I got married on October 8, and it was possibly the most perfect night of my life. Everything was exactly what I'd hoped, everyone in attendance had a good time, and I physically could not stop myself from smiling the entire night.
The honeymoon began.
Now, I had a lovely time on my honeymoon, don't get me wrong. But holy shit, if the good Lord wasn't punishing us for some unknown sin, I just have the worst luck in the fucking universe.
We decided a few months ago that we would be super smart and super thrifty by flying out of Dallas instead of Shreveport, because it's way, way cheaper. So Sunday afternoon, we started the drive to Dallas in preparation for our 10:30 PM flight. After getting lost once or twice along the way, we made it to the airport where we again got lost once or twice trying to find the poor people parking. Apparently, there aren't signs up that say PO' PEOPLE THIS WAY which makes things a bit tricky. We had planned on parking in the $8 a day parking, but OH AWESOME, WE PARKED IN $19 A DAY PARKING COOL, NO BIG. Fuck you, Dallas/Ft. Worth Airport.
Once we got inside, we started going through security. I was sent through that body scanner thing, so probably there's a fat, hairy man jerking it to my skeleton right now. Yum. Right after I walked through, the woman was all, "Um, do you have anything in your pockets?" "Nope." "Oh, um, well, I'm going to have to send you through one more time."
I walked through again, and she still had a very uncomfortable look on her face. "I'm going to have to ask you a personal question. Do you have any..... piercings..... in personal areas?"
I turned around to look at the screen and saw a body scan with a red ALERT box right over my freaking vagina. Seriously, box? Why you gotta do me like that?
"Um, no, no piercings or anything," I told her, while my face turned super red. "Are you wearing any panties that may have metal on them?" "Are you really asking me about my panties right now?"
Apparently, I'm the strangest girl on the planet for not always remembering what panties I have on at any given time. She said she would have to pat me down and asked if I would like to go in a more private room. Bowchicawowow. Except not, because this woman is not exactly my first choice to get a pat down from.
Her request for the private room (rawr) made me especially uncomfortable because uh, wtf are you going to do to me that would make me want a private room? Turns out, she was just going to molest me quickly and send me on my way, so awesome.
Once she finished molesting my life, we realized that stupidly, we didn't check the bag with all of our toiletries in it. So even though we could have fit it in the big bag we had previously checked, we didn't think about the fact that you can't bring all that shampoo, conditioner, etc. on a plane. You know, in case I made a Panteen Pro-V bomb or some shit like that. So we had to go back to the front gate to check the bag, go back through the body scanner for another nudey skeleton picture for creepy Joe in the back, and I got to be molested all over again by the odd looking TSA agent. Awesome.
After making fun of a methhead who didn't know how to get through the glass to sit down and several men wearing suit jackets with jeans (Andy votes no, I vote yes, it's totes okay), we finally boarded the plane to Vegas.
I'm not a great flyer on account of hating heights more than anything ever, so I was already in a notsogreat mood when the plane took off. And then the jackass in front of me reclined his seat so I got to stare at the top of his head for 2 and a half lovely hours. I almost asked him if he would just rather lay across Andy and me because then, at least, I might get to stretch my fucking legs out. I passive aggressively handled the situation by opening my soda next to his ear, kicking the back of his seat every time I moved, and making gagging noises as often as possible. Bitch didn't move an inch. I think we were in a passive aggressive war at that point, and HEY BUDDY, I'M MARRIED NOW, I WIN EVERY TIME. I'm like a fucking professional passive aggressiver now, that's just how it works, 'kay?
When we finally got off the plane and sucked two cigarettes down at once, it was 2 AM our time, and I was ready to get the fuck in a bed.
We had a lot of fun times and a few cranky times on the honeymoon itself, which I'll get to later, but today is about traveling experiences, so BE PATIENT, JEEZ.
We noticed the day before we had to get on a plane to come home that our flight left at 7:30 PM but our hotel check out time was 11 AM. Awesome.
We realized we would be spending seven fun filled hours at the airport, which did not exactly start our day off well. When we got to the airport Thursday morning, we hated the entire fucking world. Every single person on the planet. Yes, even you. We fucking hated you. We were complaining about life in general, douchebags who use the only two plugs in the terminal to plug in their laptop and cell phone, as if you can't charge your goddamn cell phone IN YOUR FUCKING LAPTOP UGH I HATE YOU, and people who sat directly behind us and talked as if we had all paid three hundred freaking dollars to listen to their life stories. If Edward fucking Cullen had been there to read my mind, all he would have heard was, "IHATEYOU IHATEYOU IHATEYOU SHUTTHEFUCKUP SHUTTHEFUCKUP UGH I FUCKING HATE YOU."
