smut plastered 50 feet high
By far my least favorite part of flying is landing. It's the anticipation of a big thud. Las Vegas from the air really is quite an alarming sight. Endless rows and rows and rows of cookie-cutter homes, misplaced trees and plenty of desolation, all plopped into the heart of a dust bowl. Vast nothingness and oddity, really. I'm so glad this is no longer my sense of normalcy. When in Vegas, you forget that the rest of the country doesn't do quite an exquisite job of objectifying women as they do here. I think because, if you're like me, you just HAVE to put it out of your mind to survive here. I got off the plane and was disgusted, as I always am, at seeing fake boobs and photoshopped faces at baggage claim. But this time it was much more gutteral. Being away from this bullshit for 5 months made it all the more repulsive when remembering this is the standard here. My home is a wasteland where the good is too easily hidden from view, because plastic phony commodities are deemed more important than anything of real human value and substance. It's so much easier for me to think fondly of this place when I'm not actually here.