This is Why We Burn

You will notice my camp, Spanky’s Wine Bar, at 52 seconds in.

Notice the joy, amazement, amazing city sized art installations such as Burn Wall Street. Evidenced in this video with a shot of Bank of UnAmerica.
Happiness and laughter at seemingly bizarre sights.
Art is in the air. As is understanding, open minds, and the originality of too many people to count.. and better yet those artists who wish to remain anonymous.

Burning of the Man shows happiness, joy, laughter and party time.

The Temple Burn is about inner thoughts.
Pin drop time. Honorary time.
The Temple is shown in several shots and is the place to go and leave written, vocal, and artistic showers of love and memories to those who have passed the preceding year. When the Temple burns it is serious. And quiet.

As with the Man the Temple structure is different each year. Many people volunteer their time, money and love to build both of these edifices.

Burning Man is not a bunch of hippies taking drugs and getting naked in the desert.
Well okay it’s that too.
Burning Man is about expression, no boundaries, art, making your own music, finding others who share your fetish, love of vegetarian food, desire of bacon with every meal, yoga, home made music and what YOU want it to be.

This is a wonderful video and I’m happy to share it with you. Be well. Be crazy. Be yourself.
~Miss R

ps: Daughter is doing better and seeing her counselor starting Monday.
Weirdly enough she got an email from the BM ORG today. Her backpack was turned in.
It was thrown away by her attacker… but some good soul made sure it appeared in the vast lost and found of 60,000 people.
Not every person is bad. The playa is normally safe. Send loving thoughts to my daughter.
That’s it.

My child is a genius. Yours not so much.

The Demon Seed just finished her last semester with a 4.0, and taking  5 AP classes. She starts at San Francisco State in the Fall. Only a 5 hour drive.

Being a proud mom is about all I can think of today.  The picture below was taken 2 years so in San Francisco, where we went to see Eddie Izzard. The kid’s been on the ball and appreciative of dark humor forever. It was her choice as a Birthday present when she turned 15.

The End

Miss R and the Demon Seed

Yours Truly and the Demon Seed in Haight-Ashbury

A story from the Demon Seed’s childhood

For 10 years I owned a bitchin’ retail game store and espresso bar. Made the best fudge you’ve ever tasted too. Started in the mountains of southern California and then opened the 2nd location in a tourist area of lakes and summer homes in northern Michigan:

Cabin Fever in Crystal Lake, MI

Cabin Fever (and home of http://www.damnedgames.com)

My daughter, The Demon Seed, at age 9, asks ‘Mom I want to work in your store.’
She’d grown up at the store, a 5 year old learning math by making change for customers.

So of course at age 9 I told her I’d pay her …which is why she wanted to work.

Her first task: washing the foam pitchers for the cappuccinos, the fudge kettle (a behemoth that even I needed a step stool to use), the fudge pans…well you get the idea.
She ‘quit’ after 3 hours and asked for her wages.
This is when I dropped the bomb: ‘Cate, the law says that family members are not entitled to wages’. Now this is actually the law and true.
She burst into tears.
I couldn’t take it.

Me being the queen of marshmallows couldn’t bear to tease my free workforce this way.
I gave her $10.00 and she happily made herself a Chai at the big-ass commercial espresso machine (The law also stated that no one under 18 is to operate an espresso machine, what with the boiling water under incredibly high pressure and all) and began helping customers with the games and puzzles we had for sale. Cheerfully I might add.

Look towards the back. Big-Ass Espresso Machine, under the Coffee Menu

She was happy having ‘worked’ the store. I was still amused by my cruel parental joke brief though it was, and my daughter never asked to work again.

Funny thing: When she got to Jr. High School she got a job after school at a local hair salon. She’s about to start college in the Fall, and has held a job weekends and after school every day since Jr. High School.

Demon Seed in Junior High School when asked to work for free.

Apparently she learned a valuable lesson.
Employers who are not related to you WILL pay, on time…. and they won’t laugh either.

The Demon Seed starts at SF State in the Fall and is currently looking for a Part-Time job. She has her resume ready. Hire her and save me some money.

~Miss R

Jew-Child Guilt Wins Again

Guilt!
It’s what for breakfast lunch and dinner.
Eat! Eat! why don’t you call? What they don’t have telephones in California?

