West Ammani Bridezilla

Her life flickered before her eyes. Moments from her childhood, her past, her potential future, and she began to tear up. "Your make-up!" They all yelled... All of them... Her multitude of attendants, consisting of three hairdressers, her mother, and a couple of bridesmaids. This was her wedding. This wedding had nothing to do with her. It was the product of months of disciplined, almost military planning. It was less a celebration of love, and more the grand finale, the closing night, the end of the childhood fantasy. It was the bitter reality behind the fantasy, the beginning of a new type of loneliness. She sat amidst the bustle of activity, in all her bridal glory, the center of attention, entirely alone.
There's so much irony in the weddings of West Amman. Is it a global phenomenon? Do all brides feel so scared and alone? Do they all pretend? There's an appeal to small weddings (or in my case a newfound appreciation for eloping), that goes beyond the purely financial. I would hate to see 1000 people I don't know celebrate my future, it would scare the hell out of me. I miss having relationships that revolved around 'me' and 'him', and only 'us'. We used to be what mattered in our relationship. It seems like my emotional wellfare is absolutely irrelevent now. Even when I throw a party I'm usually fulfilling a social obligation of some sort. How did it come to this?
We dug our own graves, and created our own brand of superficial hell. Furthermore, we learnt to depend on it, and thrive on it, and our lives spiralled out of control as every little decision became premeditated. Our occasional bursts of alcohol induced spontaneity are often followed by self-deprecation, then more alcohol induced outbursts, as we subconsciously rebel to free ourselves from our consciously manufactured mental jail cell. And even consciously knowing, we can't stop. Like an out of control addiction, our choices, our decisions, are predictable. We are so brainwashed, we can rationalize our behaviour with the eloquance of an attorney giving the final summation that will convince a jury of a defendents innocence. We're so good, we believe our own arguments... So thats what the extra year was for in our Americanised Europeanesque highschool, proficiency in mental mooting. I don't want to brag, but I'm really good. I once debated against my own pro freedom of expression stance, and very nearly persuaded myself that open dialogue would be globally destructive.
Does anyone else exerience a personality switch when they cross International lines? My thought processes are bordering on a personality disorder. How can your thoughts, hopes, fears, be so dramaticlaly altered by the mere crossing of politically drawn lines? When I step of the plane, it's liek a little mental device in my brian does a complete 180 deg spin, and my other personality emerges in all its disfunctional glory, almost as if awakened from a hypnotic state by some trigger. Maybe I'm looking at this all wrong. Maybe I just have an uber-phenomenal ability to adapt to different cultures. Effective adapatability is a Darwinian trait for species survival, and I could be at the top fo the pyramid. Too bad the more effective trait is the ability to survive hours of painful labour, after 9 months of carrying another human being against your bladder. In the past all men ever had to do was hunt, and to add insult to injury, now a few well-timed, properly placed ejaculations will do the trick, how is that fair?!
....Viva las Vegas!