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Fear and Loathing in Wendover

For people in Salt Lake, Wendover is a gambling mecca just a quick 90-minute drive away. Frequented by senior citizens, deer widows, Mormons who should be in church and high-school students with fake IDs, this “city” straddles the Utah/Nevada border, allowing Utahnians the opportunity to strike it rich at the blackjack table. Or not. Usually not.

(Even the iconic Wendover Will, suggests people leave town.)

Hubbie and I went to Wendover to see Bill Cosby perform. (He was fantastic!!) Unfortunately, we had to stay in a Wendover “hotel,” putting up with people who are drunk, obnoxious and soon-t0-be-broke. You thought the People of Walmart were strange? The People of Wendover make Walmartians look like the Kennedys.

In the casino, elderly people stared blindly at slot machines, the soft whirr of their oxygen machine adding background noise to the dings and bells. You can’t talk to these people. They are angry.

After escaping the hellish doom of the slot machine area, you can check out the hotel “décor.” (And by “décor” I mean furniture and accessories that make the hotel look like a Circus-themed bordello. Garish is an understatement. Psychedelic carpeting, mirrors, the same print on each wall, mirrors, a hazy atmosphere–and did I mention mirrors?

(Good God! Why is this legal? Somewhere, a decorator should be arrested.)

Mirrors, mirrors and more mirrors. Even in our room, it felt like we were in some kind of creepy funhouse. One side of the room was a wall/velvet headboard, the other side was a room-length mirror. Plus, the lighting was non-existent. At my age, applying make-up seems fruitless anyway–but try to do it in a dim room with turquoise reflecting off your face. Bad results. Just bad.

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(A wall of mirrors, behind the turquoise Formica desk and chest of drawers. Yes, my husband is taking a picture of me taking a picture.)

There is nothing scenic about Wendover. The drive is boring. The city is boring. The state (Nevada OR Utah) is boring. No trees, shrubbery, landscaping or personality. I guess they figure there is enough color in the casinos. True dat.

But all that aside, we still had fun watching the roulette wheel routinely ignore the number 36, and we saw a couple of drunk proposals. And there was that whole “Cops” episode. Not bad for a few bucks.

Stages of Utah Snow

Snow sucks. I don’t care if you ski. I don’t care if you snowboard. I don’t care if you live in an igloo. There is no reason for snow to fall before winter officially starts–and don’t give me the, “Well, we need water to live” argument. Wah, wah, wah.

Unfortunately, I live in Utah. Also, unfortunately, Utah tends to attract snowstorms (and crazy religious zealots). Here are the stages of snow acclimation:

Early Fall: The “snow’s a-coming” warning shot. Sometime during late September, early October, Mother Freaking Nature jolts us from our summer reverie with a blast of cold weather, and a freak snowstorm. Freak-Out Level: 5

October/November: After experiencing a month of frost-covered lawns and withered vegetables, the first real snow of the season lands in the valley. You wake up–and it’s just there, sneaking onto lawns while you were sleeping. Ringo the Dog likes this snowstorm. He comes bursting in through the doggie door to tell us about it. Dismal Level: 3

December: This is the only month when snow is acceptable. Period. And it has to be the big, fluffy, soft snowflakes that fall and land gently on your tongue before dissolving into a cotton-candy-ish residue. These gentle snowfalls are accompanied by Christmas carolers, brightly wrapped gifts and sugar cookies. Cozy Level: 4

(If you listen closely, you can hear sleigh bells.)

January/February: Any snowstorm during this time is met with a WTF?!? level of craziness. I’m not sure why. I mean, it happens every year. These storms bring hard-as-hell snow “flakes”–more like snow “grenades.” Blizzards, white-outs, ice storms, frozen roads. I spend two months living in hoodies and fleece blankets. Everyone whines about the snow, the cold, the inversion, etc. Dismal Level: 75

March: This bleak time of year is when snow melts to slush, refreezes and creates concrete-style bricks of ice along sidewalks, driveways, roads and porch steps. Everything is grey. Everything is cold. And if this continues past mid-March, people get really grumpy. Dismal Level: 94

April/May: Snow during these months should be considered illegal–and all residents should remain in their homes until the sun shines. Rain/snow/slush combinations are just dreary. Tulips, daffodils, crocuses–all the pretty flowers get buried in snow. They usually just give up at some point. Dismal Level: 228

(“April Fool’s!!! Hahahahaha,” laughs Mother Freaking Nature.)

