I get lost alot.

Its pretty much a near-constant thing.

I actually got lost just yesterday, trying to get to a wedding. “Trying” is the operative word. I looked online, saw that it takes 15 minutes to get to the chapel from my school, and so I left about half an hour early… Ha!

Allow me to repeat myself: HA!!!!

You would think allowing 30 minutes for a supposedly 15 minute drive would be plenty of time. Also considering that weddings never really start on time. In both cases, you would be absolutely right, working with anyone else’s luck. But, my dears, we are working with my luck. Hence, the “HA!!!!”

ANYWAYS. I got lost about 3 different times, made plenty of U-turns, and arrived at the chapel grinding my teeth and muttering darkly under my breath. About 20-25 minutes late. And, the wedding apparently DID start on time, because I arrived just as some of the guests (the ones not staying for the reception) were leaving. I darted in the side door, hoping no one would notice my extreme tardiness. . . and darted straight into the only group at this wedding that I actually knew.

(Are you noticing the luck patterns here? Fabulous, huh?)

After some embarrassed explanations about my lateness, they chuckled at me and filled me in on the gorgeous-ness of the ceremony I had missed. Noting my disappointment, one friend quickly consoled me with “Oh, but its ok. The whole ceremony went by so fast, she (the bride) probably didn’t even notice who was there and who wasn’t. You can see her at the reception.”

Feeling better, our group walked through the double doors into the reception hall. And at this point, I am completely exaggerating. Reception closet is much more accurate. There was nowhere for our party of six to sit. Only two or three open chairs, max.

What did we do, you may ask? We waited for the joyous couple to come out of the picture-taking session, gave them hugs and kisses and congratulations, cheered from the hallway as the new Mr. and Mrs. were intrduced to the reception, and toasted their nuptuals down the street at the Olive Garden.

Where I got marinara splotches on the white part of my dress.  

I impress myself.