I live in a state where more people voted to protect chickens than preserve my rights. Chickens deserve a good life–they bring exquisite joy when fried and served with a side of biscuits. I may not be as delicious, but why hate?

Post-election day I want to revel in unadulterated jubilation for Obama-dom, replay the joyous screams and ringing acceptance speech. But the joy is tempered by this memory. Yesterday, I joined a group of young women to hand out no on 8 flyers at my polling place (yes, I was a safe, non-electioneering 100 ft from the polls.) Two of the women endured an exchange with a construction crew that came over to tell them that in order to protect their children, they voted yes on 8. The posse of men then sat on a stoop to enjoy their sandwiches and entertained themselves by tossing homophobic slurs our way. Soon after, we were brushed back from the curb by a roaring SUV full of venomous, epithet screaming young men. The construction crew looked up and cheered them on. Welcome to the Bay Area! So very queer friendly.

It was just one incident amidst a flurry of positive honking and “of course, I voted no!” cheers, but my hopes died somewhere in that convergence of hate. That two groups of complete strangers could be so vocally united in their homophobia was the last reminder I needed that prop 8 is not about marriage. It’s about our right to walk in our neighborhoods without fear of harassment. Prop 8 came down to my ability to simply exist with a little bit of dignity and dare I say respect? So much to ask?

Because it seems so reasonable to expect so little, the election results really hurt. Because I am an ungracious little person, I spent the day imagining revenge scenarios and wishing for election fraud super powers (only on 8 of course…)

I should remember the many positives of the campaign: campaign antics with new and old friends and of course, Obama. Let those thoughts re-kindle hope by writing something thoughtful and beautiful like my friend over at Dogmo. I’m also supposed to be an adult, a big person, re-commit to the struggle and be all Zen- compassionate about the whole thing. Wait… I just got an email telling me what I’m really supposed to do is light a candle and go stand in front of City Hall. Sigh, too bad I feel like smacking something instead. Maybe what I need is some tasty fried chicken.