This is my post so that I can test my damn laptop. Hoo, buddy, am I pissed.
….
Okay, it's later now, and I am not pissed as much anymore. I won't be able to post this until we land, but I am currently up in the air. I cheaped-out (lesson learnt) and took an indirect flight instead of one going directly into Reno. Plus, I thought that I would like the drive into Reno (no, I am not kidding; I love to drive). So on the first leg, I gave a flight attendant my carry-on to stow, since the overhead compartments were full in my section (she asked; her words, and I quote, "let me put that up front for you"). So then she comes back to my seat with a receipt. When I go to disembark, I asked for my luggage, and was told that it had been checked, and was at baggage claim, "Probably" (another quote).
Ohellno. Allow me to repeat: Oh, hell FUCKING no.
First-off, I hadn't had enough time after going through security to re-pack the damn thing—everything was loose in there, practically. Secondly, I have things that I didn't check for a REASON. I have one change of clothes, a bitchload of cosmetics, some pretty meaningful pieces of jewellery, my laptop, and other electronic stuff ( e.g., mp3 player, psion, etc…).
And don't give me any shit about my Psion. I loof it.
Butsoanyway.
In short, everything I cannot afford to lose, therefore I am doing the 'keeping it with me at all times' thing. So I went ballistic. Not a little ballistic, either. Ballistic to the point where I was damn well aware that I was risking having someone with an attitude decide that I didn't really need to make my connecting flight. Finally, a Supervisor came over and (I guess) got tired of listening to me, 'cos he took the claim chit, and it took him thirty minutes to find my case, but he did find my case. What a doll, and I say that begrudgingly. But at least he did admit that the flight attendant was in the wrong for, at the very least, not advising me of what she was about to do. By that time, they were calling final boarding for my flight, so I checked to make sure my jewellery was still there and my laptop wasn't overtly rattling, and then I got on. And so here I am. Sigh. And I am juice-deficient, so I have to listen to Outpost Transmission and PWEI on my farking laptop. It seems to be okay. Ai yi yi!
And it is definite; when I get home, I am buying a smaller laptop. The guy next to me on the first plane had this weensy likkle Thinkpad that was just soooo convenient for him. I love this wide screen, but I am having monitor envy. But at least this one is durable as hell, Q.E.D.
It nearly broke my heart to board my Squzzball; sensing something was up, on the way to the vet's he burrowed under the pillow in his carrier and hid (Squoosh loves to burrow—simply plopping down on the bed or in a pile of pillows on the sofa is verboten in my house since his arrival) so that when I brought him in, it looked as if the carrier was empty! He is such a cute little baby! And then I came home and threw shit in cases until Harry showed up to take me to the airport, thereby saving me $125 in parking fees (are they insane?).
And I am listening to Strawberry Letter # 23. I just love that song. I want to collect a bunch of versions and just have them on one cd. :-) So far, though, I only have Bros. Johnson (of course), Tevin Campbell's, and Shuggie Otis. Like, how stupid am I, right? I cannot help it—it's probably my favourite song.
Okay. I was typing the above, then I got tired and quit. I am in Reno now…finally. We landed, rented a smaller SUV (a Saturn Whateverthefuck; it's a nice car, and Meg likes it too much—my third eye is sensing a Saturn Whateverthefuck in her future), and headed to Reno via 80, which goes to Donner Summit, a/k/a Donner Pass. There were nastygrams all over that said 'chains required', and so after swearing a lot, I found a place that sold chains (actually cables, but I am going to keep saying 'chains' 'cos I am so old-school) and a Jack in the Box so that I wouldn't have to eat Meg. I was trying to get the chains on—I couldn't find a chain monkey set-up for anything—and was faring kinda okay when two Nice Guys came and offered help. Since I hadn't brought gloves that were anything but cute-looking and was starting to feel it, I let them and gave them $20. *Then*, about fifteen minutes down the road, I see the chain checkpoint and the chain monkeys. Sigh. Since I was going up 7k feet through cannibal territory (and back down again), I decided to pull over and let them re-fit them if needed. They checked and did stuff to them and they said it didn't count enough to charge, but I gave them $20 anyway. Impetus to be nice to someone else some other day, I guess.
