On Saturday, the Husband of Five Years and I drove to Las Vegas for the night. (And, yes, that’s how I plan on referring to him from now on.)
I took a lot of lopsided pictures on the way because, well, desert pictures are boring otherwise.
If I were to move anywhere, my first choice would be somewhere mountainous. With a lake. Somewhere I could enjoy all the seasons. (Stupid year-round ninety degree Southern California.)
My second choice would be tropical.
The desert is pretty far down on the list, but… there’s something about it.
Especially when the sky starts doing that. Then me and the desert? BFF’s.
The Nevada Landing. No longer in business.
Unfortunately, it was just after we arrived in Las Vegas that my battery died. Why I didn’t charge it before we left, I’ll never understand. I was especially disappointed with myself when I saw the view from our hotel room. And the sunset on the way home? Don’t get me started. I called myself a dozen colorful names and drowned my sorrows in a cookie dough Blizzard, which we really couldn’t afford after the Blackjack Incident.