So, the snow-free times to visit Utah are June through August. Although it has snowed in June. And there was skiing on The Fourth of July a couple of years ago. Just keep mittens in your glove box at all times.

Understanding Healthcare

You might have heard of the Affordable Health Care Act, also known as Obamacare or the End of Civilization as We Know It. Starting in 2014, everyone needs to be enrolled in some type of health insurance plan. Or else . . . .

Unfortunately, Congress has decided to step in. Instead of working together to reach a compromise to benefit nearly every person in the country, Republicans have basically told the nation “#@&* You!” and voted to SHUT DOWN THE GOVERNMENT in order to defund Obamacare. Isn’t that like burning down the house to get rid of a spider? (Something I would TOTALLY do.)

Health reform isn’t going to be easy, clear or quick. But I believe it will eventually bring health benefits to millions of people without access to insurance (like myself). Here are some things to know about the program:

It still won’t be cheap. If you’re looking for a $99 GEICO Health Insurance Plan, it’s not gonna happen. If you sign up for something cheap, you might want to read the fine print. (“This plan only covers non-emergency, non-health related issues and excludes prescriptions, exams, x-rays, diagnostic tests, etc.” Basically, you get a free hospital gown with enrollment.)

(Would you buy health insurance from a talking gecko?)

You think waiting times are long now? We’ve all arrived at the doc’s early, only to wait for three hours while he delivers a child, removes an appendix, flies to Tokyo for lunch and takes a quick nap. Now, there will be MORE people with insurance, and more people stealing that 2005 People magazine in the waiting room.
You’ll see more alternative treatments. Instead of back surgery, how about physical therapy? Instead of a crapload of painkillers, how about meditation? Of course, there will always be snake oil salesmen trying to push the latest fake potion to cure what ails you. (Bought prescription drugs from Mexico lately? Cindy Crawford skin cream?)

(“Step right up, folks! This concoction cures everything from infertility to warts!”)

Not much will change. Prescriptions will still be expensive, surgeons will still make boatloads of money, people will still struggle to make insurance payments, and the health care industry will continue to rake in cash.
Congress will continue to be a dysfunctional mess. And there aren’t enough mental health experts in the world to fix that condition.

People I’m Tired of Hearing About

Give a dog a bone, and he chews it until it’s a messy, pulpy, disgusting pile of goo. Which he then swallows. Give the media a scandal, and they’ll do the same thing. Is the media just lazy, or are celebrities too easy to talk about? Either way–enough, folks!!

I don’t want to hear another WORD about any of these people(s):

Miley Cyrus: I get it. She’s a dirty whore. Guess what? She doesn’t care. Let’s move on.
Kris Jenner (aka, The Kardashian Kommandant): She had a talk show? She’s a tight-faced control-freak? Her daughters are tramps? Not news.
Paula Deen: She lived in the South. She made a mistake. She apologized. NEXT!
One Direction: Just ’cause.

(All they need is Ego and Super-Ego. Oh, wait. . . )

Lady Gaga: What?? She did something crazy? She wore a see-through parachute with Converse high-tops? That’s like saying Alaska was cold last winter.
Beyoncé/J-Lo (because they’re interchangeable): Beyoncé swinging her (daughter?) Clinging Blue Ivy at the park. Beyoncé getting mobbed by fans. Beyoncé’s hot-body advice. Beyoncé’s hot-fashion advice. How ’bout not?
Congressmen: Professional re-speakers, they haven’t had an original thought in decades.
Reality Show Judges: Don’t watch. Don’t care.

(I might watch if Judge Judy was an American Idol judge.)

