JUST cleaned, swept, vacuumed, taken care of the fireplace area prior to anything such as this happening.

Winged rat pissed me off instead of scaring me this time.
Good thing is that I keep the rooms pretty much closed off –to keep the heating bills down- and the bastard had not flown outside the living room.

Being a musician my first thought –and scream- was ‘DID YOU B*STARD S**T ON MY PIANO?!

Lizzie Borden –feline detective and killer of nothing- was in the corner. Ignoring the damned pigeon.

Pro-Tip: Need a mouser or varmint killer? Stay AWAY from pure breeds.

In reality had a great weekend working and the f**king rat with wings in the living room was not so bad after thorns, blisters on my hands, sagebrush, black widows (no not me. this time), scorpions and vermin. Raised my (w)bitches broom to shoo it out right away.

I just have to re-orchestrate Mad World and print it out. Deleted like a Jerk prior to leaving for the weekend.

~Some Radioactive Rachael in Reno

D is for Dammit!

D is for Dammit

Dammit! While not as functional a word as another favorite of mine (rhymes with muck- and oh Dammit I just gave away the post for F) comes in handy.

On a daily, ofttimes hourly basis.

Da Beemer, my car of choice, causes the verbal spewing of the D word at least once a week. Which is how often I Drive the Damned thing.

Two Days ago I found out the power steering pump is leaking like a sieve. Which while better than the U-Joint going, which was my guess based on the replacement of said piece three times in the four years I’ve had Da car, is still out of my budget.

Muck that! Said I. Followed by Dammit. Followed by my driving the beast to Autozone and purchasing several bottles of power steering fluid.

Dammit was also a fabulous word to use today while standing in a snow storm and putting $20.00 worth of gas in Da car. Gas needle went from empty to half full; giving me the general idea that there may, in fact, be a problem.

Could be the 1986 technology (read gauges, parts, windows not rolling up or down, U-Joints, power steering pump, etc.) but really, I Doubt it. Clearly the tank only holds 10 gallons of gas.

It’s a popular car! Well, in 1986.

So I say Dammit to my friends who point out that mine is the only such model in Reno still on the road.

Wanted to post a picture of Elwood (Da Beemer’s proper name) here. Unfortunately the borrowed digital camera that is currently charging is still not charged. So I had to create a sub-par graphic using PhotoShop.

 DAMMIT!

 ~Miss R

Deranged Writers Enjoying Righteous Posts

As the President -and thus far only member of – Deranged Writers Enjoying Righteous Posts
(DWERP) it is time for our first announcement.

bloggers

Due to this Deranged Writer being out of town for three days, secluded in the boonies of an un-named Nevada town, the Inbox count climbed from 250+ to 782 unopened emails. Had a great time on the ranch raking and hauling sagebrush and oh those tumbling tumble weeds…. Lots of time with the horses and seeing friends.

National Security forbids the naming of this locality so it can only be revealed that there is limited cell service and no Internet hook-ups. Said town is  famous for being very close to the site of major nuclear testing in the 1950’s, resulting in the death of every single member of a Hollywood blockbuster to drop dead of cancer within 20 years of said production. Favorite cocktail at the local watering hole? A ‘Big-Ass Tumor on the Rocks.’ I had a double. Thought the sign read ‘Tuber’ and figured it was a local vodka.

So, besides spending time near this friendly, albeit somewhat barren city, your DWERP President was not only devoid of contact to the Interwebs, but also busy avoiding tap water contaminated with arsenic. Seriously. Just in case you’re wondering a river does run through it and many large and tasty ranch and farm vegetables are grown in the region.

Let’s  face it, if you were going to pick a place for nuclear testing Nevada is the place. Really, the drive from Reno to Las Vegas appears as though the entire state has been nuked anyway.

But I digress.

It’s the damned Inbox thing. I cannot keep up. The stress in simply SEEING all of that unopened email (98% of which are new Blog posts and Comments on Blog posts) is cause to reach for the Xanax AND Dalmane. It also keeps me from even attempting to write. Just knowing that there are so many other wonderful writers out there, that I cannot keep up with, dulls my creativity and fills me with guilt. It’s just impossible .

In an effort to keep DWERP alive, and yours truly out of  The Reno Home for The Cognitively Impaired I am deleting every post. A few will be kept to read. Miss R has enough addictions and does not need to add benzodiazepines to the list.

Apologies to all of you wonderful bloggers who have posted over the last 4 or 5 days. Will do my best to catch up.

Until then… DWERP ON!

~Miss R

Steak, Asparagus and the Band Next Door

First you’re probably wondering how an Executive Urban Hobo such as myself came to be eating steak and asparagus. No not ‘steak and vegetable ‘food product.’ The real deal.

