-- weekend: wedding, traffic, flowers (not necessarily in that order)

Dan and I spent the weekend hauling ourselves back up I95 to NJ for my stepsister's wedding. The traffic was horrendous.

We stopped in a rest station in Delaware for food and it was PACKED. Some guy held the door open for me in such a way that I was to understand he was being extremely gracious and kind-hearted. He nodded, pleased at himself for his niceness but that wasn't enough. He had to congratulate himself on his tolerance. "I'm holding this for you even though I know you're going to vote for Obama," he said, grinning widely.

I looked at him, surprised; I wasn't wearing any political attire. Was it the sandals? But Republicans wear sandals too, right? I have no idea.

He continued to talk to us all the way to the line at Sbarro's. "What'ya think of McCain's pick? Sweet, huh?" We grunted noncommitally in his direction, being less gracious than he, and escaped into the pizza line. I'm not into talking politics with strangers. Really, I'm not into talking about anything with strangers because it usually turns into a sales pitch or a monetary plea. (Idea for future post: being accosted by strangers... lots of material there.)

Anyway, we continued North over the Delaware Memorial Bridge. There's a sign overhead that reads, "IN CRISIS? CALL 1-800-273-TALK." I wonder how many calls they field a year. About 1.5 million people cross it a month but the only stats I could find on those distraught enough to take their own lives totalled 132 people from 1952 to 2003. Suicide.org mentions that only 2% of suicides a year are bridge jumpers so I guess that's consistent with the relatively low overall numbers. Still, every time I pass this sign I think about it.

An acquaintance once told me they couldn't drive over bridges. They pulled up to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge (4 miles long), panicked and told the toll operator "OMG I can't do this!!"

The operator turned silently, picked up the phone and intoned dully, "We got another one."

As this person was being escorted over, she learned that about 11,000 people a year get driven over that bridge because they can't cross it.

My mind spinned with this information. How many staff drivers are on call for this kind of thing? What percentage needs help -- is it higher than average because of the bridge's unusual length? Not sure. (If you find out, let me know -- it seems surprisingly difficult to get {fast} answers to this.)

I tried to get a picture (above) of the guy playing drums (using actual drumsticks) on his steering wheel but it didn't come out. I was too shy about sidling directly alongside his car and pointing my phone at him. I love when I see people jamming in their cars but I'd never seen anyone actually use musical instruments while driving.

Once we got to the wedding I realized we didn't have Dan's better camera. Grrr! I continued using my cell; not bad when playing around on the road in traffic but definitely not fit for a party. Let's just pretend this photo is blurry for artistic and privacy reasons. Here's (an illusion of) my stepsis with her dad during the father-daughter dance.
And now, because I am mean, I present to you fashion lession #1. Do not wear garments shaped to fit over a barrel if you want to look attractive.
I have no idea who this is but you would never know from her dress that she was, in fact, thin and pretty. Note to self: do not wear anything resembling a trash can cozy if you ever need to look somewhat decent, say, at a wedding or something.

Moving on to the rest of my weekend...

We also visited Dan's family the next day, here he is with his dad.

And a flower...

And more flowers.

Not bad for a cell phone. But at some point I need to get a real camera.