Lauren is the funniest person I know. We were talking today about hypothetical ways that men can blunder their declarations of love.

Julia: What about, "I think I love you when I'm drunk?"

Lauren: Yeah, tell him to go ahead and write that in the vows.

So in tribute to spring love and the fact that both Lauren and I will be attending weddings tomorrow, here are my hypothetical wedding vows, if I were to marry a hypothetical man named...let's say, Toto.

Toto...since I met you, I've seen more colors in the universe than I previously thought existed. And I'm not just talking about the crazy colors in my morning phlegm, which as Dr. Grendal told me are just leftovers of the pixie sticks I used to snort in high school. And neither am I talking about the variety of pigments in my urine. Who knew the clap could be so tenacious? No, Toto, I'm talking about the the shades of sunset over the gentle ocean horizon, the oranges, golds and reds of leaves swirling in the fall, and the exploding stars before my eyes that time you slammed me in the head with our brand new fondue pot when I flipped your mother the bird for saying that my tube top made me look like a whore (good thing the pot was still in the Target bag...otherwise I suspect it might have left a nasty scar). Yes, that tube top did make me look like a whore, but your mother is honestly a fucking cunt (sorry, Mrs. G). Anyway, as I was saying, dearest Toto, I can not imagine my life without you, your sweet caresses and your tender declarations of "Get me my fuckin' Pabst Blue Ribbon outta the cooler bitch and don't let me catch you outta the fuckin' kitchen again. Don't make me use my belt!"

[Note to Self: Self, do a dramatic pause here, as you are bound to be overwhelmed by your love and too choked up to speak for up to three minutes].

After our first date, I knew that you were the kind of person that I wanted to be with forever. Maybe it was because you bought me dinner at the Sizzler before doing me in the back of your El Camino. Maybe it was because you slowed to a considerate 12 miles per hour when you nudged me out of your car in front of my house. Maybe it's because you always stand up for me in front of your friends. That day when you told Davey Boy after he caught us banging in the bathroom at the bowling alley, "Yeah, she's a ho, but she's my ho," I would have cried tears of joy if I hadn't just accidentally flushed my thong down the toilet.

Toto, you are my everything--my sun, my moon, and my retarded baby's daddy. I love you and hope you'll stick around even after the baby's born.