Omablah

Well, this past weekend was my long-awaited trip to Omaha for my cousin's wedding. Can you sense the sarcasm and bitterness already? Oh, the bitterness is not directed at my cousin Cori. No, it's not her fault that she scheduled her wedding the same weekend as prom. I guess. What upsets me is that my mother guilted me into going. Now, as mothers do, this is just par for the course, right? Well, more than simply guilt me, she depended on me to go with because she decided to drive there. From Madison. Which meant I had to leave work early on Friday, get in a car into Madison (1.5 hours), then depart from Madison to Des Moines (5 hours), arrive at 1:00AM, get up and leave Des Moines at 9:00AM for Omaha (2 hours). Round trip, this comes out to 17 hours in the car for yours truly. Since Mother has a lot of knee problems these days (she does actually need to get it replaced. Never mind that she spent decades ruining it by playing competitive tennis when she was told that she shouldn't.). Oh, but we brought Mother's boyfriend, John, along for the ride. Sure, he doesn't say much, or anything, but he sure was there to help for the drive. That whole hour of it. Yeah, he's so worthwhile. I'm so glad that we were able to spend 17 hours in the car for a minimalist (read: lame) ceremony. It wasn't even a full Mass. I want my Jesus! But I guess nobody asked me. Followed by an ok reception (actually followed by a 2 hour break). The best part was seeing my cousin Morgan (Cori's sister and the maid of honor) make a drunken fool out of herself. I think she flashed a 10 year old boy on the dance floor. No joke. But was that really worth seeing my asshole of an uncle tell me that I needed a haircut, I should have worn a white shirt, and the shirt I had on didn't fit. Not to mention all sorts of other crazy ramblings about the "liberal media." Finally, we left the reception. For those of you not familiar with Omaha, there are these extremely weird bronze statues they have of running animals. It feels like there's going to be some kind of stampede. If we hadn't been absolutely exhausted and disgustingly full, there would have been some classy photo ops. Maybe next time I go to Omaha. Oh wait. That will be never. Never again.