Well, kittens, it's been one whole week since the coming and going of Pride Weekend here in sunny San Francisco, and yet again we've survived (but only just). In addition to the well-documented pants-off party, there was the Dyke March, complete with liters and liters of delicious bourbon slush painstakingly handmade by yours truly, being surrounded by the best of friends and scores and scores of homosexy women.
The highlight of the day for me? (Aside from the wrestling and making out with the tomboy and contributing to the amazing outdoor living room a friend orchestrated...) When the lovely and very, very talented Miss Dylan Ryan introduced herself to me whilst waiting in line for the loo. She is every bit as sweet and down-to-earth as she is epic lesbian porn star, and that's saying something. Needless to say, if you click on the link it's NSFW. I can't wait to work with her more at this August's Femme Conference!
There was also quite pleasant chatting with hot new lesbian blogging duo Catherine Perez & Aja Blue of Lesbians in San Francisco, who snapped this photo of M & I and gave us their rad new stickers for keeps.
We sat out of the actual march, which in retrospect I'm glad for, considering the terribleness of the shooting at the Pink Party in the Castro. Close friends of ours have talked about how there was a palpable foul energy and that they just got the hell out of dodge before things took a turn for the fatally worse, and you know what, y'all? I'm just not ready for the Dyke March to go the way of Pride Sunday or Halloween in the Castro, et al. I'm not. My heart can't take it.
We stumbled home with friends in tow from Dolores Park, ordered in a vast spread from our favorite Chinese restaurant, and prepared ourselves for a long night at Mango's Dyke March afterparty at El Rio, where we had a blast but forgot about the music being restricted to the super packed and sweaty room indoors, which meant less dancing for our group and more entertaining drinking games, like Truth or Truth. Win!
These photos were taken on Pride Sunday, but obviously snapped far, far away from San Francisco.
I'm not sure what to say about Pride Sunday. We awoke at a reasonable hour that morning and headed off to Bernal Heights for a proper brunch. There was no way we'd survive the day without a sound start, and Liberty Cafe did not disappoint. We emerged at Civic Center BART into the hot, sweaty, thronging clouds, and it was bad news bears. Too many attention whores, too many people too wasted, too high or both for their own good. Too few folks there for the right reasons, too little of the true spirit of Pride. Even in the backstage sanctuary of Shadowplay, we couldn't handle it. I have been going for the last eight or nine years and I've never seen or felt it that way before. We left shortly thereafter on account of the fact that we had a housewarming in Berkeley to get to, but I was glad for the excuse.
A long, lazy afternoon in a picturesque, wholesome, all-American park on a gorgeous sunny day was the perfect antidote to Pride's overwhelm. The housewarming was actually a picnic on a lovely green lawn, with tours of a friend's new apartment on the hour. There was a tasty spread of snacks, including delicious sweet roasted almonds which pair exquisitely when wrapped with prosciutto and a small hunk of Dubliner cheese, and sweet tea cocktails. It was heavenly, and her apartment looks like something out of my House Beautiful magazines. It made us threaten to move to North Berkeley, which is something we never, ever thought we'd utter! Alas, these Pride pics are less debauched and clearly lacking in sequins or rainbow garb, but they are very full of happy, gay frolics in the sun. They'll just have to do!