Ben and I have debated over which pride celebration would be bigger, San Francisco or New York. I don't know how numbers compare, but today's event - the culmination of a week of pride activities - was kick-ass. The clouds and rain stopped just in time. It was sort of poetic - the rain ending and a billion little rainbows (in the form of ribbons and flags and balloons) appearing. Anyway, the parade featured everything from traditonally tacky drag queens to Cyndi Lauper singing while trying to balance on top of a float to Hillary Clinton walking into a storm of applause. (Literally five seconds before she came past us, I saw another politician's signs and sad to someone, I want Hillary to march. It was scary)

There were more people than I had ever seen in the city, which is quite remarkable. Afterwards, at the pier dance at Chelsea Piers, we heard that tickets for 50 bucks each. After some hesitation, we walked up to the ticket holder's line and bargained with the obviously drunk ticket takers, eventually throwing down two five-dollar bills for four of us and walking in. There was a sea of shirtless men - and practically no women - dancing and flirting. The big rumor rocking the pier was that either Britney or Madonna was going to be the special quest. Obviously, I was in a bind. I hadn't planned on staying that late, but the thought of missing Britney made me want to throw myself into the river (and if I find out she was there you'll be able to hear my shrieks acrodss the country). Eventually, when we heard Brandy's name enter into the equation, we decided to leave - but not after seeing Debbie Gibson. Oh yeah, baby. She did a new song before breaking into an a cappella version of "Only in My Dreams."

... and then I came home and found three goodbye card from my mom that made me tear up.

It's hit me the past two nights as I've driven home. Inevitably, there is some sappy song about sayign goodbye on the radio that makes me want to burst into tears.

Let the countdown begin. Six days.