Why we do too, part two

Anyway, back to the quote/unquote lifestyle point. It isn't really accurate for me to say I chose to be with Kelley because heterosexual rituals scared me off. I chose to be with her because I love her, and, well, women turn me on. Me-ow.

Gavin Newsom went and mucked up my handy anti-wedding excuse when he married off all the gay couples in San Francisco last year. It was such an exciting historical moment, Kelley and I considered flying out to get in on the opportunity before it was yanked away by a conservative activist judge. I don't remember if it was circumstance or logic that kept us from jumping into a lifelong commitment for the Associated Press photo op.

It looked for a time like the Cook County clerk was going to allow Chicago couples to receive marriage licenses. He erred on the safe side and started a domestic partner registry instead. This appeared to be a steady step for Kelley and me as a couple. We were ready to come out to the county, as it were, and have them recognize us as a couple. (We were also ready, and are still waiting, for our workplaces, insurance companies, etc., to recognize us as well.)

The registration was something we did privately that marked progress and strength in our relationship, but did not pose the same quandries for me as a marriage or wedding. It was a step toward the aisle, but not down it.

I posted the column I wrote about the registration in my links under "Flashback to 2003." We were the 60th couple to register. Afterwards, we were so broke, we went dutch for a celebratory drink. How's that for an egalitarian, lesbo arrangement?

Femme-butch cake topper

Why we do too

As is often the case, I got ahead of myself. I need to explain why "we do too."

Marriage has never tempted me. It's always presented itself to me as a failed, heterosexual institution. A lot of talk about love, connection and loyalty, but not much action. It also seemed anti-erotic, since, for most of my sexual life, I got pleasure from chance encounters with strangers or, often, spontaneous nights with friends.

Then there is the public act of marriage -- standing up in front of your world and making a pledge to another person. Would it all be a sham if the marriage ends? Would I still want to get married if, when it ended, I had to gather my world back together and announce why things fell apart? The list of nouns I use to define myself -- woman, writer, lover, friend -- would be tainted by the addition of "divorcee." I don't want failure to be a part of my repetoire. (I get enough of that as a writer as it is.)

Perhaps those are the reasons I was, or am, more comfortable living the lesbian "lifestyle." I can love deeply and be a part of a unit or union, but there is no outside pressure (from myself or anyone else) to do something, have a wedding, to make it official. I've always wondered at men and women who can live together outside of those confines; they seem at once stronger for resisting and damaged for the resistance.

Kelley and I have talked often about her wish to announce our union to the world and my indifference. And it was simple enough when marriage was off limits to lesbians. I could fall back on the excuse that it wouldn't be real or official or legal, and thus had no meaning.

(my battery is dying. will post later.)

Come sail away

Kelley suggested we exchange vows during a two-hour, sunset sail on a schooner with our closest friends. This is the boat she likes. http://www.sailcapecod.com/ My qualms -- sea sickness and boredom. Professing our love surely won't take that long.

Dirty laundry

On a recent Wednesday afternoon, I met Kelley for lunch downtown. After, I wandered over to Marshall Fields for a little spring browsing. I decided to check out the prom dress department, since I've forever lamented the fact that I settled for less than perfect dresses both my junior and senior years.

(I actually wore an awesome 1970s-era, long-sleeved, polyester wedding gown my senior year because I thought it made me look like Princess Lea. I had to toss it last year after a stray cat, named Sallie Mae, after my student loan company, nested in it on my screened-in back porch.)

Unexpectedly, hung high on a wall between prom headquarters and the bridal salon, I discovered my dream wedding gown. This from a woman who cannot picture her dream wedding.

I'd describe the dress, but I haven't learned any wedding dress lingo yet. Suffice to say, it is long, plain and silk with a low back. Fit for the Oscars, but maybe not for a church, which probably isn't in the cards for our galpal production anyway.

However, I did learn my first lesson of wedding dress etiquette this morning when I dropped the dress at the dry cleaners, hoping to remove the shoe marks of strangers from my train. Since the wedding, which Kelley and I haven't really talked about yet, is at least a year off, I asked how to best store it. Answer: in dark, cloth garment bag or beneath a dark bed sheet cover. Easy enough.

Out of order

Once upon a time, there were two girls who had an undeniable attraction to one another. They unceremoniously hooked up, moved in together, and, after moving across the country, exchanged rings as birthday and Christmas gifts. Years later, the two took an afternoon off work and rode the escalator down to the Cook County clerk's office. There, on the first day it was possible, they registered as domestic partners. All of this was done without much fuss. That is about to change.