They Found True Love

Okay, okay!!! I’m back! I finally have enough brain cells built back up after 30 hours (or was it the whole week?) of being awake to recount the fabulous, albeit sleepless, week in Oregon. As I sit here with my sleepy old man I shall recount part one of my wedding/traveling experience. (Who, by the way, pooped himself and will not change his pants. Also, he’s staring at me.)

First of all, some traveling advice: Don’t pack the night before you leave.(Unless you’re not me, then please, go ahead and pack the night before you leave.) I’m really a horrible packer but these were special circumstances and I had to take more with me than I would normally pack should I be traveling to the other side of the country. I obviously had to pack cake pans and those aren’t small, plus cake boards, my pastry knife (a glorified frosting spreadererer) and pastry bags. Plus, being a bridesmaid, I also had to pack a Rehearsal Dinner dress and shoes, my bridesmaid’s dress and shoes, Bachelorette party outfit and shoes (by the way… it was totally hot), cake baking clothes, casual clothes, more shoes, toiletries, books, laptop, and somehow I managed to fit my boarding passes into all of that mess. Did I mention I was doing hair and makeup for everyone? So add hairdryer, curling iron(s), straightener, and a makeup selection worthy of a MAC counter on steroids. So to say that I was playing a few roles is to say that the universal has a couple of stars.

(He stopped staring and has now proceeded to the bathroom, but first, he stopped behind me. I thought he might strangle me so I stood up. It was creepy okay?)

I packed the night before and had an absolute hissy fit when I weighed my bag and it was over 50 pounds before I had any beauty products in it. Did you know that the airlines charge you $25 for your bag and if it’s overweight, anywhere from $90 to ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS! What’s wrong with my bag? I mean, who travels without *stuff*? Even the pilots have bags! Do they charge them too? I mean, what the crap folks? So in the midst of my temper tantrum, my mom collected suitcases from around the house and we tested this bag and that bag. Nothing was working. I resigned myself to the fact that my dream of being a one carry-on traveler was out of the picture. Then I pouted for an hour before succumbing to my fate. I packed my suitcase as full as I could and weighed it precisely 347 times on my body scale, which kept trying to read the body fat and water % on the bag, clearly the bag failed those tests. But it did finally reach an acceptable weight of 47 pounds on the nose. I didn’t want to overdo it incase the airline’s scale was weighted. (They would totally pull some crazy shit like that… you know they would.)

Actually getting to Medford, Oregon was a chore. My flight didn’t leave until 3:30pm but I had to be carted to the airport by two different cars. My sister and my niece dropped me off and my niece suddenly had dreams of flying planes. (Or landscaping… she was a big fan of the guys collecting dead plants. Can’t blame her there!) When I rolled up to the counter with my giant bursting suitcase and carry-on bags (sad face), I went straight to the ticket counter because the electronic check-in gave me the finger. I was flying on four different planes on two different airlines so, basically, my flight plan was an enormous pain in the ass and when the flight attendant began checking me in, her facial expression was priceless. You know your flight plan is bad when they start calling other people over to look at it. To laugh at it. To come over all Mary J. Blige and “Mmmhm child” at it. So she switched a few things around and instead of taking four flights, I was now only taking three. I flew from Grand Rapids to Minneapolis with my own row and you know, I like sharing as much as the next girl, but there is nothing like having your own space on an airplane. It’s like having your very own apartment. You can sleep, drool, eat, drink, read and compute without someone breathing all over you. It’s fantastic. Once I made it to Minneapolis, I had a 45 minute layover and then I was off to San Francisco and this is where our problems begin.

(Ugh… he took out his teeth and left his glasses on the counter in the bathroom. He still smells like poop.)

Apparently Medford, Oregon is a really popular place to go. It also takes quite a few air traffic control folks to get you there. Um… it’s also the forgotten manufacturing ghetto of Oregon. Great place for a landing strip or two, I’d say. So it’s beyond me why everyone who was going to the wedding had issues with getting to the Medford Airport which is really the only business in Medford that has employees with full sets of teeth, which is neither here nor there, but worth mentioning if you care about dental hygiene. I love a good mystery. So, because I’m a dork… I researched it. There’s nothing there except a really old dormant volcano and some sissy little festivals which I’m sure do not take place in the middle of Winter.

(And we’re back to staring. Perhaps he doesn’t recognize me??)

