I Figured 8 Out!

It's been an exhausting week. The high high of the Obama win (let's be honest, Obama pwn3d McCain), and the low low of Proposition 8 passing was draining. Talk about buzzkill. I truly believed we would vote it down and make marriage available to all. We. Us. Californians. The trendsetters of the nation. Hey, didn't we bring you smoke-free bars, yoga and colonics? Enough said.

What is so bitterly ironic about all this is that we gladly passed Prop 2, which enables farm animals to turn around in cages. I'm pro-2. Don't get me wrong. But how did we give animals rights while we took them away from tax-paying humans? That's insane. And brought to you by a religion that believes in polygamy. Sweet Jeebus of late-in-the-day stains. Then again, we are the dorks who put Conan in our capitol. [Hey, Arnie, swell job with the budget. That whole "let's just open the books" strategy of governing is really paying off.]

It's taken me a while to process the whole debacle. But, I think I've figured out why people were so concerned about same-sex couples getting legally wed: A gay wedding is hard to top. Think about it. Same-sex weddings would be beyond over-the-top, but in a really elegant and efficient way. What straight couple could live up to that? Especially if all the best wedding planners, caterers, florists and designers were booked for years doing gay weddings. With that level of competition, and supply versus demand, it would certainly drive up the already high cost of a wedding. Imagine what a multi-tier wedding cake would cost under No H-8 circumstances. And, with our crappy economy, it really does come down to the bottom line.

If we know anything in California, we know not to piss off West Hollywood or San Francisco. They rally, picket, march and candlelight vigil like nobody's business. They are or-gan-ized. And they pull the numbers. Because these cities are known for fabulous, *inclusive* parties, everyone wants to crash them, easily doubling or tripling their crowds. People who love good dance music and strong drinks tend to tag along (and throw down their support). See, it's all about *community*. [That, and we know that the rallies end up at The Abbey in WeHo or Harvey's on Castro.]

I'm convinced that weddings are the reason Prop 8 passed. Straight people are insecure and afraid of being upstaged. Breeders have no style on their own. Oh, you think I'm being bigoted now? Puh-leez. Look at the difference between, say, Ellen and Portia's wedding and that of Celine Dion and Rene What's-his-name. That's what we are capable of without gay guidance. Everyone knows that. I'm not stereotyping. I'm stating fact. Reference Cher with Sonny and then Cher with Bob Mackie. Need I say more? And, while I would like to think I would avoid the meringue and a sad silhouette on my own, believe you me, if/when I get married, I'm bringing my queer nation with me to make sure I don't regret my wedding photos. And, that's what straight people are afraid of.

America, don't give up on us just yet. H-8 doesn't belong in our groovy State. So we are taking to the streets. We are taking it to court. We are taking it to Utah. We are checking out of Marriott. We are petitioning up a storm. We will break 8!

And, not that I am any sort of legal eagle, but I don't think there is any way this can hold up in court. We have a precedence of same-sex marriage. Some same-sex couples were wed in that legal window. We can't make those marriages invalid. Therefore, we how can we deny others the same rights? It seems to this laywoman that there's enough here to fight the good fight and win. And equality will prevail. Because, while we might be known as the land of fruits and nuts, we are also a bunch of rebellious trailblazers. We know how to make things happen.

And, if Arnie needs to bring in some revenue to Cali, he might want to think about helping us bring down Prop 8. We need the marriage license fees.

That Spat

In relationships, the first fight is rather a pivotal moment. For the first time, the rosy glow of infatuation does not dim the ire. Guards are let down. Shit hits the fan. Most of these "exchanges" are quickly erased from memory. Some, however, are just too good to forget. Therefore, I would like to share with you The Toothbrush Incident:



[Production Note: The Grayscale People are a little buggie. Some of the camera angles and movements were not what I "directed", but I think they add to the narrative. And, in real life, he's not Australian. The accent was just better. Isn't it always?]

[Another Note: The framing blows a little on the embed. You can watch it better here.]

That spat happened seven years ago. He is only alive today and walking without a limp because he used the manual and not use the Braun Oral-B. We still laugh about it...or needle each other with it. It's a running gag. How can it not be? He did spend that night on the sofa, which was his last night here. The next morning he returned home. Not the way either one of us wanted to end the visit. But, a line was crossed and there were consequences for that.

The second spat was even better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it. The subject matter is one of utter hilarity; the conflict itself was rather painful. We spent the night in separate sections of the city after that one. Such is the price of passionate personalities. The goal is to avoid a third. I think we can. Though, I wouldn't be surprised if betting pools were forming. If there ends up being a tiff, though, it's sure to be animated.

Getting Over Him

We have a new man in our lives. It is such a good feeling. (I don't know about you, but I woke up on Wednesday morning feeling like I had the best sex ever.) We have let out a collective sigh of relief and feel excited. Renewed. Optimistic. Just like when we step into a wonderful, new relationship.

Unfortunately, we still have to get over the dork that came before.

Because there is no time for a rebound fling, I thought we would take a few of the steps from my book -- A Sassy Little Guide to Getting Over Him -- and apply them to the lame duck we have to deal with for the next few weeks. Here are the steps I think are the most appropriate:

Get Out of His Head
Do we really want to go in there in the first place? No. There's no point in trying to figure out what he was thinking...because I don't think he was. That's okay. Trying to figure out why, how or if he was thinking isn't worth the effort. What's done is done. We are moving on.

Don't Look for Answers Because There are No Answers
Answers, in this case, are kind of like those WMDs. They just aren't there. And what kind of answers would make sense to us? Sure, we want to know the whys and the hows, subject this recent history to a serious postmortem. But, leave that to the CSI team who will write the history books. We have better things to do than wallow in the past. We are moving on.

Don't Pick the Scab
We've had a rocky eight years. They left a mark. The wound is still tender. But, we need to let it get better. Put a salve on it and leave it alone. It's a long way to January. We don't want a scar. Don't pick the scab, people. The last thing we need is any sort of infection. We've got enough to deal with. Besides, we are moving on!

And, finally...

Know Your Worth
Sure, our economy might be in the crapper, but we are worth a new start. We don't have to repeat what's come before; we can decide who we want to be now and as we move forward. We can't untangle the past, but we can use it to help shape the future from what we have learned. We are worth living up to our potential. We are worth achieving our dreams. We are worth leaving the nightmare behind. We are worth coming together.

It's time to let go. We need to take the lesson from this trying, all-take, no-give relationship, learn it well, and leave the rest behind. Because the change we have hoped for is here. America, we finally landed a nice, respectable, decent guy (and, he's pretty good-looking, too). I have a feeling he was worth the wait.