Death of the civil unions bill got you down? Just do what I'm doing, and marry a gay guy

Categories: Breeality Bites

SpencerandBree.jpg
We're getting married. Because let's face it: He makes better protest signs than I do.
After sitting through two recesses and a combined seven hours of debate and testimony before the House State Affairs Committee killed the civil unions bill last night, I left the Capitol with a numb ass and a heavy heart. But as I and other GLBTQ persons and allies face another year of Colorado legislative bigotry until the next go-round, there is bright side: My gay boyfriend Spencer and I have finally formulated the perfect pitch for a reality show! It's going to be called Spencer and Bree Get Married, and it's going to have all of the quirky twists and turns any other show about a fucked-up marriage has, except it's better. Because he's gay and I'm straight, and in Colorado, we are allowed to get married. Sounds crazy, right? Well, welcome to reality.

It's not that we want to fight insanity with insanity -- though we are, simply by showing that a marriage based on mutual cynical outlooks and a disdain for children is all you need to uphold the "sanctity" of a union (between a man and a woman, of course). We just want to show everyone what real love is about -- and that's surface behaviors and interests that are considered acceptable by certain segments of the population.

But back to this reality show. Can you imagine how awesome it's going to be for me to marry a gay guy? Talk about easy-peasy. Gay guys are really good at organizing stuff, picking out flower arrangements and place cards. Plus, they know, like, a million caterers, so I won't have to deal with any of those exhausting details. At least I'm assuming they do, because florists and caterers are always the gay ones in the movies.

Basically, Spencer is like a fiancé and a wedding planner in one. As I type this, I am beginning to feel more and more like a genius. How come no one has ever thought of this before? When it comes time to picking out a dress, he will be right by my side, telling me everything I'm already thinking. I know, the groom isn't supposed to see his bride in her dress until the "big day," but who else is going to tell me that a mermaid-style gown makes me look like an over-squeezed tube of toothpaste? Or, when my bestest girlfriends lie and say the sweetheart neckline doesn't make me look flat-chested, who will be the one to vote down that ugly rag of a dress? Spencer, duh.

Did I mention Spence and I are both Virgos? If you're a Virgo, you know you're hard-pressed to find another Virgo you don't like. We have one way of doing things -- that's our way -- and two Virgos planning a wedding will be like double the organizing power. By the final episode, we are going to have wedding planning down to science. And after the whole wedding-show-thing is over, I'll bet we can start a successful event-planning business, specializing in commemorating other people's celebrations of denial. I mean love.

I've already envisioned Spencer and Bree Get Married's perfect spin-off, a show called Separate Beds. In essence, this series will be a more accurate display of what our marriage is like on a day-to-day basis, and our bigger story of support and compromise. We have an unspoken deal that if he ventures out to shitty warehouses and bars to see my band play, I will be a cheerleader for his Sunday flag football games. He might think my music sucks and I might not know anything about the sport, but like any good husband-and-wife-to-be, we show up. He's good at taking lots of Instagram photos of me shredding the bass and, in turn, I lend screaming, moral support for his team, the Red Hot Hookers.

Together, Spencer and I are going to show the world what a union-like marriage in Colorado looks like -- between a man and a woman. We may be disgusted by the idea of hugging each other naked (that's what we call "sex"), but at least we can celebrate our "lifestyle choice" in public. And with the support and protections of Colorado state law.

Let's just hope that if Spencer and I decide to spend our honeymoon in front of the new Trader Joe's the night before it opens, we won't be arrested for "urban camping." Because I wouldn't want my family's psychotic obsession with consumerism to be misconstrued as criminal activity.

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