It's rare that multiple bloggable moment happen to me over the course of a week. That's why I've saved this for day three of the 12 Days of Bubbles. The week after “It's Not My Party” (read here) takes place I was on my way to an LGBT conference. Or as my parents refer to it as “the environmental conference”.
A rainy Friday morning I was in front of my school at 9:00 am. I looked cute. A button up maroon shirt tucked into my striped shorts and red peep toes. Our fearless leader got at the school at 9:15. We drove quickly from there to shopping.
Needless to say I think his boyfriend really likes me. We broke up our six hour drive with a layover at the most beautiful mall. They had a Michael Kors shop. This beautiful $200 red jacket longed for me. I deserved it. It deserved me. We belonged together. Tragically my recently defaulted student loans suggested otherwise.
I was a good gay. I stopped myself from spending $75 at Pac Sun. I limited myself to this tin can and candle I got at Earthbound for $2.97 plus tax. Our GSA president promptly dropped over $200. I lived vicariously through him.
The next morning we went to the conference. Our fearless leader and our quiet anime porn watcher had snored through the night. I woke up showered. Looked scandalously appropriate for an LGBT conference. Grabbed a pumpkin spice latte. I was dressed straight from a catalog.
We went to three different discussions. The first was on love. Applicable to everyone accept the aromantics. There are four great ways to break up relationships. I do two of the four regularly. One is essentially passive aggressiveness and the other is called “stone walling”. Essentially, not talking to your partner. Needless to say I now know why I have no friends.
The second one was a workers panel. It was about being LGBT in the workplace. It was generally dull. Until the final question came around from the ginger in the front row. She asked the panel members how they were supposed to give varying viewpoints coming from a “cisgender Caucasian” perspective. I died.
Thanks to the god who plans on putting us in hell, we broke for lunch. It was a questionable taco salad. I stayed in my lane with a plate of tortilla chips.
She walked out a jacket slinked around her shoulders, and some good nude pumps on. Her commentary is engaging and incredibly well thought out. One of the things she said that's really stuck with me is “we wouldn't have to talk about oppression if people didn't have to live it.” If you have any interest in know more about trans issues, go watch her interview with Oprah. Read her column. Buy her book. The woman's amazing.
We filed out. Perfectly awed. Went back to our Presbyterian church basement. Ordered Domino's. Watched Pulp Fiction. And, most importantly I learned how to smoke a bowl.
One of our GSA members had brought their bubbler and they took me out with them. I learned all about THC and how to light it and that you have to inhale it to get a high. I feel like the most expert pothead who's never done pot.
It was great. There was a make shift stripper pole. One of the boys knocked it down. The cutest one there was a reject Prince Harry. I stayed in my corner with Blondie, sipping on my grape soda. One of the girls told me “she loved my entire wardrobe.”
That's what a good cheetah print wedge can do for a wardrobe.
I told her she looked like Emma Roberts. She blushed. We bonded. I had such a great time. Especially, when they got so drunk that they tried to throw eggs onto the roof across the street. This is what college is about.
It was a successful trip. I finally found out what “kush” was. Drank straight pumpkin pie from a smoothie place and learned that Concord isn't a state.