Happy Pride

For the first time in a long time, I actually went to - and enjoyed - a gay pride festival. I remember back in the day when I was young and the festival was about celebrating coming out and loving, as demonstrated on floats filled with men in speedos or less. Then I turned 30 and moved away to the UK and everything changed.
In my 30's Pride festivals seemed to be about drugs and unprotected unsafe sex in porto-johns. It was about all-night dance parties with hot fit guys, and I was not one of those.The festivals and parades also seemed to be giant commercials, "Pride hosted by Verizon!" or "Albertson's Supports the LGBT Community!" Was this gay?
By the time I was 40, I just wanted to shout: "Get off my lawn!" if the parade got too near or if the festival space slowed my commute.
But this year, I actually had fun.
Partly because they brought the speedo-clad sexy boys back on the floats.
But mostly because I spent it with friends.
Joel came down from Pasadena for the weekend - a little getaway that started Friday with a dinner out and ended Sunday after an early brunch. I hadn't seen him in years, not since one of the Off-Sunset Festivals I think in 2014? But we reconnected immediately with a warm hug that made up for the time we missed.
Old friends were present and accounted for.
And new friends, too. I spent most of those events - Friday dinner, Saturday parade, Saturday at the festival, and the Kesha concert - with Rick and Phat, two new friends I've made since moving here to San Diego. It was a good blend of old and new, calm and crazy.
And it taught me that these people really are my friends, because after my accident on Friday, was moving slower than a one-legged turtle. That they were willing to put up with my slowness says something about their kindness.
We watched the parade, we sat in the shade and drank vodkas all afternoon, we had lunch, we watched Kesha rock the park, and then home again.
I had honestly thought about staying home and asking Phat and Rick to take care of Joel. I wasn't sure my ankle would keep up.
I'm glad I went. I'm hurting like a muthafucka now, but it was worth it for the good times I had.
I posted on Facebook that I have three really happy memories from the weekend:
First, I'm glad I got to spend time with friends being out and open and brave in the face of the hatred and violence that's abundant toward gays today.
Second, I'm glad to have met Brendan Jordan; a model of how courageous today's GLBT youth are. I also got to meet and talk with his mother, his aunt, and his sister, all of whom were absolutely lovely and supportive and strong.
Thirdly, I am happy that for a minute, I had a boyfriend on Saturday. His name id Dion. He fell in love with my green-yellow eyes and my so-white beard. He denied that he was high as fuck on Molly, and insisted that it was just real. Three minutes later he was making out with some guy in the alcohol line who was buying him a vodka. Love can be so fleeting…. but I had him. For a moment.

Mail Attachment

blog comments powered by Disqus