Pride 2012

There are too many things to write about this Pride, which was undoubtedly the best Pride I've had yet, but I'll try and get out the best bits and pieces for the enjoyment of your eyeballs and for the sake of me writing down all the joyous details before they slip from my memory.

The City Is a Drag

Friday began with Bek and I giving our friends giant rainbow lollicocks as hostess gifts and ended with me spooning/straddling a giant teddy bear in their living room as I fell asleep. The in between was something else. Something ELSE.  The Crew glammed up at their place and headed out for the evening. While we had a drink at his apartment and waited for Amy's boyfriend Darby to come home, we were all treated to the delight of conversation with their co-worker, Anthony. I can't describe him, other than say that he was beautiful, insanely smart (among many things, he told me about the Roman Emperor Elagabalus...look him up), and he wanted to borrow one of our credit cards to order a replica SS cap off the internet. He also treated us to delightful rants about how Jim Morrison was a douche bag.  Also, he coined the phrase "limp wristed frivolity." I heard it there first. Now you heard it here. Fly my minions, fly!

We ate sushi, and after that, I watched as the others got their pre-drink on by filling measuring cups (there were no real cups) 3/4 full of booze and splashing the mixer in for posterity. I sipped my juice flavoured wine beverage, keeping in mind I had a 5K to smash the next morning. Judging by the faces everyone was making, juice flavoured wine beverage was the way to go.

At Crews & Tango, the bar was a sauna. We literally sweat out just by existing. Up on stage an array of gorgeous drag queens paraded their stuff, their ability to walk in heels higher than the CN Tower, and chatted with the audience. We were incensed. The excited energy in the air was a cocktail with the raging hormones, the eccentricity and the booze.

Over the course of the evening, we crept closer and closer to the stage through the crowd until we were right up front with the best view of the action. At one point, Alli put money in the front of my dress and shoved me up towards the stage. The queen performing took the tip from my decolletage...with her teeth.
A beautiful drag queen from Montreal also pulled Alli up on stage to dance with her... on account of their matching giant knockers. I had thought that I had lost my voice screaming and cheering already, but at that point I found another octave. We belted out Pink, Gaga, Nicki Minaj, we danced hard, we sweated profusely. I ended up slow dancing to Gaga's Speechless with a boy who told me he knew how to dance because he had, "slept with a lot of dancers."

We split back for home at two. As I laid down to fall asleep that night, I found what I had been waiting for the whole evening: pre-race jitters. With me and the darkness, there they were, putting my bravery on life support. I was never going to fall asleep.... I was up, feeling around in the dark. Muttering to myself. Finally, Bek had had enough.

Bek: "What are you doing?"

Me: "I need to get the bear."

And when I finally found the giant teddy bear and spooned the damn thing until I could fall asleep.

Omen

I woke up on race day, not feeling overly strong, but very thirsty. The entire weekend was hot and humid. The water you drank instantly came out of your pores. The alcohol went straight to your head. I packed my post-run backpack and dressed my running gear. At the race line, I said goodbye to my support team and went to find a place in the pack of jostling, antsy runners.

It began with a rainbow explosion. I do not exaggerate, as confetti rained down from above. The run was hot. HOT. HOOOOOOOOOT. I found out AFTER, that the city was on smog alert, the sun was bearing down on us and here we were, 1100 people running, like it was SANE. (I maintain as I always have: runners are crazy.) 
This run was monumental. I couldn't breathe deeply enough, which put a colossal stitch in my side. As I watched the elite pass me by, and I passed by people reducing themselves to walk in the deadly heat, I could feel my resolve begging for mercy. I had started the race with the intention of busting the ceiling of a sub-30 minute 5K run. But I was sweating, gasping, the thick wet hot air into my panicking lungs. My new goal was to just SURVIVE. To just. keep. running, no matter how hard it was. The second lap of the course by the water station saw me dump the entire glass on my head. Which relieved me for about 15 seconds before the cool evaporated and left me sweltering again.

