Reno!
I spent the night at Matthew and John's so that I didn't have to drive up on Christmas Eve day, when the traffic would be at hither to unheard of levels of ire-making. Matthew showed me the wonders of The BEAST and their 50 Most Loathsome People of 2007; I loved it. The next day was the drive to Reno where (surprise!) we got a late start. It was an inauspicious start; my blood sugar level was plummeting, causing me to free-associate and become zombie-like. Matthew, showing his Californian roots, forgot to bring a jacket and the Patton Oswalt CD, so we had to double back to the house. We grabbed grub at Wendy's. I think. Actually, I can't remember so much because my mind had shut off by then.
But! we were finally on our way. The drive through the Sierra-Nevadas is most beautiful. It belies the hoary bleakness that is Reno. It really is desolate. It's like the midwest, but without forests.
Finally at Harrah's, I look and see that I have four "missed" calls on my phone; two of them are from my cat sitter. "Your cats got out. Ganymede came back in, but Amalthea won't come back in." Good God! what do you want me to do about it, exactly? I told her to wait for an hour or so and he'll come back in. For God's sake! don't call me if the cat's out. I'm traveling which means that I'm in a bad mood. I'm far away, so I can't help. Just get the cat back into the house.
There was gambling but not much gamboling. I lost money, of course. We went to the saddest little bear bar in the world. Seriously, when Richard, Scott, Randy, John, and I walked into Carl's, we doubled the occupancy of the place. One person in there actually cheered! No one came over to try to chat us up, though. Everyone was just playing their little video poker machines, or chatting it up amongst themselves. Also, what is it about a Tom Collins that bartenders don't know how to make them anymore? This is not the first time that I had to explain what went into one. I mean, it's not like I asked for Romulan ale with a side of horta blood.
Funny side note: This guy who Scott chatted up on-line (and who impressed Scott by calling him middle aged) was there. We determined that he was a Monet. It was doubly sad when he wouldn't stop texting Scott to try to hook up, even after it was made rather clear that that wasn't going to happen.
Let's see. We stayed up way too late talking about pretty much everything, ate gobs of food. I got a frickin' makeover, including micro-derm abrasion and face mask made from H2SO4 (the burning means it's working!). Richard ripped about a billion hairs from my forehead to create the illusion that i have two eyebrows. I think I got a billion times gayer in the process.
But! we were finally on our way. The drive through the Sierra-Nevadas is most beautiful. It belies the hoary bleakness that is Reno. It really is desolate. It's like the midwest, but without forests.
Finally at Harrah's, I look and see that I have four "missed" calls on my phone; two of them are from my cat sitter. "Your cats got out. Ganymede came back in, but Amalthea won't come back in." Good God! what do you want me to do about it, exactly? I told her to wait for an hour or so and he'll come back in. For God's sake! don't call me if the cat's out. I'm traveling which means that I'm in a bad mood. I'm far away, so I can't help. Just get the cat back into the house.
There was gambling but not much gamboling. I lost money, of course. We went to the saddest little bear bar in the world. Seriously, when Richard, Scott, Randy, John, and I walked into Carl's, we doubled the occupancy of the place. One person in there actually cheered! No one came over to try to chat us up, though. Everyone was just playing their little video poker machines, or chatting it up amongst themselves. Also, what is it about a Tom Collins that bartenders don't know how to make them anymore? This is not the first time that I had to explain what went into one. I mean, it's not like I asked for Romulan ale with a side of horta blood.
Funny side note: This guy who Scott chatted up on-line (and who impressed Scott by calling him middle aged) was there. We determined that he was a Monet. It was doubly sad when he wouldn't stop texting Scott to try to hook up, even after it was made rather clear that that wasn't going to happen.
Let's see. We stayed up way too late talking about pretty much everything, ate gobs of food. I got a frickin' makeover, including micro-derm abrasion and face mask made from H2SO4 (the burning means it's working!). Richard ripped about a billion hairs from my forehead to create the illusion that i have two eyebrows. I think I got a billion times gayer in the process.