Happy Pride?

Pride is like an enforced holiday for homosexuals without the actual days off work. Especially for me, who missed practically everything that was on because I worked nights throughout the month-long festival. The one night I did have off I made the mistake of thinking I would see Jane Austen's Guide To P*rn*graphy... which was awful. In fact, here is the review I sent to our arts editor:
Wow. Jane Austen’s Guide to P*rn*graphy… worst thing I have ever seen. Or ever seen half of, actually. Like a Year 12 original production at a school for young militant homosexuals who still feel, in that bizarre 1990s way, like four-letter versions of the word penis will shock. Half the audience made a half-time exit. The rest, I expect, hung around in the hopes they’d get to sleep with the cast.
The other thing I went to was the parade. This is such a sad little event. I mean I don't expect it to be Mardi Gras but could someone please do something not pathetic? Sitting on a truck with a banner and waving to the crowd is insultingly ordinary. In Sydney they get together every couple of weeks to go through their choreography for months ahead of the event.
The highlight of the whole night actually took place at the after-party at the newly renovated Court Hotel (it has gone from sh*theap to bowel lined with chandeliers... and for my part I applaud Bree Maddox for the job she has done).
I was thrilled to unexpectedly find a young colleague there - mainly because we sit about five metres apart and neither of us new about the other's proclivities. He's a nice kid.
But that such a minor incident (which could have so easily not happened at all if Tom-the-online-guy and I had simply had a conversation at any point in the three months I've been working here) was the highlight of my entire Pride is quite sad.
I may skip Pride altogether next year... it's thoroughly not exciting at all.