Gay Pride 2012 in Austin- WoW!

Really good Mexican food almost everywhere, Half-Price Books, Schlotzky’s, Barton Springs, Gingerman Pub and the overall appreciation for personal diversity—these are the things I love about Austin.  And these are the things I’m thinking while my rental is climbing the turnaround toward an exit in Houston.  And, most important, I was thinking that I should have talked to that nice looking lady who was checking me out.

I picked up my new sparkle at the Macy’s jewelry counter.  I was glad to have all of the many acquisitions that I had acquired during the one-night rocket tour of Austin.  I wasn’t aware that I was still wearing the rainbow bracelet on my wrist until I looked at the time.  Not one person in the Houston mall stared at my wrist or looked with that seething “I love Jesus so I have to hate you” look.  (That’s so jr. high.)  Maybe most people really don’t care that some women who like men don’t want to share their bed or bank account with one.  It’s about love and not-love but not hate. The hate comes from a minority of vocal idiots like the ones outside of Gay Pride festivals.  People who spew hatred at non-antagonists have their own issues to address.  This is simple psychology. 

There were some really nasty ones across from the festival entrance.  Most of these protestors just have the repulsive signs, but it was clear that these rough-looking, sobered-up-to-be-a-better-human congregants were purposefully trying to bait festival go'rs with catcalls.  I was proud when passersby wished them love and then went in holding hands with friends and lovers.  One of the angry-because-no-one-cared-about-his-anti-Christian position almost got me when he said, “It’s an abomination for women to lay with women.” I happen to know that the Bible does not say this.  The tradition—that was written 5-10,000 years ago by nomadic tribesmen—condemns penetration.  Because women weren’t seen as having the ability to penetrate (with anything that matters), they are overlooked in the whole discussion.  Therefore, we lesbians will have to take turns on the other side of the gate, waiting for our gay boyfriends and then give the bouncer the nod.  It would probably be better if it were reversed. The boys would make themselves useful, grooming the bouncer’s wings or offering tips on how to hold the shoulders back while carrying the weight of wings.  Maybe we can build a garden by the gate, with a wicked infinitely tall fountain…and a network of watering pools for all of our deceased animals.  That would be a nice contribution.

What mostly comes to mind is that I can’t figure out what the heck these people are thinking.  As Americans, we enjoy and tolerate free speech but these Christian-not-Christ-like protestors seek out homosexual functions for the purpose of impersonating devils.  I tried to think, “Where else (in America) do people do this?”  People get nasty at political rallies and outside of corporations like Enron.  But, as a collective, we’re not either of those.   Hell, who would organize the lot of us?  I’ll tell you who—it would be the Selina and Cher impersonators who played awesome sets under the pavilion with about 500 cheering fans—1/3 of which raised their hands when asked for a count of the heterosexuals.

We are a small minority of people, celebrating the uniqueness of disparate lives for twelve hours once a year (not counting the Splash festival at Hippie Hollow).  Those sobered-up-to-be-a-better-human congregants don’t go to places where teenagers fornicate and quote verses with bullhorns.   And, we wouldn’t even think of organizing protests against their choices.  (Well, I just thought of it—, but I doubt the spewing would get the results that I want.)  Most of us understand the need for free will.  And, if this is the soul knowledge that I acquire while living as a 5-10% minority, it was worth a life’s investment. 

When I woke Sunday morning after the festivities, I drove with my besty and her hubby to pick up besty Jr. (I’m her official (fairy) godmother.)  Besty Jr. had been at her Senior Homecoming dance.  I wondered what it would be like if a portion of the 1,000+ gay Priders stood outside the high school with picket signs, bullhorns.  “You’re an abomination to God!”  Such an event wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by the community.  Fathers with rifles, mothers with wagging forefingers, and clergy who know what the Bible really means wouldn't stand for these demonstrations.  My girl would have probably come over, curtseyed in her cute dress and said, “What’s up?”  But she’s sweet and most of us don’t have her innocent strength for dealing with the kind of venom these I sobered-up-to-be-a-better-human congregants spew. 

During the 22 hours I was there, I was able to see half a dozen old friends and eat my fill of yummy Texas tacos.   I was reminiscing about being able to unite with friends—with me as my own audience—and thinking about a particular woman that I wished I had extended a simple “hello” to.  By the time I grew enough courage, I’d had a few beers and the higher hemispheres were pulling down the shades on my brain.  Bummer.  I wish I’d  written some notes on my wrist,  so that she might have had a chance to reciprocate interest. I wish I had been busy the entire ride home with imaginations of sharing vacations in foreign places and discovering hidden strengths that neither of us knew were alive deep inside.

But, I don’t need an out-of-town girlfriend; I don’t need one more reason to want to be in Austin; and, I don’t need to have empty time to imagine that she’s going to be everything I’ve ever been looking for.  There’s a high probability that any next “she” does crude personal grooming when no one’s looking, touts a strong annoying position, and/or cuts corners on her taxes.  (I do some of these things; I’ll leave the answer(s) to your imagination). This is how people are.  My imagination is incredible.  I have to have reality pop me in the forehead on a moment-to-moment basis, or I begin to believe that everything is just as it is suppose to be.  Wait, that's not all bad.