With the happy couple off to Italy for a blissful three and a half week honeymoon, I'm no longer best supporting actress on this season of the Claire and Aaron show, but just your average Maryland-to-Jersey-transplanted-knitting-obsessed-jazzercising-conservative-catholic-reserve flight attendant and inconsistent blogger.
It is far beyond the scope of this entry to describe the wedding and it's preparations in any way that does justice, so I will just say that it was the most beautiful wedding I've ever experienced and it was an absolute blessing to be involved.
It was a sincere joy to witness family and friends come together to make the entire event a success, and an even greater joy the way this couple's love for each other and the Lord glorifies the sacrament of marriage and will do so for the rest of their lives.
Seeing them gives me great hope for marriage in general, and being the maid of honor taught me more than I could have imagined about the logistics of planning a wedding. (Let me mention that I wasn't exactly diving for the bouquet!)
The wedding and it's preparations have been pivotal to my life these past few months, but amid throwing showers, outfitting myself and assisting the bride-to-be as needed, I have managed to eek out a living as a reserve flight attendant and even indulge in a few new hobbies.
I'm working on a truly comprehensive update to be posted at a later time, but for right now I'll just say I'm in the city embodying the opposite of all things good and holy from reverent wedding last week....Las Vegas.
In case you that don't know, I HATE Las Vegas.
Fly over Nevada and it's desert....desert.... desert.....golf-course! Even before you glimpse the strip, you know somethings is just not right.
I won't rant at length, but the only glimmer of hope for me is the slim possibility I'll meet Brandon Flowers of the Killers in first class (they are from Henderson, NV, a Vegas suburb). No such luck this time.
Thankfully, the crowd last night was pretty tame for a Saturday to Vegas. Usually we sell out of everything alcoholic, plusm 3-4 creepy guys assume that a flight attendant working a flight to Vegas is an aspiring showgirl, and comment accordingly.
While the passengers mostly slept, the lead flight-attendant thought he was an opening act and kept making cheesy announcements like "Flight 468, non-stop service to Lost Wages" and "Remember, what happens in Vegas goes on the Internet."
As I said, it was relativlely quiet, but about two hours into the 5-hour flight, while the first class galley girl and I sat up front reading scavenged magazines, some woman from coach came up and literately flung herself on the galley floor.
We tried to ask her what was wrong, but all she did was roll around clutching her stomach. She wouldn't answer our questions, and I was pinned between the forward door and this adult woman writhing like a four-year-old past naptime.
Our initial concerned shifted to annoyance. She gave us no information and it became apparent she was just some European drama queen (there are always tons of forgeiners going to Vegas, I long to shake them and scream..."THIS IS NOT AMERICA!") who probably didn't get enough attention as a child.
I had to physically step over her prone personage to call the lead flight attendant, who brought her uninterested husband up to assess the situation. As the weak invalid finally rose from the floor (I don't care how sick I am, I will NEVER lay on an airplane galley floor) and pawed at the bathroom door until I opened it for her, he asked in broken English for some fresh lemons.
Yes, fresh lemons.
Then they returned to their seats and we returned to our magazines once our eyes refocused from excessive rolling. We didn't mention the incident again until relating it through uncontrollable laughter to the pilots in the hotel shuttle.
So here I am, minutes from the strip, happily blogging, holding tight to all of my cash. While I really enjoy blackjack, I just can't stomach the idea of leaving any money here. I pack munchies so I don't even have to buy lunch.
But as much as I hate Las Vegas, I'm really glad that I have been able to work a few flights out here.
I just finished reading "Bringing Down the House," a book about the kids from MIT who counted cards and made millions. It was a entertaining, easy read and I would recommend it, but I enjoyed it even more because I've been all the places they described. Maybe not the high-roller suites, but I am a familiar with the general setting, something I couldn't have said two years ago. From my short trips I have also learned I will never vacation here on my own, so I've been saved a possibly disappointing personal trip.
I'll end here for now, realizing that I've fulfilled the prophecy
What happens in Vegas goes on the Internet.
It was a sincere joy to witness family and friends come together to make the entire event a success, and an even greater joy the way this couple's love for each other and the Lord glorifies the sacrament of marriage and will do so for the rest of their lives.
Seeing them gives me great hope for marriage in general, and being the maid of honor taught me more than I could have imagined about the logistics of planning a wedding. (Let me mention that I wasn't exactly diving for the bouquet!)
The wedding and it's preparations have been pivotal to my life these past few months, but amid throwing showers, outfitting myself and assisting the bride-to-be as needed, I have managed to eek out a living as a reserve flight attendant and even indulge in a few new hobbies.
I'm working on a truly comprehensive update to be posted at a later time, but for right now I'll just say I'm in the city embodying the opposite of all things good and holy from reverent wedding last week....Las Vegas.
In case you that don't know, I HATE Las Vegas.
Fly over Nevada and it's desert....desert.... desert.....golf-course! Even before you glimpse the strip, you know somethings is just not right.
I won't rant at length, but the only glimmer of hope for me is the slim possibility I'll meet Brandon Flowers of the Killers in first class (they are from Henderson, NV, a Vegas suburb). No such luck this time.
Thankfully, the crowd last night was pretty tame for a Saturday to Vegas. Usually we sell out of everything alcoholic, plusm 3-4 creepy guys assume that a flight attendant working a flight to Vegas is an aspiring showgirl, and comment accordingly.
While the passengers mostly slept, the lead flight-attendant thought he was an opening act and kept making cheesy announcements like "Flight 468, non-stop service to Lost Wages" and "Remember, what happens in Vegas goes on the Internet."
As I said, it was relativlely quiet, but about two hours into the 5-hour flight, while the first class galley girl and I sat up front reading scavenged magazines, some woman from coach came up and literately flung herself on the galley floor.
We tried to ask her what was wrong, but all she did was roll around clutching her stomach. She wouldn't answer our questions, and I was pinned between the forward door and this adult woman writhing like a four-year-old past naptime.
Our initial concerned shifted to annoyance. She gave us no information and it became apparent she was just some European drama queen (there are always tons of forgeiners going to Vegas, I long to shake them and scream..."THIS IS NOT AMERICA!") who probably didn't get enough attention as a child.
I had to physically step over her prone personage to call the lead flight attendant, who brought her uninterested husband up to assess the situation. As the weak invalid finally rose from the floor (I don't care how sick I am, I will NEVER lay on an airplane galley floor) and pawed at the bathroom door until I opened it for her, he asked in broken English for some fresh lemons.
Yes, fresh lemons.
Then they returned to their seats and we returned to our magazines once our eyes refocused from excessive rolling. We didn't mention the incident again until relating it through uncontrollable laughter to the pilots in the hotel shuttle.
So here I am, minutes from the strip, happily blogging, holding tight to all of my cash. While I really enjoy blackjack, I just can't stomach the idea of leaving any money here. I pack munchies so I don't even have to buy lunch.
But as much as I hate Las Vegas, I'm really glad that I have been able to work a few flights out here.
I just finished reading "Bringing Down the House," a book about the kids from MIT who counted cards and made millions. It was a entertaining, easy read and I would recommend it, but I enjoyed it even more because I've been all the places they described. Maybe not the high-roller suites, but I am a familiar with the general setting, something I couldn't have said two years ago. From my short trips I have also learned I will never vacation here on my own, so I've been saved a possibly disappointing personal trip.
I'll end here for now, realizing that I've fulfilled the prophecy
What happens in Vegas goes on the Internet.
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