It's The Graying Sideburns, Isn't It?

[Yeah, I managed both to take part in and remember a bit of Pride dialogue, too:]

[Allen and I decide to ditch Civic Center after the brownies he so considerately baked and brought began to kick in. (FYI: Trader Joe's mix is just lovely for the purpose.) We figure the Castro wouldn't be too too bad yet, but have second thoughts as the packed-crowded Edge heaves into view. Second thoughts turn into third thoughts as they so often do, and we go in. We get separated after ordering drinks, and as I head back towards the front door where Allen is standing for the sole chance at fresh air (the rear half of that bar always smells like stale puke), a tall, dark 30something looks at me.]

[TD30S: Wow, dude; you got some sun.]

[ME: Yeah. It happens every year at the beginning of the summer.]

[TD30S: Especially your ears. (Starts fondling my left auricle with his admittedly cool fingers. I do the fluttering-tongue, eyes-rolling-back-in-my-head thing for a couple of seconds.)]

[ME: Cool. I'll remember this as the up-side as I'm being treated for melanoma when I turn 45.]

[I start to walk away. Next to TD30S is standing his friend, Short Plump Blond 30something.]

[SPB30S: You mean, he hasn't turned 45 already?]

[ME (whipping around dramatically, but not spilling a drop of my Mandrin cranberry): I HEARD THAT, BITCH!]

[Laughter ensues. (They turned out to be from Sonoma County, and not nearly as funny or nice as the opening salvoes would've indicated. I left behind half my cocktail so Allen and I could escape them, and the rest of the crowd, in favor of lots of Thai food and early to bed.)]

[Oh, and the award for Best T-shirt Seen At Pride this year: "SWALLOW MY PRIDE."]

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