You know I was positive I’d get out of the whole college registration day hell and 5 hour drive (each way) to San Fransisco.  Not to mention the cost of a hotel, parking and (okay this is a plus) tasty food in The City. Just for registration, which she’d cunningly managed to miss all three times it was offered in southern California.

My absolute certainty was crushed by my delightful brilliant daughter today. How could I even doubt the power of organic Hebrew guilt? Foolish mother.

Original Plan (in my dreams apparently): Lovely brilliant daughter would arrive here in Reno about a week before starting at San Fran State. We’d go shopping and get her sheets, towels, a toaster, hot pot and all of the college dorm necessities.

Then (in this increasingly idiotic dream world) I would drop her and all of her crap at some front gate, give her a kiss, some cash, cry a helluva lot, and drive back to Reno in tears. Then I’d go see her, when she actually wanted me to, at undetermined intervals. It would be worth the drive to see her even if it were every 2 weeks.
I miss her a lot when she’s  gone.

Not so much when she’s home; she and her friends drinking all of the beer and me (the cool parent) lying to the other parents about exactly what their precious snowflakes were up to. Of course I DID force her to call in every hour to check on the hellions. Just to humiliate her in my own parental way.

No! We’re following a John Hughes movie script. Which was outlined to me this afternoon in a phone call.

The Demon Seed (see lovely brilliant daughter above) will arrive, with a year’s worth of crap, in Reno. Four days later I’ll drive her in SFSU for registration…which I will attend with her.
This was her First Guilt punch, for which she was awarded max points. After all, what kind of parent wouldn’t do this? (ummm mine?)

A week later I will drive her and her buttload of school necessities back to school (Where is Rodney Dangerfield when you need him? You back there? Shut up. I know he’s dead).

We’ll unload above mentioned 4 cords worth of dorm room filler, I’ll meet her room-mate. With my luck the room-mate’s uptight right Wing born-Again Neo-Fascist Overly Friendly parents will want to go for coffee. When all of us really need a stiff fucking drink at this point. My daughter to me today: ‘Mom! You wouldn’t leave me there and not want to meet my room-mate? What kind of parent would do that?!’ -mine-.
I replied that her roomie should be the one to worry. After all, who stashed a machete under her bed in Junior High School?
Her answer: Mom that was a long time ago.

This was Guilt Punch Number Two. A Knock-out for the Demon seed. Mom on the floor reeling with confusion.
How the hell did this happen?! My dreams. My fantastic dreams all crushed by a goth (I am NOT a goth mom), 4.0, self-aware, nutcase of a child who has spent her life attempting to prove her self-reliance.

I blame myself for two reasons:

1. Allowing her to watch John Hughes movies as a child
2. The Amazing Power of the Guilt inherent in all Jewish Children. Where do they get it?
Dear Yahweh where!

~Miss R

Of Funerals, Fireplaces and Fuckers

Been a busy week here at Castille du Blaque.

A funeral but no weddings, sushi twice, the ever present feeling that I’m being poisoned by the fireplace and of course Lizzie Borden (the poker-playing-cheating Persian) horking up the annual winter hairballs at a record pace.

Built a fire this morning at 9:30 (in the fireplace, not the cross on my ex-husband’s lawn. This time.) and it’s up to a sweltering 61F at 5:13 pm.

Damn this castle is old, drafty and cold. The servant’s day off too.  It snowed as well.

Okay it’s a 1921 duplex but it’s my castle. And I’m the only servant…ummm it quit snowing by 10:30 am. in reality.
Still. THE HORROR.

Funeral was for my boyfriend’s mom. Sad, but she’s been very sick for several years.
On the good side my boyfriend took it well. Also fabulous: No fire extinguishers were harmed when yours truly set foot in the church.

Mentioned before that Juanita was a wonderful sweet woman and I’m sure she knew it was time. Am also glad because her husband was abusive to her. At Christmas I saw that bastard pour an entire ashtray full of old butts and trash into her lap. At the time she could not walk by herself, was virtually immobile, and could barely talk.

Offered to help her up and clean off her nightgown. She looked serene and told me it was alright.
Sorry ~P (my boyfriend) but your dad is a world class cocksucking bastard.

Moving along.

Nothing to report besides that Dr. Atkins was blown off for almost a week. And I’ve blown up.  Back on the Taste-less Diet of the Damned today.

May your evening be pleasant, your family healthy, your food tasty and your hairballs land on the linoleum and not the carpet.

