jemaleddin:

indefensible:

(via nickdouglas)

It’s “two thousand and ten”. The extra syllables are all that separate us from the savages.

You only say “and” between the counting numbers and fractional amounts. “Two thousand ten and twenty-five one hundredths.”

It’s being pedantic that separates us from the savages.

Good lord but you’re a staggering cock.

Man, when that guy is right, he’s right.

(via nickdouglas)

It’s “two thousand and ten”. The extra syllables are all that separate us from the savages.

You only say “and” between the counting numbers and fractional amounts. “Two thousand ten and twenty-five one hundredths.”

It’s being pedantic that separates us from the savages.

Now, wearing a suit with no tie is fine in California, but if your shirt has cuff-links, you’ll look a little silly. And since the only dress shirt I had brought needed cuff-links, I needed a tie. So we wandered around for a bit and ended up getting a nice one on sale at Marshall’s, seen below, and after a bit more shopping, we headed back to the hotel.

The place we stayed was a little bed and breakfast called Chateau Tivoli, and it was really lovely. Shelley could better describe the decor, I think, but any place with a bust of Bach is okay by me.

Once I was tie-equipped, Shelley tossed on a hot little dress bought for the occasion – doesn’t she look great? – and we headed back downtown.

Then we got married.

Okay, not quite like that.

Well, exactly like that, but there was more to it. You see, complications arose partly because we were eloping.

If you’re not a fan of the traditional big fat wedding, I cannot recommend eloping enough. Upsides include: an intimate ceremony without a hundred people looking at you, no thank you cards to write, and saving about $20,000. Downsides: no wedding presents. Of course, that $20K can buy an awful lot of crockery. And not having to spend a week figuring out who sits next to your cousin with halitosis sure simplifies some things.

But not everything. In the city of San Francisco, you have to either a) be a resident of the city, or b) provide two witnesses for the ceremony to get a marriage license. And that’s tricky.

The thing about eloping is that you can’t tell anyone. Which, I know, is obvious. But seriously: you can’t tell anyone not just because you’re rushing off to do something crazy, but because telling any single person leaves you explaining to everybody you didn’t tell why you like that person better. And that’s not a fun conversation to have. (Hi mom!)

In order to get married without telling anyone, we made a plan. On our way to City Hall, we stopped by Citizen Cake and picked up a four-pack of cupcakes. We figured that a couple of cupcakes would be all it took to bribe a couple passing strangers into being witnesses for 15 minutes. And seriously: these cupcakes were that good.

What we didn’t count on was that we were both super shy about asking anyone.

So we wandered around city hall for a while, and admired the rotunda, which really is spectacular, and tried to work up the nerve. We almost managed to convince some German tourists, but I think they thought we were crazy. As time was running out for our appointment (you need an appointment to elope – how crazy is that?), we found a pair of women strolling around with some time on their hands, and were able to entice them with the cupcakes.

I told you those cupcakes were good.

Once we had the paperwork filled out and found out the names of our witnesses (thanks again!), we headed back into the rotunda with the judge who we remembered seeing on TV the previous summer. No, not from some lame court show, but from all those beautiful gay weddings.

That’s where we got the idea to get married in San Francisco in the first place. We figured that if we were going to get married, it ought to be in a place where everyone is afforded the same rights, and when we started planning the trip California looked like it was going to make marriage equality permanent by stopping proposition 8.

Stupid California voters.

Anyway. To make up for that, we donated an amount equal to the cost of our marriage license to a legal fund for reestablishing gay marriage in California. It seemed like the only way to still have our morally pure wedding.

Where was I?

Oh yeah! Getting married!

The actual vows and ceremony were over in a flash. All I really remember is looking at Shelley and seeing how beautiful and happy she looked. Heck, I looked pretty happy too, it turns out.

Of course it isn’t official until you take care of the most important step.

Once it was all officially sealed, we had dinner reservations at Jardinière, a wonderful restaurant just up the street from city hall. We had some time on our hands though, which meant that there was time for one quick scare. The clerks of the court called us up to let us know that there had been a mix-up with our forms and the couple who got married just ahead of us. After some wrangling and discussing, they decided that since  we were out-of-towners, they’d made the local folks come back and redo some forms. Fwew.

After some goofing around, we finally made it to dinner where the excellent staff, exquisite tasting menu and some extraordinary sparkling wine had us right as rain. I’m sure that the gnocchi are just as delicious for other guests, but I don’t think just anyone gets handwritten notes in their food.

What’s great is that the excitement didn’t end there. Not that day, not that week, not that month. As happy as I was that day, every day since has been just as wonderful, thanks to my wonderful bride. Thank you, Shelley. I hope the second year is just as great.