First of all, thank you all for your outrage and virtual fist-shaking at the establishment in regards to my last post, and for passing it around the internet.  I have to say, before I started this process, I would have said that while I recognize that “separate but equal” is a bunch of horseshit, I’d never had it brought home to me in such a… financial way, and it was as eye-opening an experience for me, as it may have been for you.  Take home message: marriage equality isn’t just some little thing that won’t make a difference in the lives of real people.

I should really write part II in the series, which is Noemi vs. the IRS, but Jesus, maybe you’ve had enough Gay Studies 101 for the month, so I’ll leave you with the highlight.  J and I live in a community property state, which means that as registered domestic partners, we are required by the IRS to combine all our assets into one pot.  Ok, fine- but when it comes to filing tax returns for 2010, we still have to file SEPARATELY, because the Fed doesn’t recognize our partnership.  So, two tax returns, cross-referenced to each other, wherein we show that we put everything in one pot and then divvied it into two parts.  This means that even though I only have a W-2 for the three months of 2010 I worked, my total income for the year will include half of what J made, and while that drops her tax bracket a bit, it raises mine, so either way, I suspect the IRS will get a healthy chunk of both of us.  NOT TO MENTION, there is no Turbo Tax for figuring this out, so if you’re a law-abiding citizen and want to file correctly, you’re paying an accountant to figure this out, and you HOPE TO GOD he’s up on current tax code.  Take home message: BEING GAY IS EXPENSIVE.

[Jesus Christ on a Hockey Stick, if that was the highlight, y’all do not want to see what a full drawn out draft might have been.  WORDINESS.  I HAZ IT.]

Onto the good stuff, which is the reason I didn’t post last week, and that is that J and I flew to New York to spend a long weekend with my brother and his wife and Caetano, our brand new nephew, aged a wee 2.5 months.  My brother moved to Brooklyn since the last time we’d seen him, so we spent our days wandering around that neighborhood, and I didn’t, as the title implies, set foot in Manhattan once.  Which makes this the most chill New York vacation I’ve ever taken, and I mean that in a very good way.  Also, I suppose I should have believed people when they told me this, but there is, indeed, a vast difference between Manhattan and Brooklyn- as evidenced by the furious mother getting asked to leave a Brooklyn bar because her son was throwing a nuclear-grade tantrum that involved throwing himself in front of the main door- “But… but… this is BROOKLYN!” she sputtered.

The star of the weekend, plump cheeks and neck rolls:

 

With my handsome brother:

 

With his Mama:

 

Enjoying a game of Sopranos pin-ball:

 

My parents also flew into the area to gape at my ever-expanding midsection and to see their first grandchild- well, mostly the grandchild, because once you get over my resemblance to the Goodyear blimp, there’s not much to gape at, but a bubble-blowing, floppy-headed, smiling and giggling baby boy, now that’s another story.  It was pretty cool to get a preview of my parents as grandparents, and I admit it- it changes the way you think about your parents, at least for me.  I’ll have to think on that one some more, but for right now, just think: SUUNNNNNNRIIIIIIISE…. SUUUUNNNNNNSEEEEEETTTT!

Tato:

Grandmere:

 

It was a pleasure of a weekend, really.  Can you believe that in 12 (TWELVE!!!) weeks, this will be us:

 

 

PS- Upon review, I see that I did, actually, go into Manhattan, as the first photo was taken at Cafe Mogador in Alphabet City.  But it took me a good ten minutes to come up with that title, so I’ll take a little blogging leeway, thanks ever so much.

 

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