We're Not in Burbank Anymore, Baby!

So, last weekend, I drove to Vegas. Memorial Day weekend... Vegas... Yes, I am insane.

My pseudo-uncle moved to Vegas and I followed him in his car.

Why, you ask?

To retrieve my beloved Miata.

Ah, perfect sense.

Yes, my cherubs, my car is once again mine. Huzzah! It is pristinely clean and running like a dream. No more busses for me.

But, that's not what this post is about. Oh, no. This post is about The Drive to Vegas. (Dun, dun dun.)

First of all, I was cruising along behind the U-Haul truck, trying to stay awake and a PT cruiser... well, cruised past me and the back window had an ad for "Hookah Parties" on it. (I love living somewhere where that can happen.) I had to call my auntie and cheer.

Second was the place in Baker where you can buy "Alien Fresh Jerky." I don't really need to say more about that. The pictures it creates in your mind do it more justice than I ever could.

Third was the temperature in Baker. F***ing hot is the only way to describe it. Seriously. I'm a girl with a pretty decent vocabulary, but that is the only word that is accurate enough. I'm sure it wasn't even the hottest it could be either. I got out of the car, almost fell down, and thought, "I really need to go back to Burbank."

Another reason why I desperately wanted to get the hell out of Baker was the pleasant up-standing gentleman lurking outside of the gas station. Let's see if I can describe him without hurling all over my keyboard. He was 80,000 years old and shirtless. (Nice.) Sunburnt to within an inch of his life and with three inches of tighty-whity showing above the waistband of his none-so-nice jeans. One crutch (for drama, I suppose) and a cigarette hanging off his lip (for emphyzema, I suppose).

My cousin, who was in a rotten mood and convinced that I had the keys to the truck, kept trying to rifle my pockets while dear old dad was going potty. Well, Mr. Clean made some remark about how dear lil cuz really just wanted to feel me up. Needless to say, I didn't ask him to elaborate.

All in all, I got a good blog post and a car out of the whole shebang, so I figure I came out on top.

Although, when I stopped in Baker on the way home, I was very glad to see that Prince Charming was no longer there. Maybe he went down the road to get some alien jerky.