husband and wife

The last night of the month of August: a humid heat in the triple digits that trickled into the night and gave no quarter or shelter or relief. The night was supposed to be airy and cool but that was not the case as I played a show with my band and watched from the intensely-lit stage as my girl sat and sipped her drink and waited for me to be done.

She waited because she knew what was going to happen after the show. She knew the journey we were about to embark upon and she was as excited as I was, maybe even more so. But I was dealing with suppressed emotions that had no outlet.

The show went over well, and when it was done she and I made our escape amid suspicious eyes and furrowed brows. Some of them knew instinctively what we had planned to do, even if we had not been explicit about it.

It wasn't until she and I were at my place, almost ready to hit the desert road out to Las Vegas, that I finally broke down and cried as I held her, explaining that these were not doubts that I was feeling, but rather the overwhelming joy of finally having found the one person I seemed to have been waiting all of my life to meet, through the darkness and the pain and the elation and joy of my entire existence... it was impossible to believe that there standing before me was the woman I was going to spend the rest of my days loving, but I had no choice but to accept that fact, even as my wounded self-esteem resisted the happiness that caused tears to well up in my eyes and my voice to tremble under the weight of this decision.

She patted my hair and told me that if I didn't want to go through with it she would be OK, but I insisted that it wasn't a big deal-- it was just me resorting to an old coping mechanism, the involuntary impulse to hide my emotions until they cannot be held any longer and then deluge from me like a levee breaking open and flooding my heart.

By the time we were an hour outside of Los Angeles, my mood was considerably improved. I held her hand as we drove our machine over clean asphalt laser beams.


*/*


Before the sunrise, we entered the garish Nevada city of lights, the unofficial capital of casino towns. With no sun to greet us, we stopped to get a bite to eat at an IHOP (Denny's was open but they were re-stocking and told us it would take 20 minutes before we could order).

The waiter told us that the chapels didn't operate under 24 hour schedules anymore, mainly due to the Las Vegas courthouse's new hours. Since the courthouse now closed earlier, there was no need for the chapels to work around the clock. We would have to wait until 8am if we wanted to do anything, he told me.

So we hit the Strip and smoked our cigarettes with style and flung them out of the windows almost simultaneously... which attracted the attention of a state trooper car that I had not seen following me. He pulled us over and walked over to my side of the car.

"Good morning."

I tired to smile. "Good morning, officer."

"Driver's license?"

"Yes." I pulled my license out of my wallet and let the wallet fall down between the seat and the center console, fearing that he would somehow come across the small amount of cocaine I had stashed in between my ATM cards.

He looked at my license, then said, "I pulled you over for littering."

"Yes, I know."

His nostrils flared, having smelled something coming from the car.

"Where are you coming from?"

"Los Angeles."

"Have you had anything to drink while you've been driving?"

"No sir."

"Please step out of the car."

After some questions, it became clear that the two cops thought that I was drunk, because of the strong smell of an open container of rum that my girl was carrying. The first cop was talking to me, trying to determine if I was tipsy, while the second cop walked over to my girl and grilled her on her bottle.

"Ma'am, we smell alcohol coming from the vehicle. Has he been drinking?"

"No sir, I have." She smiled, her red heart-shaped Lolita sunglasses framing her girlish cheekbones.

"What are you guys doing up so early?"

"We drove from L.A. all night. We're getting married."

"Married, eh?" The second cop smiled. "Well, congratulations!"

"Thank you."

"So, is he the love of your life?"

"Yes he is, sir!"

"Nice."

Meanwhile, I was talking to the first cop about our business at such an ungodly hour of the day.

"We're here to get hitched, then turn right around and head home. We didn't even reserve a room."

"All the chapels are going the other way. Why were you driving north on the Strip?"

"The IHOP waiter said there might be another chapel in the north part of town, near Russell."

"I'm not sure if there is one... let me ask my partner."

Just at that moment, the second cop walked up to us.

"Man, how much did she have to drink?" He laughed.

"Yeah, she puts 'em away alright." Then I proceeded to lie for no reason. "It's her car, so she was driving up until we hit Prima Donna, then she had a drink and I decided to take over."

"And you had nothing at all?"

"Correct. I'm allergic to alcohol anyway."

"Well, I can tell you haven't been drinking. After I asked you to exit the vehicle I was sniffing around to see if it was on your breath, but you're checking out fine. Sorry to inconvenience you and your girl."

"No problem, officer. You're just doing your job."

"Hey, is there a chapel up near Russell?" The first cop asked his partner.

