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Many people ask me, “What is the secret to a successful marriage?” They ask me this because I am a “Certified Marriage Expert” (CME). I achieved this certification based on my marriage achievements, which are: a) I have been married for more than five years, and b) My wife still likes me. I just added the “Certified” part to make it sound more official (the easiest certification is self certification).

After much thought and an ice cream bar from Ben & Jerry’s (a fish-shaped “Phish Stick” bar – disappointingly non-fish flavored), I have created the following checklist for creating a successful marital union.

1. Dating

The “Courtship Period” can determine the eventual success of a marriage. This period can last as long as several years or as short as several beers. To determine your readiness for marriage, here’s a simple test:

• What is the middle name of your spouse-to-be?
• When is his or her birthday, including year?
• Where was he or she born?

If you can answer one of these questions without looking in the wallet of your partner, you are ready for marriage.

2. The Wedding

In today’s society, far too much emphasis has been placed on the wedding ceremony at the sacrifice of planning for actual marriage. A wedding will last but a day, while a marriage will last a lifetime. Note to grooms: this is a good thing to say instead of “Six hundred bucks for a freaking cake?!”

Keeping this philosophy in mind, it is still a good idea to have a wedding. Studies have shown that nearly all successful married couples participated in at least one wedding.

Also, wear comfortable shoes.

3. Honeymoons and Anniversaries

Unrealistic expectations can be set by too elaborate a honeymoon. My recommendation: check into Motel 6 for a couple of nights, watch the free HBO, shop at the All American Tee Shirt Shoppe, and splurge on meals by ordering them “Super Size.”

Then tell your spouse, “Honey, things are only going to get better.” You’ll be able to follow through like a champ for years to come.

4. Resolving Arguments

There has been a lot of books written over the past decade about the importance of “conflict resolution.” In fact, the current #1 book on the NY Times Self Help best seller list is “How To End An Argument With That Lying, No-Good, Two-Timing, Lousy-Excuse-For-A-Husband-That-You-Never-Should- Have-Married-In-The-First-Place.”

You can see why these books don’t really work very well.

In fact, all arguments can be ended easily with six simple words: “It’s my fault. Let’s get naked.” The rest is easy.

5. Money

No subject incurs more disputes in marriage than money. The best advice that I can give you is to make such an obscene amount of money that you never need to argue. In fact, I commonly advise young men seeking my advice, “Do not even think about getting married until you are an astronaut, a brain surgeon, or have suddenly inherited a fortune from your long-lost father who was the king of Luxemburg.”

6. Romance

Eventually, the sparkle on every relationship fades, as the newness of intimacy becomes familiar and as adventure become routine. It is important to add small moments of genuine romance into a marriage to maintain spontaneity and excitement. Here’s how to maintain the thrills in a marriage:

Wrong
“Hey baby, I’m going down to the dog track tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”

Right
“Hey baby, I’m going down to the dog track tonight. Whaddaya say I pick up some wine coolers on the way home and we watch Cyber Ninja after the kids are asleep?”

As you can see, a little effort goes a long way.

7. Children

Inevitably, if you’re married for long enough, you’ll get bored and consider having kids. Be forewarned: this will not “mend” your marriage. If you think you’ll love each other more when you have a child together, imagine having a baby vomit all over your chest at 3:00 a.m. when neither of you has had a decent night of sleep in six weeks. If you think you can be reasonably loving to your spouse in this circumstance, you’ll make a fine parent (but you’re kidding yourself).

Also, talk about that whole “circumcision decision” before you’re on your way to the hospital while timing contractions.

8. In-Laws

The best way to deal with your new helpful family members is to emigrate to Australia. Not only will you be a long distance away from your mother-in-law, but Australia has very strict laws concerning in-laws. For example, an overly-helpful mother-in-law can be imprisoned for rearranging kitchen cabinets without her son-in-law’s written permission. Even then, a three-day waiting period must be observed.

If moving to another hemisphere is not practical, outfit your in-laws with the Tri-Tronics “Bark Limiter” Collar (only $89.10, not including batteries). It provides gentle, but persuasive control of excessive nagging, repeated illness stories, and annoying cackles. The vibration sensor picks up all unwanted criticism and “suggestions.” The small, inconspicuous collar fits necks of all sizes except “fat bastard,” which is available as a full-body harness.