~Miss R

Fiber One: A Fight for 2011 Graduation

I’d like to present a guest writer for today’s YoYo-Dyne Blog. A fearless fighter for right and the health of the graduating class of 2011.

The writer is a certified gifted student, not yet 18 years old and may bear some relationship to the CEO of YoYo-Dyne Propulsion. Perhaps even half of the DNA.
Let us present our Senior of the Year 2011… Catherine Edelstein.

Catherine Edelstein

Catherine L. Edelstein: guest writer

———————————————————————–

Many of you know about my desperate battle with fiber one during the last few months. For those who don’t, here’s how it goes:

So everyone has seen the Fiber One commercials. It’s usually with a man or women remarking how whatever they’re eating couldn’t POSSIBLY have fiber in it because it doesn’t taste like cardboard

Pictured: NOT Cardboard

If you haven’t seen these commercials, here’s one

So alright, it’s not the BEST commercial ever. There’s no scantily clad women in the background dancing to a rap song about fiber (though if there were it would probably sell better).

There is, however, Ajay Mehta.

“Who is Ajay Mehta?” you might be asking yourself.

Ajay Mehta is the bad ass Indian dude in those ads who tells the confused costumers how damn awesome Fiber One is.

Pictured: Bad Ass

 

The best thing about the man is his voice. Seriously, I’d believe anything he says. Would I jump off a bridge just because all my friends did? Hell no. Would I jump off a bridge if Ajay Mehta said I should?

Do you really need to ask?

OK, now that we’ve sorted out who Ajay Mehta is and why he’s so awesome, here’s what I’ve been doing periodically through the last few months: Trying to get Ajay Mehta to speak at my high school graduation about the importance of fiber in one’s diet.

This has proven to be difficult.

I started by finding the e-mail of his agent. I continued to e-mail them about sending Ajay Mehta to Hemet to do a fiber-themed speech for my graduation. After only my seventh e-mail, I was informed (rather rudely) that Ajay Mehta does not own the Fiber One character, General Mills does.

This was problematic. I realized there that I didn’t want Ajay Mehta at my school, I wanted Mr. Fiber One. Otherwise I’m just getting some Indian dude who failed in the entertainment industry.

NOT a Bad Ass

What followed this epiphany was a series of emails between me and General Mills. It started with a proposal. When you send in proposals to the company, you basically sum up your intentions in 250 words or less, and if they like the general idea, they allow you to elaborate.

Here, word for word, is what I originally sent:

“Title: Mr. Fiber One:

Together, I believe Hemet High School and General Mills, specifically Fiber One, can work together to get incredible results. We both have ways to help each other. As far as Fiber One goes, children are very uninterested in the importance of fiber in their diet. I, along with many other seniors at Hemet High School, believe that if you were to send Ajay Mehta (Mr. Fiber One) to speak to us about the wonders of fiber, this great tragedy can come to an end. Besides that, the media attention of this can bring wanted attention to your company.”

OK, nothing spectacular. I just wanted to give them a little taste and I’d go into mid blowing details when they e-mailed me back. a few weeks later, I received this e-mail:

“Dear Cate Edelstein:

Thank you for submitting your proposal or request to General Mills.  We will review your proposal against our sponsorship and marketing objectives and will respond within the next few weeks.

At General Mills it is our mission to innovate to make people’s lives healthier, easier, and richer today than yesterday, and we count on new ideas to meet the rapidly changing needs of our consumers. Thank you for your interest in working with General Mills, and we look forward to reviewing your proposal.”

Did you read that? They were look forward to reading my proposal! I was just happy that they were planning to read it. Obviously this brightened my mood. I mean, this was some serious shit, so I was glad they were paying attention.

A few weeks went by before I received there response, and I have to admit, I was a little surprised:

“Dear Cate Edelstein:

Thank you for your submission of September 1, 2010, giving General Mills the opportunity to review your proposal or request.

After careful consideration of the information provided, we’d like to inform you that we will be declining your proposal, as it does not meet our business needs at this time.”

I’m sorry. What? WHAT? My plan of a fiber based unity does “not meet your business needs at this time.”?

GOD DAMN IT.

OK, I’m still a little bitter. But whatever. After a bit of manly crying and a few Hugh Grant movies, I realized that I couldn’t give up on my dreams. I tried to figure out what was wrong with my first proposal, and I realized it MIGHT be the title.
I mean, come on, Mr. Fiber One? How unoriginal is that?

