ON COPING & BEING A SUCKER

I remember nothing about the day we spent in Death Valley other than asking Nate to google search "swimming in death valley" five minutes after we got there (no dice). I'll admit that I lack the coping skills necessary to confront scarce resources, extreme climates, the way my skin feels when being cooked under the sun, an abundance of retired grandparents in 30ft long RV's with air conditioning, etc. I'm a sucker. 

To give you an idea of the desperation I felt while on Mars, I suggested Las Vegas as a better alternative for the night. Las Vegas is a better alternative to nothing. Las Vegas is the eerily real but thankfully futuristic society written about in your sci-fi novel. Teetering on the edge of apocalypse, Big Brother is actually just Forever 21, earth is a never-ending shopping mall. Las Vegas is a black hole of cancer, McDonald's, fake tits, overly starched button-downs, cum stained motel sheets, exploited Italian culture, exploited everything, pleather stilettos.

Upon arrival I quickly realized that in Vegas, money does buy happiness. My only memories here were from my sweet teen years when my mother's then-boyfriend would park us at a 5-star hotel pool for four days, complete with gourmet buffets and virgin daiquiris. I fucking loved Las Vegas. But without my daddy's credit card and rose-tinted teenage goggles on, being in Las Vegas was like being stuck inside of a dirty condom. The next morning I suffered overwhelming guilt for exposing Nate to the actual gutter of America, and so I left him sleeping peacefully while I walked the strip with Lily in search of something which to redeem myself. I found nothing except for two iced lattes from Starbucks. San Francisco, you spoiled me just rotten. 

I'm having fun though, really. 

miles and miles