The wedding as an afterthought

We got married. You were not invited. I’m sorry. We were invited, but barely.

Pam and I went on our first date in July of 1999, and it’s taken me at least that last 15 years to sort out enough of my feelings about marriage to actually decide to get married. And I’m still sorting. But there were finally enough reasons, and by that I mean enough benefits, to getting married that we did it.

weddingphoto

Marriage, in the most practical terms, affords certain protections and guarantees. If I sound like a lawyer, that’s intentional, because this is about the law. Our marriage, which took place on the last day in September, was conducted by a judge and approved by a courthouse clerk in Illinois. We didn’t have a wedding. And we barely told anyone about our plans, because I didn’t want people to feel left out. How ironic.

But the irony doesn’t end there. A week later, and four days after we returned home to Colorado, the media megaphone announced that the Supreme Court had refused to entertain any more cases banning gay marriage, because they have made up their mind on this topic: People of the same sex are allowed to get married and entitled to the same benefits, at least as far as they’re concerned. I was driving home from the dentist when Pam called to tell me.

“The AG is issuing marriage licenses in Colorado,” she said. Not one for time-wasters like “Hello” or “How is your day, sweetheart,” it took me a minute figure out who the AG was and what we were talking about.

“Should we have known this would happen?”

My worry is always that we’re not legitimate homosexuals, not because we don’t love each other and enjoy doing unsanctimonious acts to each other, but because we’re not following the gay causes closely enough.

“I don’t think so,” said Pam. “Do you regret getting married last week?”

“Of course not!” And I didn’t regret going to Chicago, either, because we’ve always wanted to eat at a Rick Bayless restaurant and see the Field Museum of Natural History. So, if you’re wondering about a honeymoon, that was it. It wasn’t the Seychelles, but it was lovely.

We might have a wedding. We want to get rings. And like all of our big life events, it’s coming to us slowly and in small parts. I like it this way, most of the time, because in spite of wanting to believe that change comes with iconic images and large bursts of joy, by now I understand that life is made up of small, sometimes almost unnoticeable acts.

It’s taken more than a hundred years for our collective democracy to decide that I could marry the person I love. And it feels like a consolation prize. It promises that I can ask for and should receive all of the monetary and legal benefits that marriage has bestowed on everyone else who has made this choice, but it doesn’t guarantee much else. It doesn’t feel like a gift as much as a necessity.

And now to decide if we will have a wedding. What do you think?

Meat: a man’s job

If you follow us, you know that there aren’t a lot of Y chromosomes running around our house. None, actually. When people hear that, they usually have questions. And in this season of BBQs and patio parties, when America has burgers on the brain, that question is almost always: Who “mans” the grill in a house of no men?

Well, America, I’m speaking out about meat carving in my family over at BLUNTmoms today. Head on over and figure out how we manage to survive the summer sans man.

bigstock-a-woman-on-FIRE-in-front-of-a-19386794-620x330

BLUNTmoms: Who Will Carve the Meat?

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© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

A short family history, in case you have questions

If you are wondering how exactly things got this way, here is a diagram. Or if you are not a big reader. Or if you had questions, but you were too afraid to ask. Or you are just catching up. Or you just “don’t get it.” I’ve tried to simplify it as best as possible. Here is what has happened in the last few years.

gay family

I hate how fat I look in a couple of those shots. And if you have questions, feel free to ask. You won’t be the first. But you might need to buy me a drink. Or at least invite me to a cocktail party, first.

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PS – here we are in non-stick form:

familyphoto

 

© Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

What to wear to a party with your possible twin

Sometimes things really are worse when you’re gay. I know I have spent a lot of time and energy on this blog trying to convince you that we’re just like everyone else, and all of this is just a fun, big, good time. But that’s only if you’re not going a party at a friend’s house, which we did last week. Because after the stress of finding a babysitter, comes the stress of figuring out what to wear.

Pam: What are you going to wear?

Me: I don’t know. Probably a dress

Pam: I was going to wear a dress.

Me: I think it’s OK if we both wear dresses.

Pam: You should wear pants.

Me: You should wear pants. I get hotter than you.

Pam: You are not hotter than me.

Me: Yes, I am. A guy hit on me at the gym just this morning.

Pam: That’s because you look desperate when you’re trying to find the 10-pound barbells.

Me: True. I am desperate. I can’t lift anything heavier.

And so it goes. Because there are really two goals I have when trying to get ready for a party. The first one is successfully combine my two signature looks — uncrushable-office-polyester and grubby-parent — to create something fabulous. And second, to not look like Pam’s overgrown twin. Or like these people. (Click the link to see more couples you can’t tell apart.)

Pam and Sarah

Here we are! Both wearing white shirts. I know. Confusing.

But in case you need some tips on how to tell us apart, here is a short list:

1. I have two tiny rows moles on my left arm that form straight lines of three and three.

2. I have bigger feet.

3. I have my ears pierced three times. Pam has hers pierced four times.

4. I do not have a belly button ring.

5. My hair is black. Pam’s is really dark brown.

Or possibly the best clue of all. Pam looks more Asian than I do. For real, some friends asked Pam if she was half Japanese last night. She not. She’s half Mexican. Same thing.

And here is a video, pretty much, of our life. The Better Half, Episode 1: Going Out.

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 © Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Sarah Ann Gilbert and Seven Little Mexicans with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

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