Stand-Up: Red Flags

OK, this was a very humbling experience. I'm not as attractive or as smooth as I originally thought. Enjoy.

Nice Day for a White Wedding

On our journey to obtain a marriage license at the CountyCourthouse in downtown Phoenix, a pain grew in Stef’s belly. On December 31, 2012, a shotgun shot was heard around the world. It took place under the main floor in the corner bathroom, but first the security guard granted access. Around 10 a.m., we were officially licensed to marry, but only after a couple rudely butted in line.

We were so excited. There was only one way to celebrate – chicken and waffles at Lo-Lo’s, “Where Kool-Aid is Always on Tap.” Word of our intent to marry spread throughout the restaurant quickly. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by the whitest teeth in all of Phoenix.

Leaving Lo-Lo’s wasn’t easy, but we had work to do. Cue the tense music, trial and tribulation to follow.  First, we had to stand in line behind mostly illiterates at the local post office. Then, we searched in vain for fancy pale, pink heels and a mythical belt. Next a visit to a Blow-Dry Bar (yes, there is such a thing). We left wet. Finally, Mr. Miyagi shined nails in the Far East (by the way, “No Cards,” is now synonymous with “No Checks").

The state requires all couples to arrive at the courthouse by 4:30 p.m. At precisely 3:47 p.m., I was called into the bedroom.  Like a good boy, I obeyed the command promptly. I turned the corner and saw fear and anger. “Chase, I need your help.” Stef, clothed in her wedding-day dress, turned to show me her backside, “There’s a hole in my butt.” I rummaged through the storage frantically searching for a sewing kit. We found it and quickly sutured her behind.

After speeding downtown, we found a metered parking spot. Thank goodness one of our two witnesses had spare change on hand. We rushed into the courthouse and were met with security guards and metal detectors. Nothing says romance like passing through security. Apparently, we weren’t the only couple trying to cheat the tax code that day. There were about four judges; each had roughly seven marriages to officiate. We were fourth in line with Judge Steven Sarkis.

“Pardon me,” a bald, Caucasian groom dressed in ultimate fighting gear said to me, “Do you mind if we go before you? We have a baby that is crying and hungry.” After looking at the African American Honey Boo Boo to which he was referring, we instantly declined. We had a dinner date to attend afterward.

Judge Sarkis, a handsome twenty-nine-year-old, recited a cliché poem. We exchanged rings. Stef teared up. Stef claims I teared up. We signed the papers. We departed. Married at last!

Dinner at The Main Ingredient was fabulous as usual. Thanks to all of those that could attend. Special thanks to the photographer and witnesses. For those of you that could not attend – you didn’t miss much. Thanks to all for your support from near and far.

The remainder of the night will forever remain a mystery.

A Two-Ring Proposal

We were in the Shade Garden on October 13, 2012. The cacti were making long, pointed shadows on us as the sun slowly fell behind Camelback Mountain. An Asian woman interrupted as she chased a family of quail with her camera off the designated paths at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Phoenix, AZ. At dusk, the mosquitoes began to buzz and feasted upon our ankle blood. Nerves full and pride swallowed, I hinted to alleviate the pressure. Next, a little light laughter, an answer for most occasions, illuminated the tiny reflection pond. Finally, I muttered something on bended knee. She said yes.

We took the red-throated hummingbirds, the Bee Garden, the succulents, the butterflies with us, and we bathed in apple cider. Our secret was leaking. It could no longer hide in the hem of my jeans. It was bursting from the doors of Bourbon Street. The hiss from burning pumpkin seeds whispered our secret like a game of telephone. Our secret – a child’s face hiding a Snicker’s wrapper with chocolate on the corners of her mouth. Naughty girl – no, you’re naughty.

Volume two begins.