Yeah, that’s never been done before

Also, I failed to compliment their product. I made sure to fix both those problems in my next proposal:

“Title: Orange Jump Rope of Awesome:

I am sending this on behalf of myself, my peers, and my high school. For years I have shown enjoyment regarding your Fiber One commercials. They bring me amusement and an intense craving for all things fiber related. It is now my sole mission in life to get Ajay Mehta to speak at my high school graduation as the Fiber One guy. I think this is important for many reason. For one, teenagers today do not seem to care enough after fiber. By sending Mr. Mehta, this injustice can be righted. Another reason is that Mr. Mehta is an amazing speaker. I hear his voice and I feel better inside. Young adults preparing to enter the real world may be nervous. Mr. Mehta can help solve this problem. Maybe a few fiber bars may help as well. And most important, from your perspective anyway, is the publicity that will come from it. My high school will remember this graduation for years. I implore you to consider my small, yet diligent, request. With hope and dedication, Cate Edelstein”

OK, first of all, just check the title. What the hell is that about, right? I mean, when you read that you can’t help what wonder what this so called Orange Jump Rope of Awesome is.

Not Even Close

You HAVE to continue reading. Then I went on to talk about just how great fiber one is, with only a HINT of sarcasm. I immediately received another email telling me that my proposal was being considered. I felt a little less ecstatic by this one, as I started to suspect may might send out the things to everyone…

Regardless, I was confident this time, up until THIS happened:

“Dear Cate Edelstein:

Thank you for your submission of September 1, 2010, giving General Mills the opportunity to review your proposal or request.

After careful consideration of the information provided, we’d like to inform you that we will be declining your proposal, as it does not meet our business needs at this time.”

Yeah, I admit it. It hurt.

The man’s only made so many movies

At the bottom of these emails is a small disclaimer, telling me not to email back as it will not be read.

Like i’ve ever let disclaimers stop me before.

email one:

“… are you sure? because, i mean, if you considered it a bit more closely, i’m sure you’d realize just how brilliant this specific proposal is…”

NOTHING:

email two:

“seriously? are you fucking serious? This is a good idea! it helps everyone! EVERYONE!”

email three:

“OK, I’ll help pay for airfare or whatever. I’ll fund raise for god’s sake. Just answer meeee”

Finally, a response:

“Please do not continue replying to the address. This is an unmonitored account”

email four:

“You know what? You’re products suck. And they DO taste like cardboard. Chocolate my ass….”

Response:

“Do not contact this company further”

So that was pretty much that. I, an innocent victim of hope, was told to fuck off by General Mills.

For a while, I did. But every so often, someone asks “So how’s that thing with Fiber One going?”

How can I look at all two of these people and tell them I failed? That I let General Mills push me into the ground?

Finally, I rose up from the ashes like a phoenix:

Pictured: Me (totally not from Harry Potter)

Whatever.

Yesterday, I sent in this FINAL plea:

“Title: Time is Running Out:

Dear Sir and/or Madame: I am, for lack of a better phrase, mightily pissed off. I had a mission, a mission that I intended to see through until the end. I wanted, nay, NEEDED Ajay Mehta to come speak at my high school graduation. There has been talks of petitions and fundraising to make this happen, but you have repeatedly and cruelly shut me down. So I ask, with all my remaining dignity, PLEASE consider sending the man to speak about the importance of fiber in our diet. Fiber leads to a longer life. Your company may save hundreds, possibly thousands, if you would ever so kindly send Mr. Fiber One to our school.”

Now, there’s a chance that I may be told once more that my proposal does not fit their needs, but it’s worth it. I will see this through to the end, because I am brave, I am determined, and I have nothing better to do.

————————————-

I’d like to thank Miss Edelstein for her continued and concerted efforts to fight for her right.
Not to party.
But for Fiber.

Good luck Catherine. Wonderful work. If only your step-father hadn’t taken me to the bank in the divorce you’d have a Corvette coming your way this graduation.
Enjoy the Parker Pen Set and your old Schwinn that has been kept in storage for 12 years.

RUN FOR YOUR LIVES: It’s Almost High School Graduation Time

In just a few months my daughter aka ‘Demon Seed’, ‘Goth Genius’, and ‘Goddamnit Cate!’ will be graduating from High School.

She’s a good kid. In fact no one could have a better daughter. No really. All AP classes, 4.0 grade point average, ironic, funny and vocal in her opinions and black humor.

