Winners Get the Bitches

Dang, gooood morning! I think. Unless it's... I'm not really sure. It depends on when you're reading this I suppose, but that begins to beg the question as to whether when you read this determines the time in which I have already written this or if I exist at all in any kind of objective, self-contained reality divorced from your reading eyes. After all, you can't know or consider the timing of my writing without the active, participatory act of your reading this, so we can see the way one action is (at least in a conceptual sense, as linked to not just consumption, but the timing of your visit here demarcating the point at which you can begin to imagine when I started writing this) not just linked but limiting, defining the way in which it mediates your interrogation of me, its author.

None of that is true of course, but this is the kind of horseshit your brain befouls the out-of-doors with when you've been awake as long as I have. That amyl nitrite can keep you going for a while, but the after-effects are an absolute fucking donkey-punch of a headache and a somewhat attenuated grip on reality, language and fork.

What can I say, though, it's been a party. The last couple days have been an absolute bacchanal of triumphalism amongst the normally staid swath of progressive legalists out here on the other side of the blog screen. Normally a big night for people like us is a soft-core skin flick on Cinemax, a nice shandy and bed at 11:30. But when you get the destruction of the Defense of Marriage Act and a stirring abortion showdown and win in a place like Texas, on goes the dubstep and off come the sensible shoes. A party in honor of marriage demands a certain level of commitment.

So I've been at it for a bit. There was dancing, sure, some pharmaceutical enhancement, but no indiscriminate hooking up. Remember, the gays are marry-able now, so there's all these new feelings of possession and competition for permanency to process. Plus, it's just DOMA that went away. It was nothing like the party we're going to have when they announce gonorrhea is no longer a thing.

Plus it doesn't pay to be indiscriminate, no matter what the cause. The lines at the abortion booth were way too long as it was.

The buzz is wearing off now, in more ways than one, and we're faced with a new, dare-I-say sobering reality of joint bank accounts and end-of-life advance directives. There's some heavy-ass adult shit going on everywhere and that new seriousness IS bleeding into Straight Marriage, I'm afraid just as Mike Huckabee and Rick Santorum had always warned us about. It's now put-up-or-shut-up time for all those overloud publicly announced marriage-boycotting straight people and their unilateral declarations of solidarity with the gays. Some very determined chickens now are about to come home to roost if you've been out there saying you won't get married until your gay BFFs can too. I know it's  a time-honored tradition, but we're finally running out of ways to use gays as a shield to cover up your personal emotional truth. If you want a beard from now on, Mr. Indecisive, you're going to have to grow your own.

Me, I'm looking to the future. It's all changing so fast, but I know that one day, way sooner than I realize, I'm going to look at my harem of four legally recognized dog-wives and say: "I remember where I was when this process began."

And nobody will be more shocked than the bilious right-wingers when they realize, too late: everything is going exactly to plan. If only they had worried more.