in which we are Discriminated against

Well now, it has been a while since I've written.  We are married, in the state of New York, anyway.  Today, we went to the Social Security Administration to officially change our names and become the Mrs. Hs.  I will spare you the gory details (although I am not sparing the Social Security Administration complaint box or the poor soul who reads the email directed to our beloved President), but suffice it to say that I have not been treated with such indignity in a long while.

a good start

I suppose I would be remiss in my duties as a gay-engaged blogger if I didn't write something about Obama's historic announcement this week in support of marriage equality.  But honestly, I have trouble viewing the statement as any real progress.

I'm glad he finally made this announcement, and I suppose it is "historic" as he's the first President to openly support same-sex marriage.

And yet, as one of my friends pointed out, it gets us no closer to slashing the number of federal rights that Kathy and I are denied, even though we can get married in our home state of New York.  And it does nothing for friends in school without health insurance because their working spouse isn't permitted to cover them.  It does nothing for friends scraping by financially because they've had to devote their resources to paying legal fees to have documents drafted so that their "registered domestic partnership" isn't rendered null and void when they cross state lines.  An endorsement without an action plan feels a little hollow. 

the name

This is always a controversial topic, and so for a while I have avoided writing about it.  But as my wedding draws closer (less than 6 months!) it occupies increasing brain-space.  This is a topic that everyone has their own opinion about, and I think we can all agree that each woman's (person's?) decision is made for deeply personal reasons.  But.  That does not stop us from judging each other about it. 

I am talking, of course, about changing your name when you get married.

The first time I got married, I did not change my name.  At the time I thought it was because I had a firm sense of my identity, and that included my last name.  Now, I am thinking maybe it was, a bit, that I did not have a firm sense of my identity, and that hanging onto my name gave me some much-needed stability.  Or, maybe my decision not to change my name reflected some deep ambivalence about marriage, or that particular marriage, that I was not prepared to acknowledge explicitly at the time.  I don't know what the "real" reason is, I only know that changing my name was not even really an option for me.

our gay apparel

This morning, I was driving home from dropping A off at school, and I heard on the radio that a schoolteacher in Michigan tried to change the words to "Deck the Halls."  She had her confused elementary-aged kids singing "Don we now our bright apparel."  Oh, Michigan.  You do a sister proud.  What was she afraid of?  Did she think her second graders were going to rush out and put on gold Speedos and hiking boots, because "Teacher said we should don gay apparel"?

(Gay Apparel.  As an aside, I had a roommate after college who would sometimes mow the lawn

in his gold speedo.  Our next door neighbors, Butch and Dan, asked if I could take over

the lawnmowing duties full time, because my hiking boots weren't as "distracting"

as his gold speedo when they were sitting on their front porch smoking cigarettes mid-afternoon. 

Personally, I think I looked dead sexy in those boots and my blue shorts.)

pride, part II

This past week was the anniversary of the Stonewall Rebellion in NYC's Greenwich Village -- also known, more widely, as Pride.  I read Georgie's thoughtful post (over at Three Rivers Anthology) about why Pride doesn't particularly resonate with her, and it got me thinking about why it does, for me.

Georgie says:

Another, albeit minor issue is, I am not proud to be gay.  I don't know for sure, but I don't think straight folks are proud to be straight either.  I have never understood it.  It feels like being proud because I have blue eyes.  I am not any one thing and my sexuality is just a part of who I am.   Plus I didn't really have much to do with it.  I've been this way for as long as I can  remember. I can't really take credit for anything.

Maybe I've been studying for the GRE too much, and it's got me thinking in terms of antonyms.  But the thing is, I am proud to be gay -- sort of.  Mostly what I am is not ashamed.  Which, if shame and pride are opposites, I suppose makes me proud.  It's also, I think, why straight people aren't proud to be straight -- no one is telling them they should be ashamed. 

pride, part I

Tonight, right now, I am curled up with Kathy, watching Rachel Maddow's coverage of the New York state senate's vote on whether to extend the right to marry to same sex couples.  This would be the first time that a Republican-controlled branch of the legislature passed a gay-marriage measure.  It seems entirely appropriate to me that this vote is happening on the cusp of the anniversary of the Stonewall rebellion in New York City.

