I just spent a good ten minutes looking at someone-I-don’t-know’s wedding pictures on Facebook. My brother was in some of them, so that’s how I could see them. I was fascinated because the photography was so good. He made each shot look like a movie set by that director who did that Steve Zizou movie. And everyone looked hip. And he made the cheesy place where they had the wedding look very chic. Which made me think how sad I am that I couldn’t fly this guy out from California to shoot my wedding. And how even sadder I am that my friend, Joannie, who I had always assumed would take the pictures at my wedding, has passed away.
All of that mindless wondering lead me to this thought: why am I planning my wedding? I probably won’t get to have one.
My honey only wants to get married if we can do it legally in New York. Because why get married in every state, and possibly have our rights taken away anyway like our friends in California? My state has gone loco en la cabeza, with a coup and whatnot. The Empire State Pride Agenda — or at least Tom Duane — appears to be sleeping with the enemy. And what is my real goal here? I want rights like any married straight couple. But those rights wouldn’t be equal even if I could get legally married in New York because it wouldn’t count everywhere. Because of DOMA, it wouldn’t count on our federal taxes. Because of DOMA, we still couldn’t receive each others’ social security benefits. If we visit A’s mother in South Carolina, we’d be suddenly unmarried. It almost seems like getting married would make me more, rather than less frustrated. Speaking of taxes, there is actually a hefty benefit to being an unwed mother. There are two of us here in this house.
So why do I want to get married? I really want nice towels and a big party in which I get to feed my closest friends good food. I want to buy a really nice dress and tell everyone how much I love my honey. I want a honeymoon. Yes, I want rights. But not a bone tossed from the table of civil marriage. I want the whole beast. If I can’t have it, I can have all that comes after (with additional lawyer fees, which by-the-way, because of DOMA I’d still have to pay) kids, a house, a happy life together, babies on beaches with fists full of sand, dinners at the table together, bills, cupcakes, covering our ears for the fireworks. That I can have. I do have.
Until DOMA is overturned, I don’t know why I’m bothering to fight or fret. Until DOMA is overturned, it is all pretend… pretend-ish. I don’t want to void or belittle anyone’s vows. I’m just saying. I don’t buy the bull. But I do want the towels.