Justin Bieber: Maybe he and Miley can get together and out-disgust each other.
Lindsay Lohan: Drug-addled Disney teen who lost her way. I sense a theme.
Taylor Swift: If I watch another awards show where I see the camera cut to Taylor for her every reaction, I will throw a shoe at the screen. And then I’ll be angry ’cause I broke my TV.
Jennifer Aniston: Married? Single? Pregnant? Upset? Stripping? Vegetarian? Really, people. Don’t you have a life?

I also don’t want to see anyone’s baby bump, plastic surgery scars, fashion mistakes, ultrasounds, blood tests results, tongues, shocking hair cuts/colors, paternity tests, or anyone’s “private hell” or “drop-50-pounds-fast” starvation routine. I call “uncle.”

Salt Lake Comic Con: To Geek or Not To Geek

Utah hosted its first Comic Con event–which seems like a slam dunk, because there are more sci-fi/fantasy geeks in Utah per cubic yard than there are Asians in China. So nerds across the state donned their Imperial stormtrooper armor, hopped in their Tardises (Tardii?) and beamed themselves to the Salt Palace in downtown Salt Lake.

(Landing site for the Geek Mothership in SL,UT.)

My husband dragged my reluctant carcass to the event so he could chase retro sci-fi stars (remember Richard Hatch, anyone?) and hobnob with cosplay characters. My first thought when I entered the convention center was, “Where the hell did all these people come from?” Knowing my allergy to large crowds, my husband quickly shuttled me to the food court to lull me with stir fry and cookies.

Because of the record-number nerd herds, I wasn’t able to see much. But I instantly realized I missed the memo that said all women must be wearing cleavage-revealing superslut clothing. Every girl from ages 10 to 90 was scantily clad (because décolletage is a super power, I guess), and every man from 10 to 90 was ogling these Wonder Women, Catwomen and even a few promiscuous Ewoks.

Old versions of William Shatner, Stan Lee and Adam West made appearances (with no noticeable cleavage. Well, Shatner, maybe). And crowds of people lined up to have their photo taken inside a Tardis. I thought about doing that, but since the line was 3.1 miles long, I didn’t feel like running a 5K to get my picture taken inside a spray-painted cardboard box.

(I’ve heard it’s supposed to be bigger inside.)

I guess the radon gas in the air affected my judgment, because I DID end up standing in a line (albeit a short one) to get photographed with a plaster replica of Gollum. He looked about as surprised as I was to be in the middle of such chaos.

(Who the hell are these people?)

After we finally extricated ourselves from the crowds, we stumbled out of the Salt Palace, and back to reality. Would I go again? Not if I have to fight off hordes of Superheroes. Besides, it’s Utah. Life here is basically a Comic Con.

Top 5 Ways You Know Summer is Over

(Exactly how I feel about fall today.)

I promised myself I would enjoy every single day of summer. I would slow down, smell the proverbial roses, sit in the sun and drink fruity drinks. Now, it’s September. I didn’t slow down, my roses are dead, I avoided the sun (due to a fear of skin cancer) and the only fruity drinks I enjoyed came in a juice box.

Now it’s too late. Here are the Top 5 Ways I can tell summer is officially over:

1–All the summer TV shows have ended. I always say, “I don’t watch much television” but I think I’m lying. I’ve been HEAVILY invested in what happens to completely made-up characters in shows like The Bridge, Newsroom, Falling Skies and Perception. Time for me to talk with some REAL people.

(More good-looking people surviving, yet another, alien invasion.)

2–It’s darker. And not just in my mind. No more waking up to birds singing and sunshine, now it’s waking up to the drone of school buses and total darkness. And Ringo the Dog gets walked with a flashlight.

3–The kids are tired of each other. When your kids start fighting about how their siblings are breathing too loud, when they’ve played every level of every video game, and when they’re so bored they watch you fold clothes, summer’s over.

4–No enthusiasm. When you say, “Who wants to go on a picnic?!” and you’re greeted with frosty stares and silence, that’s when you know it’s time to shove the kids back into a school classroom. Plus, they’re already planning their Halloween costumes.

(Halloween costumes at a summer picnic. Not a good sign.)

5–Along with leaves, magazines turn colors. Instead of the “How to Get a Beach Body” article, the cover story is, “How to Make a Halloween Centerpiece.” Nooooo!!!! Shorts and tank tops are stored away as bulky sweaters, jeans and boots get pulled out of closets.

