Oh, by the way.

When I wrote my post on gay marriage, my personal feelings were so far beside the point I didn’t bother bringing them up, because, really, I can just go fuck myself with my feelings, and so can everyone else for that matter. No one needs MY permission to consider themselves married, our yours, or the pope’s, or the govenment’s or anyone else’s.

But since I was asked: if you are an adult and would like me to view you as married to another adult (and they feel the same way about you, of course!) I will. In MY eyes, you don’t need a license from the government, or to have had a ceremony in a church, or at all, or be any specific religion or religions or a certain race or color or gender. If you tell me you’re married, you are.

And do I wish that the government would allow gays to marry? Yeah, because in this (shitty) system we live in, it will make your life so much easier. Being legally married means that you can adopt a baby, or have one “the old fashioned way” and be able to keep the child that you raised but that isn’t biologically yours if your spouse dies. It means the government steals less money from you taxes you less. It means that, god forbid, you won’t have to spend the last five minutes of your spouses life pleading at the doorway of an emergency room to see them before they slip away forever after a sudden car crash. I get why this license that I have is so sought after. There’s good in the bad. It’s a lot of pitiful offerings from a horrible system, but it’s what we have.

Well, wait. It’s not what YOU have. You’re gay, and so was your husband, so you’re the one fighting the court system from ripping your family apart because it was his sperm that made your daughter. That sucks. It sucks so hard, and it’s criminal. I get it. And I’m so, so sorry. But, like the black folks have said for years: we shall overcome. Not everything. And not always, of course; even the black folks are still hated sometimes (a lot). But eventually we’ll get somewhere. We shall overcome.

PS -
Ditto Keith Olbermann

My house is officially de-peopled after being packed with great friends.

At some point Rob had joked about holding a Podcamp in our apartment, and I said, “Oh right. Try the third of Never!” But then all of the cool people I met in Montreal were chatting one night, saying how we miss being around other people who understand checking your email forty times a day, taking 500 photos in an evening and carrying around a Flip cam just about everywhere. And someone else said, “We should meet up in New York.” and then someone else said, “I totally just bought my plane ticket.” Then I said, “You all should stay here… we have the room.” and Rob said, “Oh my god. My wife has been sucked in.” And so they all came and we did… stuff that was fun.

If you’ll need me I’ll be recovering all week.

Today I hung out with three of the funnest people in the world. I am happy.

I have a house full of people who came from all over to visit with us here in New York, including two who attended the protest against Prop. 8 in lower Manhattan today. Of course it sparked loads of conversation, and I guess now is as good a time as any to talk about my feelings on gay marriage.

This is what I believe with every fiber of my being: I disagree with the idea of government being a part of marriage. The ONLY reason I am legally married is because it was important to Rob and our families. Since the beginning of human civilization, marriage has always been in the eye of the community, not the government. If the community did not recognize you as married, you were not. If they did, you were. The government stepped in relatively recently, and began issuing licenses for marriage as a way to keep tabs on people and control them. You know how I feel about that. (Thumbs down!) Remember, “license” is another word for “permission”. If the government didn’t approve of two people getting married, they would not give permission.

At some point, a government issued license became the hallmark of “marriage”, NOT the social recognition it always had been throughout human history. What this did was allow certain people who would have NEVER gotten society’s permission to be married to wed, most notably inter-racial couples. (Interesting to note, a mere 42 years ago, MY inter-racial marriage would not have been recognized by the government as valid.) That sounds fantastic, but it also changed the definition of marriage to be “a state of monogamy recognized by the government” instead of a covenant between two people in the eyes of God/god/whatever religion and community.

The problem now is that when people who wish to be married cannot by legal terms, society will not allow them to be married, either. Two people cannot just say, “We are married.” and have their community say, “Yes, they are.” which is how it SHOULD be, and IS in a truly free society. Now, they have to prove that the government has given them permission to be married before society will recognize them as married. It’s backwards and reversed. It’s not changing anything in people’s hearts, either.

If the government eventually allows two people of the same gender to marry, there will still be people who say, “I don’t care. I will NEVER recognize those creeps as married!” Conversely, if they never do, there will always be people who will accept, without the least bit of hesitation, two women saying, “We are married.”

I would like to see us taking marriage, in all its forms, away from the government, and putting it back in the eyes of society where it belongs.

People are coming in from all over to NYC, and are staying for the weekend. So exciting! I love company. The fridge is stocked, the liquor cabinet is packed, and there are snacks like I’ve never had before. I still need to vaccumm before people arrive, and maybe wash dishes, but everything else is all set!

King of the Rodeo by Kings of Leon is one of my favorite songs, ever (actually, I’ve probably mentioned this before.): Embedding is disabled, so follow the link.

la-link! (it doesn’t get going until 40 seconds in.)

