Oh la la road trip

In retrospect I should have started my blog much earlier to document the processes of just simply getting to Paris. The drive to LA from Colorado to get a visa...the drive where our A/C broke in the middle of the dessert, the drive where we got stuck in traffic for 2 hours in 115 degree AZ heat. The drive where we almost ran out of gas in Utah but luckily (it wasn't Sunday: Mormons won't work on Sunday I've been told, luckily it was Monday ) found a teeny gas station open fully equipped with "Ran out of gas in Utah" souvenir shirts. The same drive where we landed in Las Vegas, had an amazing time. From dreaming with Le Reve,

dancing in the Moroccan baths of Lavo, drinking from the Piero Selvaggio's Valentino wine bible (equipped with 27,000 different bottles of wine), to Studio 54's $15 Grey goose cranberry juice that I left (one sip gone) on a table because we had to get out of there so quickly. I mean I'm a vegetarian and there was only sausage at that party. Not that I don't love the men, its just that I already have one...and one's enough. The World Series of Poker at the Rio

The same drive where we left Vegas at 5am to trek on over to L.A. where we experienced the traffic, the trash, the graffiti, the glamour of Rodeo, the paparazzi, the Bentley's, the Maserati's, the Bugatti's,

the beauty the luxury, the pointless (but still the envy). Where we got our visas for Paris, which was extremely nerve racking (especially since we drove 17 hours to get it! If we forgot something Au Revoir to Paris), yet still entertaining where the fingerprinting booth was equipped with a Spock photo.

Then we headed to Sprinkles, for a few souvenirs (that didn't do so well in the oven of a car that Jeff's Subaru really is) where I realized that I'm not really a fan of cupcakes even if they are world famous, where we headed through Beverley Hills, parked illegally in private parking garages, almost got trapped in a private parking garage, but made it out with help from the parking attendant through a very strange and disconnected sense of communication, then meandered our way to Santa Monica where Jeff played in the waves,

 and where I found myself only knee deep (safe from sharks) peeling seaweed from my legs but still loving the ocean, thinking that I would definitely live in LA sometime soon or somewhere with the ocean.

Maybe somewhere where you could drive 15 miles in 15 minutes, not 1.5 hours. We headed home from LA and Vegas exhausted but excited, the deed was done the visa was done. Paris was inching closer.