It’s True: Republican Bae Michele Bachmann Came To My Gay Wedding and This Is What Happened


Lady Liberty and Sarah Palin are lit by the same torch —Michele Bachmann

And what a bizarre time we’re in, when a judge will say to little children that you can’t say the pledge of allegiance, but you must learn that homosexuality is normal and you should try it —Michele Bachmann

Before we get started, let’s all say ‘Happy Birthday’ to Elvis Presley today —Michele Bachmann

The rumors are true. Pero por fa, do not unfriend me yet. Do you know how hard it is to accept this in public after I ranted on Facebook about the idiocy of the gay movement’s focus on marriage? Am I throwing myself over the gay cliff right now? Maybe. Pero reinita, hear me out: Republicans are stubborn people! And I didn’t even see it coming. It was all so quick. Bam bam bam and before you could say ay juepuchica Michele Bachmann is sitting next to my mother picking some pork residue from her teeth, bonding with her over the apocalypse. How was I supposed to say “no” to the hottest bae over 50 in the Midwest? I have a soft spot for right-wing women, tu sabe. Also I don’t think we’ve given Michele proper credit on her party abilities, she’s raised like 30 foster kids plus Marcus in one house (we don’t know the exact number because she won’t fill the census!), she’s held so many racists/homophobic fundraisers we can’t even keep count (talk about a white Christian party monster, am I right?)! AND, girlfriend really wanted to blow up our party balloons (she’s so good!). Plus, she will tell me later, I heard immigrants are really good at the macarena. Dios mío. We are! All of us.

A few months ago I wrote this piece about the fake people I’ve loved. Among other things I talked about writing a short story with Michele Bachmann as María’s lesbian, troubled lover:

In this story I wrote [Michele] is clearly in pain—still homophobic and Republican—but somehow capable of love and intimacy with a certain María. Michele shows her tulip tattoo! And María braids Michele’s hair! And they hold hands in the dark! (Mrs. Bachmann, if you’re reading this, I wrote a story about you and I think you should give lesbianism a chance. Just think about it).

Little did I know our girl Michele has Marcus googling her every morning, and while her exfoliating face mask dries Marcus reads her a few headlines. Most of them, she said to me, are from ungodly people who do not understand The Lord’s calling. These are the end of times, you know Julia? I nodded (so sexy when she calls me Julia!). But then I found yours, she said flipping her hair. Here, Julia, how does my lipstick look? Marcus picked it for me and he’s colorblind.

A ver, a ver.  Let’s stop right there. Mi reina, this is Michele Bachmann we are talking about! Minnesota’s holy mama, the face of the radical Christian right, the mami who famously said English was good enough for Jesus when he wrote the bible, that bae, texting me. Me. Here are a few of our texts:

Good morning, is this Juliana Delgado?
Wassup mamiiii, who’s this?
Excuse me?
Alo? Laura, bebé, deja de joder!
May I please speak with Juliana Delgado. This is former congresswoman Michele Bachmann cross-3772 🙂
Oh shit! Mrs Bachmann!? 🙂 🙂 🙂 Send a pic so I know it’s you.


And the rest, as Michele would say, is divine history from our savior Jesus Christ.

We’re almost the same height, Michele and I, and when I first opened the door and she was there I blurted, Mrs. Bachmann I thought you were shorter! She brought an Elvis Presley CD, a bouquet of flowers, a box of corn dogs and a petition (which I told her she couldn’t circulate).

People didn’t want to sit close to her. My mom introduced herself because she didn’t know who she was and because, my madre would later tell me, hay que ser decente Juliana. Some of the people who didn’t know she was The Michele Bachmann asked yours truly, ajá Juli y quien es esa gringa next to the pear tree? The gringa on a folding chair underneath our sick pear tree (the tree eventually died), the box of corn dogs at her feet. Then someone else jumped into the conversation with a quick summary on Michele’s political record.

Why the fuck would you invite someone like that to your wedding? Does Laura know about this?
Porque está loca! Someone else yelled while bailando pegadito.

Okay. Shit was not going as planned. This was supposed to be my special day or whatever and it was turning out to be all about her. There were two white people at my wedding and Michele asked them both for water and when they brought her the glass she held their hands tight and stared praying. Y ya! Eso rebozó la copa mamita. Fuck no, you do not pray to a Christian God at my wedding!

