Mardi Gras

Well. This has been a pretty fucking incredible week.

I heard all kinds of noise about "Mardi Gras" has lost its magic, and that the energy was low, and things just aren't the same. A lot of guys I met were talking about going to the alternative recovery parties instead of the main event. But then the day came, and they decided that they might go afterall, and damn if it wasn't one amazing night.

I managed to lose track of everyone I came with by three am. I was bummed at first - the party goes until ten am, and it seemed like a long time to be solo. There were 20,000 other boys at the party, so the odds were low of reconnecting. But a few hours [and some well placed bumps] later, I was fine. I claimed my spot in RHI, far from the DJ and the crowd of spider monkeys that flock there, but close to the stage and surrounded by some of Sydney's finest. And I was a happy little monster, and danced straight through to the final show.

I met some cool people this round - a nice change from the endless wave of masseurs and realtors that seem to dominate in Honolulu. I'll definitely stay in touch with Jason, who I discovered later was also Jasper Stone of Raging Stallions fame. He got swept away Saturday night by Bryn, who choreographed the closing and opening ceremonies of the Athens and Turin games, and is now in Melbourne for the Commonwealth Games. I was in a bit of awe when I learned all that. And I spent most of the last night - or this morning, I guess - with Joel, the Tahitian Prince. Mmmm. Royalty. My socialist ideals went right out the window when that one smiled. There were lots of other hot and sexy men, and I hope I remember their names if I see them again.

I'm slowly regaining basic skills - how to talk coherently, how to focus, how to walk without bumping into things. Sleep deprevation took it's toll last night, when I started hallucinating drag queens in the dark room of Body Line. It was a seriously disturbing image. I was afraid to sleep, knowing I would sleep right through my flight. That, and I didn't want to miss out on anything. So I soldiered on until dawn once again, then caught the train for the airport.

Lucky for me the enitre city [well, at least all of the Darlo boys] were just as useless. I thought I looked pretty wrecked too, but got a killer compliment from this young couple from Canberra who were trying to pick me up the morning after. They were all of 19 and 20, and didn't date guys over 30. I was an honest man, and disclosed my age.

So ... I owe Alastair a thousand thanks and hugs for being an amazing host. And Sydney, for putting on an amazing party.