Saturday, December 17, 2016

Vivir Lars Vegars: Chapter 1

When frantically searching for the cheapest tickets to get you the furthest from your jobs in Kansas City over a holiday weekend, you're going to go to Las Vegas. You may not like it. You might even hate it. But it's your only option.

We decided to make it an ironic trip.

Instead of resenting us, my mom suggested we go to the Grand Canyon while we were out there a somewhat sore spot for her because in spite of the dozens of family road trips we took, I'd only ever been there in utero. Jaime couldn't even say that, so I spent time planning. My least favorite thing to do.

We spirited away on that airline with the flight attendant who told us to close our eyes and pretend we were flying Delta while he pretended he was getting a Delta paycheck. We didn't die.

After shaking their exotic coconuts at each other, the Brazilian guy at the car rental place told Jaime we could chose any car we wanted in the economy row! He blew past the cute cornucopia of brightly colored Chevy Sparks to a black sedan.

It reminded me of the time we were at a famous ice cream place ordering a banana split. The woman asked us what three flavors we wanted, and he excitedly blurted out, "Vanilla!"

I wasn't driving nor the one who needed leg room, so I got in the damn car but not before I made note of the group of women ahead of us who'd chosen a yellow convertible.

I hoped they'd noticed how hot my husband is.

Our first stop was Hoover Dam. Actually, our first stop was a place called something like Fidel's Neato Tacos open 24 hours. Fucking amazeballs.

Hoover Dam was pretty cool, too.

This is the best picture we got of it.


We left the dam and started our long journey through the open desert where the landscape morphs every 80 miles into something even more breathtaking than before and ends in a giant fucking hole.

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