Sunday, August 16, 2009
You've Left Me In A Bar On The Bottom Of The World
How's this for ironic: It's Pride Week here in Montreal, and I'm not feeling too prideful. Nope. None whatsoever. My little pride reserves are currently running at a low right now, and the entire fucking city decides that now is the perfect time to bring it out on full display. Well hoo-fucking-ray, that's just wonderful isn't it?
Not that I hate Pride and everything it stands for. I'm just in one of those pissy moods where I hate everyone around me and kinda wish that they would die already. I'm assuming that other people get these moods too, although I think that may be more wishful thinking that I am not in fact a person inclined to homicidal tendencies.
Although once again, wishful thinking, so that's something of a bummer right there.
Of course, it didn't help that upon entering the lobby of my apartment, I stumbled upon a group of very tall drag queens who looked like they were about to ask if I wanted a Fanta. Instead, she asked me why I wasn't at the Parade.
"I don't know, I'm just a little busy right now," I responded. And I was! I had to go buy some DVDs to distract me from my own over-whelming sense of self-loathing. That's some hard work right there.
"Oh come on, how can you be too busy for Pride? You're like The Grinch who stole Pride. Ba-humbug!" Said one of the Drag Queens, this one bearing an eerie resemblence to a stalk of celery.
"But The Grinch never said 'Ba-Humbug', that was Scrooge," I muttered, inexplicably hung up on this woman's inability to keep her Christmas special references straight.
"Whatever. Point is, you should be out there!"
I gave the group some bullshit excuse about taking a shower, then ran upstairs to watch The Muppet Show. It was at this point I realized that she was right. I was The Grinch who stole Pride and said Ba-Humbug. Well, fuck. Maybe one day end up on the news when they find my corpse after three weeks when they smell the decay, and low and behold, my face has been eaten by my 37 cats. Whoopee.
It also doesn't help that when I was actually out of the house, I got a shitload of free condoms I'll never use, since my actual sex-life is more or less non-existant. Honestly, I can barely remember the last time I had sex that didn't involve a paycheck (no, I don't consider blowjobs as sex. That's like the gay version of the handshake, really). Anyway, I can't tell which is stronger: my general hatred for people in general, or my desire for a fucking boyfriend. We'll see how this plays out I suppose.