Got into work late because of insomnia. No, really. SFDs: my leggings with the Pride flag on the front & stars 'n stripes on the back (zillions of comments about those), black camisole, black hoodie with tails, Pride-themed accessories, cowboy boots. In other words, an outfit suitable for both marching and flirting.
But then! Left work early to take the train to the Trans march
! This year we gathered, conveniently, right outside Capitol Hill station. Met up with Dimples, fullcontactmuse
, and a gazillion other trans friends, including one who I didn't know was trans until then. (!)
So yes, marching & chanting. Turnout looked significantly larger than last year, but it's always hard to judge these things when you're in the middle of the turnout. There were a lot
of journalists and people on the sidewalks with video cameras & tripods. I'm not sure what that was about, but I'm sure I'll find out soon.
And then the sky opened up. Dimples needed dinner, so at her recommendation we found the Ezell's fried chicken truck (Lives up to the hype!) and ate it hurriedly under a tree while we got soaked. We dashed into Elliot Bay Books to dry off. We checked out and, in my case, bought queer-themed books, duh. (I felt guilty for dripping on the hardwood floor.) Dimples found a lesbian sex manual with perfectly reasonable text, but photography that looked aimed squarely at the male gaze. We suspect either clueless or evil publishers. Oh yeah: Dimples's chum Blondie joined us.*
Off to the Wildrose! There were a great many NSPP QIFs (pronounced "nispie queefs"). Dimples & Blondie were taken aback by the high cover & low drink value, so we hit the Comet for a little bit. They don't seem to have realized how straight the Comet is**, but hey, cheaper and better booze.
Back to the 'Rose, where I got to entertain D & B by going wibbly over a high femme Middle Eastern girl half my age. I did manage to tell her I loved her outfit.
Oh, the night's lone bummer: the 'Rose has two bathrooms, women only and unisex. I realized belatedly that the staffer at the doors was about to shunt me into the latter. After I peed, I told her, "I'm a woman. You can send me in there." To her credit, a few minutes later she found me and apologized.
Missed the last train home. Took the 49 to the U District, where I found out that I'd apparently also missed the last 45 to Green Lake. Uber took me home by a bizarrely circuitous route needlessly involving two different bridges, but get home I did.
get to be the high femme. There will be the Capitol Hill street fair, a BBQ at the Siberian Siren's, and the Merc with the Islander. The Tickler made plans to meet me next weekend, which works out perfectly.*I have a lamentable history of assuming queer women I meet together are, you know, together when they're really not. This was once again the case with Dimples & Blondie. They're college chums and, I believe, used to be an item.
**Since the early '90s, I'd walked past the Comet hundreds of times without ever going in. This would explain why I didn't notice that the Comet has apparently ceased to be a live music venue and has blandly if profitably gone upmarket. Yeah, the old Comet was a place I wouldn't want to go into alone, but damn.