Pride is now officially over and, as expected, it was a combination of over-excitement and immense letdown when things did not go my way. Here’s a run down of the good, the bad (most of it), and the ugly (me after Saturday night’s partying).

Thursday:
8:00 – 5:00 Work, work, work.
5:00 – 7:00 Gym, gym, gym.
8:00 Receive phone call asking if I want to go to Madonnarama at Fly. I hem and haw. Uhhhh I guess so… No, wait, I have work tomorrow, I probably shouldn’t… But, I’m taking Friday easy because I’m running early on Saturday morning, so maybe I should take advantage tonight? Ok, done. Hello, work? I won’t be in tomorrow morning.
10:30 Arrive to Fly. Lineup from Gloucester to Yonge, up Yonge almost a block. This should make for a fun night.
10:30 – 12:00 Line, line, line.
12:00 Just when the cover is upped to $20 fucking dollars, we are let in. Awesome. Fag hags everywhere. “OH MY GOD I FUCKING LOVE MADONNA!!!!!!!!” No, she’s not on drugs. But yes, she does cut to the front of the bar line every single time. I consider double fisting.
1:00 Sweet Jesus it is hot in this bar! I need to get outside for some air. I think I’ll go have a cigarette. What’s this? Another lineup? Oh, I see. (Seething in full force by now)
1:15 Finally get to smoke. Conversations outside go something like this: “Don’t you fucking love Madonna?” “I really do”. My arms are crossed and no amount of beer can help me now.
1:20 But maybe it can. Let me try and drink five more and see if that makes a difference.
1:20 – 3:15 Sweat, sweat, sweat. Wait, wait, wait. Dance, dance, dance. Go home alone. Shocking, I know. A fun-lover like me.

Friday:
3:00 Wake up.
3:00 – 8:00 Sweet Jesus, I’m bored. Maybe I’ll go out for just a few drinks. As long as I’m not drunk and home by 12 or so.
8:20 Buy 12 pack of Lakeport Honey Lager from the Beer Store.
8:30 – 10:00 Drink 5 of them.
10:00 “Let’s go look at the street!” Oh… gays. And more gays. This is different from regular Church Street how? Right, more busy and more inappropriate touching.
10:30 Got in to Woody’s. I’m in an amazing mood because the wait was actually very brief. Things are looking up! You know what makes everything better though? Labatt Ice. Let’s get 3. OK!
10:30 – 11:00 Wander around, dance a bit, drink more.
11:00 Sweet Jesus it is hot in this bar! I need to get outside for some air. I think I’ll go have a cigarette. What’s this? Another lineup? Oh, I see. (Not quite seething yet)
11:00 – 2:00 Drink more… Comment on how I don’t find even one person in the bar attractive, and more importantly, it doesn’t seem as though one person finds me so.
2:00 Go home, pretty loaded. Oh, right, it’s Pride. No cabs to be found. Walk to Yonge… It’s pouring rain.
2:15 Soaked and drunk, finally get in a cab.

Saturday:
9:00 Wake up. Drag sorry ass out of bed. Shower, slowly. Try to scrub stink of desperation and Labatt off of me prior to running 5K for charity. (Sidenote, I was 8th place in fundraising).
10:00 Run, briefly. Actually, considering my state, I thought I did pretty well. Made it from Church and Wellesley to Queen’s Park without stopping. Run, walk, run, walk.
10:36 Finish. People fucking walking finished ahead of me. Head over to Jarvis Collegiate, where they’re doing a thing afterwards with water, food, etc.
11:00 Run into my gym boyfriend with his even cuter boyfriend of five fucking years. WTF? “How did your run go?” Good, fucker. I am now depressed as my best prospect in ages is very attached. This leads me to believe I am going to get crazy drunk tonight.
11:30 – 9:30 Go home, rest up, sleep, eat, masturbate… The usual Saturday afternoon.
10:00 – 11:15 House party briefly.
11:15 Drake. Big Primpin’. Get downstairs and the music is fucking amazing. Here’s a sample: This Is How We Do It, Too Close (my favourite song about boner dancing), Rumpshaker, etc. Lineup is insane, so the logical thing to do is get three beers each. Done and done. Chug the first one because I don’t want to look like a lush.
11:45 Somehow, the three beers I just drank have worked their way through my system to wait in my bladder. Try to go to the toilet and the guy says “If you go to the bathroom, you have to wait in line to get back in”. Um, right, I remember why I love the this place so much. So I go back in and hold it. Best way to deal with the situation? More beers!
12:00 OK, fuck it. The music’s not that good, and if I don’t pee in a urinal soon, it will be on the floor.
12:03 Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
12:05 Upstairs. Luckily, no lineup to smoke (how novel). More beer.
12:15 Continuing my theme of “West End Pride”, we decide to roll out to The Beaver. Killer tunes. A re-hashing of the above (same DJ).
12:15 – 2:00 Truly heroic intake of cocktails. This particular bar (thank Jesus) does not do late serving.
2:30 Stumble out while drunkenly saying my goodbyes, promise to meet plenty of people for tons of festivities tomorrow.

Sunday:
4:00 Wake up. Well, I guess I missed the Parade….
5:00 Fuck it. I’m staying in. It looks like it’s hot outside.

There’s my Pride wrap-up. Needless to say, I’m less than enthused about next year’s prospects. Fast forward to me in 11 months, starving myself, buying tickets for stupid crap, and waiting in lines with arms crossed, talking about how I’ll never do it again. Kind of like how I love to complain about how cold it is in winter and how hot it is in summer. Onwards and upwards!