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

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

Twinkie Twinkie Little Star

Image

 

Whew! Luckily I was able to actually try a deep fried Twinkie in Las Vegas a few years ago. In case you were wondering it was close to inedible. Ugh. Fry-O-Lator oil directly from Fremont Street. One of those things you have to try though… sort of like the dare of tasting haggis. ‘Cause you can can can.

Still, with Hostess shutting their doors I feel like Woody Harrelson in Zombieland. 

Ah, another tiny death of childhood. Just a note: There are no longer ANY Twinkies still on the shelves here in Reno, nor Hostess cupcakes, Devil Dogs or Snowballs. Hope that Twinkies really do last forever. I can already envision these being stored in a cellar next to the fine wines and Dom Perignon.

 

~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

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

The Death of Frank

Frank: RIP you piece of crap

It was getting dark, becoming very cold, and the truck completely ate shit near the sixty five hundred foot level of the mountains. The old beat-up vehicle sat still on a rutted washed-out dirt road. There were no road signs although a few late season souls were camped some miles behind them.

The two been driving these roads looking for crystals. An easy to get to and fun day he’d said. The woman was in severe pain, bouncing and being tossed by the ruts and holes of the fire roads they’d been traveling  Her boyfriend showed no concern, even when she begged him to turn back.

Things hadn’t been going well at home. Lots of arguments. Little talk. The couple had started out with the mutual love of the outdoors, listening to live music and fabulous, fetishistic sex;  this had dissipated into two people sharing a house. Sharing isn’t the right word. Occupying a shared space. Neither of them happy, just existing,

He would come home from work, peek his head into the bedroom and say hello. No more kisses or hugs, not for a long time. She spent the majority of time in bed weeping. The combination of daily pain from a neck and cervical operation and an inability to stop memories of the life she had once enjoyed. The physical agony was never ending, as was the depression. A mobius strip of hell on earth, without a viable answer to escape.

He probably felt just as miserable. Perhaps not. He seemed content to be by himself every night in another room. She never knew because they never talked beyond the superficial.

‘What do you want for dinner?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘There’s not much in the fridge, but I can make you some eggs and bacon’
‘I don’t want any fucking eggs and bacon’

‘You shouldn’t have thrown away every cent on the fast food lunches, DVDs, dinners out with your friends,  Frank and god knows what else.’
‘Well you shouldn’t spend all of your money on weed and cigarettes!”
“At least I put my money aside so the rent and electricity are paid on time. I’m sick of being broke to cover your half of the bills. Yeah you eventually pay up, but sure as hell never on time.”

So it went.

Frank is his truck. Short for Frankenstein. A piece of $500.00 steel crap but her lover could fix anything. Except himself, her or anything that contained DNA. Computers, a car, truck, bike rack, electrical panel, a house you name it. But personal relationships were beyond his purview. As time went on hers were forgotten as well.

The sun went down and the cold Nevada mountain nights set in. Reno is at almost 5000 feet in elevation and they were far higher than that on the back roads outside of Verdi. When leaving the freeway and starting up to the old crystal areas and mines they’d crossed into California. Not an hour from Donner Summit. This is where the truck died.

People back east and in Los Angeles are always stunned to hear stories of streets not being plowed, too much snow to get out of the driveway and pile-ups on the freeway during Reno’s winter.

Reno is an eight hour drive from Las Vegas. Please pass this along to any friends in Hollywood. The couple had seen an old  episode of CSI in which Grisham was handling a case. A sign loomed against his headlights saying ‘Sparks.’

Sparks is the town abutting Reno. As I said, eight hours from Vegas and at least 9 counties past Clark. They had both laughed upon seeing that.

It was getting darker and colder. The man lit a fire in the dried out meadow next to the dirt road. It wasn’t hot enough to warm their feet, being started with dead vegetation. There was no wood or  gasoline.

In retrospect it would have been a wonderful way to be found. Nothing like a roaring forest fire to bring the helicopters and fire marshal. Except for the whole lawsuit and life-long payments to the county for starting a goddamned forest fire and the reparations required. Although at that point the woman didn’t really give a damn.

