We Are Proud

Scott and I have had a here-to-fore unknown three day weekend together. Friday was errands and chores ... today was, well, errands and chores ... tomorrow will be a few chores and a bit of "Hey, baby, Happy Pride!!!!" thrown in. Parade, festival, all the over-the-top things that the news channels (and the conservatives) just LOVE to point out to the world to show what heathens we are.

Baby, you ain't seen nothin' yet.

Scott and I are everyone's dream neighbor (or so we've been told). We're quiet, we're homebodies, we keep our lawn clipped and neat, nice gardens, polite and affectionate dogs, always friendly to everyone who walks by, and everyone's kids love us (mostly Scott). We have the coolest/scariest house at Halloween, the festive-but-not-overdone house at Christmas, we let kids of any age/race/sexuality/attitude run through our sprinklers when it's hot out. We're an integral part of our neighborhood, the "good guys" who everyone likes, nothing flamboyant or scandalous about us in the least.

Tomorrow, for Seattle's Gay Pride, we're gonna make y'alls' Heads. Freaking. Spin.

We're going downtown to the Parade Of Heathen Anti-Americans. We'll wear godless khaki shorts and t-shirts. And sunglasses. And probably sunblock, as it's supposed to be sunny and around 90 degrees for the second day in a row. We'll wear the rainbow-colored beads that will be thrown at us. We'll take each others' pictures with the absotively fabulous drag queens that parade in front of us and make us love the fact that being different from the maddening crowd can be gorgeous. We'll laugh and cheer at the 99% naked men and women who saunter along occasionally, knowing the inside joke that the rest of the uninformed world thinks that this is everyday gay life is about. (Good g** d*** - don't you realize we actually have regular jobs?!? And that those desk chairs really chafe if you're only wearing a gold lame g-string and tit-clamps??? Trust me here - I know, I know, I know ...).

We'll stand and clap and cry a little when the PFLAG marchers come by. I'll want to run out and hug every single one of them.

We'll laugh, and dance. A lot of dancing. And smile at everyone we see, because they're not all gay - but they all love the fact that we are humans and want to be near other loving, accepting humans who see past piercings and tattoos and lisps and geekiness and showtunes and frosted hair and, well, ya know - the fact that the majority of us look EXACTLY LIKE YOU and actually ARE exactly like you with our jobs and mortgages and petty arguments and stresses and are, well, normal everyday people.

And we'll go home and make dinner and finish folding the laundry and get ready to get up early Monday morning to go back to our regular, everyday jobs. In offices and stores and restaurants and construction sites and classrooms and war zones. And we'll tell you about our weekend or not, and it doesn't matter. We'll still be your co-workers and classmates and bosses and the people in front of you in line at Quizno's. Like always. Except we'll be smiling a bit more, because we had a day of having everyone nearby actually like us and smile at us and know what was for most of our lives be a terrifying secret and like us not just in spite of, but in many ways because of this.

Because, you know ... we're all pretty damn amazing. Who are we not to be amazing?

Celebrate yourself, no matter who you are. You're all important - and indispendible to someone. Thank you for that, for who you are.

Oh, and here in Seattle, we'll be watching Miss Kristine W, again: