cupcake rejection

So it’s finally happened. After years of debate, screams about God’s intent and so forth, somebody I know (loosely) who is a man, has decided to marry another man, here in California. When I heard this, I was like: “What!” I thought that law was for Lesbians? (All the single sexed married couples I know are Chicks.) “What the hell?” “Christ, I knew this sort of thing was going to happen when they made that court ruling.”

Then I heard it was Brian.

--Brian, the urban hipster.
--Brian, who works at the art gallery.
–Brian who spends $400 on worn silk jean jackets.
--Brian, who gets inked weekly.
–Brian who only tolerates my presence when Greg (a friend of mine and former co-worker of his) is in town from Denver and asks us all go out to breakfast.

You getting the picture here, I’m not hip enough. I don’t do any of the above hip things, so I can’t hang out regularly with the hipsters.

Greg is not really hip enough either, he’s straight, but he works in art, so he’s tolerated. They both worked at a foundry here in Berkeley a few years back, making really big statues and stuff. One of the breakfasts I was at, Brian was talking about going over to get tattooed after we finished, and Greg wanted to know if he could go watch Brian get inked. Brian has a cupcake tattooed on his chest among other things, and makes bronze cupcakes to sell in art galleries. (Hey, he lives in San Francisco.) He politely rebuffed Greg. After a bit of conversation, it turned out that Brian would be a little embarrassed to have the likes of the un-hip Greg, accompany him to the tattoo emporium, for the latest addition to the cupcake collection. Greg felt betrayed. He occasionally, to this day, makes comments about how he was slighted by Brian on that day. When he’s out visiting someday, I’ll buy him a session with a therapist, so Greg can work though his post un-hip cupcake rejection complex. Cause the hip, care not what the un-hip think. If they only knew the trauma they caused.

So, the particulars of why and how Brian has ended up wanting to get hitched to Peter (the other guy), are kind of run of the mill.

--They met someplace.
-- Peter worked in a hip hat shop that specializes in pre-worn out silk baseball caps.
(I’m not kidding)

--They realized they had a common interest in hipness.
--They dated
--They shacked up.
--They both gained weight,

At some point in the recent past, Peter drove Brian down to San Jose for a get out of the city weekend, went out to dinner at Outback Steakhouse and proposed to Brian. Brian playing the cupcake role, accepted.

Now, I’m not quite sure when the actual wedding, commitment ceremony or what ever is. I’m not invited. I suspect because I’m not hip. I might detract from the worn silk ambiance of the day. But it’s occurred to me what the real issue with this gay wedding thing is. We might all be afraid we are not part of the hip crowd. Greg was in town two weekends ago for a wedding. (A non-hip hetero one.) We were out in the front of the house, and a neighbor was asking what he was doing. He explained, and she said, “Oh a gay wedding the city?” Greg hung his head low, “No, just a regular one, in Pleasanton”

I said, “You know, straight people still do get married.”

The neighbor gave me a look, like I should take my rejection trauma to a joint therapy session with Greg. “Oh, it’s just that there have been so many gay weddings in the city. I’ve been invited to several.”
Talk about rubbing salt into a wound. Greg and I already know we aren’t hip. Just for that, I’m not going to pet the neighbor’s Great Dane, for a week or so. I don’t care how hip they have become lately.