The secret to hassle-free travel these days is threefold: wear loafers as a preventive charm against having to waste time taking your shoes off for security; fly during off-times, such as a Wednesday night; and get to the airport early enough that you have ample time to double-back to the parking lot from the terminal once you realize that you left your tickets on the dashboard of the car.

If by 'you' you mean 'mr rampy'.

Meanwhile this guy in a red sports car was circling the parking lot trying to convince random passing motorists to sell him their parking tickets. Because that's not going to somehow screw over either him or his mark. Dude, pay the $13 lost ticket fee and stop stalking people like some debased and mercenary modern version of the Flying Dutchman.

Despite the fact that between mr rampy and myself we had like five bags, my mother picked us up at the airport with her Beetle. Not that it has hippie flowers plastered on its sides, but even at the best (i.e. least crowded) of times riding in it, a full-horned version of "Tijuana Taxi" tends to run through my head. That or jolly evil calliope music. My family just has a history of stuffing way too many people and pieces of baggage into tiny spaces. Our next-door neighbors kept having prospective buyers scared off when they were trying to sell their house because every Sunday when they had open houses we'd come driving back from church in our little colt vista and tumble forth onto our driveway from every door like so many circus clowns. Or so we flattered ourselves. The effect was probably less striking when viewed from the outside of the car.

Waiting until the last possible moment to pack had left us with only three hours of sleep the previous night. Though we got into Dallas after midnight, we did not let the circumstances or our fatigue stop us from hooking up with mr rampy's sis and the wilder members of the wedding party, who were singing karaoke at a local bar. They were not substantially younger than us--several were our age or older, in fact--but the Britney-dancing, clouds of Marlboro Lights smoke, and overall decibel level of their voices made us realize how much our going-out habits have changed over the past few years. Me, at least. Mr rampy may have been too busy fetching me ambrosia of the gods (i.e. Shiner) to be very reflective about how our lifestyles have matured.

On the plus side, these whipper-snappers proved to be very good company over the next few days. And the maid of honor did not pass whatever plague was incubating in her lungs on to me, despite the fact that I let her drink from my bottle of Shiner. You see, everything Shiner touches turns to gold.

To any peeps out there planning weddings, Tip #1 = arrange for plenty of events, both formal and informal, that let your wedding party mix, especially if the people in it have not met before or do not know each other very well. Things will run much more smoothly later on if you do.

Of course, sometimes there is that bridesmaid, the one who through some twist of fate suddenly turns out to be sulky, or uncooperative, or revengeful. In this case, that bridesmaid had not come karaoke-ing with us, probably because sis-in-law had not invited her.

Sis-in-law was a little bitter, seeing as how when sis-in-law was a bridesmaid for that bridesmaid, sis-in-law (among other things) went to each and every one of the TEN SHOWERS that bridesmaid had, buying her a nice gift for EACH ONE, while in turn, that bridesmaid felt that an $8 pan was an appropriate wedding gift for sis-in-law: an $8 pan paid for by that bridesmaid's mother, who left the credit slip in the box. Despite what you might expect, that bridesmaid is a grown woman with a husband and a house.

Nice.

Seven hours of sleep later came the bridesmaid's luncheon...