Kansas-bound

Author's Note: For those of you who don't know, my sister and I concocted some sort of Great American Road Trip a couple months ago, involving me flying from Florida to Texas, and us driving to Lawrence, Kansas, to watch the Jayhawks play basketball. All in two days. What follows are my experiences along the way.

Friday, Jan. 14, 2010

I got two hours of sleep Thursday night before I had to get up for the airport, and everything is HILARIOUS for some reason. I also, if you've been following my Facebook updates throughout the day, was tempted to kill just about everyone who crossed my path. Some random musings from the first day of my journey:

** I don't think I've actually ever seen Justin Bieber, but I've heard enough about him to understand that I absolutely HATE his hair. That being said, the first person who threatened to meet my fist was the preteen he/she (couldn't tell, he/she was one of those black-haired emo types) with Bieber hair. Y'know, back when I was his/her age, I didn't like to eat my hair: If it was in my face, I got it out. You don't look cool, you look like a sloppy douche who can't take care of him/herself. The overall comedic value was saved here due to the fact that he/she was wearing black-and-white checkered Hammer pants that were tucked into purple moon boots. In Florida. When it's 72 outside. Fella/lady, I'd like to find your mother and beat her senseless. There HAS to be some kind of law against this.

** The senior citizens of the world, particularly the blue-hairs who dwell in Florida, seem to think themselves entitled to be “first” at everything. Hey lady? We board in a certain order for a reason – particularly so that people in row 3 (you) don't completely retard the entire boarding process by keeping everyone behind you waiting as you struggle with your 48 carry-ons because you're too cheap to check your bags. But we get it – you're old and your time is limited so it's OK for you to disregard the boarding instructions and shuffle/shove your way to the front of the line. Oh and also, just because I still managed to sneak on the plane before you with a well-aimed elbow and a sprint down the tunnel, it doesn't give you the right to throw your remaining 47 bags haphazardly in my lap with a grunt like that's what I'm there for as you get situated. I vote that we take everyone over 90 years old, stick them on an ice floe and push them out to sea like the Inuits did.

** I'd like to take this time to personally thank the fat man who had the middle seat on my flight from Atlanta to Dallas. The drool stain on my shoulder is sure to attract tons of attention from all the cowboys I hope to bag, tag and drag back home with me.

** Speaking of cowboys, holy shit they actually DO wear cowboy hats in Texas! I really thought it was like a myth or something. Anyway, they were everywhere at the airport. I'm pretty sure anyone can look hot in a cowboy hat! No really, think about it... if you're ugly, you just get a bigger hat – the big dopey wing-things on the side do a pretty good job of casting shadows anyway. I plan to put my theory to practice this weekend, and avoid anyone in the proverbial “10-gallon hat.” You heard it first here, I'm a 5-gallon-and-under girl. Size does, apparently, matter.

** The speed limits in Texas are lower at night. I asked my sister about this, and she couldn't give me a reason, and I've spent most of the car ride so far trying to understand why night time isn't the best time to drive 100 miles an hour.

** Wal-Marts are universal creeper magnets. The Wal-Mart in Denton, Texas, contained no fewer fat-people-in-ill-fitting-garments / ugly-children-too-big-to-be-riding-in-a-cart / drunken/stoned/just-plain-unkempt people than the Wal-Mart in North Port, Florida. I find this strangely comforting.

** My Uggs standoff ended sometime about 2 a.m. Saturday. For those of you who are new to my life, I HATE Uggs: The way they look, the people who wear them, the word “Uggs” and really just the entire concept in general. It's cold in Texas, though, so my sister let me borrow her black pair. I'm really sad to say that I'm sold. When I get home, I'm going to order a pair. No, really. It's like my feet are being hugged by a warm cloud. How could I have deprived myself of such happiness for so long?? Sigh. (And no, this doesn't mean I'll be Biebering my hair any time soon, or buying up all the Silly Bandz that Walgreens has to offer. One senseless trend is quite enough, thank you.)

** If you learn one thing from me in your lifetime, please let it be this: Never, ever, ever, ever mix a chocolate shake, a 1/3-pound hamburger with jalapeno nacho cheese, two giant glasses of ice-cold Mountain Dew and a fistful of pickles into one meal, especially if you haven't eaten at all that day. At the very least, you'll have a funky stomach ache. In some more extreme cases, you may find yourself keeled over a Wal-Mart toilet throwing up a la Linda Blair in “The Exorcist.” Not that that's what happened to me last night. Hey, what can I say? I was really, really excited to eat at Fuddrucker's.

