The truth about Oklahoma.

At 5AM on Wednesday, I was at the Calgary airport, loudly discussing my single status with a customs agent (it's an interesting story, remind me to tell you sometime in great detail, but a customs agent was very concerned with the fact that I was 25 and unmarried with no prospects). At first, I was concerned that this shaky start would reflect on the rest of the vacation, but nothing could be further from the truth.
I got on my flights and started my journey. A big thanks to American Airlines, who, with their liberal "keep the whole can" policy and their twangy flight attendants with massive hair and names like "Marge" and "Didi", have really flown their way into my heart. As well, talk. about. legroom. Hell, I could have normal-length legs, and I'd still have more than enough space to kick around my feet like an idiot.

After a day of airports and switching planes, I arrived in Nebraska with the warmest welcome from Jenny Junk and prepared myself for my adventures.

The next morning, Jenny Junk and I took off toward Oklahoma City. I've been on a few eight-hour road trips in my life, but nothing will ever measure up to sitting beside Jenny Junk in the muggy southern weather, smoking Camel #9s, and listening to 80's classics, ELO, and a healthy dose of T.I.

When we arrived in Oklahoma, there was not a lot of time for lollygagging, as it was time to head out for Sara D's bachelorette. A ton of super awkward photos ensued:


I've come to realize that if I ever want to get anywhere in life, I need to have some fabulous nails. Sara D promised me that she'd take me to a for-real Korean ghetto nail salon, and she did not disappoint.
There were chicks with massive weaves coming in on their lunch breaks from the drugstore to get the chips in their acrylic tips fixed. Really, the least I can do is to get some dollar-signs airbrushed on, to let people know that I mean business.
See? Nice nails = money. The poster told me so, and posters rarely lie.
What's better than a bachelorette penis-cake? How about a bachelorette penis popcorn ball, complete with white chocolate tip? Props to Jenny Junk for getting the skin-tone juuuust right.
At first it was just Sara D enjoying it's value.....
....but by the end, even Marisol was getting in on the action.

Saturday, the wedding day arrived, as well as the greatest guy in the world, Matt Degnan (fresh from Notre Dame). The ladies were looking fly-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y in our formal wear, even though it was like a thousand degrees outside. This is the last picture I took before we had to head out and make the wedding happen. The ceremony was under five minutes, as Sara D and Jeremy are pretty much the most amazing couple in the universe, and they really didn't need much time to prove that they actually did want to get married. We know it, guys. We know.
Okay, so there was this afterparty when the wedding finished, but due to a few wrong turns, Matt and I ended up with exactly 60 minutes until last-call from the time we arrived. You guys know what that means.... Power-hour.

Now, although I've had some pretty big nights in my past, Sara D and Jeremy don't get married every day, and it's rare when I get to drink beside my favorite people, so Matt and I really had to step it up a notch and make the hour count, which included large amounts of rum and beer-chasers with everything.

The evening ended on a pull-out couch mattress with no sheets (despite the fact that we were in a beautiful hotel room with two of the most comfortable beds ever), and with a nauseous IHOP breakfast.

We sent Matt on his way back to Notre Dame, and sent Sara D and Jeremy off to do married couple things. As for Jenny Junk and I, it was back to Nebraska and back to reality.

Now, normally I'm against most novelty t-shirts, but if you're thrifting with the girls in the actual ghetto, and you happen to run across a t-shirt that sorta knocks a super-patriotic state, and you just happen to be spending six hours in that state later in the week, and you kind-of feel like being a cock, then a guess it's a good way to ruffle a few feathers. Getting in a battle of wits with your average Texan is like playing Scrabble against a sewer rat... Not too difficult to beat, but totally fun regardless.

In between heated discussions at the airport bar and long rides on the moving sidewalks, I spent a ton of time ogling men in military uniforms (they're all over US airports!). You know, if it weren't for the whole "killing children and innocent civilians for a job" thing, I could probably really get into that jam. Sure, my vacation didn't have any palm trees or any beaches (tons of giant crosses and red dirt, though), but the truth about Oklahoma is that I got to spend a ton of time with four of the most incredible people I've ever known, two of which are now officially married to each other. I don't know if I could have asked for a radder vacation.

~sarah p.


p.s. Down south, Americans really like to run over things. We travelled through Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Oklahoma, and Missouri, and saw all sorts of dead stuff on the road, including an armadillo (!) and a wolf. I also had some delicious crushed-ice in my drink at Sonic. Sometimes, it's the little things that count.

Vacation. For real this time.

The top five best feelings in the world are as follows:
5. No pants (if you don't know what I'm talking about, the you are obviously wearing pants too often).
4. Forgetting about a song for a really long time, and the remembering it again (Like the time I forgot Rubberband Man existed for a month or two, but then I heard it somewhere and remembered again.... So amazing! So catchy!).
3. Sex for the fifth to five-millionth time (anything less has an air of awkwardness surrounding it, anything more, I'd assume, is boring). I should have my own advice column. It would be sassy and informative.
2. New shoes.
1. Paid vacation. Especially a paid vacation to the dirty south.