"I think there is... but it's the only one around those parts. The majority of them are near Old Town, Fremont Street."

"You think the one near Russell is open right now?" I asked.

"Maybe. They don't really do that 24 hour thing anymore, but you can try it out."

"Why not? We got a lot of time to kill," I said, smiling.

The cops didn't ticket us, and as we drove away the cruiser followed us up the Strip. At one point I became disoriented and ran a red arrow light (not a red stop light) and then I hit the brake while in the middle of the right turn intersection.

Assuming that they were going to give us more trouble, I winced visibly. My girl was laughing at the whole absurd incident as it played itself out in front of her.

We both heard the troopers over their loudspeaker: "Make a left!"

All the other cars in traffic, stopped at the lights in back of us, were befuddled and confused.

By the time the troopers passed us and I gathered my bearings again, she and I were laughing at our luck. We both spoke aloud about how this must be a sign that our marriage was meant to be.


*/*


As the time was nearing, she and I stopped at a chapel and asked a woman who was tending to the plants when they would be open for business. She asked us if we had gotten our marriage license yet. I pleaded ignorance, and she promptly gave us directions to where the courthouse was located. She also warned us to stay away from one particular chapel with a shady reputation.

We drove to the courthouse and waited outside along with at least five other couples who were in a rush to get their nuptials taken care of as early as possible. My girl and I smoked more cigarettes, and kissed and held hands and giggled with excitement.

The moment was almost upon us.

As we waited, a man handed out flyers advertising the notorious chapel that we had been warned about prior to our courthouse visit. Prices on their wedding ceremonies had been marked down drastically. I folded the flyer and slipped it into my back pocket.

Five minutes before 8, the African-American courthouse security guard came out front. He turned to all of us and made an announcement:

"Sorry folks, the courthouse ain't giving out licenses today. Building's closed for the Labor Day weekend."

Our collective jaws dropped as we heard the news. I was about to say something when the guard suddenly reversed himself.

"Psyche!" He began to laugh, as did everyone else, along with relieved sighs. The guard then proceeded to poke fun at the man standing nearest to him.

"Damn, man, you shoulda seen the look on your face..."

My girl, laughing riotously, commented that it was a good thing he was kidding, otherwise he'd have to run away or else face the wrath of half a dozen unhappy couples, to which he replied:

"Hey, I'm black. Ain't none of y'all catchin' a brother. In fact, I saw an episode of COPS the other night where this cat straight up eluded the police, the dogs, even the infra-red. No shit. That motherfucker was home so fast he was able to check his ass out on TV the same night! He was probably sitting there, eating dinner, sayin' 'Look, mama, that's me. And there I go...'"

Needless to say, the ice was broken, Within fifteen minutes of entering the courthouse, we had our marriage license in hand. Now all we needed was a chapel.


*/*


She and I starting walking down the street, unsure of which chapel to go to, when suddenly a limousine pulled up beside us and a Hispanic man stepped out from behind the driver's seat.

His name was Ernesto and he had a tattoo tear on his face. He asked us if we had just gotten our license. I tried to ignore him because I thought he was affiliated with the man who was handing out flyers for the shady chapel.

"Naw, man. This one's different. Here, check it out."

He opened up a brochure. The cheapest deal offered a drive-through ceremony, including pictures and free rides to and from the chapel, for an unbeatably low price.

"Sorry, man," I said, "but she don't want a drive-through wedding."

"Okay, I'll waive that. You'll get everything else though. The ride is free. I'll take you right now, and drop you right back here where I found you. And you don't gotta tip me or anyone except the pastor. For real."

"Whatta you say, babe?" I asked my soon-to-be wife.

"If you wanna do it, then let's do it."

"Okay, man, take us there."

The limo ride took only a few minutes. We arrived at the chapel and walked inside, where an elderly woman greeted us and began processing our nuptials, but not without first scolding Ernesto for poaching us from off the street.

"I thought you were just going to the store," she intoned. Ernesto said nothing as he walked into the back room.

She turned to us and introduced herself as Louise. She processed our fees and had us fill out forms and watched as we signed them, then she signed a few herself; she proceeded to inform us that the pastor and the photographer were running late, seeing as we were her first customers of the day.

My girl went into the restroom to prep herself for the final step we were about to take. I made small talk with Louise, regaling her with the story of our trip to Las Vegas and all the crazy happenings that went on since we blew into town. I also asked her about the shady chapel down the street, the one we'd been warned about; she made no bones about that chapel's bizarre operational policies and unkempt health conditions, adding that she knew the proprietor of that chapel and therefore knew the level of corruption and greed that was possible.

