Hello down there,
There are so many interactions and situations that I want to write about and almost all of them took place during yesterday's Dyke March. For those that are not familiar, this weekend is referred to as "Pride," a three day public party devoted to the celebration of homosexuality among almost all other sexualities. All but heterosexuality because, evidently, we have the remaining 362 days to celebrate. Public drunkenness is encouraged and nudity is acceptable. I have never been to anything like it.
On Saturday morning, I woke up and immediately walked to my neighborhood bar to seize the day. I ordered a shot of whiskey and a cider as I watched out the window for the L train. I would have never guessed that the mother-of-all-parties was taking place just a mile away. Everything was dull and ordinary in my area town, as it usually is at noon on a Saturday. Children were being picked up from their karate lessons and elderly Asian couples were carrying their groceries home. Ordinary.
I rode the train to Dolores Park, the epicenter of all things festive, to meet up with Danni and eventually Dean. I wrote about my interaction with Dean a few days ago and formed a concrete opinion of him based on what I knew of him at the time. It was a negative one and I regret to inform that I am sometimes wrong. As it turns out, he's a really fun person and not anything near what I made him out to be.
We drank and drank and drank Tequila, beer, and vodka. And we talked and talked and talked. Random drunken encounters would take place throughout the day, and two are worthy of their own paragraphs.
Humberto is a party-with-your-shirt-off kind of guy. Very friendly and very gay. We were returning from a liquor store and heading back to Dolores Park to march with dykes. They call it Dyke March. En route, Danni realized that she really needed to use a bathroom. Being the drunken trio that we then were, favors were asked of all that looked as if they had the authority to allow her into a bathroom. Residential bathroom, commercial bathroom, outhouse, anything. We didn't have time to be picky. Right as our latest attempt failed, a charming hispanic fellow descended from the clouds to scoop Danni off of her feet. At this point I was considerably drunk but relatively sober when comparing my inebriation to Dean's or to Danni. Danni definitively took the gold medal, Dean the silver, and I was left with an honorable mention of drunkenness. I wasn't drunk enough to let some stranger take my friend out of my view, however. Dean agreed with the potential risks and we chased them up the stairs. It turns out that he was a really cool guy and offered us some drugs, hit on Dean and Danni, and life moved forward in a slow-motion type of way.
I was dancing. Those that know me well know that I do not dance. This serves as further proof of my sloppiness during the march.
And I was attacked by a swarm of angry lesbians.
I saw a girl pushing a stroller. She was wearing a shirt that said...
"MARRIAGE = LOVE YOU SEXIST BITCH"
The number of hilarious ways that this can be interpreted is astounding. The best part is not knowing whether or not the wearer of the shirt knows this or not. Two thumbs up.
