"But how do you feel about it, Heidi?" I so often got asked before the wedding. Like I was supposed to mourn the fact that the baby beat me to the altar. To which I responded, "I feel real good about it, thankyouverymuch."
My hitched sister Jenna is, proudly, the country bumpkin of the family. Hell, of the upper Midwest, even. Horses, livestock, the whole nine yards. While I enjoy the occasional foray in to the agricultural life (ahem, livestock shit smell lover over here) I am no country girl.
And do you know what country girls do? They get married at age 23.
And I feel real good about that, thankyouverymuch.
The ceremony and reception were held at a really cool venue, Usher's House, on the banks of the Red River. The only downside being that it is located in Moorhead, Minnesota.
I effing hate Moorhead, Minnesota.
After a disastrous freshman year of college spent there I vowed never spend more time in Moorhead than it takes me to zip through the interstate on my way through. Oh, the things we do for family! Usher's House, though, is a really nice place that gets a free too-bad-you're-located-in-a-sucky-city pass from me.
The wedding day was unseasonably freezing cold. I felt bad for Jenna because she had to rejig all her plans, because you literally could not be outside for more than 5 minutes without wanting to pee our pants, just to feel some warmth. The guests had to smush inside for the ceremony, but the fall colors still shone through and all was well.
We couldn't take many pictures outside, either, because the wind was blowing so bad. Unsurprisingly, the two days after the wedding were beautiful, season-appropriate fall days. Screw you, Mother Nature.
You read that right: PHOTO BOOTH! Holler!
I maintain that there is nothing funner in this world when you're drunk than a photo booth. I made great use of one at Martin's company ball a few months ago, and I showed Jenna's wedding booth the same level of disrespect. So. Much. Fun.
This was my first flight between the USA and Australia, which means I had the distinct pleasure of taking the longest flight of my life. In fact, it is one of the longest flights available in the whole entire world, and I had two other flights to bookend The Big One. Fifteen hours! If I ever hear someone complain about their 8-hour flight again so help me god, I will cut a bitch.
Amazingly, though, it really wasn't that bad. My secret? Booze and pills. The 'ol Marilyn Monroe special. Take 1 glass of wine + 2 sleeping pills with dinner, put on your eye mask and noise cancelling headphones, and off to medically sedated sleepy land you go. I slept the vast majority of the way over the Pacific ocean, which I hadn't realized is like freaking double the size of the Atlantic. There's a reason Americans don't say "across the pond" about Australia, the way they do about the UK. Australia is on the goddamn other side of the planet, while the UK is, like, just down the block.
As with all of my trips home my absolute favorite part is spending time with my niece Brynn. She's 7 years old now, but when I moved abroad she was only 2. The first time I came home after moving overseas she didn't recognize me or know who I was, which sucked royally, but she sure knows who I am now. I'm the one who did this to her when she was at her most innocent and vulnerable:
Why bother having children if they're not going to entertain you, I ask?!
Which reminds me...
Please make me some nieces or nephews ASAP so I can do hilarious stuff to them as well. Please!
Thanks, love you, bye.