Sunday, September 9, 2012

And Sometimes Things Don't Work Out

Hello and greetings to all 8 ( 7?) faithful followers of my blog.

I have a sad story to tell. It's the story of how it Didn't Work Out.

As you may know from reading this blog (or from knowing me in real life), I've been *ahem* happily *ahem* married for a while now. Would have been seven years this September. (Oops. I suppose using the past tense there sort of blows the ending, huh? Could you think of it as foreshadowing and still be surprised in a second when I get to the punchline? Thanks.)

I' a divorce. I think.

I'm about to go into detail over the reason for my confusion, but let me start with the things that I know for sure.

1 - My wife and I have definitely separated. She got the car and the cats. I cast iron skillet that my parents gave me. That's...that sounds...I'm not trying to be cynical. It just happens. But I digress...

2 - My wife and I were (are?) crap...if there's a question mark then this isn't one of the things I know for sure. Moving on.

3 - Uh...I'm a lesbian. (Surprise!)

4 - Nah. There's no #4. I mean, there are more things I know for sure, but they aren't really pertinent.

I would like to state, for the record, that I love Becca a lot. Still. Currently. In the present tense. She's an amazing woman. She is going to go places and do things. I will not be going and doing them with her, and that is going to be better for both of us.

Right, so, I'll spare you all the gorey details of the "why". (If you're super curious, buy me a drink and I'll tell you, but not in this medium and not today.) The bit I want to get to is the "what now?"

Because, you see, when I got married almost seven years ago in the lovely country of Canada in the lovely province of British Columbia in the lovely city of Vancouver at the lovely Unitarian Church, I received a piece of paper that stated that my marriage was legal and all on the up and up. I signed stuff. Becca signed stuff. Our witnesses signed stuff. The minister signed stuff. It all seemed very official. I had to bring my passport AND my driver's license AND my birth certificate (to show to the lady at the drug store...okay...that part doesn't sound as official...) Anyhoo, all the research I did before hand (read: Googling) told me that Canada was the way to go if you were a girl and wanted to legally marry your girlfriend (which I was and did.)

The information also told me that in order to get a divorce in Canada, one of the interested parties would have to live in Canada for a year. Heh. Suckers. I'm never getting divorced. Besides, I like Canada! Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?!?

Flash forward to 2012. Here I am, in my own apartment, with my laptop and my clothes (and the cast iron skillet) wondering if I now have to move to Canada - at least temporarily.

Google to the Rescue! Canada seems confused. Canada just punched me in the stomach. (Or saved me some money, depending on your point of view.) It seems that Canada had an election or two since my wedding. And it seems that the conservatives are now running the show. And it seems that they're not as fond of the "hey, gays! Come get married here!" mindset as were their more liberal counterparts. And they are maybe now confused about whether my marriage was ever legal in the first place.

Let me tell you a little story about some other lesbians who also got married in Canada and also now would like to be divorced (but as far as I know that is where my similarity with them ends). Once upon a time there were these two hot women (I've never seen them, but doesn't it make the story more interesting?) who got married in Canada and then ran around doing all the things that straight men imagine lesbians doing. (Pillow fight!) Then one day, they decided they were tired of being together all the time and being mistaken for sisters, and they realized they were starting to look like each other, but not in the cute way that people start resembling their pets - no, in the creepy way that some lesbians start dressing nearly identically and then it gets weird. (You're right. I'm making up details to flesh out the story. Hush. The next bit is true. I swear. I'll cite sources and everything.) They wanted out. They separated. They wanted a divorce. Lesbian #1 moved to Florida. Lesbian #2 moved home to the UK. That's pretty separated, if you ask me. So they called Canada (I'm sure there's an 800 number for that) and asked pretty please with sugar on top if they could have a divorce.

And Canada said no.

"But why?" said the lesbians, looking all coy and sweet and batting their eyes like some lesbians can and other lesbians just look awkward doing.

"Because," said Canada, "we just now, after hearing your plea, decided that if your marriage isn't legal in the place where you normally reside, it didn't actually ever count in the first place. And since Florida and the UK aren't hip to the gay marriage train, you're out of luck, eh."

Here's where the story gets kind of weird. Because, you see, you would think that two crazy gals who were looking to get out of their marriage would hear this news and go, "whew! That was much easier than I expected." But, no. Lesbians can be a little cray cray and these two were no exception. Instead of going "Yay! I'm not married! That's what I wanted!" they went "WHAT?!? I'm not legally married? But what about all the wedding presents? What about all the vows and rings and combined finances? What about that huge expensive party we threw for all of our friends? What about GAY RIGHTS?!? You have to say our marriage counted!! How else can we take part in the most sacred of privileges afforded our straight counterparts and get a divorce?!"

And then, like good little lesbians, they filed a lawsuit.

Flash forward to today. Me, reading the story of these two, now angry, lesbians. "Hmm." I think, "They're all grumpy, but this could totally mean that I don't to live in Canada for a year." Except that then, Google failed me. Because that was all the information I could find.

So, I may or may not be married to a man who may or may not be a dangerous criminal. No...wait...that was Steel Magnolias. I may or may not be married to a woman who may or may not ever speak to me again. Yeah. That sounds closer to correct.

Is a puzzlement.