I arrived in San Francisco and, as luck would have it, the Air Tram is under construction! I needed to be in Concourse D to catch my United flight, naturally, I was on the other side of the planet in Concourse B (which is as far as you can get away from Concourse D unless I’m flying International, which at this point would not surprise me) because I flew in on Delta. Some walking was in order. Have you ever been really proud of yourself for packing light (for having 2 carry-ons anyway) and then halfway through the airport, through the mostly empty, all the way creepy parking garage, you realize… “Fuck, my bags are heavy!” and you’re wearing ballet flats for cuteness/comfort, wishing you would have opted for the more practical, less adorable tennis shoe option? Well, *I* have!!! By the time I reached the D Concourse, I was sweating and breathing heavy and my feet were more numb than a root canal. Also, my hair was sticking to the back of my neck, I needed food and because the asshole stewardess wouldn’t give me water, I had a sore throat. For. Shame. All of that Emergen-C swallowing and Zinc chewing was for naught. So I sat down to have a sandwich at Subway, walked to my gate and called Missy to let her know my arrival time. Two minutes and forty seven seconds into the conversation and I hear the words any weary traveler dreads. Flight Cancelled. I say: “Shit.” Missy says “Uh Oh.” One hour of getting the run around later and walking back and forth along Concourse D (which happened to have a lovely Food Court in the middle, making it an even longer walk) and finally arriving at Customer Service, I am told that because the cancellation is due to a shortage in flight hours and air traffic control, Mama is staying at the Westin with a $15 food coupon and free shuttle service. (Had it been a weather delay, I would probably still be curled up in a ball at the San Francisco airport sleeping along a wall at Gate 70 drooling on the floor.)

A Demonstration....

Let’s discuss.

a) If you are a stranded traveler, receiving a $15 food coupon prohibiting the purchase of alcohol is cruel and unusual punishment for an already taxing day. They should rethink that stipulation.

b) The Westin has some kick ass travel-sized shampoo/conditioner/lotion. White Tea y’all! And leaf shaped soap!

c) Twin. Shower. Head. Hello.

Behind Curtain Number One

d) I’m not sure why I needed two beds in my room but I had two queen-sized delciously comfortable beds in my room.

e) I did not, however, have a change of clothes in either of my carry-ons so I slept naked in one of the fantastic beds. Hot right?

f) $4 for a bottle of water?? Ninja please! What is wrong with these people? How come no one wants me to be hydrated? And a tip: Don’t say “RELAX!” And then advertise a large dollar amount for something that comes out of the faucet for free.

ohsure...

g) LG Flat Screen HDTV was awesome, but stayed in its upright and off position. I came, I saw, I showered, I slept (Naked! ooOOoo!), I returned to the airport with my $15 food coupon to buy breakfast and enough water to hydrate me for the rest of the day. Since the airlines only do cups of water now.

h) Dear Mr. Many Bags, I understand that your luggage is precious. I do. But it was raining. I had a computer in my bag and because ALL of your life’s belongings were taking up the cover from the rain and you scoffed at me when I accidentally knocked over one of your six large suitcases and two of your four bags (YEAH THAT’S FOR REAL) trying to squeeze in with my one laptop bag and small carry-on bag, I had to stand outside in the rain while you stayed nice and dry under the awning. You are not a chivalrous man. In fact, you are the antithesis of chivalry. You’re a criminal. First of all, I added up how much it must have cost you to transport all of those (probably overweight) bags. You’re a rich motherfucker. Also, you have a lot of crap and you should carry your own awning the next time you fly because really, next time I’m knocking your shit over in the puddle on purpose. You were a smooshy booger on my otherwise crappy traveling day, so it was only par for the course. Mr. Many Bags, you’re fired as a traveler. You suck at it. Love, The soaking wet, sleepy, hot blonde standing OUTSIDE *not* being a pussy while you took up all of the dry space.

i) Dear Westin, When a traveler comes in with a voucher, that means the airline pays for their room. Charging me for the room resulted in three people with new assholes. Was that necessary? You can be sued for charging a card without authorization. Everybody knows. Except for you apparently. Love, The girl who hounded you everyday until you put her money back. *smooches!* (Also, KALLAY MAD! KALLAY SMASH!)

I finally flew to Medford, Oregon on a full plane the next morning, which I’m still not understanding. I did not see any of those people at the wedding. Medford isn’t surrounded by any big cities. Where are you people GOING? Snowboarding maybe? Getting some good weed in Ashland? Wedding crashing?

I was so relieved when I got there… and so exhausted. Missy, her hubby and I hung out and I was able to get to know him. They really are perfect for each other and I am perfectly content to say that this marriage is one that will last and I am so proud that I got to be a part of it. Missy and I have known each other for almost half of our lives and I couldn’t have chosen a better guy for her if I had hand selected him myself. Standing at the alter with them, listening to what he had to say about Missy and all the reasons that he loved her, I nodded my head in agreement because he was definitely marrying the same person that I met so many years ago and he loves all of the same things about her that I do. It was touching to say the least. They really *know* each other and love each other for the right reasons. To be in the presence of that is rare, but it’s inspiring for us single ladies who have yet to meet their match. Time will tell…

So what happened after the airport? We went shopping for rope. An odd choice of prop for a wedding, no? Well, maybe “knot”.

To be continued…