Caterwauling

Am sitting in the Reno/Tahoe airport, wondering why no one in this city has a reasonable gift shop. Not that I want to commemorate this trip with a souvenir shot glass (however appropriate that may be), but the only thing I saw was a really cute Lake Tahoe shirt. Unfortunately, the shirt only came in size small, and when I asked the cashier whether there were any additional sizes available, she said no and asked if she could wrap up one of the ones on the rack. Hahaaaaa. Maybe if I sewed together two of them! Please. How dumb can one be?

That’s been the overarching theme here: stupidity. As a gal on the hotel shuttle noted, everyone here is in their own little world. I mean, I was driving through downtown Reno the other day, and I wanted to yell to these idiots who jaywalked on the main drag, “Don’t you know there are D.C. drivers on your streets?!?!” Lord. The right of way is always yours. Well, it’s never really yours, but you fight for it anyway.

Keeping with the “strange city” theme, we had drinks in the sports book last night (OMG, best bloody mary of my life. Or, at least, this month), and some dude was playing Solitaire at the next table. With a deck of cards. Not one of the billion, oh, MACHINES in the casino.

Upon further inspection, I noticed that the cards were the ones being sold in the “gift shop” — ones with people’s names on them. A generic “Tom’s Deck of Cards” was what he was playing with. I might venture that this was the ONLY full deck he was playing with!

Another strange sighting: The casino servers are size-zero women who are in high-cut bathing suits all day. But what’s hilarious is that they are practically naked, but they’re all walking around in black orthopedic shoes to match their teeny black panties. I don’t blame them — once I passed 30, wearing heels all day and night got REAL old — but they’re only sexy from the ankles up.

Speaking of all things sexy (that one’s for you, V!), we did a big video shoot yesterday. And after losing sleep for weeks over this thing as I scripted it, well, the talent had no desire to follow said script. And it’s OK, because we did get some good footage when he went off on his tangents. But still — I spent Sunday night scripting extra things we wanted to film, and we never got around to it. *bonk* I missed out on my Jacuzzi to work on that shit, so I am not the happiest camper on earth, especially since it was one of the nights I was paying for at the hotel.

In better news, last night we went to hands-down the best sushi restaurant I’ve ever been to, Oceano. What kills me is that I am THRILLED to leave Reno and never come back, but God damn, I will be craving that stupid Oceano roll till the end of time. Yum.

It’s Halloween and all the hotel and airport workers are be-costumed. And it’s funny how these normally surly people with whom I’ve spent the last four days suddenly cheered up once they were in their festive garb. Reminds me of Denim Day at work — everyone was so freaking peaceful. Amazing how a slight change of routine can make such a difference. Which is why I’m in a really good mood today, no doubt.

Personally, I’m dressed as the hoe of Tahoe. I picked up a very tacky sparkly shirt at Ross (yes, that’s where I did all my souvenir shopping) and HOO BOY are the girls out in full force. I didn’t realize till I sat down and men started staring at me that this lil empire-waist number meant the ta-tas were so readily exposed.

But I needed a shiny, tacky frock to remind me of my wild weekend in the “Biggest Little City in the World” — and I couldn’t wear it to the Halloween parade at work today, so it’s only appropriate to get its first and only use in this neon mountain town!

Apparently knowing the city in which you are driving is an optional skill for cab drivers.

Also, apparently knowing the hotel layout when you are a hotel employee is also a “nice to have” skill.

*bonk*

Dinner tonight was at Charlie Palmer’s, which was absolutely lovely. I will rave till the end of time about my French onion soup. And I hate onions. But it was filled with delicious beef brisket and it was covered in a piping-hot puff pastry shell and a layer o’ cheese. Dear God. Yum.

Anyway, it was a centralized meeting place for our airport arrivals and those of us who were already nestled in our hotel rooms. The address is Second Avenue. Fine — I went to Jack in the Box on Fourth Avenue today — how hard would it be to get there?

So I ask the cab driver to take us to Charlie Palmer’s. He said, “Where’s that?”

