The end

Well, that’s it. The paperwork is in. And within three to five business days, or however long it takes one government employee to key in the information, that once lofty idea of being the editor of a lesbian magazine will be nothing but a dream.

Artists formerly known as Bound Magazine.
Artists formerly known as Bound Magazine.

Just before it goes away forever, I want to take one last moment to remember the wonderful moments of this endeavor, while overlooking the frustrating, stressful and toxic times that made me want to chew the side of my face.

Like those late nights, working with the girls, on the issue that was going live the following morning. Only the night would turn into early morning and was riddled with passive aggressive snarks and of promises to never procrastinate again.

Or like the lesbian dictionary I created with more than 100 entries of really clever lesbian puns. Only to find out that no one thought it was that funny.

Or like going to tons of events and always being on the list, even though there was never a list. But still, it was the illusion of being on the list that counted. Oh and going around and snapping 3,000 pictures of the lovely women at the party, but later noticing that we took 3,000 photos of the same four lesbians.

Or like that day we interviewed Melissa Etheridge, but we couldn’t get a proper cell phone signal.

Or being at the helm on June 26th when the Supreme Court struck down the Defense of Marriage Act and Proposition 8. It was a spectacular day to be gay and an even more spectacular day to be super gay, like the editor-at-large of a lesbian e-zine.

On that fateful evening at the Miami Lakes Ale House when I agreed to take a risk and create this thing with two women I hardly knew, there was no way to predict how it would all go. And it went pretty well for a while – a year-and-a-half to be exact. But the time has come to let the dream go.

For the good laughs, for the 8-hour meetings, and even for the ridiculous non-fights about things that weren’t important, I am grateful.

Bon voyage BOUND.

Road tripping 3

This is the final installment of the possibly true story of four homosexuals on their way to and from St. Petersburg’s Gay Pride.

In the early hours of Day 3:
– We found a gay bar.
– Within the hour four ambulances were called for dancing injuries caused by over zealous homosexual dancing.
– We may or may not have spent an hour entertaining the only straight guy at the bar. #gaycharity
– We took 163 pictures. Of ourselves.
– We may or may not have made fun of the Amish gay kids.
– We met a lesbian from Fort Lauderdale, but before catching her name she fell asleep in her beer.
– We may or may not have been offered a free sample of “a very clean” Molly at the 24-hour gyro stand.
– We may or may not have politely declined the offer, but instead asked if we can hold his 3-week old baby.
– We may or may not be driving home with a baby named Aaliyah. Unable to determine her orientation, we no longer know how many homosexuals are in the car.


Road tripping 2

This morning I was in a car with four homosexuals. We were on our way to Central Avenue – the location of St. Petersburg’s Gay Pride. This is a road trip log of our journey:

Day 2:
– It rained.
– We may or may not have peed in someone’s yard.
– It rained.
– We may or may not have jumped onto a float during the parade.
– It rained.
– We may or may not have found an empty Chilli’s on a Saturday night.
– It rained.
– We may or may be currently looking for something to do here.