This blog is a long one. It'll take commitment to read it. I hope your love tank's full.

I've been through the marriage course, and am now a wiser person. My marriage toolbox is full, my marriage box is empty and my bank of corny phrases is overflowing.

Before I begin crackin' your side with all this marriage class goodness, I must first say I know it's important, yeah, yeah, yeah, I know marriage is a big deal, and all that. I know. But come on, this is pure goodness. You can learn something and laugh at the same time.

The class's big problem was the time: 8:30 a.m. When my alarm went off at 6:45, I briefly considered calling the whole marriage thing off so I could sleep in, but figured I'd regret that when I woke up (refreshed) at noon. I crawled out of bed, got ready and sulked the whole drive to Appleton.

Once there, we walked in and stood in line to find our names on the table. We signed in, got color-coded name tags and a glossy folder that said "Preparing for your marriage" in italics around a pair of clip-art hands and a levitating heart. Ugh. The muffins were sticky. The orange juice was warm. My mood didn't improve, until we walked in the theater of the high school for the opening address of our marriage course.

"Marriage: The Great Adventure."

Yes. The great adventure. A speech given by a woman with a penchant for Scrunchies; and her husband, who started his speech by admitting to having an unhealthy fascination with trains. I don't really know what was so adventurous about them, unless you count the Trekkie convention they talked about going to.

They were nice enough, I'm sure they had good lessons to share, but their speech kind of killed the lesson. "Listen to his heart, not his words," she said. "And I couldn't believe it when she said she didn't want to chase trains with me," he said. "You need to make time together, to keep your love tank full," she said.

Keep your love tank full? After the program, Dave and I told our friends about our day, and we thought it would be more appropriate now if they had more modern examples, such as iPods. You may be a 20 GB pod, she may be a Nano. Together, you have to learn to share music, even if she's not compatible with Macs. Etc. Pope, take note.

iPods are way cooler than "you need to turn the crank of commitment every day."

"Relationship Skills for Newlyweds"

The theater was huge, and after they split us up by colors of our name tags, we went to get some skills (you know, cage fighting skills, numchuck skills, etc.). We thought it'd be another "Keep your love tank full" couple, but instead we went back to our college days and did GROUP WORK. I used to leave class if I knew group work was coming, but they had already shut the doors. We were trapped. We went down to mingle with the other groups while they passed out MORE color-coded worksheets. Our group, which included us and three other couples, were supposed to talk about solving a problem on our worksheet to present to the class.

Ours? "I can tell when you're not listening when ..." Oh, boy.

We ended up spending the whole time talking about the Scan-Tron test some parishes made the other couples take to get married (more on that in a second) instead of our color-coded problem, so by the time the microphone made it around to Dave (who lost the "not it" game), we had one thing written on the paper. He started stammering ... "Uh, well, we thought that first of all, communication is a two-way street ..." We giggled while the presenters smiled. Two-way street. Boy, they loved that one. "Yes, that's exactly it (pause, searching for his name tag), Dave. Good, good work." Whew.

Scan-Trons

Some parishes require engaged couples to take a bubble test before they can sign up to get married. We didn't get one, but I'm almost sorry we didn't. "Do you feel your partner drinks too much?" "Do you think your partner has homosexual tendencies?" "Have you ever had relations with your partners' mother/father?" Uh ... what? I think they ask those questions to throw you off, or maybe to see how humorous you can be with bubbles: "So, Bob, you feel your fiancee is gay, and you have had relations with her mother ... Beth, how do you respond to that?"

"In-laws, Children and Your Marriage: The Unholy Alliance"

I chose this workshop because the others ("Intimacy" and "Interfaith Marriages") didn't really appeal to me. Plus, I like my mom more than Dave does. So, what the heck. We walk in the room (which is obviously a math room, with its trigonometry books stacked against the wall and the eight chalkboards everywhere), sit in the same desks I think I had in my high school, and listen to a speech on putting your marriage first. OK, nothing weird here. Until ... warning lights flash ... "LET'S WATCH A VIDEO."

Please, please, if you coordinate one of these marriage things, do not ever think it's OK to reach in the VHS piles for a video, especially if there are mullets, acid wash jeans and flattops involved. I don't know what the video was about. I was laughing too hard at the mid-'80s 'dos. I felt like I was a kid in a classroom where someone just said a dirty word. I couldn't stop giggling. I was sure the instructor'd taken our certificate and burned it: "Obviously not ready for marriage," she'd say, holding it over a candle.

The hallway display

When you walked out of the theater, you couldn't miss it: a 5-foot tall, 10-foot wide display for (gulp) family planning. Complete with brochures on (if you're under 18, I think I have to tell you to stop reading now) the rhythm method. I didn't know the ins and outs of it, but I'd heard it before, in a joke: "What do you call people who use the rhythm method? (What?) Parents." Ha, ha. We all got a brochure. I would go into details, but I don't want any word that you learned in sixth grade health class to be used here along with "work it into your daily routine," and "observing a woman's changes." I think I just threw up.

The church's stance on ... more giggling

Let me just say this: the worksheet we got says God is a very important part of your sexual intimacy. That's all I'm saying. God's in your bedroom. You can draw conclusions without me going into "oneness" and "celebrations of the mysteries of life."

Certificates

We made it. No burnt certificates: there we were with our names in calligraphy on a "READY FOR MARRIAGE" slip. We all got a parting gift: a DVD called "After the Cake is Gone." We haven't gotten around to watching it, but trust me. We will. You can borrow it when we're done. I hope it's not about the rhythm method.