Nothing Cuter Than Old Lesbians- The PRIDE Parade

This past Sunday, my wife and I attended a much talked about and very colorful event. We attended the Chicago Gay Pride Parade.

 

The parade as surpassed its simple, noble purpose and has intensified into an event for all kinds of people to flock to. You have to assume that these people are in support of LGBT rights, etc. but the real reason most people go to PRIDE, is to dress ridiculous, dance and party. Fuckin' hard.

 

Let's start with the setting. It was nearly impossible to catch a cab to Boystown. We waited for 30 minutes, being turned down and ignored as potential customers, probably because we were young and were facing that direction at the right time. Not for the normal reasons of smelling bad and being drunk. When we finally did get a cab, the driver admitted that our suspicions were correct, and that drivers were terrified of getting too close to the madness that was the parade. When we got there, I discovered I couldn't blame them.

The least slutty group there. 

It's about 89 degrees and sunny, prime weather for the absence of clothing. This allowed for everything from colorful rainbow wedding dresses, to nothing. Nothing at all. In the madness, I thought I caught a fleeting boobie, but I'll never know for sure. Most attendees fit somewhere in between. I get why a LGBT person may want to celebrate their sexuality by dressing in a bold, revealing and expressive way. Hell, they may have had to subdue their sexual interests and fashion sense for a long time, so they let it pop now, like bottled up anger. I couldn't help but think however, that most of the young women in the crowd were straight, and dressed the same as they do to electronic music concerts. The parade is also another good excuse to dress slutty, like a warm-up to Halloween sluttery. These are the same groups of highschoolers that dress like a slut for all three days of Lollapalooza, as well. The streets are packed with a river of these types. Some of them are clearly already really drunk, some just plain yelling nonsensically. A guy starts taking video with a small hand-held, and swarms of people rush him to be on film, like this guy is making a movie or something. 

Most storefronts appear closed, which stands to reason. I can't imagine someone pushing their way through rank after rank of sweaty painted flesh to get into H&R Block today. There were many roads closed-off, and the river of spectators crashed into and piled against the police barriers. A few of the sober people (myself and my wife included) wandered around until we found a terrific spot, a block down from the barrier, in a bank parking lot. We were able to get a clear vantage point of the parade turning off of Halsted, better than probably 80% of the people there. Most people gave up on actually seeing the parade, and were content to smoke weed in the bank's parking lot, in tight circles. A few of the people behind us became openly curious about why we didn't jump the parking lot fence, which separated us from the police barrier, 15 feet in front of it. The idea being that the police hadn't put up the bank fence, so why can't we just hop over it and stay behind their fence, closer to the action? One boy suggested we all climb the fence. I gladly got out of his way and let him go first. Once on the other side, he faced us and said, "Oh, yeah, this is where you wanna be." Right as a cop got up behind him and retorted, "Your choice, hop back over the fence or spend the night in jail." Humbled, the boy jumped back over to join the masses. 

Hot, dehydrated LGBT lovers.

The cops, by the way, were out in force. People kept complaining about it, saying ignorant things like, "why are there so many cops here? What are they going to do with a helicopter? Do they expect us to riot or something?" I had to remind these idiots about terrorism, and that helicopters can fly, and are therefore very useful to pursuing suspected criminals. Truly, if someone really had it out for the LGBT community, this has to be the largest gathering of that sort possible. It is probably a good time to say that there is absolutely no shortage of stupid, stupid people at the pride parade. It's not unlike any of the above-mentioned events in that regard. Stupid people in large numbers = lots of cops. The cops carried about twenty zip-ties each, which we got to see in action plenty. You come to see the costumes and the spectacle, but you stay to see people in those costumes being zip-tied and arrested. A few notables included: a woman that looked exactly like Boo from Orange Is The New Black (in batman boxers and a sports bra), a fat black woman that made a scene, the guy that thought he could drink six bottles of beer in public, and the guy in the see-though hosiery. You'd see a shirtless guy get pulled from the crowd and cuffed. He's bleeding, so you assume he got in a fight. You see a drunk woman slurring her words and trying to high-five the cops while they cuff her, and sure, she's super drunk. Then you see a few curiosities. A normally-clothed black woman is very politely being arrested and "taken downtown" and you really want to know what she did, but can't figure it out. We were also right behind the CPD temporary HQ, so I got to overhear conversations that made me wish The Wire had been filmed in Chicago. At some point, someone pulled-open a barrier, and like a crack in the dam, a colorful stream of youth poured out. The crack was sealed by the cops, and another reveler got zip-tied away into the cop trailer. 

