Histrionics on Tuesday were busy shrieking that this was the most miserable Mardi Gras EVER. The problem with histrionics is they can sometimes be close to correct. It was cold and wet and, yes, miserable, but I had a lovely time. A few days since we got here have been warm and lovely, but Monday night, when we went out uptown to see parades and then Mardi Gras itself were absolutely frigid.
Highlights of the 2014 Carnival Season, mrpeenee-style included
Getting smacked in the face by a fistful of red beads from a float. Hurt like a other fucker and I was actually sort of stunned, but even in that state, I managed to be furious that I had missed catching the beads. If you’re going to be wounded trying to snag some completely worthless shiny plastic beads, you want to at least have the fucking beads for your trouble. Fortunately, our old chum Magda was right behind me and adeptly plucked them from mid air as they bounced off my skull. Yay, for this and so many other things, for Magda.
A gang of costumers dolled up like pirates had a spring coil cannon made out of PVC pipe and they aimed it squarely at this annoying goon squad of Christians who were nattering around about how we were all damned and Jesus really, really, really loved us, but was still going to send us to hell for sodomy. I had a neckful of beads, because when not getting clocked by them, I am quite good at racking them up. I gave them all to the pirates and they were able to hit one of the Christians’ signs with them. Hooray!
We went to parties and hung out in bars and wandered around crowds of the most amazing costumes and high spirits, I flirted with cute guys and then I came back to my lovely hotel room to thaw out and take a nap. It’s a sweet life.
Go go boys were universally luscious and one of my favorite wanted to get spanked, an option I always sign up for. Bitch had a butt like a meat balloon filled with jelly. Of course, as I’ve mentioned, traveling with Secret Agent Fred brings many benefits, including the one where go go boys are drawn to him and he’s great at striking up amusing flirtations with them. Plus, have you ever noticed what a good bargain stripper boys are? Inflation may have affected every other aspect of modern life, but you can still squeeze on the boys for a buck slipped into their panties, just like in the 80s.
The only thing missing was easy sex. Back in the 80’s, bars competed to have the sleaziest back rooms and I was a connoisseur. Now, sad (and chilly) old men huddle glumly in rooms that used to hold a crush of copulation watching some satin skinned dancer like he’s a commercial for adult diapers. Fred and I were often the only ones tipping the boys and they were, understandably, attentive. I felt it was the least we could do, after all, it must be tough to pay your rent one crumpled dollar bill at a time.