Pittsburgh: Cause did you know venison jerky even existed?

I'm flying to Pittsburgh tonight to visit one of my best friends, like, ever. The last time I visited, I ended up sprinting through the airport, desperately trying to catch my flight home because SURPRISE I was late.

Why was I late? Because I gave myself about three minutes to get to the airport that afternoon because I refused to leave Mojo's house without having completed and captured on tape our self-choreographed dance and lip-synching masterpiece to Sweetest Girl. In case you were wondering, that's not our video. We never actually uploaded it to YouTube because we were both so cripplingly hungover we decided it was entirely inappropriate. But we did perform it at every function we attended together for the rest of the year.

But here's a similar video that Mojo made with two of our other college roommates.



I would like to point out that these are 23-year-old college graduates. And also, they are all from the Midwest so now it makes sense, right?

Anyway, it is my goal this weekend to not run through the airport. Maybe I'll even walk. Calmly. Leisurely, even. Because I fly fairly often. And for every two trips to the airport I take, I spend at least one racing through the terminals and sweating in lines that I seriously did not expect to be that long and can't these people move any faster and just take off your fookin shoes old man DON'T YOU KNOW I HAVE A PLANE TO CATCH?

This weekend I will be prepared. I will leave the house when I say I'm going to leave. I will bring a book and have time to read it while waiting for my plane. And it won't matter if the line is long because I've got plenty of time. I will not push old ladies out of my way as I sprint down hallways, breathlessly dragging my bag behind me because that fecking strap broke again and oh my gah I do not have time for this.

Hasta luego, I'm off to sunny sub-freezing Pittsburgh where the beer flows like wine and the locals make their own venison jerky.

P.S. As I write this, Mojo and I are discussing which song we should devote ourselves to choreographing sweet dance moves to this year.

P.P.S. We are 24 years old.

P.P.P.S. Whenever I do find myself running through airport terminals, I am always singing Run Run Rudolph in my head, no matter the time of year. Because, you know.

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