A warm mist fills the air. Marigolds are in full bloom. A prostitute passes a clove cigarette to her friend. Ahhh, the sweet scent of an impending summer. Mix that with the sweat of hot bodies; the unclad men and women, and fashionably overdressed drag queens, filling the streets of downtown Pittsburgh and you've guessed it. Pride has returned! That's right!
As you ponder where to go and what to wear to one of the many pride festivities this year, you may also have a few woes plaguing your mind as well. Among the long bathroom lines, lost drink tickets, and getting hit with a jawbreaker by an over zealous parade participant on his own float, you're probably also a little anxious over that inevitable and often uncomfortable run-in with your ex.
If you're like most people you have an ex that makes you trample over some inept toddler, knocking trash cans over and hurdling strollers bigger than the vehicle in which you drove, to avoid. (We gays can be so dramatic). And if you're like me, you've a few. The question is how to either avoid or deal with that this Pride.
Let's face it, you can't shake a stick on Liberty Ave. without hitting some homosexual you once shared a feline and a box of condoms with.
You look in the distance and notice a wry smile. You smile back, seductively, of course because you're wearing your new pants. Then you look closer and realize, "I know her. And her. And her. What the?!... I dated them all. Why are they hanging out? When did they all meet? Did they just see me?" Given the blank stare and hypothetical dart just spat in your eye you've no choice but to believe yes, yes they did. And then your friend goes, "Is that the girl she left you for?" You can't even distinguish the "she" she's referring to because there's so many and they've all formed a posse and are now blocking the entrance to the french fry stand you want to hide under. That's when it hits you that they've all moved on. Now all you have is your new pants.
For the love of carbs, don't stare too creepishly. That's what got you the restraining order in the first place. Play it cool. You have a few options here. This could be your cue to bend down and "tie" your sandal and head toward the exit. I'm not one to back down to confrontation so I'd suggest something a little more mature. I'm saying to kiss first person who walks by. This is much better than leaving and it could make at least one of those exes jealous. With any luck it could be the mayor. Or me. And if you're feeling a little confident you could go for the assertive approach by walking up to all of them and greeting them with a hand shake and offering a penis-shaped cookie. This is known as campaigning in politics and it's also the way my siblings and I met our father. I digress. Anyway, if this is the approach you decide to take I urge you to make sure your assertiveness is succeeded with sincerity and a smile. And on an even lesser "evolved" note, make sure you look better than the person they're now dating. Each and every one of them.
Break-ups are hard. I hear the first eight minutes after a break-up are the hardest. That's what my exes have all said. And the only thing harder than a break-up is when you're dumped for someone else. Like your mom, for instance. That's a really hard one. If that ever happens you should just give up. Nobody would even blame you. More than likely your mom won't be attending Pride, but I bet your exes will. So toughen up. They're all probably watching you read this right now, wishing they had another chance. Nah, they're all smiling because you never understood them anyway and now they all have someone who does. Forget about them. Keep your chin up and relish in the fact that you'll never have to deal with all of their annoying habits, smells and lack of attention in certain, um, areas anymore either. Take a look around at all the many people passing you by. There's bound to be a few you haven't yet dated. Your next ex is just around the corner. Literally. She or he is probably peeing behind a trash can around the corner. And the only thing sweeter than the cosmos being shaken up is the irony of it all. Happy Pride.
by Chrissy Costa
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