There were no blankets, food (not an issue yet because they’d stopped for a cheap lunch on the way out of Reno), water, a tent and worst of all no pain medication. Not even an aspirin.

There WAS cell phone service out there. Pure freak of nature.

Bad part was that the day was Sunday. BBQ’s and cocktails for her friends. Shooting expeditions, football and cocktails for his. No one was home to answer a phone, or better yet, they were already too blasted to leave home. Not to mention find two stranded people with no idea of where they were. Yeah,  definite lack of road signs.

The couple was finally found later that evening, by one of his friends. Turns out the battery had fallen over and leaked acid over some of the electrical wires. The guys fixed that. The truck was almost to paved road when the transmission went. Death number two.

At about midnight they were both home and in bed. He on his side of the big bed, she on her side. The day unfolded because he had been complaining for weeks that they never did anything that HE wanted to do.

Looking down upon them you would notice a goofy smile, lasting but a moment, on her face.

~Miss R

Physics Explained!

We here at YoYo-Dyne apologize for the cancellation of our guest speaker tonight.

Stephen Hawking could not be here as he has discovered that his local Chinese restaurant now offers online ordering.
Frankly, once he gets going he may never leave his chair. Too bad he had already vacated the one at Cambridge. Probably far more comfy.

So tonight we will be dark and doing investigative research work on the top secret branch of the Reno Manhattan Project.

Manhattan Project

~Miss R

Burning Man 2011: Recovery is Slow

Hi All,

Back from Burning Man. Celebrated my 7th year on the playa.  Great year and we were voted Best Bar on the Playa…again. We were not even listed in the guide because we never registered as an official theme camp this year and didn’t bring out 1/2 of what we have for the bar/camp. Despite this (and lack of Teeter Totter of Death, Centrifuge merry-go-round and Chairway to Heaven) all of our prior year guests found us as well as thousands of new friends.

C’mon what is better than BDSM with your Bordeaux?
Still recovering from 8 days of radical self preservation in the middle of the Nevada desert about an hour+ from Reno. Usually over 100F during the day and in the 40’s at night), costumes, dance camps, FABULOUS art this year and seriously great music. could only march one gig with Burning Band this year (fucking back. Doh) with my new melodica. It was the Little Black Dress Parade though; the parade (and our band) is a staple at Burning Man.
Not to mention the madness, laughter, gourmet food and NSFW  shit that went on at our bar/camp; Spanky’s Wine Bar.

And apparently still not done. Several other ‘Spankers’ Spanky's Wine Bar: Burning Manstayed in Reno for another week after the Burn ended.

Spent yesterday at the Grand Sierra Resort, hanging by the pool and drinking margaritas. laughing and swimming with some of my best camp mates. Hell, the picture of our camp to the right is from last year. Haven’t even gone through my (crappy this year) pics yet to re-size and post.

Night The Man burned 2011

Night that The Man burned. Hard to tell due to the dust, but I'm standing in front of one of the best new Art Cars on the playa.e actual experience coming soon. As much of it as I can remember...

Piano Wench (that's me!) and Patrick (Trick) ay Spanky's 2011

Piano Wench (that's me!) and Patrick (Trick) at Spanky's 2011

Taylor (a playa virgin this year!), DocMoc and Yours Truly

Taylor (a playa virgin this year!), DocMoc and Yours Truly. Burning Man 2011

~Miss R
And that’s Piano Wench to you

Spring! It’s Hobo time in 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 pathetic 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 ta 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 killed 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.

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

Where to hold a Wake in Reno

Dedicated to Margaret Juanita Harding 1943 – 2011

In case you’re not Irish, Celtic or just crawling out from behind a rock (Hi Jesus!) here’s a short definition of a Wake:
A ‘watching over’ of the deceased.

In Irish households it was customary to hold these parties with the body of the dead present. These days, not so much. If you live in New Orleans, think of the Jazz funerals. It’s a party!
But a party to honor and remember a loved one.

