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.
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

Adopt an Eccentric!

One Eccentric Dies Every Three Seconds.
You can make a Difference!

Why send money to Africa or Latin America and adopt a child who will never see you or really give a shit?
There are deserving people right here in Reno Nevada who need your help!

Every day another Eccentric is pushed from their home and winds up on the street. It’s sad isn’t it. A life wasted. A worthess college degree, musical talent, and the darkest and most absurd sarcasm on the planet snuffed out like a candle.
But you can help.

That’s right, for only a dollar a day you can help save a local person from a life of petty crime, poverty and all of those gross fucking flies.

When you adopt Rachael here’s what you’ll Receive:

A picture of your adopted Eccentric (please send additional $50.00 for a ‘special’ picture)
A hand-written letter from Rachael thanking you for your generosity and incredible altruistic foresight
A Designated Driver for all of those society functions you attend
A Lifetime supply of dark twisted jokes and observations
An Obsessive Compulsive Streak guaranteeing you a clean spotless home

100% of your donation goes directly to your Eccentric!

Time is running out. Won’t you please help?
Without concerned people such as you this Eccentric will wind up on the streets in a matter of two weeks.
Can you really live with yourself knowing that this Flower of Gentility and Erudition is living under the bridge off of 4th Street?

Make a difference! Give to the Adopt An Eccentric Fund today and see Rachael’s eyes light up and shine again.
With hope.

May Flying Spaghetti Monster Bless you and Hold you with His Noodly Goodness.

Currently listening:
Morph the Cat
By: Donald Fagen
Release date: 14 March, 2006

(not for much longer though because the power is going to be shut off)

Miss R’s 2007 Halloween Costume Suggestions

Halloween is almost here.
My favorite day of the year.
Hell, every day is Halloween at my house.

As usual I’ve no idea what to do for a costume this year. Although since I have no party invitations nor beau to go out with it may be a moot point.

I’m fucking sick of the usual sexy  insert woman’s costume name here” that are all alike. French maids, hot vampires, goth brides, pirate wenches.
These have all become de rigueur the past few years. Of course far be it for me to abstain from Slutty attire. It’s just become so very yawn at Halloween.

Here are some ideas that have been roiling about in my puerile little brain. A major point here is cost.
I is ‘po.

Miss R’s Difficulty Rating is listed:

George Sand: Easy
Hit the Salvation Army and purchase a tailored men’s suit, grab some parchment and carry around my antique fountain pen.

Tippi Hedren in The Birds:  Fairly Easy.
Already have a couple of Fab 50’s suits, a glue gun and can hit up Michael’s for a few fake black birds to strategically place about my body and hair. Adorn with fake blood.

Miss Twin Towers: Moderate Difficulty
Salvation Army Formal Dress. Think gaudy Bridesmaid stuff. A sash with the words “Miss Twin Towers” written across it. A Beehive hairdo with a plastic model plane stuck through it. Yeah it’s tasteless so what. It IS funny.
To be honest I did this years ago as “Miss Cerritos” after a plane crashed in the city next to us. I’ve been a sick bitch for quite some time now.

Uniquitous Crazy Cat Lady from Down the Street: Moderately Easy.
Salvation Army time again. Tacky robe, truly awful slippers, stuffed cats, big-ass pink hair curlers, cigarette dangling from mouth

Medusa: Medium Difficulty
Long Black Dress from thrift store because mine are all too cool/expensive to cut up. A plethora of plastic snakes glued onto a headband. This last will be the challenge. Have to make it look hip and not schlocky. Ask guys I see if they ‘Wanna get stoned.’

Chain Smoker: Moderate Difficulty:
Wrap chains around myself and over a few pieces of bondage attire (love those O rings) that I may happen to own. Have a pack of cigarettes sticking out of my top. I like this one. Wonder why?

Semi-Formal: Easy
Full make-up and styled hair. Wear my tailored Tuxedo jacket with a swim suit bottom and flip flops.

Natalie Portman’s Character from Garden State: Easy
Wet down hair and apply loads of product for the wet look. Pull large Hefty Bag over clothing. Bag can later be used to dispose of those pesky body parts in the living room.

Lady Godiva: Moderate Difficulty
First problem is obtaining the wig, me being broke and all. Second problem is the whole 40-year-old-body thing. Last resort costume.

A Virgin Difficult.
Okay no one would buy this.
New Rating: Impossible.

