There's No Place Like Home

Dorothy was spot on. I love to travel. I get ridiculously excited planning trips. Hotels make me jump for joy. I love exploring new cities, trying out new restaurants, shopping... but man oh man do I love coming home. Especially after a longgggg day of driving (hung over), in traffic, through a windy sandstorm in the desert.
Getting in my bed was the absolute best feeling in the world. And now the detox begins. In other slightly less whiny news: Vegas was an absolute blast. I'll post a better recap tomorrow with pictures (we took SO many fantastically hilarious photos), but for now I will just say this. I am a really ridiculously lucky girl. I seem to have managed to find the one boy who I can be with non-stop, talk about poop, judge all the trashy, slutty looking girls in Vegas, and be on the exact same page about pretty much everything, be completely annoyed with the rest of the universe with, and yet still find him absolutely irresistibly wonderful. (Run on sentence apologies.) How is that even physically possible? After drinking for three days, in the desert, with all the skanks and creepers, I am bothered by pretty much everything. Except for him. Miracle of miracles.

p.s. I am completely Vegas-ed out for the next year. I have re-learned that I love dive bars and happy hours. I will never be a clubber. Is that even what they are called? I am so not cool.