So one time I got married. No big deal. It lasted some time, and then after a time…I wasn’t married. No big deal.
The process of getting married isn’t terrible in and of itself. It’s all the bullshit people throw in between there that really starts to fucking suck.
Things about getting married outside the paperwork that are murderous:
- Planning
- Invitations
- Attire; Suits, Dresses
- Finding some officiant because the church you go to doesn’t really do that…ugh.
All that shit starts to pile up and accrue horrendous amounts stress. I guess. I think it didn’t bother me much because I didn’t give much of a shit. I never really understood the production of a promise that’s supposedly between two people and sometimes their higher beliefs. Maybe I just was over the whole wedding thing…Hell between my mother and father alone I’d been to somewhere around 7 weddings. Of their weddings. Blah blah blah. So yeah, all that added pressure and all those additional commitments outside of the “us” turned in to crazy yelling before the venue, an hour before the precious (rings). Oh wait, not crazy yelling on my part.I wasn’t the one doing the yelling over the things that were outside my control. I probably had something to do with something of it, but ambiguity and years erase blame somehow I suppose. The bride to be did the yelling. Over the only thing I can specifically remember about her anger, something of which I had no logical control over. The rest of the crazy came from stress I would assume. Stress and our obvious long running arguing which over the course of 5-6 years we had become well known for.
Late bridesmaid(s), late groomsman. Sure I can force people to be on time. That seems reasonable. Two people in specific were running behind that day, just so happens they were “my friends” and they were ruining the entire production, I mean wedding.
Yes, meandering of the bible and the eating of food and drinking of alcohol will be delayed 45 minutes. Fuck all.
I was very nonchalant about the stress. That bothered the bride. Patience to her is the absence of concern. Confusing, as most that knew me would probably say I’m the quiet calm one sitting around not saying much. Looking pissed. Nah, that’s my happy face. No face is my happy face. All non-faces, are my face, all the time. So I’m probably sitting on the couch waiting for her so we can make haste to the marriage facility. Then blam….full blow’d I don’t know karate but I know crazy cocaine’d out James Brown crazy yelling. I really don’t remember the specifics. I ruined the day. Shit. We’re standing in the doorway to leave, and I’m cussing about how fucked up this all is and how nothing that she’s pissed off about is something I can control, or my fault. The crazy turns to 11, and randomly she decides this would be a good time to hit me in the face.
Close fisted, just below my eye. Which is soooo biblical, had I hit her instead.
But alas….Umm…
I stand there completely confused. Say some slur of curse words. And walk away. No big deal. Plenty of women have hit me in the face. On the mat.
OK. Cool, let us go get married now….right? Sure.
Anyways…
We get there, the marriage facility. I change into my puritan ready for sex suit, a classy tuxedo, with red accoutrements. I exit the changing room/warehouse bathroom. Immediately my mother greets me and says I look perfect. She picks at things correcting subtle nuances and then says the most mom-ly thing she could, or the most mom-ly thing she could muster at the time.
“I can get you out of here right now. You just say the word. We can go right now and no one has to know. Don’t worry about anyone here but yourself.”
What…? No.
Good talk Mom.
So we say some biblical nonsense about what to do for each other, with an officiant present. An officiant who was actually a family member. One whom has given up his “badge and gun for the Jesus” several times and done some insane shit…fuck it no one is perfect. The words were fancy and we both said yes to the Jesus.
Hooray, time for sex….nope…time for food, music and some sort of dancing.
Sex later! …….?
Who cares. We had sex before anyway. But not 3 or so months leading up to being married. Sensible? Nah. Fuck it.
The marriage facility was separated in to two halves. A getting married area, the first half. Very standard white things and chairs. So pure. Something. The second half, and eat-y, get down-y area. Music, food, assigned seating tables, open bar, Elvis, and finally a train car outside to do….I dunno. I never even went in the fucking train car. It didn’t make sense to me. Apparently it was an amenity. And yes Elvis was there. An impersonator. And I left the building before him. Get it? Probably not. I feel old.
Anyways…
Time for sex! ….Not yet tho…Time for dinner.