With 3 minutes left before my goal time slipped away, I could see the finish line in the distance. I remembered what Jill had told me: Leave everything on the track. You only have to run so fast for that little bit longer. I forced my legs to work hard. I could see it. Omen by the Prodigy pulsed into my ears, through my blood stream and my legs pumped harder. The finish line is always a shot of adrenaline. You see it, you're in pain. Suddenly the pain is gone as you fly over it. When you reach the other side, the pain returns with your lungs, your legs, your panicked feelings. As I crossed the barrier from run to complete, I saw 29:29 on my watch (aka 29:27.4 by chip time!). I had smashed my goal and my best 5K time ever by 41 seconds!

I wandered from the finish, grabbing a bottle of water from a volunteer, gasping, sweating, dying but AMPED.  I sat down on a curb, and I admit it, I got misty. I started to cry, just a little. Never ever ever would I have predicted that I would do such a thing in my lifetime and the impact of the accomplishment had moved me to tears. Thankfully, my ladies showed up and moved me back into smiles. AND they brought Justin in tow with them. We hugged hard, and they all congratulated me. I rambled off about the race and running stuff, they were obliged enough to listen, and then we all went out for brunch. (Banana bread French toast with almond-maple creme anglaise. Take me now.)

Give Them Hope

We wandered around the grounds, including the Stag Shop, where I was accidentally punched in the face by Bekah with a fisting dildo. On the walk to my tattoo, Justin, Bek and I saw the beginning of the Dyke march. Lots of women on motorcycles, revving engines and inciting the screaming crowd into cheers: awesome!

At the tattoo parlour, we were literally less than twenty minutes. The time it took me to fill out the form was about the same amount of time it took to do the tattoo I've been waiting on for a whole year.

Give Them Hope. Not just a "gay" thing. Learning about Harvey Milk put me on the path to activism and working towards gay rights. And my interest in rights and activism has changed my life: I mean...I want to graduate from University three years to work in non-profit organizations and make a difference. Give Them Hope. A reminder that  no matter what happens, it's important to be that beacon. Be bright, be amazing. Who are we not to be?

Strongbow & Espresso

By this point we were all pretty tired, so a couple of us went out to the Hair of the Dog, a local bar for some brews. This was followed by dinner (inappropriate jokes about the hotness of the waiter), getting ready to go out (GLITTER EVERYWHERE) + cake flavoured vodka and Sprite, followed by heading out to the Village once again (MORE GLITTER EVERYWHERE). We had a few more drinks which had me feeling a teensy bit silly. Cutting loose. However, our group was tired and jaded to partying in the city they lived in. So our kind hosts gave us the keys to the apartment and went home. Bek and I networked with Justin, who had a friend with him.

"Hi," said the vaguely tipsy me, smiling and being glowingly social as I put my hand out for a shake , "I'm Riley."

"I know," she said flatly, "we've met before." I don't know why, I think it comes out of old habits, but the most important thing to me when being even on the caboose of the tipsy train is proving to people that I'm still capable of all that I am sober. I'm trying to relax because I know there's nothing wrong with a little drinkie-poo, and being silly. I think it has something to do with my anxiety. Either way, the air was out of my tires, despite the fact that I am terrible with faces and names at the best of times anyway. Let alone up late bear spooning, up early, 5K death run, hot sweaty day, tattoo, no nap, Strongbow, and the doppio espresso I was drinking as I said this.

Sorry, Mom

We ended up going to a lesbian bar called Slack's, which was something I'd never done before. The DJ was this beautiful vaguely androgynous woman who spun everything from Backstreet's Back to Umbrella with amazing skill. Bek and I agreed a lady of such a caliber made us question ourselves as red blooded allies... more than we did already. And we danced. We helped a girl with a makeout contest. (Sorry mom.) We danced a LOT more, until 3AM. On the cab ride back, Bek and I commented on the fabulousness of the heels worn by a woman on the street corner. The cabbie laughed, "That's a hooker," he said. It's so hard to tell around Pride Time.

