You’re My Alternative Bridegroom

Today my workaday partner in crime, Lachlan, and I went to a book reading. We got there early, sat in the front row and chatted up the author while we waited for everyone else to show up.

We talked about all-night raves in the woods where people pooped in buckets. We asked ourselves sticky questions, such as “Do I want fingers in my pie?” We pondered thoughtfully the tenacity of sexist gender roles, the fluidity of outmoded traditions, and the subjectivity of tacky cake decorations.

In case you haven’t guessed yet, we went to a reading of Offbeat Bride: Taffeta-Free Alternatives for Independent Brides, by Ariel Meadow Stallings.

I guess I should back up a little.

If you have read my Uppity Me page, you know I’ve stated quite bluntly that I don’t think much of the institution of marriage. But like Oprah, I don’t mean that in a bad way. Some of my best friends are married.

It’s just that I think many people get married for goofy reasons. Oh, they rhapsodize about celebrating their love and commitment, but give them a few beers and it’s clear that it’s really about security, babies, familial or societal expectation, keeping up with the Joneses, or even just the desire to be King and/or Queen For A Day.

And until gay folk can marry, the benefits of legal union are also highly prejudiced.

So getting married has never been high on my priority list, even as a youngun dreaming of my future… even as a twenty-something, Always A Bridesmaid in countless weddings and Designated Shoulder for the tearful divorces… even when I fell ass-over-tea-kettle in love and moved to Kevinsylvania for ever and ever and ever.

I only seriously considered marriage when Kevin, as an Air Force reservist, was called to active duty shortly after 9/11. Granted, he was going to Thailand, not Clusterfuckistan. But still, he was supporting Marines that were doing anti-terrorist missions - not exactly saving kitties from treetops. It was heart-stopping to think that if something happened to him in Thailand, I would be denied access to him because we are not legally married. I don’t think so.

But this occurred to me after Kevin had already gone (Hello Stupid Syndrome, it’s common in times of war, you can google it for more info). Once he came back, I told him if he’s ever called up again, his ass and mine are at the courthouse within 24 hours. Or if we have more time, the Church of Elvis in Vegas.

Threats of bodily harm on foreign soil aside, Kevin and I have been happily living in sin for many years. As Joni Mitchell said, we don’t need no piece of paper from the city hall keeping us tight and true, no.

Occasionally, Kevin or I will say “You know, we should really get married. We need a new set of plates” or “It’s been ten years and my mother has never met your dad. Or your brother. Or anyone related to you. Yesterday she accused you of being a member of the Witness Protection Program. We need a wedding reception.”

Cut to Uppity, front row center at Indy Bride Live, with my lesbian friend as my date. Natch.

It was an awesome reading, Ariel being a warm, engaging, funny speaker and a PNW homey to boot. I got a free copy of the book, which is part DIY wedding planning tips and part memior. It promises to be a fab read. I mean, with chapters like “I Am Woman, Hear Me Order Monogrammed Napkins: Is ‘Feminist Wedding Planner’ An Oxymoron?” — how could it suck?

I was bummed not to win the raffle for the (truly inspired) “Fuck Taffeta” t-shirt, but the free copy of the book made up for it.

One slightly distressing event marred the otherwise happy hour: While standing in line to get my book signed, I found myself next to the gal who had announced during the post-reading Q & A that she was “never getting married, ever” and then of course ten minutes later won the raffle for the t-shirt.

“Well,” she proclaimed to all of us, “if I ever DO get married, I’m not wearing a white dress. I’m wearing jeans!” She giggled like this was the most subversive, rebellious thing imaginable.

I smiled. “Well, Gloria Steinem got married in jeans.”

She looked at me and said, “I have no idea who that is.”

“She’s the reason you get to wear jeans, sweetheart.”

I’ll tell her that as soon I as I finish removing the stake from my heart.

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