We have big plans for Pride. We’re going to get up on Sunday morning, watch the parade with a gang of his friends, go to the festival, and see who comes out to be seen. Some one-hit wonder diva from the disco era is on the main stage at three, the beer bust starts at four, and there’s an angels-and-demons-themed boy-lesque show downtown at nine promising the hottest strippers this side of Hell’s eternal fire. I bought a cute little striped T-shirt that fits me like a glove; I got a pedicure the better to highlight my new flip flops; I even found a magic pair of shorts at an outlet mall that makes it look like I might have an ass. Oh, we’re doing this.
Thing is, we hit Saturday night like a ton of bricks. A low-key barbecue in his friends’ backyard starts to get kind of rowdy around the ti
