on pride, and lack thereof

sunday was the pride parade.
it ruled.

as someone who's gone through ups and downs on what the parade means to me, it was a reaffirming experience, for the most part. the parade here is the 2nd largest in the nation, second only to san fran. pretty awesome. i've already stated how grandiose and meaningful this parade can be, so that's taken care of. what i haven't talked about is me being a jackass in the back of a pickup truck for hours on end.

per usual, i was recruited by my pals at second city to promote gayco upcoming events in the parade. a., this is always a fun way to see the parade, and b., i'm learning i'm good at it because i have no pride. if you need someone to yell out stuff, it's probably me. if you need me to slap stickers for a show on someone's dong, call this guy. if you need me to teen-wolf truck-surf, fantastic. shame = out of the equation.

i've learned that teen-wolf truck-surfing (tm)* is the easiest way to be hit on ever. being in a truck in front of 40,000 people while passing out stickers gives you a huge, bizarre, skewed vision of your power. maybe because of that power, people find you unbearably attractive. also, booze makes you look unbearably attractive. and boozebags love parades.

so, after getting some scattered hang time with my pals from gayco between high-fiving and yelling, and seeing a million friends on the sidelines, the parade came to an end. after disassembly of the float-ish truck, i took another long walk home. on the way, i saw a man standing outside a starbucks on broadway. i was alone, so i had no distractions and could hear everything he said. he was drunk - maybe around 40 years old or so. he was crying, but one of those sadbox cries where there's no dignity: kind of a whiny cry with head-hanging and few actual tears involved. his friend was propping him up, placing both palms flat on his shoulders, pushing his limp body against the wall to stand. "no, you're okay, you're okay," the friend reaffirmed. the whiny guy, who i could not take my eyes from, muttered "but, do you like me?"

nothing about this guy, at this point, right now, was likable. i flashed back to every middle school dance and note-passing/text-receiving fiasco i've ever witnessed or been a part of, and i felt for this poor sap. seemingly, in the few seconds i shared with this man, the storyline seemed to be that he really wanted to be with consoling friend, and consoling friend was not havin' it, for whatever reason. the saddest part, though, is that it was so clear from the outside that the more this guy fumbled through it, or tried to understand it, the worse he looked. and on the day when he should've had the most pride, he ended up looking like he had the least.

i hope your next day is better, pal. at least you've taught me a valuable lesson - never continue to ask for someone to like you the right way - do the best you can to deserve it, and if you aren't getting it, don't stand outside a starbucks and beg for it.


*thank you, zach thompson, for making "tm" a part of my permanent vocab.