We interrupt this broadcast...

Of course San Francisco’s answer to the record breaking heat wave was to strike back with record breaking lows. On a three day weekend. Great timing weather gods! But perhaps it was only fitting as a prologue to this morning’s disturbing events with regards to a little asshole named Prop 8.

To be honest, I cannot simply recount my charming lesbian adventures today—my chatty and catty episodes as the three queer musketeers with Ruth and Cecilia, my close encounters with the same kind, my ridiculous femme fashion extravagances, or my almost bar-sexual sororstitute-like beer goggled faux pas—all of which I stand by. However all of these must take a backseat on my pink vespa. For the moment.

The truth is, I am not totally political or even slightly PC (if you hadn’t already guessed). I never wanted to, nor thought I would need to, put these things on the back burner to talk civil rights. I took these civil rights (the few I had) 100% for granted in my big gay San Francisco bubble. And so, I sit here now, on my sparkly soapbox, with my bubble busted into a big sudsy rainbow mess. Truth be told, it is not about a wedding. And actually, I think I may speak on behalf of many a homo when I say I am not even sure I would want to get married were it not for Monique Lhuillier, Vera Wang, and Luke and Laura (General Hospital helllooo). But it is not about the wedding. It is not about Tiffany and Cartier (but thanks Marilyn), and it is not about flower arrangements, cake, champagne, and an organ playing what seriously resembles both “Happy Birthday” and a funeral march. It is about none of these things.

This is about one human being loving another human being. This is about those two human beings making a life long commitment to this love. This is about having the commitment recognized legally and humanely by the state. This is about dignity and respect and freedom and the basic pursuit of happiness.

And that is about as eloquent as I can get on the topic, because as Harvey Milk put it simply (and eloquently) “I’m angry!”

I am angry that I had to interrupt this mindless and (I admit!) selfish twitterpation to remind folks about being humane.
I am angry I can’t get a Monique Lhuillier gown and go to City Hall. I am angry that my wedding would have to be somehow less “real” than Britney’s 48 hours in Vegas.
I am angry that justice is perverted.
I am angry that homophobic pricks win. Again.
I am angry.

Always,

Louise