Posting from the RTW archives

One of our newest segments will include dustin off the old RTW archives. As requested by Julia, here's a goody from 2004. Enjoy. and P.S. the parade this year is on June 29, and Katie and I are fully attending... dressed as Cher.

Volume CLXXIII - What's a Day without a Little Gay

I love my girlfriends and wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world (not even to be married to Josh Duhamel, but I straddled the fence on that one for a while, sorry girls…). Even though most girls are petty and juvenile when it comes to friends, there are a select few that will love you unconditionally and always be there for you no matter what. I finally think at this point in my life, I have weeded through all the bad apples and surrounded myself with the cream of the crop. Who else would listen to my overly dramatic stories, dry my crocodile tears, let me email them pictures of the Beagle named Skippy I found on petfinder.com (and all the names I would call him like skippy head, skipper face, skipster and skips malips), put up with my constant barrage of (what I like to think is cutesy) complaining and blown out of proportion emergencies and stick me right back in my place but love me anyway? Nobody but your true friends. However, I feel like something is missing from my life (besides a really large trust
fund and a guest appearance on Law and Order SVU...) and I think I know what it is… I need a gay mentor. I’ve got guy friends, but they cannot fill this void, only a gay mentor can. I’m talking about a guy who can explain guys, complain about them, and go looking for them with me at the same time, tell me not to wear that terry cloth dress because it makes me look preggers, and snuggle up on the couch next to me on a rainy Friday night watching “Steel Magnolias”, eating cheese doodles and crying. Yes you heard me correctly, I am shopping for a gay mentor. A HOT gay mentor… now where do I find one?... Chelsea?... or wait, here’s a better idea…
My friend Katie and I decided to walk from my apartment to Bleeker Street (which for you non-NYers, I’ll let you know is quite a schlep) one Sunday afternoon. Why? We wanted cupcakes from Magnolia Bakery (god we are such girls…). When we finally got down there, she realizes it’s on the west side (we’re on the east), so we begin to walk across town. Only we are suddenly encountering a growing number of people wearing rainbow attire or not much attire at all. Both of us are in stunned silence as we reach the conclusion we have come face to face with the gay pride parade in the west village (and not only is it completely blocking our path to cupcake land, but we totally do not belong). We stuck out like sore thumbs (like white people at a viewing of “Soul Plane” in Harlem) and everyone was staring at us (I should have just grabbed Katie’s hand so we'd blend in…). I was this close to a transvestite (it had boobs and it definitely was NOT a woman), when we decided we absolutely had to escape. We were desperately trying not to draw attention to ourselves (while walking through tons of sweaty half naked men giving each other piggy backs) in our little skirts and Louis Vuitton bags, but the woman walking behind me was holding her shopping bag out in front of her and it kept rubbing up against my ass (forcing me to turn around constantly to make sure she wasn’t molesting me…). Finally we locate a cop and beg him to direct us out of this mess to the bakery, but he tells our horrified faces we have to go back the way we came and wait for a break in the parade to cross.... (we have to back there again??). We also didn’t realize how far up 5th avenue the parade extended, and unknowingly went back a third time on the walk home (and saw a Latina lesbian wearing a shirt that said “spicy tuna”… highlight of my day hands down). Meanwhile poor Katie, who had to take a train home from Penn Station, went to the gay pride parade four times in one day… now that, is pride… my gay mentor will be so proud…

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