Big Fat Hairy Living

I can tell right now from how stressed I’m feeling that Pride this year will be a horrible, horrible experience. I won’t enjoy it at all.

I have to deal with too much stress. My boyfriend is jealous, visitors are staying at my place, another acquaintance is staying at my place because otherwise he’d be out on the street, I had a shitty performance review today, and another friend I haven’t spoken to for a year just contacted me out of the blue. To top it all off, the boyfriend will be going away on vacation for three weeks on July 1. It’s too much.

It’s so hard to be around people. It takes so much energy to interact with people, I’m always exhausted by it. It’s even more difficult when I’m stressed out.

I feel like I’m going to break down. I’m not this strong.

I need to be alone

No wonder swallowing a big load makes me feel so happy!

I really hate it when people imply or even state directly that gay men are more prone to “drama” than the rest of the population. Talk about self-oppression!

Relationships are like bank accounts. You can build up a fair amount of money by making deposits of good will and thoughtfulness and waiting for interest to accrue.

Make a few mistakes, though, and you’ll end up making big withdrawals. If you make withdrawals, you’ll have to make many, many deposits to get your balance back up. And like bank accounts, relationships can only stand so many withdrawals before cheques start bouncing.

Like relationships, it’s the account holder’s responsibility to be aware of when his or her balance is getting low.

a href=”http://www.thestar.com/NASApp/cs/ContentServer?pagename=thestar/Layout/Article_Type1&c=Article&cid=1022100335430&call_page=TS_GTA&call_pageid=968350130169&call_pagepath=GTA/News&col=969483202845″ title=”Toronto Star Article: Noisy protesters greet Fantino pride party”>Fantino the pig cop is greeted by protesters at his “pride party.”

I sang at City Hall for the pride flag-raising ceremony. It was pretty nice singing in front of City Hall with a few hundred other queers as the pride flag went up. Greg and my boyfriend were both there to watch me.

Chief of Police Julian Fantino was there looking sour the whole time. I’m sure he’d rather have been arresting us, but for political reasons he had to make an appearance.

I just saw the most beautiful Italian porker cub on the bus. He had a really wide dark goatee, black hair, and a really dark olive complexion. His big belly hung over his belt, looking positively delicious.

He was holding onto the overhead poles and flexing his huge biceps, checking them out when he thought when nobody was looking. Because he was wearing a tank top, his furry armpits were showing, and there was hair popping out of his shirt everywhere. To top it all off, he was wearing a very tight pair of filthy jeans that had an ample bulge. His ass was really big, really round, and really lick-worthy.

I felt so self-conscious riding home on the bus with a hard-on.

We had a small three-song concert at Osgoode Hall for the Law Society of Upper Canada’s pride mixer. The lawyers were an atrocious audience, never shutting up throughout the whole thing. We actually were supposed to do five songs, but we left after three because nobody was listening. They were all busy chatting with each other, probably about really earth-shattering legal shit.

Well, except for my boyfriend, who was there listening. He was cute, sitting there looking at us, listening, and snacking on the free food and drinks.

Kyle Rae, Clayton Ruby, and Roy McMurtry were there. I think It’s really geeky that I’m interested enough in politics to recognize Clayton Ruby and Roy McMurtry.

I find it ironic that Roy McMurtry was there, since he was the Attorney-General who appealed the acquittal of Pink Triangle Press, the publishers of the radical homozine “The Body Politic,” on charges of distributing obscene material. Asshole.

I suffer from depression.

Two years ago, I was so depressed that I seriously contemplated killing myself. Lucikly I was too much of a wuss to go through with it, although I did have some clever plans. Most of them involved trips to the United States because of its bizarrely lax gun laws. The only problem was that I didn’t want to do was kill myself in a way that would maim me, because I didn’t want my mother and sister to remember me with a blown off head or anything. How’s that for gruesome depression logic?

Two years ago, I was stuck in a relationship that had been going nowhere for years, and because I had very few friends and no life of my own outside of work and my relationship, I had nobody to turn to. I was pretty pathetic. Luckily, I finally got up the courage to end the relationship I was in and move out on my own. Though it was difficult at first, I learned to be happy being alone. Only once I could be happy being alone could I ever contemplate getting into a relationship.

I am much happier now, although I still do get depressed from time to time. It’s usually standard irrational depressed logic, stuff like “I’m ugly and everyone hates me.” I know it’s not true, but I still feel it. Last night, I was feeling depressed. The very first thing my boyfriend said to me when he walked in the door was “Honey, are you OK? What’s wrong?”

We talked most of the evening, and he told me about his experiences. For the first time, someone said “I understand” and I believed it.

He told me that some of the most emotionally fulfilling moments in his life had been with me. I’m still thinking about that today. That is the deepest, most profound expression of love I can imagine anyone possibly making to me.

I feel a little better now.