I made a new friend...

There's so much to report, but it's been too late and we've been too tired. Driving from Austin to New Orleans tomorrow, where we will stay for a few days and there will hopefully be some time to get to some posts, because they WILL be worth it, but in the meantime, I have just one thing to tell you...

Today... I met BrandEe. 

Not Brandi. Though, I met her too. I met her yesterday. Brandi is our friend. Brandi likes nothing more than a moscow mule (or 4 moscow mules -- it was 5, but Brandi don't wanna hear that.) 

No, I met BrandEe. She's Brandi 2.0 -- two "E"s -- one big, one small. And BrandEe doesn't like small elevators that tend to jump and drop or boutique hotels that are situated in the shitty part of Austin during a random Biker weekend. 

BrandEe likes the Four Seasons. Which we tried to go to, but couldn't get in, so we went there for a cocktail instead and pretended we were staying there and not in this godforsaken place where people don't take well to BrandEe freaking out and yelling "I have to get OFF!" when we're stuck in the back of the jumpy elevator that now officially has too many people on it and we might plummet to our death at any second, but the angry people who shoved their Texas-sized selves onto the elevator have allowed the doors to close and we are now trapped at the back and one of the bitches in front tells BrandEe to "relax." 

Nope... BrandEe doesn't like that at all. When we went to go out for a walk, I appeased BrandEe by saying we could take the stairs down. So off we went. We're on the 10th floor, B.T.dubs, but it's okay -- at least we're going down. Until we reach the 7th floor where BrandEe stops in her tracks and we see this... 

To which, I say... "Listen to me, BrandEe... If we're going down -- it's gonna be in an elevator that snaps and maybe kills us as opposed to them finding our two corpses down there in a month or 8 when my actual cause of death will be Toxic Shock Syndrome. Now hop on this here death box, and let's get us a cocktail at the Four Seasons, k...?"

And off to civilization we went...

More to come... If I can fucking stand it.

There's ALWAYS notes...

Someone... I'm not gonna say who... was worried that no one would know who "Pretty" was...

She's making me do this...

On Wednesday, Dylann Brander (aka "Pretty," but she can suck it if she thinks that's how she will be referred to here) and I are getting the hell out of dodge and road-tripping ourselves to New Orleans. I will have to wait until we're actually on our way to discover her true road-trip moniker -- although I'm hoping the "Brandi" Colleen spent time with last summer makes at least an appearance or twelve. 

Right now we're in prep-mode, which, for us, means that we know the major landmarks we're going to hit...

1) Tucson, AZ: unless its super-boring, whereas we'll just keep driving 'til we're tired. 

2) Marfa, Tx; because the only thing my friend cares about is taking a goddamn picture in front of that fucking Prada store we can't even go into. That, and she religiously watched "Courtney Loves Dallas." I did too, no judgement, but taking a pic in front of this thing (see below) wasn't on my bucket list or anything. But we're gonna hit it and its gonna be awesome.

The rest of the journey will take us to and through San Antonio, Austin and Dallas until we reach or destination in The Big Easy. 

We've done our shopping. Lesley Brander has ceremoniously declared that any clothes and/or shoes that might not necessarily be fashion-forward (read: ugly and ill-fitting, but super comfortable) should be purchased as long as they were under 50 bucks, labelled as "For The Trip" and we agree to leave them behind in a city along the way. OHMYGOD, you guys... don't worry... Dylann got her special moisturizer/sunblock/whatever-the-fuck-it-is-for-her-face. She's been talking about this shit for over a week -- its the only thing in the world that will protect her precious gift from The Orb of Evil in the sky known to the rest of our faces as The Sun. I bought some shorts and linen pants from Target. Fast-forward to 3 days from now where I will absolutely be begging for some of Dylann's magic spooge. [Yes... I just said "Dylann's magic spooge." That's how this is going to go so get used to it.]
  
The rest of prep-mode means Dylann's currently researching the important Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives along the way and I'm writing something I won't get paid for. We haven't booked a single hotel room and we don't plan on it -- we're playing it all by ear. But here's where I have faith in the fact that my friend Dylann and I will be just fine [I swear, LeeAnn, we will!]. While I will happily wear my linen pants from Target and she will don that $20 ill-fitting, For-The-Trip dress from Zara, my diva and I are on the very same page when it comes to where we will lay or heads at night. 

Me: There will be no MOtels. We don't enter a room from the OUTside. 

Dylann: I don't sleep with a comforter that doesn't have the word "down" in front of it. 

Me: Any place we stay WILL have a lobby...

Dylann: ...and a button on the phone that says "housekeeping."

We're gonna be just fine. 

In other news... I already hate this fucking blog shit.