Getting married ghetto style

So Mr. T and I went to NYC's Municipal Building yesterday to obtain our marriage license. Just like any other city building it was cold and sterile. When we arrived there were about 50 people waiting to get their marriage licenses, too. (That means about 25 couples for those of you who are math-challenged.) We were crafty enough to complete our application online so we could jump right into line to wait for a clerk. While we waited in line we wondered whether the clerk would test us at all, like they did in Greencard with Andie McDowell and the strangely sexy yet oafish Peter Weir. Would they ask us questions to see how well we knew each other and judge whether we were fit to be married? Like, what side of the bed does he sleep on? What are his parents' names? When is his birthday? Boxers or briefs? They might try to catch us in a lie and then reject our application for a marriage license. That would suck. We figured they wouldn't be testing us, so we might as well have fun with it. We started hatching a plan to lie and say that we'd just met yesterday in Rockefeller Center at the J. Crew store, and that we were already "in love". The details of our hatched love fest are really not that interesting so I won't bore you (it involved a tryst in the J. Crew dressing room and leg warmers). But the bummer was that we never got to use our story. They couldn't have cared less if we were two strangers off the street or not.

You'd think that an entire room full of people on the cusp of nuptials would be a festive crowd, with people chatting about upcoming wedding plans and congratulating each other. But no, it was rather quiet. I think the administrative task of getting the license in the old building from clerks that barely looked you in the face detracted from any excitement one might otherwise feel. But all in all, it was a nice reminder that I'm actually getting married in a few short weeks.

On our way out of the building, we passed the actual City Hall Marriage Chapel, Rm. 257. At first I was like "WHAT?! I'm going to get legally married in this POS room?" But then I saw a small Hispanic couple posing for pictures after their ceremony. (I say small because they were rather short.) They were so pleased to have just gotten married, standing all straight and pasting real smiles on their faces. And it reminded me how it really doesn't matter where you do it. It's about what you're doing that matters--- promising to love someone unconditionally, blah blah blah. I'm not one for the sentimental crap. So then I got rather excited about my ghetto wedding here in Rm. 257. It's humorous, yet meaningful, all at the same time. Kind of like my relationship with Mr. T.

Here is a wonderful shot of the interior of Rm. 257:


Doesn't the Santa head on the wall and the little snowman scene on the floor just add a nice ambiance to the room? I'm hoping they leave the floating Santa head on the wall for when we are there, on Jan. 15 to be exact. If not, maybe by then, they'll have a dismembered Easter Bunny on the wall instead. Also, what the heck flag is that? And is that mistletoe above the podium, cause I sure as hell am not kissing the J.P., especially if it's an old dude.

My mother thinks it's very Carrie Bradshaw of me to get married at city hall. I just think it's convenient to be actually married before our "spiritual" (i.e. non-religious) ceremony in Mexico a few days later. Ah, Mexico. I can't wait. This 15 degree weather is killing me. I keep dreaming of pina coladas on the beach and starlit aromatherapy baths.

January 15 can't come fast enough...


*** UPDATE ***
Comedy Goddess has corrected me. Greencard does NOT star Peter Weir. That is the director. The guy playing Andie McDowell's foreign husband is Gerard Depardieu. Thank you, Goddess! A well-earned link!