I figured I could take a nap in the terminal, except for the fact that a million people decided that they were going to win their retirement on the goddamn slot machines right next to us. SHUT. UP. Not to mention the airport was kept at a breezy 10 degrees. Awesome.
We made our way to an empty terminal so we could sleep somewhere quiet and warm. I found the one spot of sun in the whole damn airport and curled up on the floor like a fucking cat. After laying there for ten minutes, a man walked up, and I swear to God, started playing motherfucking paddy cake with himself. Slapping his knees, high fiving himself, tap dancing with his hands, WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, SIR?
Right before boarding the plane, we got a super fun announcement. Our flight had been chosen for a special extra security measure check! Mother. Fucking. Awesome.
These security checks were chosen completely at random. And by 'completely at random', I mean 'not even a little random, not even close to random, not even at all'. Because I'm pretty sure that when both my husband and I, plus the couple in front of us all get chosen to be patted down and extra searched, that's not exactly random, but hey, what do I know, I don't molest people for a living.
I'm thinking we were 'randomly selected' because of the death rays I was sending to the TSA agents. Bitches, I don't need a bomb, I WILL KILL YOU WITH MY EYES. After that pat down, I really hope I'm not pregnant.
We boarded the plane and within three seconds, the loudest woman in the world was seated behind me. And not only was she the loudest person in the world, but she was also a Dallas socialite. AWESOME! AWESOME! AWESOME!
"Oh, I always go to the club on the weekends. Our country club is just lovely and perfect. None of those poor people looking us in the eye, ew."
"My husband was out of work for two whole years, so we could only afford to send our daughter to three camps that summer! Poor girl felt so unloved."
"I use fifty dollar bills as tampons sometimes, just because I can!"
If you've ever seen the movie Airplane!, just picture the scenes where all of the passengers next to Ted Striker are committing suicide to get away from his constantly moving mouth, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. Andy and I were pantomiming shooting ourselves in the head, hanging ourselves with a rope, drinking straight gasoline, lighting ourselves on fire, and trying to throw ourselves out of the tiny airplane window. Anything to get away from this awful, awful human being.
When we made it off the airplane, it was after midnight and it looked like the other passengers thought that I was going to hulk out at any moment. They kept their distance and kept looking at each other with SAVEME eyes when I walked past. When we picked up the luggage my mother-in-law let us borrow, it was broken because God obviously wanted me to throw myself off of a building at the end of my honeymoon.
I couldn't see the look on my face, but even I was terrified by me. At one point, Andy and I were walking upstairs to get a shuttle and had to go through a one person door. A woman cut me off by throwing her stupid fugly ass in the doorway without saying excuse me or apologizing and I finally let out a "Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!" at her before launching into the most cuss-filled rant I think I've ever made.
"I fucking hate people! Fuck people! Fuck big cities and their stupid goddamn city-ness and the people in them and fuck everyone! I hate life! I want to be in a small ass town where people say fucking EXCUSE ME when they cut you off! I hate buildings and cabs and homeless people and those stupid goddamn pigeons who look like homeless people. Fuck those fucking pigeons."
After breathing into a bag for a few minutes, we made it out to our car where I literally ran to hug it and seriously considered making out with it, too. I wasn't looking forward to the three hour drive home, but I was so, so happy about not having to share space any more with people I wanted to stab in the face.
For the first thirty minutes of the drive home, Andy and I shouted at everything. We yelled at Circle Ks, buildings we didn't recognize, and confusing highways. We did not, however, yell at McDonalds, who has totally always been there for us in times of need. What up, McD. *chest pound*
For the next hour and a half, we started laughing about how insane we are when we're on four hours of sleep in 36 hours and cranky as hell. We realized that these were going to be pretty good stories to tell one day, and all was well. We even had the most delicious hamburger ever from Carl's Jr's which we don't have in Shreveport. It was a very happy ride home.
AND FUCKING THEN.
(A lot more shit happened, so I'll post the other half later this week!)