Today, the D.C. Court of Appeals will hear arguments over the fate of same-sex marriage in D.C.  In January, the D.C. Superior Court decided that a ballot initiative to define marriage as between a man and a woman would violate the District's Human Rights Act; anti-gay-marriage activists appealed the decision.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Today, the much-anticipated Fred Phelps counter-protest finally came to fruition—albeit a couple of hours after Phelps' homophobia parade got going. City Paper photog Darrow Montgomery was on-hand to document the results. (See all of Darrow's photos of D.C. gay marriage day here).

Below, counter-protesters utilize the Burger King Guy, God Hates [Blank], and unclear messages about vaginas in order to protest Phelps' bigotry.

It's no "REACH AROUNDS FOR JESUS," but it is confusing!

I'm not sure what this message says in full, but it includes "vaginas" and more than one "nom," so it's got to be something important.

Good start.

At this point, most of the press has vacated its spot outside the courthouse; even the Fred Phelps-affiliated protesters have moved on. So, does the excitement wear off a bit after a few hours of just . . . waiting around?

"It doesn't!" insists Baez. "Every time someone comes out of the office, everyone cheers," he says. "They come out and walk down the hall, and it's like they're walking down the aisle."

Then again, Baez and Romshak are still pretty much glowing from their engagement. In the grand scheme of things, the couple hasn't been waiting for this all that long. "To be honest, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing," says Baez of the marriage. "A friend brought up the idea, and we said, 'let's do it!'"

The couple has been together "not very long," says Romshak—"officially, seven months." Recently.t their relationship escalated when Baez, a flight attendant, learned that he might be getting transferred to a new city. Romshak informed a friend of the news; she asked him if he was planning on joining him. "I said, 'Of course!'" says Romshak. "So she asked why we didn't just get it over with and get married. I didn't think anything of it at the time." Then, Romshak got home and told Baez about the conversation. "I said, 'Well, yeah, that makes sense,'" says Baez.

The line outside the D.C. Marriage Bureau will be the only chance Romshak and Baez have to "walk down the aisle" in front of dozens of onlookers—they're planning on registering for an "intimate" civil ceremony at the courthouse.

After Beavers and Outlaw secure their marriage license, they're planning on waiting a little longer for the big bash. "We're just doing a civil ceremony for now," says Beavers. "Up until today, we weren't even sure if this was going to all go through, or if the bill was going to be shut down. So we're going to wait to have our wedding later, when we can plan for everything that we wanted."

In the meantime, the couple is collecting mementos of the time they waited in line. They're planning on saving their #17 marriage ticket they received from the court—complete with a photo of interlocking gold rings. It looks exactly like the image they chose for their save-the-date cards. "It's kind of wrinkled up, but I'm going to iron it out," says Beavers. This morning, Beavers set aside another memento—a copy of today's newspaper. "We were all just laughing about it," says Beavers. "Most people do not get excited to wait in line and apply for a marriage certificate."

It's the debut of gay marriage in Washington, D.C., and the first batch of couples to snake through the D.C. Superior Court Marriage Bureau are ready to step in front of the cameras. But first, they've got to be coached on how to exit the building. Sultan Shakir, organizer for the Campaign for All D.C. Families, huddles around about five couples on the fourth floor of the courthouse, ready to usher them through the next step in their relationships.

"Outside, there are some cameras, and the Michael Phelps people are out there, too," he says.

"Michael Phelps!" one soon-to-be-married guy exclaims.

"Oh, no, sorry, not Michael Phelps. Fred Phelps. I wish Michael Phelps were here," says Shakir.

"Who's Fred Phelps?"

"You know, the crazy, you're going to hell, God hates you people. Don't worry about it. You'll recognize them."

Some of the soon-to-be-married take a bathroom break. Angelisa Young heads back to the cashier's counter to retrieve the box of celebratory cupcakes she had forgotten in the rush. One heads off in search of her partner—"I mean, my wife, I guess!" she says.

One couple receives some individualized instruction. "When you exit the building, you're going to just go straight toward the microphone," another handler informs Young and Sinjoyla Townsend—gay marriage couple no. 1. They will be flanked by two supporters and who will help them walk the 50 feet to the press area, where about 100 reporters, photographers, supporters, and protesters have gathered to ask them a few questions. "Just look at your paperwork. Just concentrate on that. If they ask you any questions, just focus on you. Focus on this moment, and your excitement. . . . just share your stories."

