Anchorage Pride…Drag queens! Trannies! Ecstatic baby dykes! The whole complement was in attendance, which was great. And 48, count them forty eight entrants in the parade. Holy moly.
There were a lot of businesses who desperately want to let the LGBTQ community know they love us. (They know where the disposable income lies, and it’s not with the young families these days… middle aged gays are where it’s at.)
I’m good with that. Cater to me.
There were other groups I’ve never seen before coming out of the shadows, too… the woman standing next to us wanted to know what, exactly, “polyamory” means.
“It’s where you love more than one person.”
“Huh?
“You know…kinda like multiple wives? Bigamy, kinda?”
“Oooooh. How is that gay?”
“I think it’s sort of a group thing.”
“Weird.”
“Yeh, not for me, but as long as they don’t hurt kids, whatever.”
We agreed on that, and clapped politely as they went past, but the people got a bit of a cold reception. I wonder how many people just didn’t now the meaning of the word.
Very few handouts, which is part of the fun, IMO. One clever group, trying to get out the vote for preserving salmon in the state (it IS Alaska, after all), had four people in a Chinese-dragon style salmon costume.
It would shuffle its way up to kids and the person at the end would drop several small candy filled eggs. My first thought: um… it’s not Easter, folks…
But then…it’s a FISH. That was cute.
A health clinic went bouncing past, handing out goodie bags, and I scored one. Yay!! What treats lie inside for meeeeee… chapstick? Hand sanitizer? This is one fattie little sack of happiness…
AW, MAN! A dozen condoms?
I don’t want condoms. What am I gonna do with… oh stop it, people, I don’t need those suggestions and after 25 years we don’t need latex, thanks.
And why would that health worker hand ME condoms?? Ugh, whatever.
Beloved pointed to a group of guys standing not far from us. Maybe they’d like them?
So I waddled over, but first stopping at the hetero couple with the baby…Hey, could you use a dozen condoms?
She rolled her eyes. “No thanks! After this experience (jiggled the baby) I got my tubes tied.”
Okaaaaaaay. Thanks for sharing…but then, I just offered you birth control. Hey, fellas, need any condoms?
Bear shaped guy looks me over. “You don’t need ‘em?”
Honey, I’ve been out since 1983 and with my wife since ‘93. No. Not really.
“I’ll take them!” Another guy reached over and took the bag, while the first guy high fives me for being out longer than he’s been alive.
The best part about Pride… the dogs. EVERYONE brings their dogs. Big dogs, little dogs, fat dogs, skinny dogs, I’m in heaven. They want to meet me as much as I want to meet them, missing my Abby as I am.
So we’re petting on an old Basset Hound (love, love, love them ears) when this…this…THING lumbers up and starts licking the Basset’s snoot.
WTF is THAT?!
The woman attempting to wrangle this easily 200 pound black beast says his name is George.
Someone asks as delicately as possible about George’s lineage and I flash on that Facebook post about the Asian woman who goes batsy on the white guy after she tells him her grandparents were from San Francisco and he badgers out of her that her ancestry is Korean, then he doesn’t get it when she wants to know where he’s from. She does this whole bit about “have a spot o tea guv’nor?”
Anyway, George the furry short stub-nosed elephant, says his handler, is a lab/rottie mix.
My ass.
Flat head. Widely spaced eyes. Broad, broad, BRRRROOOOOAAAAAAD shoulders. Maybe he DOES have some Rottweiler in him, the color’s there, but it don’t take no 23 & Me to tell me about the Pitt Bull heritage in that boy.
Not to mention some hippopotamus. And likely some oversized ottoman.
Not from the empire. The footstool sort. That hound would make an awesome footrest.
I want one. I want a George.
I would never worry about leaving my beloved to go traveling if we had a George. I wish I’d taken a picture. The only problem with George as a guard dog is he’s 200 pound of fearsome looking lovebug.
If the criminal didn’t take one look and hoof it off the property, that’d be it, because George would be like, hey man, wanna beer?
So we left George and his owner to her illusion of a seriously overweight rottie/lab mix and kept wandering.
ExaminingMisadventures 