The Harsh Realities of Newark, NJ

After spending 4 days in Las Vegas, indulging our sweet teeth, along with just about everything else, Dan and I arrived at Newark Airport around 10 PM on Monday night. It was time to wake up from our long, beautiful dream.

We had driven to the airport on Thursday, leaving our car in long-term parking, thinking how clever we were because it would be so much easier to get home after the trip. How wrong we were. We spent 20 minutes just waiting for the shuttle to the parking lot, but the road was empty when we got onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

Cruising along, listening to "Viva Las Vegas," Dan and I were already re-living the glory days when I heard a sound from the back of the car. Dan was scared, having killed a cat in a car the week before, but after a quick look at my dashboard, I feared something worse. A tire blow out.

Of course the right rear tire was completely shredded, so we pulled over and waited for an hour on the side of the Turnpike when a guy named Mike came out in a tow truck and saved the day. Then I had to drive home on 4 hours of terrible airplane sleep. Sure beats the luxury of a suite in the Bellagio or lounging in the pool with margaritas, right?