Diapers and rash cream instead of feather boas and plastic rainbow beads – that was the choice I made. So you'll have to tell me (email me), how was your Chicago PRIDE? This year I opted to skip it, heading to hometown New York to visit my other family. Yes, this may disappoint all my loyal readers – all three of you (Hi Mom!) – who were eager to hear torrid tales of Altoids' dancer induced halitosis (use your imagination) and sneaking rides in the Jewel shopping cart thingy. Meeting my handsome new nephew Michael Stanley took precedent. In him I discovered a different kind of PRIDE and learned that last weekend of June, in his innocent blue angel eyes, what love really is. It's not just something you say to get people into bed.
Coincidentally my trip did happen to fall on the very same date as NYC PRIDE. So in between naps, feedings and passing poopy pants back to mommy dearest, and when real love showed itself to be kind of a bore, I decided to skip down over to the Chelsea and give the weekend goings on a little look-see.