Return of the Weekend Wedding

Another wedding of a college buddy on March 21st. Here's the breakdown:

Fly into Pittsburgh International from SLC via O'Hare. Between Chicago and Pittsburgh, my foot begins to get sore. It looks like my gout has waited until I was well out of reach of my meds to start acting up. After I touch down, I find a voicemail on my phone. Looks like yet ANOTHER buddy is getting married... in May. And I'm invited. This is right after I forbid anyone else to get married until after October, so I politely decline the invite.

The next day, I wake up, and my foot is worse, so I spend the day limping around between the Groom's parents' house, the church, and the hotel where the reception is. Pretty nice service, a brief little sermon about tolerating and accepting all of the stupid little things that your spouse may do, even when he/she is in the wrong.

They threw one of the best receptions I've seen at a wedding. on top of the the usual dinner/dancing, Ryan and Jill hired the DJ to do Karaoke as well, as both Jill and Ryan are Karaoke enthusists. When Ryand and Jill had the first dance as husband and wife, Ryan sang as they danced. Then both of them performed Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Meatloaf.

Let my point out, that Paradise is the most difficult song to perfom by one of the most difficult artists to sing. And they both nailed it. That is no small feat.

What follows here, is the tale of the worst travel day of my life.

Sunday morning, my foot was not getting any better, and so began the most wretched travel day of my life. The one highlight of my day was having lunch with the parents at Cracker Barrel for my Dad's birthday. At the airport I decided to check my little duffel bag, and just pay United's outlandish fee for the first checked bag. Then I had people wheel me around place to place.

Airports are BIG, especially Denver, which is crowded and has a few design flaws. Like the hallway pinches narrow where the departure/arrival screens are, so people stop in a crowded corridor to see where their next flight is, adding to the congestion. It doesn't help any that United doesn't believe in printing the Gate number on the boarding pass, so checking these screens is manditory.

Also, the Arport is built so it can move around, say, 100,000 people, but the restrooms are built with only 50,000 people in line. As a Male, it is my god given right to not have to wait in line to pee, and curse anyone who would deny that right!

By the time I'm on the plane to SLC, I just want to get home as fast as possible, and I'm not looking forward to the two hour drive that will follow this flight. Oh, and the woman in seat 4C who was kind enough to share her Advil? Lady, you're alright by me!

I got off the plane, to find no one at the counters of the United Gates, so I asked the woman at the Delta Counter if she would summon some Cripple-Mobility assistance for me. She said she would, but as soon as I sat down, she had to help another couple switch filghts, ask for passengers on an overbooked flight to accept tickets/comps to give up their seats, and I think she forgot. After she mysteriously disspaears for about five minutes, I decided that SLC isn't has large as Denver, so I'd just limp over to baggage claim myself.

Emboldened by the Advil from Ms. 4C, I hobble over, grab my bag, and take the shuttle to the parking lot. Then I drive home in a growning snowstorm, and have my first experience going over the Sisters in icey condidtions. (The Sisters are what the locals call the two big hills between Evanston and the Valley, known for causing a lot of accidents in winter weather).

Hobbling inside, I grab the pills that I was wishing for all weekend, pop one, wash it down with a a few ounces of Cherry Juice, and crash into bed, thankful that it's over.