Which is the most muy fabuloso hoteloso I've ever seen. And if I can't stay at the Wynn, I just walk on by. Besides, gamble with money? Surely you jest.
So, non.
I only LANDED in Vegas so that I could make the fifty bazillion hour trek through the most lonesome section of the Mojave desert known to man and a few coyotes to get to the good stuff in Utah. (Insert here: crickets chirping and a bunch of covered wagon-type women schlumping along behind their husbands going, "John? You dragged me away from my cushy Bostonian town home with the lawn and gardens and ladies luncheons and adorable outfits to pioneer this?") Look, I'm not making this up. Is this not the ne plus ultra of desolate, or what?
And you're talking to a gal who loves her some desert. But this is just wrong. This is mother nature and God pissed off at the same time.
There is some civilization. It's called Mesquite, Nevada, and it's located about twenty-five minutes northeast out of Vegas on the border with Arizona, and it's, like, God really, really on a bender, because imagine the photo above, only with a golf course, a Wal-Mart, twelve Taco Bell Mansion subdivisions, and a casino offering $39 massages and all you can eat King Crab legs – in the desert, Party People – for only $15.95 per person. Oh, and somewhere a few miles right before all this, someone had taken the trouble to hike out into the middle of the dusty scrub and decorate it with a big ol' "Ron Paul for President" sign.
Anyway. That was day one. I was not driving. I was looking out the window and thanking my lucky stars that I wasn't born a pioneer woman.
Okay, so then we get there and there's lots of hiking, climbing, running, jumping, boot camping. And eating. With high heels. And a couple glasses of Pinot Grigio. Well, okay, a lot of glasses of Pinot Grigio. Cause that's how I roll when I spa.
Then, the trip back. More crickets. More me thanking my lucky stars and wishing reading in the car didn't make me nauseated.
Then there is the fifty bazillion hours we sit in the Las Vegas airport. Any of you ever get stuck in this 9th circle of Dante's hell? Used to be, there was nothing to eat here except Cinnabons and $15.00 Wolfgang Puck wrap sandwiches. Now there is some place named something like The Tequilera or something, that serves up surly waiters nicknamed Gucci, $15.00 Cuervo 1800 margaritas, and the most gawd awful food known to mankind, only made fifty million times worse by the fact that there was no salsa to go along with it because of the tomato salmonella scare.
So not only did I end my trip hung over and with a grumbly tummy, I ended it famished.
It's good to be back home.
16 comments:
Welcome back Moi. The drinking wine part sounded good anyway :)
I am telling you, knitting is the answer to all your desert car boredom. I'm glad you're back from your adventure and hope a big fat meal of green chile chicken enchiladas magically appeared on your table as you walked in the door (ala The Jetsons--when *will* our technology catch up with that show?). By the by, ya still got that cocoon thing clinging to your furniture??
Get over to SparringK - you've been missed!
Welcome Home!!!!!
I've seen worse....norther NM for instance. Parts of Utah are even more desolate.
I think the parts between Colorado and California were only settled because the mules died and people were stuck there.
Glad to see you back.
Gypsy: A vay-cay without wine is like a day without sunshine. Unthinkable!
Wicked: Dahlink, you know how uncoordinated I am standing still. Now you want me to knit in a car? Hee, hee, ho, ho. (We'll tawk soon about our respective vay-cays . . . and all the knitting you did whilst in the middle of an early hurricane season.)
AB: I can't believe I'm a day late and a dollar short on SHE'S post. Separated. At. Birth.
Iamnot: Hey. Don't be hatin' on Northern New Mexico. Surely you meant NW Arizona? Good for one thing: burying da bodies.
Welcome back from the 9th circle... (I think we may have been in the 10th)Sounds like a grand time, can't wait for details.
May 1848. Mr. Troll was just a sapling then.
God: Sheeez, these Mormon freaks just won't give up, will they?
Mom Nature: Nope, they sure are stubborn. At this rate, they'll hit the Pacific by October.
God: I think I shall smite them! I haven't smote anyone in years!
Mom Nature: How about a practical joke, instead?
God: (amidst thunder) BRIGHAM YOUNG! BRIGHAM YOUNG! I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU! THIS IS THE LAND YOU SEEK RIGHT HERE. THIS IS ZION!
SETTLE HERE!
Mom Nature: Grrrrherhahahahahhahahhahahahhaaha!
Welcome back.
I thought Dante's circle in hell just happened not to have cinnabons. ;)
Doris: Oh, you definitely win. I didn't fly in a hurricane! Yowza.
Troll: Okay, that's mighty funny, right there. And imagine what would have happened, all those Mormonators marching themselves silly right on into the Pacific. Only to fall tragic victim to their own water-weighted underwear.
Thursday: Have you ever had a Cinnabon? They're the size of a quarter. Eating just one is like eating just one Puffy Cheeto. See where I'm going with this?
I've spent time in the LV airport and OH I know what you're talking about. BTW, that's not Wolfgang Puck, it's Wolfgang PUKE.
But Cinnabon? That's a Seattle product and ohhhhhh it's tastee with a good cup of coffee.
Trolls comments are cracking me up.
Laughin' and cryin' heah , Puddin'Pie!!
Welcome home--does ya know ya was SO missed? AB said it--we knowed ya have somethin' juicy to say about it!
I'se wif Thursday on 9th--no cinnabon's last time I'se stuck theah.
LV? me an Uncle did Zion or Bryce or somehwar' round theah--so we also suffered the LV indignities.
Git yore Dorothy thang goin'
"Thar's no place like home, thar's no palce like home..."
I was born in the desert. The desert of which you speak.
And yeah, it's pretty whacked as places go.
I was a year old when we left and never went back until friends bought a house there. I was just there last October.
All-you-can-eat King Crab legs? Sounds like paradise if you ask me. And, I simply will ignore everything else you just described surrounding the All-you-can-eat King Crab legs.
But really, aside from the awful traveling part... how was the MEAT of the vaca?
AB: Seattle strikes again! I'm not saying I don't loves me the Cinnabon. I'm saying: A. They're way too small for B. Costing an arm and a leg.
Aunty: Bryce and Zion are beautiful. All of Utah, in fact. It's that Mojave section there at the bottom that is just so head-scratching.
Deadman: Welcome to Moi's Blob. Ah. A native. You must have stories . . .
Meghan: The meat of the vay-cay was fabulous. Because it's just outside St. George, UT, which is red rock country and so awesome and gorgeous. I love it there. Regardless of what it takes to actually GET there.
Good to see you back in the saddle.
Hope the dessert was desserty and the wine whiney and of course the vacation, vaccinating. Yaaa, something like that.
Looks like a mirage hotel to me. It probably disappears the moment you try to check in!
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