I was telling Mindy June yesterday that I had finally reached the "oh fuck, I moved" freak-out phase which is an inevitable part of any significant relocation. It came about as I was tackling my first home-improvement project, which is to open all twelve of the painted-shut windows in our new fixer-upper house.
I had gone shopping for supplies at Lowes on Friday night after having my In-N-Out Double Double, alone, where I sat next to a teen couple that I assumed to be newly dating. I was practicing my eavesdropping skills, which don't come easy to me these days as I grow increasingly hard of hearing wherever there's background noise.
Just as I was grasping the late-teen drama as it unfolded, I up and spilled my root beer, creating a coolio dark brown waterfall over the edge of the table. It would have been really pretty had it not splashed the legs of my teen dining neighbors and caused a general commotion in the surrounding area.
The kids were nice about it, but the whole thing made me feel like a sad-sack middle-aged loser without a dinner date. Of course this didn't stop me from refilling my root beer and finishing all my food. I also hope I set a good example for all the teens in the restaurant by thoroughly sopping up my mess with a stack of wet napkins.
After dinner I proceeded on to Lowes where I spent $200 on sundry house supplies such as garden clippers, trash cans, putty knives, box cutters, razor blades and the like. I dropped it all off at my house before proceeding "home" to the apartment I rented for a few months so that I could have a clean place to live while I get the house ready for regular habitation.
Yesterday afternoon I began the task of opening the windows. I'll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I now have two fully opened windows and one which I got open two inches before breaking the window pane, which will now require my purchasing two new windows on that side of the house. (I know I only broke one window, but they will have to match on accounta I'm a gay man.)
That process took about two hours, which is fine except that it was REALLY REALLY BORING. And I was all alone. Lonely, sad-sack house-poor me. Poor George won't be able to get here until early 2009, so this is my life until then: really boring house tasks that I have to do all by my sad, sad self. I called Mindy June.
"You've been working hard all week getting settled, shopping for a car and all that. Maybe you should take the night off and do something relaxing or something that you enjoy," she said. Great advice. I wasn't really in the mood for much, but all day I had been craving some Mike's Hard Lemonade - I love that stuff. I decided to get a six-pack, some fish tacos and tamales and rent a movie or two to watch back at the apartment.
In about an hour I was sitting on the couch in my temporary apartment watching "The Office" and "Superbad," eating tacos and tamales with Cool Ranch Doritos and drinking Mike's Hard Lemonade. I capped off my meal with a Kit-Kat bar and some new-fangled combination Butterfinger-Reeses thing that I was not very impressed with.
The lemonade didn't make me drunk, but I must have been a little tipsy or something because by the end of the night, after drinking four of them, I grabbed my laptop and started composing a deeply felt blog entry on the moral worthiness of the movie "Superbad." I didn't finish it because I was distracted by an impulse to play a few rounds of Yahoo! Pop & Drop, after which I lost the inspiration to write. Probably a good thing, but the fact remains that my life has temporarily been reduced to drinking alone while eating junk food and watching silly teen movies.
Hmmm, it doesn't really sound that bad now that I describe it. I guess I'll let you, my Gentle Readers, decide.
PG's hand on top of CP's. You can't tell from the picture, but our rings are white gold. 
