Tonight, after my boyfriend (legally, my domestic partner) cooked a wonderful dinner whose centerpiece was black cod I purchased off Gilt Taste earlier this week, we had a disagreement that led to an argument that led to me saying things I took back within minutes while we both checked our Internet-powered electronic devices re: the New York Senate gay marriage vote. He told me that he previously told himself he'd break up with me if marriage were legalized and I deferred my right to make our love official (eight and a half years is official enough for me!), and I gave him some ultimatums of my own. We went on for a while and then agreed to disagree and/or revisit the subject and/or believe in possibility. And then we spent a long time kissing and embracing after we'd heard the measure had passed. On a political level, I've never been anti-gay marriage, but on a personal level, my opinion been so clear cut. I now see the practical reasons to get hitched (no inheritance tax!) and would say my position on it is evolving. I've never felt a need to have outsiders dignify my feelings, except for the outsider that matters most to me. If it makes him happy, it's worth doing. I expect to get over myself shortly.
Regardless, I rejoice for the masses. I didn't spend the night with my boyfriend, but my friend Nick. On the way over to his SoHo loft, my livery cab driver was freaking out about a bunch of cars on Delancey that were pulled over and apparently damaged. She was freaking out about their hoods being up and them being up on tire jacks, all, "Something happened," and I thought, "No shit, lady." She seemed to mean "happened" in the most Happening sense of the word possible. I half expected her to draw some parallel between vehicular malfunction and the Senate's decision. I just figured there was something in the road that fucked up everyone's tires and thought little beyond that as I compulsively checked Twitter and tried to express my joy adequately (having others dignifying feelings is one thing; having them dignify your existence is quite another). She was going on about these cars and then freaking out because she thought hers was sloping down on the passenger's side (in the direction of the cars that were pulled over). In my head was, "#latinacabbieproblems." She even jumped out at an intersection to make sure her tire wasn't flat and I seriously wanted to say, "Don't you know that a revolution happened tonight, lady?" But whatever: concerns are relative. We all need something to think about. Both of our minds were full: mine with how wonderful the night would be and already was, and hers with fear that she'd have to cross back over the Williamsburg Bridge and risk running over the mysterious derailing substance. Occupation is occupation.
At my friend Nick's apartment, I spoke with his friend Agi about fragrance and we drank vodka and listened to my iPod (even though it has nothing to do with homosexuals, Beyoncé's "Countdown" was exuberant enough to be mood music). At one point Madonna's "Borderline" came on shuffle and because it's so MOR sounding (despite its production coming from a man I very much admire, Reggie Lucas) I would normally skip that track but tonight I thought, "You know what? No. Tonight is the night that you let Madonna play through." We left his apartment before the song ended.
We found ourselves at Eastern Bloc, where I finally met a Twitter acquaintance (one of the DJs, Jeff), who'd eventually play Sylvester and Patrick Cowley's "Do You Wanna Funk?" That song was written after Cowley was on the brink of AIDS death and resurrected miraculously for a moment, before finally succumbing to the disease. Even in the '80s, there was gay magic. I like to think that it rubbed off and reverberated and that without figures like our hi-NRG-making brothers, we wouldn't be where we are today. Sometimes, the presence of a historical event can make you glaze over history, but our revelry was aware. At least, mine was. Some kid who clearly was not hired by the establishment played on the stripper pole, using it as a brace as he sloppily walked up the wall. Any other night, it would have been annoying. Tonight, it just seemed like a natural response.
And then we went to Stonewall, to really feel history. Hours and hours after the decision was announced, the celebrating remained fervid.
The excitement was contagious, not that I would have been any less excited were it not. Gay meant gay meant happy. I talked to a boyfriend of Nick's friend about South Jersey for a while and then we all decided to go home because (and this is the gayest thing about my gay gay night), I had to get up early for a training session that I scheduled at 9 am deliberately to keep me from getting wild no matter what the decision would be. Legislature starts from within. (Incidentally, that training was part of a package, and was also purchased from Gilt.)
We took a taxi to Nick's and then I was by myself, once again trying to dam my happy tears in the back of a cab and once again failing. Sometimes I'll have a cab drop me off about an avenue block away from my apartment in Williamsburg because I'll want to listen to one last song for the night. It's queer, but that's me. I got out minutes away from my place, I pressed PLAY on my phone and again was met with "Borderline." Again, I decided to let it ride out. As I put my key in the door to my building, the song ended. How perfect, I thought. Perfect on top of perfect, even.