Tuesday, May 26, 2009

I've Already Banned Straight Marriage . . .

This Prop 8 bullshit is just total bullshit. It's craptastic. I love all my gays and though I wouldn't want to be the one footing the bill for the bachelor/bachelorette parties that would ensue, I want to attend my cousin's, best friends and all other gays' weddings.

Here's a dirty little secret for you—I cry at straight people's weddings because wedding ceremonies depress the fuck out of me. I'm jealous—green with envy, the most deplorable sin. I watch my girlfriends being given away and I internally sob thinking about how my dad will never get to enjoy that moment. And the part where the bride dances with her dad, forget about it. I'm a wreck by then. Natch, I am happy that my friends have found their mates.

It gets a little worse at each wedding, especially as I age. Because as a perpetual singleton who's over the age of 30 with just a little breast cancer baggage, I don't think that I'll ever get married. And I desperately want to find a soul mate and marry. Yes, desperately, I admit it. Shut the fuck up. Not desperate for kids—ick—but the dress, the Amalfi coast destination and the diamond, yes, gimme. Oh, and the man. I'm so sick regarding the marriage thing that I'm already mentally preparing myself for my younger brother's nuptials should he ever to marry—I'll need Thorazine in the event of that ceremony.

On the other hand, were I to have the privilege to attend a gay wedding, I would shed tears of joy. Legitimate, happy tears like the ones I let eek out on election night when it was announced that Florida had gone blue. (Still, woo-hooing over that one.) But I don't have many happy tears. I don't cry 'happy tears' when I get good news from the doctor or whatever. I'm a depressive. Thus the non-happy tears.

I long for the day when I can see my gays under the Chuppah (sp), breaking the wine glass, or whatever floats their boats. And for shame on California. There's a big catch 22 for you Hollywood gays though, if you ask me, which nobody did but I continue to proffer my wisdom. If more stars would come out of the closet—ahem, Tom-fucking-crazy-ass-Cruise—it would help. (If Tom finally confessed to his alleged-but-99.99999-percent-confirmed queer status, I might actually have to like him a little more.) Then again, ignorant, retarded Americans wouldn't see as many movies if they found out their leading stars were gay. Frankly—and I know I do know how this issue is personally—I think it's just plain wrong to be in the closet when you have the power of money or fame. Look how much Ellen Degeneres, one woman, changed things?!? Middle America loves her, thank fucking God. Can't more Hollywood people grow some balls? I mean, really.

Shit, I'm just a lil' old straight-verging-on-spinster Jewess bemoaning this decision and somehow now I'm crying again thinking about how I'll never get married. So, my lovely gays, I'm one 'breeder' that will stand firm with you in the state of unmarriage. Shameful, California courts, shameful. I will, however, deign to buy myself a big, honking diamond ring though when I feel sufficiently old enough. And gays, I encourage you to wear a little bling too in defiance of this bullshit. (I mean, have you seen Portia's ring? Hello.)

Can you imagine how funny it would be if, say, a lesbian in, oh, I don't know, perhaps Jacksonville, Florida, were wearing a honking diamond wedding ring. And, what if a rather conservative/bigoted/ignorant Cindy McCain type noticed said five+carat ring.

"Oh, what a nice ring! What does your husband do?"

"Oh, my wife? [Insert witty, comically scathing response.]"

Now I'm off to the gym in my Obama shirt—pure coincidence—but I'd wear this shirt with even more pride if he were to place an openly gay person high up in his administration.

As a P.S., I had an interesting gay-Southern ignorance episode in Jacksonville this weekend that resulted in Wally walking out of the vet wearing a rainbow pride bandana. I'm totally psychic.