This past weekend was Austin Pride. Saturday was, to put it simply, quite an interesting day. It started off bright and early for the Austin Pride Run 5k, complete with costume contest. Yes, I wore a costume. No, I will not post a picture of it here. I'll just say that the theme was "On the Beach" and I may or may not have been channeling Bo Derek. You can likely take it from there.
The rest of the day I tooled around on my bike around town, spending time with friends (some of which was poolside), and generally enjoyed an ungodly hot day. Perhaps it was the heat of the day that ultimately did me in regarding being able to handle the masses of Saturday night. Perhaps it was the heat that made them go all crazy. Perhaps it was just a combination that should never have happened. Like brown shoes with a black belt. Or capers and fruit pie. Or Dorothy Zbornack and anything backless.
So the gay bars were crazy mad busy. Many of my friends were out and about so I was enjoying hanging and drinking and chatting and dancing. Dancing shirtless. As one does. (Hey, if you got it...) At one point a big mob of amateur thugs wonderful people came walking up the stairs of the club where I was. Apparently someone said something about someone's mom or whatever and there were some fiery Latinas getting ready to "pop off" or something equally annoying. And the group seemed to be rushing through the club like a bunch of whirling dervishes, running into people, knocking people over, etc. I saw the train wreck coming and skirted outside to the balcony to get some fresh (albeit muggy) air and get away from everything for a moment.
As soon as I stepped outside and sat down an older gentleman walked directly up to me, stuck out his hand in greeting and said, "My name is XXXX (I can't remember), I am from Caracas. That is in Venezuela." He kept holding onto my hand. "Yeah, I know where Caracas is, I'm not an idiot," I replied. Without missing a beat he said, "You are very pretty. You're eyes are like fire." He kept holding onto my hand. Looking him dead in the eye I said, "Wow, that's nice. Can I have my hand back?"
Bitch, party of one? Yeah, I'm not sure who I was channeling at that moment.
No sooner did smooth operator walk away when some little twink boy walked right up to me, sat down next to me and asked for a cigarette. (Yeah, I was smoking. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time.) He had to be all of 22 years old, all bright-eyed and smiley. I gave him a cigarette. He put his hand on my leg and asked for a light. I lit his cigarette. He did some sort of smile, a shoulder lift, and what I can only describe as a mimic of a hair flip. I looked at him. I looked at what I assumed to be a friend of his closing in on us. I grabbed my drink and just walk away.
Mega-bitch, party of one? At this point I must have been channeling Shannon Doherty.
I went downstairs, found my friends, and decided it was time to call it a night. I walked outside to a massive throng of people walking up and down the sidewalk. And I gotta say, none of them looked all that happy. For Pride Weekend, people sure didn't seem all that proud or happy. I'm thinking it must have been the heat. I mean, I don't normally go from zero to bitch in 3.4 seconds.
I quickly got to my car and made my way home. I'm not sure I've been so happy to make it home alone on a Saturday night in quite a long time.
2 comments:
haha. Everyone was miserable from the heat that night.
I met the Venezuelan the night before. His faced was marked as if with rivulets in mud after a storm. I didn't shine to him because he asked Trey's boyfriend if I was his instead of just asking me, the brown person.
I bet I know the little twink too. He's a drag queen. Thus, hair flip =]
Just happened across this post lurking in my mailbox. Too funny as always!
Some days, we're just not in the mood for amateurs :-)
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