Just another night in Reno. Move along nothing to see here.
I was invited to the Magic Underground last night to see Kalin and Jinger. Astounding show. If you live here in Reno get tickets, and if you’re in Vegas you can also catch them. Close-up magician Jacques Simard boosted my Movado without my so much as noticing.
Here’s the weird part: That afternoon I’d taken the watch to a jeweler and had the band repaired. To say I was cognizant of that watch last night is an understatement.
Yesterday afternoon my friend ~J invites me to this show, the tickets are courtesy of his company. I couldn’t decide what the hell to do last night so I said ‘sure, sounds interesting.’
It was my understanding that we’d see the show then wander around downtown checking out the thousands of Drunken Santas, reindeer, elves and Slutty Mrs. Clauses. I thought that the tickets were a perk of ~J’s job and perhaps one of the owners couldn’t make the show and passed the tickets along. Cool.
Here’s what happened: I got dressed as usual for a night out with friends in Reno. You know; silk whalebone corset, skirt so short that when I lean over to say ‘hi’ you can see my ass cheeks, garter belt, stockings and heels. Oh, and of course my Fab 1950’s black cashmere coat with the huge fox collar. It’s fucking cold outside.
So I get to Magic Underground, it’s dark outside and cold, and have a smoke waiting for my friend to arrive. He shows up and I find that this is not actually a ‘left-over ticket’ evening. It’s the fucking Corporate Christmas Party.
You know that recurring dream? The one in which you show up to school but forgot your underwear? It was just like that except all I was wearing WAS my underwear.
Luckily these people are all geeks (it’s an IT company) and didn’t seem that phased. We all got along great. Oddly I’ve been trying to get a job there.
This seems to be a fine first impression wouldn’t you agree?