One night in Albuquerque.

(For those of you that don't know, that is New Mexico.)

On our travels, we, as a family, encounter less-than-reputable hotels. It is a fact of life that not every hotel can be the Ritzy Ritz Lavish Inn, and occasionally I lower my standards to stay at hotels that obviously cannot accomodate my lush lifestyle, like the Dallas hotel last night. Although I loved sleeping with random black curly hair, pink stains, and a bent pull-out couch bed, I was excited to wish it goodbye. I hopped onto that elevator like the dang hotel was on fire. I was thinking wishful when it came to the topic of breakfast, and as I lugged my luggage out the door and to the lobby, I was perfectly content with what I saw. The standard breakfast you would see about anywhere. Bagels here, toaster there, (no waffle maker.. bummer.) no big deal. I just grabbed myself some frosted flakes and some OJ and hit up the table in the middle to indulge in a pre-drive chat with my family and pet.

Unfortunately, my high-class tastebuds were dissappointed to taste the "frosted" flakes that adorned my styrofoam bowl.
I use the term "frosted" very carefully.
Now I'm not familiar with the exact frosting that decorates those wonderful flakes, but I'm pretty sure what I did taste was nothing close to what should have been used as "frosting" for my flakes. I'm sure if you went back to that rank hotel and checked the cameras, you'd see a box of corn flakes poured into a canister by some angry maintenence man, and then he shakes his head over said canister a couple times to "frost" these corn flakes. The frost like, blew away as soon as I examined it closer. And as I poured the fantastically warm milk into the bowl, the maintenence man frosting just melted away in the milk. I was eating like, dandruff flakes. Blehck. But it was food. See that again? Bright side.

However the OJ was fabulous. It seemed to have burned my mouth on the way in though. And the way down. And after that I felt a little off. But it was fabulous.

So I've been sitting in a car for HOURS on end, driving away from Dallas, Texas, to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I ran into a massive rainstorm on the way in, so bad I could not even see the road. First one of those ever, and I'd like to have that not happen again if that's possible mister Rain controller.

Other than that, it was uneventful until we arrived at faaaahbulous "Nativo Lodge" off the Pan-American Highway. It seems as if I stepped right into a Native American's big mansion. Everything is deep red, beige, or brown. Rugs and tapestries and other Native American knick-knacks drape every corner, and the pool was lovely. The hot tub however, fantastic. So hot.. and so tub-like. The only thing that reminds me I am in a hotel and not in a large teepee in the middle of a desert are the friendly Caucasian staff asking if I would like a cookie.

I couldn't help but wonder as I drove the west 10 to Albuquerque.. how hard must it be for the residents of Albuquerque to spell that every time they need to reference where they live?! Is there a song, or a reference chart where they can look it up? Do you think people tattoo it on their hands as to never forget how to spell it? Is there a state-wide crisis of how to spell it? Why is so complicated anyway?! SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!

Let us see just what tomorrow may bring us, as I arrive at the luxurious Hotel Monaco in downtown Salt Lake City tomorrow night.