I didn’t eat the food. Damn. It was some mixture of Italian type things and salad. I had tasted a bit of it, but was quickly whisked away for married things. Photos, saying things aloud, talking to people as a married couple…
Like my friend from PA and his date. This was the first time I met him. He and I met playing video games online. His date was pissed about how we knew each other. She was being a bitch the entire time anyway. And the bride was displeased with her attire. I think the exact word she used to describe her was……slut?
Or me by myself talking to a great friend from high school that came against her will, and probably mostly, just to show that she cared. About me. Me only. I think she brought some of her friends too. The bride didn’t like them being there. I think the word she used to describe her or her friends was…..uninvited? Then there was some blah blah blah about if they had brought gifts. I didn’t care. I think the girls enjoyed the free bar.
That free bar. I wasn’t big on drinking back then. I really don’t remember drinking many beers other than Corona or something cheap. I certainly didn’t know how to drink liquor. To me a margarita was cool as shit. I guess the worst part of it all is that I had no idea how to pace myself with either beer or liquor. I got hammered on tequila….well margaritas.
I remember cutting the cake. Kind of. And then some toasts being made. Elvis sang some songs. He was good, and the crowd really liked him. I think my grandmother fell pretty hard for the dude once he was good and sweaty.
Time for sex! …No no, not yet.
I did some dancing. I wonder what kind of dancing I did.
Anyways…
After a bunch of really loud noises and pictures of everything it’s now time to run for our lives. Through a crowd of people acting very excited. I guess they knew we were going to have sex.
Not yet tho! We had to stop for gas on the way home, in the ghetto. Because location of marriage facility….Yes, please man, ask me for bus fare whilst drinking a 40 outside the gas station. I probably almost killed the guy I was in such a rush to receive the coveted marriage lay. The thing I was forced in to illogically agreeing to. Yes lets stop having sex for 3 months, because that will make things right and holy and pure. Oh and we’ll ignore the years of our really healthy sex life, and crazy shit we did before those 3 months…..annnnnnd not attend church or do any church things. Oh wait we did go to church. For a month or so. Until the pastor of the church tried to sell me and everyone else drugs. Then I kind of wasn’t in to the church anymore. Especially because the drugs were Viagra and he was “just trying to help”. Sure that makes sense. Whatever. Weird fucker.
We’re home! I carry her through the door. Tear off my marriage costume. We lay down have a drink, start relaxing…
No sex that night.
She wasn’t feeling well… OK…Hmm…maybe some other time?
It’s cool, I was advised to play PlayStation 2. I remember playing Battlefield for a few hours. I fell asleep on the couch that night.
Next morning! New married life! Go to Vegas for the treasured honeymoon, pass go! Well, almost. I pack up the car.
Which was a newly gifted/passed down vehicle my grandparents gave to my mother which in turn she gave to me as a wedding present.
Yay the car is packed. Wait, the car is dead. Surprisingly you cannot jump-start a Cadillac Sedan Deville with a Hyundai Accent.
I had left the headlights on upon arriving home in my haste to please the pope ( no I’m not going to capitalize that dudes title ) with the consummation-eee things.
So we worked it out and got inside airplanes and flew across the country. To see….lights, cards and stay in a hotel. To have sex. Because we earned it. Because marriage and waiting or something. These were all the things I was told were some of the reasons.
Vegas was a bust. A big huge saggy methy smelly must of a bust. Walking around outside of the hotels seemed like a good idea. Sight seeing was actually cool, lots of odd shaped hotels and attractions. But none of them stood out more than the hander-outers of hooker baseball cards, the folks that handed them out could be heard from a distance as they’d flap and shuffle the thick cardboard cards. The cards were basically talent cards, with numbers, costs, pictures of their things and providable services. But these hooker baseball cards, I collected a sizable stack of these things. Not because I needed their services, but because I thought it was hilarious. Gotta catch em all. Or something.