Part the last: in which I am bad at being hit upon
Sunday, the day of the parade, Bek and I met Josh and Reb (first timers!) at Union Station. After giving them a brief tour of the grounds I had to split from them for my volunteer shift. I left them in full clothes, and the next time I saw Josh, he was wearing literally nothing but a pair of Espana briefs. (OLE!) There's nothing quite like the most liberal celebration on the face of the Earth to reduce your friends to frolicking around rainbow junction in their underpants.

After dinner (ALL THE CHICKEN WINGS IN THE WORLD), Bek and I took in our last taste of the festival. As our group worked through the crowd, a guy did a 180 to look at me so dramatically that I looked at him in return. Not just any guy. This guy was a black guy. Don't think that I'm being racist when I say that when I get hit on, 99% of the time, it's a black dude. Now, this guy was GOOD looking, all up in my personal space and my first thought was WOW, followed by ALL MY FRIENDS ARE STARING AT ME, followed shortly by the third: IS HE ON SOMETHING?

He looked my right in the face.

"You have really nice eyes," I said, which was the fourth thought, and the first thing out of my mouth. In my imagination I am the smoothest flirtiest flirt in the West. In real life: I am the polar opposite. 

"I like your lips," he said, smiling, and I honestly couldn't tell you all the details about the conversation because men giving me attention turns me into a stammering dork without an ounce of sass or clout.

I accused him of not being a real live lesbian and he assured me that he was one. And in my embarrassment of having I attention, because I realize in retrospect that having my friends being treated to street theatre made me even more awkward, I told him his friends were waiting and I probably had to go. Well. This boy was firmly determined. He put my arms around his neck and uh. Kissed me? And I panicked more, being the worst person under pressure of ALL FUCKING TIME. And leaned away, stammered something about having to go, thanking him for the flattery and wishing him a good evening before making a beeline for the nearest merch tent, in a daze, a panicky daze.  And when my friends caught up with me, I couldn't even explain what happened.

GOAL OF LIFE: BE SMOOTHER.

Then I bought a bright purple  shirt emblazoned with the word FAG across the front. I don't know why I wanted it, I just did. We packed up and drove home that very evening, listening to Jack White and being very. Very. Very tired.

Anatomy of a 22nd Birthday

This past Thursday, I had the good fortune to turn 22 years old, which hit me fully in the face this morning at work when the new girl asked me my age and I answered, then walked into the back room, only to freeze by a shelf full of band aids and condoms in shock and what was either awe or appall. The rosy glow of Thursday, where I felt pleased and accomplished had whipped off and left serious disparity: a sense of loss and a small identity crisis. I don't feel 22 years old. I don't know if I've done what other people have done at my age. I don't know if I feel ahead, but I think it's behind, and like I ought to do more '20 something' stuff while I still can. I will figure out what this really equals out to and report back in the mean.

Thursday started off with lunch, during which Bek and I freaked out as Steph oh-so-casually dropped the news that her and her long time boyfriend had FINALLY gotten engaged on a two week trip in the UK.  (WEDDINGS!) FINALLY.

Later, when peeps arrived to the party, in which I was spinning vinyls (like it's soooo cool) and drinking cocktails of Cake flavoured Vodka and Dry Lavender Soda. They all came bearing amazing gifts! Josh and Reb brought me the Tiny Book of Tiny Stories and my most coveted of all china, a Great Gays of Our Time mug. It's like having a peek-a-boo tea party with famous homos and Earl Grey. Phil and Steph brought me a HELP! Mug and Union Jack pins from Liverpool. I also got new yoga towel and a book about Montreal & Quebec City from Jill, as well as some new running gear from my parents. Which is AWESOME because all the stuff I have is now too big, as I have literally continued to run my ass off. (Upon hugging me when he got here, Josh declared me to be 'tiny.' ZING!)

