Friday morning, I was leaving the gym and I saw the headlines on the TV scrolling across the bottom of the screen, BREAKING NEWS, all caps of course, that gay marriage had been declared a right. I fist pumped the air and walked to work so fucking happy, on the verge of tears, so full of joy, and pretty useless all day at work because all I could do was think about the news and read stories about it.
And that was the kickoff to Pride weekend, the best kick-off an American probably could have hoped for, your government for the first time in your lifetime forcefully declaring that your love, your affection, is just as valid, just as important, just as necessary to recognize as that of heterosexuals. Truly fucking huge news that I could never have even imagined coming to pass when I was a kid.
Friday night, I hung out with some friends in my apartment before eventually finding our way to Metropolitan. A really attractive man came up to me, said hello. We chatted, exchanged numbers. Hopefully, I’ll hang out with him this week. Hopefully, I won’t let my boy craziness get the best of me, as it usually does, but as with everything, we’ll see.
Saturday was spent mostly in bed due to being hungover and the rain gave me the perfect excuse to stay in and not go out.
Yesterday was a repeat of Prides past. A drunk brunch with friends, watching the parade on Christopher Street, drinking nutcrackers, getting emotional, getting too messy, getting too wasted, not getting up to the Jane Hotel rooftop for the third year, bar hopping, and then finding myself in bed wasted and exhausted around 10pm.
I love the parade day so much. I love being on the streets full of gays everywhere, running into friends in states of undress, everyone so happy, everyone so cute and free looking, unburdened by the stuff they otherwise carry around with them. I want to repeat this again and again forever.
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