This is us, getting ready for a two-week road trip through the American South.
- Mao: gathering Ricky Ricotta books and picking out DVDs for the ride
- Zhou: picking out toys to play with at the hotel in New Orleans and at the beach
- Bob: clearing out the fridge
- Me: grinding teeth, heaving vicious, loaded sighs
I've printed out the TripTik, checked out a million books, bought travel toothpaste. Checked our route against roadfood.com. Bought tickets to Dollywood, made hotel reservations. I'm gradually doing all the laundry, which will be folded directly into our luggage. TWO WEEKS. TWENTY-SIX HUNDRED MILES. Gas is over FOUR DOLLARS a gallon. GOD!
We're spending a week in New Orleans, then driving to my cousin's place on the beach in Georgia. I love my cousin. She suggested that we drive safely:
"As opposed to the way you and Bob usually drive. On suspended licenses. Tailgating. Speeding. On a donut. Three sheets to the wind. Changing lanes in intersections. Smashing your empty beer bottles against other cars as you whiz by. Letting the kids sit with no belts or hanging out the window shooting birds at retirees bound for St. Simons. Throwing your smoldering butts into bales of hay as you pass trucks full of Baptist children on the church hay ride. Shouting "Flaming cracker asshole" at cop cars. Punching out the cops who pull you over for doing all these things and telling them, 'I may be from below the Mason-Dixon line, but I am NOT a booger eating moron like you!'"Aaand... all of a sudden I'm excited about our trip all over again. Woo hoo! The SOUTH, y'all! Cracker assholes! Breakfast sausage! barbecue! Brunswick stew! Fried fuckin okra!
Watch out, y'all. Pink-headed freak comin' your way.