Denver pride '08

It was pride week in Denver, the time of year where you celebrate your gayness by marching in the streets in front of the evangelicals holding damning and misspelled signs. And apparently running into every ex-boyfriend you ever had. Like Jim who wondered up to me and in a drunken stuper and let me know that He has my dishes (from 1993) Ahhh Pride. Denver throws a huge party on the hottest day of the year to celebrate. I’ve been to many cities that have moved their parades to evenings or even later in the season just to accommodate the melting drag queens, but in Denver, you’ll find the hardiest, toughest and smelliest Drag Queens around.

We did what 30 something Moes do, we watched the guys on the parade floats and wondered out loud if we were ever that skinny or that slutty. Then we did the loop around Civic Center cruising naked chests and avoiding the aforementioned ex-boyfriends. Trying to eat a funnel cake and still look hot is not so easy, but I think I pulled it off. And just as our forefathers gays did before us we then marched back up the hill to the Wrangler for beer bust. The Stonewall riots instilled within us the right to stand shirtless in the sun and drink warm beer. All in all it was a pretty great pride.

This weekend was also our anniversary (How cute they met on Pride.) Fuzzy and I went to the Cherry Creek Grill for a romantical dinner. It was great, although the highlight was when Fuzzy was deep in romantic talk about us when I coughed and spewed a tiny little piece of cornbread across the table onto his new shirt. So as he continued about the strength of our relationship I stared at a huge stain growing on his chest. “Yes hunny, we are like a gay Marie and Pierre Curie… but I just spewed food onto you. Happy Anniversary.