We trekked to Connecticut today to get some stuff out of the old house before the new tenants move in on December 1, and while we were there, we also went grocery shopping. Because everything is so much cheaper in Connecticut, we kept holding things up in the air and going, “Look at the price of THIS! It’s practically free!” We were gleeful filling our cart with bargains, and packed the car to bursting. We also stocked up on liquor for the weekend, because we have a ton of friends flying in from out of town to stay with us, and we don’t throw lousy parties. It’s all so much cheaper! If you need to move to New York City, make sure you have some cause to drive up to Connecticut a few times a month; you’ll save tons on groceries.

Today I went to IKEA again, attempt number 5!, with the magically reappearing print-out from the day I bought the frustratingly nonreturnable furniture, hoping that would help things go smoothly.

Internet, do you know what this bitch told me? She told me that because it had been longer than 90 days since I bought it (on August 20), I would have to speak to the manager that I was told would be there today, but wasn’t, of course.

Ok, it took over 2 weeks for the delivery company and IKEA to get their act together for me to be even eligible for a refund, so that shouldn’t count, right?! Anyway, she walked away to do some paperwork for my case and I started to do the math… it HASN’T been 90 days! When I pointed this out, she merely repeated over and over again that I would have to speak to a manager, and she couldn’t help me. I was explaining the days, I was counted aloud for Pete sake!, and while I was ticking “August 20 to September 20, September 20 to October 20…”, I was watching her mentally go through her employee training, to the part that says, “When a customer is irate, tell them you understand their frustration and that they need to speak to a manager. Continue using this line until the customer backs down.”

“I understand your frustration,” she started, and I rolled my eyes. “The guys upstairs say you need to talk to a manager.”

“Apparently they don’t have calendars upstairs.” I snipped as I bustled away, and Rob was proud of me for making a teeny-tiny jab, something I’m normally too polite to do.

Ikea is my nemesis.

Official. Worst. Day. Ever.

Rob and I spent over an hour at IKEA trying to get a refund for something I bought back in August. This was attempt number four. It’s a lot of paperwork (and a fuck-ton of incompetent sales people trying to help me), and in the end, I left empty handed, again. Grrr.

Then I went to the Apple store tonight because my iPhone had given up the ghost. You’re supposed to make an appointment online in advance, which I did, and then when you get there, you check in. That part I didn’t know (nor, may I huffily point out, was there any sign indicating such need to check in). My name was on the list of people waiting to be helped, so I was like, “Cool! I’m three people away!” and then suddenly it vanished. I squealed and ran to the nearest employee all “ZOMG! My name! It’s gone! I’m still here! iPhone! Broken! Need help!”

He told me in an icy tone [sidenote: no one says "icy tone" anymore, and it really is a great phrase, cliche or not] that the appointment had been canceled by the system because I hadn’t checked in, and I was on “standby”. Add to that the fact that they were short-staffed and the line was going slow anyway, plus the fact that there were a ton of people waiting at that moment, and it was going to be about (I’m guessing) a three hour wait for me.

Oh hell no.

“I want back into the line!” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve been waiting and waiting!” (I had wasted dinero on a taxi, too, so I would make it on time!)

“There’s nothing I can do. You’re on standby.”

“How long is that going to take?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I would hate to give you a time and have it be longer.”

“Can you give me an ‘-ish’?”

“No.”

“Then put me next.”

“I can’t.”

I’m a pretty mellow person; I don’t snap easily, but it had been a long day, and we’re kind of stressed at my house anyway these days, so I don’t have the patience I usually do. I wanted to wrap my hands around his stupid, needle-thin hipster neck and coke him. I took a deep breath. I made my “Don’t fuck with me” face.

“I. Want. To. Be. Next. I watched you tell those HOT GIRLS over there that they needed to check in. I watched [famous television star who waltzed in with his dog] get helped right away. I want to go next!”

He made me next, and my iPhone is better (well, it’s brand new. they replaced it.)

Hot girls and TV stars have nothing on me and my “Don’t fuck with me face”.

I certainly don’t cook like this for myself.

If you need me, I’ll be… oh, nevermind. Just call before you come over.

I don’t think people are supposed to be so attached to one another that being apart for a few days is painful, but I am, and he is, and we miss each other terribly.

I stayed home because of the money, because he would be busy anyway, and because Matty has a horrible ear infection that needs daily attention, and I don’t trust anyone else to do it properly or without causing him panic and pain. But I wish I was there, and not just because he’s in a city I want to see, either, but because every single person that he meets this weekend, that he has a beer with and that gets to hear him give a presentation has no idea… NONE… of how lucky they are at that moment to be in the company of the most wonderful person in the world.

I’m bummed out.