Teenaged Girl: Easy
Spend $5.00 on abandoned 70’s attire at the thrift store. Apply several shades of color to my hair; oh shit! I’ve already got this part done. Place pack of ciggies in back pocket. Walk around all night calling people “Dude” and/or telling them “Go fuck yourself you’re not the boss of me.”

Well those are my best ideas so far. By all means let me know if you’ve any of the items I’m looking for or a costume to fit a busty size 14 gal.
Feel free to use any of the above yourself. I just want pictures.
Mmmm don’t I always –wink-.

~Miss R

Currently listening:
By: Depeche Mode
Release date: 22 February, 1990

A Friday Bitch

Have to begin packing up my daughter’s room today. This will entail taking apart the bed, and wrestling the mattresses up against the wall.
I must get the storage unit emptied out this weekend and the only place to put the boxes and furniture is Cate’s room.

Then on the 1st everything will be ready for imminent eviction.

I’ll be the only homeless woman in Reno wearing Steve Madden Pumps, Tripp mini skirt, diamond earrings, Kate spade backpack, silver fox fur coat and a Movado watch. Jesus.

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hey… I could be YOU!


Tune in Tonight at 8:00 for this week’s episode of ‘Acceptance!’

Swear to Goddess I am fucking baffled and bemused by life.
I had to send my daughter to live in Mayberry with her dad.
I’m bankrupt (financially and morally but not intellectually) and for the first time in 15 years live in a fucking apartment and not a house that I own. My Jeep is going to disappear any day now.
All this after 11+ years of NOT drinking.

I have more issues than a newsstand so at least there’s still that whole literary thing going for me.

Started back to meetings on Monday though. Eeeesh.
God grant me the serenity to not kick your ass for mentioning Jesus again.
Oh well it’s what I can do to shut my head off for an hour.
So here I sit at 4:00 pm writing in my chemise sipping a glass of club soda, as opposed to Max who sips diet coke and vodka. Maybe I can go to the embassy and claim Dipsomaniac Immunity.

Luckily all hope is not gone: There ARE worse things.

1. I could be my ex-husband. Either one!
    a) Lucky Ex-husband Number One: graduate degree with an MBA from Baruch. Makes 10.00 an hour as an assistant manager of a market in a tiny resort town. His troll wife is an evil bitch, as opposed to an everyday/garden variety bitch such as myself. Their daughter is mildly autistic. Okay there is no MILDLY autistic. The kid is totally sideways. So are they for not admitting it and taking steps to help the poor child.
    b) Lucky Ex-Husband Number Two: An utter sociopath with the charm of a Prince, the looks of a rock star (no NOT Mick Jagger a good-looking rock star), an astute and true eye for detail, color, and craftsmanship and a deep appreciation of American history and nature. Of course he has also been known to eat roadkill, break my nose, bake squirrels in the oven for his dinner, alienate every person he initially charms and befriends, and is about to marry a woman with FOUR –count ‘em FOUR!- young children. Heh. Oh yeah his house is being repossessed because I no longer support him.
2. I could be dead. Uhhhh I may have to re-think this one.
3. I could be this total dumbass who drowned while trying to grab his cell phone out of a storm drain. He weighed 300 pounds and got wedged in. Call for Mister Darwin. Phone call for Mister Darwin.
4. I could live in Florida! Right there I got a smile out of myself.
5. I could weigh 300 pounds AND live in Florida.
6. Okay there is no number six but maybe I’ll come up with something later.

Life goes up and down. It’s the lows that make it hard to get though the days and nights.
God I fell asleep at the computer last night. Nice. The last email I’d sent got such a laugh out of TK that he has threatened to keep the damned thing. It’s a mishmash of misspellings and repeated and half finished sentences. I never proofread or spellchecked it. Grrrrr.

Can’t get ahold of Tinfoil Hat Client today so I’m clearly not going to get a check this week,
Guess it’s back to work at the Wild Orchid as a stripper. Luckily the management is cool there and lets me work two shifts.

The fine gentlemen throw money on stage along with my clothes and yell

“Hey babe! Put it back on! Put it ALL on!”


~Miss ‘blaze starr’ R

Good Morning Reno

Good Morning!

