Recently some friends of mine asked me to officiate at their wedding. This means that as they officially launch their joint life together, with children and shared checking and what not, they want me to be the guy who hits the cosmic button and says “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

At this point you might be thinking: Heaton! You’re not a priest. Or a judge. You’re just a humorist, and powerful lover. Why on Earth would anyone want you to preside over their vows?

I too was initially taken aback by their request. I explained the above to them, about being neither clerical nor judicial, and about how I’m very funny and dynamite in the sack. My friend Zach explained that the bit about bedroom prowess was “an unnecessary detail,” and that people often find it “offputting” when I “shoehorn in” such things, particularly regarding my sex life.

Maybe.

But then he got to the point. Zach and his fiancée are not religious, in fact might be slightly jaundiced against some of it, so they didn’t want a priest or rabbi to officiate. They’re also fairly libertarian, so the prospects of requiring an official representative of the government to sanction their marriage is the kind of thing which might derail the whole ceremony by leading to a fist fight. The judge would try to say, “I now pronounce you man and wife,” but Zach would get angry because who’s this guy? and then declare the marriage valid himself, and then they’d start wrestling.

Thus they settled on me, a politically simpatico humorist, as their choice of officiant.

Unfortunately, despite the best libertarian intentions of the involved parties, there is still paperwork involved. In order for me to legally conduct their marriage in the District of Columbia I have to acquire an officiant’s license. Regular readers may recall my intense objection to Washington, DC ever achieving statehood, because of how much they pissed me off over a Segway tour guide licensing dispute. To wit: they made me get a license to give Segway tours, and the whole thing was ridiculous, and bureaucratic, and at one point involved fighting Cthulhu.

Fortunately the officiant’s license is one of DC’s more transparent tax laundering schemes. You send in $35 along with a notarized form, in which you tick off a little box for one of three options. Are you officiating as a 1) Justice of the peace, 2) Clergymen of a particular denomination, or 3) Laymen authorized to conduct a wedding on behalf of a particular denomination.

You can see the problem here, right? “Humorist” isn’t even on the list! I checked the back, and there’s nothing about “secular humorists,” even in the fine print.

I’ve had other friends who have officiated at weddings, doing so through an online ordination mill like the Universal Life Church. It acts like a kind of loophole denomination for secular people in many states which require ministers. However The Universal Life Church strikes me as a tepid sort—they’ve never even had a decent war! So I thought about other options besides getting digitally ordained by those guys.

Last month I served as best man in one of closest friend’s weddings, in an Eastern Orthodox service. I don’t believe the Eastern Orthodox Church would authorize me to conduct ceremonies on their behalf. Fr. Justin, my home town priest, knows me pretty well, and I suspect it was pushing the envelope to be in my friend’s ceremony at all. I haven’t exactly renewed membership with the Greeks recently, and the Orthodox theology which once governed my worldview has kind of fallen out from under me like a car muffler. So the likelihood of a bishop going, “Sure, let that Heaton guy loose to randomly marry people for his own amusement and conduct exorcisms” is pretty much a non-starter.

Particularly given my behavior at the reception. I gave an excellent Best Man Speech, and played with all of the kids, but then I also convinced one of the bridesmaids that she had inadvertently married me. This isn’t hard to do—Eastern Orthodox services are confusing if you’re Protestant. I told her when we had joined Josh and his kickass wife walking around the altar, we had done so mistakenly, and were now married ourselves.

I had her going for a solid five minutes, deer-in-headlights expression, so frightened was she that the confusing ceremony had resulted in shackling herself to me as a spouse. But then some sober do-gooder told her that I was lying and she definitely didn’t have to make out with me, and she got inappropriately happy, even by wedding standards. So my point is, I couldn’t put down “Eastern Orthodox” on the form.

But then I thought: I’ve always rather liked Buddhism. Not the bit with all the colorful mythology and robes—I don’t need any more of that stuff. The bits about mindfulness, living in the moment, meditating, not hurting raccoons for no good reason, being nice to people, etc. That stuff I like quite a lot.

So I called the District of Columbia’s marriage bureau and asked if I could just put “Zen Buddhist” on the form, without actually getting proper authorization from whichever bald guy is in charge of that lot. The bureaucrats made it clear that I could write just about anything down on the form, so long as I included a check for the correct amount and notarized it. So I went ahead and put myself down as a “Zen Buddhist” officiant.

This means that, so far as I can figure, I am now a Zen Buddhist, but only while in the District of Columbia. This is an awesome life strategy, because it means I only have to be mindful and live in the present and quit hurting raccoons if I’m specifically between Virginia and Maryland. Otherwise I can keep doing whatever the hell I want.

It is also my understanding that if I die in the District of Columbia, I will do so as a Buddhist, and therefore be reincarnated. Last night at a party I wrote down a list of things I would like to be reincarnated as on the back of a cocktail napkin:

What I’m really hoping for is that I get to come back as a combination of the above, specifically as a fire-breathing labrador retriever who can fly. That would be awesome! I would be cute and people would want to pet me all the time, but I could also decimate entire villages on a whim.

Being a dragon, the more I think about it, seems like a big chore. You’re too big to sleep on a couch, and you spend most of your time hoarding gold in caves and demanding virgin sacrifices.

As a fire-breathing labrador retriever who can fly, I could be a dog 99% of the time, but also ruthlessly kill anyone who displeases me.

So anyway, I will be officiating at a wedding next month.

I Can Now Legally Conduct Marriage Ceremonies