I’m in denial. I’m sure there’s time for one more hike, one great big margarita or one more day in the sun (with shorts). I’m like the grasshopper having too much fun to prepare for cold weather (Aesop’s Fables, people. Read them.) But everywhere I turn, there are pumpkin candles, apple spice air fresheners, candy corn displays–and even Halloween costumes.

Even the trees are sad, with drooping limbs and falling leaves. Cheer up, trees! We can try again next summer.

Terrible Things to Say to Someone on a Diet

If you are speaking to, dating, married to or just looking at a woman, there’s a good chance (100%) that she’s just finished a diet, just started a diet, is cheating on a diet or will be starting a diet tomorrow. There’s never a time women don’t think about food/calories/dress sizes/exercise/futility.

If you are a sensitive-type person, you’ll be conscious of this fact, and avoid saying something stupid. If you’re not sensitive, here’s a handy list of things you shouldn’t say if you want to avoid having someone punch you in the throat.

“I like a woman with meat on her bones.” What the hell are you? A Velociraptor? That’s like saying, “I love all the mounds of flesh barnacled to your skeleton.”

(“I’ll just baste you with some lemon juice.” Tasty.)

“You just need more willpower.” The only willpower I need is the willpower not to stab you in the kidney.
“Are you sure you should eat that?” Unless I’m unknowingly placing a live scorpion in my mouth, shut the hell up.
“I thought you were on a diet.” Well, I was on a diet from murdering people. But now I’m not. I’m a yo-yo murderer.
“I like having something to hold on to.” That’s what handlebars are for. Leaving my muffin top alone!
“How much do you want to weigh?” I want to weigh enough so I can sit on your chest and asphyxiate you boa constrictor-style.
“Just think like a thin person.” The thin people I know seem angry, depressed and very, very hungry. I’ll just eat this apple pie and call it good.
“It’s probably a glandular/hormonal/metabolic/pre-menopausal problem.” Unless my glands weigh 20 pounds each, that’s probably not it. And if you say I’m pre-menopausal, you might want to run from me as far and as fast as you can.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Yes!! By all the Norse Gods! I’m starving here!
“Have you tried exercising?” Wow! Exercise! Why didn’t I think of that?

In fact, there’s really not much you can say that will keep you from getting slapped. Just leave a plate of lemon squares on the porch, and you’ll probably be safe.

Things Driving Me Crazy in San Francisco

I recently went to San Francisco with hubby, and we packed every minute with activities, food and fun. Now I’m exhausted. Along with exhaustion, here are a few things that drove me crazy in San Francisco.

(I’m not sure about my heart, but I definitely left most of my income in San Fran.)

Scalded Mouth: I ordered peppermint tea without realizing they used a nuclear detonation to heat the damn thing. I let it steep for several minutes, blew on it, carefully took a sip–and completely welded my tongue to the roof of my mouth. Blisters formed, and I spent the rest of the day using my tongue to pop the blisters, pulling shredded skin from the top of my mouth. (Note: Don’t do this at dinner. It tends to disgust your marital partner.)

Line jumpers: We stood in line at the Santa Cruz beach, waiting ever so patiently for our turn on the Sky Glider (the ride that carries you gently across the boardwalk), when an entire freakin’ family pushed past nearly 100 people to go to the front of the line. We were all too shocked to say anything. But we all secretly hoped they fell off the ride halfway across the boardwalk.

This: (Silver Robot Man)

(Is this still a thing?)

Sourdough Bread: I love sourdough bread. Let me clarify, I love the soft, fluffy inside of sourdough bread. The crust? Not so much. Especially when my mouth is scorched from drinking scalding tea. The problem with sourdough bread is that each bite must be completely smothered in butter. Soft, delicious butter. (It’s a law. Look it up.) So, now my a** looks like a loaf of sourdough bread.

Wind: Here’s how I looked most of the time in San Francisco:

(And the wind wasn’t even blowing in this picture.)

