Last week Scott asked the question "Who is the person that you most regret having lost touch with over the years? What is preventing you from getting back in touch with that person?" I didn't respond to his request, but that didn't stop me from doing some thinking. I have lost touch with a lot of people in my life. I have lived in seven states since I finished college and I have been terrible about keeping up with people. I would love to blame it on them but I know that a large part of it has been me. I get busy with my life and whatever is important at the moment and then a week goes by, then a month, then two, then six and before you know it I feel like it's been too long to call. Every once in a while I get a notion that I will look some of these people up and I try on line. I Google them. I search the white pages. But too many of them have common names and there are just too many of them to know which is the right one.

Of the people I miss the most, it's S.G. He was my second boyfriend. We were together from 1991 to 1994. It seems like a lifetime ago. When we met he was a few months shy of his 19th birthday and I was 26. At 40 eight years is nothing when your 18 eight years is an eternity. He was still in the closet and was just coming to terms with his homosexuality. I met him while driving down the street. We passed each other at an intersection and our eyes locked. I quickly turned my car around and followed him into an empty parking lot. We chatted. I gave him my number and asked him to call me. He not only called but he came over later that night. He was beautiful and the sex was great. When we were finished. I asked him if he would like to take a shower. He said yes and then very shyly ask me if I would join him. Seems one of his fantasy's had always been to have sex in the shower. Of course I agreed. I might not even remember this bit of information if were not for the fact that his right index finger was in a bandage and couldn't be gotten wet. He had to shower with his finger held above his head. It was sweet and comical. I was smitten. I pursued him and eventually he relented. Oh, and should I forget, he was still living at home and had a 2:00 a.m. curfew. So every night we'd go out and then come back to my place. We would have sex and often fall asleep together. But the alarm was always set so that he could leave by 1:45 to be home by two.

This went on all summer until college started in the fall. I can't say the relationship was perfect but by the fall it was well known in my world that we were boyfriends. We were together almost every night. Not long after school started I moved into a one bedroom apartment and gave him a key. It sealed the deal. The only real catch was that his friends didn't know about him. They knew he had this new friend that he spent a lot of time with, but he was constantly concerned with being caught. As we all do, he eventually told one person and found out the world didn't end and that they didn't care. So then he told another and then another. By the time we celebrated one year together almost everyone knew he was gay except his parents.

By this time we were practically living together. He stayed every night at my home although his parents thought he was staying in the dorm. He had all of his clothes at my house and even had friends who called him on my phone. It was our second summer together that he told his parents he was gay. His mother cornered him out in their flower garden one day and he told her, "Mom, you always said I was special. Well you were right." They weren't happy but they continued to love him. Who they didn't continue to like was me. I was suddenly the root of the problem. I had made their son gay. They also found out about this same time that I was 8 years older. Suddenly, I was not really welcome in their home. It was okay for their son to be gay. But he could do better. I didn't drive the right car. I didn't own a house. I was still going to college. My parents didn't belong to a country club. I pretended none of this bothered me but it's hard to know these things and not be bothered by them.

Eventually we did move in together. We found an apartment in an old house and worked our gay magic and it was beautiful. Together we painted it, polished the floors, relandscaped the back yard, we shopped at thrift stores and yard sales and found some wonderful treasures. We created a home. We were happy here. We had the best parties. We threw huge Christmas parties for my entire department at my University. We once had a summer party that started on Saturday evening and was still going on Sunday at midnight. Life was great.

Or so I thought. As with any relationship there were problems. There were still issues with his parents. One of the things that I had encouraged S.G. to do was to take an entrance exam and actually pursue the degree he wanted not the one his parents wanted. Unfortunately, this degree was insanely time consuming and he was spending all of his time at his studio. I was dealing with severe bouts of depression I later realized and since they were untreated I was often unbearable to be around and would have fits of rage that were often unprovoked. But most and foremost, my little S.G. was growing up and wanted to experience the world. He wanted to be free, to find out what it was like to be gay, and go out, and well...

