Till Death Us Do Part

It's a quiet Sunday afternoon.  The weather is picture perfect and my belly -- Jerry's too -- is full of a delicious egg casserole I made yesterday.

The egg casserole was made in layers in a clear 9 x 13 inch Pyrex dish.  The bottom layer was 1 pound of bacon from Costco.  Well, almost 1 pound -- we each ate 1 rasher because the fumes overwhelmed us.  I cooked the bacon first in the oven to make sure we did not get trichinosis -- a disorder and a scary word which of course both have their derivation from the Greek.  In my opinion, anything scary like eating pork before it's done just because you are so hungry you can't wait to swallow it whole should certainly, definitely, POSITIVELY come from the Greek language.  Its etymology -- itself a Greek word, see how how this is a fantastic circle back to my own people??? -- is "thrix" which means hair -- at one point, shortly after my sister Garifalia was born, my parents were seriously considering naming her Thrix because she had such a good thick pelt.  But, then, they figured that it sounded too much like "tricks" which I won't go into right now.

Anyway, trichinosis is caused by a worm inside of you so this is some heavy shit.  Nobody wants a hairy worm to ruin their Sunday brunch, Egg McMuffin or favorite German sausage.  That would only be an inconvenient and gut wrenching interference from reading The Washington Post and contemplating when next you can safely take a nap.

So, suffice it to say, I cooked the bacon first.

The next layer was a beautiful combination of sauteed onions and cubed new red potatoes, skin on.  I sauteed one whole onion and about 10 potatoes in 8 tablespoons of salted butter.  I also added some black pepper, red pepper flakes and a smattering of shredded sharp cheddar cheese.  On top of that little bundle of deliciousness and cholesterol, I laid asparagus spears from a can, yes, from a can.  No fuss, no muss, just dump and go.  Then, about 9 beaten eggs seasoned with white ground pepper.  Pour it on.  More shredded sharp cheddar cheese because I got too vigorous and shredded an awful lot.  Well, I was hungry of course and that sort of thing happens.  Finally, what I consider to be the best part -- crushed pretzels.  I took 4 handfuls of pretzels, put them in a Zip-loc bag and beat the hell out of them just for fun.  I mixed in some minced parsley and sprinkled this over the top.  Voila!

Once the casserole was assembled and in the oven (steam oven at 300 degrees, 60% humidity), I sat down and rested, waiting to eat, making sure I did not lick my fingers to get some of that good bacon trichinosis or wholesome eggy salmonella either.  You know, it is sad that the only thing that keeps from vomiting my guts out -- and pooping so violently I resemble an Atlas rocket booster -- is the off chance that some hairy worm will inhabit my diaphragm or some motile enterobacteria will invade my typically iron stomach.

It's a known fact that salmonella can be contracted by eating too much poached salmon at elegant gay cafes where all the waiters are named Evan or Fernando.  It's also a known fact that salmonella is named after Daniel Elmer Salmon, an American veterinary surgeon and is not, repeat, is NOT, derived from some Greek word.  "Say what?  Are you fucking kidding me? as my dear old sweet yiayia would have said to me -- if she could have spoken English and if she had known what salmonella was.  And if she had known it was named after Daniel Elmer Salmon and not a Greek work.  And, most importantly, if she had been a fucking potty mouth like me.  I can see her smiling face right now, wondering what the hell I was talking about, who the heck Daniel Elmer Salmon was and why the hell she hadn't had a daughter so she could have named her Salmonella. We did, after all, already have an Aphrodite, Athena, Evanthia, Anthoula and little Elpiniki in our family -- why not Salmonella? 

Anyway, back to my disease-free casserole.  After about 1 hour, it was ready.  It was so good that our cleaning lady, Meditha, ate 2 helpings, the weight of which was heavier than her 93 pound frame -- soaking wet, I imagine.  Anyway, I want her to eat because it makes me happy, makes her happy and, hey, you need nourishment to open my dirty laundry drawer and wade into what I like to call "no man's land."  We've lost more cleaning ladies after they look deeply into my underpants, cross themselves, mutter quickly in Spanish something like "mi Dios" and run for the nearest INS office to turn themselves in.  God LOVE Meditha who keeps coming back, eating my egg casserole and, most importantly, dutifully washing out my dirty lingerie!

