This year, Pride started out with a visit to the swampy Executive Suites on Friday night with Paco and Maria. It was packed, it was smelly, it was sweaty, it was heaven.

    The next day was to become the beginning of the end. I decided to try something new this year and attend just about everything alone. Throw caution to the wind!

Walking to Ceaser and Brian's party was eternal, but worth it. I had a stalker old man who kept pulling his car along the sidewalk as I went, I met a lovely lady on a bus stop who proclaimed, "Ooo! You've got the strut!"

    The party was a hoot. Frozen margaritas, ocean view, boys by the bus load--literally, they were shipped in from San Quinten.

Since I was there on my own, it was great to mingle and talk with so many different people. Also, I could easily walk away if things were dull--and I did a few times. Soooorry! (in a high pitched voice)

I walked to the party, so I was a little spent. Coupled with the fact I had not eaten since dinner on Friday, I was reluctant to leave. That and I was having too much fun. Despite the creepy guy who whispered obseneties into my ear. Nothing more alcohol wouldn't fix.

The crowd thinned but our spirits were high. We probably were too, but that's another story. We found ourselves trapsing up to Signal Hill for a party that was as lame as it was awkward. Before we could vacate, we were kicked out. Some people, my word.

We came back to someone's house for...a nice game of Uno. Yeah... We tried going bar hopping, but we were not about to wait an hour in line to get into Choices. Not my choice, I say! We went back to that house where I proceeded to help someone pee, but that proved unsuccessful.

I walked home, the party continued, but I knew that my resident lesbian was coming over (early) to go to the parade. I slept like a rock. Granted, it was half clothed on my kitchen floor, but like a rock none the less.

The next morning Elaine and Heather come over with a bounty of bagels and champagne. Delicious, but hold the OJ on mine, thanks. We watched the parade, I also watched the parade of familiar faces that were streaming behind me on the sidewalk. I love seeing my friends drinking vodka from a bottle at ten in the morning. I like it more when they share.

After the parade I took a nap. I still haven't really eaten, just flooded my system with booze. (Happy Pride!) At four in the afternoon I roused myself to going to the festival. Another long walk, but this time, a larger travelling cup with stronger booze, and another big ring on my finger.

I creepily skulked around the festival, alone, looking for people I knew, pounding the crappy watered-down margaritas. I eventually met up with Peter and his crew. They wisked me away to a house party where my reputation preceeded me, and not in a good way. 

I proceeded to get pretty tossed after a drinking game I didn't understand. Then enters a spitting image of Bette Middler. She and I would go on to have numerous heart-to-hearts for the rest of the evening. She fed me cold pizza. Bliss. -- I somehow made it home, only to try and see who was still up and out, despite the three o'clock hour. I was unsuccessful, so I fell asleep. This time, on the living room floor watching cartoons. Another proud ending to another Pride weekend.