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This Sunday is the 2nd Annual Wedding March across the Brooklyn Bridge to support marriage equality for same-sex couples. Since I live right around the corner from the bridge, I feel like Jeff and I should go. But neither of us really seem really enthused about it.

Our relationship has been tested and evolved recently, and it’s due for even more challenges when Jeff officially gives up his apartment and moves in with me full-time this summer. But I think it will last.

I joke about the outlandish ways I might propose to Jeff or how I envision us singing a duet of showtunes at our wedding. Jeff always maintains he doesn’t intend to get married until it’s “legal.” We both have our coping mechanisms to stave fear of the future and the recognition that we’re getting older and it’s time to nest. The eventual legalization of gay marriage (at least in NY State) will rob Jeff of his excuse and force us to start thinking about where we may be (together?) in 10, 20, or even 50 years.

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One of the best things about being in a same-sex relationship is that you can double your wardrobe (if your boyfriend has a similar build). The drawback is when you’re shopping and you both see a shirt you like, only one of you gets to buy it (unless you want to dress like twins).

Jeff and I were at Old Navy the other day and I saw a blue-checkered shirt I liked, but Jeff had spotted it first and grabbed one. So, I simply waited and stole it from his side of the closet this morning.

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Jeff and I truly had the subway ride from hell last night. We were headed to Altantic Avenue in Brooklyn to meet Dan for a quick dinner before going to a birthday party for Jeff’s friend Peter. We walked down to Wall St. to catch the 2/3 and found a train waiting at the platform. The train, however, never left the platform.

After waiting 10 or 15 minutes, the conductor stopped promising us we’d be moving soon and suggested we seek alternate routes. We walked over to the Wall St. 4/5 station and found that those trains weren’t running because of weekend construction. After phoning Dan to tell him we were running late, we walked over to the Rector St. N/R station and waited ages for an R train. At DeKalb, we transfered to the Q train to go one more stop to Atlantic Avenue. Color us suprised when the conductor announced (after the doors closed) that our next stop would be 7th Avenue. Our train sailed right through Atlantic Avenue without stopping.

At 7th Avenue, we searched around for a MTA Service Advisory sign but couldn’t find any explanation for why we hadn’t stopped at Atlantic Avenue. Next, we went to the Manhattan-bound platform where inexplicably a J train pulled up (I still can’t find any connecting tracks on the map to explain how it got there). After the doors closed, the conductor announced we wouldn’t be stopping at Atlantic Avenue because of an on-going police investigation (which I haven’t been able to find any news of online). As we went slowly inched through Atlantic Avenue without stopping, policemen on the platform (who we hadn’t noticed on our previous fly-by) peered into the cars.

We got off at DeKalb and called Dan to cancel our dinner plans (sorry!) and then realized we need to get back on the Q and go to 7th Avenue again to get to the party. We got on a train and realized seconds before the doors closed that we were on a Manhattan-bound Q train by mistake (which would have taken us directly to Canal Street over the Manhattan Bridge without stopping). We got off and caught a Q train in the correct direction. By this point, the police investigation at Atlantic Avenue was over and, to add insult to injury, our train stopped there before heading to 7th Avenue.

After spending an hour navigating the subway, I had turned into quite the little drama queen. I was starving and didn’t want to drink at the party on an empty stomach. Jeff and I walked around in circles looking for his friend’s apartment and a place to grab a quick bite. We ended up splitting a plain, untoasted bagel from a bodega.

The party ended up being pretty enjoyable, if a tad crowded. I hate going to parties as a +1, because I’m so shy about chatting strangers up. I always feel like I’m barging in on people’s conversations if I try to talk to anyone. If I hadn’t started dating Jeff, I’d still be single and wall-flowering it next to the chip table.

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