Well, after receiving the obscene amount of a monthly stipend from SSD it’s time for grocery shopping. Asparagus on sale at $1.88 and two tiny filets wrapped in bacon for $3.97. I don’t purchase anything that isn’t on sale. Hear that Red? –grin-.

Aw, downsizing from Balducci’s and A&P bites heh.

Yes it was a splurge but we here at YoYo-Dyne have put on considerable weight after winning a huge loss after last’s year’s surgery. A tasty splurge.

Back to tuna, cheap ground beef and a bag of frozen chicken breasts to make the rest of the month. Oh how I’d love some fish..mmmmm fishies!

F’ing low carb diet is expensive on my ‘salary’ and a pain in the ass to prepare in the 45F kitchen at night.

Back to the topic. Slight derailment after speaking of a tasty meal. Uh huh.

Fell into a stupor after said tasty meal to be awakened by…The kids next door.

Have mentioned on prior occasion that I live in an old 1928 (drafty, impossible to heat, scary and dangerously wired, big-ass with the requisite spooky enormous basement) duplex. The architecture and lay-out make up for it, I assure you. In the Fall and Spring.

My neighbors are all members of a band. Actually two bands. One’s a sort of Rockabilly. the other Punk. Have played in other bands with two of the neighbors, when we practiced in my basement. Our lead singer and guitarist used to live in this place.

Now their bands practice in their basement. More fried-to-a-crisp electrical cords, small electrical fires and fuse blow-outs on their side now. Told you, this place is old and the circuits prevent the use of a toaster (or space heater) or practice Peavy amp use at the same time. It’s all fun and games until you’re outside in your bathrobe/fleecy sweats and T-Shirt in the snow, at the back of the house, at 7:00 am in 12F weather outside in snow because your Demon Seed is  home from college and uses the microwave and two lamps at the same time..

Second Derail Apology:  This means I can hear everything up from the floor and through the walls when it’s practice time; which sucks on Sunday morning I can tell ‘ya.

They put up with the concert grand piano,  MIC’d vocals, and occasional jam session in the living room on my side so it works out. Yes, we DO blow the damned circuits in the living room too. I blame my bass player friends.

Who doesn’t?

From my nommy stupor tonight I hear a new tune (for best acoustics the bathroom is highly recommended; you can hear the trumpet and banjo far more clearly). These guys play all originals, in both bands. Caught my ear tonight with the sounds of a fave Old 97’s tune ‘Wont’ Be Home’

Dig this tune. Also dig my sleep. It did compel me to make a cocktail though and wake up. Whoop. Can be up all night tonight. Just as well actually.

About 300 blog notifications again…behind. That’s the least of the nasty news today so in reality the tune made my day.

So a shout-out to The Kids Next Door. And their 5 peeps packed into a two bedroom ancient duplex, basement electrical smoke, other tasty smelling smoke, and smiling, wonderful companionship on warm summer nights sharing the porch..

Back to your regularly scheduled madness.

~Miss R

Coin Operated Goy

Reno winter

The Backyard on a Reno Winter Day

Got almost a foot of unexpected snow today. Absolutely gorgeous and the first good snow of the season; and it’s almost March. Not good news for the Tahoe resorts. Or moi.

Several times I’ve had the money for the ‘Ladies Day’ special at Mt. Rose. Was advised (read: barked at) by my neurologist not to ski until there was actual powder as opposed to ice.

So it would have been like a dream to take the 40 minute drive up for even a half day. Hey, I could give a damn about the temps or snow while skiing steeps –or anything else. Done so in Canada in -12C in a blizzard. Great runs. Just enough time to thaw out the frost on the goggles in front of a roaring fire before another one.

Drove Jeep Grand Cherokees for years, but today have a rear wheel drive 1986 BMW (wtf they’re built in Bavaria; not even front wheel drive?) and no money. Loved watching the snow come down, but damn I miss the slopes.

So took a walk tonight. Sunlight makes me burn up.. not fucking glitter. Silent and beautiful. That’s the only time Reno truly looks good these days.  Even the strip club a block away looked festive.

Being the battle born eccentric I am, was wearing a $10.00 long sleeved t-shirt, under a $100.00 wool ski sweater, and my $(if there’s no price you can’t afford it) real Canadian Sorrels.

Oh! Wearing my favorite polka dot fleece pajama bottoms too. D’lovely!

Despite a few slips and slides I made it to the Pakistani liquor-bong-whippet-soda-aging- -onions-freezer burned ice cream-umbrella-outdated canned food-and energy drink store two blocks away.

