This morning I woke up mad at Godzilla. In my dream he was careening belly-side down a rocky-faced mountain toward some unsuspecting villagers he would no doubt try to consume and that’s the moment my alarm went off. Therefore since he was on my mind the second I was forced to wake, Godzilla woke me up and I had one of these moments:
What can I say? Dream logic is weird.
Anyway, let’s move on. I always prided myself on having a pretty solid sense of direction. I found my way out of downtown San Antonio freshman year of college without any help from Siri or my useless copilot/friend, I helped my brother become un-lost en route to Waco from the comfort of my bedroom some 50 miles away and these days I only rarely get lost in my own house. Be impressed.
Unfortunately my phenomenal sense of direction failed me this weekend when Andy and I traveled to Tulsa for my sweet friend Abby’s wedding. First of all, we chose to wait to leave until 7 p.m. on Friday night. This was really our bad. Even though apparently daylight savings and fall back are a couple months away, it’s getting pretty dark around these parts at 7 p.m. We were all “Nah, we got this.” So we drove. And drove. And drove and drove and drove. It looked like this:
About halfway into our journey, Google Maps directed us onto something called the Indian Nation Turnpike (hi, Oklahoma, remember?) that I’m pretty sure was built over like ancient indian (Native American?) burial grounds because it was TERRIFYING. It was 9:30 p.m. and pitch black, and for a good stretch we were the only ones traveling North. Sure, every so often we’d pass the headlights of a fellow motorist high-tailing it Southward, but what use would that be when we faced our imminent doom and were attacked by angry indian (again…Native American?) spirits pulling a Gandalf, all “Yooooouuuu shaaaaaall nooooooot passsssssss.”
At one point I foolishly told Andy to exit because I thought we had to pay a toll. Nope, we didn’t. Oops. With no convenient way to proceed back onto the highway, we were forced to back ourselves into some shady-a-s-you-know-what land under the cover of darkness to turn around. It really was the most dramatic and haunted of u-turns, and I was 99.9% sure Leatherface was going to smash through our windows at any minute.
Oh and here’s the super fun part: Oklahomans apparently see no problem going out for a drunken casual nighttime stroll IN THE MIDDLE OF THE HIGHWAY. We encountered not one, but four – FOUR – humans wandering aimlessly through the middle of the highway where vehicles whizzed by at a minimum of 65 miles per hour. One couple we saw once we finally made it to Tulsa waved us on, as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to be lustily stumbling around the center of the off-ramp and for us to please take a turn and proceed.
It’s miraculous we survived at all.
Public service announcement: if you’re going to be traveling creepy Indian Nation roads, do so during daylight hours to save yourself from hauntings, murderers and drunken humans. You’re welcome.
The next morning I rose with the sun the crap-we’re-about-to-sleep-through-the-free-hotel-breakfast crowd, shook off the excess unwanted Indian Nation spirits and headed to the reception venue where my beautiful bride friend Abby and her bridesmaids were waiting for me to come beautify their hair. I’d show you pictures of what the bridesmaids’ hair looked like when I was done, but that would mean that I was a good blogger and remembered to take some.
A few hours later it was time for the wedding. Andy and I gussied ourselves up (nope, no picture of that either…I am le worst) and headed out. We drove further and further into the heart of Tulsa, and it took me about 15 minutes to notice that the quality of neighborhoods and seeming socio-economic level of the surrounding areas had vastly decreased. I thought it a little strange that my beautiful friend Abby would’ve chosen such an area for her wedding day, but I thought “Heck, maybe it’s a family church” and we kept driving.
We arrived at what Google Maps told us was Westminster Presbyterian Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma ten minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start, only to find that the church had boards on the windows and a sign en espanol. There were no cars in the parking lot, no wedding-themed décor adorning the outside, and no other living creatures in sight – barring one feral cat that scampered across the street in front of us.
Andy looked over and politely asked “Are you sure this is the right place?”
I paused. “You know, I really was.”
“Because we seem to be the only ones here for this wedding. Maybe you could check the invitation one more time?”
SOUTHminster Presbyterian Church. Not WESTminster. SOUTHminster.
We sped sped sped as fast as his little Accord could drive and made it to the correct church just as the bridal party was lining up to enter. I was really hoping Abby wouldn’t see us enter late, but lo and behold there she was all bridal and gorgeous standing with her father. And there I was, moments before she was going to walk down the aisle to marry her one true love, gesturing wildly “I’m sorry!” “Long story!” and other ridiculous things. I really am the best friend ever.
And then Abby got married and we went to the reception and drank delicious wine and I didn’t take any good pictures because Oklahoma is for sure cursed because something about the native americans believing photographs stole pieces of their souls and therefore I shouldn’t have any good ones that evening.
TL;DR: Oklahoma is haunted, I suck at navigation and my friend had a beautiful wedding.
—The Wife in Training