I’m like, “The steak place. Charlie Palmer’s. East Second Avenue.”

He said, “I’ve been driving cabs here for 11 years. Doesn’t exist.”

“It has to exist. It’s also known as CP’s. Does that ring a bell? They have a sister restaurant called Fin Fish — it’s in the same building.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

So much for making it on time for the reservation. I said, “Go downtown,” because I had seen — gee, I don’t know — Second Avenue down there.

This is where I *~*heart*~* my iPhone even more than usual, as I called up the Web site and said, “Grand Sierra Resort.”

He looked blank. “You mean the Hilton?”

*bonk*

“No, not the Hilton. The Grand Sierra.”

“You mean the Resort? The Grand Sierra?”

*bonk*

“Yes, please.”

“Well, that’s not downtown!”

Blah. Anyway, we get to the Grand Sierra, whereupon we get lost inside.

So, I stopped a hotel employee. “Can you point me toward Charlie Palmer’s?”

She was incredulous. “CHARLIE DANIELS IS PLAYING A CONCERT HERE TONIGHT?!?!”

*smack*

No, not Charlie Daniels, you oaf. And don’t worry — I said it silently.

I’ve never had such a challenging time trying to find a freaking restaurant. But I did have to laugh when I got “Devil Went Down to Georgia” in my head — although in my mind, it was “Goddess went down to Reno, she was looking for a steak to eat.”

The big excitement of my day was having breakfast at Jack in the Box, so as far as Reno being a destination city? Is about the equivalent of telling people they have got to visit Rockville, Md.

However, this place is starting to grow on me. I cannot count how many times I’ve been hit on. By good-looking men. FBMs, as my friend would call them. I may have to move here — it’s apparently not hard to be considered attractive.

I parted with my rental car this afternoon. I’ll tell you, that’s been one of the best pickup props ever. I’ve had men telling me they were considering buying one, and they ask me how it handles and if it’s four-wheel drive and whatever. I of course was truthful when I said I didn’t even know how to put the windows down or switch the radio channel to something other than the Sirius hip-hop station. But I didn’t admit that it took me 20 minutes to figure out how to turn on the headlights. A girl’s got to keep SOME secrets.

It may not hurt that I’ve been hanging out at the sports book. I haven’t gambled at all because, really, why lose the money when I can go spend it at airport gift shops?

Of course, it figures that I gave up the rental car. Since then, there have been torrential downpours, and all the shit that we need to go to is within walking distance. *bonk*

Speaking of, we need to leave for dinner in 20 minutes and people’s flights are being redirected and the whole party is far from being on-site.

In any event, being in a casino is literally intoxicating. I just ran downstairs to have a smoke, and I feel like I’m drunk. Maybe it’s the jet lag setting in, or maybe it’s the insanity that comes with being in a glowing neon wonderland, but I’m ready for a nap and the really grueling leg of this journey hasn’t even begun yet. I was thinking of skipping the wine tonight, as it would be my first drink since I landed. But, hell, when have I ever turned down a good glass (or 10) of wine in my life?!?!

Lake Tahoe, Incline Village view, originally uploaded by dcwriterdawn.

Greetings from Lake Tahoe, where the water is blue and civilization is seemingly non-existent.

Although the lake is about 72 miles around, stretching into California and back to Nevada, I opted to stay in Incline Village and go through Tahoe State Park. The roads are winding and hanging from the sides of mountains, and I am driving a veritable school bus of a rental car, so staying on the road was plenty enough excitement for me today.

I came back to the hotel at 3 p.m. to find that none of the 14 restaurants open for dinner till 5 or 5:30 p.m. Yarr. I hadn’t eaten all day. In fact, I’d awakened with full intentions to go use the fitness room. I was all dressed for the gym but, alas, the coffee bar at the foot of my elevator bank thwarted that aspiration. I parked my ass with an Irish Creme flavored coffee and a cigarette, and trudged back upstairs.

Anyway, brilliant one here also didn’t think to hydrate herself for the mountain jaunt. Well, my idea of hydration was to get another Irish Cream coffee for the ride, so as I saw the elevation climbing to 6,000, 7,000 and 8,000 feet, my head got a bit spinny.

