Springtime in Reno!

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

Springtime for Hobos in Germany! Reno!

ittle Nugget Reno

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Miss R

The Time Has Come

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

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

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

you thought PIZZA was a guy's Obsession

Speaking of which…

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

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

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

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

Supplies! Utter noms in Reno.

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Miss R

Night of the Living Wine Gums

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

wine gums

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

WINE GUMS!

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

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

Welcome 'O Seeker of Knowledge

Welcome ‘O Seeker of Knowledge

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

The exception that Changed My Life.

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

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

As you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

To paraphrase Rufus T Firefly….Hail Hail Wombania!

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

Mmmmmmmm Wine Gums.

~Miss R

Erection Night 2012!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~Miss R

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

Horace and Cornelius

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

Gerlach for instance;

    KLAP – 89.5 FM Gerlach

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

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

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

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

    Midtown Reno

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

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

I Rarely Leave The House…but When I Do

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where the fuck have you been?

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

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

Work Party at Skunkworks

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

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

4th Of Juplaya Pics

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

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4th of Juplaya
Playa

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It’s a Sloth!

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

Apologies. Missed all of you.

~Miss R