7-28-01 - 5:47 p.m.

*Ring ring*
...Hello?
Hey, Laura.
Hey. Who is this?
Justin. You awake?
No.
Haha...doing anything?
Sleeping.
Wanna come to Pride with me?
...
Laura?
You're kidding, right?
Is that a 'No?'
No, no...I'll go. What about Bryan?
He can't make it. And you know I wouldn't wake you up to go, but there's just nobody else I can think of to come with me and I know you're really tired and busy and gimpy and half-asleep, but it's just I really don't want to go alone but if you don't want to go I'll understand.
...
You fell asleep, didn't you?
No...meet me at the Living Room in 15. Bring money and food.

And so I went to Pride. For those who do not know, Pride is Gay Pride, a festival and parade in Hillcrest, the predominately gay community in San Diego. It's a wonderful celebration, and had I not been unable to sleep till 5 a.m. I would have leapt at the chance to go. I've been the past two years, and this year it seemed to lack some of the organization in recent years. I marched with PFLAG last year, but was in Cambridge when things were coming together for this year's parade.

Many of the floats this year had a Moulin Rouge theme, and I can't tell you how many times I heard the new version of "Lady Marmalade" today. That and "YMCA," "It's Raining Men," and "I'm Coming Out."

I got hit on by two young women today-one of whom was very pretty-but Justin made it a point to say, "Laura's straight, so she's not interested" each time a female person even so much as glanced at me.

I think Justin is mistaken about my feelings towards lesbians. He clearly thinks I'm threatened by them. I'm not. If a woman tells me she thinks I'm pretty, I smile and say thanks. I don't recoil and tell her to get away, the dirty queer. I'm comfortable with my sexuality. The female body doesn't do anything for me, but I'm still going to be flattered if anybody finds me attractive.

Sitting, standing, and walking in the sun from nearly 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. means...

Why, SUNBURN, of course!

Two years ago I fell asleep (ahem, passed out) at the beach on my stomach for a good three-and-a-half hours, wearing the smallest damn bikini I'd been able to find that year and having just come from the ocean and not reapplying sunscreen. That was July 4th. When I woke up, my back was completely numb, but as soon as I foolishly flipped over onto it, I noticed that instead of sand, somebody had replaced the beach with razor-sharp needles. Or so it felt.

To understand just how bad that sunburn was, let me put it to you this way: I still have it. The backs of my legs and arms are fine, but my back except for where the strings met and tied on my neck and mid-spine are still a pale pink color and covered in little tiny light brown freckles that weren't there before I was burned. Sharon says it's just what happens when your skin becomes a Mongolian barbecue. Luckily you can't really see how bad it is unless you're really looking for a difference, and I'm usually so tan anyway that it's not such a big deal.

But the fact that I got that burn two years ago and still have the signs of it is rather unsettling.

The sun is evil. I'm so lethargic and exhausted that I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Today's sunburn is on my face, my legs, my feet, hands, arms, shoulders, chest, stomach, and the back of my neck.

previous - next