Getting our marriage license

August 18, 2008

Daniel and I are getting married this week.

This morning we went to the Beverly Hills Courthouse and got our marriage license. It was a funny trip. As I came out of the elevator, I glanced to the right and just like the DMV, there was a big sign pointing us to get in line for marriage licenses. So, I went right over as there was no one in line. Then Daniel yelled to me from across the room pointing out that I needed to go through the metal detector first. It was low pressure, so no one arrested me for making the mistake. As I walked over to the area, I walked past a group of people waiting for the elevator. “I wanna marry HIM” said a male voice in the group. I didn’t look assuming he wasn’t talking about me.

We stripped and got through the metal detector and went back to the license line. “NEXT” the voice shouted and I went up to the window. “Roger, it’s not your turn” Daniel calmly said to me. I was oblivious that someone was standing in front of me.

Was I nervous? A hopeless Sagittarian trying to reach his goal as fast as possible?

Finally we went to the window. A friendly black woman helped us with the signatures and made us swear that the information was correct. “And don’t sign until I tell you to” she said emphatically. Too late: I had already signed. She sighed: “Well, I’ll have to print out another copy.” She disappeared and Daniel continued to be patient and loving. After all, we were getting married soon. She returned and told us to wait for 30 minutes while she got the license ready.

Daniel had a business call to make so he disappeared outside. I sat alone on a big couch in the Beverly Hills Courthouse waiting for our license, checking my email on my iPhone.

“I’d like to marry YOU” a voice suddenly said in front of me. I looked up and saw a 50-something year old man in shorts and a T-shirt staring at me. He was not particularly handsome but looked like a friendly chap.

“You are my perfect type: 6 foot 2; graying, older than I am, blue eyes (I tried to interrupt) and handsome.” I blushed. “Your friend is not my type: too young. Look here”–– he showed me a well worn picture of a hunky young guy––your friend can have my ex and the WE can get married. Look, I’ve got $30,000 dollars.” He opened up his fanny pack and pulled out a wad of rubber-banded money to tempt me. This seemed very funny. Was he bribing me? Was this his dowery? I smiled at him: “I’m already taken, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble finding someone.” “Yes, but you are perfect. Won’t your friend let me marry you?” Seeing that Daniel had just hung up, I encouraged him to go ask him himself. Then Daniel appeared in the lobby and a voice came over the public address system: “Roger and Daniel, your marriage license is ready.” The man knew it wasn’t going to happen and walked away.

This weekend we’ll be having a small civil ceremony with a friend who has a license to marry people. If the California Proposition #8 is defeated in November, then we will have a ceremony/party next year to celebrate our fifteen years of being together and our first year as a married couple.


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