On January 9th, 1995 he sat me down and told me the relationship was over and that he wanted to break up. I couldn't say that I was surprised. I was hurt. He moved out with in the week and I found myself living in our beautiful home alone. For the first two weeks I was fine. I went about my life acting as though nothing had happened. Two weeks to the day later, I was at work and lost it. I was waiting tables and asked to go home. I went home and went to bed and cried for what seemed like days. It was the beginning of the end of life as I knew it.

It feels good to write about this. But I think I am done for the night. I'll tell more of the story tomorrow. To understand why I miss this boy so much the entire journey must be shared.

I've been drawing blanks for the last couple of days when I sit down to post. Usually by the time I'm half way home on the subway I have several ideas to work with and I go with one of them. Sometimes I just sit down and start to type and it just comes out. But for the last three or four days it's been zip, nada, nothing. So I sit here and look at my computer until I decide it's too late to be sitting here and just go to bed. I thought maybe if I talked about it the block would go away.

And with that.

Today was a not exactly a great day, not exactly a bad day.

I finally saw my NYC psychiatrist last Thursday to get my prescriptions renewed. Most of you were right in that the first thing he did was call his drug reps to get me samples of my drugs since I really can't afford them. Unfortunately it turns out that one of the drugs I have been taking since 2001 can cause heart disease and high cholesterol. To check on this he wanted to have blood work done. This would be fine if I had health insurance but when your paying out of pocket and you don't have a job, well it's a bit stressful.

So today I went downtown to get my blood work done. I had to go late in the afternoon because I forgot when I got home last night that I was supposed to be fasting and had two Diet Cokes. Whoops. So I got there about 3:00, waited about 30 minutes and then got my arm stuck. I was a little nervous, which is unusual for me, but it didn't hurt a bit. I didn't even feel the stick. The one good thing that happened was that I didn't have to pay today. I'm going to be billed which means I'll have a month or so to pay them and I'll be working by then.

After the lab I realized I had about 3 hours to waste before I had to be at a meeting at 6:30. It was raining in that kind of misting, make everything wet sort of way so I decided I'd go to the movies. So I jumped back on the subway and headed back up town to 34th Street. When I got there the only movie playing that worked in my time frame was World Trade Center. I thought never mind. I then remembered there were theatres on 23rd Street so I took the train back down. When I got there the only thing playing was World Trade Center. Never mind.

I have heard from a couple of my friends that it's a good movie. For the life of me I can't imagine seeing it. I was working and living 4 blocks from Ground Zero and was fully aware of the devastation. My apartment building shook for what seemed like hours as the towers fell. The sky was completely darkened on a biblical scale as the clouds of smoke filled the air. I was asked to evacuate my home and was not able to return for well over a week. For months the smell of the fire just up the street filled the air. This is all above and beyond the realization of the human lives lost in the blink of an eye. Nope it's not a movie that I wanted to see.

I ended up at Barnes and Noble. It's great how a person can get lost in a bookstore with out much effort. I stayed there until just before my meeting at 6:30. Much happier and much less sad than I am sure I would have been if I had gone to the movies.

I don't like flying. This is something that started about 2 or so years ago. Actually it's not the flying that I mind. It's the take off. I don't like the take off. I grip the arms of my seat and hang on until the seat belt sign goes off telling us that it's okay to move around the cabin. As I said this started about 2 or so years ago and I know exactly what caused it.

I was flying home to Kentucky. Since I lived in New York getting home to Kentucky often took me through Cincinnati 's Airport which is actually in Northern Kentucky. It's the hub of Delta Airlines and so I flew Delta most of the time to get there. On this particular trip I was seated in the back of the plane next to this very attractive young girl. It turned out that she had recently started working for Delta as a flight attendant. So as we flew home she told me all about being a flight attendant including what training involved. Seems in the safety part of the training they had been taught that the take-off and landing are the most dangerous part of the trips. She then went on to be more specific, which I don't remember. All I heard was take-off is the most dangerous. This conversation has stuck with me and my fear of flying began.

I bring all of this up for two reasons. First I am flying to San Diego this week. I was supposed to go tomorrow. In fact if I hadn't changed my flight I would be an hour away from getting in the car to get to the airport. I changed my flight till Sunday for a number of reasons, but at least it put off the flying part of the trip.