"Emilio!"

The floats ranged from boring groups of politicians, desperate for it to be known that they are OK with gay marriage, to truly extravagant. Some of the latter were so full of gyrating oiled-up gay men, that they looked like they would collapse at any moment, spilling the gay dancers onto the street. Chester Cheeto and Benny The Bull made appearances, to sweat their balls off in support of LGBT rights, bless 'em. Around this time, a young gay buck and his caped lover wiggled themselves to the fence, and practically smashed my wife with their barely-covered junk, as she sat on the ground. I thought I was going to have to head butt an almost naked man for the second time that week. Luckily, they were easily spooked and pranced off to meet their friend Kelsey. I guess. 

On our way out from the parade route, we passed blocks and blocks of people, dancing and shouting. It took 15 minutes of steady walking in one direction before the technicolored crowd began to thin, and the smell of pot smoke faded. We passed an old man, headed in the same direction. What did he think of all of this? Probably the same thing he thought about any of the young, free and loud generations he witnessed in his life: "These kids call this a party?"

Passing Out In Public and the Human Response

Dealing in booze like I do, I've seen some things, man. Below, you'll find a brief description of what you can expect if you pass-out drunk in a variety of places. 

On a train- Common. However, if you do it right, you'll end up end of the line, with a conductor and/or a police officer shaking your ass up, and off the train. If you do it really well, you'll be violent and end up hand-cuffed to a hospital bed. 

Under a car- From an evolutionary perspective, I get it. You're pissed out of your tree with an uncanny urge to be horizontal, yet out of the elements, so you settle on shelter under an auto. If you're lucky, the owner doesn't have anywhere to go for awhile. If you're not, the absolute worst way to wake up, is six inches from the undercarriage of a car when it starts, with the crippling hangover you deserve. 

In a playground- If there is a God, you find yourself here on a Sunday, or Columbus day, when there are no children to poke you awake with a stick, because you've pissed your pants on their favorite slide. 

In a church- If you can manage it, this is the best place to pass out drunk. Not only are a lot of churches open most of the time, presumably for sinners to ask God's forgiveness, but they are heated and there is plenty of space. You will also be woken up gently, if at all, and can even swing a free meal out of it if you look particularly disheveled. 

In class- Your professor will punish you with embarassment, at least. He/she may even slam a book on the ground next to you. They may even smack the arm that is supporting your drunken face, sending it to the desk to meet a pool of your own drool. 

At a Bar- Tom Hanks will take a picture with your phone, and absolutely nothing else will happen.

On a Bus- Similar to the train, except you will not be the only person unconscious, and these other people will smell even worse than you. It takes some of the heat off of you, for sure. 

In A Box, With a Fox- Disastrous. 

Much like a relationship, hard to get out of sober

Sam's Week Day AKA "Return of the House Man"

I sell ethanol for money, at a pharmacy. So, I have to work the occasional Saturday. Which, means I have to take a day off during the week. Which, means I get a Week Day- a man's day to fill with wasted time.

Before every Week Day I, I go to sleep with grand ideas of idustrisous activity starting at 6AM, unceasing 'til dusk. My wife will wake-up to breakfast in bed and a bright start to her day. ]

Every morning of Week Day, I forgive myself for not getting out of bed, while my wife's cornflakes get soggy. It's cold out there in the world.

The day usually begins around the crack of noon, watching Sports Center and eating a "Breakfast" Burrito, before planning the attack of the day. There may be a list, even mental, and it may include the following things, in to particular order:

Learn Krav Magra
Read an entire fucking newspaper
Start that book (Ulysses)
Write a screenplay
Not drink beer
Clean the kitchen
Clean da batroom (not a miss-spelling, a Chicago "BAE-Troom".
Clean the entire fucking house.
Make, like, the best playlist ever.
Hang picture frame.
Watch only 30 minutes from the DVR.
Do some stretching
Exercise- sunrise jog, Ketel ball squats, keg-tossing, Kangaroo-boxing.
Protein shake
Wear a belt
Do laundry- the right way (not just everything on COLD and delicate dry.) [Are there washers that offer suggestions for your laundry, like a sommelier?- "I suggest Light Permanent Press, moussiers."]

