Monday, June 14, 2010

One Rainbow Fish in the Sea

Hi friends!

I know this is our first time meeting each other but I'm optimistic about our future together.

When I meet people irl (in real life) I always say, "tell me a story." And then they either come through or they fail. Most people when prodded enough will tell you a story. When you get down to it, that's what life is right? Bunches of stories?

The point of this blog is to chronicle my life via my stories. Hopefully, together, we can also figure out what the point of it all is. I am a firm believer that everything in life has a point.

And so, without further ado, here's the first story:

One Rainbow Fish in the Sea
This story starts at DC's Capital Pride. For those of you who may not know, every summer, the queers in most major cities host a series of events for their LGBT community. These events are lumped together and called "Pride". Pride can range from a six hour picnic in the park, to a full two weeks of parties, parades, lectures, workshops, and festivals.

Pride is my favorite holiday, by far. It's like God took Christmas and Halloween and the Fourth of July and Thanksgiving and rolled them into a giant glittering ball of happiness and stuck it in rainbow wrapping paper. I fucking love it.

Capital Pride lasts for approximately 13 days and ends with a parade on the second Saturday and a street festival on Sunday.For me, Pride doesn't actually start until the parade. The parade is like the Christamas tree; you need it to make the holiday real. This year the parade started late and lasted quite a while, but I'm not complaining: I drank, I hung out with my friends, and I was lost in a sea of rainbows.

After the parade, you can feel the sexual tension in the crowd. I mean, you're standing in a crowd of gaymos who are all super aware that the girl or guy next to them is actually a potential hookup or relationship. If you're gay, you know how rarely you get this experience. When I go to Pride, I know the girls like girls so I'm not wasting time trying to figure out how straight anyone is. It's magical.

This year, I was all about the sexual tension and I made sure I was in the dance club by 10:30pm. The first few hours were typical: drink, dance with friends, drink some more, take a break to talk to the cops who are hanging around the block, dance waaaaay more. Around 1:30am, all of my friends left except my lesbi-bestie, Arla.

At this point, we got a little crazy. We began by dancing with all the gay boys. It's so much fun because gay boys + lezzies = surprisingly awesome dance partners with no filters. I also began critiquing the other kids on the dancefloor. That's when I noticed this girl who was standing in a circle of friends. She was wearing a baby blue handkerchief. She was kind of cute. So I grabbed her. I said, "hey, dance with me." She did...and I knocked her beer right out of her hand. I am such a spaz! So of course, I apologized and Baby Blue Hanky said, "It's okay; I loved every minute of dancing with you." Super cute, right?!

So I waited a bit, and I turned around to check her out some more. And wouldn't you know it, that girl wasn't dancing! So I grabbed her wrist, I said, "Dance with me! It's PRIDE! You have to dance." So we did. Song ended. She went her way, I went mine.

Two songs later, I'm dancing with my bestie, Arla, when Baby Blue Hanky shows up behind me, grabs me by the waist and pulls me really close. So we're dancing. And I notice Arla is gone, and Baby Blue Hanky's friends are gone, and we're all alone on the dancefloor (apart from all the lovely gay bois).

Baby Blue Hanky gets really chatty. And I learn she's 23 (I'm 22, we're perfect!), she's an English major (oh snap, I minored in Creative Writing), she graduated college (that's important!), in her free time she writes poetry (oh hay, girl, so do I), and finally, that she lives in Silver Spring, MD (only 20 minutes from the city center...4 hours from my house, but whatevs, you know lezzies know no boundaries. Besides, I'm already in DC at least once a month).

So we exchange numbers. Now here's where I fucked up. I lied. Yeah, friends, I lied to the girl in a Baby Blue Handkerchief. I mean, I gave her my real number. But then she told me to take out my phone and put her number in. And I said, "Hey-yo, I left my phone at my friend's house to charge. Sorry!" even though it was totally in my purse, but it was turned off and I just didn't feel like digging it out. So being the smarty she is, Baby Blue Hanky called me, just so her number would go to my phone.

And then we made out on the dancefloor. That was awesome. Then we danced some more and parted ways.

The next morning, I woke up. I turned on my phone. Baby Blue Hanky's number wasn't there!!! And now it's been 3 days, and I'm sitting around hoping this random girl, whom I met at Pride and made out with in a dance club, calls me up because I actually am interested in talking to her more. It's frustrating.

So Baby Blue Hanky, if you're out there, you've got my number, CALL ME.


Today's point: Don't lie to sweet girls on the dance floor.

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