Meg, meanwhile, was along for the ride on all of this. Sigh. And she thinks I am an idiot for paying for chains, to have them put on properly, and then to have them re-checked; when we got to the checkpoint and she realised that we would have been turned away, she shut up about buying the chains, I told her that *she* could put them back on if needed if she wanted to save me money so damn badly before she would shut up about that, and I had to show her in the instructions where it said to re-fit them after a few miles before she would shut up about that. Jesus Christ.
So since she wouldn't shut up, I made *her* drive it.
Oh, I stayed awake and kept an eye on her. She got irritated at me a few times when I was telling her how to handle some parts but she did as I said, and that is what's important. I made her listen to the advisory station for the entire drive (it was updated pretty well—I was impressed) so that she would maybe learn something, and she misunderstood the station's instructions about braking to mean *don't* brake (now that I am typing this, it occurs to me that I might want to find a way to provide feedback to them about that because, in Meg's defence, it *was* poorly-phrased), and this caused a minor tiff 'twixt us when I had to scream at her on a downhill winding slope (where we picked up speed to right under 45) to tap the brakes with increasing pressure until she was riding the brakes for the entirety of the slope (I told her to bring us down to 5mph, or I was putting her out of the fucking car), but she finally saw that I (1) wasn't going to quit screaming at her until she obeyed; (2) was right; (3) actually was helping her regain control of the car; (4) was right; (5) probably was really going to put her ass out at Donner Pass, and (6) was right.
Sigh.
Well, I *had* to scream at her to snap her out of her freak-out when we started picking up speed; she *really* started to lose her crackers, not that I really blame her—the first time it happened to me, I freaked the fuck out, too…only that was a million years ago, and now I know better, and like to pretend that I cannot imagine anyone having a problem with it. Oops. Cat's out the bag. :-) Plus, freaking rarely helps things, the both of us don't get to freak at the same time, and the sneaky bitch took dibs when I wasn't looking. And for the record, I don't actually scream in situations like that; I've been told that I sound like a drill sergeant. I guess that's called bellowing, but I prefer screaming for artistic purposes.
It worked when we had an emergency in the theatre, as well; that's where I really *cultivated* the talent for keeping my head and hollering at people. Go figure. It's like 'he who bellows loudest with the simplest instructions gets obeyed', or something. And what's doubly-cool is that as long as you're right, not only do the other people never really gripe about being yelled at, but they usually thank you a lot. Weird, that.
Butsoanyway.
When we emerged from the chain control area, I *again* had to fuss with a very tired-and-testy Meg; I got her to pull over opposing the oncoming checkpoint, and couldn't find any chain monkeys on our side, so I sashayed my ass around in fifteen-degree weather (the temperature display on the rear-view mirror was alternating saying '15° and 'ICE'…how helpful.) until I found a trucker who would do it for me, but wouldn't take any money (sweetie).
Butsoanyway.
The trip over Donner Summit took only about a thousand times longer than we'd anticipated, and so by the time we came into Reno, we were both punch-drunk from lack of sleep, so we went to sleep practically immediately (after a desperately-needed shower…blecch). When I woke up, I felt like shit, but went downstairs, got something to eat, and made the mistake of going to a live-action table whilst Meg did whatever Megs do at WPT tournaments. Boy, was that a god damned mistake. We aren't going to even go into how much of a mistake. Oi.
It didn't start out that way; at one point, I had more than doubled up, but then I went on a nosedive. Finally I gave it up and decided to recoup…later. Then I woke up today, went to check my email, and found out that a project that I'd thought was turned in on Friday hadn't been…so that is what I have been doing all today. Which is okay, really; I needed the rest. I do not think that I will play today, here at the Hilton or elsewhere; I am pissed at the Hilton because thus far, their comps have sucked. One more reason to stick to Tunica. *And* they LIED about wireless access in the rooms (they have high-speed access for an additional $11/day), and they LIED about having VH1, so I am going to miss the final episode of Flavour of Love. Bastards. I have already phoned Harry and asked him to record it for me, but now I have to decide whether or not I am going to search and find out if Flav picked New York or Hoopz. Sigh. I swear, I will never get into another reality TV show ever again. Ever.
Or I may go down and see if one of the bars here has it, or something. Addiction is a horrible and sad thing.
Sigh. Never again. NEVER.
Now that I have the project-thingy formatted and off, I need to figure out what I am going to do with myself, and I think that it is going to have something to do with finding a bar with VH1.
Yay.
If New York *is* a transvestite named Thomas, that is going to be SO funny!
.
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