P should be for Pride. It's Pride week and I love my community. Everyone works hard and whenever the going gets tough, we all pull together no matter our differences, united in a common goal. This year our theme is "Tolerance...Acceptance....now Celebrate!" and we're working really hard to be visible. Flying our Pride flag not just for the traditional one day, but for the whole week. Getting the proclamation from the Mayor; groups joining together to provide workshops, parties, bbqs, merchandise, education, entertainment and so much more. Str8, gay, somewhere in between, the whole glbt rainbow of folks. We're working together and we're making a difference.
But....
P is also for period, and days like these, I hate my community. Cheap ass dykes who can't bear to stop rubbing the beaver long enough to drop a nickel in the jar. Dumb ass breeders who couldn't say please if their lives depended on it. Lame ass drunks who have nothing better to do than bitch about having to wait a couple extra minutes for that pint of lager that they're not going to tip on anyway. And you do NOT want to get me started on the new tills and liquor gun, oh no. Of course, Ang and I did get to bond over them--that is, both of us so frustrated we were ready to cry over the crappy way these things run...and then I could talk about money, and shopping, and dresses that are going to look like shit on this fat old body, but frankly, it's seven in the morning and I've a Pride Picnic to put on in less than five hours, so.... P is for Prayers, those I'm saying, those I know are being said for me. Thank you.