To Those Who Wait

First of all, I am terribly sorry for postponing this post twice to those four or five people who actually read this thing. I think that I should start treating this as an actual commitment with a specific time that I need to write it in. Yeah. We'll say 7pm on a Friday is when I'll write it.
Second: I was totally right to wait the extra couple of days before writing this entry because Gay Pride at Chester was nuts! I mean, really, who wants to hear about a week when the most significant thing I did was drop my Sociology course when I could be talking about cross-dressing nuns singing to a crowd of bible-thumpers across the street?
So, skipping the long stretch of bus rides and introducing a chubby little boy to the notion of cabrito tacos with green chili (good stuff), I arrived in Chester to meet with the friend from school who had invited me to Gay Pride in the first place. I waited, leaning against a shop's brick wall, scanning the crowd and taking in the sights when I noticed a guy and girl walking toward me. The guy was wearing a plastic, pink fireman's helmet, pink foam finger, and a white and purple rugby outfit. It was only when he was close enough for me to make out the gay pride flags drawn on his forehead, each cheek, and each arm, that I realized that this was my friend. A good start to the day? I wondered.
I want to establish something here before I continue: I am straight. I am about as straight as a steel construction beam. I've had enough ignorant imbeciles call me gay (also unfounded) in elementary and middle school that I don't need that sort of garbage rumor spreading in this school or anywhere else. That won't end well for anyone. I can promise you that.
The point is that where I'm from, it doesn't matter if you're gay, straight, bi, or of indeterminate gender, it's just plain fun to go to these sorts of rallies, support their rights to choice, and just watch all of the crazy stuff that goes on. There's a place called Provincetown at the very tip of Cape Cod in Massachusetts where I believe the majority of the population is homosexual. If not, it is still one of the most popular vacation spots for homosexuals during the summer, which means that every Saturday night during the summer is just a huge party with street performers and God knows what else there. For us Cape Cod folk, it's a pretty normal, touristy thing to go and have fun at these. I only found out when I got back to campus that the same is not true of England. Well, I guess I'm a maverick. Deal with it.
I discovered that my friend is rather well known and fairly popular in Chester pretty quickly. Just walking the three blocks to the rally (which had apparently been going for over five hours by the time I arrived at 3pm), he must have stopped seven or eight times to chat with groups of people. One of these groups pointed out my first "Bible Basher" of the day, who stood above a sign, shouting abuses at almost everyone passing by. The guys in this group were saying how much fun they were having messing with the ignoramus and, as I passed the man, I noticed that they had managed to plant on his yellow-jacketed back two bright red "We're Here, We're Queer, Get Over It" stickers. I gave them a silent applause for that. I only wish that I could have found them later to ask what else they did to the guy, which was hopefully nothing drastic.
We arrived at the town hall to find the street impassible with the crush of at least two hundred people. All around were shops and stands selling themed goods. My friend took a look at me and said "You need some color" before he and his partner in crime dragged me to a stand and notified me that they would be spraying my hair red. To say that I resisted would be a blatant lie. I always wondered what it would be like to be a red-head, even if I did resemble a fire truck.

Regarding the rally itself, I must say that the first bit of the performances that I saw were pretty boring. The entire thing was like a small concert set up in front of the town hall with people packed close to the stage and picketing Protestants behind them (At least I'll assume they were Protestant, considering that Brits say "Bible Basher" which, according to Wikipedia, is typically a Protestant of some sect) and most everyone cheering for one drag queen after another. The only consistently good bits were when the hosts (hostesses? Don't know what a cross-dressing guy would want to be called in this situation) came onto the stage and had long strings of banter and occasionally insulting the crowd. Aside from that, things only got interesting an hour later after a couple of people did a Michael Jackson choreography routine.

 This was followed by a Lady Gaga impersonator (a guy?) lip-sync "singing" to "Poker Face," and an act I that didn't really watch (for noticeable reasons if you look below), which was interrupted by a Brittany Spears impersonator (definitely a guy) singing, you guessed it, "Hit Me Baby One More Time."

After this appeared the cross-dressing nuns who sang pop versions of hymns directly to the bigots in the back while doing, well, more unsavory things with their fake (and thankfully hidden) breasts.

The crowning number, though, was a troupe of five absurdly dressed men dancing and strutting to "You Can't Stop The Beat."

