proud to be...
I can’t tell yet if I’m having a good mood day or a bad mood day. You know those Mondays when even though you’ve been in work for two hours, it’s still too soon to tell how you’re feeling yet? That’s where I’m at.
Pride London happened on Saturday. miznarrator was feeling ill, so I left her curled up in bed to go watch the parade with yan_tan_tether and _emeraldgreen. Even though I knew it was coming, I still got actual tears in my eyes when the Armed Forces started marching past in full dress uniforms. Jesus Christ, where else in the world can openly gay men and women not only serve in the military, but put on their full regalia and march in the Pride Parade? The answer is ‘not many places, and certainly not in America’. Favourite part of the parade, by far.
Though my second favourite moment had to be when, in a sizeable lull in the parade action, these two beautiful young people of indeterminate gender were walking down the parade route hand in hand, clearly in a bit of a hurry to catch up to whoever they were marching with, but fully aware that the eyes of the spectators were upon them and a little bit self-conscious. The crowd was completely quiet at first, but someone across the road from us started chanting, ‘Work it, work it, work it...’ and just like that, these two kids went from ‘hella nervous’ to ‘WALKING THE RUNWAY, OH YEAH’ like a switch had been flipped, and the whole crowd cheered for them. And I was charmed, the end.
Then we embarked upon a seriously epic afternoon/evening/night of partying in Soho, starting with the block party on Old Compton Street, continuing on through Japanese food, drinking cans on the street in front of the off-licence, wandering into this one club simply because they were playing Adam Lambert, jello shots, searching for lesbians, completely failing to find anywhere for lesbians over the age of twenty, being turned away from a club because according to the bouncer, ‘Quintessentially, it’s members only’, closing out two pubs, cuddling tearily on the street, stepping in broken glass and cutting my foot open (damn flip-flops), going BACK to the club which had been playing Adam Lambert, queue-jumping with the one straight man at gay pride (who bonded with me because he’d been to California the week before and gone to the rifle range? IDEK, it’s all fuzzy at that point), and finally, stumbling to the bus stop thinking 'SELF, JUST STAY BETWEEN THE LINES ON THE PAVEMENT, YOU'LL BE FINE, I PROMISE' at 3am. Though according to Miz N’s phone, even when I’m too drunk to see clearly I can still send a series of completely lucid, grammatically-correct text messages. Go me.
Then we had to get up yesterday morning and go to Ikea. I woke up hungover AND still drunk, which soon transitioned into just plain hungover. I don’t know how anyone put up with me on the ride to Croydon, I literally did not stop moaning the. entire. way. I had to sit down on the floor upstairs at one point in the Ikea Market Hall, next to all the tasteful storage solutions, and distract myself from how I was actually dying right that moment by thinking really hard about Anna Trebunskaya topping the hell out of Evan Lysacek, complete with pegging. Because apparently that’s what I think about for fun these days. (Aside: If I actually started writing that fic, would any of you guys read it? Or is it just me that thinks the world always needs more Evan-is-the-bottomiest-bottom-to-ever-bottom stories?) So yes, I spent my American Independance Day in a Swedish furniture store, thinking about BDSM and feeling like lukewarm death. Just as the Founding Fathers intended.
And in other news, learning to bicycle in London is terrifying. I mean, roundabouts! Double-decker buses! Fucking millions of taxis! And there’s me, on my little red foldy bike, trying not to die! I managed to get all the way in to the office this morning without having to chicken out and walk my bike across any intersections, though, so clearly I’m improving a little bit.
Pride London happened on Saturday. miznarrator was feeling ill, so I left her curled up in bed to go watch the parade with yan_tan_tether and _emeraldgreen. Even though I knew it was coming, I still got actual tears in my eyes when the Armed Forces started marching past in full dress uniforms. Jesus Christ, where else in the world can openly gay men and women not only serve in the military, but put on their full regalia and march in the Pride Parade? The answer is ‘not many places, and certainly not in America’. Favourite part of the parade, by far.
Though my second favourite moment had to be when, in a sizeable lull in the parade action, these two beautiful young people of indeterminate gender were walking down the parade route hand in hand, clearly in a bit of a hurry to catch up to whoever they were marching with, but fully aware that the eyes of the spectators were upon them and a little bit self-conscious. The crowd was completely quiet at first, but someone across the road from us started chanting, ‘Work it, work it, work it...’ and just like that, these two kids went from ‘hella nervous’ to ‘WALKING THE RUNWAY, OH YEAH’ like a switch had been flipped, and the whole crowd cheered for them. And I was charmed, the end.
Then we embarked upon a seriously epic afternoon/evening/night of partying in Soho, starting with the block party on Old Compton Street, continuing on through Japanese food, drinking cans on the street in front of the off-licence, wandering into this one club simply because they were playing Adam Lambert, jello shots, searching for lesbians, completely failing to find anywhere for lesbians over the age of twenty, being turned away from a club because according to the bouncer, ‘Quintessentially, it’s members only’, closing out two pubs, cuddling tearily on the street, stepping in broken glass and cutting my foot open (damn flip-flops), going BACK to the club which had been playing Adam Lambert, queue-jumping with the one straight man at gay pride (who bonded with me because he’d been to California the week before and gone to the rifle range? IDEK, it’s all fuzzy at that point), and finally, stumbling to the bus stop thinking 'SELF, JUST STAY BETWEEN THE LINES ON THE PAVEMENT, YOU'LL BE FINE, I PROMISE' at 3am. Though according to Miz N’s phone, even when I’m too drunk to see clearly I can still send a series of completely lucid, grammatically-correct text messages. Go me.
Then we had to get up yesterday morning and go to Ikea. I woke up hungover AND still drunk, which soon transitioned into just plain hungover. I don’t know how anyone put up with me on the ride to Croydon, I literally did not stop moaning the. entire. way. I had to sit down on the floor upstairs at one point in the Ikea Market Hall, next to all the tasteful storage solutions, and distract myself from how I was actually dying right that moment by thinking really hard about Anna Trebunskaya topping the hell out of Evan Lysacek, complete with pegging. Because apparently that’s what I think about for fun these days. (Aside: If I actually started writing that fic, would any of you guys read it? Or is it just me that thinks the world always needs more Evan-is-the-bottomiest-bottom-to-ever-bottom stories?) So yes, I spent my American Independance Day in a Swedish furniture store, thinking about BDSM and feeling like lukewarm death. Just as the Founding Fathers intended.
And in other news, learning to bicycle in London is terrifying. I mean, roundabouts! Double-decker buses! Fucking millions of taxis! And there’s me, on my little red foldy bike, trying not to die! I managed to get all the way in to the office this morning without having to chicken out and walk my bike across any intersections, though, so clearly I’m improving a little bit.