That Map app the smart sister has on her iPad (that she kept my nose glued to for damn near 3 days) calculated the time it’d take us to drive from Austin to Colorado Springs. To her, that was the app basically saying, “Hey, fool…no way can you make it there in 14 hours and 38 minutes.”
No matter what that thing calculated on what the distance was from Point 1 to Point B, the smart sister shaved off at least 45 minutes in her head.
Then on the road.
This trip took professionals to accomplish. No way could it be done by, or with…amateurs. Or without 5-Hour Energy (that I can chug like a warm beer and she sips like a martini).
I could spend time telling you about the stuff you CAN believe. Like how we took Beyonce, my little metal chicken and how she drove part of the way…
…and how she placed her own order at Sonic.
But it’s the stuff you AIN’T gonna believe that I’d rather tell you about.
Such as, our first night in Colorado Springs.
We get there (in record time, of course) and need to figure out where we’re gonna stay.
We’re in, what appears to be a nice area of town. I mean, there’s a Hookah Lounge. Which she totally thought I was saying “Hooker Lounge” because of my twang.
Her: “No, we’re not staying by a hooker lounge, what the shit is wrong with you?”
I had to Wikipedia it so she could see I wasn’t suggesting illegal activities.
(I actually didn’t even know hookers HAD lounges, so she must know something I don’t.)
It’s right at dark, so we pull into a name brand place. Not the Ritz or anything, but certainly not a Trucker’s Delight either.
She checks us in and I’m pulling luggage out of the car. We proceed to the room.
In the hallway headed to the elevators, just down a very small bit from my carotid artery, I see an older lady with what I thought was possibly a Shetland pony on a leash. That “pony” stiffens up, lowers it’s ass end in what looked like a lunge-for-the-neck position, and leaned forward.
I swear, I crapped. Literally. Right there. In the hallway.
Stacie looks at me and we lunge into the elevator…luggage and all. It was just like in the movies. Slow motion…both feet off the ground at the same time, luggage flying everywhere.
I had no clue a pony was considered a pet in the hotel industry.
Make note of that for your future travels.
Door closes and I hear that pony bark. Loud.
We run to the room (on a totally different floor now), slam the door shut, hit the lock and we’re done.
My breathing has sustained and I’m gonna unpack my bathroom stuff.
Stacie screams from the other room:
“Pack your shit up, we ain’t staying here!”
(She used that word more this trip than I’ve ever heard her use. I’m not going to assume it’s because I was with her.)
She has now found A SYRINGE tucked in the cushion of the little, cheesy lounge chair
that no fool in their right mind should ever consider sitting it that’s in the corner of the room!
I immediately go into full detective mode and check every drawer, cabinet and seal around the windows. Even looked down in the A/C vents.
Like I know what I’m looking for.
She calls front desk, and a little girl about 22 years old and 78 pounds comes to the room.
Stacie shows her the syringe that I have now concluded is part of a world-wide international drug ring. The waif picks it up WITH HER BARE HAND and says:
“Oh, housekeeping should really check these chairs when they clean. Would you ladies like another room?”
Uh, HELL TO THE NO! I think not, fool.
Are you kidding me? We left.
I suggested we call Dad. He was already a bit worried that 2 of his 3 daughters were on the road, out of state, where he couldn’t get to us if needed.
Her: “Now why the shit do you think we need to call Dad?”
(See, there’s that word again.)
Me: “Because if he knew what just happened, he’d set us up in like the Omni or in some fancy digs like that for the night, THAT’S WHY!”
We drove out of the parking lot past 3 thugs looking in the window of a car that wasn’t theirs. Beyonce’ was on my lap. When I say her beak is like a shiv, I ain’t kidding.
So are her feet. I had to put her in my purse for transportation purposes, and she tore up my wallet. I’m talking TORE. UP.
We didn’t call Dad but we did eventually find a nice place for the night. It was by a Denny’s.
I don’t know why that seems relevant. I think I’m just hungry now.
The reason we went to Colorado Springs is because Stacie’s stepson (who lives there, of course) needed his shunt replaced. Surgery was done on Friday morning and all went spectacularly well.
This was by far, the funnest trip I’ve ever done. Fast and furious. Just like us. We laughed till we hurt. We ate crap we’d never consider eating at home. But that’s what you do on a road trip.
(I’m assuming “funnest” is a word. Spell check didn’t freak over it.)
One last thing. Did ya’ll know Texas has a “Welcome Home Committee?”
And for the most part, they ain’t too welcoming, at that. Seriously need re-training. Wouldn’t even take a picture with Beyonce.
I mean, I’D be flattered…but no. Not these jokers.
This was the best picture I could get:
We’ve decided we’re doing this again. Very Thelma and Louise-ish without the violent ending.
So, don’t be surprised if you hear of the two sisters blowing through a city near you.
One day. Maybe kinda soon. Probably sooner than you think ’cause we both gotta lotta vacation built up.
You’ve been warned.