Your kid sucks.

Anyway, she called to let me know that the invites are going out for the graduation ceremonies. She gave me the list of family to be invited. We all have something in common: Love of my daughter and pride in her accomplishments.

Like any family, we have our squabbles. Some haven’t spoken to each other for years, some literally despise each other and many are just apathetic towards the others.

Let’s put it this way. There will never be a Family Reunion Party in my lifetime.

Based upon the known familial facts, and using the Scientific Method, I have come up with a graphic representing what our family section will look like at the her graduation ceremony at the High School football field:

Edelstein-Black graduation seating

Of course the remainder of these seats will be full of more family and my daughter’s friends. This is just an illustration of the immediate family. My mom would be next to me if only she liked even one of us.

I’m going to keep that seat empty with her picture on it.

There’s nothing like the American Family Ideal.

Good luck Class of 2011.

~Miss R

I’ve been up since 3:30 this morning. Kill me now.

Been up since 3:30 this morning.
A result of an unexpected (and foolish) descent into sleep sometime between 11:00 and 11:30 p.m. last night.
No sleeping pills either.
Doesn’t seem to matter.
Sleep pills = 4.5 to 5 hours of sleep.
No sleeping pills = 2 to 4 hours of sleep.

When I’m awake it’s all over. Can’t sleep no more no how.
So I sit in bed watching a show on History entitled The States. Actually caught the one on Nevada. The writers seemed to deem the correct pronunciation of our state of major importance.
This has been an ongoing sore spot for native Nevadans for years.
You know what I say? Who the hell cares.
Tomato tomaaaato. Let the inflectives fall where they may.
Was a bit suspicious about the seeming importance of Vegas that was put in the piece.
Oh c’mon. Reno was first with legal gambling casinos, 24 hour liquor, 60 day divorces with no criteria required and legal prostitution.
Vegas? Ha. Newcomers. Poseurs.

Okay. I didn’t really care all that much. It wasn’t even 4:00 am yet.
Think I’ll spend the next week purposely pronouncing Nevada with the long ‘a’ as in ‘ah’ opposed to Nevada with the ‘a’ pronounced as in cat.
Just to agitate people.
Oh shit. I already do that. Agitate people I mean.

So, I had coffee about 4:00 and decided that vacuuming was out of the question. Wouldn’t want to wake the Cock Sucker Elephant Family upstairs.
Oh didn’t you know? They’ve been upgraded! No comps yet but soon. Maybe I should send them to Vegas. They’re the folks formerly known simply as The Elephant Family.

On Saturday morning said elephants were vacuuming and moving around 50 gallon barrels (filled with cinder blocks) at 7:38 in the morning.
Yes kids. These are the same swine who complained about my music two weeks ago.
The music from the speakers on my computer. Not my stereo.
At 9:00 in the evening.

Must not kill neighbors. Bad for the Karma doncha know.
So about 6:00 the coffee kicks in and I decide that the time has come to clear out the Demon Seed’s room. The Room Of Doom, Storage, and Un-navigable, Unmitigated Fear.
Waited until 10:00 to run the vacuum. That’s the kind of responsible and stylin’ neighbor I am.

Finished the entire room at 3:00 this afternoon.
Tell ’em what they’ve accomplished!

1. Compacted six boxes of antique china, daughter’s no-long-prized-possessions and holiday decorations into 2 extant holiday boxes and two extant other boxes-o-crap-that-cannot-be discarded.
2. Completely emptied the bedroom out into the hallway and living room. Vacuumed, dusted and then re-stacked every last box, bin, storage rack and piece of furniture in there. There are a lot of them. I currently live in a tiny two bedroom apartment but have lived in large homes up until 2 years ago.
3. Re-arranged the shelving units and re-stacked the boxes. Broke down the boxes I didn’t need anymore and hauled them to the dumpster out back.
4. Re-assembled my daughter’s bed and made it up. Manhandled the frame, mattress, box springs and dressers. They are now accessible.
5. Drank an entire pot of coffee
6. Took a xanax.
7. Listened to some great new tunes by The New Pornographers. I highly recommend their tune Letter From An Occupant. The lead singer reminds me of Little Nell from Rocky Horror, who played Columbia.
8. Vacuumed again.
9. Yelled at Lizzie Borden to stay the fuck out of the newly clean and cleared out room

Yeah sure, it’s still cramped. I need a basement or a storage unit or a garage or a friggin house thank you very much. In the interim I DO have my daughter’s room into a semblance of order and she can sleep in her own bed on the next visit.
Sure she’s surrounded by towering plastic shelving units of boxes, a bicycle, several enormous plastic bins, enough suitcases for the Partridge Family, two floor lamps and miscellaneous computer peripherals.
The point is: she can get through the damned door, open the dresser drawers and get into her closet.
My work here is done.

