I Popped My Minister Cherry

I married my friend Darrell last weekend.  Technically I married my friend Nicole, too.

Oh relax, Rocco was there.  He even took pictures.

Yes,  I’m an ordained minister.  I have power vested in me.  I don’t even own any vests, people.  But still, I’m like…all pious and shit, now.  I can bless things.  I might even be hallowed.  I should look into that.

I secretly suspect this, coupled with the knocked-up thing, is just some greater conspiracy by the cosmos to try and get me to clean up my language.  It’s not fucking working.

I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to get better about keeping secrets now.  I mean, if someone tells me something in confidence, it’s like a confessional, right?  On the upside, I’ll probably never have to incriminate you in a court of law.  You’re welcome.

Did you know the clergy have a secret handshake?  Actually, I don’t know that for a fact.  I just suspect they do and seeing as how I’m the new kid at the pulpit, no one will teach me until I complete some sort of hazing ritual.

Am I the only one suddenly picturing the Pope funneling a beer?

Truth be told, I was a little nervous about the whole thing.  I mean, I’d never married anyone before.  Well, I married Rocco, didn’t I?  But really, how helpful was that?  I don’t remember when my wedding was, not to mention what the lady with the collar said while everyone was watching.

So, as all people of the cloth do, I turned to my church for guidance.  The Universal Life Church has all sorts of resources to guide their flock.  I found guides for all types of weddings – Buddhist, Wiccan, Jedi…

I asked really nicely, but Darrell and Nicole refused to don Wookie costumes.  They didn’t even go for the Boba Fett thing, though Darrell did consider appearing as Han Solo encased in carbonite.

In case you zoned out for a moment there, let me repeat that last fact.  I’m empowered by THE FORCE (and the State of New York) to join people in holy wedded matrimony.  Tell your friends.

Despite my fears (and inability to knock back a glass of wine or pop a sedative before performing) the ceremony was quite lovely, if I say so myself.  I dunno why I said it like that.  It’s not nearly as boastful as it sounds, primarily because I didn’t really do anything but stand there and…you know…officiate.  (I think it was the FORCE that enabled me to stop from using the words “vagina” or “bitches” during the ceremony.  Yay FORCE!)

It was a tiny, intimate, and lovely affair – only 4 and 3/4 guests attended (four adults, one little girl, one parasite).  The bride and groom invited us to their apartment in Queens at 10am Sunday morning.  At 10:30 we climbed into the elevator, passed through a long, white-washed hallway, then emerged into the sun-filled, private courtyard of their building complex.

We found a picturesque spot in front of a small Japanese maple tree and began.  The couple had written their own vows.  He spoke his softly, shyly, allowing the breeze to carry his words to her.  She spoke louder, clearer – I think both for his failing hearing and to declare the words to her own heart.  She cried.  He smiled.  Then I cracked a few jokes and did some pronouncing.

Shouts of “congratulations!” echoed off the tall brick walls that surrounded us as some woman above us flung open her window and threw rice on our heads.

By 10:45, photos were finished, champagne was served, and the groom was cooking eggs to order.  It was – in a word – perfect.  And I’m tickled pink I was able to be a part of it.

Hallowed be thy name…or something.

Oh and I left a little something for you over at Sprocket.  Have I mentioned how much I love that the word Santorum is now synonymous with a by-product of anal sex?  I’m almost as amused as Mom was when we defined “tea bagging” for her.  I’m a minister, after all.  I’m pretty sure I sword an oath to explain weird sex slang to parental figures.


  1. welcome to the clan!
    Hey if you really like doing this, I recommend going to the Celebrant Foundation & Inst., to learn the fine art of ritual and celebration. they have three majors to choose from, weddings, funderals and families. i did weddings last year, and got my Minister approval through the Universal Brotherhood Movement.
    ANyway if you want more scoop on that, let me know. It’s a really great program!

  2. ELLY! We were married by someone of your same Online Church. That place rules! Congratulations.

    When you posted the picture on FB I was all confused because I kept thinking to my self…Hey!? That is not Elly!

    1. Facebook threw me too! I was so confuzzled. But now, I can say with all sincerity, CONGRATULATIONS!

      It’s good to know people in high places. Though wasn’t the happy couple a tad worried that you weren’t raptured?

  3. So I guess that mean I should clean up my language & try not to say words like “shit” on your blog.

    Oh shit..!

    Dammit to hell..!

    Son of a bitch..!


    Forgive me, your Ellyness.

  4. So I guess that mean I should clean up my language & try not to say words like “shit” on your blog.

    Oh shit..!

    Dammit to hell..!

    Son of a bitch..!


    Forgive me, your Ellyness.

  5. I boob-cone you for being filled with the Force, by which I hope you mean you’re growing a Jedi. Isn’t having sex with men who have unicorn horns how you make a Jedi?

    Let’s just go with YES.

    Also, how long will you have the pregnancy boobs? It’s the only thing that would keep me from replacing Dolly Parton as the officionater (?) at my and Thom’s wedding.

    1. Hopefully they go away immediately. Otherwise I’m going to need a bigger house. Just for my tits. I don’t think they’ll ever fit in a cone again…

  6. Bless me, Elly, for I have sinned. It’s been 54 years since my last confession. That’s a lot of santorum under the bridge. But if anyone can absolve me, I know YOU can!

  7. There’s just nothing you won’t do is there? (You might be my idol, er, unless that’s a graven sin or something.)

  8. Hey, I’m a Reverend too, does that mean we can marry each other?
    I only have one colossal failure of a marriage under my belt. The wedding was totally rad though, which is all I can be held responsible for. In A court of law anyway.

  9. You’re an ordained what of the what, now? Holy crap! I feel like you’d have been a great edition to Peewee’s Playhouse, marrying him to salads and stuff.

    Oh yeah, and nice rack.

    Sorry… Nice rack, your majesty.

  10. You are seriously awesome! I think more weddings should be like that.

    Related: I will never forget the time John Stewart told me to go look up Santorum on Google. The word “frothy” will stay with me forever – and it’s meaning has forever been ruined.

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