Fear and bereavement go away for a while. You’re thinking of someone else, that you loved, instead of your own problems.

For some sad reason I’ve attended two Wakes in the last two months.
One for Margaret ‘Juanita’  Harding and one for Gus.

Saturday night was Juanita’s Wake. My boyfriend’s mother.
She has been sick for a long time and died in her sleep Thursday night.

As can be expected Perry and I have been staying in since then. Trying to keep busy, awaiting the formal Memorial Service.

Out of nowhere we get a call Saturday afternoon from several of Perry’s childhood friends. They will be at the house in 10 minutes. We are going to have a wake for Juanita. Beginning at the Irish pub around the corner from the house.

We start our Celebration of Death!

When my father died my younger sister and step-mother held a ‘Celebration of Life.’
I almost threw up a little bit in my mouth just writing that.

My dad, dark humored (as in black humor, not no humor) and a recovered alcoholic for 25 years would have been appalled. He would have dug seeing all of the people he touched, and heard the kind words, but the whole ‘Celebration of Life’ thing –with no booze given our Irish heritage- probably made him shake his ass in laughter, even in the morgue. Especially sober.

Anyway, we proceeded to give our love and honor to Juanita and cheer to Perry.

We hoist the first Scotch at Ceol. This is the premier place to begin ANY Irish Wake in Reno. The Scotch selection is outstanding. Juanita was blessed with shots of Lagavulin 16 year old (smoky and the best of the night), followed by Laphroaig 10 year old , interspersed with U.K. beers from Smithwicks to Harp.

Next stop: Filthy McNasty’s.

Do NOT stop here unless you’re already plowed and on your way home from the formal wake. We walked in at 5:30 and it was, er, dead. No Irish beers except for Guinness but they did have two decent Irish Whiskeys. One was chosen, more beers poured and kept the toasts coming. Then left. Dive bar. And not in the good way. I lived in NYC and know a good Irish dive when I see one. The one redeeming feature: the bar’s owner also owns the Bunny Ranch brothel, and so the bar matches could make for a good keepsake. Lots of boobies.

Once again: Not recommended for an elderly woman’s Wake.

Up the street to Ryan’s Saloon. One of the oldest Irish bars in Reno. By this time we had attracted more revelers. Much like a Jazz procession.

In fact after much hard work we managed to find ‘I’m too Sexy’ by right Said Fred on the juke box. Now THIS would have brought a smile to Juanita’s lips.

For the first time in the nine months of my relationship with Perry he was…. drunk. And smiling for the first time since his mom died.

We had a table of well-wishers, many whom had known Juanita and many who had never met her in life, but came to know her in death.

Bar food was had by all, Scott the designated driver got everyone home safely, and it was truly a wonderful evening.

We would have hit Rapscallion’s given more time. Miss R gives this Irish Reno staple a high rating as well.

Juanita had a terrible past few years, but everyone who ever met her adored here. Last night we brought her back to life. And hopefully a little more life to the son that she left behind.

Thankfully Gus went before Juanita. Gus was the hero companion dog of some friends. His owner’s Karen and Jeff held the Wake at St. James Infirmary.
Highly recommended for a beloved companion animal or departed discerning beer lover. Juanita would have enjoyed Gus if they’d met.

So if you lose a loved one, want to send them off right, and wind up in Reno then I hope that this little tour can help.  And raise a glass to Juanita tonight.

 

May we all come to peaceful ends

And leave our debts unto our friends.

~Miss R

It’s Nipple Piercing Day!

nipple piercing needle

Have any piercings? Tats? Bones through your nose?  Surely you’ve thought of having at least one of these artistic additions added to your body.

Or maybe you’re just confused about the entire process. But you HAVE thought about it. Don’t lie to me.

Tattoos?: I have one tattoo. It’s self-designed, inconspicuous, will always mean something to me and… 18 years old. At the time I was the only woman in town with a tatt.

