Happy Pride, But What I Really Want to Say Is...

For me, holidays are benchmarks, the notches on the wall that serve to remind you how much you've grown (if you're lucky) in the past year. I wax pensive on birthdays, crimmus and pride, and in the afterglow of the holiday and my weekend at the beach, I have a lot to say.

At 27, I'm living the life I always wanted back in the closeted days of my teens. Even this month, in the middle of lots of upheaval at home and at work, I'm happy, or, just thankful to be alive. Over the past four years, I've seen my life change for the better, so I look forward to Pride Weekend, the same way I've since started looking forward to my birthday and Christmas.

But if we're going to talk about gay pride, specifically that camaraderie I'm supposed to feel with other gay men because of some shared experience of self hate and eventual (if you're lucky) self realization, then I'm not in the most festive mood this year.

On a personal level, I've been screwed by more gay men (and not in that way) than I have by the bigoted straight men popular culture has told me I'm supposed to educate on the ways on style and manners. Bitter, back-stabbing, scheming and hypocritical are the nicer terms I'd ascribe to men I've come across professionally and personally. Men who I thought would be on my side just because we're on the same team, but instead, are the first ones who would have tried to trip me up as I go about my life.

I'm no Pollyanna, but I consider myself new enough to the game to still marvel at how unlikeable many, many gay men are. The same uber liberal gays who pontificate on politics from their perches at the Pines are the same ones who will flatly tell you which race they will and won't sleep with as if they were talking about bagels and cream cheese. They thrive on enlightenment following an Atlantis cruise or a bathhouse tour of Southeast Asia and after reading Oprah's recent book club selection, but mention the word God or Christ and it's like you've spit in the hummus and everyone gets bent out of shape.

Forgive me the sweeping generalizations, but it's my blog and I'll generalize if I want to.

Anyway...

Happy Pride. But what I really want to say to is that, in spite of the hater-gays who make me want to commit a hate crime every now and then, I love me, my life, and I'm not going to stop living because some dudes don't like my hustle.

And now, for your viewing pleasure, pictures from yesterday's parade. In short, the parade was loooong, and for the most part, kinda boring. For every glimpse of speedo action there were 20-30 minutes of boring floats and silence, except for the catty banter between my friends and I. Highlights for me: the Colombia float, and, oddly enough, the Peru float, which had a huuuge entourage of trannies and pear-shaped dancers, but hey, there's strength in numbers.