Got a pack of cheap smokes. Bad Miss R.

Could see the moon on the snow, no hobos about –except for yours truly heh- and just gorgeous. Never leave home without my iPod, actually can’t live without music all the time. After listening to Boston by Augustana, which reminds me of the last time I spent time with dad; it was in Boston for the annual IDAA convention (International Doctors in Alcoholics Anonymous). Then one of my fave Dresden Dolls tunes pulled up on shuffle.

Smiled to myself. One of the search terms that turns up on my stats is Dresden Dolls, but don’t think I’ve made mention of the band in two posts since 2006 when YoYo-Dyne was founded.

As an aside: fucked up search term of the last 30 days to find YoYo-Dyne: Teen dildo action ersatz. I have NO fucking idea -eye roll-.

Laughed as I walked the last block to my house. The glitter embedded in the concrete sidewalks where the snow melted, the moonlight on the snow, houses, and cars, thoughts of the  few people I know who actually listen to Dresden Dolls.

One of them gave me a gift this year. A ticket to Burning Man. This, the year when all hell broke loose and who knows if anyone with art installations, famous theme camps (I belong to one), mutant vehicles and true citizens will overcome rich frat boy trust fund fuckers who bought up all the tickets in this years fail-safe system. More on that nightmare later.

It will be my 9th year, and I’m positive this will be the last. All will be broken up into regionals after 2012. Just a personal prediction. Still… get to play in Burning Band this year (all 10 out of 50 of us who have received tickets) and be the bar manager at Spanky’s. Best job ever.

And the cold, music, snow, light and thought of the wonderful gift I’d received made me tear up.

So here is Coin Operated Boy by Dresden Dolls. A wonderful funny/ironic tune, that made this snowy night complete.

~Miss R

Seasonal Serial Killer Disorder

In the last month I’ve survived the end of the world, dad’s birthday (he’s been gone for 3 years now but it’s still painful as hell), a nasty epidural from The Butcher, my kid stressing over her freshman college midterms, my boyfriend packing to move out (even though I asked  him to), male pattern baldness and iron poor blood.

Alright, a few of these may be imagined. Or cured with Geritol. Geritol ad courtesy of Welk Family blog at Blogspot

Why is it that Fall begets stress? Similar to a Cinemafia conspiracy worthy of Oliver Stone.

Decided to do some scientific research to answer the burning question:

Why does the beginning of Fall initiate the beginning of Stress, Cold and Flu Season?

Besides the obvious immediate climate change here in Reno, Nevada.

Our state slogan: No Fall. No Spring. No Soup for you.

damned snow all winter..in the DESERT

Move to the Desert! The Weather is Here. Glad You're Not?

Here’s what I’ve come up with, based on said scientific research. A poll of random Reno-ites, taken over the period of no determinate time, geographical location in the city and particularly no control group. If you’ll note I said scientific and not the scientific method.

The Question posed to our random sampling of the citizens of Reno was:

Why Does Fall Instigate Your Inner Serial Killer?

Here are a few randomly chosen answers:

  1. All I can think about is the money my husband brings home and how we’ll pay for my Halloween candy, my birthday presents, other people’s birthday gifts as well of course, my Thanksgiving dinner, my Christmas gifts and of course what is going to be left after all of that? What about my bon-bons? Do you have my remote?
  2. What does that mean? Serial Killers? Get the hell away from me
  3. Well I don’t like the snow or driving in it. It brings all of the aliens up from Roswell and Rachel to Reno. Haven’t you noticed the radical lack of tin foil during the upcoming cold months?
  4. If you don’t get off this here property I’ll shoot ‘ya where you stand
  5. As a journalism graduate student at UNR my answer is, uh, ummm, you know like it’s just, ah, stressful.
  6. If you don’t get off this here property I’ll shoot ‘ya where you stand
  7. I LOVE the Fall and beginning of winter. And of course being from California originally we’re used to serial killers
  8. I don’t know. When my husband gets home I’ll ask him what we think.

There were at least 100 respondents and it was discovered that the small sample above was representative of them all.

In Conclusion:

Inhabitants refuse to embrace their Inner Serial Killer, which is sad and may explain the morbid obesity rampant in the city. The vast majority of citizens in Reno are armed with unregistered firearms and WANT to shoot you on sight. Civil Rights of any kind seem to have stopped eight to ten hours south of this place. Or perhaps 30 years. Do NOT send your kids to University of Nevada Reno. There is a ratio of 8 nutters to 10 non-nutters in our city’s populace.

So I’ve found the succinct answer to the question, seasonal stress, urge to kill and iron poor blood.

Move.

~Miss R