I saw a sign… Except I didn’t.

Have you ever thought… If only there was a sign from God. Or the guy at 7-11. Anyone… Just give me a sign. Before I got married, there were a *few* signs that maybe this union was not blessed by the stars. Here, are  just a few of those signs. Those that led up to the day of our wedding.

Our wedding was in Las Vegas. I wanted it to be in Bora Bora, or Saint Something, or Haiti, but my mother, who claimed I could plan the wedding I wanted when I had a girl and she was getting married, vetoed all my choices and chose Vegas. She claimed that because she  was paying for a decent portion of the wedding that she got to pick everything. Turns out, I didn’t have a girl, I had a divorce, so I guess I’ll get to plan my second wedding. It all worked out in the wash. *Sidenote, I did put my foot down when she was insisting I be married by not one, but several asian Elvis impersonators.

Funny story about my wedding date… I knew four girls getting married that day. Myself, and three girls from high school. To prove the divorce rate of 50:50, yes, two of the four couples are divorced, and two are still together. By the time I learned of the fourth girl getting married on the same day I was, it was practically an eye roll… I’d run into someone, see a diamond on their ring finger, and I’d say, “Let me just guess when you are getting married…” I was at Neiman’s, at a Barnaby party, {does Barnaby still exist?}, and I ran into my friend Erica. She showed me her diamond and told me she was getting married April 24th, and I replied, ‘who isn’t’ and told her about Laura and Leigh, also getting married that day, and how Leigh was already trying to steal a bridesmaid… “Well that won’t happen to me,” Erica laughed. “I’m not getting married here.” “Where are you getting married,” I ask. “Las Vegas.” “Where?” I enquired with enthusiasm. “Bellagio.” “What time?” I screeched. “8:00” “Erica! I am the wedding before you!” Yeah. How crazy is that? And she is one of the ones still married. Let me find the picture of us in our dresses…


Okay, back to the signs… I purchase the airline tickets for Vegas months in advance, of course, and even though it was way back in 2004 p.i.p. {pre iPhone} electronic airline tickets were still all the rage. But for some reason, we had paper tickets. I had tacked them to our bulletin board that had nothing  else on it in our kitchen. Unfortunately, when we were dropped off by my almost father-in-law at the airport, I had forgotten about those paper tickets, and we missed our flight. We had to go home to get said paper tickets to turn them in for other tickets and during that time, my cat Leah escaped and we had to leave for Vegas while she was outside. I cried the whole way back to the airport.

We get to the hotel to check in, and, an hour and a half later, we go to our room and my parents luggage is in it. They checked us in to my parents room. We go back downstairs and they check us into another, much smaller room then we were supposed to have, so they sent us to get our marriage license while they worked it out. We got our license by the same lady who issued Britney Spears hers y’all. Yet another sign. When we got back to the hotel I laid the marriage license on the desk in the room. Then they called to move us into our final room. I left the license on the desk. I called about an hour later when I realized this. It was gone. No trace of it. We had to go get a second license…

I think some of us see the first sign and get it. Some of us are beat over the head with signs and ignore all of them. For years. Decades. History will repeat itself until you change it yo.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s