"They're calling us to come out," Shakir says, after receiving a call on his cell. "The Phelps people are out there." The caravan descends down three escalators to the courthouse's ground floor and pauses right outside the glass doors. "Wait, wait, Sultan, how do you want us to walk out?" someone calls out. Inside the doors, yet another handler takes over. He stands in front of the group and calmly introduces them to the scene outside. "As you can see, outside there are a lot of cameras," he says. The Phelps family will be on the left—ignore them. "There's a tripod set up with a microphone. People are going to ask you questions. It's going to be kind of a free-for-all. There's no set way this is going to happen," he says. Young and Townsend are summoned—they want the first couple to go first. "Ready? Let's go."

The doors open. The throng of on-lookers, corralled behind a barrier, lets out an extended cheer. You can't even see the "FAGS WED" sign through the crowd. The couples approach and begin to tell their stories into the microphone as dozens of cameras reach for a shot. Shakir stands at the very back. He is cheering the loudest. Right behind him, the Phelpses are attempting to make their voices heard.

"You will always be miserable!" screams one woman who has two protest signs in hand, an American flag wrapped around her waist, and "GodHatesFags.Com" emblazoned across her chest. A small child stands next to her with a "FAGS DOOM NATIONS" sign and a blank expression. The woman, though, she is smiling. "This is a very important event," she tells me. "Because this is the final straw!" I ask if she means the Apocalypse. "No need to get fancy," she says. "I'm not trying to be rude. That will come later—this nation's DOOM will come first!"

The couples at the front of the crowd can't hear her. Their supporters have begun to sing: "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine."

She counters: "This little feces pile, it's really gonna stink!"

"This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine."

"You're dragging this nation into your crap!"

Shakir shoots her a look. He claps loudly and turns back to the happy couples. He says: "WOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Photo by Michael, courtesy of the The New Gay

This line is nothing compared to the White House Easter Egg Roll of 2006. Four years ago, Terrance Heath and Richard Imirowicz waited in line overnight, in the snow and the freezing cold, in order to secure tickets for their son, now 7, to roll some eggs on the White House lawn. Imirowicz had come unprepared with little more than a sleeping bag—what was he thinking?—and the couple ended up crawling into a "lesbian tent" in order to stave off the cold (another couple had charitably invited them in). "Thank God for those lesbians," says Imirowicz.

This was under the Bush administration, when even bringing your family to push around a couple of colored eggs on the grass was a political statement for a gay couple. "People were being told so many bad things about our families and who we are, that it was an opportunity for us to show how not scary we are," says Heath. Today, Heath, 41, and Imirowicz, 43, joined the line at D.C. Superior Court to achieve a less symbolic victory—securing all the legal rights owed to them as a married couple in the District of Columbia. "Like the rest of the couples in line, we've built up our family and relationship on our own, and finally the rest of society is catching up," says Heath.

Not that the symbolic victories along the way haven't been fun. Heath and Imirowicz have celebrated their union so many times that they're not even sure what to celebrate as an anniversary. The day they met in June 10 years ago? The day in October of 2001 that they exchanged rings in Hawaii? The day in the summer of 2007 that they renewed their vows—this time, in front of their son—on an LGBT family cruise led by Rosie O'Donnell? Or, now, next Tuesday, when they plan to hold a small ceremony recognizing their legal marriage (finally!) at D.C.'s All Souls' Church? How about the unknown date in the future when same-sex marriages are recognized across the United States?

"We're not as married Mississippi as we are in Massachusetts," says Heath. "There are a lot of families in states across the country that can't do what we're doing now." If gay marriage does become a reality in all 50 states in their lifetime, Heath and Imirowicz aren't eager to add another anniversary to the list. "As much as I love him, this will technically be the third time we've been married," says Heath. "Our hope is that by the time our son is an adult, he'll be able to look back on this week and wonder what the big deal was."

As for the third ceremony, the couple is planning a small service for them and their children—since the last time they've exchanged vows, they've fathered another child, a two-year-old. The affair will be modest. "We might take the kids to McDonald's afterwards, pick up a Star Wars toy," says Imirowicz. "At this point, we don't need a big wedding."

UPDATE: CP photos of the ceremony.

Photo by Darrow Montgomery

Symbolic victory has never been this easy—three hours later, the couple would exit the courthouse, free cupcakes in hand, just a few bureaucratic stamps away from being legally wed. Really, they've been waiting 12 years for this moment.

Like many gay couples, Townsendand Young's relationship history hasn't followed the traditional script: meet, fall in love, get married. For them, it was more like meet, fall in love, get married, wait around for half a decade for society to come around, then get married again—this time with all of the legal benefits. Unlike some of the other couples gathered here today, Townsend isn't worried that her newfound right may soon be snatched away from her through legal challenges. "I'm just excited!," she says. "I just wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. It's not in my nature to sit back and wait."

