In exploring the many issues related to marriage, there is none more prominent than the ongoing state-by-state battle over the legal rights of same-sex partners. Today, the New York State Senate voted down a proposal to legalize same-sex marriage by a vote of 38 to 24. I consider this pretty depressing, given that New York is home to almost three hundred thousand members of the GLB community, the largest gay population in the United States.*
If only more people got the picture like New York State Senate Committee on Civil Service and Pensions Chair Diane Savino, who said most eloquently in the video below, “we in government don’t determine the quality or the validity of peoples’ relationships. If we did, we would not issue three-quarters of the marriage licenses we do.”
After watching this video, I am further convinced that there is something painfully wrong with a system that gives complete strangers the legal right to marry, yet will not afford the same opportunity to deeply committed same-sex couples. Unlike their same-sex counterparts, a straight couple can secure a marriage license in less time than it takes to update their car registration at the DMV. For fewer than one hundred dollars, I could marry my postman this afternoon, were I not already legally bound to Chris (and in some states, I could have them both, woo-hoo!)
To those who oppose gay marriage, I have these questions:
-If marriage is considered that sacred, why make it so easy for any (straight) person over eighteen to obtain?
-If you’re going to deny the rights of a minority, why not question who should be married out of the majority? Why not add a few restrictions, like pre-marital classes and stricter divorce laws?
-Which would bother you more: a same-sex couple together for twenty-five years getting hitched in a quiet church ceremony, or a heterosexual couple tying the knot as they drink out of their 7-Eleven rented slurpee machine? Which do you consider more “sacred”?
It’s possible you’ve been reading Wedding Road Trip because you’re getting ready for your own “perfect” day. Whether it’s your first, or even your second, you might benefit from some hot tips I picked up during ours.
You are not magical on your wedding day. Normal laws of biology and physics still apply to you. For example, if it’s a sunny day in California in August, you will burn without sunscreen. You don’t want to be lobster red and need to wear your sister’s foundation at the after party – not that it happened to me.
A little champagne can soothe the nerves. If you’re the groom, I prescribe a glass right before the ceremony. Please disregard this advice for Mormon nuptials.
People will cry, so carry a tissue. My mom cried, my sister cried, I even teared up (which normally only happens during playoff games).
Eat! You may be nervous and you’ll certainly be distracted, so even if you intend to, you might forget to fuel and bitch out. Luckily our friend Janet took it upon herself to be our designated snackee and plied us with almonds all day long. And drink water, too, or you’ll just find yourself wolfing down Coronas like I did.
Practice your first dance. Trust me on this one. Learn from my mistakes.
At the reception, put the head table in the middle of everyone, not set to the side. Just my perspective, but being in the mix with the rest of the tables made us more accessible but also allowed us to disappear into the crowd. And sometimes it’s nice to not have everyone looking at you.
It is so essential to have a concierge looking out for you at the reception. There is no way to make it to the bar without being rushed by three guests. My cousin Lara made sure to bring us wine – and brought us white so we wouldn’t stain The Wedding Dress.
Wear comfortable shoes. My back still hurts…
Everyone will be nice to you all day long. This sounds obvious, but it wasn’t to us beforehand – we were tired, stressed, and juggling logistics with emotions. A part of me was convinced we’d spend our wedding day fielding complaints and explaining directions and timetables. Instead everyone was SO nice and happy. Our guests were thrilled to be there. The vendors rocked. And people smiled and hugged and partied and did it for real – not to make us happy, but because they were so happy.
And after a six-week Wedding Road Trip and another month of setting up the final ceremony, talking so much in isolation, we saw that we weren’t an island but belonged to this big community that loves us. That, or free food and alcohol can make magic happen.
Looking back on my wedding, I have few regrets. Almost everything went as planned, from the Wedding Road Trip to our ceremony at the Yellow Umbrella Company. The after-party at the Candlelight Kitchen even came with some unexpected bonuses, namely a big, bouncy white pillow bed and a fantastic Father of the Bride toast, complete with junior high audio recordings that my friends still talk about.
But perhaps my favorite part of the whole schbang was a post-dinner performance by my friends Todd and Colleen. At first, I was adamant that all 80s rap was to be stricken from the playlist. I was convinced that crazy rap numbers would mar the perfect after-party images that were dancing through my head. Three days before the wedding, over margaritas and pop music, I finally relented and gave the contraband performance the thumbs up.
So on the night of the Wedding Road Trip ceremony, my good friend Colleen and our “minister” Todd led the crowd in a rousing rendition of “Bust a Move,” complete with our mothers as backup dancers. Family howled and friends cheered as Todd and Colleen rocked Candlelight Kitchen in a way that few ever have (and probably ever will). Our photographer, Lesley Bryce, even caught a picture of me laughing, evidence that I loved every second of the Vegas-worthy performance. Every second was perfect, down to the last “you want it, you got it.”
