***This was supposed to have uploaded a week ago…. cell service was kind of hit and miss in Carson City so here it is a bit late!***
We have arrived in Carson City! Reno was rad, Sparks was cool but it’s time to say hello to Carson City! So far it’s a pretty cool western town with it’s downtown area reminiscent of an old cowboy movie. Read the rest of this entry
I met Larry at a casino bar off Boulder Hwy. While it wasn’t exactly the strip, it was good enough for a washed up 40 something year old guy with a Peter Pan complex. Larry was cool, not in the tons of friends/success/money/women sense, more in the slicked-back hair, fonzie, jukebox-elbowing, “later daddio” sense. I swear this dude was made out of pomade and Old Spice, somehow shaped very carefully into a 5’3 mid 20’s guy. I should probably mention this kid is an Elvis impersonator. Hey it’s Vegas and this kid looked like he had been here 40 years instead of the 4 years he said he had been here. So back to the casino bar. Larry was on the small stage in the smoky lounge doing hound dog or blue suede shoes or some other Elvis tune, I don’t know I’ve never been a huge fan. I was trying my hardest to pick up the delightful and voluptuous Natalie, a cocktail waitress who was probably half my age and just playing along for a bigger tip. I had a bigger tip for her but she wouldn’t take my number, damn corporate policy bullshit. Larry’s act kept drawing her eye as I kept dreaming of the top button of her skin tight uniform shirt popping off freeing the lovely twins beneath. (Sorry a bit of a one track mind since my bitch of a wife ran off with my mechanic last year.) Finally I diverted my attention to the convincing performance by this young buck and I swear I saw Natalie, my sweet Natalie, swoon. Yes, swoon, like all the women my mother’s age did when the King himself performed. I knew my chances were shot and decided to order a shot of tequila and a gin and tonic extra lime. Fuck it, I might as well get drunk.
A few hours went by, a few more sexy cocktail waitresses avoided my drunken advances, a lot more tequila was consumed, and there sat the King and I. He must have told me his name a thousand times but I just kept calling him the King. He must have felt honored by it because he blushed a bit whenever I did. We sat around for hours, talked about the pretty women, sang a few songs together in that smoky musty old casino lounge. One of the bartenders apparently got a video or us doing Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay”, that I give the credit for that one to my friend Jose Cuervo. I think I must have gotten the King pretty intoxicated because when I said fuck it let’s go to Mexico he actually agreed. I was drunk as the worm at the bottom of the tequila bottle, Larry was hammered, even puked in the casino parking lot but off we were.
I was going 100 mph down the interstate, with a beer in my hand swearing we wouldn’t be too late. Larry was singing Elvis songs at the top of his lungs and blowing kisses at truckers. We got pulled over somewhere in Arizona and ended up in a holding cell with 3 drunk Mexicans and a kid crying about never even seeing weed before in his life. I don’t know who Larry is or was or is related to but we were released the next day, all charges dropped and given vouchers for breakfast at someplace called Lou’s Breakfast Barn. Fucking hell, Larry, you really are the King!
The King and I carried on for a week, drinking, flirting with senoritas, and singing, caution set aside for adventure and hopes of a hot mexican romance. Of course none of the senoritas wanted this old geezer but I was content living vicariously through Larry. Eventually Larry had to go back to Vegas, I had to go back to my studio in Anaheim, and life needed to return to normal but I’ll never forget, my week in Mexico, just the King and I.
Why I write doesn’t make much sense. And I’m OK with no one else getting it. I have always felt like I have a story that needs to get out of my head like it is trapped in a jail of thoughts struggling, fighting, begging to be set free. I guess maybe it does make sense I don’t know. Since high school I discovered I had a way with words. I learned I could bullshit my way through any test as long as it had an essay of some sort. I’m pretty sure that’s the only way I passed 10th grade. I don’t know if I really enjoyed writing at that point though I think the love for writing came much later when I realized I wasn’t constrained to the subject matter thought up by a teacher or professor. I wrote a little in my mid 20’s mostly bad punk song lyrics that never saw daylight outside my tattered sketchbook carefully tucked away in the bottom of my pack. Though at that time booze, boys, and freight trains ruled my life. It wasn’t until my oldest son, Rayne, was born the I discovered the power written word could have. He was just a tiny tiny baby not more than 3 months old. I wrote him a letter. It was meant to give to him on the day he graduated from high school. When he was big, and strong, a full grown man that I still think of as that tiny tiny baby. Life got complicated though. Everything turned upside down. And looking back on that letter that I wish I held on to when everything else was lost, as I sit in the back of my car watching traffic speed past, I fear I will never see that day. When he’s a grown man, showing off to his friends, writing his own essays attempting to get into some college far far away from the life he knows. How I would give anything to have both him and his brother together in my arms and have the world make sense again. For 3 years I’ve fought to make something of myself, a place I could bring them home to, and for 3 years I have failed miserably. So why do I write? There is a story in my heart. It starts with the birth of a beautiful, screaming baby boy, and it ends… well I guess we will see how it ends. Although my biggest fear is that it ends in heartbreak.
CuddleDee and CuddleStraps! in Reno
Late night update from a kind of chilly Reno, NV! All the casinos have their heat (and slot machines) set to super hot! Circus, Circus has been our personal favorite since they gave us $5 in free play just for getting one of their player’s cards.
CuddleDee and CuddleStraps! Cuddly activist love!
We ended up winning $15 off my free $5 and $20 from CuddleDee’s free $5! Not bad for a couple of homeless traveling punks that rolled into town on fumes and literally didn’t have 2 pennies to rub together to keep warm!
Here’s some random pictures:
Reno: the biggest little city in the world!
CuddleStraps! getting ready for sleep
Junior CuddleFuzz extraordinaire, Jax, is happy to have his ball!
CuddleDee and CuddleFuzz playing in the CuddleWagon!
CuddleStraps!, CuddleDee and junior Cuddlefuzz, Jax, are officially on tour! We are making out way from Sacramento to Las Vegas for Punk Rock Bowling! We left Sacramento with $5 and just under a quarter tank of gas so if you see the CuddleWagon kick us down some gas moneys, fill our tank, or treat us to some yummy vegan food! We will be the happiest Cuddlesluts ever! Currently we are about halfway to Reno, at a shell station in the mountains (5,000 ft above sea level hot damn!) Trying to get enough change to put at least $5 in the tank! Emigrant gap Nyack CA according to the gas station/post office/burger king! Could be here for a while if you are around come say hi! Pictures coming later tonight!
♡♡♡ to the freedom fighters ♡♡♡
CuddleStraps! & CuddleFuzz!
With love from the highway
Have you seen that movie “Shallow Hal”, where the dude is a total dick, fat-shaming people, then gets cursed or gains abilities or whatever you may call it, allowing him to see people’s inner beauty rather than seeing their physical appearance? Read the rest of this entry