** It's amazing the weird shit people have in their house. Barbara's living room floor is concrete with guitars stained into it. While she was making sandwiches for our road trip, I found a giant foam finger and a hard hat. As you've no doubt learned from my Facebook pictures at the ballpark, the combination of a hard hat and foam anything provides too great of an opportunity to pass up. Magic was made in the dining room last night, friends. Pure magic.

** Chi City Mayne is ridiculous. If you've never heard of him, do yourself a favor and Youtube search, “Chi City Mayne refrigerator,” you will NOT be sorry. I'm not sure how Barbara knew about this and I didn't, but his fridge game is on point! And the popsicles?? Fugeddaboutit. If that clip pleases you, search for “Chi City Mayne parking ticket,” it's equally fantastic.

Aaaaanyway, by the time I got to Dallas I was exhausted, punchy and laughing at everything. My sister's slightly dumb sometimes – she freely admits that, btw – and I think she was worried about me making her feel dumb at some or all points of our trip. Pretty sure I made her feel tons better about life right after she picked me up, because I didn't have a conscious thought in my head, just a whole lot of random gibberish. The giant LA Fitness buildings, in particular, were just short of hysterical to me. It was a difficult stretch of time, and I'm pretty sure she enjoyed laughing at me the whole night.

After a short tour of the University of North Texas campus where she works – including a stop to break into an ice machine at the football field – we got to her apartment, which was good, because I was half dead. We had to get up and on the road by 2:30 a.m. (Kansas plays Nebraska at 1 p.m. and we want to check in to our hotel beforehand), and we all know I'm not a morning person at all.

I'm sleeping in a living room FULL of New York Yankees crap, please God save me.

10:04 p.m. – I get tweeted at from my sister upstairs – she's such a tech ninja – “GO TO BED NOW!” I have to be up in four hours, probably a good idea.

SATURDAY, January 15, 2011

(Author's Note: For the sake of brevity, everything Barbara says is in quotations, with my replies to follow)

2:01 a.m. – I wake up on the couch to her standing over me, fully dressed. “Wake up, Snorey!” she says cheerfully. I want to hit her. Maybe twice.

2:13 a.m. – (I ask to borrow toothpaste.) Oh my God, I can't believe I puked at Wal-Mart last night and then fell asleep before I brushed my teeth. “What's your mouth taste like right now, vomit and shame?”

2:31 a.m. – Having been in the car an entire minute at this point, it's only natural to have our first pit stop. 7-11, thank you for the chocolate thing that I'll scarf in a second, and the grapes. And the coffee that's supposedly going to keep my sister awake for the first part of this 8-hour drive, because I'd really, really hate to die with Uggs on.

2:54 a.m. – Here's where we enter our 'Comments from the driver' portion of the morning. “I love it how you're quiet when you're typing. Can you just keep typing the whole way?”

3:14 a.m. – “Oh my God, you're on your second page?”

3:17 a.m. – “We're in Oklahoma!”

3:31 a.m. – “Here's a classic that came out the year you were born!” (song from the 30s follows). She's lucky she's driving. When it's MY turn, she's riding in the trunk.

3:34 a.m. – “Wooooooooooo!” “3:34!” (she's trying to help me blog, it's cute.)

3:40 a.m. – We've been driving for an hour. (Insert sarcastic “yaaay!” here) Are we there yet? Seven hours to go!

3:41 a.m. – “See? I got skills!” (wiggles hand in horizontal motion). I'm familiar with air guitar and air drums but holy shit, did my little sister bust out an air turntable just now?

3:45 a.m. – “Did you just try to out-lyric Outkast?”

3:47 a.m. – “Dawn tries to outrap Outkast.”

3:49 a.m. – “Dawn tries to dance like Outkast. It's not working out so well for her.”

3:50 a.m. – “Journeyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!” (Author's Note: I'm not sure how I forgot that 'Don't Stop Believin'' is her favorite song, but now that I have, I sincerely wish I was dead.)

3:53 a.m.: – “SEE DAVIS! WATERFALLS!” (whaaaa?)

3:54 a.m. – Barbara just told me about the eye-opening day when she discovered that “Flo Rida” actually spells “Florida.” I'm not really sure how we can possibly be sisters.

