Pride Goeth Before The Fall
That said, thanks for all the emails, shout outs and mean comments on the street calling me out for being lazy and/or stupid. I appreciate it!
This weekend was Gay Pride in Philadelphia. I wanted to make a shirt that said “Pride is one of the 7 Deadly Sins” or “What exactly do YOU have to be proud of?” But alas, I did not. These are good ideas for next year, though, and I am copyrighting them as we speak. So, I started my weekend with a Happy Hour on Thursday where I met up with KD and the lovely sisters Lamoureux. CL let me touch her boobies, natch, and JL got a little sick from her drinks that I can only assume were laced with some sort of illegal substance. Lesbians with GHB are everywhere; don’t even think they’re not. After I caught a bit of a buzz, KD and I stumbled to the Olive Garden and pigged out. It was a bit trashy but so appropriate; it really hit the spot. We had a pitcher of berry sangria between us.
He asked me if I thought I was a great person. I replied that yes, I did.
Friday was a chill evening replete with drinks and catching up with EK and early bedtime. I had some refreshing Bloody Ho's at Ten Stone. I am not the 24 hour party people that you think I am, reader.
So Saturday, Chop and I ventured out on the town where we avoided Bump because the air conditioner was broken and it was approximately 247 degrees outside. Philadelphia is so pleasant in the summertime! We spent most of the night at Woody’s where we danced to bad remixes of bad songs. While there I found out that 2 guys with whom I have had transient relations are now dating each other. I am sure it was their former unabashed attraction to me that brought them together. Such is the way of the gays.
Then on Sunday it was the pride festival. Truth be told, I still don’t really get the pride thing. I know it very important to be proud of who you are on the inside. As aforementioned, I think I am a great person. They set up the festival in an abandoned, weed-filled parking lot no where near any gay bars. Gay organizations set up booths that showcase everything ranging from important health issues to a spanking booth. (A dollar a spank…for charity or something.) The whole thing was a freak show that’s enough to make you turn straight (if electroshock therapy doesn’t do the trick). It was a bunch of sweaty freaks in rainbow flags and bumper stickers, wearing their very best tank tops. There were boustiers (on men) and hiking boots (on women). The gay world can be a bit empty, depressing and embarrassing. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time with my friends, but it’s hard to feel like I fit in or even want to fit in. But in many ways, Pride can be just nasty and alienating as Shame. I always feel that being gay is, and should be, the least interesting thing about me (or you). Yes, it makes me more fabulous than you most likely, but it’s still not what defines me. That said, I think I looked totally cute.
Of course, the Christian Right was in effect protesting, no doubt taking off some time in their dogged attempts to stamp out stem cell research, and the scourge of terminal disease prevention. I got some pictures taken with their protest signs. They are posted on my Friendster page for those of you in the know. What was great was that there was a Gay Christians group who was peacefully protesting right in front of them. Like the Supreme Court says, the marketplace of ideas is so fucking hot! (paraphrased).
When I returned home from Pride a little blonder and pinker than I was when I left, I was delighted to find that there was a marathon of the first season of America’s Next Top Model. Heaven. A nice walk in the park at night (once it cooled down to normal Earth temperatures) with KD capped off the prideful weekend.
In other news, you can send your friends, enemies and lovers anonymous e-cards that tell them about STDs that you might have given them or gotten from them. I know it’s supposed to be an important, effective tool in fighting the spread of disease, but since I have the maturity of a 12 year old, I will be sending them to everyone I know.
I saw the crazy girl from Fado who asked my table if we were gay the other night again at Fergie’s. Bitch is crazy. She asked the bartender for a pair of scissors so that she could cut her top to be more conducive to flesh-baring cleavage shots. Then she approached me and KD, told us we were cute (ok, she really just said he was cute), and asked us if (drum roll) we were gay. What is this girl’s problem? Whatever it is, I have a problem, too. I think way deep down I love her!
Signing off for now, but GO PHILLIES!!! They’re on a roll.