A Sorta Catholic’s Very Catholic Wedding

I am a Sorta Catholic. Growing up in New Jersey, I was raised Catholic and went to 12 years of Catholic school. But as a comedy writer living in Los Angeles, being Catholic is not a huge part of my deal. I only go to church on holidays or when the world feels particularly grim. I usually give up something lame for Lent, like “being hard on myself.” I practice what I call “Chipotle Catholicism”: I go down the line picking and choosing the parts of Catholicism that appeal to me (charity, Pope Frank, spooky stories about saints) in order to create a custom-made spiritual burrito.

So two years ago when I got engaged to a fellow Sorta Catholic, I assumed we would have a Sorta Catholic wedding. We would get married at a fancy hotel or in one of those woodsy fields where Pinterest people get married. I would walk down the aisle to a cool, meaningful song and be married by our funniest friend. The ceremony probably would not mention Jesus. Maybe God, but God would be called something vague like The Universe, as not to make anyone uncomfortable.

When I told my mother my vision for my wedding, she got on a plane and flew across the country just to spit in my face.

Where did I come up with this crap? When you get married it is in a church with church music and your aunt reading “Love Is Patient.” A priest does the ceremony, you repeat after him and then once it is done, you have a relaxing, 20-hour break until your reception at the Knights of Columbus.

Now I know what you’re thinking: L.A. sucks. And it does. When I moved here four years ago, my realtor tried to talk me into renting the guest house of a pornography director who grew marijuana in his garden and had a pet wolf. But outside of the occasional L.A. nonsense, the people I have met out here are truly wonderful: kind and funny and smart. And regardless of background or religious affiliation, they all have fancy, cool weddings.