Oh yeah it’s that time again. The shiny hurty bright thing is up in the sky.
TK called at 4:00 this morning to see if I was awake because that’s what friends do right? I’m still grinning over that one. It takes a special kind of close friend to pull that off. On the bright side I was treated to tales of the doings of the downtown bar scene last night. I’m such a voyeur.
Hmmmm now there’s another blog in itself.

Went back to sleep after about an hour. Got up at 6:45 to make the coffee and realized that the only thing in the fridge to use in my java is leftover soymilk. Thanks Kiddo. I’m left with a freezer full of Morningstar and a full half gallon of –gag me- LIGHT vanilla soymilk.
The crap has a vaguely greenish tinge. One of my most pressing questions has always been… How do you know when soy milk goes bad? It looks bad the day it’s processed. Ugh.

Of course I could run downtown to where a new Starbucks is being built.

Of course we need a Starbucks downtown (she says in her most sarcastic voice which is outstandingly wicked). It’s going into the retail level of a new ultra-expensive condo building on the river. Great. There are two indie coffee places within a block of where Starschmucks is going in. Reno wants to be Vegas but it will never happen. All the construction, ripping out old hotels or re-building them as luxury apartments won’t fix anything.

In the 80’s we said that coke was God’s way of saying you make too much money (as I snorted 8-balls in my office on the 27th floor of Rockefeller Plaza). The modern Reno version replaces coke with Riverfront Condo.

Actually I’m at the age where living in a condo sounds okay.
Already did the material girl stuff including expensive cars, nice houses, snowmobiles, boats, blah blah blah. Did the yuppie scum thing in the 80’s; suit, Reeboks on my feet briefcase in hand taking the D Train into Manhattan.
Later on owned a business that allowed me to take vacations, buy my daughter all of the things I never had and make my home on the river a perfect retreat.

Now I’m older and starting over. Bending over to weed a yard is a pain in the ass, literally, and having a super in the building seems like a nice perk. I do miss that about living in The City. After NYC I never thought of living in a condo again but now….

So I start to check out the prices of these new dwellings on the Truckee River here in Reno.
The Montage: Gorgeous floorplans, gym, river view and $400K for a two bedroom unit.
The River Walk: Loft type units, all new appliances, gym, security building and $350K for a two bedroom unit.

You get the point. I could buy a damned house with a huge private backyard and hire Bubba the yard guy to do the weeding for that kind of money.
So I think I’ll stay here at Chez Hovel Noir and keep my back limber by weeding the greenery popping up in the asphalt cracks in Little Tijuana.
I’m becoming okay with living with what I have.
It isn’t much but it’s all I need.
Had it all, lost it all, found some money on the street and bought it all back again doncha know.

This place is in a pretty neighborhood and my piano and most of my books fit inside. I only need a vehicle to get into the mountains to ski and thank god I’ll never have to buy another expensive fucking suit. I have a bike to ride and club soda to drink. I don’t eat very reliably (or well) by myself. Thanks for keeping me curvy and fed TK.
Remember my credo:  If I were to lose weight the wrinkles would show.

Here’s my fridge now that the kid is no longer here. Gallons of club soda, hummus, capers and condiments.

Funny how your wants and needs tend to dovetail as you get older.
that’s the way ah ha ah ha I like it
ah ha ah ha.

~miss r

Currently listening:
By: Brian Setzer Orchestra
Release date: 01 August, 2000

this is morose. go have a drink instead.

My daughter started school in Idyllwild Monday. She starts a job after school this week as well.
Things will get better for her I know it, and this summer I will fly her out for a week at least.

The house is quiet and so odd without her.
I don’t miss the
insane drama but I do miss her.

The past few days have been spent trying to relax in the sunshine. Keeping the aggressive and unceasing din of thought from overtaking my consciousness. Still, there have been hours occupied with pain, anomalistic behaviors and mental deductions. Luckily I’ve been left alone during those incidents to grieve and wallow in bits of self-pity instead of chastised for going to the dark place.
Seems there is some kind of damned platitude involving time healing.
Yeah. I’m all over it.

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How Much Would you pay for my soul?

Have decided that the weekends are my own and I’m under no obligation to answer slews of emails and phone calls from unnamed clients.