3:58 a.m. – The jig is up, I've learned that if I don't like a song, all I have to do is pretend to sing along and she'll immediately change it. “Dude, you sound like a Care Bear. I MEAN A TELETUBBIE!” What the hell is a teletubbie? More importantly, are they good singers?

3:59 a.m. – Who are the Backstreet Boys? I've had enough, time to catch a nap.

4:00 a.m. – “Are you OK?” What? “Are you OK?” Ummm.... “The billboard! That's what the billboard said!” Heaven help her not kill us while I sleep.

4:02 a.m. – Almost asleep when we pass a billboard stack. On top? “LIQUOR.” On the bottom, “METH.” Two different advertisements completely, different fonts and everything. I almost peed and strained my neck trying to get a photo of this. Fail.

4:04 a.m. – Just had a serious disagreement here. Seems as though either I've lived in a box my whole life or Texas just got a new city called, “ARmarillo.” She's pretty adamant about that 'r,' too.

4:48 a.m. – (I'm sleeping) “SEE MORE!” Butts. “SEE MORE!” Butts. “Shut up! That's where Toby Keith was born!” Toby Keith is from Texas? “WE'RE IN OKLAHOMA, ya dumbass.”

4:49 a.m. – She's coined a new term: Oklahomies.

5:02 a.m. – (We stop to get money at a gas station.)

ME: Hey, why don't we fill up now so that we don't have to stop again before we get to Kansas.

HER: I have more than half a tank.

ME: Yeah, but we're here and at a pump, we might as well...

HER: I have more than half a tank.

ME: We're going to have to stop again before we get to Lawrence, why not do it now so we don't have to get off twice?

(I give up, we get in the car)

HER: Let me look. … yup, I have more than half a tank. Told you. (she starts driving) And it says I have 250 miles left til empty!

ME: And how many miles til' Lawrence?

HER: (long pause) 350 miles.

ME: Sooooooo.... we probably should've gotten gas just then, yes?

HER: Oh I don't know, I didn't think about it when we were at the gas station.

ME: (bangs head on window)

5:09 a.m. – Morehead? “Moorehead. Spell it with two 'o's, or else the Oklahomies might get mad. Morehead? I bet there's not a Lesshead! **crickets** Oh.

5:10 a.m. – “National Cowboy Museum!” Hayyyyyyyyy...

5:24 a.m. – (Background: Earlier when we made sandwiches, she wrote 'B' on her bag so we wouldn't get confused. I grabbed the marker and wrote 'itch' after it. She then wrote 'Dumbass' on both my sandwich bags.) “I've got a rumbly in my tumbly.” (rifles in the cooler for a sandwich) Well then pull over. “I don't need to pull over, I got this. Although, I don't know if I'm grabbing a Bitch, or a Dumbass.”

5:26 a.m. – “SEE GUNTHRIE!” It's Guthrie. “Gunthrie!” Guthrie. “Gunth-- oh, there's no 'n'.”

5:32 a.m. – (I'm dancing in the car to 'Swagga Like Us') “Why don't you go back to sleep?” I'm awake! You LOVE me being awake! “It's kind of more peaceful when you're not.” Too bad! I'm awake now, and it's DELICIOUS! “I didn't know awake had a flavor.” Oh yes, yes it does. And it tastes like victory and apple crisp!

5:37 a.m. – It got cold as fuck outside! “No it didn't! It's 30 degrees. That's cold as fuck. CAF! “Wait until we get to Kan--” CAF!! “What the fuck does that mean? CAF?” Cold. As. Fuck. “Oh. Shut your mouth!”

 That's snow!!! Haven't seen that in a minute....

5:39 a.m. – Nothing's funnier – OK, who am I kidding? – EVERYTHING is funny right now – than listening to Barbara rapping with Lil' Wayne. I can't quite put a finger on how awkward it is, only to say that it would be like Conway Twitty dropping a hook on Jay-Z's nezt album.

5:40 a.m. – There is a “Hennessey,” Oklahoma. Close enough. If we pass a “Faygo,” I'm never going back to Florida.

5:42 a.m. – She sees a sign for Oklahoma State University. “FUCK THE COWBOYS!!!!!” Believe me, I'd love to. “Ummm, I didn't mean it that way.” Oh.

5:52 a.m. – Tonkawa! “That sounds Indian.” I'm pretty sure it is. “I come in peace! Wait, what do they do?” (does weird thing with her arms/head) Ummm...I don't know what 'they' do, but did you just do the 'I Dream of Jeannie' thing over there? “I dunno, is he an Indian?” …..... ….......... ummm, SHE was a genie. “OH!”