I’m taking some of the back benefits from social security and buying her a ticket out here for Spring Break. She’ll be here with me all summer but damn I miss her and don’t want to wait that long. The evil little thing.
A chip off the old blockette.

Party on Garth.
Oh yeah, and pass the ibuprofen. My fucking back and wrists are killing me.
I need a hot relaxing bath but I’ll be fucked if I’m gonna scrub out the tub after nine hours of hauling around heavy boxes and furniture.
Oh Garcon! More Xanax please. Did you say one of tonight’s specials was the vicodin? I’ll also have two of those please.
Shaken not stirred.

~Miss R

Division Day

My sister just called. Seems that someone sent her a link to my WordPress blog. A blog in which I spoke of our family, including her.
The problem is this: The characterization I portrayed in that piece was in no way flattering to my sister.
She is very hurt and very pissed. When we got off the phone she was incoherent in her tears.

Goddamn this. I write to write. I make additions and observations about the people in my stories to (hopefully) give them a life of their own.
I never craft a piece in an attempt to hurt anyone. Only to amuse myself and hopefully my readers.

I apologized to my sister and tried to explain that I never write anything to intentionally distress anyone. The idea that anyone in my family would see these pieces was ludicrous.
Was.
I’m a writer. I like characters. I like stories. I love to write.
Creativity and exaggeration seem to dance hand in hand. At least for me.

What do I do now? Change names? Situations? Edit every word which flows from this keyboard? Allow the people in my stories to be two dimensional? Stifle my own madness and creativity?

I’ve now accomplished the complete division of what was left of our nuclear family. Chances are good that I will never see my sister or niece or nephew again. I’ve no idea what other repercussions will rain down through the family branches.
I’m pretty sure an umbrella will not help.

I’m torn, hurt, humiliated, filled with sorrow and confused. I can only hope that someday my sister understands that I am only a narrator and window. Nothing more. Not a biographer or newspaper editor reporting only facts.

I only want to make other people laugh and think.
I just want to write.

Fuck.

~Miss R

ps thanks for the words of encouragement donna

Attention! General Boredom and Major Apathy!




Survey Says….

1. It’s 2AM on the weekend, and you are not home. You are more than likely:
dead in a ditch covered with petrol

2. What’s the last thing you spent more than $100 on?
car insurance. grrrrrr

3. What do your bank checks look like?
rubber

4. Where did the shirt you are currently wearing come from?
hot topic in denver

5. Name something that is on your Christmas wish list
peace and love for all mankind. Not really. Fuck that. A car would be good though

6. What color is your toothbrush?
what toothbrush

7. Name something you collect.
Ouija boards. And dust.

8. Last restaurant you ate at?
Legal Seafood in Boston. Nowhere in fucking Reno that’s for sure.

9. Last person you bought a Birthday card for?
my niece

10. What is your worst bad habit?
that is almost a double negative you cretin. So, I’m gonna say grammer.

11. Name a magazine you subscribe to?
Smithsonian

12. Your favorite pizza toppings?
Extra cheese

13. Who’s number were you looking up the last time you used a phone book?
Who the hell uses a phonebook? Google!

14. Who is the person that you love most?
My daughter

15. What is the last thing you cooked?
Baked Ziti with a ricotta cheese, garlic and mushroom sauce.

16. Name something you wouldn’t want to buy used?
a dildo

17. Which shoe do you put on first?
left

18. What is the last thing you remember losing?
my mind. I think it’s under the couch though

19. What is the ugliest piece of furniture in your house?
the tv/stereo cabinet

20. Last thing you bought and ended up returning?
a boyfriend

21. What perfume/cologne do you wear?
Coco Chanel or Opium

22. Your favorite board game?
I hate board games since I used to sell them in my store

23. Last board game you played?
Cranium

24. Where did your vehicle come from?
a fucking retard

25. If a movie was made about your life what would the theme song be?
over my head

26. You’re sad, who can cheer you up easily?
~c or ~t or ~j

27. What was the color of the bridesmaid dresses of the last wedding you went to?
who does that kind of crap at my age? Most are on marriage number 2 and 3 these days.

