Heh. I'm in control of Working the Room this week. Rita has no internet, and apparently can't post from her Palm.
How cool is that? Control. A marvelous thing. Especially since my posts here have been, uhm, random.
But I thought I'd supplement Rita's June ramblings with my own pre-Pride ramble. Or grumble.
The oh-so-fab Cincinnati Pride fest shares this coming Sunday with Father's Day. For non-only children, this may not be an issue. For an only child with a devout Baptist father... it's a dilemma worth a grumble. Add in the cost of gas, and the fact that the festivities take place smack dab in the middle of a 75 mile stretch to the old homestead...
Sure, I could ask the Baptist deacon to skip church and join us for the parade. Or I could skip the parade -- my guess is it'll be particularly politician-laden this year. And what are my chances that Delta will be giving away Sky Miles and t-shirts given the state of the airline industry?
But that parade is really the only chance to see the 43% of the local glbt population who successfully hide the rest of the year. So I kind of hate to miss it. But I hate to miss Father's Day and too well-done steak with Dad even more.
None of this would be the dilemma it is were I not carefully alotting how this week's gas budget is to be spent. If that little twist weren't suddenly so front and center in my brain, something I'm blaming CNN for, btw, I'd go to Dayton Saturday night, we'd have an early FD dinner, I'd come home that night. Then on Sunday we'd go to Pride -- back across the river, 20+ miles each way from either my house or Rita's... again, not a big deal six months ago. Not even a big deal two months ago.
But damn Ali Velshy and his oil barrel on CNN every morning. I'm hyper-aware of my gas tank and my wallet, and the relationship between the status of each.
But now I'm obsessing about how to combine trips. I even obsess about Rita's gas guzzling SUV and what it's doing to a budget I'm not even in charge of.
Urgh. My practical side (read that CHEAP side) is wreaking havoc on my already endangered social life.
The funny thing about all of this -- my cheapskate tendencies are a genetic gift from my dad.