Some highlights from Greeber's wedding in Chicago this weekend:

- Friday, we headed out of the house around 9.30am. Before we got in the cab, I double checked with Joe (who booked the flight) that he had the flight info. Reasonable question, right? This caused Grumpy Morning Sarah to respond "What - you couldn't print out the email with the flight info yourself?" Nice. Literally one minute into the trip and we're already snipping at each other. By the time the cab ride to the airport was over, I tried to subtly let Joe and Sarah get checked in ahead of me. Fifteen minutes into the trip and I already needed some "alone time."

- We arrived in Chicago in time for the rehearsal dinner, which was at Lalo's - a Mexican restaurant that used to be owned by Michael Jordan. It was an odd mix of decor - it may have been the margaritas, but I swear I saw a giant photo of MJ dunking while wearing a sombrero. Speaking of margaritas, there were lots and lots of them consumed. I'm told I managed to get through my toast without embarrassing myself, although I'm pretty sure I did call Gordon and Karen "Mr. and Mrs. Roper."

- The next day was the wedding and it was predictably beautiful and classy, as one would expect from said couple. The appetizers were an explosion of flavor in my mouth. Gordon sang a song for Karen and it was by far the best song he's ever written. Just an amazing performance that brought the house down. Overall, a very nice night.

- Being that there were a bunch of musicians at this wedding, people of course wanted to get up and play with the band. Best man Eric and Gordon's dad got up to play a blues song and I (needing to at least be near the center of attention) walked up to join in on bass. I approached the bass player had the following infuriating conversation...

Me: Hey, I'm going to jump on bass. Do you mind?
Him: Yes.
Me: What?
Him: I don't let anyone play my bass.
Me: But... you're in a wedding band.
Him: (shrugs)

Have you ever heard of a wedding band refusing to let someone play? Bizarre.

- The reception party ended around 2am. Add daylight savings time to that and it becomes 3am. To catch our flight, we would have to leave the hotel at 5am. I decided to stay up and party on through, while Joe and Sarah opted for the "grab a few hours of sleep" option. Of course, when I returned to the room at 4.15 all drunky poo, I decided to pace around, sit on the bed and have a loud discussion with myself. "Should I even bother to sleep for 45 minutes? It hardly seems worth it. I think it would make it worse..." to which Sarah rolled over and said, "Brendo, stop talking." She was apparently not having the same sleeping inner monologue that I was. She was just trying to sleep.

- We managed to get to the airport and arrived at our gate at 6.45 - 25 minutes early for our 7.10 flight. We walked up to the gate and some employee with nothing better to do tried to play a "The plane's already left" joke that isn't funny even when you have slept the night before, which we hadn't. Then, we had an even more homicide-inducing conversation with the ticket taker, who acted like we were holding up the plane:

Her: I called all the rows. Where were you guys?
Sarah: Why - what time is it?
Her: 6.45.
Sarah: The flight leaves at 7.10, right?
Her: What - did daylight savings mess you up?
Sarah: Um... no. It's 6.45. We're 25 minutes early.
Her: Hurry up and get in there. I hope they haven't shut the doors.
Sarah: (clubs woman to death with a garment bag)

So once again, a nice relaxing weekend ends in murder, thanks to the incompetence and overall annoyingtasity of the airline industry. The lesson? As always - don't fuck with Sarah Spencer.

Thanks to Gordon's and Karen's family for allowing me to be a part of their celebration. And, of course, congratulations to the happy couple who, although on their honeymoon in Hawaii right now, loyally check my journal every day. Congrats, guys!