Oh yeah, and I got new glasses! Peach Ombre retro beauties from LOVE brand.

After gifts and AMAZING cinnamon bun cupcakes that big sister engineered all by her lonesome, my crew and I rolled out, intending to go to the bowling lane. However, the guy told us in the lackadaisical way that seems smeared upon all people who work at bowling alleys, that he didn't have enough time to ring us all through before the lanes closed. So we ended up going to bubble tea, where I ended up eating too much. I regret nothing. Calories are null and void on birthdays. SCIENCE.

After that, we all headed back to my house. Some of my darlings had to split for home, and the rest of us sat around a chiminea fire on the deck. I was drinking sangria like juice, which messed with my stomach more than it put me out of my chair. I'm not 22-year-old-alcoholic-and-party-all-the-time type, but I do miss getting a good buzz going on. My birthday was the one day I didn't feel personally obligated to drive, so it was nice to even just be able to have a few without worrying about being the DD, which is the hat I usually wear.

We sat around the fire and talked about the internet and how Facebook might warp our children. We spoke of memories of highschool, Montreal, camping and summer flings. It was a really nice way to end the evening. 

Now with this milestone behind me, it's time to look ahead. I've started looking for places to live in Montreal, registered for a few classes, and get my schtuff all sorted out before I have to change plains...of existence.

UP NEXT: PRIDE & the 5K, musical overdose, selling my shit on Kijiji, battling Ben and Jerry's addiction, sunburns in weird places, piano keys, Gordon Lightfoot, cleaning out my closet without referencing Eminem (except just now), eventually quitting one of my jobs to allow more free time, the last haircut I might ever get for a long ass time, fashion blogging, being smitten, karaoke and I-want-my-nose-pierced-but-I-still-work-at-a-conservative-Starbucks.

Stone Feathers

EDIT: If this post is a mess, it's because I just basically hurled my feelings at the wall and wrote whatever stuck. It's raw and real that way. So...there.

I had a good 5K run today. I've improved 4:04 minutes since the Classic last June!

I'm excited to do it again this year. In the past couple of weeks, running outdoors has become a mainstay. I can run longer, take hills easier, and I even have to pick up my speed at times because I realize I'm running gently, breathing easy. Run hard. That's all.

One day, my fitness goal is to run 5K in under half an hour. Until then, I have a couple of races to keep me on my toes, and to give me something to fight for. One being the Waterloo Classic, and the second one, being a run for a good cause: the Pride and Remembrance Run 5K. (GAYS AND RUNNING? SIGN ME UP!...Oh. Wait. I totally already did dat.)

It's the Saturday before Pride Parade Sunday and donations this year are going to LGBT Youth Line (which I already volunteer for as a blogger) and HALCO. It's really a worthy cause and I'm thrilled to be a part of it. In fact, I'm already looking forward to having a good dash! If you're in the Toronto area and you want to sign up or want more info, you can check out details: here.

And if you're interested in contributing, I'm accepting pledges here...every little bit helps.

My motto for this run is Give Them Hope. It's kind of become a mini campaign in my head. In my daydreams, I see big change and customized t-shirts and video entries and guest bloggers. I know that I'm one person, and that maybe this dream or this micro-crusade of mine never gets off of the ground, but I know that if nothing else, I'll be running. I'll be doing my part.

I'm running for myself: When I run, I shatter the barriers of my own expectations. When I look at where I'm going and the miles that I have come to be where I am, I'm on wings. Lifted, when I used to be carved of heavy stone, threatening to crumble into nothing. I stop using the words 'I can't' and instead say, 'I will.' I've earned EVERY SINGLE STEP that I've taken across hard ground, across the sidewalks in my neighborhood, and across finish lines. When I run-- I am more than I have ever imagined I could be. The pain and the speed and the aches and the tears are worth the power and the animal joy that comes when I find myself exhausted, but gunning to the finish. When I'm out of life and motive, but I get up the next day, run again, and keep on living. I'm romanticizing it hard, yeah but... shit. It's true. All of it. It's my hope.

