Fuck this in Stuff

I think this might be my last Mardi Gras for a while.
I mean, I’ve been pretty much every year since my early 20’s, and we now have marriage equality in my country, and this is the 40th Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras next weekend, so this time will be a celebration rather than a “we’re here, we’re queer” march, like it has been since 1978.
I’m looking forward to seeing the 78ers float again this year. They always get a resounding applause, but I feel this year will be especially so.

I’m looking forward to seeing Cher. I’m really hoping she appears on stage sitting on a cannon prop. If not that I hope to hear that autotuned voice belting out “Believe”. That was the first autotuned song that I can recall hearing.
But, I’m not looking forward to much else.

I’m on holidays as of now, so that’s good. Just a week for now. I will need those 5 weeks off in May and I’m not sure I will have enough annual leave to cover it, but I’ll find out when I get there. I’ve booked up to Italy so far, but after what Jordan said about Naples, I’m thinking about cutting that our. I keep thinking with each city I cut out, it means both more time and money elsewhere, you know? But it’s a double-edged sword. The experience probably far outweighs the comfort of fewer places. Road-less-traveled and all that jazz.
But anyway, that’s Europe and I didn’t come to write about that today. Mardi Gras is this weekend and now I’m self-conscious as fuck.

It’s because of Peter. He came over late last night. He was in the Valley for some reason so was nearby. Who knows what he gets up to.
Anyway, we watched a movie with Andrew called “The Illusionist” (which was fucking great btw) and afterwards Peter and I took a shower together. In the shower, he goes to me, “Why does your body stick out like that?” - referring to my gut area.
I’ve already been self conscious as fuck about it, especially this year. Sometimes I feel like I like preggers lol. I do core work at the gym quite often, but it obviously mustn’t be enough. I’m quite tall, so my body has meat in weird places as it is. I’ve known for ages that my legs are quite proportional to my body, but my upper-half needs a complete overhaul lol. I’m getting a bit of a chest back, which is good. I figure if I keep working on it, it might offset my stomach area.
And of course I live with Andrew who only likes anyone anorexic, AND of course it’s been hot as fuck still, so I’m not wearing a shirt around the house, and I’m deliberately finding myself sucking my gut in around my housemates, and it really sucks. I’m certainly conscious of it.
So basically, I need to stop eating. Stick some fingers down my throat after meals. Throw down a few laxatives. Liposuction. Lol.

One of the first parties I’m attending at Mardi Gras (which has always been one of my favs) is the Underwhere? Party. It’s exactly what it says. You check in your clothes after entering the club and drink and dance all night in your best undies.
But now after Peter’s comment, I’m feeling like an ogre.
I took off for work this morning without even asking for a lift, whilst he was still in my bathroom. I thought to myself, “What a fucking asshole…“

And then it got worse on my first break at work. I burst into tears didn’t I? Lots of fun, in the work bathroom trying to hide any evidence of being upset, which, another fun part about being me, is impossible. My blue eyes go bloodshot-red and it looks like I’ve been snorting lines out back. “Crying? Yeah right, you look high as fuck!”
Anyway, noone said anything and I managed to compose myself.
Peter knows I’m upset at him and he apologized. He said he was just concerned about my health more than anything. That made me feel even worse.
I’m now at the gym cycling so I can write this and am about to hit the core exercise area hard. Not that it’ll make a difference. I was pretty down in the dumps today, so naturally I resorted to comfort food.

I’m now considering staying at the Kylie Party and ditching the Underwhere? Party, even though I paid $50 for it and guys have been scrambling for tickets.
Or maybe I’ll get drunk enough that I’ll think “Fuck it” and go have fun. It’s gonna really depend on the day.
I’m still letting Peter stay with me for two of the nights. He’s flabbergasted that I said I’m not fucking him until he’s got the all clear (he got the clap from some tranny-chaser). He’s been treated from Thursday which means a week will have passed by the time he arrives at Mardi Gras, but I always wait two weeks to be safe. Not my problem his timing sucks. We just kinda cuddled last night even though I was completely shitty at him. I was telling him to get the fuck out of my house, and only half joking about it.

I obviously have some self-development issues I need to work on, and I hope I’ll feel better for Mardi Gras to actually enjoy myself.