I arrived this afternoon for my three-day vacay (or, err, "work trip") in Whistler for WinterPride! I'm doing the cover story for Xtra's upcoming issue. I'm a cover boy! And I didn't even have to sleep with my editor!
I took a Greyhound and had to sit at the back next to the stinky toilets, but I was more worried about being decapitated like that poor boy in Portage la Prairie a few years ago than I was about the eau de toilette.
The last time I took a Greyhound was from Winnipeg to New York City, almost five years ago! That was a three-day trip from hell, but I needed it to calm my nerves and prepare myself for what exactly I was getting into. The Prairies to NYC is a more drastic change than Kansas to Oz, because there are no munchkins or good witches to guide you. Just a bunch of power-walking Yanks who wouldn't spit on you if you were on fire (although they might if you try to steal their cab).
I didn't care where I was sitting when a gorgeous snowboarder sat next to me. He was all like, "Is this seat taken, bro?" And all I could do was blush and try to conceal my hard-on. Needless to say, I spent the entire two-and-a-half hour voyage up the mountain pretending he was my boyfriend. I didn't strike up a conversation because I'm a pussy (and well, I was trying to keep our "relationship" realistic; we probably had nothing in common except wild après-ski sex). Unfortunately, I could tell when our arms accidentally touched that he wasn't same-sex oriented (he flinched, I pre-came). Story of my life!
I'm staying at Blackcomb Lodge in a beautiful suite because the WinterPride organizers booked the wrong dates for me to be here, so the hotel had to make some last-minute rearrangements. Upgrade! Unfortunately, it means that they have to transfer me to a different hotel tomorrow since they're all booked up -- but I learned that all good things must come to an end a long time ago. When I was 16 years old, in fact, after doing a line for the first time (and 15 minutes later started tweaking like I'd just been kissed by the angel of death).
The Pride march was this afternoon, followed by Whistler Mayor Nancy Wilhelm-Morden saying a few words in celebration of WinterPride's 20th anniversary at the Conference Centre.
There are a few gays wandering the village, but most must still be on the slopes because the straights dominate. I can tell they're straight because hetero dudes always stand a little taller when I walk past. I think it's because deep down they know they would let me blow them if they were wasted enough . . . Fuck stilettos, girls; nothing gives height like repression!
Gay or straight, these rosy-cheeked mountain babes are worth the bedbugs I probably picked up on the Greyhound. I'm glad to be here! Fill you in on my adventures more tomorrow.
Tonight's to-do list:
1. Comedy Night: Going to see Vancouver's own Symone Says host a comedy show, with opening comedian Julia Stretch (Vancouver), followed by comedian Jason Stuart (Hollywood)!
2. Pool Party: Late-night watersport fun at Meadow Park Sports Centre. Gonna get wet 'n' wild . . . jealous, dear diary?