It’s Their Party And I’ll Cry If I Want To

“Some are into leather
And some write poetry
They make love together
Just to fuel my fantasy “

Sloppy Seconds, “Why Don’t Lesbians Love Me?”


There’s a big kickoff party at Dolores Park tomorrow at three. I won’t be there. There’s a lot of identity politics in the air these days, due in no small part by the current administration and their followers who believe that Lesbian/Gay/Bisexual/Transgendered folks needed to be herded back into the closet and perhaps quietly exterminated. Except, of course, for lesbians who can be forcably converted and sold as chattel. In light of the current mood, the likes of me wandering about the park leering would elicit sneering disdain if not open hostility.

It hardly matters that I’m not the enemy. Sure I’m a pig and all but an open-minded one. Unfortunately, I share the oppressor’s demographic.

My friend Betty will be there and hunting for young lovelies, no doubt with all the subtlety of a rutting boar. At one point, she suggested I could tag along if I could pass myself off as gay. All I need to do this is to have shorter hair, a gym-toned body, and at least a minimum sense of style. She and I quickly came to the conclusion that I’d be doomed from the get go.

I do however have an alternate plan. I’ve been invited to a BBQ where I can compensate for my lack of gawking privileges by filling my gut with red meat and beer.

I may check out the actual march later on, standing politely curbside and trying to forget that I have been and will be missing out on the real fun. Still, this isn’t about me. It’s about women being proud of who they are and their love for one another. I think that’s beautiful, especially if I can get Betty to show me some pics.

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