Okay, back to today.  Jerry and I had just finished the majority of the egg casserole and were sluggishly lounging on our black leather -- of course -- couch, leaning up against each other for moral support and post-sustenant napping.

As I lay there, barely able to put 2 coherent thoughts together other than "I wish I had put a little jalapeno in with the pretzels" and "I should not wear white underpants anymore now that I am over 50," I realized that this is what married life is all about.  Cooking and cleaning and laundry and napping together and going out with dear friends on a Saturday night to PassionFish in Reston Town Center.  Jerry and I are living the married life.  He, a periodontist by day, and me -- now that I am retired -- his receptionist, or office manager, if  I am trying to be uppity about it -- are just 2 spouses on a weekend, enjoying each other's company while not saying a word to each other, the warmth of each other's bodies enough to communicate our feelings of companionship and comfort.

Jerry and I cannot of course marry because the laws of Maryland -- where we are legal residents -- do not allow it.  Strange, isn't it, that Maryland -- one of the bluest of the blue states in the country -- on the issue of same sex marriage, lags far behind such liberal, outlandish and cutting edge states as New Hampshire and Iowa -- yes, Iowa for God's sake.  Oh well, I suppose that this is the part of the beautiful and delicate balance of freedom, insanity and stupidity that Maryland is -- beaches, tony Washington DC suburbs, small towns with little main streets, inner cities, smelly chicken farms and just a touch of impoverished hillbilly.  Yes, this is the state to which I pay my exorbitant income tax -- or at least I used to pay exorbitant taxes when I was working at comedy central.  But -- let's not get off track today, on what is roughly the 55th day of the rest of my life -- yes, I think I am losing track as well as losing my touch with reality.  If Maryland is as enlightened as Annapolis thinks it is, shouldn't this gay marriage thing be a slam dunk for the Free State?  Just how free are we gay boys and dyke girls if we cannot marry???  They can get hitched right across Western Avenue, for God's sake.

It just goes to show you the difficulty that we Americans have with this issue.  It is a developing issue.  It is a difficult issue.  It separates religious people from secular people.  It separates the 6 states (including New York as of 2 days ago) plus Washington DC that have approved same sex marriage from everyone else in the good old USA.  It is an emotional, divisive, complicated, often explosive and not altogether comfortable matter to consider.

Freedom, yes, Apartheid no, Freedom, yes, same sex marriage, no!  Is that really how the chant is supposed to go?

Well, if so, it doesn't have the same ring, it doesn't sit well, it doesn't even rhyme or have a good beat.  Is same sex marriage a civil right or just a bunch of slender, well dressed boys -- wickedly sarcastic -- who want to wear long white dresses and throw big cocktail parties (pun intended)?  Oh, come on, of course, this is a gross over-simplification.  The gay marriage issue also includes handsome muscular women with spiky haircuts who want to wear tuxedos and pierce their labia with matching wedding bands.  Ewww.  Sorry.  You see, it is a perplexing and surprisingly nauseating conundrum.  Even for me!

I am happy that the New York legislature voted to legalize same sex marriage, don't get me wrong.  I acknowledge that for many of my gay and lesbian "brethren and cistern," this marriage thing is very important.  It means equality and recognition and registration at Bloomingdale's.  These are not small accomplishments.

But, to be really honest, for me -- personally -- I am not sure that I think the marriage route is a perfect fit, or 100% right for Jerry and me.  I believe that homosexuals and heterosexuals are different -- and this is more than our innate ability to decorate and keep our nails trimmed "just so."  Just like men and women are different -- a fact I learned in the 6th grade when Mary Joe and I used to play "Playboy" in her garage -- no amount of legislation will ever make little boys throw down their toy guns and NFL t-shirts for Barbies and pink-alicious frills and leggings.  Homosexual couples -- like homosexual people -- are different than heterosexuals.  They just are.  Not better or worse, or dangerous or beneficial.  Just different.  I simply cannot imagine Jerry marching down the aisle to "Here Comes the Bride," rose petals being crushed into oblivion by his freakishly large size 11 and 1/2 hairy dogs.

