After Unfortunate Thing, I wasn't even sure I wanted to go. Lying around all day eating chocolate seemed an appealing form of therapy. (But just for one day. You know, so as not to be pathetic or anything.) But then, in the end, I decided I wanted to go after all.

I was mentally prepared for an ugly-ass three hour drive. Because the drive from L.A. to Vegas is an ugly trip through the desert. (I know some people love the desert. I have never been one of those people. Joshua trees and flat dry land and wide open spaces do nothing for me. Sorry, desert lovers.) Somehow it stood to reason, in my subconscious mind, that the drive to Reno would be ugly.

Wow, it isn't. It is an absolutely gorgeous drive. Green hills with sheeps and horses and stuff, then thick rows of trees, purple mountains, orange cliffs, waterfalls of melting snow, patches of snow on brown rock, mountains covered in snow, trees and snow, and on and on. One gorgeous slice of nature after another, and I had no idea any of it was even there.

And in the meantime, we were writing a poem, which sort of incorporated the landscape we were driving through. (It ended up being an epic poem about six hitchhiking ghosts. It involves a karaoke bar, a shootout in a Wal-Mart, a sale on avocados and a ghost dressed as Elvis. It is probably my favorite thing I have written all year.) It was truly a collaborative effort-- I introduced the ghosts and Joey threw in the hitchhiking, and a masterpiece was born. I can't wait to read it together at the next poetry reading.

There was also much loud singing: Madonna, the Doors, Fleetwood Mac. And interpretive dance. (Joey: "What do boys do on road trips? They don't, like, sing and dance all goofy, right? How do they have any fun?" Me: "Well, Bruce sings with me. But he's gay.")

We got to Reno (my impression: it's cute, and not nearly as ghetto as State Line or Laughlin.) We parked at this tiny little casino called Cal-Nev, and then went to Harrahs where I made an early killing on blackjack.

We went to eat at this sandwich place Joey knew about. She was bummed because she was on a losing streak, so I gave her a packet of mustard and told her it was lucky mustard. Ten minutes later, the friendly counter guy came up to us and said, "No, you gave her the wrong mustard. These are the lucky ones." He had taken packets of mustard and written the word "LUCKY" across them in magic marker. We were in hysterics.

By the end of the day, we had named the mustard packets after three guys at our school and kept arranging them in different sexual positions to decide which would be the most lucky. And also, people at every table laughed and asked us about them. And also, the pit bosses thought we were crazy. And also, we were drunk.

By the end of the day, Reno had bent us both over and taken away all our money. We didn't get the diamond earrings we were planning on buying if we won. (They were only $30. They were TINY.) We chain smoked all the way home. We forgot to eat. We finished our poem.

And I promise you, I barely had a thought about Unfortunate Thing all day long.

The drive home, right at sunset, was also beautiful. I was strongly reminded of a trip to Colorado I took in a December long ago, to visit a friend who lives in the middle of nowhere in the Rocky Mountains. We went snowmobiling one night, and it was just snow, trees and moonlight. Peaceful, immaculate. God, just looking at those mountains by moonlight brought it all back to me.

If I only had a digital camera. (Or I guess if I had brought my regular camera, that would have been good too.) I just wish I could show you some of the gorgeousness of that drive today.

And of course, the mustard packet sex. Words don't do it justice.

Let me think of some other random happy things.

I've gotten some wonderful and supportive mail, for which I thank you humbly. Nine out of ten mo pie readers agree: Will is a stupid fool. It makes me feel much better. And some of you have mentioned that given the chance, you'd definitely have sex with me. That's also appreciated. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you may want to ask me for the hidden entry link.)

Moving on. Bruce got a huge promotion and is now the manager of his store, so of course I am proud as hell and pleased and thrilled for him. I saw one of Bruce's relatives on television last night and got all excited-- after all, he's practically one of my relatives at this point. (He's a figure skating team coach, I guess? He hugged a lot of people and said "good job" and things.)

On the way home from Reno, Joey was gesturing at something and she knocked my rear view mirror right off the windshield. This isn't really a happy thing, but it did make us laugh a lot. Man, my car is such a piece of shit. The ashtray already fell out, and now the rearview mirror fell off. I swear, this is because I am my grandmother's granddaughter. Something like this could only happen to three people in the world: my grandmother, my sister, and me.

I also went clothes shopping for new jeans and shirts, since I went down another size. I hate to imply that there is anything wrong with my old size; I am of course lovely across a wide size spectrum. But my new clothes are cute, so what the hell. I'm happy to have new clothes that fit my curves all sexy-like.

Also, my Sims page got a very cool link. I am really excited about Melissa's wedding this summer. And Lucy sent me some Mo Libs that she did, one of which contains the line, "Tis the east, and Mo is the vagina!"

You can't possibly read that sentence and be depressed. Or anyway, I can't.

"Watch my autobiography melt at my feet, a party dress worn by an arrangement of bones."