The District couple began considering marriage in 2002, and though they couldn't legally be married in the area, they didn't wait. In 2005, Townsend, 41, and Young, 47, exchanged vows at La Fontaine Bleu in Annapolis, Md., a popular spot for local wedding receptions. "It was full-blast," says Townsend. "Very similar to a traditional wedding—bridesmaids, the maid of honor, tuxedos, the whole deal." Once they claim their finalized marriage license in a few days, Townsend and Young will stage a second ceremony on "a smaller scale."

When the couple leaves the courthouse, a crowd of supporters will be waiting for them. Also gathered outside is a throng of protesters who think that Townsend and Young should never have been granted the right to hold a gay wedding—much less two. "People have their rights," says Townsend of the detractors. "But today, it's about us, and our marriage."

Given the ambivalent history of same-sex marriage in this country—in 2008, gays in California only had a five-month window to get hitched before their newly-minted rights were revoked—many gay couples are understandably eager to redeem their marriage rights at their earliest convenience. If you're one of those gays, Mike Newman is your guy.

This Wed., March 3 is the first day that same-sex couples may apply for marriage licenses in the District of Columbia. For some, the rush to secure a legal license may have overshadowed more ceremonial concerns—like locating an officiant to solemnize the wedding. In order to apply for a marriage license with D.C. Superior Court, applicants must first list the name of the person who will be officiating the wedding ceremony. For those couples who want to get married ASAP but are still short a judge or minister, Newman has volunteered himself to do the deed.

Newman, 43, was ordained through World Christianship Ministries, an online church which caters to men and women who want to "become an ordained minister almost immediately" through "legal ordination by mail." Whatever—since Newman completed his paperwork in 2007 in order to perform the wedding of a friend, he's grown into the ceremonial role. Last October, Newman and his wife—an interracial couple—attended the National Equality March with a picket sign that read, "Our Marriage Was Once Illegal, Too" (The couple met in 2002 through a City Paper personals ad that read, "Every time you answer someone else's ad, God kills a kitten. Tall urban hipster urges you to please, think of the kittens"). "There were people hugging us and crying. It was a very emotional moment, and it was so uplifting for us personally," says Newman. "I thought, well, maybe I can go a step further and directly contribute to people’s marriages."

As for the logistics of your shotgun ceremony, Newman says he's flexible. "I could meet people out somewhere, or we could form a line going out the door of my house," says Newman. If you're in a rush, he can get you in and out the door in five minutes: "Technically, all I really have to say 'you’re married' and sign my name on your license," he says. If you interested in staging a more involved ceremony, Newman says he may be able to work something out, too.

Since Newman is a guy who was ordained over the Internet who has expressed interest in officiating a mass wedding, perhaps a disclaimer is in order—he's not looking to get any cash out of this. The service, Newman wrote in a blog post, will be entirely "pro bono, of course." If you'd like to enlist Newman as your officiant, go ahead and shoot him an e-mail.

Photo via Mike Newman

Gay and itching to get married? On March 3, 2010, same-sex couples will be legally allowed to marry apply for marriage in the District of Columbia, and the D.C. government has just issued some guidelines on how it's all going to go down. Here's how to get hitched as soon as possible [This post has been updated to reflect the latest info from D.C. Superior Court]:

* On the morning of Wed., March 3, head to D.C. Superior Court's H. Carl Moultrie Courthouse at 500 Indiana Avenue NW. The courthouse marriage bureau will open at 8:30 a.m., but couples will likely be gathering outside beforehand in order to secure their place in line. God knows at what hour the most marriage-eager couples will arrive.

* Fred Phelps' anti-gay brigade plans to show up as well to district you from your mission, but Phelps is planning on a late start, around 11 a.m. Show up early and you may only catch their protests on your way out the door. Join up with these folks if you want to participate in the counter-protest.

* Once inside, know how to get through security quickly. You'll have to take off your coat and feed all of your belongings through a metal detector. If you have a camera or recording device, you may be asked to tag it with your name and leave it at the front door. You're wasting precious time! After you get inside, head up the escalators and find the D.C. Superior Court Marriage Bureau at room #4485. UPDATE: D.C. Superior Court says that in order to accommodate the rush, applicants will be asked to line up outside 4485.