I think that a State-sanctioned Love Connection -- and NOT the one hosted by Chuck Woolery -- comes in

2 varieties:  (1) a church, synagogue, temple marriage between 2 people, usually a man and a woman, sanctioned by a recognized religious organization; and (2) a civil union, recognized, recorded and granted by a state government.  This system almost exists already.  For lack of a better, more articulate phrase (after all, I already told you that my stomach is full and I am ready to nap), let call these 2 varieties "shack up things."

Each of these "shack up things" -- independently and all by themselves -- should be equally recognized by the government and should grant spousal status to each person in the couple.  And each of these "shack up things" should grant to the couple all of the tax, legal and monetary benefits that only federal, state and local governments can grant.  In some cases, a couple -- whether same or different sex -- will qualify for BOTH "shack up things" -- if, for example in the case of gay couples, their religious affiliation deems it okay to marry them.  If not, only the governmental "shack up thing" will be available.  Couples who have no religious affiliation can elect to do the governmental "shack up thing."

If a given religious organization --let's call it the Church of "What's Happening Now" -- soul searches and decides that its deity -- Lady Gaga -- and its body of teachings -- let's call them the "Rules of Etiquette for the SkyBar at the Mondrian Hotel in Los Angeles -- allows same sex couples to get "married," well then so be it.  But, if those Rules of Etiquette do not recognize same sex marriage, then there will and should always be some sort of "shack up thing" allowed by the screwed up, bankrupt state government of California so that a particular couple -- let's say Rosie  O'Donnell and Kelli Carpenter -- does, in fact, have the same equal protection under the law that can be gained by people who get married in the Church of "What's Happening Now," presided over by Father Lady Gaga and attended by all the Happening Now Monsters that can fit into whatever sweatlodge they pull together.  We can only hope that California's "shack up thing" will cover the "divorce and separation of marital property thing" and OH YES you know Kelli does too!  These things come with marriage just as much as flowers, and "I love you's" and "why the hell do you have to make that revolting noise when you gargle every night?"

But, to me, as long as we live in a society like ours in which we are allowed to practice our religious beliefs, if any at all, as we wish -- so long as nobody is killed or eaten -- don't the "same sexers" have to recognize that the Baptist church or the Greek Orthodox church or the conservative synagogue -- or whatever -- may be morally opposed to same sex marriage and therefore should be equally free to NOT like and/or to NOT participate in gay marriage?  I think that is sacrosanct, I really do -- even as I recognize that I am uncomfortable with that position, too.  Acceptance is not a 1 way street to drive on only when it suits your own personal route in life.  And this also means I want other people to honor the decision that Jerry and I will make -- should we ever be that lucky -- to NOT marry.  After all, why would we do that?  For the kids?  I don't know, maybe for the party.

On the other hand, we do live in the United States of America -- thank God for that -- and we do have equal protection under the law -- thank God for that -- and I just don't see how anyone can justify the governmental benefits of marriage being granted to only 1 sort of couples and not granted to another sort of couple.  WRITER'S NOTE to the "slippery slopers" -- the word "couple" assumes both people in a couple are, well, people, human beings!  Please stop arguing, you dolts, that people will marry chickens or horses or spatulas if same sex marriage is allowed.  It's demeaning to you, to me and to the argument at hand.

Okay, sorry for that rant.

Now, getting back to me -- the most interesting part of this posting after all -- I certainly want Jerry and I to have the tax, legal and monetary benefits that some sort of official governmental "blessing" of our 17 year relationship might bring.  I want the ease of real estate purchases that recognize us as tenants by the entirety, each of us having an undivided 100% ownership in the property.  I want the tax benefits that Kaiti and Jason got the minute they marched down the aisle but that I still don't have more than 17 years after Jerry and I started sharing Polo shirts.  Nothing against my dear friends, believe me.  I'm just focusing on the inconsistency.  I also want the option to have a real hoopla "wedding" of some sort if I change my mind in the future, which I doubt -- but it could happen.

And, really, I desperately want the certainty that I will have the inalienable right to visit Jerry in the hospital if, God forbid, something terrible happens to him -- as an example only, let's say he contracts trichinosis from eating undercooked bacon in an undercooked egg casserole -- shouldn't I have complete freedom to be by his side, holding his hand, looking into his eyes and saying "I told you it should have stayed in the oven for 15 more minutes, you hairy wormy trichinosised-up bonehead."  That seems to me part of what marriage is all about.