Okay bye.... Talk to you guys in a week.

~sarah p.

Clocking out.

I'm less than a week away from flying down to Oklahoma, but truthfully, my mind is already on vacation.

Call it a pre-vacation-vacation, if you will, but I've spent more time on Facebook (and digging through celebrity gossip) than I have in months, and it feels great.

Did you know that if you put on a really serious face, audibly sigh often, and walk with "purpose" everywhere you go, your co-workers and bosses will not fuck with you? It's true. They won't ask you to do any extra tasks, and they won't interrupt you, leaving you lots of time for the fun things at the office, such as playing with the name tag machine and printing dirty anecdotes off of the label makers.

Technically, there is a lot of work that I do need to get done, but it can wait, because my mind will probably still be on vacation for a week or two after I get back (a post-vacation-vacation).

Three more days of slacking, and I'll be dancing out of the office and straight down to a place where the meth labs outnumber the people. So jazzed, guys.

~sarah p.

Sweet. My answer is GET OUT OF MY KITCHEN.

Don't even bother trying to call me tonight.... Between The Hills season premiere and Hell's Kitchen finale, I'll have no time for chit-chat.

...Actually, it's totally okay to call me, but please call during breaks, and keep conversations to the following topics:

-Can Spencer be any more of a dick?
-Heidi: Do fake boobs and a nosejob ensure a solid career in the music industry?
-Why Whitney should probably just branch off and get her own show.
-L.C. : A plethora of great outfit ideas.
-Gordon Ramsay's insults: much less inventive when he's frazzled.
-Why is Bonnie in the finals with Rock anyway?

Thanks in advance for your consideration during this important evening.

~sarah p.

Gum.

I was going to write some sort of post about gum, because I'm totally into chewing gum lately (and blowing bubbles! Oh man.), but this morning I decided that the idea was really, really terrible. Then, I went to my parent's house tonight and drank a bottle and a half of wine, and throughout the night, the post started seeming like a progressively good idea again.

Basically, the post was going to say that the best gum for blowing bubbles is Hubba Bubba Max, the worst is Juicy Fruit (in stick-form), Fruit-Stripe gum is rad, and that watermelon gum sucks. That's it......Except for it would be interjected with a bunch of pathetic attempts at being entertaining.

....It's a good thing I got all sluggish after a couple of intoxicated hours, or you woulda had to read that shit.

Have a great weekend, guys.

~sarah p.

Suck it up, buttercup.

I don’t really know where my lack of work ethic came from. A chunk of my friends keep multiple jobs without any problems. My mom works three jobs, despite the fact that she’s got her house paid off, and takes about a billion vacations a year (I’m sure her surplus of work-hours has some sort of adverse effect on the amount of vacations she takes, but I really haven’t thought that far ahead). My dad has actually resigned from big-shot positions because he felt they weren’t giving him enough to do (can you imagine?). I was far from spoiled; if my sister or I wanted something when we were kids, we had to work for it. I have no problems working hard to get something done, so long as it’s something I like (for example, this masterpiece probably took me an hour to complete, and I was crazy sick), but when it comes to working a regular job, I spend the entire day rolling my eyes and complaining to myself inside of my head. I put up a pretty good façade for employers, but every day that I go to work kills me a little inside.

I do make a living. As much as it sucks, I get up every day and work my ass off for eight hours. The pay isn’t great, but due to the fact that I work for a non-profit organization, and I’m dangerously under qualified for the job, I’m not really in a position to complain. That being said, I live alone, which means that I pay for everything by myself. Although I certainly don’t miss the days of roommates, I miss only having to pay half of the cable bill, and half of the rent. Also, my spending habits aren’t the greatest… I tend to drop cash like a freshly-signed rapper, drink like Lohan on a bender, and gravitate toward anything shiny like a dirty gutter-crow. This is the lifestyle I’m accustomed to, and I don’t really choose to calm it down just yet.

Unfortunately, this means that I’ve been forced to take a second job to keep up. I suppose I could take an alternate route, and learn to budget and eat a ton of KD, but I’m really not interested in this approach (and I only like to eat KD on my time… Not out of necessity, thanks). Tomorrow night, I’m going to suck it up buttercup, and start another job at a night clinic. For now, I’ve agreed to work one weekend and one or two weekday evenings a month. Unlike my day-job, this position pays me way more than I’m worth, and the rumor is that it’s actually pretty easy-going.

The truth is, although I'll be dying inside (even more than normal!), the ice on my wrists should make up for it all. I'm pretty sure that's how it works, but I'll be sure to check with Slick Rick first.


~sarah p.

The big secret about long weekends:

I love them with my whole heart.

~sarah p.