I'm running for others: Harvey Milk said it best. Without hope, the us's give up. I talk about him here time and time again, because he's right. It is SO important that people understand their power is their potential. Participating in the run also supports the gay community in Toronto and the idea that we are here to take care of each other. Love one another. Potential as power is crucial, but it is even more important, I think, to feel like part of something, part of a community. A community is power, and potential, and it's all based off of love. When I run on June 30th, I'm going to be putting out every step because of love. Because I want to spread the love, open my heart to the world and send a message across the globe. You're not alone. You're beautiful and you're loved. I'm not the only one who feels this way. And when you spread that love and you give them hope, you turn stone to feathers, and chains to wings.

....That's all I'd want for someone else, too.

The Hope Speech

I saw this story on the news today and it broke my heart. I sat with tears streaming down my cheeks, crushing Telly in my arms, unable to find words beyond anger and cutting sorrow.

I wish I could reach out to every single kid who ever felt alone, unloved, rejected, or trashed out. I might not be gay, but I’ve been there. Bullied and watching all of your friends fall in teenage love? Fuck, sometimes I feel like I’m still stuck in that state of mind, left in the dust. When I think about the person I was at 15, that girl was worlds away from who I am now. She had a lot to learn, a lot to become. I have become and it makes me so sad this boy never will have that chance.

I think these are feelings EVERYONE goes through, in different magnitudes. But for someone so young to be so mixed up with medications and circumstances that death at fifteen is their only option? It’s crushing. I’m furious. I’m destroyed. As a former suffering teenager, as someone who has lost a good friend to suicide, I’m moved.

One of my greatest wishes is for these kids, these lost souls, to know they have options. They can have freedom. They can have all the love in the fucking world, it’s out there, it’s waiting. It’s pounding in the hearts of a million people who will love them. My heart being one of them. Every time I hear something like this, it becomes more and more important to me to live a life guided by spreading love. That’s all I want. I want to give love.

Harvey Milk, one of my absolute heroes, said it best: “The only thing they have to look forward to is hope. And you have to give them hope. Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a better place to come to if the pressures at home are too great. Hope that all will be all right. Without hope, not only gays, but the blacks, the seniors, the handicapped, the us'es, the us'es will give up. You gotta give ‘em hope.”

A Matter of Pride

PRIDE 2011

Day 1
Driving to Toronto with Scott McKenzie's "San Francisco." Belated birthday gifts. Shopping at Forever 21. Dinner in a little diner with my ladies. Starbucks. Getting ready to rock Church Street in their townhouse on Carlaw. Can't decide what to wear. Fluorescent pink belt. Squeeze five into a cab downtown.Meet a large turquoise house, and the party on Church Street. Run into old boss from internship. See boys holding hands, girls entwining their fingers. See colour everywhere. Beautiful. Night starts to fall. Fluorescent orange beautiful. See a boy try to sweep my friend off her feet- amazing. Get into line for a little pub and sit inside. Ice water and sangria from a waiter in a toga. Watch the rain pour on nobody's parade. Laugh. Talk. Drink.
Out into the streets with the rain and the celebration. Drag queens and boyfriends and stickers everywhere. True fact: all trannys have really nice legs and work heels better than I do. Feet hurting, people are tired. Return to the apartment. Talk until 2AM about life and everything else. Conclude things about past lives and revolutions. Sleep soundly.