You can’t be doing this, I told her. I didn’t ask you to come to my wedding.
Yes you did.
Okay, I did. But you contact me before remember? Remember?      Whatever. Michele, people think you’re weird.
I’m weird?
I’m weird? Are you serious? You’re the homosexual one.

Michele made me promise not to tell anyone that the real reason she’d come to my wedding was because, I just want to know what it’s like.

Like what? I said.
You know, to be at you people’s wedding, you know, homosexuals.

(I know queridísmo reader, roll your eyes reinita, roll your eyes). Before I could begin my feminist rant on her Republican ass I remembered that our DJ had cancelled, the go-go dancers got food poisoning, two of the drag queens were stuck at a protest and our sole entertainment was an iPod shuffle. Wouldn’t a bunch of genderfuck queers enjoy a hot Republican bae outside her comfort zone? Wouldn’t I? I told Laura, baby how many chances do we get to be so close to The Queen of the Tea Party? Come on, not too many. By the way I’m so lucky to be married to someone who lets me invite hot right-wing women to our wedding.

You have to try speaking to people, Michele. You can’t be sitting here alone. And I can’t be taking care of you.
Taking care of me! That’s what Marcus always says I can’t be taking care of you sweets. Sweets! But I got my corn dogs right here. By the way do you mind heating one up?
This is my wedding day! You’re ruining my wedding day!
Well, you’re not supposed to get married.
I turned to leave.
Julia, don’t go! Can we at least do the macarena then?

We did la macarena. Michele was in a corner of the dance floor extending her arms, folding them, moving her hips then jumping, aaaaaay! Baila tu cuerpo alegría macarena. Then my mamá got her a shot of aguardiente. Ay no Juliana I feel bad for that poor woman, mom said to me, se ve demacrada. She looks like shit. Let me get her un traguito. And a traguito she got her, followed by another one and another one.
Let it be said before someone in my family calls me about defaming my own madre, como es posible que tu hagas esto culicagada, etc: my mom doesn’t drink.

After an hour or so of otra! Otra! Otra! And all of us, including the Republican bae, chugging down aguardiente after aguardiente The Queen of the Tea Party elbowed her way into the center of the circle as Daddy Yankee’s Rompe exploded. Her tiny body a squiggly worm shaking to the perreo. Rompe! Rompe! Rompe!
La gringa está prendida! On fireeee.
What’s that music? she later asked, I need that music in my life.

Sidenote: what all them white right-wing women need is to shake the stupidity off with some perreo. Just sayin’. Ladies, it worked for Bachmann. I know. And do you really wanna go down in history as more conservative than Michele Bachmann?

We ended up drunk, sharing the corn dogs, taking selfies. Here she is biting on one.

Before her bodyguards came to pick her up she sat smoking next to the exit, giving everyone goodbye kisses.

I lied to you before, she said to me.
About what?
Oh, don’t make me say it. Okay. I didn’t come to see homosexuals. She took her pocket mirror, checked her teeth.
Your teeth look stunning, I said. They didn’t, but it felt right to say it in that moment.
Oh I know honey, it’s this new whitening cream Doctor Thomas brought from India.
Why did you come then?
Julia, oh Julia, can you keep a secret? Can you? She suddenly looked down. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. My hair is falling. And Marcus, where is he? People run away to San Francisco don’t they?
Before she could finish Laura sat on my lap, kissed me. Then the three of us took one last shot of aguardiente together.
Selfie! Michele yelled.
You’re a hot bae Michele, we both said.
A what?

P.S. To mainstream media: recently Michele Bachmann was caught saying the rapture is coming and it’s Obama’s fault. If someone could please play Daddy Yankee while she’s interviewed so we don’t have these kinds of problems again.

P.S. II. to Michele: Is it Marcus reading for Michele? Can you please get her to read this message herself? Is this Michele? Girl, did you take my black heels with you? Also, send me that last selfie!

Normalization (of gayness) through desensitization. Very effective way to do this with a bunch of second graders, is take a picture of The Lion King for instance, and a teacher might say, ‘Do you know that the music for this movie was written by a gay man?’ The message is: I’m better at what I do, because I’m gay.

— Michele Bachmann

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