The reality of it is distorted. Perhaps the three most-logical tasks might be completed (DVR, Clean the kitchen, hang picture frame). What will more-likely occupy the day, is, in no articular order, (other than chronologically):

Experiment with beers
Laundry (Towels, on cold).
Listen to the entire Les Mis soundtrack.
Write a BLOG
Change in $30.05 in pennies and nickels at the bank- a surprising, unnecessary thing to do, considering how the rest of the day was spent.  
Visit your buddy, who is AT work, and talk ABOUT work (Yeah, I'm talking to you, Erik). 
Eat leftover quinoa (pronounced "Keenwah" as part of "Quinoa for dinner", which sounds like the opening to The Lion King. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX07j9SDFcc )
Pee, not wash hands.
Take a nap until the wife comes home...who was expecting dinner...

Although, I did discover, mixing Shock Top with RAAW Raspberry/Lemongrass juice blew my mind, and then my body.

There is always a Catholic-sized amount of guilt thats goes with days executed like today, but it doesn't last TOO long. After-all, tomorrow is another day.

Why I Voted, Or "Say Yes to America"

The most American thing someone can do is vote. The second-most American thing someone can do is not vote, because they're lazy.

I'm not going to go on about who I'll vote for or why, so don't worry. I just want to explain how I feel about the whole process.

Luckily, I have never felt so moved to seriously support anything. Yeah, that sucks, but I'm not going to sit on the curb and complain about it all day. For that reason, I feel pretty darn lucky. My life has been so minimally affected by political elections, that it formed in me a sense of apathy. Iusually want to win whichever guy would make a funnier character on four years of SNL.

 I also used to feel that my "lack of a vote is a vote itself" because of how I felt about the, muckracking, money-driven two-party system. I now feel differently on the matter. Sure, I still hate the system, and I vote to change THAT more than anything. The most-recent person I would have voted for wasn't a Republican OR Democrat (T. Roose) so why would I vote for the lesser of two evils? All these guys suck, so why not cast a ballot to help get more guys a chance? There might not be a good candidate for a long time, but when there is, I want to make sure he can make it without selling his/her soul to too powerful of a party, governing in fear of losing their place on the team. A vote for a third party is throwing a vote away today, but it will continue to help alter the way we look at the whole system. If a party gets a certain percentage of the popular vote, they receive federal $ to run their campaign the next time (or, something like that) It will take a while to get there, but that is what I stand for now.

I was recently at the funeral of a Polish holocaust survivor, who cherished her right to vote. She had earned it and respected it. I reflected on my short life of being apathetic to voting. I really only did it if it was convenient, and even then, just to write in my friends to be elected village dog-catcher. Her story made me realize how much I should be grateful for the vote. The greatest nation on this earth (bitches, still!) asked me my opinion. For that reason, I should at least mail in a simple response.

Finally, on a lighter note, if you're one of those people that says something like, "If Romney/Obama wins, I'm moving to_______:" First, you're an idiot. Second, good riddance, you probably didn't even put a sign in your yard.

 The 3rd most American thing someone can do is vote for the loser and bitch about it for four years. To the bartender: "I voted for the other guy."

The Exceptional Stag Party

It is the infamous right-of-passage for a man on his way to monogamous husbandry; the "bachelor" or "stag" party. I prefer the latter. For one thing, it has less letters and for another, it is a wild animal, with horns....in addition, Hugh Hefner wanted to name his men's magazine Stag Party, but someone threatened to sue and the world is better for it.  

This is easily the most important dude-only party of a man's life, and the money, planning and sin that goes into it should reflect that. A man gets three good parties in his life (not counting the wedding itself): 21st Birthday, Stag party and, assuming the first two didn't kill you, your 50th Birthday. Yes, there are plenty of great mitzvahs and French Christmases along the way, but these are the big three every man deserves. 

A bachelor party, boiled down to it's base essence is this- Imagine an atom. Good, now imagine an atom with a groom for a nucleus, but instead of protons and electrons, orbiting it, you have instead strange vagina and familiar penis. This is the raw blueprint. There are many different kinds of bachelor parties, just as there are many different atoms. Some have many moving parts, others few. (If you're a science geek, you're probably already imaging Hydrogen's bachelor party) Whatever you decide, be sure it suits your character. If you're not into booze and strippers, but better like a good bird-watching, then don't let yourself be talked into anything else. After-all, it's your day, Helium. 