Day 2
Wake up and dress- slowly. Blasting Lady Gaga at 10AM. Wear rainbow suspenders and walk to Shopper's Drug Mart. Decked out in rainbows, the cashier asks if we're headed to the parade. Buy six 1.5 litre water bottles. 10:30AM and already hot and sweating. Catch a cab to Yonge and Church. Interviewed by CBC News. Breakfast of pancakes with blueberry syrup and bacon. Rush to volunteer check in. Marvel at the masses of people and the energy and joy in the air. Almost moved to tears by it...almost.

Get badge, and t-shirt-- it's pink! End up at wrong information booth, hurry to other booth. Meet Dustyn, begin getting people to sign petitions. Rights for LGBT in Turkey. Abolish the laws that make homosexuality illegal in Cameroon. Protect LGBT activists in Mexico. Temporary tattoos and lots of signatures. Idle chatter and the blistering afternoon sun. Bottles of water, lots of passers by... some completely naked. Totally free. Teenage girl with big brown eyes asks where all the hate for gays comes from. A man tells us about his sexual assault in Egypt. People thank us for doing our work, say there ought to be more like us. Fall more in love with the community as it opens up.My friends stop by the booth twice, but soon leave for other activities. Begin yelling out to the crowd to get their attention and their signatures on the paper. "Support the global LGBT community! Give others the rights you already have!" Feel like a part of something bigger, accomplished. Go on break, wander around. See queens, kings, jokers and super soakers. Return to the booth, beginning to tire out. Double shift is 7.5 hours long. Take down booth, check out at volunteer station. Meet my friends at Church&Wood, head to Fran's for dinner. It's the same Fran's my dad used to eat at when he lived in Toronto. Sandwich dinner, coconut cream pie for dessert. NOM NOM NOM. Change into obnoxiously loud and colourful outfit, and head back to Church. Cruise around. Look at underwear in the Stag Shop. Look at buttons as souvenirs-- buy one for the family at home. Night is falling and dance parties are breaking out in the streets. Our bodies tired but powered by happiness and love and beatsbeatsbeats. We dance too- spontaneous. Walk around a little more. Admire, breathe in the night air. Cab back to the apartment. Pack up and drive home. Stop for caffeine and water on the way.

Day 3
Wake up feeling exhausted despite sleeping like the dead. Wear rainbow t-shirt, see the world in a totally different light. Watch Milk, a post-Pride tradition. Cry at the end, like I always do. Feel happy. Look forward to next year. Write blog post.

Countdown

Lately even though I feel like I haven't been doing much, there seems to be lots of different stuff going on in the near future, which will surely turn into blogs. For now, we're going to have to sit and wait for them to all unfold. Welcome to the FINAL COUNTDOWN post. [Insert Will Arnett dancing here.]

Waterloo 5K Classic Race: 2 days
Did I mention I'm running a 5 kilometer race on Sunday? Well here it is: I'm running (or trying to) a 5K race this Sunday! As part of my new fitness routine, I've signed myself up for it. My sisters and my mom have also signed up, so we're all in it together. This is the first road race I've ever run, EVER, so I'm hoping it's going to be good... Of course by good I mean that I finish with a reasonable time for myself, I don't fall down, burst into tears or puke anywhere... and I'd still like to enjoy the whole thing because I'm thinking about running a 10K in October.

My 21st Birthday: 4 days
I love clip art so much!

It's my champagne birthday (turning 21 on the 21st!) in four days! I don't really have any big plans, but I'm hoping whichever ones I do have involve cake and dancing.

New Tattoo: 8 days
On the 25th, I'm getting my 3rd tattoo done. I won't say what it is because I'm definitely going to take pictures and write a post about it, but I will say I am PUMPED about it! P.S. The picture is a hint, definitely.

PRIDE: 16 days
JULY 3rd is the PRIDE PARADE in Toronto! This year, instead of just watching, I'm volunteering at one of the Human Rights booths, informing people about rights (and violations of them) for homosexuals in countries around the world, and at home. Lots of my friends are big supporters of the movement so it's going to be a big colourful party!

