Our journey to the eastern border of Wyoming was an arduous one. It took a full six hours across what Ceil called "Bleaksville, Nothingz County." (Please note: Ceil absolutely cracks herself up when she says this. Her game-changing jokes like this are what makes a six hour journey feel like only a five and three quarters one).
Why such a long journey? We were on our way to see Devil's Tower.
In the 11th hour, someone, I won't name names but it rhymes with Tessa, asked, "How long are we really going to look at a rock for?"
Outraged, Cecilia and Maggie quickly fired back at Rhymes-With-Tessa, saying things like "it's not about the destination; it's about the journey!" and "Live a little! When are you ever going to return to Bleaksville, Nothingz County?!"
We even told her that in addition to its being a total geological anomoly and a sacred ground for several planes tribes including the Dakota and Cheyenne, "this rock muthafucka is the muthafucking rock in 'Close Encounters of the Third Kind." None of us has actually seen this movie but, one day, Netflix might add it to its streaming catalog and that would be very, very important to us.
So we looked at the rock.
We really, really looked at it.
But somehow, Ceil ended up in a child's sized swimsuit and we ended up just taking pictures of ourselves per usual.
Because I (Maggie) made fun of Ceil's sense of humor earlier in this post, Ceil says I have to finish this by giving her a compliment and, according to her, "it can’t be how good I look in a child’s bathing suit." You know what I have to say? She's got the heart and courage of a lion.
In terms of colors, Palm Desert really needs to be seen to be believed. Imagine driving from the nearby town, Indio, which is a lone Walmart on a desert-strip of sandstorm to this man-made oasis. Your eyes actually have to ADJUST to how bright the colors are. Sure, there's this "palm desert tan" (as seen above) everywhere but bright, jewel-tone colors aggressively pop out in the contrast.
Take the lawns, for example. California is in a drought. We heard from our gracious host (Maggie's godmother and real estate Queen of the Desert, Patti Rollins) that the country clubs are in talks to transition into more of a "desert landscape." This would mean more succulents and cacti and less manicured lawns and vibrant, multi-color flower gardens.
But for now, the lawns are manicured (for real, though — it looks like each house single-handedly skinned the Grinch) and the flower gardens are stunning. Each pod of houses usually comes with its own sapphire-like pool. And, if that's not enough jewel-tones, it doesn't go unnoticed that everyone is actually wearing fucking jewels here, too. You go Palm Desert.