It's Not Right

I’m going to apologize for blogging about the same frustrating topic for two weeks straight. Straight. Ha. I can’t get this off my mind. I had the misfortune of watching Sherri Shepherd—perhaps one of the most ignorant, unintelligent, unrefined human beings on the airwaves, fawn over Mike Huckabee, Governor of Arkansas (where gays were recently denied the right to adopt children), this morning. It literally reduced me to tears. To be subjected to this kind of hate-speech, to allow these bigots to have the conversation of what rights gays are entitled to as if we are some irrelevant, immoral sect of society, was beyond upsetting. So here we go again:

I remember, in 2003, when I realized I was gay, I found myself deeply distraught. The way I saw it, I could either be in love, or I could have a family. I either had to eat tofu, hang out in basement bars, and detest mainstream culture, or marry a man, bare children out of a loveless relationship, and have a regular job & life. This was devastating. I realize now that I was still partially in my Catholic coma, and I didn’t believe I deserved to be married, have a family, a career, and a life above ground because of this horrible curse I had incurred. I thought that because this disease had infected my heart, because I couldn’t fight the feelings that overwhelmed me in every way, I deserved to be depressed, fat, poor, and marginalized.

My only hope of having a good life was to become a comedian (which, up until that point, was the only example of open homosexuality that was well-received)—Finding Nemo had just come out, so Ellen was cool again; Margaret Cho had always been a hero of mine; and I started to see more of Judy Gold. CLEARLY, this was the only way to be an acceptable part of American society. The only other obvious place lesbians existed was in Middle School P.E. Class or The Post Office—and I had never enjoyed being in either of these locations. Lucky for me, I always loved comedy. When I realized I was a lesbian, it became obvious that this was the only career option I had, and thus, I began my journey towards this life. But in exchange, I gave up my dream of being a mom, of having the wonderful home, and making my folks proud grandparents, adding to the chaos of our big family holidays with my very own brood. This thought always broke my heart; but I knew I couldn’t ever love a man that way, and this was the price I would have to pay.

Over the course of the next few years, I had a few really rough spells. The dream that lived in my heart all my life had been destroyed by a few wrong ideas in my head. And, as the gay presence in American culture blossomed, so did my realization that there were many different kinds of gays, successful ones, beautiful ones, nice ones, funny ones—many with families. I saw Annie Leibovitz’s photograph of Melissa Etheridge and her kids. I saw Rosie’s documentary on her R-Family Cruise. I began to realize what was possible. It should be noted that I started looking for these things and that I let them open my mind—this was invaluable. I stopped beating myself up for something I thought was wrong. I’ll say it again this week because it bares repeating: Love is not wrong.

I readjusted. New dream: Wife, kids, career, comedy, love, love, love, love. I want it all.

But now, it seems as though the tides are turning against us again. We used to be the coolest kids at school. Everyone wanted to come to OUR house before the dance. Whether it was to do their hair, fix their clothes, tell them about the hot new diet they’d need to fit into their dress, or make them laugh—they couldn’t get enough of us. (People were quoting Tim Gun, saying things like “Smart Trench.” Will & Grace was in syndication, running four times a day. Ellen hosted the Oscars!) All the while, the gays were doing this without the right to have their own dance. We attended theirs as caterers, designers, florists, DJ's...sometimes we even hosted the after-parties; but we were not really allowed to go—well, not as ourselves.

For some strange reason, they have no problem with us coming to their dance incognito. If I want to show up with a guy, I’m welcome. It doesn’t matter that he and I don’t like dancing together. As long as it doesn’t upset their idea of what a couple should be, we’re allowed to come, drink the punch, and do the funky chicken just like all the other kids. Even if I go to the dance with a boy with tattoos on his face, who hates me, hits me, calls my mother names, drives there drunk, rapes my Nana, burns my house down, kicks my puppy, or drowns a whole litter of kittens—I’m invited. The football coach will pat us on the back as we walk through the doors. The teachers will smile at us, and wish us well. They may tell me to be careful, but they'll still allow us to enter the dance. But, if I show up at the Field House with Rachel Maddow, Rhodes Scholar, AIDS researcher, MSNBC Golden Girl--an intelligent, polite, refined, lovely woman—we won’t be admitted entrance. Nope, that’s completely unacceptable. We wouldn’t want the underclassmen getting the wrong idea. If they see us at the dance together, they may light their heads on fire and start punching themselves in the face...or worse: when they grow up, they'll treat everyone with equal respect and won't discriminate against students that are different from them.

All we’re asking for is permission to show up to the same gymnasium as these people, dance to the same songs, and have the same opportunity to be with the ones we love. We’re not asking them to change the format of the dance, we don’t need them to redefine the word “dance,” and we certainly don’t need any help throwing the event. There’s plenty of room in this gym; we’ll pay for our own tickets; and we’ll still help make it grand. We’re not going to change anything about the dance, we just want to come. Why would anyone have a problem with that?

Some people have suggested some variation of the following as a viable solution: New Jersey, Vermont, and New Hampshire are inviting us to the dance, but we have to sneak in the side-door and pretend that we're not actually there for the same reasons that the straight boys and girls are. Maine, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington and Washington D.C are offering us a similar party, but we aren’t allowed to come as couples, we have to come as “peers,” and the Principal has made a bunch of different rules about what we can and can’t do here. Oh, and while we may be permitted to move our bodies rhythmically to the music, we certainly aren’t allowed to “dance.”

I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY! I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY! YEAH I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY! WITH SOMEBODY WHO LOVES ME!!!!!

Bobby Brown and Whitney Houston are allowed to get married and raise children, but it’s illegal for people like me and Rachel Maddow because that would be disrespectful to the institution of marriage... “It’s not right, but it’s okay. We're gonna make it anyway.”


**Massachusetts and Connecticut, thank you for inviting us, you are gracious and wonderful hosts.