This past weekend, I went to Tulsa, OK, to visit my friend Melissa for her birthday. Something extraordinary (and by "extraordinary" I literally mean out of the ordinary and do not necessarily make a positive or negative connotation) always happens when I go to Oklahoma.
In 2006, I was in a wedding in Norman. The designer of my bridesmaid dress finished 3rd on Project Runway that year (Kane) and I met him personally for a fitting.
Also in 2006, I went to Oklahoma for something and met a guy from my online classes for the first time. We had expressed interest in each other throughout our classroom interactions, so it was almost like online dating, except instead of eHarmony or match.com being the platform, it was DBU's Blackboard. Slightly less impressive than the typical online dating venues...but only slightly.
In 2007, I joined my friend on her trip to Miami, OK, to pick up the new poodle she was adopting. Wilbert and her original poodle (whose name has completely left me) were also in, so the 2 gals and 3 dogs road-tripped. We were screamed at by a turnpike attendant and honked at by numerous other drivers because we were stupid Texans who didn't know that Oklahoma charges people $3.50 to drive on the interstate and all we had were debit cards--no cash.
In 2009, a new story joins the ranks of such fine adventures. Mels and I stayed at her co-worker's house to make the trip to float the river that much shorter in the morning (it wasn't that much shorter, turns out, but that's another blog post). Said co-worker went on a date that evening, so Mels & I had the place to ourselves. I decided to have a glass of milk before going to bed. The only milk I could find was in an odd-sized container, but I poured a glass anyway and settled on the couch.
I took my first swig, a nice big one, and OH.MY. It was the worst taste I have EVER had in my mouth. I couldn't dream of swallowing so I ran to the kitchen and spit it in the sink. I yelled to Mels how awful it was and she said, "Ohhhh. I bet it was buttermilk." A check of the container confirmed the horrible truth that I had indeed allowed buttermilk to touch my lips.
The next morning, Co-worker told Mels that she had to run to the store for some milk to cook breakfast. Mels relayed the buttermilk story, so Co-worker went to the fridge and took out the container.
The buttermilk was not only buttermilk, but EXPIRED buttermilk. Expired. April. 6. 2009. A full two months to the day that I drank it.
O.M.G.
Personal Wellness at the conference
1 week ago
6 comments:
OMG fo' reals.
That is just n-a-s-t-y.
B.A.R.F.
Let's see, my only trip to Oklahoma was a 19-hour drive from GA to the army base in middle-of-nada Lawton. And then 19 hours back.
Uneventful, and no buttermilk was involved.
And they say "Oklahoma is OK". Okay....bad joke. :-)
oh my gosh. sick.
i sort of puked in my mouth when i read your story. on behalf of my state, i apologize. tonight a bunch of us went out...11pm we are walking down the street in downtown norman, tornado sirens start blaring, we learn that a tornado has touched down about half 2 blocks away and yet no one is concerned. my friend evan, who moved to texas last year, looks at us and loudly proclaims, "i love this @#$% state!"
and kari, yes, lawton is in the freaking mmiddle of nowhere. :)
I loved Kane!
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