5:56 a.m. – If she says 'J. Biebs!' one more time, I might just grab the wheel and yank us into the next bridge abutment. Just a thought.

5:59 a.m. – Nelly singalong. “See? I'm AMAZING! Get me a Grammy!” I'm going to get you a muzzle!

6:01 a.m. – “We should probably stop for gas.” I hate you.

6:03 a.m. – “We're going to get to Kansas an hour earlier than we planned!!! Well, I'M going to get to Kansas an hour earlier.” Ummmm, and where will I be? “Well, I'm the only one who drove. You just sat there.” Let's be honest, you haven't really driven either. It's more like bobbing and weaving all over the highway like a punch-drunk fighter. “Don't compare my driving skills to hairstyles, you bitch!” Ummmm....

6:19 a.m. – (Listening to Lil' Wayne, I tell her my favorite verse is 'Rock-a-bye, baby, homicide baby/That's more teardrops, call me crybaby.”) “Did you know he has teardrop tattoos??” Umm yeah, that's the point. When gangsters kill someone, they get a teardrop. One for every person. That's why that verse is clever. That's why I like it. Crybaby, get it? “Oh. Well I don't analyze my music.” It's not analyzing, you just don't listen to the words. “Oh, SORRY. Gosh. I guess I'm not very in touch with my inner black person.” Sigh...

6:23 a.m. – I stage a coup of the radio control, and plug in my iPod.

6:25 a.m. – “Motownphilly” comes on. “OMG, this is the song the Morris Twins danced to at Midnight Madness, remember?” Yes! (song plays for a while) “You know, we should listen to this again, since there are two Morris Twins.” Yeah, 'cause it would be pretty awkward if there were only one Morris TwinS, wouldn't it? “Shut. UP!”

6:41 a.m. – KANSAS! Of course, we both nearly missed the sign because I was singing to Donny Osmond and she was screaming at me for it. LOL.

7:02 a.m. – Apparently, there's now a video of me, jamming in the car to Animaniacs at 6:30 this morning, floating around on the internet. I can neither confirm nor deny this rumor.

7:07 a.m. – Oh my God, there's snow everywhere! “No, there's not!” Fuck all, what's all that white stuff in the field, then? “It's not everywhere, there's grass right there!” Yeah, inbetween all the snows! “Snows?” Shut. UP!

7:29 a.m. – You know, I don't see any buffalo roaming. “You dumbass! There are no buffalo in Kansas!” Ummm.... are you serious right now? They're all over Kansas. (silence) “Seriously?”

7:31 a.m. – Donny Osmond comes back on random play. “Oh, it's that fucking coat song again!”

7:51 a.m. – “If I hear one more Donny Osmond song, your iPod is going out the FUCKING window. I WILL open your window for that.”

8:08 a.m. – After nearly 400 miles, six hours, 372 songs and 52 artists, we land on something she knows: Biggie's “Hypnotize.” She even humored me with a little shoulder shimmy. Slowly, I'm wearing her down. She'll see the light before the end of the journey!

8:15 a.m. – I've been telling her she drives like shit for the past six hours. Finally she gets it: Even the car icon on her Garmin is swerving. (True story). P.S. - Any redemption she earned by knowing who Biggie was has gone out the window: “Dre Day” just came on, and she's never heard it. I clearly have my work cut out for me.

8:18 a.m. – We're discussing this lack of knowledge of good music.

ME: This came out when I was in sixth grade! How do you not know “Dre Day??” What the hell were you doing in second grade?

HER: Ummm... I'm six years younger than you.

ME: What the hell were you doing in kindergarten, then? You should've been bumping this in your Big Wheel.

HER: Ummm... I think I was more into Arthur.

ME: Ugh......... Do you at least know who Dr. Dre is?

HER: Yeah, he's that guy who discovered Eminem.

ME: ….. …..

8:36 a\m. – (Kanye West's “Drive Slow” comes on) ME (singing): Drive slow, Barbie. Her: WHAT??

8:39 a.m. – Finally, finally, FINALLY, we see our first sign for Lawrence, KS. My sister loses her mind almost exactly like Stewie did in this video:

Stewie goes nuts

We are 55 miles away.

8:53 a.m. – “BUFFALO!!!!!” (points). I told you, bitch.

9:39 a.m. -- We have arrived and checked into the hotel. More to come post-game. :)