28. What house cleaning chore do you hate to do the most?
Scrubbing the floors. I keep wrecking my stockings in that French maid outfit.

29. What is your favorite way to eat chicken?
heh

30. It is your birthday. You hope the cake is?
filled with men!

Currently listening:

Wincing the Night Away

By: The Shins

Release date: 23 January, 2007

Hire me or adopt me or kill me

It’s November 1st.
“So what?” I hear you say.
Well, November is a strange month for Miss R.
The obsession with Christmas and the holidays will begin.
The weather may or may not turn conducive to skiing.
Finding last year’s winter wardrobe is a challenge.
Finding out if last year’s wardrobe still fits is always paralyzing.
Of course about everyone in my family has a birthday coming up in the next month as well.
In the next 4 days alone there are three of them.
Matter of fact I’m flying down to Laguna on Saturday morning to celebrate my dad’s 75th and my niece’s 19th.
In less than two weeks I’ll be another year older as well. Jesus.
This isn’t the reason that November 1st agitates and frightens me though. Not this year.

Today marks the first time in more than 20 years that I do not have the rent or mortgage payment on time. Hell, I don’t have any of it and the chances of coming across almost $700.00 in the next 24 hours are pretty bleak.
Halloween wasn’t the only scary thing this week.

Now that it comes down to the bottom line I don’t really want to leave Reno.
Dammit.
Yes Idyllwild is where my daughter is and I miss her. Many old friends and acquaintances are in Idyllwild.
My dad’s getting older and he’s in Idyllwild.
Idyllwild itself is gorgeous and serene.
It’s just that…. I don’t wanna go.

Sure it’s better moving to the same town as my father as opposed to my mother. I can probably get a job quite simply in Idyllwild; I know way too many people there. Moving to Placerville instead entails far more difficulty in finding employment.
If I can’t find a viable job in Reno there’s sure as hell not going to be one in Placerville or Pollock Pines.

Reasons to Go:

1. Have my daughter back home with me. Her grades are back up to A’s and B’s and the goth make-up seems to be a thing of the past as well. She’ll still be an obnoxious ungrateful teen who buys her clothes at Hot Topic but I can live with that.

2. Be closer to my Dad. He’s looking and acting older each time I see him. It freaks me out.

3. My alcoholic friends.

4. The solitude and beauty of daily walks on forest trails. The breathtaking sight of the pines and mountains covered in winter snow.

5. It’s cheaper to live in Idyllwild and there are no ‘transitional’ or iffy neighborhoods. It’s in the middle of National Forest for godssake.

6. Potential employment opportunities at the private Arts High School or for a local business (i.e. old friend).

7. I can’t find a damned job in Reno. Over-qualified. Under-qualified. Have applied for every conceivable position from Web Designer to Barista to Sales Rep in the last few months. Nada.

8. I have no close relationships in Reno anymore. Not my daughter and not a lover or boyfriend.

Reasons to Stay:

1. I fucking hate packing and moving.

2. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

3. There are people in Reno I will miss.

4. No skiing in Idyllwild and the closest ski resorts are a three hour drive to Big Bear.

5. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

6. The closest large stores to Idyllwild are a minimum of one hour away. Down a winding narrow mountain road. Everything’s pretty damned close to home here in Reno. The Truckee River, Wingfield Park, Downtown, and shopping.

7. My father and step-mother live in Idyllwild. Yes at age xx I’m still worried about my parents knowing everything that I do.

8. I left Idyllwild as ‘Someone.’ I’ll return as a groveling pathetic shell of my former glorious self. The humiliation co-efficient is astronomical. Being a nobody in Reno is okay with me. Under the radar and all.

9. Idyllwild is a small village. I will never get laid again in my life.

What to do. What to do.
Of course when my ass is on the street there may not be any decision left to me. So there you have it. A few months bitching about being this looming possibility and now that time is here. Right in my face.

Well fuck me to tears.

~Miss R

Currently listening :
Every Second Counts
By Plain White T’s
Release date: 26 February, 2007

family fun and eating razor blades

Oh for the love of Buddha I am off again to California on November 3rd.
Will this hell never end? I just want to be left alone and enjoy the benefits of agoraphobia.
I’d rather eat razor blades.

