Episode 15: In which Poppy is wind-blown, reminisces about compliments, and discusses Pride.
Happy Pride Month, Pop Tarts! It’s an unusually grey, blustery day here in West Hollywood, and the rainbow flags are flapping in the breeze merrily in anticipation of this weekend’s Pride activities. Actually, there are a lot of things flapping in the breeze due to the fact that a bevy of handsome men in short-shorts are flooding the city – causing me to flood my basement.
Thanks, Ginger Minj, for that bon mot. I’m stealing that line and using it mercilessly.
And I wasn’t kidding about the wind, either. I’m expecting Almira Gulch on her bicycle to zoom by this window any moment. It would only be appropriate, seeing as how many friends of Dorothy are all over the place.
Speaking of friends of Dorothy, I just returned from enjoying a long weekend in Palm Springs. The weather was lovely, and I met some delightful new friends from Chicago – OH! And Chicago is called “The Windy City”! I didn’t realize that this “Coffee Corner” was going to be a “theme” article, but que sera sera, darlings. And in keeping with the theme, one of them was a bit gassy, come to think of it.
One of my new friends – not the gassy one – was a nice gentleman who told me, “honey, you can’t be a tramp without penetration.” That’s right up there among the nicest things anyone has ever said to me, along with “in this red light, you look like a teenager,” and “you’re so good, you could suck the yolk out of a hard-boiled egg.”
But my visit to Palm Springs is behind me, and now I’m comfortably settled in my usual spot here at the coffee shop, taking in all the local flora and fauna as they come and go. For those of you not poetically inclined, that means “twinks and bears.”
Ah – it has begun to rain. You may know that California is in the midst of a record-breaking drought. We’ve been as dry as a post-menopausal Baptist church-lady, so any rain we get is welcome. The only problem with the downpour is that Angelenos don’t really know how to drive in the rain, and that’s a caution. When the roads finally get rain after long periods of time, they are slipperier than a pubescent prom queen at a One Direction concert, and mayhem ensues.
Just checked the weather report and thankfully it’s supposed to be nice weather for Pride. That’s a really good thing, because there’s nothing worse than the smell of wet leather. I’m very excited – Pride is always special for me. In my hometown of Possum Trot, we don’t have anything nearly comparable to Christopher Street West; basically our Pride parade is just my Uncle Cletus riding his John Deere tractor down Main Street wearing my Aunt Ineta’s floral housecoat. You can imagine how overwhelmed I was when I first experienced Pride in the big city.
So when you’re standing along the parade route this weekend, or dancing your happy ass off at the Festival being as gay as a pink piñata, just remember that we are all lucky to live in a city where we can proudly let our rainbow flags fly. Be grateful – there are a lot of places in our country and all over the world where that is not the reality. And hopefully a hot guy in short-shorts will approach you, smile, and ask if you can suck the yolk out of a hard-boiled egg.
Happy Pride, Pop Tarts!