Gay Pride

I decided to meet Annie and her friend at the Gay Pride Parade (okay, obviously I'm a little late in posting this one). I decided to wear my "Have you seen my weiner?" t-shirt, which I have worn correctly only once before. I've worn it inside-out many times, but I'm afraid of offending the ladies and gentlemen in my neighborhood with it. But, I figured, who am I going to offend at the Gay Pride Parade? Everyone will ignore me, gawking instead at the shirtless ladies and men in pink spandex.

When I arrived at the parade, however, I noticed that everyone seemed to have toned it down a notch since the parades I used to attend in the 1990s. A lot of people seemed to have kids, too. I felt a little ashamed, actually, at my t-shirt, but that was okay. I enjoy feeling shame. (The shirt itself is my way to shame myself about my promiscuous period - again in the 90s - where I would "take it out" in a variety of settings). My friend Tim and I used to joke about our "Gay Shame Parade," which consisted of just the two of us, plus whichever loners and outcasts were currently in our circle. Then Tim moved away to Berlin. Sigh. Now it's just me, a parade of one.

Everyone is so ra-ra about everything these days. People cheered for the Bank of America float, for God's sake. They even cheered for the NYPD's brass band. I dutifully booed and hissed any float that featured a bank's logo, and I definitely booed the NYPD, but I was the only one booing. I don't get Lady Gaga, either.

Alice Walker wrote once that "resistance is the secret of joy." And Sheryl Crow lamented that "it's hard to make a stand." Parade volunteers pranced by, handing out stickers for the crowd to wear, but I politely declined all of them, except for the one I'm wearing in this pic. The sticker for SAGE, the elderly gays. I could rock this town, friends, but first I have to take a Boniva.

Pizza party!

It was Annie's bday, so I took her to that Max Brenner restaurant in Union Square, where we had a delicious supper. Annie never warns people when her birthday is approaching ... she only tells you months later, so you can feel terrible about forgetting it, and she can be a martyr of a sort. But now I will have the last laugh! I've saved Annie's bday in an internet program, so I get a reminder about it every year. Now, every year I tell her she's an old hag like me, and then I take her out to dinner so we can have some food for our Boniva to dissolve in.

I laughed out loud when I saw the t-shirt she was wearing! It's an inside joke that not too many people know - Annie and our friend Kristin have a fake band named Pizza Party, that exists only for them to take funny "album cover" photos and post them on their Facebook pages. I remember looking at these posts once and feeling both impressed by their wit and a little jealous that I wasn't in the band. I wish I had the link. I just googled "kristin anne pizza party" to try to find the link again, and instead I found a link to a segment on New Jersey's News 13 where Kristin embarks on a unicycle ride across the state, in the hope of inspiring "locals to live their dreams." I quickly closed my browser window ... sometimes we find that we don't know our friends as well as we thought. And perhaps that's for the best.

Here's the unicycle segment link:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaD3ZXZVK50

!

Dressy party

I was at a party last night where practically everyone was better-dressed than me! It doesn't happen often. It was at the Pink Pony - I was surprised that this place was still open. And one of the guests at the party helps run the website where I bought the shirt I was wearing, even. It was a birthday party for the fashion designer friend of a friend, named Anthony. He was fabulous in a black sheath with some sort of polka dotted, ruffled pull-on - I want to get to know him better, and blog about his outfits. Plus, maybe he will teach me the correct fashion word for "pull-on."

I waited until everyone seemed to have arrived at the party, and then I dramatically left. I was walking towards the Bowery when a very handsome bum accosted me and called me "sexy." I was immediately drawn in to what he was saying, since it's been at least 9 years since anyone's called me sexy. (Although, in my youth, I was considered quite the great beauty - like Sophia Loren if she was a little uglier). Anyway, I noticed that the bum was carrying a huge bottle of liquor, and I realized that I should take his "sexy" comment with a grain of salt. He seemed to want a cigarette, and to touch me. I asked him to settle for just a cigarette. That's when he described an evening that he had in mind for the two of us to share together - complete with cocaine, a "bowl," and some E. Foolish, unbelievably handsome bum! It's the me of two weeks from now who has the cocaine. The me of last night just had Boniva.

William's party

Oscar and I went to my friend William's party for his friend's magazine. Oscar was worried that there would be too many mean gays, but then he ran into some Radical Faeries he knew, and spent the rest of the night talking in some Radical Faerie code that I do not speak. To me, it sounded like "watermelon-coconut-burning man-Massachusetts-retail-retail-watermelon-coconut-blah, blah, blah." I spent most of the evening wondering at William's outfit. What happened here? Was he cold, so he put on an shawl-neck orange sweater? Then, still cold, he layered with a suede vest? For a moment, I wondered if William had had me fooled all these years, and that actually, he is a lesbian. A sweater and a vest! And those were just the layers I saw. But it was all in fun. A fellow complimented my ass, which has never happened before. And I ran into my old chum Johnny downstairs, doing a soundcheck with his band. (I couldn't stay for the performance, as I'm quite old, and have a hard time standing up for rock shows anymore, and didn't have my Boniva on me). I will hang out with William again soon, mark my words.