When my girl returned from the restroom, Louise asked us if we had any wedding bands.

"No, we didn't buy a ring yet," my girl replied.

"No rings? What about flowers?"

I turned to my girl and asked, "Do you want flowers, babe?"

"It's not necessary," she said.

Louise then picked out a white rose and gave it to my girl. "Here, it's on the house," she said.

Half an hour passed, and our pastor arrived. She was a good-looking young blonde with a spray-on tan and immaculate teeth, the kind of girl I might've leered at once upon a time. She escorted us into the large room and began to conduct the service from the altar.

She asked me and my girl to face each other as we repeated the vows. I was choked up with emotion once again, just like the night before in my room, only this time I was able to keep the tears from streaming down my face as I promised to honor, love, cherish and obey my girl until the day I die.

Never have there been words so potent and strong as those vows. As many times as I have heard them in my life, and as many times as I have ridiculed them or spoofed them or satirized them, I could not help but suddenly understand their power and impact as I stared into the ebony wonder of my girl's eyes and swore to her with all my heart that my aim was true and that she was mine forever and that I was hers forever... and I meant it.

I meant every word, and she did too.

We kissed, and then the photographer finally showed up and posed us this way and that, and a nervous energy flushed through my bloodstream as I realized what I had just done.

It was the one thing I had always sworn I would never do, and yet there I was, married on a bleary Vegas morning after a sleepless night spent driving through the desert.


*/*


I held her hand almost the entire way as we drove back to Los Angeles.

Towards the end of the trip she fell asleep, still wearing the white dress she donned for her special day.

I was still in shock, in utter disbelief. The entire drive was unreal. I was at peace, at one with my soul, with my heart, with my mind.

Nothing seemed impossible anymore. Everything in my line of vision appeared bright and new and shiny. There were no more questions, only answers to queries I had long pondered.

I wondered how much our lives were going to change after the honeymoon was over and reality set in... and then it dawned on me that this was reality, and that it wasn't going to set in because it was already settled. The moment we made up our minds to be husband and wife, it was settled. Like the dust on the interstate after our machine zoomed over the surface of hot Nevadan blacktop, it was settled. Like my stomach after an arrow of an evening spent careening toward Sin City and ending at a breakfast franchise over some eggs and coffee, it was settled.

There was nothing else to say.

She and I got married on September 1st, 2007 at approximately 9am.

That day was the beginning of the rest of our lives, and I will never ever forget it for as long as we both exist.

something to write about

This past year has seen a significant drop-off in my blogging regularity. It was intentional, by all means, but also there was a personal dissatisfaction with the whole blogging process. Bloggers are mostly viewed in the court of public opinion as either savvy online go-getters or lifeless losers who pine to be published writers but lack the necessary skills to get their foot in the literary door.

While I probably would be viewed in the latter category rather than the former, I have never had a problem with being seen by the public at large as some sort of weird loner ranting against a seemingly unfair societal system. In fact, I tend to encourage that perspective because it's not that far off from the truth.

I think the main reason why I reduced the amount of time and energy spent blogging, however, is simply because I ran out of interesting things to say on a consistent basis. Whereas before I could blog endlessly and rapidly about any topic at length, I found myself at the beginning of last summer scraping the bottom of the barrel when it came to finding things to write about, and it was showing: people who used to frequent my blog lost interest; I was repeating myself in numerous ways; and the tone of my writing became hard, sullen, angry without the benefit of any genuine humor to sweeten the bitterness.

In short, I was in a bad place during a bad time, and it was reflected in my blog.

Much has changed since last year, and even more has changed in the past two or three weeks since I last posted an entry here. I know I've spoken of serious life changes in this blog many times before, but this time I am pretty sure that what I've got to say to anyone reading this will qualify, without a doubt, as a truly major step in not only my writing but in my life in general.

I've been writing about My Girl for the past six or seven months, and it has been a pleasure to do so... but she is no longer My Girl.

No, instead she has become My Wife.


*/*


It began innocently enough with a comment I made to My Girl sometime after her bicycle accident.

"I'm just gonna start calling you my wife from now on," I said to her as I smoked a cigarette while lying on her bed. "I'll introduce you as my spouse to anyone and everyone."

I can't say for sure if I was serious or joking. All I know is that I meant it when I said it, even though it was delivered with my trademark flippancy. Whatever the case, I threw it out there for her to devour. She didn't seem to mind my resolution.

