The day the world was supposed to end I began alone, dramatically hung over in my best friends apartment. I was so sick and hadn't left the house, mindlessly watching house-flipping shows which were stressing me out even more as I watched beautiful original kitchens being ripped from (unappreciated) pristine vintage homes. Oh, my heart. My stomach couldn't take it either and there was a battle between my stomach, Fungini (that's pasta, I swear), sleep, and the bathroom floor. I was in such a haze and I remember there being an actual concern that the world had really ended. I couldn't get a hold of my friend Jason (gay and Agnostic) and wondered if he had been taken in the Rapture. Who's to say he hadn't? Eventually there was outside correspondence with Leslie and her girlfriend and I felt some relief, if only for the fact that the day would not end up like the beginning of 28 Days Later with me wandering mindlessly through an empty city. The girls rescued me from the abyss of the pull-out sofa and took me to breakfast where we all sat fuzzily and chugged very strong black coffee. The previous night had been full and interesting for them, too. Perhaps we were all getting our last hurrahs out just in case the world did happen to end. We decided that the night before had the same energy as when it's a full moon and Santa Ana wind weather- sheer madness ensues. We then continued on to more coffee down the street. That's where I found this. Still painfully hungover, it managed to make me happy and give me a light chuckle. And I just remembered why we were all so incredibly hung over: it was Pride weekend. Hello too-much-of-everything-crazy-party-time-right-down-the-street. Aha, yes, I remember now.