Day-um Daddy!
365 Days of UNF: Day 188
365 Days of UNF: Day 187

Triptych
365 Days of UNF: Day 186
Oh. My. (NSFW)
I don’t get the mask (like your “legitimate” employer isn’t going to recognize your distinctive tattoos), or the cap in the shower, or the fact that the “pitcher” is actually a “catcher” in this instance, but I can fully endorse the, um—thrust—of this photo set.
[Source]
365 Days of UNF: Day 185
My First Beard Crush
I’m a Fan
Proud Boys (NSFW)
365 Days of UNF: Day 183
365 Days of UNF: Day 182
365 Days of UNF: Day 181 (NSFW)
365 Days of UNF: Day 179
365 Days of UNF: Day 178
Some Snaps of San Francisco Pride Sunday from Years Past
1986
This was my first parade. We (my tribe) weren’t even living in SF yet, but like so many others, we flew up specifically to attend.
1987
This was our first parade as full-fledged San Francisco residents.




1988
This was the year the parade reversed direction because of light rail construction downtown, forcing the parade to start in the Castro and end at the Civic Center instead of starting at the base of Market Street. My dad—along with James, a longtime friend—flew up from Tucson to attend.






1989
Continuing the previous year’s route because track work was still going on downtown, the parade once again started in the Castro. This year my dad (who had relocated to the bay area during the previous year) and my mom were there.




1990
The energy of the parade this year—returning to it’s original route moving up Market Street to the Civic Center—was off. I don’t know if it was just me (I’d been going through some romantic troubles) or if it was the fact it was—for a second year in a row—completely overcast, but my heart just wasn’t into it. In fact, I think I lingered only for about 90 minutes before returning home.


1991
Back in a party mood after whatever had gotten me so down the year before, I headed downtown with every intention of getting as many photos of hot guys as I could. Overall I think I did a pretty good job.
1992
This would be my last parade, despite the fact I think that overall it was my best, photographically speaking. Ironically, my attitude the following year and every one thereafter was “I mean really, how many photos of hot guys at the parade can one take?” so I never attended one again. Plus, the beginning of my attitude that “there are so many more interesting things about me than the fact I’m gay” was beginning to take hold and I didn’t feel the need to continually announce it to the world and was entering a period of when I was over the whole gay thing. I was slowly turning into what I dreaded: “a jaded, tired old queen living up on the hill.” (Although living up on the hill wouldn’t happen for several more years.)








































































































































































