I am a covered wagon

So, I took a trip last weekend.

Once again I found myself stuffed into a plane seat- not an unpleasant experience, surely- I love to fly. I think maybe I'm going to start requesting the emergency row seats, though. They looked a little bit roomier. Especially if I fly with Dan again; I met up with him in Minneapolis and we shared the last leg of our flight together. All six foot six of him gladly sat in the middle seat for me so I could have the window (my favorite) and we could be together. Have I mentioned that he is a gem? Well, I will. He is a gem.

The flights out were about as uneventful as you can get- no memorable turbulence, and slightly ahead of schedule on both counts. Buddy was waiting for us on the other end, looking gorgeous as always, and skinny as always. Some things never change. She had washed her car for us, and I'll admit I felt very swank loading in and driving out of DIA with the two of them. All I have to say is, PTL for mountains. Why does my heart feel lighter when I see that skyline? Why do I feel like I'm coming home, when everything out there was anything but easy? Perhaps, as I communicated to Dan later that weekend, it was because I figured a lot of things out about myself while I was out there, and because I failed a lot. I'm not used to doing the latter, and hadn't (apparently) done much of the former... in all honesty, it makes you feel like a bigger person. I like being a bigger person.

So, we immediately drove out to Red Rocks from DIA, because Shelly's dress rehearsal was there at the Chapel (where she would get married Sunday). Let me tell anyone reading this, if you are ever so inclined, NEVER get married there. The wedding coordinator was a complete alpha Bitch, making Shelly cry on several occasions. They forced her to use at least two of their musicians, which cost $500 a piece... which she told me was a combined total of more than the chapel itself. And the musicians were total assholes, rude and disruptive to the ceremony... whew. Anyway, more on that later. But don't get married there.

Shelly looked great. I sang the processional, and Buddy played keys while I played her gorgeous guitar. I met Shelly's new stepkids briefly, man what beautiful little creatures. They were well behaved, attentive, and affectionate with her. I should have looked for power switches on them. Did I mention that they were cute? I exchanged a couple of words with Dude that Shelly's marrying, nope, don't know him any better than before I exchanged a couple of words. Sometimes, you just have to trust that your friends are doing the right thing, because there's definitely nothing else accompanying your support than faith. I must say in all of this, however, that the place was gorgeous. Well, not the chapel so much itself, it was sort of plain and boxy, but the front of it opened up to a view of Red Rocks itself that was, I must say, quite pleasing. Dan got to stand in for a groomsman that failed to show up (how does that work? isn't that what a rehearsal is for? doesn't everyone have to be there?) and escort the maid of honor down the aisle. She was a little shorty, and reaching up to grasp his arm was definitely the same height as grasping an oh-shit bar in a car for her. One of my favorite things of the day.

We then drove around Red Rocks for a bit, and after an aborted attempt to see the amphitheatre itself (the walkways were closed due to being ice-floes) we headed back towards town. Dan got to see Buddy's basement apartment briefly before we went to Thai Basil and gorged ourselves. That would happen a lot over the weekend. After a delightful dinner, wherein the mounting tension between Buddy and I was broken through about a ten-minute laugh festival due to something wonderfully idiosyncratic she said, we drove back to her apartment and collapsed on the bed.

That was pretty much the first day.