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.