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Tying the Knot

Pinkyswaer

On Tuesday morning I woke up a little extra early, brushed my teeth and put on a Polo shirt. I never wear such Wasp attire, so it should come as some surprise that I wore a collar. Even though the bartender at MoneyShot Mondays was hell bent to get me drunk, I managed my way out of the door before 8:30, and took to the road. I got to City Hall just in time to watch as the first married couples started streaming out of the landmark building, to throngs of cheers, tears and overall merriment.

The rest of the day was filled with tears of joy that couldnít be squelched by any amount of protest. Even the ever-present hater Fred Phelps, whose crazy Jesus rants were diverted to the doors of the Chinese Embassy to protest instead. They knew that us gays had our Barbara hats on, and that there was no way to rain on our parade! All that really happened was adulation across the state, especially in the seat of gay life that is San Francisco. It was an amazing event, as diverse and colorful as the city itself, and really was quite heartwarming.

But couples tying the knot werenít the only things underway as the days until pride ticked away. Behind the vale a whole bunch of happenings were shaking the streets and creating quite a buzz. On Tuesday night, my roommate brought home a drunk from the BOC who I figured he just wanted to trick with. The guy was short, sweet and hairy, with pecs that screamed Los Angeles so clearly I could see smog hovering above them. Who was this guy, I wondered, as I stood in my kitchen trying to feel drunk enough to keep up with him.

It turned out that this was the impressive host of Los Angelesís best underground gay club, Shits and Giggles, in town to perform at Juanita More!ís Booty Call. He talked a mad line about San Francisco before he stumbled out of my house, but at least he gave me an all access pass to his club, so I must say the whole thing was worthwhile. I never pay at the door, and am always looking to extend my club courtesy.

I was still feeling a little spooked from Friday the 13th, to tell the truth, when I attended Ambrosia Saladís Sleep Away Camp romp at The Transfer. The guts gore, and shot shorts abounded at this horror themed night, where spooky sounds and bloody cocktails got the crowd all riled up. It was the perfect segue into the Pride season, as there really is nothing creepier than a mass of Zombie out of towners who are currently descending upon the city in droves to gear up for the celebrations.

While I was dancing the night away on Friday, other horrifying plans were taking effect. Les Natalie, the owner of much of the Castro including Badlands, was making a shady deal. While his clubs like The Patio and the 18th Street Bar sit closed and in the midst of remodeling that has taken five years, he was pulling out his coin purse and making a scandalous transaction. Word on the street is that he bought the historic Moby Dicks bar on 18th and Hartford. Natalie apparently paid out all the employees a 3 month severance, and he will be retooling the legendary watering hole in an effort to turn it into an Asian club. Natalie, who incited a citywide controversy at Badlands with his alleged racially intolerant procedure, will no doubt receive a lot of pushback when Moby Dicks officially changes over. It is yet to see how this will all play out.

SO my friends, the week once again had its fair share of ups and downs, but who pre-tell do you think will be tapping the rumor mills? Why me of course! And I found out about a drag diva whose bevy of pride party sponsors are pissed by their lack of recognition. This tranny refuses the shell out tickets to the event to the sponsors who are making the party possible. And who do you think was named the skankiest house in the city by Peaches Christ, who has invited a local group to be her lap-dancers at July 5thís Showgirls Midnight Mass. They may give the whole crowd Herpi-syphil-aids, or just a gay old time. Oh, the scandals abound! But I canít deliver all the tawdry details. You, my readers, will find out soon enough, but surely not from me. I never break a Pinkyswear!