Photo by Lesley Bryce Photography
Now, two months post-wedding, it’s “Bust a Move” that I remember. Not the tablecloths, not the entrees, and certainly not the flowers that I never ordered.
Instead, I remember how my moms (and future mother-in-law) let loose in the name of love and bad eighties rap. I smile at the moment that had me collapsed with laughter. I recall the way Colleen’s shoes lit up the dance floor like she was channeling Tupac.
And in the end, I am humbled by the reality that maybe, just maybe, some of the greatest moments in my life were not under my control or born of my imagination.
I find the old adage, “put your money where your mouth is” more than a little bit funny. Just think for a moment and laugh with me…
Thinking…
Thinking…
Heidi Fleiss…
Thinking…
This morning, Chris and I took the first legal step in changing our names. For those of you who are thinking of taking on a new last name of your own, here’s the deal (at least for California):
3. You have to stand and wait for those forms to be filed while listening to the world’s most obnoxious woman argue over a small claims case in a voice that rivals that of the Giant from Jack in the Beanstalk. *
4. You have to repeat steps one through three for your spouse. Yep, that means you’ve just written checks totaling $740.
5. You have to walk down the street, past a selection of unsavory characters asking you for money… which you now don’t have because you’ve given it all to the City of San Francisco.
6. You walk up the stairs to the office of The Recorder, the cheapest local law journal in the City, where you file your public Change of Name forms for $49.75 each.
7. Eight weeks later, you show up at the Superior Court for a hearing that lasts approximately five minutes. Your chosen name cannot carry fraudulent intent and cannot interfere with the rights of others (ie: I cannot name myself Britney Spears unless I have a really good reason for it- which frankly, I’d love to hear if you’ve got one…)
8. You go through the process of changing your name on everything that defines you: your social security card, your driver’s license, your bank accounts, your credit cards, your gym membership, and so on. You can also change your name on your birth certificate (or gender- but that’s another story for another time.)
9. Two and half months and more than eight hundred dollars later, you’re the proud owner of a name that you’d better damn well like.
To those of you who are thinking of doing what we’ve done, a word of advice: have one person change his/her name before you file for a marriage license. This will cut the cost in half once you’ve signed on the dotted line. We didn’t go this route because we spent over three months trying to decide on the perfect last name…
Walking home from the market this morning, I passed the local elementary school. Out in front of the school’s sign, a fourth grade class was posing for their yearbook picture. As I watched the kids shift and shuffle into position, I experienced an unexpected pang of sadness. As I watched the photographer desperately try to corral the group, I thought back to my own fourth grade class. I remembered running laps to impress our cross country coach, Mr. Smoot. I mused about the fat Texas jellybeans that our crazy principal handed out during lunch. I flinched as I recalled one girl who made my life a living hell, constantly criticizing my “thrift store bought” clothes.
As I watched the class finally settle into position, for a moment, just one moment, I wanted to switch places with one of those fourth graders. Each one represented so much potential, so much life. They had so many memories left to make: first day of high school, first date, first college party, first love, first heartbreak. They haven’t screwed anything up… yet.
Of course, like all bouts of nostalgia, the moment passed, but not before reminding me of a conversation Chris and I had on the road with our friends Matt and Chrissy. We had just finished belting out “High On You” by Survivor when Chrissy said, “we’ll totally recount this moment tomorrow morning. Nostalgia is a bitch.” And she’s right… I did find myself thinking about the Survivor moment the next morning, longing for the simple, pure second in which we were all (in our imaginations, anyways) in tune with one another. Funny enough, as I sit here writing about remembering that moment, I feel nostalgic about that too.
But I do agree with Chrissy… nostalgia is a bitch. Actually, it is more than a bitch… it is an enemy. A robber of joy and a spinner of false tales, nostalgia reminds of who we once thought we were, not of who we are now. Whether it be a wedding or a fourth grade class photo, nostalgia threatens to hold us in the past instead of allowing us to enjoy the present or move into the unknown future. Thanks to nostalgia, it’s likely that ten years from now, I’ll wax poetic about the days in which I was a newlywed freelance writer, meandering home from the corner store on a Wednesday morning.
I find the old adage, “put your money where your mouth is” more than a little bit funny. Just think for a moment and laugh with me…
Walking home from the market this morning, I passed the local elementary school. Out in front of the school’s sign, a fourth grade class was posing for their yearbook picture. As I watched the kids shift and shuffle into position, I experienced an unexpected pang of sadness. As I watched the photographer desperately try to corral the group, I thought back to my own fourth grade class. I remembered running laps to impress our cross country coach, Mr. Smoot. I mused about the fat Texas jellybeans that our crazy principal handed out during lunch. I flinched as I recalled one girl who made my life a living hell, constantly criticizing my “thrift store bought” clothes.
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