And Boy, Are My Arms Tired
Vancouver was a blast. We blasted there, and we blasted back. I don't think humans were meant to go from the Tsawassan (sp?) ferry terminal to Burnaby in less than a half hour, but we did.
And I don't think humans were meant to leave the West End and arrive at the Ferry Terminal in under an hour. Fifty minutes to be exacty.
The Pride Parade wasn't really. There were the usual suspects: youth groups, safe sex advocates, politicians (note that the power in party didn't show), and for-profit corporations. I'm tired of seeing banks involved in pride parades. Their sponsorship is wonderful, as is there financial support, but do they need to march? And Starbucks! They're on every street corner (even the gay streets), why do they need to be proud?
Shopping: fun, funny, and furious. The parade got borning, after the third or fourth twenty-minute empty period, so (like any good gay people) we went for sushi and shopping. Yum. And then there was swimming, and the hooka. Such relaxing is unheard-of for me. I like it.
Today we saw a bunch of Rodin's work at the Vancouver Art Gallery, and then shot back to the little (and clean! OMFG!) city.
And I found a wet-spot on my bedroom carpet. Thanks universe, but I'd rather have a puppy do that, than my granny.