If gay marriage passes in the next few minutes, New York will truly have a reason to be proud.

patience

Last night, the New York assembly approved our state's same-sex marriage bill.  I've been following the developments with a feeling that I can only characterize as guarded optimism.  Oh, how I would love to be able to marry Kathy in our own state, rather than having to schlep off across state lines like a second-class citizen.  The ironic thing is that we may ultimately decide to get married in Connecticut or Massachusetts anyway, for other reasons.  But there is a big difference between getting married somewhere because you choose to, and getting married there because they're the only ones who will have you, don't you think?

(obligatory pic of lesbian wedding cake topper)

As if in tune with the fact that our brains have been buzzing with thoughts about marriage lately, at breakfast this morning, C said to Kathy, out of nowhere, "Come ON!  When are you going to marry her?"  Kathy laughed, and said, "Who?" although obviously, she knew exactly who he meant -- but we are trying to train the kids not to talk about someone as if they are not there, when they are actually standing right in front of you.  Anyway, he said, "ERIN!" as if Kathy were the dumbest person on the planet.

housewifery for boys

Yesterday, I was super housewifey.  Kathy needed to run an errand on the Upper West Side on her way to work, which I recalled at the last minute was not actually on the way to work anymore, now that she has to take the train instead of driving.  So I drove her in, waited while she did her errand, and then drove her to work.  I got home, and straightened up the whole, entire house (which mostly involved picking up the most random assortment of toys and stuff I would consider garbage but have been told is not, and putting it on the bed of the appropriate child, for him or her to take care of after school).  I then drove to the grocery store, realized I forgot my purse, drove home, drove back to the grocery store, and bought food for a family of five for an entire week for just over $100 (that is cheap, for those of you who do not regularly shop for five people).  After that, I drank wine and made this fancy Food Network dinner (resisting the urge to cut down on the heavy cream and butter).  While wearing an apron.  With chickens on it.

left-handed lover

A couple of days ago, the NYT published this article about being left-handed.  Apparently, being left-handed has lost its stigma, but retained its mystery.  Have I mentioned that I am left-handed?  Probably not.  It's an interesting bit of trivia, but not altogether that important.  Being left-handed just is.  My mother is left-handed, as is my maternal grandmother.  We all do varying degrees of things with our right hands.  I think my mom is the most strongly left-handed.  My grandmother and I both cut with our right hand when using scissors, but my mother does not.  Which means that, growing up, our house was full of left-handed scissors, which no one else could use.  I think scissors are largely ambidextrous now, but I digress.  My point is that you don't think I'm not left-handed because I cut with right-handed scissors.

girls just wanna have fun

(one of the top 5 movies of all time)

A friend of mine from work is having a dinner party this weekend.  It's a "no boys allowed" dinner party.  Which, for most people, means they can't bring their significant other. 

Part of the reason that girls want the girls night is just that the dynamic of the group is different when it's just one sex.  The conversation can be very different.  But, on the other hand, part of the reason that girls have the girls' night out is that the dynamic of the group is different when no one's other half is there.  It's hard for me to complain about my relationship when she's sitting right next to me.

So, when it comes to the girls' night out, we are always stuck in the middle.  On the one hand, we are, in fact, both girls.  But on the other hand, we are, in fact, in a relationship.  So whenever girls' night out comes up (or girls' night in, in the case of a dinner party) we always have to sit down and try to figure out which kind of girls' night out it actually is.  This involves a complicated, multi-factor test.

ghosts

This weekend, my computer crashed.  Because of how I downloaded a virus onto it trying to watch a Scottish lesbian BBC series.  Yeah, I know.  So embarrassing.  Of course it crashed exactly when I was sitting down to work, so I used the desktop while distractedly clicking at my laptop trying to get it to work.  I'm not horrible with computers, but I'm not great, either.  It got itself all into a tangle and now Windows won't start.  Sigh.  This is why people use Macs, I suppose.  Or at least don't use Internet Explorer.  Anyway, this crashing was the genesis of a larger feeling of uneasiness when I realized that there was something completely irreplaceable and of indeterminate value on the hard drive.  My wedding pictures.

Yes, I was married before.  It's something no one knows how to talk about with me.  Whenever I mention my ex-wife, people try to change the subject or talk about her like she was my best friend who moved away or something.  The thing is, no one knows what to do with someone who is 29 years old and divorced.  But if you think that's bad, try being 29 years old and GAY divorced.  If same-sex marriage is a taboo topic, try same-sex divorce.  So far I have met one person in my entire life who can talk about same-sex divorce comfortably.  And she's a divorce attorney.

Photo Credit.