A current client sends a minimum of 25 emails each day along with 4 phone calls, all of which I am expected to answer right then goddammit. This is not a high-paying gig. At all. This has become a dance with death. my mouse

Things to consider while contemplating this matter:

  • Yours Truly has 12+ years of experience doing what I do. That would be for a living you perv. I’ve 30 years experience in the other department but am now too old for anyone to actually PAY me.
  • Somewhere in the past is an utterly useless but fairly expensive college education.
  • I am funnier and far more amusing than my clients or employers. Darker too which adds another 1000 points to my High Score.
  • Am going through a horrific period of acute depression via my close personal friend bi-polar disorder (oh yeah I’m bi. I speak Spanish. Into S&M too ‘cause I can speak Spanish and Mexican).
  • The bank account is depleted
  • I am a whack job of paramount distinction

So what we have here is a conundrum: I am too fucked up and distraught to stop weeping or concentrate for longer than 20 minutes at a time but need to support the demon child and myself.


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Saturday Night, Sunday Morning and Mr. Maldonado

Poor me (a drink if you please) did not return home until quite late last night. I spent several pleasurable hours at the Zephyr hanging out and hearing EJ play an acoustic set.

My morning started with climbing from beneath the comforter and blankets, stumbling to the kitchen, and finding that the coffee pot had spewed forth it’s caffeinated goodness all over the counter, down the wall across the floor and finally depositing in a pool under the opposite wall.

I did a quick clean-up then got into the car and drove to Bibos for a large cup of dark roast. Then to Albertsons for more coffee because the last of the beans in the house had been reduced to floor mud prior to my awakening.

I do not think that the cashier was amused by my pillow-mussed pigtails, sleepy eyes, cup of aromatic Peruvian and the purchase of a $12.99 bag of Peets along with organic breakfast bars. With my Food Stamp card.

Damned philistines everywhere I turn.
Perhaps I should use my government subsidy to purchase Capt’n Crunch, Coca-cola, Chef Boy-R-Dee, fish sticks and Cheeze-Whiz like the rest of the hygiene-challenged indigent asswads in Reno.

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The Spaz Co-Efficient

Writers Block. Skiing. Errands. Torturing a Teenager.
To some degree these have all contributed to my lack of writing over the last week.

Yesterday I’d every intention of writing an entry before retiring for the night. Well, the Road to Reno is Paved with Good Intentions, so here we are this morning instead.
My excursion to the gym last night wiped me out instead of amping me up.

If you had been lucky enough to cruise down Arlington at 7:30 this morning, racing at 15 MPH by the school here, you might have spied yours truly skating across the parking lot here at Chez Noir. An armful of laundry, quarters, and Cheer balanced precariously on a body dressed in pajamas, loafers and a huge brown sweater.
Hell if I know why I’m not engaged or married since this picture alone is not worth a thousand words, but a thousand dollars. In terms of blackmail at the very least.

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Another Illuminating Overly Personal Day-In-The-Life Blog

Rachael’s Personal Meditation For Monday:


Today I will Terrorize my Inner Child

Couldn’t sleep last night. Not exactly a headline is it.

At midnight I took a Restoril after being involved in an IM conversation for about 30 minutes with Scott W.

For some reason Ambien and Lunesta don’t have much effect on me. So Doctor Abu Havasquishy prescribed the Restoril. It’s an older sleeping medication… and praise be to Allah it worked. Of course the night before it worked but only for two hours,  then I woke up at 4:00 am with creepy-crawlies and the committee having a meeting in my head.

Tried to relax with a bowl of dry cereal. Gluten Free ’cause I’m fucking old and my body seems to reject anything tasty except for men. Sadly they don’t seem to be in season.
This brings me to why I woke up at 7:00 am this morning, despite having managed only 10 hours of sleep total within the prior 72 hours.

“Hello Laura?” says a male voice, which I seem to vaguely recognize.
“Uhhhhh no.” It takes a moment to remember that I am in fact NOT Laura. “This is Rachael.”
Dead Silence
“Oh. This is Glen. Hi Rachael. I thought that I was calling my realtor. Um, really I’m not calling other women.” He laughs uncomfortably.

Glen is the guy who took me to dinner last night. A pleasant evening at Washoe Steak House. Here I thought that he was a nice guy because he gave just me a simple peck on the lips after our date. I was home by 7:30 thinking “Coolness. He didn’t try to cop a feel in exchange for the Filet Mignon.”
Apparently because he’s banging Laura. heh.


th Birthday Again ™

Note the Tiara please.

Excuse me while I take a bite out of this Godiva truffle.
Yum. Dark Chocolate in this one.

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