The other reason I bring this up is because of the plane crash on Sunday morning. I am actually from a small town just a few miles north of Lexington and my mother now resides in Lexington. I have flown in and out of that airport many times. I also know many people who live there and have been watching the passenger list to find out if there is anyone on it I know. So far there has been no one, but they have yet to release all the names. This one was a little too close to home for me.

I know that I am being silly. I also know all the statistics that say I am more likely to be hit by a car crossing 8th Avenue than I am to die in a plane crash. I also know that if I talk about it, the hold it has on me is loosened. It's how I am feeling today.

By this time on Sunday I'll be in San Diego and this flying thing will be behind me.

I didn't post yesterday. I forgot to tell you I wasn't going to post yesterday. But I have a good excuse. I went to Fire Island. My friend A.L. who has a share out there this summer decided that it was not good that I had never been to Fire Island and so I met him at Penn Station yesterday afternoon and we took care of my virginity. My Fire Island virginity that is.

I won't bore you with all the details, there's not much to report. We spent yesterday afternoon walking, around had lunch, then napped by the pool. Woke up chatted for a while, went to Cherry Grove for dinner. Walked back along the beach. Watched a Marlene Dietrich movie. Went to bed. Got up. Drank three pots of coffee watching it rain. Had lunch. Then I caught the ferry back to civilization. Okay, so I did bore you with the details. But as I said there wasn't much to report. No frolicking with boys on the beach. No frolicking with boys at tea. No frolicking with boys in the Meat Rack. Basically no frolicking. Ah, what happened to the good ole days?

Before cell phones and caller-ID if my telephone rang I answered it. I rarely let the machine get it. It made me neurotic to not answer and so it was a must. I did however always wait till the second ring because my mother always did that at work and I thought it was cool. With my cell phone I have slowly gone to the place of not taking calls. I never turn my phone off, but the ringer is on silence a lot. That way I can see who called, but I can return the call when it's convenient for me. The plus side of this is that I'm never awakened in the morning by phone calls, especially since I haven't been working and have taken to sleeping late.

Unfortunately, this morning was not one of those mornings. My phone rang at exactly 8:36 this morning. I waited till the voice mail chimed through to get up to see who it was. It was my friend J.M. who I gave tons of grief to later in the day for calling so early. I had just gotten back to sleep when my boss called. My phone was now next to my bed and since I was somewhat expecting his call I answered. He was calling to let me know that he'd arranged for me to return some products that we had borrowed. He told me where to take them and who to ask for. We talked for about 2 more minutes and then we hung up. I repeated the name (Mike) over and over several times so that I wouldn't forget because I don't want to get out of bed and write it down and then promptly fell back asleep.

I immediately began dreaming and in my dream I kept repeating this name over and over as I prepared to go to work. In my dream I am part of the production team filming a movie and as I am walking down the hall to go into the studio I realize that I have forgotten my shoes. I am barefoot. I freak out. There's no way they'll let me on the studio floor without shoes. I'll be fired and I'll never be able to drop this stuff off for Mike and do my job. Finally someone from costumes said they'd loan me shoes so then I wait, and wait, and wait, and wait for them to return with shoes to wear, all the while trying to hide the fact that I am barefoot. Finally the shoes come and they are a size 8 and a size 14. What the crap am I going to do? I try on the 8's but they won't fit. I try on the 14's but they are huge. I realize that's what I am going to have to go with and I wake up.

And draw a blank. I can't remember the name I was told to ask for at all. Not even close. I am panicked. I pace around the apartment. I do things to try and jog my memory. Finally after an hour I give in and call my boss back, give him a message I had forgotten earlier and ask for the guy's name again. And then the waiting starts. I am supposed to be at this place at 1:30 sharp. And there'll be a million people there so unless I can ask for the right guy I am screwed. And so I wait, and I wait and I wait. I take the subway downtown and start walking toward the establishment and still no call. At about 1:25 I call my boss back and he answers on the first ring saying that he was just about to call me. Turns out I didn't have all the information in the first place. He gives me everything I need to know and I return the stuff.

