The Devil, you know. (Or, why I’m not wearing pants)

30 Jun

Let’s talk about Gay Pride in NYC for a second, shall we?  First of all, it’s awesome. Gay rights is the hot new thing in equal rights, which is important. And drag queens attend, and they are some of my favorite excessively glittery people ever. And, Dykes on Bikes! Hellur!

Only about 20% of the awesome comes from the rhyming name.

Best of all, every year, all my gay friends invite me to a brunch with about 35 people,

Not exaggerating.

where we drink enough mimosas to float the entire cast of Sex and the City all the way to Africa (where they can stay, if you ask me. A sex columnist has her own apartment? AHAHAHAHAHAHA), stash flags and bottles of champagne in our bags and tear around town in our underwear like a bunch of rainbow-colored punk kittens on drugs.

(Leave me alone on this metaphor, y’all. I have cats, I can’t help it.)

This year’s event progressed much the same way as last year–we ran down the street waving rainbow flags and watched some of the parade and climbed up on things until the police told us to get down, and then my friend The Devil (and by The Devil, I mean my gay friend who has a habit of making me eat bull penis and take my clothes off in public), decided we weren’t drunk enough. So, he walked into a liquor store, bought some booze and started forcing real, actual people to drink shots of Sweet Tea vodka in the street.

As a card-carrying Southerner, I'm afraid I cannot condone this.

“Here, have some of this,” he says.

“Sure.” *Takes shot, grimaces* “Jesus ass-munching mangoes!! What the fuck was that?”

“Sweet Tea Vodka.”

“Why would you even buy… do they not have… ANYTHING ELSE? What is wrong with you?” I say.

“What is wrong with ME?” says the Devil. “What is wrong with YOU? You have entirely too many clothes on. This is PRIDE.” *starts pulling down my skirt*

“I can’t. No, stop!” *giggles* ” Look, I’m wearing this ancient leotard specifically so you can’t take off my clothes. It has a hole right over the butt. RIGHT OVER MY BUTTHOLE.”

*The Devil is still yanking the skirt off*

“I’m not even kidding you, you will show my white ass to every last man, woman and child on this street. People will scream, babies will incinerate…” *the skirt falls off*

*I turn around*

“Oh GOD, Honey. Why would you… what is that from… I don’t even… HERE”

*The Devil sticks a giant “Nice legs” sticker directly in the center of my ass*

“Just… you’re fine now”

OneBad: *scowls*

Actually, he was right. Apparently not wearing pants is so common in this city that no one so much as batted an eye as I strolled down the streets of Gramercy in my 10-year-old shiny purple leotard with a sticker over my ass, including the part where I jumped into Washington Square Fountain with several gay men in their underwear, the sticker got washed clean into the sky by the jets and I ran back to my skirt with my hands over my ass.

But now I probably have dysentery.

*runs to bathroom with hands over ass*

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