The technical term for it would be a 13" MacBook Pro, but I much prefer Sex Machine. It could be confused with a machine that delivers sex, but then you wouldn't be confusing it because that's exactly what it does. Say what you want about Apple, you haven't lived until you drag four fingers down on a mousepad and make the screen do weird shit.
But the meat and potatoes of this piece is what you came here for, no doubt. You don't care about the Sex Machine, at least as much as I do, so let's talk about something you don't care about slightly less.
When I left Plano on Saturday morning, I have to admit I was a little down. This was due to a number of things. Firstly, rejection is a bitch. Even if it has sound reasoning behind it, it's a mega bitch-ass bitch. That's not to say that the person dealing the rejection is in any way the same, because that'd be kind of stupid if I didn't like the person in question enough to be in a position where rejection is a viable option and end up you know what I lost where this is going but let's just leave it at rejection is a bitch and move on to:
Secondly, I'm still not really believing that I'm a college student. I've just been through orientation and I still don't believe. Imagine what it was like on Saturday. It still feels like I'm staying up later than I should and I should stop writing and maybe get some damn sleep so I'm not late to English tomorrow (or today, given the time). I hate to say it, but I'm kind of unsettled. Plano is what I've called home for the last 12 or 13 years, and now I'm about to leave.
Thirdly, I spent probably around 20 hours in a car this weekend. About 8 of those hours were spent in Oklahoma.
Fourthly, I spent about 8 hours in Oklahoma. Seriously the worst state in the union, and I haven't even been to Kentucky yet (I'm sure they'd just LOVE me there).
Story time. There's a McDonalds that arches over the turnpike in a town called Vinita. It was the single most depressing place I've ever been to, and I've been to a Young Republicans meeting (HI-YOOOOOOOOOOOOO no seriously I've never been to one). The first thing I saw on the way in was the Will Rogers Mini-Museum. It's a bookcase, maybe two, of stuff that Will Rogers, whoever the fuck that is, did. Apparently he wore cowboy hats and smiled for pictures a lot. That's what I gathered from briefly glancing at it before shouting "Mini-Museum?! HAH!", anyways.
The second thing I saw was quite possibly the dingiest fast food joint I've ever seen, connected to the saddest collection of souvenirs I've ever seen (Who would want to buy a T-Shirt that openly admits they've been to Oklahoma?), and populated by possibly the most entertaining people I've ever seen.
There were two Cherokee kids playing with one of those prize machines (I would make a joke about slot machines in casinos here, but that might be racist), too many old guys in ponytails, and a working staff at McDonalds that was just SO happy to be there (read: on suicide watch).
They didn't take the cake, though. We got in line, or at least got in the general vicinity of what we perceived to be a line, behind these two girls, maybe 2-3 years older than us. They also had about 4-5 children no older than four hanging off of their limbs and running around them on the floor. We asked whether or not they were in line, because somehow they made it hard to tell, and after a few seconds we actually did get a, quite bitchy, 'yes'.
When my dad brought our food over to the table I found overlooking the turnpike (where a family of three guys talked about what it would take to jump off of the turnpike: "All you'd hafta do is jump over them walls", a father-son lesson I never received because my dad was... well... competent), I hypothesized that the reason it took so long for the girls to answer us was that they thought they felt something drop out between their legs again and had to make sure it was nothing before they called Child Services.
So when I'm done eating, I look over at my car to check if any rowdy Oklahomans had broken into my car and taken the Sex Machine away from me before I could experience it in all of its splendor. You know that saying "Don't go swimming until 30 minutes after you've eaten"? The same should apply for viewing PDA (public displays of affection for the acronym impaired amongst you), ESPECIALLY when the girl is in her 40s at the earliest and the guy is WELL into his 60s and is driving A FUCKING CADILLAC TOWNCAR, otherwise known as the Old Person Mobile or more simply put, the hearse.
That one slid into the list of things I never want to see again just under "half of my high school class".
All southern states are boring!! East coast is where it's at man. East coast. That's real hospitality there...east coast...yeah. I think I might've gotten less sleep than you did. YEAH.
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