Okay, so after my Friday night adventures, I slept for approximately three hours before waking up to get ready for EMT class.
Before going to the parade and associated Pride festivities, I had to attend a vehicle extrication training at a local fire house that began around 7 am.
For those of you who haven't had this particular adventure in emergency medical training, this is a step-by-step guide to replicating exactly what happened:
1. Get lost on the way to the firehouse, which is located in a rural wrinkle of western MA far, far from the land of cell phone reception.
2. Find the firehouse. Sit with my classmates and several burly firemen. Listen to a safety presentation. Eat a donut.
3. Watch a team of firemen cut apart a car with hydraulic tools.
4. Team up with two other classmates.
5. Sit in the front seat of my car.
6. Get collared, buckled into a KED, and hauled out onto a backboard by said classmates.
7. Repeat the procedure with a different classmate sitting in the seat.
8. Repeat again. Get timed this time by the instructor. Nearly drop classmate to shouts of "FIVE MINUTES, PEOPLE! This should take you FIVE MINUTES!"
9. Lock my keys in my car.
10. Call AAA. Learn that AAA doesn't respond to this particular part of the state, and definitely not on Saturday morning.
11. Release a quiet torrent of profanity.
12. Eat another donut.
13. Convince two of the firemen to try to break into my car.
14. The firemen succeed. My classmates cheer!
15. Return to Northampton. Get lost again on the drive back.
Once I had gotten myself unlost and had safely nestled my car back in the student parking garage, I raced back to my room to get changed for the festival. I had arranged to meet my buddies Robin and Bryce downtown, and due to the morning's shenanigans I was running somewhat late. I hurried towards the big cluster of white tents in my skirt and sandals, and caught up with Robin and Bryce next to one of the food trucks. Bryce bought a giant plateful of funnel cake. I stole a piece.
Ohhhhh the Pride festival was glorious. There were more flavors of queerfolk than you could imagine. There were dainty gay boys in tight-fitting tees and fancy jeans, enormous hairy yet benevolent-looking bears comparing their leather trappings, and one wizened gnome-like fellow in a wheelchair with a sign proclaiming his gayness (for 86 years and counting!).
I admired the fancy femmes in their flouncing sundresses paired with peep-toe heels, and quietly lusted after a pair of butches in muscle shirts that perfectly highlighted their tattoos. Bryce had to drag me away from the EMT tent, where a tall, slender policewoman with curly black hair was talking to a stocky, twinkly-eyed EMT. Women in uniform get me every. single. time.
We lazily strolled through the rows of tents while Bryce's little black dog frolicked around our feet. The dazzling sun played over our shoulders, and when we got too hot, we ducked into an activist organization tent to sign up for politically-themed newsletters. We ran into numerous friends, who we greeted with hugs and "Happy Pride!"s. I lingered so long at the festival with Bryce and Robin that I had to hurry back to campus to change for the two dance parties later that night!