I did find a restaurant in the hotel that would serve me dinner after my big day and of course it was a clusterfuck. I sat at the counter, right in front of the cooks, and my order GOT LOST. Everyone else had their food and had paid their checks, but OH NO, not me.

I ordered pancakes and sausage. And apparently that was too much for them to handle.

Worse, when the server finally asked them to get on it already, they gave him THE WRONG ORDER. Not someone else’s, but they claimed the order sheet said one thing when clearly it said another. *bonk*

I just sat in my sauna in my bathroom for about 40 minutes, to burn off the delicious mud pie that served as the only thing that restaurant managed to get right.

I’ve officially done everything I WANTED to do on this trip — Jacuzzi, sauna, Tahoe — other than try the Italian restaurant downstairs. But I’ll live. Trust me.

So, now I have to do what I NEED to do, and that is finish the work I didn’t have the energy to achieve on Friday night.

And if I make enough progress, I can watch “Brothers and Sisters” from the hot tub. That is, if I don’t fall asleep first. …

Another priceless adventure day spent on an aer-o-plane. I’m now in my jacuzzi suite in a god-awful hotel. If you get the best room and it’s only $85 a night? Don’t squelch the voice of self-doubt.

It’s all good. I plan to dunk my haggard ass into that tub as soon as I figure out how to obtain something edible. It’s 8 p.m. in my brain but only 5 p.m. in a wee town I’ll call Dirty Vegas.

I have a minivan. Pause and think about that for a minute. I reserved a compact car for four days, at a cost of $100. The fuckers, after I REMINDED them that I can’t drive anything bigger than a cereal box, asked if I’d be OK with a minivan. I said no. So now I have a Chrysler Pacifica. Which rides beautifully but it’s $200 for the trip duration. Um, the hell? Double? I told them I’m using it till tomorrow and they’ll get it back no later than Monday morning. And of course I had to take out the most-expensive insurance because, holy shit, I’m driving a fricking BUS compared to what I own.

People are weird here. Friendly but odd. I asked the guy at the rental lot how I get to X street. And he said, “Well first, you get in the car.” I blinked. “And then, you start driving.”

*thwap*

Of course I got lost. And it’s impossible to get lost here. I just can’t judge the car and couldn’t make the lane switch so I ended up going halfway to California before I could find a place big enough where I could turn that rig around.

The laptop of course wouldn’t connect to the Internet when I got here. I have run more diagnostics on this stupid thing than a girl should know how to do. Finally I just yelled at it and it magically worked. Well, that’s not entirely true, but me getting good and angry usually ends up solving the problem du jour.

My flights were good, if not LONG. I finally wised up and asked for aisle seats. I’m a window-seat fanatic, but I’m also claustrophobic as all hell. So, I could breathe. Mostly, anyway. I just don’t get why people recline their fucking seats all the way back when you KNOW that oxygen is at a premium. Don’t be breathing my air.

Furthermore, pudgy people cannot have a laptop open in coach. Because the asshole in front of you will inevitably recline and snap the fucker shut on your fingers. On my second flight, when idiot landed in my lap, I actually had two free seats in my aisle and bounced over to the window. What I didn’t realize, however, was that asshole’s wife was in the window seat (they had the “I’m not gay” seat in the middle available). And the bitch? FLATULATED the whole fucking flight.

Look, I’m sure everyone lets one slip once in awhile. But every 15 minutes on the dot? Christ. I ended up sitting in the center seat in my row just to get some air of my own.

All right, time to scrub mah butt and turn off the aquarium channel and see about getting directions to the place where I plan to hang out tomorrow before I turn in that tank of a rental car. Oh, yeah, and since I couldn’t work on the plane, I suppose I need to address that lil issue, too.

Oh this town is so cheesy. Government cheesy. Seriously. I’m sure I’ll have stories to tell, although on the grounds that it might incriminate innocent parties, I won’t guarantee that I”ll ever be able to TELL them!!!