* Once inside room 4485, be prepared with the necessary documents to get hitched. Both One party to the marriage must bring proof of ID for both parties (acceptable forms include a driver's license, passport, or government-issued I.D.). You also must have also decided on an officiant for your marriage ceremony. You must list the name of the person who will be performing the marriage—acceptable officiants include D.C. judges and "anyone who is authorized by a religious organization to officiate marriages, such as a minister, priest, rabbi, imam, so long as he or she is registered with the Marriage Bureau to officiate marriages."  UPDATE: D.C. Superior court says that marriage applicants can also request a civil wedding at the courthouse with their applications, but you'll have to wait a bit longer for that—the ceremony will be scheduled at least ten business days later.

* Familiarize yourself with the application [PDF]. This version, from Dec. 2008, specifies a "Bride" and "Groom." Presumably, there will be an updated version of the application available that doesn't specify the partners' gender once same-sex marriage becomes legal in D.C. UPDATE: The court has since updated its application in gender-neutral language.

* Come with $35 cash or money order made out to “Clerk of the Court, D.C. Superior Court." Bring along an extra $10 if you want a "certified copy of the marriage certificate." If you're already registered as domestic partners in D.C., don't worry about the $35 application fee—it's waived, as long as you bring your certificate proving the partnership. UPDATE: If you want, you can also pay the fee on another day before the license is issues; you can pay anytime, you just won't get your license without the receipt.

* Ask yourself: Are you already part of a domestic partnership or civil union from another state? If so, make sure you've checked up on your state laws to see if you need to have that union dissolved before you get hitched in D.C. Are you and your partner already legally married in another state? Go home! According to the D.C. gov, "If you are part of a same-sex couple that has been legally married in another state or country . . . there is no need for you to register your marriage or domestic partnership with the city."

* Save your receipt. You'll have to come back down to court to pick up your license. UPDATE: If you can't make it to the courthouse yourself, you can also have a friend pick it up for you!

* Wait. After you file your application, you're legally required to wait three full days before a license can be issued. So if you apply for a marriage license on Wed., March 3, your license cannot legally be issued until Tues., March 9.

Photo via nerdcoregirl, Creative Commons Attribution License 2.0

In 2002, Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays (PFOX) applied for an exhibit booth at the National Education Association's annual convention, "Expo 2002." PFOX submitted an application, signed a deposit check, and prepared its exhibit: an educational display, it claims, "to promote tolerance and equality for the ex-gay community." The NEA denied PFOX's application, citing limited booth space. PFOX suspected there was another motive at play: sexual orientation discrimination.

In 2005, POX filed a discrimination claim with the D.C. Office of Human Rights against the NEA for "refusing to provide public accommodations to ex-gays." When the D.C. Office of Human Rights sided with the NEA, PFOX appealed the decision to D.C. Superior Court. Judge Maurice Ross handed down the decision [PDF] in June of this year: PFOX's request to reverse the OHR's decision was denied.

But Ross's decision wasn't a total loss for PFOX: While Ross decided in the NEA's favor, he also held that ex-gays do, in fact, constitute a protected group under the D.C. Human Rights Act. Judging from PFOX's eerily celebratory press release, this is kind of a big deal for them.

According to Ross's decision, the Human Rights Act doesn't only protect groups defined by "immutable characteristics," as the Office of Human Rights' decision claimed. The Act also protects groups defined by "preference or practice" —like people who previously "practiced" gayness, and now "prefer" to practice heterosexuality:

OHR’s determination that a characteristic must be immutable to be protected under the HRA is clearly erroneous as a matter of law. . . . Indeed, the HRA lists numerous protected categories such as religion, personal appearance, familial status, and source of income, which are subject to change. . . . Pertaining to sexual orientation, moreover, the HRA in §2-1401.02(28) defines sexual orientation as “male or female homosexuality, heterosexuality and bisexuality, by preference or practice.” Thus, the HRA's intent and plain language eschews narrow interpretation.

But while the NEA can't discriminate against "ex-gays," it may legally discriminate against exhibits that are explicitly anti-gay:

The Court affirms OHR's ultimate determination that PFOX's application was denied legally. In NEA’s judgment, PFOX is a conversion group hostile toward gays and lesbians. Thus, even though PFOX vehemently disagrees with NEA’s characterization, it is within NEA’s right to exclude PFOX’s presence at NEA’s conventions. . . . Indeed, the HRA would not require NEA to accept an application from the Ku Klux Klan or a group viewed by the NEA as anti-labor union or racist. . . . Similarly, military organizations and the Boy Scotts of America are excluded from renting exhibit space at the NEA Annual Meetings because of the positions those organizations take with regard to gay and lesbian rights.