Mike, his name is Mike. It took hours for me to calm down from this little event. I am trying too hard to give a good impression. I need to relax a little bit and try and enjoy what I am doing and not worry so much and I think I'll get along much better. Whew, I am exhausted just thinking about it.

I have felt guilty all day for not posting yesterday. I got home late, had to put a last coat of paint on the living room wall and more than anything I was in a bad mood. I got "reprimanded" yesterday for something really stupid on the job that I have been working on for free. In reality it's not that big a deal, it's just the way it was handled that put me in such a bad mood. Seems my "boss" wants me to check in with him much more often than I have been. Not wanting to bother him, I have only been checking in when something was wrong or there was something he needed to know. Of course did he bother to tell me any of this? No, he tells the first assistant so that he can tell me. I felt like a 12 year old. But I'm trying to not let it bother me. As my friend M.M. reminded me today "being an assistant means being the king of suck-ups and they don't teach you how to be a suck-up in school." So as of today, I am being a full time ass kisser until this job is finished.

On a different note, yesterday while walking down 7th Avenue I noticed this mural on the side of a hardware store. Does anyone else find it disturbing that under the American flag with the title "United We Stand" there is an open box cutter? Do you think maybe someone should point this out to them?

I'm the king of procrastinators. Why do something today when it can be put off till tomorrow. That's what I always say. For example, painting the living room yesterday. I bought the paint and supplies at least two weeks ago and yet I just got around to painting yesterday. I probably wouldn't have even done it then, except my roommate very kindly prodded me to do it while he was gone.

Tonight I am drafting. At 1 a.m. Because I have played all weekend and put off doing what needed to be done. I should have actually finished up the drawing on Friday night. But there was t.v. to watch and friends to see. The same has been true for Saturday and today as well. In fact I think I knew all weekend that I wouldn't really touch this drawing until late Sunday night. This wouldn't be such a big deal except I am ten times more likely to make mistakes or cut corners because it's at the last minute. Which I really can't afford to have happen on this because there is too much riding on it.

So why do I do this? I don't have a fucking clue!!! I have always been this way. The only time in my life that I didn't do this was my first year of graduate school. For some reason I was able to start projects in a timely fashion and get them done well ahead of schedule. Of course by the end of my third year that had completely gone to the dogs. Procrastinating causes my stress and anxiety and yet it's still not enough to get me off my ass and finished with what needs done. But I suppose I have learned to live with it and make the best of it. And in truth I don't think I am going to change anytime soon...so...I better get back to my drawing so that I am not up all night.

I had a great day today. I slept in today. I actually slept until Fresh Direct delivered my groceries at noon. One of the nice things about living in Manhattan is that you can have just about anything you want delivered to your front door. I have to admit that I didn't actually get groceries. I ordered Diet Coke. The "real" grocery store near my house doesn't sell Diet Coke in the can which is what I prefer at home. I can buy it in the can at a couple of nearby stores but carrying them home is a pain in the ass. So this week I ordered 6 12 packs from Fresh Direct and for just a couple of dollars it's delivered to your house and carried up the stairs.

After the Diet Coke was delivered, I played on line for a while, checking email, reading some blogs. I also watched CNN for a while and caught up on news that I hadn't seen all week. The nice part of all of this is I could do it in my underwear since my roommate flew to San Diego this morning and will be gone until Tuesday.

Before my roommate left he had arranged to borrow the super's ladder so that I could paint the living room. It was delivered around 2:30 so then I went in to over-drive. I pulled all the furniture and boxes (we are still unpacking) away from the wall. Then I got out the drop cloths and tape and began taping off the wall. And then finally I pulled out the paint that we had bought two weeks ago and got ready to paint the wall in the living room. I was able to get the first coat of paint on the wall in about an hour. The wall is in great shape and there's nothing really tricky about it. Just keep the paint off the ceiling and floor and that's about it. Once again the nice part of all this was that I did this in my underwear as well. I didn't bring paint clothes with me when I came to New York and there was nothing I wanted to chance ruining so I painted in boxers shorts. I am sure it was a sight.