Another piece of good advice: never make fun of your in-laws on TV. Most old people who have outlived their usefulness watch a lot of TV.

Note to my own mother-in-law: None of this applies to you — you are wonderful.

Summary

The world record for the longest marriage belongs to Harold and Jacqueline Odd, of Dumas, Texas, at 83 years. The Odds were married in 1918, had three children, and never lived in Australia.

My point? With my marriage advice, the right person, and some herbs from Tibet, you’ve got a shot at beating the Odds.

In one month, I’ll be a father.

Strangely enough, I’m not particularly worried about taking care of our new child. How hard can it be? My wife and I have a free magazine subscription to “Today’s Parent” magazine, a six pack of bibs, and a coupon for plastic diapers. We’ve got everything we need.

What I’m really worried about is being “responsible.”

Up until now, my approach to responsibility has been avoidance and denial – I avoided all responsibility if possible (and denied taking it if I had to). Unfortunately, I now am faced with the possibility that if I act really stupid and kill or maim myself, it might have repercussions beyond a few weeks. There will be a very small boy or girl who might never get to know me — and that would be a true tragedy.

With this life-changing event looming over me, I realize now that I’ve been way too responsible already. I didn’t realize how much I could have been messing around. Why have I been gainfully employed for the last 15 years? What was I thinking?

I’ve got 31 days — no, the baby could come early. Twenty days. I’ve got 20 days to act horribly irresponsibly, disregarding any consequences of my actions. Then it’s all over. I’ll have to be responsible.

To be truly reckless in a short time, one must have a plan, a timetable. Every day counts.

Day One: Quit my job. Use profane gestures and the phrase “Your mother stinks like a yak.” (It would be far too responsible to simply ask for a four-week leave of absence.)

Day Two: Shave my head. It will take too long to grow hair down past my shoulders, so an ugly shaved head will have to do. Mine will be particularly frightening with scars and lumps. Next, get a big tattoo across my back of Pamela Anderson, naked, riding a Harley and toting a machine gun, just above the motto, “I Hate People.”

Day Three: Buy a 1966 Corvette convertible with giant chrome side pipes and a big block 427ci, 450hp engine with a “power bulge” hood. Ha! No baby seat will fit in this puppy! This is all the more irresponsible because I will purchase the car with a loan I can’t afford since I just quit my job (day one).

Day Four: Visit my bank and make a comprehensive withdrawal. Buy a very expensive Armani suit, a thick gold ring, and Italian boots made from the dried skin of spotted owls. Drive to Vegas in my ‘66 Vette with the top down. Forgo all use of sunscreen.

Day Five: Bet everything on 22. Sleep in car.

Day Six: Siphon gasoline from a Cadillac. Drive to Alaska. Buy a large hunting knife and some waterproof matches. Kill and eat a polar bear.

Day Seven: Sell Popsicles to Eskimos.

Day Eight: Fly to Lebanon. Join the Foreign Legion. Cross the Mohave Desert on a camel.

Day Nine: Quit Foreign Legion. Pick up girls in Afghanistan.

Day Ten: Join Merchant Marines. Sail to Singapore. Teach fellow sailors to sing Mozart’s opera Cosi Fan Tutte.

Day Eleven: Chew gum in Singapore.

Day Twelve: Write a computer virus that randomly deletes electronic appointments in Microsoft Outlook. Send it to a half million people from a cyber café.

Day Thirteen: Go to Tibet. Become a Buddhist monk.

Day Fourteen: Lead Buddhist monk pals on trip to Zimbabwe to make bungee jump from the Victoria Falls Bridge. Introduce monks to the exotic taste of Jägermeister liquor, blended from 56 different spices.

I’ve only got a few more weeks to be completely stupid, so if you’ve got some suggestions for how I should spend my final immature days, please email them to me. Don’t expect a response, of course, since I will be diving for sunken treasure off the coast of Dubai with a harem of Swedish stewardesses.

And if I don’t get to accomplish all of my reckless dreams? I can always pick up where I left off — in another 22 years.