I’ve said before that America is the world’s most advanced third world nation. Vietnam has better cell phone networks, African countries have fairer elections, and every other Western country has better rights for gays and lesbians.
So when the law was passed here in the States to allow gay men and lesbians to marry, it’s a major shift in the fabric of this society. It’s right up there with the possibility of a black man in the Oval Office. The irony is that when I wrote this originally it was all before that day when a black man did get put in the Oval office while gays and lesbians were sent to the back of the bus.
But back in 2008, while a huge chunk of “Amuricah” was waiting for November so they can repeal the law and get things back to how we like it in the land of the free, an army of wedding planners, caterers and florists all over the state order extra storage space in their bank accounts.
Two friends, Alonso and Dave, decided to get married to make their ten-year relationship all legal. But this would make it their fourth ceremony. They got hitched in Texas many, many moons ago in a big shebang when it was about as legal as a dog and cat tying the knot.
After relocating to LA, they have taken every legal opportunity to legitimize their relationship in the eyes on the law, twice registering as domestic partners when a crack appeared in the legal chain link fence.
But by their own admission there are only so many times that you can put yourselves and your friends through that kind of emotion.
So this time, when My Big Fat Gay Wedding is playing all over California, and a whole bunch of gay men are planning their fairytale weddings, Alonso and Dave decide to zig the zag.
In a bold move, they have an unbooked, jeans-and-tshirts ceremony at the La Brea Tar Pits where they were married by their roommate, ordained by the Church of the Holy $15 Over The Internet. Ceremony starts at 10 sharp. Vows are read from an iPhone. Rice is thrown. Done in under 5 minutes, duly noted by Guinness Book of Records. Photos in front of the fiberglass mastodons sinking into the pit of bubbling tar. Down to the reception at the Doughnut Stand at the Farmer’s Market.
I have officially been to my first gay wedding. And my first guerilla wedding too.
Later, as we all sat eating jam doughnuts around plastic tables, faces covered in dusting sugar and jelly, I began to think that I’d like this to be me one day. I was bit by that wedding bug. This is purely from an outsider’s perspective, but when you see two people in love, it looks like the easiest thing in the whole world. Easy isn’t the right word; simple. It just looks simple. Like anyone could do it. Maybe even me.
I was probably going about it all wrong. But I don’t know what’s right anymore.
Someone, please send me a sign.