M.I.A.

Friday. . .
How-swarming party was fun. It is so nice to have beloved people around. It makes my apartment a home. It makes the knowledge that I will move again and that I put things up and on the walls for me- but also because it's a reflection of how I want people to feel comfortable in my space. We talked about how my landlord is terrible, made fun of the fact that my bathroom sink is low enough to make a 3 year old feel comfortable, and drank until the last person left at roughly 3:00 am. We talked politics ( I didn't bring it up! Allthough I did share my newest joke: What did Dubya say about Roe vs. Wade? 'I don't care how they get out of New Orleans!' hahaha get it: Roe. . .Row). We talked about dating: married friends don't necessarily want to be, un-married friends want to be, the happiest seemed to those that were satisfied with dating. I don't know what it says about me, but I couldn't help but think: Good clean fun in the ghetto and no one got shot! (not a thought of marriage in my mind)

Saturday. . .
I'm at home and it's early evening. It's starting to get dark outside and I'm beached on the couch. There's a knock at the door- I thought it'd be my new friends slash neighbors Tim and Allison (self-ascribed nickname of T'n'A). As it turns out it's a guy that I recognized to live there but couldn't remember his name. His heather gray t-shirt is soaked in sweat and his serial killer glasses are struggling to stay on his dampened face that is crowned with a retreating hairline. He was struggling. . . with what? I have no idea. He asks if he can (between heaving forced breathes) use my cell phone. "I.... I.... I have to.... (slight pause).... CALL MY DOCK-DER!" In reactive mode- I asked if he had the number and began to hand him my phone- he then realizes that he doesn't have the number and turns around and as if being pulled by his shoulders- does a slight lean in the direction of his apartment and leaves. As if he's driving away he sorta throws a hand up in goodbye and says- "let me get the number... yeah... ok."
I saw him near the mailboxes yesterday and he seemed as merry as he usually does which is one mass of melancholy. I haven't heard from him since- I thought about asking but my inability to remember his name gave me a reason not to. (Don't make eye contact, look at the ground, hold cell phone to ear even if you aren't really talking to someone <-- which sucks if it rings at that moment, it scares the shit out of you and then you're busted... BUSTED! )

Sunday . . .

"Proud Mary keep on burnin'. . . . ROLLIN'. . . .ROLLIN'. . . ROLLIN' ON THE RIVER!" went the pride parade. It was, in NO uncertain terms the hottest fucking day to have a parade- there were melting queens coupled w/ lesbians in leather (they were behind us- it was so-o fun!!!) and the straight people were so distracted by their own melting and the flaming homosexuality that they weren't bothered by the flying Mardi Gras beads that were being pummled at them. I met a nice guy after the parade- who was quick to tell me that he was 'straight' and 'didn't realize that this was a pride parade' but 'ya know, I have gay friends.' I see myself nodding, shaking my head and thinking, 'I don't care- the only reason you are talking to me is because I have completely sweat through my home-made white t-shirt that says: straight, but not narrow, and you can see my bra- and the legs the the lesbians holla for.' I still haven't returned his call. I found, as I usually do at gay-pride events, that it makes me so proud that so many come together in the spirit of acceptance. We noticed this year that there were only a handful of 'you're going straight to hell- repent now sinner' protesters (we like to mention that the queer don't go anywhere straight- even to hell!). Even better I would say that at least a third of the floats we saw were church sponsored. It was very peaceful and exciting all at the same time.

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