Next was a brush with fame from visiting celebrity Stacey Jackson (apparently 2nd on some Canadian music list) who, while good, I was not terribly impressed with, but to each their own, right? The best part, in my opinion, came next when a P!nk imitator arrived on a three-wheeled motorcycle flying the Gay Pride flag and then sang through most of P!nk's hits. She actually had a far better tone quality than the original and her style was far more musically interesting and versatile. If only I could remember her name so that I could recommend her...

Her performance was when the crowd's energy really cranked up. Already, many people had been using the event as an excuse to be a little bit crazy, and my friend and his buddies were keen to set the example, but the P!nk tribute was an absolute blow-out release of excitement, noise, and general fun for all present.

After that some woman named Amelia Lily showed up (she apparently finished in third place on "The X-Factor) and sang. That's all I'm going to say about her (not that great).
Things wrapped up soon after that and I found myself getting my ID checked at the door of a gay bar/club called "The Old Queen's Head" about two hours later. This was where we saw the most extreme drag queen of them all (she/he must have been wearing five-inch platform heels) who was stunning (in every sense of the word, both good and bad) to behold.

 This bar was also where I met the people who I would spend the rest of the night with. My friend introduced me to a group of another four of his mates there and we all hit it off. Some time after our meeting, I split from my friend and headed with three girls to a normal, perfectly straight club/bar known as "Off the Wall." On the way, though, I had the bizarre fortune to almost litterally run into another guy from my new school. I was walking backwards and chatting with the girls when I turned around and he and I locked eyes. Both of us stopped half-way through our steps and stared at each other for a good four seconds before it finally sank in and we both burst out laughing. Seriously, what are the chances of meeting in a city about thirty miles from the school? Shame I couldn't remember his name for the life of me.
Anyhow, we got to the bar where I met yet another great guy who was eager to introduce me to English drinking, as he himself was a bar tender. This guy and my other new friends introduced me to the joys of VK (which, I discovered about two minutes ago, is considered a "girl's" drink. I couldn't figure out why the bastard was snickering when I ordered a second), spiced rum and coke (not the narcotic), "Sex On The Beach" (Don't ask me, I'm not even sure what's in it, but it's good), and asking the bartender to mix together whatever they think might be good (tasted like a Shirley Temple with Jaeger), and renewed my disgust for tequila twice. Now, again to you sketchy boarder-line stalker university admissions people (who in theory wouldn't even find this and know it was me, right? Wrong.), that may sound like a lot for a newbie, but trust me, it was in moderation. I could still do tricks and sleight of hand with my ring by the end of the night, dodge and dance through a crowd, and carry everyone the drinks of everyone else at once. I only felt a little buzzed, inclined to dance all night, and once compelled to sing "I Don Quixote" in the street. The closest I came to any confrontation was when, as I was dancing with a couple of girls I'd never met, I felt a hand slide around the back of my neck.
I froze. The grip was loose, so I felt no immediate threat. Nevertheless, I turned very slowly to find myself face to face with a guy leaning over with a drink in his other hand and (I think) smiling. Whether that smile was friendly, mocking, or anything else, I couldn't tell. He said something about my dancing as I gingerly peeled his hand off. I gave him a thumbs up and a soft pat on the back and he seemed happy until, as I was leaving, he tried to return the thumbs-up with the wrong hand and spilled his drink all over himself. Poor chap. I think that he might have been just a little sloshed. I'm going to use that guy as my reference point. If I'm not stumbling, getting "friendly" and grabby with strangers, and/or spilling my drink, then it's a semi-stable night. Great evaluation point: Waking up without even a hint of a headache (which I did, to all of you really helpful, but somewhat frightening admissions sleuths).
The next morning, I wandered around the city with my original pal and properly soaked in the eclectic blend of buildings. All around us, there was this pastiche of architecture from Roman, to pre-gothic, to modern times, creating this strange effect of feeling out of the time-line. I felt as if I, in my t-shirt, jeans, and Toms, were an anachronism within such an antiquated city. I could talk for longer on that, but I'm going to call it a quits here.
 The entry has been far too long as it is, but, as I said, there was a lot to talk about. This week, I have set myself up to try my hand at archery (fair past experience with minimal formal instruction), rifle shooting (held a rifle three times in my life), and fencing (never have even touched an epee or a foil, but I'll be glad to make a fool of myself for this one. I've wanted to try fencing since I was a little kid!) and just generally getting "trounced" by other, more experienced members of the school, so that ought to be fun! Good night!