Anyways…
I guess there were a few other neat things about Vegas. They had all these performances, shows or concerts all strangely priced at just over 101 dollars. You could see these shows all hours of the day, all while eating all you can of some “fresh” surf and turf only buffets. Fresh seafood in Vegas meant frozen. I was told this by a Chef after asking if the “fresh” lobster was fresh and where they get it. Ya know…Because desert and I don’t think those little dudes are crawling out of the Colorado. Well, apparently it’s OK to call it fresh, even frozen, as long as it’s not a day over 6 months old. Cool talk Luxor Chef dude.
After talking to that dude, I encountered another dude. I didn’t seek this dude out though. He came to me and advised me that “the angry ass girl I was with” needed to quit giving him mean and disgusted looks.
Now this 11-ty foot tall 2k pound Samoan Goliath looking fuck of a guy was clearly offended, by a mere look. Wow. Hulkamania would’ve run wild all over this dude. Because Hulkamania’s modus operandi is pretty much just alternating between amazingly hysteric white eyed bold, bold stares.
Now aware that he was now displeased with said looks, I was clearly now aware of absolutely no reason to take this situation seriously. I said something to the effect of look man I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and clearly looking at someone can’t be so awful as to merit an ass whipping, but you need to go away.
This dude huffed and puffed…and for a minute I thought he was going kill me. But I think something shiny at the buffet line drew him away and we made our exit.
We saw some horses and dudes swords beat the fake dog shit out of each other. I got a souvenir cup. And we left.
Sex day 3? Nooo..no sex yet..more shows!
Show # 2. A review of performances currently on broadway. I didn’t know what the hell this meant, but Wife wanted it. 90 cent margaritas were offered.
Side note, 90 cent margaritas. 115 degree heat. Horrible horrible decision.
OK! Showtime! Everything about the show started off just fine. Then out of nowhere….. naked broadway musical complete with a bible story! She was maaaddd. I was thoroughly confused. I had never seen that many naked people in one area, and I must admit after not having any sex for as long as I did…I was a bit glad to see some naked folks.
We left the show about 10 minutes after the explosion of boobs, butts and swingy swingy banana catchers.
I attempted to resolve the kink, not that kink though. The upset wed wife kink. So I got us a nice quiet dinner at an Italian place near fake Paris. Then back to the hotel!
Soooo sex?
Nope. Sleep. I couldn’t sleep though. I had just seen a large gaggle of breasts and eaten 8 pounds of lasagna. I went downstairs. Circus circus is nasty by the way. It’s old and everything smells horrible and it feels like an old mall that has been taken over by only oddball ethnic stores. But, there’s a sizable casino inside it’s walls. I Won 80 dollars playing slots, so I used it the same way any other grown ass dude would use it. On time crisis 3 in the arcade. Yep, I cock blocked at least 4 kids from playing that game. After hours I had finally beat the damn arcade version. I know I spent at least 80 bucks on that game. Spolier alert, Wild Dog doesn’t actually kill himself.
The next day was one of the more exciting days for me. In downtown or old Vegas there is, or was at least a massive beef jerky store. It had every animal on the ark, beef-jerky-ma-fied. Every damn animal. I bought so much of that stuff. Only to find out, it all tasted the exact same as the last piece. It was also a somewhat eventful day as I had discovered what Bacardi 151 Rum was and saw the blue man group. Which is pretty much just dudes banging on pipes and drums that aren’t drums to classic rock. Then they throw shit at the crowd. Cool.
Well…Anyways…
You probably thought I was going to mention finally having sex. I wasn’t. Because I don’t remember having sex at all that week. Not because of the 151 time travelling, but mostly because there was none. That never bothered me. The logic behind randomly waiting did, and then then not doing of the things once we mumbled some words. It all seemed kind of hilarious and dumb and wast(eful)(ed). The tradition of pushing people to not have any sex at all and then to immediately and expectedly have sex once married seemed so very closet pervy to me the entire time. I guess what bothered me was wondering if I had did something wrong, or if all that “sin” caught up to her and guilted her in to not wanting me, or if I’d be out of practice, or if maybe I should have taken the pastors Viagra.
So, I think…shout out to church guilt, cheap food, cheap alcohol, Vegas….annnnd especially the Depo shot for making people fucking nuts and feel shitty all day every day so much so that fucking is impossible.
I’m out.
Well...Anyways 