Two days passed. We saw each other during those days-- sometimes at the coffee shop where she works part-time, sometimes at her townhouse in Hollywood, sometimes at my place in Reseda. It's a given, because ever since the start of this summer she and I have been virtually inseparable, making sure to hang out for at least a few hours each day. Even when we were not dating and still platonic friends, we were spending the vast majority of our time together.

Then, two days after I announced that I was going to refer to her as my wife from now on, the subject came up again while we were bedded down in her room.

"You know, if you asked me to marry you, I'd probably say 'yes', and I would mean it," she said to me.

"Really?" I was a little taken aback, only because for the first time in my life I was not trembling with fear and dread at the prospects of marital bliss with a girl I was dating... and what's more, I felt excited and exhilarated by her bold admission.

"I've been thinking about it since you brought it up the other day," she said, "but I didn't want to say anything because I was afraid you would say that you were kidding. I've been wanting to tell you how I feel, and I guess now is the time to do it."

"You've been thinking about it for the last two days?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

Oh my God, I thought, she really wants to marry me!

"Well, I would marry you if you wanted to marry me. No bullshit."

I couldn't believe what I was saying to her, and yet I was not scared or pensive. I found that I was actually quite confident that what I was telling her was my true feeling on the matter.

"I want to marry you," she said, her doleful eyes fluttering softly behind her oh-so-cute nerd-glasses perched delicately above her nose. "I want to be the mother of your children. I want to take your last name."

Upon hearing this, I figured I may as well do it right.

"Okay then... Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

"When do you want to do it?"

"Right now!" Her face beamed with energy.

"That would be cool, but you know we can't... you've got work, I've got a million things to do... but I agree that eloping would be the best course of action."

"Yes, let's elope! In Las Vegas! Either this weekend or the next!"

"That's a deal."

She smiled, and we kissed, and then she looked at me with the utmost seriousness and said, "You're not gonna chicken out on this, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Are you?"

"No way."

"Alright. Then it's settled. We'll play it by ear, but by the end of August we will be husband and wife."

A chill ran down my spine. It was not the kind of chill that signals impending catastrophe. This particular chill was like a jolt of electricity coursing through my body and rejuvenating parts of me that I had dismissed as dead.

We kissed. We made love. We slept.


*/*


My Girl and I were married at a chapel in Las Vegas on Saturday, September 1st, 2007.

It was a tough ordeal resisting the urge to inform everyone within earshot of our plan to elope. Obviously I am someone whose life is an open book, and I am very good at broadcasting my intent no matter where I am or what I am doing.

I wasn't 100% successful at keeping it a secret, but I did manage to avoid telling my family and closest friends about it until after it was done. She laughed at me every time a not-so-intimate acquaintance of mine congratulated her on something she had not done yet. She understood that I was bursting at the seams, eager to proclaim to the whole world how much she means to me.

Reactions to the news have been positive. My family was unanimous in their support and were not offended that we eloped. My mother was especially happy, because she has always wished and prayed that I would find the right woman and settle down.

And she is the right woman, by all means. It may seem rushed, considering that we only met about half a year ago, but I have never been so sure of something as I am with my decision to make her My Wife.

Some of my closest friends-- the ones who know me pretty damn well, the ones who have seen me go up and down throughout all of my peculiar phases --wanted to make sure that this wasn't some misguided flight-of-fancy on my part. Once they heard the conviction in my voice or saw the stinging certainty in my eyes, they had nothing but loving sentiments to convey to the both of us.

So much to take in, so much to tell. There isn't enough space in this post to cover it all.

Only now have I felt stable and grounded enough to sit down and write it out for people to ingest. The whole affair has been simultaneously simple and complex, with an extreme array of emotions threatening to spin out of control at any moment. But through it all, I never lost faith in what we set out to do, and I know for a fact that her faith was just as devout (if not more).

In my next post I will tell the story of the actual wedding day, a surreal mini-adventure that (true to form) seems stranger than any fictitious scenario I could ever concoct. And after that, there's the emotionally-charged story of how My Wife's older sister (my new sister-in-law) reacted to the news of our marriage.

Those are just a smidgen-- a mere fraction --of the events and episodes that I have yet to commit to this blog. And let us not forget the stories that have yet to be told because they haven't happened yet-- there'll be plenty of those, for sure.

I guess I finally have something to write about again, something worthy of my time and effort. Not that the past year has been uneventful or bland. On the contrary, I purposely refrained from writing about a whole shitload of things that I went through. I left them out because they did not break any new ground and served no purpose other than to give me a vehicle for my self-pity.

But let me make one thing clear: I did not marry her because I needed material for my blog.

I married her for the only good reason there is: because we love each other.

Now I'd like to share it with all of you.