SinceMy Little Dead Dick, we've had it with whirlwind romance couples contriving to show off about how wildly in love they are. The whole meeting someone, falling head-over-heels, and having an off-the-cuff, quirky wedding thing has been chick-flicked to death. It's boring. The following reader's letter about her recent marriage stank of the same bullshit. But when we saw a picture of the girl we suddenly got all misty-eyed and gooey. For a second. Then we were OK again.Dear Vice,I'd been hitchhiking across America and, after a few months of traveling around visiting friends in New York, Seattle and Portland, I ended up in San Francisco. We were eating curry in Golden Gate Park and I was sweating like a pig. People were selling mushrooms in recycled coffee bags. Suddenly I saw the cutest little kid ever - like two-years-old, running around and playing with dirt. And right next to him, his FILF dad. You know, a beer drinker with good tattoos who is finally getting his shit together now that he has a kid to look after. I noticed how he was encouraging his kid to walk up the hill (i.e. towards me). I knew right away that this guy was going to mean something very special.He said his name was Pete Doolittle and, before I had the chance to say a word, he wrote down his e-mail and phone number on the back of the paper I had in front of me. He had paint stains on his arms and hands, which always gets me a wet spot down there. My first question, as soon as I understood that there wasn't a mum around, was if he was auditioning for a step-mum. He was. I happen to know that the way to a man's heart is through his sperm so I made sure to get to know his kid properly. After about five minutes I was hired.It was obvious that he was broke, which didn't bother me. I've dated rich men and they're never any fun. When I was modeling, people had tons of money and they were always so fucking boring. And it was obvious that he liked me. I felt his boner when we were tumbling around in the dirt with the kid.Pete walked me to the bus stop. We didn't kiss but the thought did cross through my mind. I decided to take him up on his invitation to come to his studio the day after.Monday was even hotter. I was wearing a short skirt, suspenders, Vans and a black tank top. Any cool guy would have fallen for it. Normally I don't dress up on these occasions – rather, the opposite. That way I can check if the guy likes my wits as much as my, well, tits. But this guy was different. Sure, we'd only known each other for less than a day, but it seemed like he liked me, and actually got me. And he was H.O.T. Not easy ones to find. So maybe he had some bipolar tendencies, but whatever. "Normal" guys don't appreciate me anyway.When we got to his studio, I met his landlord Skot, and we all got stoned and tipsy from a giant Margarita jar. I had a fun day. I ended up spending the night at the Doolittle house, but nothing R rated went on. We kissed and it was great. The day after I found out that Pete needed to relieve himself in the shower in order to not explode, but he said it in such a factual way that I couldn't help but just get flattered by it.The day after the megalomaniac landlord asked if we wanted to come along to a City Hall meeting and protest against a gay club being shut down. We got to City Hall and it was boiling hot. Skot told us to make sure we weren't carrying any illegal substances. I had nothing in my pockets. All Pete had was a half of a crumbled up cigarette that he was saving for later, and eight bucks. I had just passed security in City Hall when Skot disappeared. None of us knew where he went, but after a while he reappeared and said, "I was just gonna empty my pockets on the security tray when I noticed I had a five ounce bag of marijuana on me." We walked to the meeting, only to find out it was not until the next day. Can you imagine people saying marijuana is bad for your brain? Jeez.But then the bigger thing happened. As we were walking out we all ogled an Asian/American couple getting married. I said to Pete, "I've never been married. Have you?" He shook his head. So I asked him, "Do you wanna get married?" Pete looked at me, scratched his neck, shook his shoulders, gave me a cute little smile and said, "Sure."We still didn't have anything but eight bucks and neither of us was carrying any ID, but we walked down to the place where you get your wedding license. The clerk who gave us the paper work to fill in was a bitter butch dyke. I would be bitter too if I had to see happy couples all day knowing I could never get married. Weird ass government. Unfortunately we couldn't get married right away so we went home to fill in the papers.I never really left the Doolittle place after that day. We planned the wedding a few weeks later, so that we had time to figure out some minor details. We decided what to wear and invited people.We picked a backyard for the ceremony. They were tearing the house in front of it down, so we were allowed to paint on the walls inside the flats. I wore a Xena-inspired cowgirl outfit and Pete looked like a purple Dr. Who sheriff. I made the wedding cake out of sweet smelling pot butter and Rice Krispies treats. My friend Nate was the maid of honor and caught the wedding bouquet. Skot came and wore a lizard outfit. Our minister had Viking horns and monster feet and stood on a rola-bola board as she squirted us with "the [water] gun of luck, love and abundance."Then we made our vows. Pete, who had been punched in the mouth by his friend Spencer to make sure he was doing the right thing in getting married, still said "I do," despite his fat lip. We sang some songs with our new band the Pony Club. The pair of hot pink American Apparel panties that we had shoplifted from the store on Haight Street were already ripped up after a bout of "starting the honeymoon early," so it was difficult not to show my vagina to everyone.So far, we're still married. And we're playing with our band and have art shows lined up. Life's pretty good, all in all.IDA
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