Now tats are everywhere. There are at least 10 parlors here in Reno that I can name off of the top of my head. Or yours if you’d sit still.

I refuse to ever have another because they’re no longer a symbol of creativity or the outsider. Here’s a fine example of what I’m talking about: Really hideous tattoos. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. I’ll wait.

really  bad tattoo

Bones through The Nose? Okay this never appealed to me. Let’s move on.

Piercings? My tongue was done five years ago. There’s a cute little cubic zirconium stud in there. Had it done one lonely Christmas Eve. Lost weight that holiday season. You try eating with a tongue swollen to three times the normal size. Had a fabulous speech impediment for those few days as well. The family couldn’t understand if I was calling to wish them a Merry Christmas or was simply calling to say Bwewyyy Ishhhhmush! Lub Yeuo Nuuuu Nommee!

Really wanted to have my nipples pierced that day, but couldn’t afford it. And had heard a lot of horror stories about infection, refusal for the wound to heal, bars and/or rings being torn out…-shudder-.

Decided to take the plunge yesterday. Or rather the needle. Know several people with nipple piercings and none of them had ever had a problem. What the hell. Made an appointment.

Yes I was devoid of any painkillers. C’mon. Some things hurt bad but some things hurt good. It’s all a matter of degree.

Went to Black Hole Piercings in Reno around the corner from my house. Great staff, and cleaner surroundings than any hospital I’ve seen. Besides, they’d done the tongue and I trusted them.
Do NOT Attempt this at home. Unless you’re a complete moron, then go for it. I love seeing Darwin win.
Luckily my boyfriend came with me. He likes to watch.  And take pictures. No I am not posting them, on the blog. If you would care to send a money order for $219.95 to my address then we can arrange something. Make it payable to “Iva B. Haad.”

First the technician wipes down the nips with betadine. Then she took a small pen to mark each nipple to make sure the piercings will be even on each side. At this point you get to stand up, look in a full view mirror, check for yourself, and conclude that you look like a retard wearing only a skirt with your nipples painted orange.

Following this you lay down, your boobies are adjusted, skin is stretched , you take a deep breath and OMG THE PAIN.

Then the tech slips the hoop through the hole (which has been attached to the end of the needle). This was actually more uncomfortable than the actual piercing. Not the pain, just the discomfort.

Hey that wasn’t so bad. Pretty rad actually. Serious endorphin rush.

Now the other nipple. Woo Hoo. Your body is slightly shocked by this point so it’s a more intense.

Have to say, that I left there within 20 minutes, in NO pain and with the list for follow-up care, etc.
It was great. Not for everyone of course, but there are advantages. You’re on your own contemplating the paramount one.

They’ll be healed (and I’ll get to stop the soaking  twice a day in saline solution) in one to six months. Seriously. Depends on your health, how well you follow up, and god knows what else. Just in time for summer, swimming and of course Burning Man. You can’t swim in a pool, hot tub, lake or any place else while these heal. So do it in the winter if you’re going to take the plunge.

The best part? When the piercings heal there is soooo much fabulous jewelry to choose from. And really, who the hell doesn’t need more jewelry?

musical dangling nipple ring

Very cool experience.
And I have the pictures to prove it.

~Miss R

Welcome to Reno! Home of the Homeless!

Reno: Biggest Little City in the World

As usual all things Reno, Nevada interest me. Many times they disgust, amuse, nauseate and confuse me as well. Reno has been my home for six years. Investigating the city has proven far less taxing than digging up the backyard. For body disposal. The neighborhood children dig me –no pun intended- because they get to play in the dirt and use the big rusty shovels while their parents are all still at work. It’s for the kids!

Anyway, there is apparently some kind of depression going on in the country. So I thought it would be interesting (disgusting, amusing nauseating and confusing) to see what Reno has to offer YOU.

Besides being an hour away from fabulous skiing, boasting the Truckee River with   great swimming and kayaking, and a host of (dying) Casinos.

Let’s go!

