A Milestone, An Anniversary, And A Ring

So, you may remember me talking about our Anniversary last year?

Well, yesterday marked 6 years for me and Will. Or 42 years in gay years. It sure goes fast.

And, you no doubt know, that as of 5:01 pm yesterday, Marriage equality rang throughout the land of California.

Lesbian couple of 55 years ready to say 'I do'. (Thanks for this, Molly!)

I proposed to Will about 4 years ago. We were in the Forbidden City in Beijing (appropriately named place for a gay proposal, don't you think?...luckily they didn't roll over us with tanks like they fancy occasionally). I had surprised Will with a trip to China for his Birthday, and had a double plan of asking him to marry me while we were there.

(I'm going to show you an extremely humbling photo of myself. So, consider yourself forewarned.)

Well, I waited until most of our trip was over before proposing. (I'm REALLY good at procrastinating...if you didn't know.) Will and I had already been to the Forbidden City, but we wanted to go back and spend more time there. So, I thought that this might be a good moment to pop the question.

We were wondering around the ancient, enchanted place. And I motioned for us to go over where there weren't any tourists or Commie bastards. And I said that I needed to change the film in my camera...or adjust my tampon, or something like that.

So, we went over by a wall, and Will was messing around with his camera and I was fumbling in my pack for a stupid Egyptian ring that I had made for him that when the hieroglyphs were translated said, "We Are Bubbas", 'cause we call each other "Bubba"...

"Bitch", "Bish", "Boo-Boo Kitty", and "Fucker" came later.

We don't really call each other "Fucker"...often.

How extraordinarily lame is it to have a ring made in Egyptian hieroglyphs saying, "We Are Bubbas" on it?

What a dumbass. I'm actually rolling my eyes at myself and puking in my mouth a little.

I can just imagine some Egyptologist or some Archaeologist seeing it on Will's finger in the airport in Cairo and being like, "Umm...Who gave you that piece of shit?"

That would be if he wore it. Which he doesn't. And in hindsight, I can't say that I blame him.

In his defense, he claims that he doesn't wear it because one of the hieroglyphs catches on his clothes and snags them.

Oohhh ssuuurreeeee it does. Well, isn't that convenient?

Maybe it doesn't even SAY, "We Are Bubbas" on it. I mean, the company could've easily lied. How the hell would I know? Maybe it really says, "Suck it, Princess", or maybe it says, "My Ass Smells, Always", or "I Like Goatballs, Always".

I have to admit that if I were working in that company, I would be sooo tempted to write all kinds of shit. I actually think that I'd really enjoy working there.

Anyway, I was fumbling for that really tacky, cheesy ring that probably says, "We Are Buttfuckers" on it. And Will thought I was having a panic attack. I found the ring, got down on one knee, and I asked him if he'd make me the happiest man alive and spend the rest of his life with me. And then, I began to cry.

And do you know what he did?

Huh? Huh? Do ya?

Tears all welled up in my eyes, my hands shaking, vulnerable, breakable...ready to fly with the wind, or be shattered into a million pieces and flushed down the toilet...

And do you know what he did?

He said, "Are you asking me to marry you??"

And I squeaked out, "Yes..."

And then,

then...

he took a picture,

of me...PROPOSING.

That ring I'm holding almost became a suppository.

We promptly got into an argument.

I was like, "What the hell? You took a PICTURE??"

And he replied, "Well, I wanted to remember it. And how lucky it was that I had the camera on and ready!"

Yeah. How lucky.

What a big ole fuckin' barrel of luck.

He said, "Yes", as you've probably gathered. And I was elated. And we enjoyed the rest of our vacation touring Beijing, seeing the sights and meeting people, eating the incredible food and inhaling 300 pounds of coal. We picked black boogers for a long time after.

When we arrived back in the States, still picking boogers, we began talking about a ceremony and a party to celebrate with our family and friends. And we contemplated what to do and where to have it. But, at the time, I wasn't thinking that we would wait until it was recognized by the State. Or that it would be sanctioned in any church. I didn't care about having anyone other then the two of us and the people who love us involved in our commitment to one another.

At least, I didn't think that I cared.

I would be lying if I told you that I didn't want acknowledgement from my peers.

And I would be lying if I told you that it didn't matter to me whether or not we're ever recognized by our community as a family.

And I would be lying if I told you that it didn't matter to me whether ANYONE else held our relationship in high esteem and considered us equals...

Because it does.

It all matters.

So, in an unmistakable hieroglyph that should catch and snag on nothing, that exists as a part of another kind of encirclement, yet sends forth a clear, resonant sound:

Long live love, and peace, and let freedom RING.