Hook Me Up

"It's the hap-happiest season of all..."

The rainbow flags were blowing in the chilly breeze today as I walked down Market Street. My heart skipped a beat in excitement when I noticed.

Yes. Pride is upon us. That wonderful time of year where everything is just a little more extreme. That weekend where, in celebration of ourselves, we are a little inappropriate, a little intense, and not the least bit inhibited. It is in opportunity to throw convention to the wind, to wear more sparkle than the Land of Oz on crack, to give the finger to bigots, and to party like you are 18 years old for 72 hours.

Oh I know. Pride is about so much more than sparkles and partying...but let us save that for fifteen years from now when no one wants to see my cleavage and I actually wake up for a Sunday Pride Brunch (without the help of recreational drugs).

So. With the knowledge that in a matter of a few weeks I needed to look fit and fabulous (versus flabby and frumpy) I embarked on a crash fitness regime and roped Ruth in for some bunny chasing at Crunch in SOMA. Cecilia made her excuses, calling us frat boys and sticking to her normal (insane) 7 mile city run. Thus, dolled-up in my recently purchased motivation gear (Nike's, matching teal spandex Capri’s, a black beater), with an iPod strapped to my bicep, and calorie counter/pedometer at my waist, I took Pinky and met Ruth on New Montgomery. As I parked and removed my shabby helmet she charged at me, carrying an enormous Nalgene jug of water, proudly sporting the hot pink American Apparel "Legalize Gay" t-shirt.

Let's do the damn thing! We have 17 days. No pain, no gain, Flabby. She growled and slapped my ass, reminding me of an Asian Jackie Warner.

Shouldn't it be no pain, more gain? I moaned.
Whatever. Let’s find some bunnies.

We entered the gym, delighted to find it was not a total sausage fest that eve, and honed in on some attractive ladies marching side by side on Stairmasters. We hopped on the treadmills behind them and Ruth winked at me, grinning. Mission accomplished, Flabby.

I am not enjoying this new nickname, I grumbled and started upping the speed on my mill until I was rapidly jogging with my eyes on the prize. Her bleach-blonde ponytail swished back and forth rhythmically and shoulder blades, tattooed jauntily with angel wings, flexed in time. I got into the zone and turned up the volume on the Veronicas. I pondered the various Pride event possibilities and plans and let my mind drift as the sweat began to drip and calories began to burn.

When I get into the zone I get into the zone. I must have been staring, fixedly, at Ponytail because all of a sudden tan arms were waving in my face and I had to blink and push the emergency stop button.

Fiona. Yes. Sometimes I so love the tininess that is San Francisco. And of course she was looking smokin’ hot: sculpted arms exposed in one of those effortless chopped up ratty white t-shirts, calves flexing anxiously in her cross-trainers. She grinned at me, navy eyes twinkling. Enjoying the view? she asked, nodding to Ponytail.

What view? I asked with faux innocence, leaning on the side of the treadmill, pulling out my ear buds. Fiona laughed her pretty laugh and ran a hand through her short crop of dark hair.

You, Louise, are trouble with a capital T. Trouble on a pink vespa.

I shrugged and winked at her, slowly sipping some of Ruth’s water. Meanwhile, Ruth ran, pretending to be more into her workout than ever, even occasionally punching the air while sneaking side-eye glances at us.

So I have given up on the cell phone and bought a new one. A fancy one. That one was a piece anyway.
Oh god I’m sorry, I should have gotten it back to you sooner!
Hey NBD, it was time for an upgrade.
Yeah upgrades are…good. I said lamely. I had never felt less clever in my life.

Yup. Well the number is still the same. She paused and looked me up and down. Well I probably should get back to my workout. See you around?

Yes. For sure. Yes. Fiona gracefully made her exit. I kept eyeing her the rest of my workout and Ruth kept nudging me back into the real world with shouted remarks about my flab and improper ass slaps. I managed to end the torture finally and send her on her way. My timing was dynamite and I was sitting on Pinky, putting on my helmet, when Fiona exited Crunch.

Want a lift lady?
I am not really a back of the bike kid of girl…
I have an extra helmet and I promise to get you home in one piece.
That sounds…not scary I guess.
Whereabouts? I leapt on it.
Castro.
Interesting interesting…
And then meet me? Later? She leapt on it.
And undo all the good I have done tonight? I demanded (hopefully) impishly.
Exactly. Lite beers at the Pilsner Inn?
Absolutely.

I tossed her the extra helmet I kept in the seat and she hopped on behind me, wrapping slightly sweaty, strong arms around my waist. It felt great. We sped off into the sunset like the cheesiest of romantic comedies and I felt more happy and excited and hopeful than I had in ages.

Seriously. Pride is the most wonderful time of the year.

Always,

Louise