The Reluctant Daddy

Now that the California judicial system has graciously decided to throw us gays a bone by concluding that Proposition 8 was wildly unconstitutional, I would like to turn our collective attention to a matter whose graveness cannot be understated. Perhaps you think I refer to the firestorm of protests by those right wing nutbags who believe that God will strike us all dead if we permit gay marriage to continue in the holy state of California. You may even think I refer to the costly legal process we fagelas must undertake to preserve this victory in the United States Court of Appeals for the 9th circuit or our eventual battle before the Supreme Court, headed by Alfred E. Newman lookalike, John G. Roberts. While appealing to the court of public opinion and surmounting legal challenges loom large for marriage equality, these things seem trivial to me when faced with the ultimate matrimonial predicament we marriage-minded gays must face; Bridal Registry.

Two years ago when the man I live with (We’ll call him Zac Efron to protect his identity) decided it would be ‘crazy-fun’ to get married, Zac convinced me that our well-healed friends should not buy us gifts, but rather donate to the ‘NO ON H8′ campaign. As it was fashionable to throw money at charities in those days, I reluctantly agreed. When the day of our nuptials arrived, Zac and I reported to a small park in West Hollywood where a dower-looking lesbian married us in under two minutes. We then zoomed over to our reception where our loopy friends managed to miraculously consume $6000 in cocktails. After I cut their drunk asses off, our kind friends each packed into their politically correct Toyota Prius and made off into the clear, cold California night.

You might suppose that after our boozy reception, Zac and I drove home peacefully, our young son asleep in the backseat, content in the knowledge that we were now ‘officially’ married, and in our own small, selfless way had advanced the gay marriage cause.  You would also be fucking wrong.  Zac and I launched into a cataclysmic argument over a Williams Sonoma espresso machine that I lusted after and was now denied due to our ‘philanthropy.’

I share this cautionary Bridal Registry tale with all of you straights, gays and gayelles from a ghastly Starbucks in Hollywood, for if there’s one thing I’ve learned from this whole gay marriage ‘thing,’ is that civil rights, like my Williams Sonoma espresso machine do not come easily or cheaply.