I wake up around 10 on Saturday morning, surprisingly hang over free from the evening out dancing late the night before. I head south, hitting Nini's and a much needed Katie Mimosa before heading home to roll-up, change, pack my bags and leave. I'm back in the car around 11, and parked outside the Love Shack around 11:30. After stocking up, I walk myself over to T and Za's place to drop off my bags, mix a drink and head down to the park.
Anyone who knows Dolores Park knows that on beautiful days, it's packed. Then, when you combine a beautiful day with a parade/gathering/party of some sort, which seem to occupy the park often, it turns into a very fun zoo. On this particular day, given that the Dyke March starts off from 18th and Dolores, the park is wall to wall people...You have, of course, the police contingent, but they kindly stay at the perimeter of the park...there if you need them, but not looking to interfere. Other than them, the crowd is a very diverse group of people, and about the only thing everyone has in common is their consumption of alcohol and/or pot.
The stage has some bands on it, and there's quite a few in the crowd who don't have a problem getting naked, or at least partially there. Basically, forget everything you know about large crowd gatherings that usually turn into some bad vibes. This party goes until the march starts, and I didn't get one sense of bad vibeness throughout the afternoon. I found it a little funny when Kler mentions that I must not meet many girls for me at these events, but what can I reply other than to tell her that's simply not why I'm there?
Three joints, a bathroom stop back at T and Za's and several rodkas later, we're back in the park to watch the march begin. But, eager to avoid the stamped, Za, McButter, Marge and myself head to Taqueria Cancun for a quick burrito, then we're back right in time to see the bikes go by.
For anyone who hasn't seen this parade, I highly recommend it. For about 5-10 minutes, every manner of motorcycle and people on motorcycles rumble past to the constant cheers and inebriated greetings of the people along the route. Then, as the bikes subside, the actual walking portion of the parade begins, complete with banners, signs, floats, trollies and people in windows and on rooftops partying and throwing beads. It goes on for quite a while, during which time I get the very cool videos posted below, and also have, unknown to me, a picture taken as we're watching the parade....Za points out that this is why you need to be careful...you never know who's looking at you with a camera.
When the parade ends, the goal is to head back to T and Za's, regroup, then head back out for the evening. At this point, I'm starting to doubt the intelligence and reason behind drinking rodkas for an all day drinking binge, as my heart starts to pound and I become reasonably certain that a heart attack could be in my near future. I decide that following this day, there will be no more rodkas for at least two weeks. I mean, hell, I'm not going to turn out like that guy in the midwest who drank 4-6 RedBulls on every graveyard shift and died.
I spend our "regroup" time rolling more, watching a tv show, and then taking a very refreshing and much needed shower to change clothes. But, McButter and Za use the time to nap, and the foreseen happens...they never make it out. From elsewhere in the city, we get a call that Bini has passed out in a car and will not be making it out that evening. This leaves T, Tri, myself, Jason and some of his friends to go out and explore the city. A word to the wise here....try exploring when you're sober...when you're drunk, have a plan in mind. We leave and go to Pancho Villa so some others can get some food, but by the time we're done there, no one can think coherently enough to present a plan or destination that everyone can agree on.
So we end up walking around the Mission/Castro area for a bit, while drunkenly playing with a bouncy ball that lights up in erratic ways. I'm not kidding when I say we almost cause a car accident, and I come very close to chasing the ball into the street before we make up the "don't chase the ball into traffic" rule. It's a very necessary rule while playing chase the bouncy ball in San Francisco while drunk. We get back to T and Za's place, and everyone is tired and needs to pass out. Unfortunately for me, still amped up and near cardiac arrest due to all the Rodkas, sleep is simply not an available option. So, between around 12:45 and 2:15 or so, I enjoy the front steps of their place watching the people walking back from Pride festivities and to and from the bars.
During this time, while feeling like someone out of Friday or Boyz in the Hood, I sit on the stoop, lighting js and blowing the smoke out into the sidewalk. During this time, I befriend and talk to a group of semi-pro women football players who give me a Red Stripe while I give them some Irie. One of them is a quarterback, one a linebacker, and a linewoman. Two of them I don't think are on the team. They spend about twenty minutes chatting it up with me. Later on, a guy comes up and stands by me, waiting for me to hand him a j, while asking me if I have my hat on because I'm going golfing (it does have argyle on it). Finally, I know it's time to go inside when a very large black man walks by and asks me if I have a girlfriend, and simultaneously a large group of cops descend on the area and start telling people to get out of the street.
So that's that....another successful and completely debaucherous Pride. I was too torn up to do anything on Sunday other than eat breakfast at a pretty sweet place called Boogaloo's on 22nd and Valencia...it's no Nini's, but it was very good, and the Mimosas were cheap and large.
Up Next...4th at the Lake!
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