Now, that being said, also at it's root, a stag party is really for the pleasure of the stag's best-beloved men.  Speaking for myself, I can say that there are few greater delights than attending someone ELSE'S stag party. Yes, there are plenty of awkward and sometimes painful experiences for the groom. The more heinous they are, the more the crowd screams for more, and the more paper money floats through the air. It is a gift from the tribe's men to one of their own, who is on his way to leaving the pack of woman-thirsty hounds in favor of a more pastoral lifestyle with just the one woman. It is also a punishment for being so stupid as to do that same thing. The night's activities and attitudes reflects that duality.

You are now ready to Stag. But first, things you may need:

Duct tape- So useful, not only for restraining people but also to wax your labia.

Hush Money- Small bills are best. It is awkward to ask a prostitute for change, especially after what the best man did to earn her hush money.

Umbrella- To be used as a weapon, or if it gets dicey, a helicopter.

Condoms- The only things condoms work 100% of the time for- smuggling drugs in your rectum.

That thing you shake in the air that sounds like a turkey- Do I have to explain how great it would be to see 20+ well-dressed men walking into a bar to that sound?

Rattle snack Snake Anti-Venom- This just makes too much sense.

3 quarts of O negative blood- Keep it cool next to those brewskis on ice. 

Slippers- They are both practical and comfortable.

70% Isopropyl Alcohol- to sanitize wounds, or to be used as hair of the dog.

Garbage Bags- Poncho, flotation device, discard evidence, prophylactic etc.

Phone card- You're cellphone will die, sometimes for good. Cops take them away when you get locked up anyway.

Vitamin A&D Ointment- You'll want to apply this to your fresh, poorly-thought-out tattoo.

Something to start a fire.

Something to put out a fire.

And in our case, handcuff keys.

Things to expect...

"See, you can drink in the lobby..."

"GIN & Tonic. You fucked it up."

I had been saving my quarters for weeks, as I'm told exotic dancers fancy a tip. However, I also had a lot of laundry to do, so I got to feel the metallic sting of a handful of dimes thrown in my face instead.*

"They're strippers and I'm going to treat them like strippers."

Being booted from a gentleman's club within two hours of arriving, including having dinner.

Having one of our party wake up handcuffed to a hospital bed.

Having one of your party bleed from the ear. 

Eating three dinners.

Tremendous gas. 

Screaming, "Richard Dreyfuss" down Michigan Ave. At 2AM.

Hotel security final warning during, "Colors of The Wind" 

Losing your dignity, along with your hat. 

Paying for more than just a night's stay at the hotel.

As a general rule, the stag party isn't over until someone dies, with midgets and prostitutes naturally counting as a half. In case you were wondering, she was still breathing when we dumped her in front of the E.R. but those present and conscious all agreed it counted.*

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

* = Bullshit

Monogamy Fever AKA Pizza For Life? Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Plunge

As less people get married, and more of them get divorced (especially for infidelity) I feel it increasingly necessary to voice my opinion on monogamy, only 100 days before I plunge into matrimony for the next 100 years. [Robotics. And yes, that was once sentence]

Asking someone to be monogamous is like asking someone to eat only pizza everyday for the rest of their life. When you're 7, it seems like the best deal ever, but when you've been eating pizza for years and years, even mixing up the toppings can become boring, because after all, it's still pizza. Many people would take this opportunity to skip out for some Chinese or Mexican to get the spice they desire, dishonoring their lifelong commitment to pizza. Pizza would be pissed, if I were talking about a person named pizza, and they should be- you made a commitment. 


That's the whole thing, man- it's a commitment. Even tattoos and pregnancies aren't always permanent anymore, but marriage should be. I think marriage should be for everyone, as long as you're committed. If a guy wants to marry a guy, a woman a woman, or a dog a toaster, as long as it is of legal age (and made by union workers making fair wages) I have no problem with it. There are homosexual relationships that last longer than "Man and Wife" and "Man and Second Wife" combined, that don't have the privilege of being legally married. 


BUT if you asked me for a divorce (if this is my universe, I'd be the one with this power)- I'd tell you to take a long walk of a short pier, OR grant you a divorce, but have a big "D" branded into you arm like something out of the Dark Ages.  Make it damn near impossible to be divorced and the sanctity of marriage will return to our culture. Let heteros that are "serious" about being in love, and their commitment to one another, enter into a "Civil Union" while anyone REALLY serious, like branded on the arm serious, get a giant party thrown for them, and full marital benefits. 