Once the wall had it's first coat, I then ran up the street to pick up my laundry. My new building doesn't have washing machines and in truth I probably wouldn't use them if they did. It's almost as cheap to have your laundry done for you. You pay by the pound and everything comes back clean and folded and ready to be put away. It's the first time I've used this place though so I'll let you know how they did.

Finally I showered and was ready to head down into The Village. I was having dinner tonight with my friend J.F. He and I have been acquaintances for many years and have socialized together many times. We pretty much stopped hangin out after I started dating D.L.C. Our mutual friend J.M. put us back in touch with each other and we have been talking about getting together for dinner for a couple of weeks. We met at a little restaurant on Greenwich and finally got caught up. We had a great time. He talked about the book that he's finished writing and is trying to get published. I talked to him about getting re-acquainted to the city and getting settled.

The funniest part of the evening was when he asked me if I had seen the Little Nazi. His words not mine. Turns out that he never liked the way D.L.C. treated me especially with regard to my weight. Seems that most of my friends were aware of how controlling D.L.C. was. How much he liked things to be his way and only his way. I was aware of this but I was committed to making the relationship work. When I commit to something I don't give in easily to letting it go. So I shared with J.F. the details about the break-up and how I was told we were breaking up. He (as all my friends are) was amazed that anyone would end a relationship that way.

We had a few more laughs, had some coffee and then went our separate ways. J.F. had a maybe date at a bar later so I left and headed home. I got home and the wall was dry. So I stripped down to my boxer shorts again and put a second coat of paint on the wall. It really looks great. I think I'll put one more coat on tomorrow and then take the tape off and see how it looks. With any luck it'll be great.

And now here I am posting on my blog and getting ready for bed. As I said it was great day. I am tired and have a lot to do tomorrow. Good night all.

In the year and a half prior to leaving for San Diego I was part of a group of people that socialized together on a regular basis. The grouped ranged from around 4 to around 12 depending on what was going on in our lives. Although no one showed up for every gathering I think I can count on one hand the number of times the group didn't do something. The group had formed because we were all member of an organization that I'll talk about at some other point.

For me, this was the first time I had, to quote my friend A.L., been a part of a "posse." I have always had friends but I had never felt so apart of a group before. So very rarely did I miss the occasion to hang out with my friends. Even while I was dating D.L.C. most of our weekend plans were with these friends. These people threw me the best birthday celebration I have ever had, and the going away party was incredible.

Most of these people were very dear to me. Of course, as in any group, there were a couple of people I didn't like, but for the most part everyone was great. And then I moved to San Diego. For the first couple of months I spent hours on the phone trying to keep up with what everyone was doing. It was hard though, because everyone was busy and the time difference made it even more complicated. By the time I was free to talk most of my friends were already in bed.

And then school started and it became impossible to keep up with them. My school hours were around 9 a.m. to midnight most days. To make matters worse the building that housed my classes and office was like a bunker. There was no cell signal to be had anywhere near the building, and once you were inside it only got worse. So the weeks and months passed and I realized that I was not staying in touch with my friends. I would try and call every once in a while but it seemed like I was forever playing phone tag. I missed each and every one of them but what could I do.

I went home the following summer, but the magic was gone. Those warm summer nights of walking around Chelsea and The Village after dinner and looking at boys was a thing of the past. That summer most nights were spent alone with D.L.C. and although I didn't realize it at the time, the writing was on the wall for our relationship. While I was there that summer, I made a point of trying to spend time with my friends but it always seemed like a lot of work and by the time I left the shift seemed permanent.

The day I left, D.L.C. dumped me. And I went back to San Diego and didn't return to New York for two years. In that time I have only stayed in touch with a couple of people and that's been half-hearted at best. And it makes me sad. I miss my friends and I miss the time we spent together. I have made a point of calling all of them since I have been back but something has changed. I try to tell myself it's not me. I try to convince myself that it's just what happens. Things change, situations change and people move on. But it doesn't feel good.

What I found out later was that I seemed to be the glue that held it all together. Within just a couple of weeks of my leaving the group stopped getting together and based on conversations I have had with a couple of people most of them haven't talked to each other in years if at all since I left. In some ways it makes me feel good that I was able to attract and hold together a group of such wonderful people. But it also makes me sad that there wasn't more substance to the friendships.

