What happens in Vegas stays in Reno.

I once met a Hell’s Angel who was just acquitted for murder. I met him in a bar in Las Vegas in October, 2006. His name was Smitty. I was on a business trip in Vegas and had stayed a few extra days to spend some time with my college friend, Maria.

Maria. Maria who inspired such phrases amongst my friends such as, “Only with Maria,” or “What happens with Maria stays with Maria.” She inspires one to do things. Such as imbibe with Hell’s Angels in bars in Las Vegas. Or accidentally running up a $249.00 bar tab at the pool bar the MGM Grand. And worse yet, running up a $249.00 bar tab at the MGM Grand and being so drunk that you exclaim, “$249.00! That’s not bad!” Because two people REALLY need to drink that much raspberry Stoli and tonic. She is my friend who I never judge, even though we live completely different lives. She is my friend with whom I can be out of touch with for three months and then pick up right where we left off. The “Smitty Incident” is just one of the reasons for this.

Maria and I were perched at the bar at the Red Rock Casino having a few drinks (hers – Absolute and Diet. Mine – cheap beer). The stool next to mine was empty and so a pony-tailed man in a half unbuttoned shirt to show off his wicked awesome chest hair decided to occupy said empty stool. He pounded his fist on the bar and said, “Bar-keep, these ladies’ drinks are on me tonight! We’re celebrating!”

“What are we celebrating?’ I asked.

Pony-tail man pointed across the room to a skinny pony tailed man in full biker gear. “Smitty over there just got acquitted!”

“Acquitted of what?”

“Well, murder!” Of course.

Pony-tail man extended his hand, “I’m Sonny. Sonny Nevada.” Right.

“Meg,” I said offering him my hand.

Turns out Sonny Nevada was Smitty’s lawyer. Maria had since abandoned me and was having a conversation with the bar tender. Here’s the deal. I’m nosy. Super nosy. If you are a stranger, I want to know your story. So Sonny Nevada apparently really knew the way to my heart. I’m the only girl on earth with whom the pick up line, “I just got that guy acquitted of murder!” might actually work on. I wanted to know Smitty’s story.

“You didn’t hear about that biker brawl up in Lauhglin?” Sonny asked.

“I’m not from here.”

“But you didn’t hear about the incident up near Reno?”

“He shot a man in Reno just to watch him die?”
This elicited a snort from Maria and a blank stare from Sonny Nevada.

Apparently there was a biker brawl and people died.

http://www.courttv.com/trials/hells-angels/background_ctv.html

Finally Smitty made his way over and introduced himself. I offered him my hand which he pushed away. “We hug around here!”

“She’s not from around here!” Sonny told Smitty.

“Well, where is she from?”

“I’m from Michigan. Detroit area.”

Smitty shrugged, “You should move here. This is where the white people live.”

Of course.

Maria turned around, “I live here and I’m not white.”

Smitty looked confused. “I’m Mexican,” Maria finally helped him out.

Then Smitty turned into a Hell’s Angel, murdering, racist anthropologist. “Well, you must be of Spanish descent. If you were Mexican your nose would be wider and broader. You’re more European than Mexican.”

“I’m a [insert obviously Mexican last name here]” Maria said and abandoned me once again.

Sonny Nevada and Smitty eventually decided to move on. Move on specifically to a strip club. We were invited. We politely declined. Sharing drinks with a murdering, racist anthropologist Hells Angel is one thing. Watching strippers is quite another.

Blogtastic!

So here’s the deal, yo. About six months ago my husband and I packed up and moved our stuff and tiny neurotic dog from Michigan to Portland, OR. We got here and said, “What now?” I’ve got one of those pesky job things and all, but it certainly does not involve my doing anything I want to do for any extended period of time.

My husband has decided that we should perhaps try to self-publish a magazine incorporating his photography and my writing. Apparently I am funny. I have tried to tell him that only he and his mother think I am funny. He thinks this is not true. So I explained that I am out of practice and should probably exercise my writing chops before actually “publishing” anything even if it is self induced. Hence the blog.

However, my husband thinks blogs are totally lame and self-indulgent. I think so too on some level, but I need practice so he can suck it.

I promised never to mention him by name so he will forever be referred to as “Husband.” For my friends I will try to change names to protect the innocent. But I’m not making any promises.