11. My Big Fat City Hall Wedding

If you remember from Chapter 2 (please review; there's a quiz on Friday), Deb's pregnancy with Tito was my version of the Tunguska comet; unexpected, came out of nowhere, and phenomenally explosive. Now the fun begins.

Deb's parents knew something was up. Now it's time to face the music. I kept thinking, Deb's father is gonna kill me. We go up to the Bronx to tell them. They sit down with dour faces. I'm seated by the window, in case I need to make a quick escape. We're on the 17th floor, but I figured I'd take my chances with gravity rather than face the ire of Deb's father, Elder William Lomax of the Jehovah's Witnesses.

Deb: "Mom, Dad, I'm pregnant."

Mom: "We KNEW it! How could you?!"

Deb: "We're getting married!"

Mom: "But you sinned! You had sex outside of marriage!"

Me: "Mr. and Mrs Lomax, please understand..."

Pop: "Don't give me that, Nori! I was in World War Two! I KNOW WHAT SEX IS!"

I look out the window. 17 flights. I can make it! If I can just grab that pigeon...

Deb's folks storm off into their bedroom. But I know what they're REALLY doing. I can hear the champagne bottle pop and the streamers and horns and dancing around. YES! WE'RE GONNA BE GRANDPARENTS! But they had to put on that "upset" face for what I did to their little girl (never mind she was 36 at the time!)

Now everything is spinning so fast. I'm driving back and forth between NYC and my sister's house in Jersey, picking up a bassinet, baby stuff and other crap; it's all a blur. Oh, right, gotta get married. I FORGOT!

I'm supposed to be at the Municipal Building at 2:00 pm. It's 1:30, and I have no suit. (I'm a hippie, remember? I still don't own a suit.) I get off the subway at Wall Street, run down Maiden lane figuring to pick up a black suit jacket at Conway's. I got black pants, at least. I pick up a nice linen black suit jacket off the rack. Problem: more wrinkles than a shar-pays face (ugly dogs). ALL of them are wrinkled. 1:41 pm. I grab the jacket, run outside and see a store-front tailor. I run inside. "I'm getting married in 20 minutes! I need this pressed!" "Give it here!" This guy puts the jacket on the steam press, and in 2 minutes this thing is so pressed you could shave with the creases. "How much do I owe you?" "Ahh, it's a wedding present! Now get outta here, you got 15 minutes!" I run to the Municipal Building getting dressed along the way.

So I get there. Deb, her Mom, auntie and Gramma are there. Nobody from my family (feigned look of shock and surprise). Kyle is my best man. Well, maybe not "best", but he was pretty good. Susan is there, too. Kyle had offered to bring a camera. But Susan said she was bringing hers. So we tell Kyle don't bother bringing that nice expensive Minolta SLR High Resolution camera. Bad choice. Susan shows up with this piece of shit obsolete 110 camera, with only 4 shots left because the rest of the roll is full of her vacation in Trinidad! Needless to say, I have no pix of my "wedding". Very ghetto, Susan! Still mad at ya, but I love and forgive ya. ;-)

We get upstairs to the McDonald's of Weddings. The place is packed. The only thing missing was the drive-thru window. You heard of speed dating? This was speed wedding. Every few minutes, the judge would come out and shout "NEXT!" like the receptionist at HUD from the PJs. We were on after the Punk Rocker Wedding Party. I wish I had pictures of this! These heavy metal Punks, women and men alike, parakeet purple and silver hair-dos with studs and chains and tattoos all over their faces, were dressed in perfect tuxedos and gowns. It was high-larious! It was as if somebody had switched the heads off of some bobble-head dolls!

NEXT!

Showtime, folks! The judge (I could not see the stopwatch) explains that the vows are short; no mention of "love, honor, and obey" because the "obey" part starts too many fights and they're not married yet! Also, they don't ask "if anyone objects, speak now" because there is always some nut who comes to these things just to object and cause trouble (damn, they found me out!). So she starts:

Judge: "Do you?"

Deb: "I do."

Judge: "Do you?"

Me: "I do."

Judge: "Give her the ring. NEXT!"

Kyle starts to hand me the ring, but those of you who know me know I am not exactly the orthodox type. Instead of taking the ring, I whip out a pair of hand-cuffs I had hidden in my brand new pressed $25 Conway suit jacket. I click us together, and say, "Together forever, babe!" Kyle smacks me upside my head, by I get him back at the reception in the Chinese-Jamaican restaurant. That's right, Chinese-Jamaican. Fried rice and curry goat. Jackie Chan serving while Steele Pulse plays in the background. Was that racist? I sure hope so!

Next installment: The Birth of Ramiro.