God Awful

Today I held in my hands a piece of paper that had the gall to declare that the end of days was at hand. This offensive piece of pure ignorance and hatred, disguised as a mere paper pamphlet, said that come May 21st, 2011, we are all basically screwed. According to this shit, which I am going to call out as straight up shit, GAY PRIDE is a surefire sign of the apocalypse.

That's right, because two people with matching parts love each other, we're all going to get smote. Modern love is bringing about the end of of the world. RE-FUCKING-DICULOUS.

This is the sort of ignorance that makes me really angry and blows my mind at the exact same time. The pamphlet I was reading was a campaign of hate. How exactly can people put so much energy into hating each other? When did your private tastes become available for the scrutiny of public opinion? When did love between two consenting people become wrong in any capacity? I'll admit it's true. There have always been people opposed to the gay movement, so the answer to the above questions is: always. That's why it's infuriating. We haven't learned to LOVE each other yet, after living around each other for SO LONG.

People can talk righteous and feel good about handing out paper to try and 'save' people by telling them they're wrong. But they can't see past their own walls of prejudice. They wouldn't know saving someone if it came up and shoved them off their mighty walls, then nursed them back to health. People can find blind faith but never find room for blind love of their fellow human beings. It's disgusting.

The icing on the cake came when my friend Josh linked me this video:


He knows I have the biggest soft spot for this kind of thing. I swear to whatever entity is threatening to destroy us because of a little boy on boy action, or two girls kissing (which I saw today- it made my heart happy) I was definitely gay in a past life. That's my conclusion, that's why every time I see something like this, every time I hear a story it punches me in the heart and holds on tight. It bothers me for the next few days. I want to make a change. I want to help.

Anyone who has it in their heart to hate their fellow man for something like this... They don't have the right to call themselves human. Plain and simple.

Sexy Christmas

I'm a supporter of gay rights. It started out as just an opinion that equality is something universally deserved. Somehow it's turned into a full blown THING. I don't know what to call it. I would never be pompous enough to say I'm an activist. It's more like if GAY was a sports team, I'd be one of those crazy fans who paints their body rainbow and picks fights with the opposition.

Me at the Toronto Pride Parade, 2010

It's funny that as a former quiet girl without two shreds of personality to rub together, I've found myself in love with a community of some of the loudest, boldest, most beautiful and amazing people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and dancing my ass off with.

Last year, I went to the Pride parade in Toronto. It was my first time. I got caught up in the instant attraction. The summer heat and the sense of one-ness made sense at the time. Dare I say it, I fell in love. And then, at the end of the day, I had to go home. I had to end my affair with the Pride parade. The next day, and maybe I'm being melodramatic (isn't that what writers do?) there was this unfulfilled feeling. I missed it. I wanted to call it, but we had parted with a gentle, "I'll see you next summer..." And that was that, nothing to be done about it.

I had been so caught up in the joy, the love, the celebration of the community. I was instantly addicted. I wanted to be a part of it. Needed- except that I wasn't gay. Was there some sort of honorary card I could carry around? Could I be a part of the secret club even if vajay-jays aren't my thing? Could I fake it? No, I could not. But then a good friend helped me realize that being part of a community, part of a movement is not about who you want, or who you wake up next to. It's about what you believe. And I believe in rainbows, equality, and love. Yeah, it's cheesy. But it's true, so sue me.

I've got a couple friends who feel the exact same way I do. So when I discovered the The FCKH8 Store was selling 2011 STR8 against H8 calendars, I knew exactly what to do. I bought five. One for me and the others for my most fantastically pro-gay, pro-sexy calendar friends.

I am excited for Pride in July. ALREADY! As I said last night, sitting in the bar, surrounded by my favourite girls, a boy from Brazil and two New Yorkers: "Pride is the BEST! It's like.... sexy Christmas!"
PRIDE WEEK COUNTDOWN: 89 DAYS
I'mnotalreadyplanning- what?