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Pride weekend is in full swing. Last night I won a "I survived Camp Kinky" t-shirt for participating in a marshmellow eating contest. Also, as one of the runners-up, I got to wear a plastic trash bag over my shirt while a woman I'd just met (who ate significantly more marshmellows than I) ate hot dogs off of a necklace around my neck. It was definitely the first time I've had my bosoms nuzzled through plastic, and certainly the first time it's happened solely in pursuit of a meal.
Last night also featured touching reunions with several old friends. Or as touching as a reunion can be when you're trashed, sweaty and have to shout to be heard.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
freakysparks was inspiring as Baby's older sister, and nineinchlovely was a sight for sore eyes. As usual, the Consultant, who shall from now on be referred to as "J" because that nickname is no longer fitting (and it's damn long), and I danced til we pretty much literally couldn't dance anymore, and went to bed around 5.30am. I think when we become responsible people and can't live this broke-ass rock 'n roll lifestyle anymore, it'll be just fine. I'm sure to reach my limit soon, but I can't say I'm not enjoying it now.
Today was the dyke march, J and I got going late and I was worried we'd have to track down the march. Silly me, I forgot about standard gay time. We were supposed to begin at 2, we actually began at 3. I suggested one of the chants be "We're here, we're queer, we're an hour late as usual." It flows a tad better than "We're here, we're queer, don't fuck with us," but perhaps not by much.
In addition to our new Wellesley friends, whom we hung out with last night, the march featured a sighting of two Smith alums (separately) and two high school friends, one of whom went to Mt. Holyoke. The world is a tiny, tiny place, which I would mind less if it were working in my social favor.
As usual, I was underprepared for this weekend, and after last night had to wash my bra by hand and leave it to dry in the shower. My pants got friendly with some Febreeze. I may have graduated from college, but it doesn't mean I've lost my sense of ingenuity and economy, at least when it comes to washing my clothes. I am missing the lack of cover at Diva's though. I guess this is one of those "trade-offs" I keep hearing about.
Aside from the part where I punched J in the face while dancing and when I almost ralphed marshmellows on half the dykes in chicago (and realizing that wherever I go, still, half the women are younger than me), last night was not terribly eventful, but in a very fun way. I can forsee that post-gaining-employment, I'll be making some serious contributions to the financial support of the lesbian nightlife. If only there weren't so much smoking and drinking involved, I'd consider it the best work out I get. Ok, let's be serious. It's the best workout I get anyway.
Last night also featured touching reunions with several old friends. Or as touching as a reunion can be when you're trashed, sweaty and have to shout to be heard.
freakysparks was inspiring as Baby's older sister, and nineinchlovely was a sight for sore eyes. As usual, the Consultant, who shall from now on be referred to as "J" because that nickname is no longer fitting (and it's damn long), and I danced til we pretty much literally couldn't dance anymore, and went to bed around 5.30am. I think when we become responsible people and can't live this broke-ass rock 'n roll lifestyle anymore, it'll be just fine. I'm sure to reach my limit soon, but I can't say I'm not enjoying it now.Today was the dyke march, J and I got going late and I was worried we'd have to track down the march. Silly me, I forgot about standard gay time. We were supposed to begin at 2, we actually began at 3. I suggested one of the chants be "We're here, we're queer, we're an hour late as usual." It flows a tad better than "We're here, we're queer, don't fuck with us," but perhaps not by much.
In addition to our new Wellesley friends, whom we hung out with last night, the march featured a sighting of two Smith alums (separately) and two high school friends, one of whom went to Mt. Holyoke. The world is a tiny, tiny place, which I would mind less if it were working in my social favor.
As usual, I was underprepared for this weekend, and after last night had to wash my bra by hand and leave it to dry in the shower. My pants got friendly with some Febreeze. I may have graduated from college, but it doesn't mean I've lost my sense of ingenuity and economy, at least when it comes to washing my clothes. I am missing the lack of cover at Diva's though. I guess this is one of those "trade-offs" I keep hearing about.
Aside from the part where I punched J in the face while dancing and when I almost ralphed marshmellows on half the dykes in chicago (and realizing that wherever I go, still, half the women are younger than me), last night was not terribly eventful, but in a very fun way. I can forsee that post-gaining-employment, I'll be making some serious contributions to the financial support of the lesbian nightlife. If only there weren't so much smoking and drinking involved, I'd consider it the best work out I get. Ok, let's be serious. It's the best workout I get anyway.
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Never fear, liquor is near, as are iron stomachs without peer.
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