The people at Reno International Airport (International? Right. Excuse me while I smirk stage left) know me by sight now. Hell they know my damned name.

“Hey Miss R? Off to Cali again?”
“You betcha. Hell it’s been two weeks. How’s the wife?” I ask
“Oh just fine Miss R. You packing any more of those switchblade stiletto knives?” says Jonathon.
– I giggle- “No hon, just the shoes this time”
“Alrighty then, we’ll see you in two weeks! Don’t forget to pick up that Eightball you left at the security desk on the last trip.”
“Damn. I did forget. You rock. Thanks babe.” And I blow him a kiss.

So this trip is to celebrate my dad’s 75th Birthday.
Holy Christ.
I always think of my parents as being in their 30’s. Fuck I’m older than that now. It’s more than a bit disconcerting when I do see them and witness their physical age.
Hmmm oddly enough they surely feel the same way.

So I have to fly into Orange County (John Wayne INTERNATIONAL airport yark) because the party is at my sister’s house.
Christ I can’t believe I quit drinking. Whadda Maroon.

Yeah I’m so on top of the world now and filled with self-esteem and happy happy joy joy feelings.
Excuse me while I put on the hair shirt won’t you?

Okay it’s worth it to see my dad and he will be surprised. It is after all a surprise party. Well, I’m surprised. What the hell.

Wait nevermind. My dad is pretty much the poster boy for tunnel-vision so maybe not.

Yeah so I’ll see Cate which is a fab thing, and see my step-sisters which is a half-fab thing (’cause I only enjoy one of them), and see my dad which is a wonderful thing.
Then it’s back on a Southwest jet to Reno two days later.
Hopefully for longer than two weeks.
James has got to be sick and tired of catering to Lizzie.
Jeez, James what the hell do you look like anyway? Liz sees way more of you than I do.

I can do this.
No really.
Although I want my Xanax back dammit.

~Miss R

Currently listening :
Say You Will
By Fleetwood Mac
Release date: 15 April, 2003

Oy vey this whine is bad

I feel like a friggin Jewish Bubbe. My back hurts so much that I’m going to scream. The pain runs all the way down my leg through the sciatic nerve.
Moving furniture, air conditioning units and heavy boxes is really dumb at my age. Really really REALLY dumb.
There’s no Motrin, vicodin or anything else in this house either. Jesus.

Took pictures of a lot of useless belongings today. Then wrote glowing descriptions of said items and posted them on Craigs List to sell. There are at least 10 more items to be listed and then I’ve got to have a yard sale. All I need is a fucking yard.

Think that Tinfoil Hat Guy is finally gone. When I took off for a few days I didn’t notify him and upon my return there were 16 messages on the answering machine. 10 were from him. In four days.
Nevermind the fact that he hasn’t paid me in months and does nothing but raise my blood pressure.
Thank god I’m free free free!

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storage, fears, tears no beers

This is far more difficult that I’d anticipated.
As soon as awakening I had my coffee and then went into my daughter’s room.
What used to be my daughter’s room but will be storage now.

As soon as I began to strip the bed the tears came. As I dismantled the bed itself there were sobs coming from… they were coming from me. It’s amazing what we can do when there is no alternative.
Have had three people contact me to say that they were interested in buying the bedroom set but nothing so far.
One idiot wanted just the headboard. Gah.

Now for the first trip to storage. The storage unit has to be cleaned out by today as tomorrow is the 1st.
What’s in there? Boxes and boxes of books, at least three huge boxes of Halloween decorations and twice that volume of holiday décor, a 1910 Buffet and a 19th Century cedar chest that looks like a child’s coffin.
Will hazard a guess that there are at least 20 boxes of antique old family china and of course my vintage Fiestaware collection, a cash register, huge air conditioner, three very large pictures, a rake, oh god this will be swell.

I’m in Reno on borrowed time I think. Without the two people I love most it seems that drifting between sanity and fear has become second nature.
Dammit.

Just had to write in an effort to collect myself. It helps you know.

~Miss R

It’s 2:30 am. Do you know where YOUR brain is?

Think I gave Opera Guy a run for his money yesterday morning.
Well a glissando actually.
Take that.
I’ll see your Rigoletto and raise you one of my original Rags.
My fingernails are broken and my wrists and thumbs ache. I’ve spent at least three hours each day at the piano. It feels good.

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