Pride/Tribe – Part II: Revenge of the Midtown Traffic
It’s funny how things work out.
Contrary to my well-laid plans, I ending spending the better half of Atlanta Pride on Sunday stuck in traffic in my grandmother’s car. As much as I wanted to enjoy it, it turns out pride isn’t nearly as fun rolling down West Peachtree in a 10 year-old tan Lexus no matter how many times they play Lady Gaga on the radio.
Instead, a mix of occurrences called my best friend and I out to Vinings (Atlanta’s version of the Bronx). Between that and schlepping my Grandmother, Aunt and cousin to see Wicked at the Fox Theater, the most of the pride parade I got to see consisted of the rental trucks used for the floats trying aimlessly to find their way back to the interstate.
I’m not complaining, mind you. The Fox run was planned well in advance and I was happy to do it. The trip out to Vinings was unexpected but turned out to be definitely of benefit to my friend who had been going through a rough patch.
What had stuck in my craw actually occurred the night before on what turned out to be a bad third date. It was one of those situations where we were both trying really hard to be what each other wanted and it was obvious that it wasn’t going to work. I felt crappy enough being the one to say, “let’s just be friends” that getting up the next morning and being “fabulous” was just not on the menu.
Suffice it to say, I woke up on Sunday morning a little frustrated an it just kind of went downhill from there.
Luckily I wasn’t alone. After we returned, my best friend Grace* and I agreed that we needed to take our friend Karen*, the one we had just met in Vinings, out to drinks and a movie later that evening. Over wine and flatbread at The Grape in Atlantic Station we all kind of bonded over the frustrations of recently dating a guys that just didn’t live up to expectations.
We ended the night having WAY too much fun at a showing of What’s Your Number, a romantic comedy about screwed up relationships. The irony and appropriateness of how we ended the evening didn’t escape us.
As annoying as it was to miss the parade, I ended up my own little version of pride on Sunday. Good friends, family and a story worth telling. Isn’t that enough to celebrate not just one day of the year but every day?
*Names changed to protect the “innocent”