Happiness and Anger Stew

I cannot express my feeling of elation at the victory of Barack Obama in becoming our new US president. Nervous energy surges through my body, and I am virtually speechless. To win in such a monumental way makes the triumph that much more thunderous--and may all that doubt hear that roar.However, I cannot help but suffer as the pain of anger and sadness fester in my belly, wanting to scream, break windows, slap strangers--something to release the tumor that has been growing within me this past hour.How is it possible that a state as open-minded as California (a state where plastic surgery is common place, and celebutantes like Kim Kardashian and those dense girls from 'The Hills' are adored like deities; a state where the divorce rate is over 50%; a state where Marijuana is legalized for medicinal purposes) could ignore the obvious rape of freedom and justice for all by relegating we, the homosexuals of California, to a lesser role? When did we become a supporting role in the film called "Life," starring the ever-so-powerful heterosexual masses? It just isn't fair.What I feel like is an animal. I feel as if I have just been told that I am not allowed in the house, but to stay in the yard--even if it's raining.What angers me most is the statistics.According to CNN. COM, most age groups were either tied, or did not support Proposition 8. The only group that overwhelmingly supported the measure were those citizens 65 years and older. These are people that have lived there lives and are reaching the end. These are people who have experienced the joys of a wedding day, the trials and triumphs of a legal marriage, the raising of children, and so on. How dare they dictate to us, a new and different and far more understanding generation, how we should live long after they have become dust! It's obvious to me now that the experience of time truly is meaningless. That compassion does not mature or change if your heart and mind already dwell in a state of hatred and biggotry.It's a travesty that this has happened. A cruel joke. What's next? Do we have to wear patches on our sleeves? Stripped pajamas? Well, I'll tell you this much. If we do...it's going to be Prada, and you can all kiss my ass-cot!!!