Vegas, puzzins, and hothothot.

Man, Vegas in August is hot.

McCarran is the worst place on the planet, with its hideously designed "train to shuttle to another shuttle to a rental car facility in the middle of nowhere" system. There are insane lines everywhere, and slot machines have sprung up to occupy every inch of available space. The strip is crowded with the most awful, drunk, crass, rude people on earth. The billboards city-wide match the general theme. The parking situation is appalling, as is the fact that you can somehow, inexplicably, still smoke inside everywhere. The whole damn town smells like stale smoke and cheap perfume and vomit and excess and vulgarity and sadness. (Pictures below needed a home and do not match this theme.)

I swore off Vegas six years after college, a USC grad who had for a decade been obligated to spend every sorority sister's birthday, bachelorette weekend, divorce party, and- no kidding- more than a few baby showers, in Sin City. I hate it there with a passion.

But we never get to see Ben, and Lisa and the kids were flying halfway around the world (literally) to visit him for the few seconds he could get away from the prestigious weapons school at Nellis AFB. So we bought awful tickets on a budget airline and decamped to North Vegas smack dab in the middle of God's annual fury- evidenced by the weather- that such a place exists. 

And it was, of course, idyllic.

Ben took more time off than he had to hang out with the crew.

No rookie, I had insisted on an airbnb with a pool; and the cousins (and Ana & Ata!) lived in the water, careening around wildly on the dreadful pool floats Finley & Ford had brought their cousins

which took hours to inflate.

The kids got to nap with Ata,

 hit a splash pad,

crack up with Missy,

workout with me,

grill dinner (with prosecco, duh),

and fall wildly in love with their "puzzins."

The adults even got in a break or two

before we hit Circus Circus (obligatory), and all the glitz and awfulness that the strip has to offer.

To be fair, we also relived a fair number of childhood memories, hiking with kids in 110 degree heat.

Red Rock is awesome, but

Finley's face says it all. 

We took the redeye home. After a classic goodbye-Vegas sunset-in-bed while chowing down on Baja Fresh.

Worked/ school-ed the next day. Gutted out the rest of the week, which included TDY (+ facetime) for Mom,

and catching up with Fordy's geese.

Today, totally beat, we did nothing.
Minus Finley's first crazy southern "dance moms" ballet (she already got promoted to tap, killmenow),

plus "we" cleaned the house, picked up groceries, and snuck into the hot tub when the lifeguard left.

And we revived the alligator. Viva Las Vegas!

Photo of the week is this one, of our wildy dangerous rockclimbing expedition at Red Rock. Complete with snacks. (Plus that one at top with us all.) Missing the Walters crew madly!