Ding Dong DOMA’s Dead!

(This is an update of an article that originally ran in PQ MONTHLY DEC 2012)

Well, my imaginary readers, I have to admit sometimes as I sleep late at night Momma has nightmares. In these, I’m wearing a long white dress with a train, and I’m not even in a remake of Carrie.

If I’m dressed up and yet frightened of the prospect, there must be something wrong. The only time I’ve been hesitant to dress up is the one time my former Mystery Mister wanted me to be entered into a Lady GaGa look alike pageant and the only song left was “Alejandro”. I’d rather have gouged my eyes out.

So, a few months ago when I lie down to slumber, I kept waking up to visions of picking out colors, little babies dressed as corporate bankers, and people throwing uncooked rice as a projectile toward my HEAD, I knew something was up. And it was.

My greatest fear had been realized. DOMA was overturned by the Supreme Court.

Now, don’t get Momma wrong. I’m pleased as punch that we are making leaps and bounds in getting our relationships validated. More and more of the general populace is realizing that gay couples are remarkably like straight couples, toothpaste cap argument and all. For example, in the overturning of Proposition 8 of California, the Supreme Court of California said in part: “Moral disapproval alone is an improper basis on which to deny rights to gay men and lesbians … The evidence shows conclusively that Proposition 8 enacts, without reason, a private moral view that same-sex couples are inferior to opposite-sex couples.”

It’s one thing to disapprove of my morals, even I do that. But it’s another thing to think my relationship is inferior to your relationship, when the only difference is my partner keeps her toys in a drawer and I never have to deal with shaving dust in the bathroom, or the seat being up. Anyone who has had to be around me in a full on tantrum yelling “Don’t you even KNOW me! I’m done! DONE!,” should really get some sort of prize. It’s not easy dating a drag queen.

In the meantime, back to my nightmare. When I was a wee dyke of nineteen, head freshly shaved, in my Levis and chain wallet – during what friends and family term my “dark days of butchness” – I thought being gay was my get-out-of-jail-free card. All the butches a girl could want, none of the commitment! It was like a 5.99 all-you-can-eat buffet at my house. Now, times have changed, and this year I have been invited to five baby showers, three weddings and not one dungeon party. It’s as if the gay community is growing up and leaving the ass-less chaps behind.

However, doll, lest you think I have an issue with marriage, I assure you that I’m a fan. I’m newly converted to an idea of commitment that doesn’t involve a little white jacket and a extended stay at a spa made of concrete. I’m all for building a life with my partner and laying a foundation for the future. Although, I am wondering why marriage involves an extended construction metaphor. I just worry about any contract I’ve decided to sign that has no expiration date and a current failure rate of sixty percent. I want to get married, I just don’t want a sub-prime partnership with a high rate of default.

The fact is that the country is moving toward recognizing our partnerships. There are those that don’t support equal marriage rights or being gay. Which I don’t understand; the quickest way to stop gay sex is gay marriage. Maybe they are just afraid that we will do it better than they do, you know, like woodworking or interior decorating.

With the overturning of Prop 8 and the end of DOMA it is feasible that we could see gay marriage enacted nationally within the decade. My only hope is that when that happens, I’m emotionally mature enough to throw my life away.


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