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.