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by Stewart Huff
What did I do?
Relationships are easy when you’re five. My first crush was Melanie from down the street. A miniature Stepford Wife, Mel was a blond knockout in a sundress and jelly sandals; she kept a clean playroom, could EZ-Bake several delicious cake-type snacks and was even into a bit of the mushy stuff (at least during her doctor visits). I remember those early afternoon play dates, I’d be tired after a long morning of public television, walk into the playroom with my Construx briefcase and Melanie would welcome me with a leisurely tea party. We didn’t harbor insecurities or regret. I couldn’t do wheelies as well as David, and Crystal had better-looking Cabbage Patch Kids than Mel, but it didn’t matter because we didn’t even think about David and Crystal; we were playing with each other. Sure, we were just playing, but I’ve yet to have a relationship live up to that one.
I sort of have a real wife now. She’s a a serious badass; fearless, intelligent and original with these cute freckles all over her nose. I’m crazy about her, but she lives 800 miles away, and I won’t see her again until sometime around Christmas. A month ago we met in Vegas for the weekend and, um, one thing led to another. A friend just asked me, “Is this a joke marriage or a real marriage?” I like to think it lies somewhere in between, amid that dreamland of playing house with the perfect girl. I think I’ve learned something about the importance of playing and pretending, how it teaches us how to live and love… blah, blah, blah. Fuck, I really wanted to start this article with some wisdom and all I’ve accomplished is lusting after a five-year-old and alienating my wife. I could’ve segued into some “life is short, carpe diem, grab love by the balls, rise above your insecurities and learn to trust someone.” But that’s all bullshit, that’s not why I got married. As far as I can tell, I’m married because it’s way too easy to get married in Las Vegas. I mean, $100 for a wedding? But I don’t want to cheapen it any more than the facts invariably do. Fear of commitment and not trusting your object of affection are lousy states of mind. So go for it, eh? I know, heartache still sucks, but it’s also inevitable. We can at least expedite the process, and when it doesn’t work out we’ll bury our sorrow in some job, like say, balloon animal sales. Here’s a guide to turning one night of amusement into a lifetime of “whoops.”
Plunging
• Propose. I’d kind of hoped to have a shotgun involved, but mine happened all romantic over the phone. I was merging onto the freeway at the time, not really paying attention to the question. I’ll always cherish the words, “Maybe we should get married?”
• Go to Las Vegas, the breeding ground for regret.
• You need a Marriage License. The Clark County Marriage Bureau is located in downtown Las Vegas at 200 S. 3rd Street (702-455-4415). It’s open 8am to midnight. All you need is $55, 15 minutes, valid IDs and cousin’s get a %15 discount. (Joke!)
• Find a Chapel. We discovered that the word “ceremony” in the term “wedding ceremony” leaves a lot up to interpretation. Immediately out of the Marriage Bureau door we were hustled into wedlock by this matrimony smooth-talker that would later serve as our witness. I don’t know if it was his Cadillac or silver-tongued pitch, “Let’s get this over with,” that did the trick, but before we knew it we were in the lobby of the Las Vegas Garden of Love (200 W. Sahara Avenue, 866-483-5683, the cheapest wedding is $40). The chapel provided us with a newlywed kit containing samples of Tide and lady’s deodorant. A photographer snapped our nervous mugs; my beautiful bride got her purple rose; Pastor Phil shook our hands; and then that plunge you always hear about. I'd had a 25-cent ring in the change tray of my car and it happened to fit the wife perfectly. So, finally, after a somewhat awkward kiss, Phil played ten seconds of the wedding march and it was over.
• Holy Shit!
• Go on your honeymoon. First and foremost, you don’t want the gravity of the situation to sink in, so get boozy. We popped some cans of Sparks, called a bunch of our friends and none of our family. We ate chicken fingers, and we gambled. Our reception included many new friends: A BMX rider named Donny with some terrible tattoos, a bicycle cop, this passed out lady-bum, and our blackjack dealer, Dirty Ray. “Wow, your wife has a good body… Oh, can I say that?” Yes, Ray, yes you can.
• Return home alone. This is the most important part. If you live with your husband or wife, you’re in for an oral sexless-world of domestic boredom. Yeah, forget those wine and tampon parties, ladies. And you fellas can flip that football game over to the Lifetime channel. A buffer zone of 800 miles and communication as infrequent as twice a week will keep things fresh for-maybe-ever.
How to ditch that ball and chain so you can once again breathe free sidebar
• Commitment is suffocating. If you’ve decided life is just too short for one partner, you’re not too sure about the tax implications of marriage, or you just like to give up easily–don’t worry about it, it’s totally cool. Getting out of a marriage, while kind of expensive, is pretty easy.
• Annulments: These are played… thanks a lot Spears.
• Divorce: Now you can finally live up to mom and dad, right?
• Summary Dissolution: This is nice and easy for Californians and most states have something comparable. As long as you don’t have kids, haven’t been married for 5 years and don’t own much, you can get one of these for about $300 dollars, six months of waiting and no lawyers. You’ll have to file about 5 forms, but court hearings aren’t necessary.
• Now that you’re divorced, ease your way back into that singles scene. It’s finally time to hump other people!
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