. . . Thus, PFOX’s arguments miss the point. The NEA did not reject its application because PFOX’s members include exgays, homosexuals, heterosexuals, or members of any other sexual orientation. Rather, NEA rejected PFOX’s application because PFOX’s message and policies were, in NEA’s opinion, contrary to NEA’s policies regarding sexual orientation.

In other words, the Human Rights Act protects groups who identify as "ex-gay" based on their previous and current sexual "practices." It does not, however, protect those groups in spreading anti-gay agendas. Somehow, that part was left out of the press release.

Sure, the hallway of domestic violence courtrooms at D.C. Superior Court sounds like a great place to pick up women. They're bored. They're probably on the rebound. And their ex-boyfriend is court-ordered to stay far, far away from your sweet moves. But somehow, the men I've witnessed hitting on chicks in Superior have not had much luck leering and hollering inside the courthouse.

Maybe it's because the woman who lands in domestic violence court is too busy reliving her own personal nightmare to think about starting a new one with you. Maybe it's because she's got a pretty finely-tuned bullshit meter at the moment. Maybe it's because she's kind of busy, and you're kind of a jerk. But for whatever reason, she's not biting at your pick-up lines. That doesn't stop you from trying.

The guy attempting to exploit the depressed, in the sign-up line for Petitioners and Respondents: "Baby, I've got a shoulder to cry on. Hello?"

The guy attempting to exploit the child-support set, outside the bathroom: "Hey I wanna give you my phone number take you out to lunch and out to dinner and then to the mall. Shopping spree. Credit card."

The guy attempting to exploit the high-heeled, leering over the elevator: "Sexy."

And finally, the guy attempting to exploit his own misfortune, right outside the courtroom: "Hey, are you a lawyer?"

Final tally: Women with legal trouble, 4; court-themed pick-up lines, zero. Okay, so there are no good pick-up lines to use in court. Lingering for her right outside the courthouse is also bad form.

But gentlemen, if you must mack, please: Confine your scene to the basement cafeteria. It's well-lit down there, it's a little bit more relaxed (they sell muffins), and you won't directly skeeze a woman out with your own personal problems immediately before it's her turn to tell the judge about hers.

Photo by bloomsberries

Even after the woman was out of the picture, and Brown began patching things up with his own girlfriend, Brown and Young kept on fighting. Both men have been in and out of Erik P. Christian's courtroom for the past year on various assault charges and protection orders in relation to the mess. Once, Young rode past Brown's house and threatened him with a gun. It ended up being a fake—a cap gun Young borrowed from his son—but Brown didn't know that at the time. Today, Young is in court for another schoolyard-appropriate threat: taunting Brown about prison rape.

A couple of months ago, the two men had a chance meeting in Anacostia Park. Brown was practicing some football drills with a teammate when Young drove up to pick up some items from his mother-in-law. "He pulled up in the parking lot behind my red Mustang," Brown tells the court. "I continued to do my drills. He got back in his truck. He looked like he was wanting to fight. He was bouncing around and stretching. . . . I didn't know what he was going to do. We had had an incident with a gun before, and I didn't know if he was going to start shooting, or what."

Then he rolled the windows down." says Brown. "He said, 'Don't drop the soap!'" Brown recalls. "Don't drop the soap!"

Brown "dropping the soap"—in prison slang, the precursor to being sexually assaulted in the shower—would mean a bit of personal revenge for Young. Brown had recently been found guilty of assaulting Young, and he was awaiting sentencing. "He thought I was going to jail, so I guess he was taunting me about that," says Brown. "Then he drove off real slow."

The prison rape taunt backfired. Though Brown had most recently been convicted, both men had been ordered to stay away from each other—no contact, no fights, and no taunting. By ridiculing Brown about prison life, Young was risking more jail time, too.

In his defense, Young's attorney contended that his client never uttered the "drop the soap" comments in Anacostia Park. Brown, on the other hand, had been practicing more than football that day:  "He made cutting motions to his neck," Young's attorney said, an action which Young "completely ignored."

When it came time for Young to testify about the park meet-up, he broke in to tears. "I acknowledge my mistake that day, on the day of the incident," says Young. "The only reason I was down there was to pick up some items for my mother-in-law's daughter, who was sick," he said. "I do to want to have any contact with Mr. Melvin Brown. I just want to get a move on and get on with my life."

An officer has moved to stand behind Young. Judge Christian hands down his sentence: 180 days in prison, suspended, Young must serve 180 days in prison with one year with two years supervised probation. And he must stay away from Melvin Brown.

Young's lawyer thanks the judge, turns, and quickly walks out of the courtroom. Young surrenders his hat and papers. The officer applies latex gloves to his hands and leads Young into a back room.