All that said, I'm of course not opposed to dissolving marriages that are toxic, full of abuse, and the likes. However, "Irreconcilable differences" would not include drinking from the milk carton (otherwise, I'd be living at a La Quinta Inn right now). If you want a divorce without the brand of shame, an agent of mine comes to your house, sets up surveillance cameras, watches your every move for months, and then presents the collected data for me to rule on. If your man doesn't want footage of him pissing in the sink drunk (Again, La Quinta) all over the Internet, then he'll knock it the fuck off. If he has been sneaking out to bang you kid's Math tutor, then he'll be branded an adulterer, or knock it the fuck off. I mean, I know people change, but c'mon a little less hair and a lot more flatulence is what makes it a marriage. 


Back to pizza: I love pizza, and pizza loves me. Anyone that thinks married people (especially those with an ocean of testosterone coursing through their veins) don't have carnal desire for other cuisine sometimes, is demented, a penguin, or both.  It is harmless as long as it isn't acted upon, which makes the commitment more sacred. If it were easy to turn off that switch, then being faithful for 60 years of marriage wouldn't be a big deal. As it happens, its a big fucking deal. That's why we eat cake and go to a buffet with the entire family when it happens. Delicious cake. Family.

I know good, good people that are single and shouldn't be. So, when I hear of people cheating and not being the least bit remorseful, it really burns my ass. My buddy on the other end of the bar would kill just to have a girls hand to hold on the reg. and this jagbag is off ruining it for everyone. Sure people slip up sometimes, and if they're forgiven, then they should count themselves among the lucky- like 2011 St. Louis Cardinals lucky. Don't be some weak-ass cheater that ruins his marriage and contributes to ruining the very idea of marriage itself. Whatever made you decide to be monogamous and in a marriage with that special person should give you strength enough to forgo temptation of any kind. I don't know about you, but I'll eat pizza for the rest of my life, as long as it's with her. See what I did there? Now you have no idea what I was talking about. I had a whole bunch of other pizza metaphor lines I didn't use. Like something about "grabbin' a quick slice" or having it "delivered hot and ready to your door" or  "how a ton of coupons promise you a discount, but when the time comes, you can't find 'em and end up paying full price". Try it, it's fun.  

ALSO, I'm fully aware that this blog will piss some people off. I'm kinda sorry, depending on who you are. 


FINALLY, I really like to make fun of everything, so if you hear me making jokes about "pinning someone's wife's feet to her ears" or something to that effect, it is just that, a joke. I don't feel how I really feel should conflict with missing an opportunity for a good joke. That goes for everything. Have you met me?

Groomsmen BIOS

It seems that all my recent posts have been about my upcoming wedding, which makes sense because it has been on the forefront of my mind and all I've been doing for a year now. And cross-stitch. Of course. The following are vetoed excerpts from my Groomsmen's bios that didn't make the cut for the website. The names have been changed to protect their identities.

Mike  Todd was once engaged to a gypsy horse thief, until she was wedded off by her father for a Vespa. Bridesmaids be warned, he is back on the prowl and looking for love.

Sebastian was born with 11 toes, which he had until a foot-fetish prostitute bit off three for non-payment, leaving him with the 8 that he might still have. Watch out for him on the dance floor.

Dylan suffered from temporary blindness after drinking from a Serbian drifter's wine skin. Also an avid traveler and womanizer, he has bastard children on three of the six inhabited continents.

Rocky contracted HPV from, "Probably that hot tub". When he isn't spelunking, he's trafficking endangered species for private dealers, most successfully, the majestic White Rhino.

Archibald once swallowed a goldfish to impress a girl. Much to the goldfish, but not our surprise, the fish spent its last living moments swimming through a stomach filled with almost pure Ethanol.

Zachariah worked as a grave-robber and once shared a Chic-Fil-A dumpster with a family of rare Marmot. He is also known among woman for successfully inducing labor, so woman with child in their first or second trimester- AVOID.

While touring with Creed, Muhammad once survived an hour and forty minutes on nothing but cigarettes, Fig Newtons and grain alcohol. (It sounds a lot more impressive when he tells it).

Petunia lost a fortune investing in the clear cola fad and now defunct Ja'Alai leagues. He claims to be able to divide by zero and now works in a salt mine.


Look forward to meeting these impressive Gents on October 6th in Wisconsin Dells, or earlier than that in your local drunk tank.