Friday, September 14, 2007

Yay!

I think in my last post I meant to say "A=B, B=C, thus A=C, therefore, commuter planes smell like stale farts," but that's what happens when you have two glasses of sangria, a "hot toddy" of kahlua, baileys and frangelico, and a glass of champagne once back in the hotel room. There are four of us sharing this room (first time I've slept on the floor in awhile), but it's very exciting. I just read Kristy's vows as I printed them out in the business center and nearly cried. This is probably the first time I've been super exciting for a wedding; it helps that I get to be involved in every part of it. We're about to go get her hair done, as soon as that woman gets out of the hour long shower, then makeup, then off to the venue at 4pm for portraits, and the ceremony at 6pm. It's been moved inside, which was kinda my "worst case scenario," but I have many taltned photographers at my email fingertips who gave me some good advice. Good times.

The thing about commuter planes...

...is that most commuters are business people. Most traveling business people are 60 year old men. Most 60 year old men smell like stale farts. Therefore, A = B = C...commuter planes smell like stale farts. Ugh.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Revise title

I was going to call this post "Lesson learned this week: Don't depend on anyone." I've been screwed, disappointed, or just left in a spot multiple times this week by many parties I relied on. But my faith has been restored in humankind. Once I put a message on my gchat that was much milder than the "F#*$&ing SCREWED son of a g&#*#!" that I wanted to put on it, I got all kinds of IMs from people being so ridiculously generous with their goods and their cars, and really, it was very nice.

I feel fine now. I've vented. UPS can go fuck themselves, but that's nothing new. I have cheap beer at home, and I leave for Boston tomorrow with my camera and a dream. Well no, but with my camera and the 95% confidence that I won't totally fuck up Kristy's wedding. Woo!

I also have this kinda funny story from Ohio. Mindy TiVos this cool show on the travel channel, and this season the hostess is touring Latin America, which Mindy rightly figured I would enjoy, so we watched a few episodes this weekend. During this whole weekend, I'm kind of reflecting about how I'm really glad my girlfriends are all really happy, getting married, having kids, and doing what they want to do, but how its so radically different from what I want from my life, and in that respect, it makes me a little sad sometimes that everyone, every one of them kind of traveled the same path. So we're watching this show and the hostess is in some tiny village in Uruguay; she'd found a couple of Americans who were teaching her how to eat fried guinea pig (yeah, really) like a local. They're panning across the two women she's with and I suddenly sit up straight, "I know that girl!!" Her name is Erin and we totally ran cross country together in college. She was a cool girl and I remember staying at her parents house near Cleveland when our team traveled up there for a meet. Her mom makes the best fucking zucchini bread I've ever had. It was actually the first zucchini bread I've ever had, but damn, was it tasty. And there she was, in freaking Uruguay eating guinea pig. And you know what, my life isn't all that spectacular either. Heh.

But seriously, UPS can go fuck themselves.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

My Weekend: A Summary

I had all these short stories ready from my trip to Ohio, but I just worked a 16 hour day and have precious little time to prepare for Kristy's wedding on Friday. So here's my nutshell summary and pretty accurate description of the weekend. (Enjoy photos here.)

For a little background, Meg, Mindy and I used to live together in Columbus after college. This weekend, I stayed with Mindy in her new apartment with her bf, Dylan, of two years (and both loyal TTtC readers, hello!). They're not engaged.

During the first dances --

Mindy (in semi-baby voice): "They stole our song! This was supposed to be *our* song!"
Dylan (in semi-baby voice): "It's not a competition, baby."
Heather (rolling her eyes): "Of course it's a competition."
[Mindy and Dylan both look at me like "But...but..."]
Heather: "Look around! Do you see anyone who's single here?!?"
Mindy (looking around): "Ah...yeah, just...you...."
Heather (looking around for the bartender): "I NEED ANOTHER DRINK"

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