This past weekend found us in NYC for our friends' wedding. Friday was spent running the transportation gauntlet--walk to the train, train to O'Hare Airport, plane to LaGuardia, cab to hotel in Manhattan, walk to subway, subway to a friend's house in Brooklyn to hang out. It never fails to boggle my mind just how far you can get in just a few hours.

As we walked through Brooklyn, I couldn't help but whisper to C. that, somewhere in this area, resides Ayun Halliday, author of one of my favorite zines, East Village Inky. I can't help it, I'm a dork and proud of it.

So...highlights of the trip...

The hotel room: We shared a room with another couple in order to save a little money. C. and I got there first. Took the rickety miniature elevator decorated in ugly kitchen linoleum (on the walls!) to the 4th floor. Found our room, and entered to find that it was the smallest, ugliest, worst $139 double-occupancy room in history. And we don't have high standards, seriously. C. and I have both toured with various bands in our lifetimes, sleeping on floors in dirty apartments, happy to just have someplace to rest--but this place was B-A-D. Just barely big enough to walk around the two double beds. Broken air conditioner. Old and dirty. Smelled like puke. Questionable bathroom. I kept expecting a roach to come scurrying out, but thankfully it didn't happen. We had to keep calling the front desk for towels because there were never enough, and the front desk ignored our requests more than half the time. It was hilariously bad, and became a running joke amongst the four of us staying there. The most insane part was our other friends' room downstairs--new everything! Completely re-done room with twice the space, two queen-size beds, fancy bathroom.

Eh. Welcome to New York, right? I had to laugh.

The MOMA: Two of our friends (K. and S.) were really psyched to see this exhibit called Cloaca that they said was showing at the MOMA. It's a big machine that mimics the human digestive system. They feed it and it even poops! How cool is that?! Right? Um, so anyway, we figured what the hell so we walked and walked and took the subway and walked and walked and stood in line for the MOMA for a long time. We got almost to the admission booth when K. suddenly had a bad feeling. Uh-oh, was Cloaca really here? He called someone with his cell phone, who told him that not only was Cloaca not at the MOMA, but it was now closed. Whoopsie. We went anyway. The Gerhardt Richter exhibit was really, really good, so the visit was not a loss. I tell ya, though, the walking really took it out of me. I kept thinking, 'What happened to me?? My stamina is at zero!' But I guess that's what happens when you're pregnant...

The wedding: It was Greek Orthodox, an experience I've never witnessed before. The church was really beautiful and old. I enjoyed it for the most part, except for the beginning where the minister (priest?) told us that clapping is absolutely forbidden inside the church, no matter how happy we were for the bride and groom. If the minister had not said "No clapping," I probably wouldn't have thought about clapping. Once he told us not to, though, all I could think about was clapping. I had to keep reminding myself, don't clap, don't clap. Don't get me wrong, I respect all religions, but no clapping...? I guess I don't get it.

The reception: Another gorgeous venue, located right across from Grant's Tomb. No shit! Really. The food was great, the band was fantastic, everyone was in high spirits. The mother of the bride (who organized a lot of the wedding stuff) came by our table to greet us. She turned to me at one point, and I said, "Congratulations, you must be so happy and proud!" She replied, "Oh, I am! And I could not have done it without (the bride's) brother. He's been a rock, ever since my husband's been gone. Oh, we didn't divorce, he passed away. We're not that kind of family." Whaaat? What kind of family?? Since when is dying preferable over divorce?? I didn't know whether to laugh or get pissed off, since I'm a child of divorced parents myself... Crazy stuff, huh?

The flight back: I don't know why, but Sunday was just hard for me. I was a hormonal hurricane. I got mad at C. for losing his key card to the room, even though we didn't have to return it upon checking out. We didn't have time to eat before we caught our cab, so we had to eat at the airport, a crappy and expensive thing to have to do. We got a couple of sorry-looking overpriced bagels and drinks, and as we sat down to eat I found myself crying. I don't know why. Well, okay, I do know why, it has everything to with being pregnant. But still. Crying in the airport? Ugh, how embarassing. C. did his best cheering-up routine, and of course it worked. I kept telling him I was sorry, that I was just feeling hormonal. He said he knew, and that it was okay. C. rocks.

...And that was our trip to NYC! Quite a whirlwind.