Howdy, Y'All!

Had a great time in Houston, TX--my first trip to the Lone Star state, not counting a few layovers at the Dallas-Ft. Worth airport.

Guess what I learned, y'all? People down in Texas really do say "y'all!" Constantly. And guess what else? It's actually quite charming, y'all! There's just no equivalent in Yankee country, is there? ("Yo!" doesn't exactly compare.)

Houston was a steambath, which we expected. What I didn't expect was how green and lush everything is. It makes sense, given the magnitude of humidity, but it didn't stop me from staring out our 5th-floor window at a blanket of leafy green as far as I could see.

The other thing I learned is that Texas is similar to L.A., with its miles and miles of tangled freeways, all referred to by number (i.e., "Take the 610 to the 45"). Growing up in L.A., I was accustomed to this manner of direction-giving, but my NYC cousins always found it strange. Living here in NYC, you never hear the BQE referred to as "278" or the Major Deegan called "87."

Fascinating, right?

The wedding of our Jewish friend and his Italian-Mexican bride was fantastic--a great combination of cultures among some of the warmest, most joyful people I've met. We ate, drank, danced and watched the bride and groom play nice with their luscious white raspberry cake.

When it came time for the single women to congregate on the dance floor for the bouquet toss, I attempted to sit out the ritual (as I always do). Jason and I were seated next to the groom's brother and his girlfriend, who also planned to skip the bouquet toss. But, at the prodding of our respective dates, she and I headed out to do battle for the bouquet.

I could not have cared less about catching the thing and was distracted by one woman loudly whining that she deserved to catch it and prematurely claiming victory (something to the effect of "That fucking bouquet is mine!"). You know how there's always one person at a wedding who's dressed completely inappropriately? Well, this was her--tank top, yoga pants and flip-flops. Smudged makeup, stringy hair. Perhaps she'd just come from the pool and happened to stumble upon the ballroom?

Long story short, the bride tosses the bouquet into the air and it sails directly into my arms. As I clutched the delicate white flowers to my chest, Skank Girl (let's just call her that, shall we?) lunged at me from behind, scratching my bare arm with her claws and yanking the bouquet from my hands. Seriously--that bitch yanked like she's never yanked before. Then she did a depraved victory dance while I shrugged and returned to my seat.

Jason didn't see what went down, his view blocked by the women standing behind me. But, moments after SG's vicious thievery, the wedding photographer approached me. "You clearly caught that," he said, showing me the LCD screen on his camera, which proved the flowers were in my hands.

I thanked the photographer and Jason strongly suggested I march right over to SG's table to take what was rightfully mine. But, oddly enough, SG disappeared immediately after her larceny and we never saw her again. Hmm...guilty much?

The best consolation came from our waiter, an elderly Hispanic gentleman with a kindly smile. He approached Jason and I later in the evening and, struggling with English, he said, "You caught it." Then, gesturing to Jason and I with a long, thin finger: "You two are next."

Next, I'll tell y'all about how we geeked out to the max at the NASA Johnson Space Center, y'all!

Posted by ayelet at June 18, 2008 01:32 PM