Wellington · Living

The first happened as the Pride Parade was still starting up. Like last year, they lined up the parade starting four blocks from my house. While I was getting my hair done at Cha Cha Cha, we'd seen folks drifting by Michael's giant plate glass window, in all their entertaining variety. unappropriate wanted a bit more time before we went biking, so I went down to see the parade start. Instead of having the parade go by me, since it wasn't moving, I went to the beginning and walked to the end.

At the end of the parade, around where the South End Branch of the Public Library is, I snapped this picture, which is really my neighborhood in a nutshell.

See, the lady in the wheelchair and the one with the green shirt and orange lai, they are there every sunny weekend, with clothing and nicknacks lined up along the library park fence. I have no idea if they ever really sell much, but they are there, and I always look, every time.

This weekend, they were invaded by drag queens, and they didn't even bat an eye: no, instead, they jumped on the chance for sales. Yuppie breeders were going by with their strollers, people were having a good time in the street, and neighborhood fixture black ladies were helping drag queens find shoes. Peace and love, everybody!


My other Pride story doesn't come with a picture, but still has a happy ending. So, unappropriate and I did go biking, which was a story completely unto itself. I got back, barely showered and ate, then raided for three hours. I made the whole raid hit a hard stop just so I could hit the dance floor at T.T. the Bears ("Heroes" night, of course) with unappropriate by 11:30pm. Again, the night at "Heroes" could be a whole story until itself, especially around the hot Tall One I chased most of the evening. But the real story happened when I was walking home.

Yes, I ended up walking home from Central Square, at 1:45am in the morning. This after a 30+ mile bike ride of some difficulty. Anyway, I'm walking south down Mass Ave, almost to MIT, when these two young black turks and their two ladies turn onto the avenue behind me... and start making noises. OK, yes, I dressed a bit gay. Not over the top, but the skin-tight eggplant T-shirt was kinda a giveaway. Whatever: Pride, bitches! Anyway, they're talking to themselves, and the two guys start in with actual comments. The one I still don't understand, but that got me to answer back, was the question, "How many balls can you bench press?" (Quoi?)

My answer: "Four. Yours and his, how about it?" The one who asked the question actually jumped back, and suddenly I had no fear, just sass. That's right, honey: here, queer, get over it. This is Massachusetts, baby! OK, I only thought those last two. All I said was, "Hey, see back over there? Gay Club: this is our neighborhood too." (OK, the club was the Paradise, skeavy and now under construction, so I don't go there, but hey.)

So then the two girls jump in with the defense of their men, by asking stuff like "Why don't you like pussy?" Answer: "Do you like it?" Much hemming and hawing as we continue walking. Finally, one of the girls asks, "Don't you like girls? Why would you turn gay?", and I give the flippant shock answer "Because dick is so good, right girls?" They nodded sagely, and one actually did a full-on "Uh Huh!" and that was that. A little pride and understanding, early in the morning.

Maybe I could have been a little less stereotypical, but at least I didn't give ground or act embarrassed. Full of pride is what I'd have to say I was, and that's fairly unusual for me. Can I get a "You Go, Boy!"?