1.      We have fewer foreclosed homes than Las Vegas

2.      Nevada’s budget gap is worst in nation – next year’s revenues will pay for only 45% of this year’s budget. Reno will be Number One in receiving less funds.

    3.      Reno is only 20 minutes from the state capitol, Carson City. This is where the governor’s mansion and capitol building reside. Our last governor spent an average of less than 12 days out of every nine weeks in Carson City. He spent most of his time in Las Vegas. When he did come to town he was consistently caught with strippers and other high class women. Come on isn’t this great? Would you want a politician spending all of his time so close to you? I’m pretty sure his wife was happy. 

    4.      Reno is projected to have The Worst housing market in the US and has been voted one of the Thirteen National Housing Markets that will never recover. This was posted on Business Insider. Don’t worry. Las Vegas is listed as well. Go Nevada!

    5.      Nevada is Number One in unemployment. I’d like to personally thank Reno for their part in encouraging fast food franchises and chain stores, while taxing the living hell out of start-up businesses. Don’t ask me how I know this.

    6.      Reno WAS the divorce capital of the world. Damn. We lost this one in the 60’s.

    7.      It is against the law in Reno to place a bench in the middle of the street. Yes this is still on the books and a fine law it is.

    8.      Burning Man. Need I say more. Actually, this is the only positive thing I could find to place on this list.

    9.      Reno is the original home of the Harrah’s gambling empire. This means we’re Number One in helping instigate the formation of Gamblers Anonymous.

    10.

    Well the guy who lives next to me in my duplex is outside playing the banjo. Again. Seriously. And it’s barely above freezing out there. Time to hit the basement and get that shovel sharpened. Come children!

    ~Miss R

Your Racist Friends

Part One of Two by She Who Never Gets Her Ass into These Subjects

Let me start by saying that guests in my home have to follow but one rule: No discussion of Politics or Religion at a party.

Don’t care if you make drinks and puke on the carpet, have kinky sex with a Beanie Baby in the back bedroom –please for godssake close the door- , discuss your fabulous precious snowflakes –you will be shut down quickly on this one- or build a mountain out of mashed potatoes.

Just no politics or religion.

Okay.

So, met a new guy. Like him lots, he makes me laugh, is tall enough to reach stuff in the kitchen on the higher shelves; brown sugar, baking powder, otter pops for summer and all the food items that are rarely used.

He can fix a car (the strange metal devices that cost me hundreds of dollars only to sit parked on the street for months at a time), build shelving out of metal (this whole metal thing is clearly an attraction) and like myself, is a total geek. More than a geek. An Uber Geek! Master of computer tech and hardware. And a nerd. Ah, to joke about I’m The Fucking Batman with someone other than my daughter.

Best of all he tells me I’m beautiful. Not sexy or cute. Beautiful.

Ask any woman and she’ll tell you that this is the sure-fire panty peeler line.

Weirdness Factor: He’s a Republican. I’m a moderate Progressive. Not a Dem. Not Indie. The point is that we don’t shove our beliefs own each other’s throats and even joke about them

Here’s the problem: Remember that tune by They Might Be Giants?

Your Racist Friends?

Well, my new honey has got ‘em. In droves. Not all of them, some are quite rational even if we do not subscribe to the same beliefs.

It’s the trolls. The righteous who post incessantly on Facebook, take over conversation at parties, online, and god forbid you’re trapped with one of them in a car for extended periods of time.

We’re not talking Republicans. Independents, Libertarians or even disgruntled Bush supporters. Teabaggers are afraid of these guys.

These friends of my new love are rabid Kill Obama (seriously), Kill and Deport ALL Muslims (seriously and hopefully in that order) and return all illegal aliens (oddly enough they only hate on Mexicans) to their home soil. Preferably in the same way they suggest disposing of the Muslims.

Beck is a god and ‘never lies.’ Sarah Palin is the most intelligent woman in politics and is the obvious choice for our next president. Harry Reid is a moron (well, I’ll go along with that one).

More tomorrow. I know politics bore you but I feel like a hypocrite talking to you

You and your racist friends

~Miss R