Last month, I showed up at a party that my hubby, Andy, and I had been invited to, and I was greeted with silence. Now, I know I’m not that unpopular, so something had to be wrong. As I shrugged off my coat and people got back to mingling, my friend approached with a vodka tonic in hand. Passing it to me and trying to sound casual, she said, “So…where’s Andy tonight?” And then, in a stage whisper, “Is anything wrong?” Keep reading »
Dear loving friend or family member who bought me kitchen towels for my bridal shower,
Thank you so much for your wonderful gift. I know I already sent you a note for the present, but I felt the need to write again. Andy and I were just overwhelmed with the many generous and wonderful gifts we received, so it’s been six months since the shower and we have just gotten around to unpacking some of the things we put in storage. What a pleasant surprise to discover these towels, which you so cleverly crafted into a bow.
Once I untied them, I realized how cute the design is. Did you have a chance to actually take a look at them? I know Prop 8 wasn’t even in the collective consciousness when you bought them, so I find the inscription, HOME SWEET HOMO, to be a little puzzling. Is there something about Andy I should know? Did you find out about my little drunken incident in college? Or did you just not look closely enough when you picked these up in the sale bin at the dollar store? Either way, I think they’re fabulous. And I hope you don’t mind if I regift them to some of my favorite gays this Christmas. Somehow, I just think they’ll appreciate them a little more than I will.
All my love,
Annemarie Keep reading »
My sister practically clutched her heart when I first told her. “But what about the children?” she demanded. I shook my head, completely speechless. Now, I have an answer: What’s going to happen to our — at this stage — hypothetical children if I don’t change my name? They’ll survive. Keep reading »
So, let’s say your political candidate of choice lost last night…or years ago. If you’re driving a vintage Volvo that supports Mondale/Ferraro or you’re too distraught to cover up the McCain/Palin sticker on the back of your Durango with one that says MY OTHER CAR IS A ZAMBONI (I’m looking at you, hockey moms), here’s how to remove it completely. Because if ever there was a time for change, it’s now.
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A friend call me the other day. She was struggling to figure out what was going on with her relationship of a month. He’d do sweet things, like post photos of the two of them on Facebook. Then he’d write curt responses to her e-mails. Normally, she’s extremely self-confident, self-assured, and successful in life. It was disheartening to see her brought down by the unknown of it all.
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Well, I did it. A couple of weeks ago, I tied the knot. Got hitched. Became a ball and chain. And got my own ball and chain? People make it sound so weighty. When we got engaged, it did feel huge, like this gigantic life-altering decision that was so…permanent. And it is. I’m not saying it’s not. But you know what? It feels exactly the same as it did before. Yes, it’s still weird to refer to Andy as my husband, rather than boyfriend (never fiancé), and when I called our car insurance to tell them we’d gotten married, they sent us a $13.14 rebate check, which will buy us about four gallons of gas or a week’s worth of coffee, depending on our mood. Keep reading »