People! People! People!: What you see in an aerial view of the San Francisco Bay: Golden Gate Bridge, Fisherman’s Wharf, the Ghirardelli Chocolate Company. What you don’t see: the hordes of people standing on top of each other to see these tourist attractions. (This also includes traffic. There are more cars in San Fran than in the entire continent of Asia. Proven fact–but don’t check.)

The SF Giants: Really, Giants? We traveled from Salt Lake to watch you play in your super-duper AT&T stadium, and you couldn’t even score ONE run. Really? Did you have other things to do that night?

(Ah der. . . . Yep. I’m a pitcher. I get paid millions of dollars. Ah der.)

How to Raise a Royal Child

Now that all the hoopla has died down about the birth of The Royal Baby of the Universe (aka Prince George of Cambridge), we can take a step back and be grateful we’re not raising a royal child. Granted, some children are royal pains in the neither-regions, but that’s not quite the same.

(One day your royal child will rule the world. Just sayin’.)

Here are some things you need to do if you are raising a child who(m) will one day inherit an irrelevant throne:

Keep all spinning wheels locked up. You don’t need some crazy old hag trying to get your child to prick his/her finger all the time.
Don’t insult aforementioned old hags who attend your child’s christening. (Picture a close-minded mother-in-law. Times fourteen gazillion. Could be yucky.)

(Would you intentionally piss this woman off?)

Teach your child the difference between real clothes and the Emperor’s clothing line. We have enough nude photos of royal family members, thank you very much.
Don’t piss off any gnomes you might pass in the woods. Everyone knows a gnome is a magical creature who can bestow riches or steal happiness. Duh.
Choose your child’s royal role models wisely. Avoid the King Midas syndrome. That creepy, creepy Burger King dude. And the off-the-wall, mean-as-s*** King Joffrey.

(Spanked too much or not enough?)

Prince-specific lessons: Teach your young prince to beware of a young woman who a) loses glass shoes, b) lives in a houseful of dwarves, c) has long, flowing hair and resides in a witch-guarded tower, d) is part fish, e) has been asleep for 100 years. Also be careful in dealing with orphans, jesters, grand viziers or Amway salesmen.
If you happen to get turned into a frog, kiss your prince/princess carefully.
As a royal parent, don’t make deals with anyone named Rumpelstiltskin.

According to history, your child has every intent of doing the exact opposite of what you teach him–whether or not your child is “royal.” So the above list will do no good whatsoever. Chances are, you’ll raise a sadistic, greedy, insane, frog-killing prince who will one day have his own offspring. Good luck with that.

Things Driving Me Crazy Today

Another Tuesday has dawned, and with it, the sneaking feeling that it could be a really long day. In order to waste time, therefore cutting down on actual Tuesday activities, I created the latest list of Things Driving Me Crazy Today.

(Too lazy to deal with Tuesday.)

Feel free to add on.

When you drink a big glass of milk, and discover the bottom of the glass was coated with disgusting dishwasher residue.
The person who told me, “I read your latest blog. It was really funny. You should try adding humor more often.” Sigh.
Being too full to eat dessert. (Amended: too full to ENJOY dessert.)
That little line of dirt left next to the dust pan that REFUSES to be swept up.

(I usually end up casually spreading it around with my foot.)

The plastic or ribbon loops that hang off the armpits of shirts. (They tend to creep out of my shirt and hang under my arms.)
Weeds.
When someone adjusts the driver’s seat/mirrors in my car. It’s PERFECT! Leave it the hell alone!
When the first square of toilet paper is super-glued to the roll. I end up shredding the first five layers of toilet paper before it starts working.
When someone eats the last bowl of raspberries. (They should be burned at the stake!!)
Feeling inferior at the farmer’s market. (Organic, free-range vegans seem SO superior.)

Any sentence that includes the words “Congress,” “sequester” (which is NOT a noun, folks!), “lawmakers” or “kale.”
The fact there were Halloween decorations in the store this weekend. It’s freakin’ July!!!!
The stubble on my knees I just can’t seem to shave.

That’s it for today. Now I’m sure my Tuesday will flow swimmingly.

BONUS: People who use the word “swimmingly.”

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