I am now in the process of trying to make new friends. I have gone to dinner with several groups of people in the past three weeks. Some of them are funny and I think I would like them a lot if I got to know them. Some rub me the wrong way and I will actually avoid them from now on. I want to be a part of a "posse" again. I want friends who call on a regular basis that are in New York and want to hang out. Although I think that will happen, I don't think it will ever again be like it was in 2002-2003.

I have about 35 blogs that I read almost everyday. In fact when I do miss a day I take an afternoon and catch up. It's kind of like my mother watching her "stories" when I was young. I feel like if I miss a day, I'll miss something important that's life changing not only for the blogger but for me as well. So I read.

And I read. And I have discovered that there are a couple of bloggers out there I don't think I like very much. I read their posts daily and they are mean, or insensitive, or full of themselves. At first I let them slide. Everyone has days where they are full of themselves. And God knows I have been mean to more than a couple of people in my life. But as I continue to read these posts, I realize that I don't have a lot of tolerance for it. I have to admit that one of the reasons I read is to escape from my own life. So to suddenly find myself reading posts that cause me to get angry and upset, is unsettling.

I keep hoping they'll get better. But they don't. So for the past several days I have been thinking about revisiting the list of blogs I read and deleting the ones I don't like. What's funny, is that it's not really that big of a deal. I take them off my blog roll and I just stop reading. But I keep asking myself if that's the right way to go. I don't want to limit my friends to people who only see things my way. I don't want to seem small and petty. But at the same time one of the things I have learned as an adult is that I don't have to like everyone and everyone doesn't have to like me. I can pick and choose who I am friends with.

Just something I am contemplating. Anybody have an opinion?

I've noticed over the past week that I have been more than a little whiney. I have complained about practically everything that's happened to me in the last several days. I was so aware of last night's whining that I almost got out of bed and deleted the post. The only reason I didn't is because I have made a small promise to my self that I won't delete anything. I'll say what's on my mind and live with it.

Tonight I would like to redeem myself. I don't want to give the illusion that I am a miserable person or that I hate everyone and everything around me. That is in fact far from the truth. I am very happy to be back in New York City. For a while it didn't appear as though I would be moving back but I am very grateful that I did. When I moved to NYC in September of 1998 I remember pulling up in my moving truck, waiting for my friends to arrive to help unload and thinking "You're home." It was true then and it's true now. I am home. I have lived in seven states in my life and the only one that I was truly happy in was New York. I may get annoyed once in a while by people throwing their trash on the floor of the subway, or for being over-charged for a soda, or by people who hold hands on the street blocking my way, but at the end of the day this is my home and I am happy to be here.

I also want to comment on last night's post. I realized that I sounded a bit ungrateful. In fact I am very grateful to be working on the show. I know that I will learn a lot from it and it's an opportunity that is surely to lead to other work. I volunteered to be of service before I needed to and I should be willing to live up to that offer. I did everything that was expected of me today and I'll continue working on the show and will try not to complain about it.

As for the depression that I spoke of last week. I have been dealing with depression a long time and I try very hard not to use it as a crutch. Yes, there are bad days where I don't leave the house sometimes canceling plans that have been made but some days are good days where I don't feel bad at all. More than anything I don't want to be known as the depressed whiney guy. So I'll keep you guys posted on where things are with that but I'll try not to be "depressed" about it. I will tell you that I have made an appointment with my New York psychiatrist, Dr. B. for next Thursday morning so hopefully we can start working out some changes with the medication.

That's it for today.

I have spent the last week working on the show that I will assist on in San Diego. It's a great opportunity to work with a Tony Award winning designer who will potentially be able to hire me for future jobs.

I was originally only supposed to work on the show once tech rehearsals started. However since I am living in NYC and the final design planning was being done in NYC I offered to help. The catch, I don't get paid for my work in New York. My contract doesn't start until September 9, in San Diego. I have to admit that I did volunteer to help, mostly because I thought it would be a great learning experience. I have done large shows but none this size, and the chance to learn new and better ways to do something is always a good thing.

So fast forward to today. The final designs were due in San Diego at 8 a.m. Pacific time. I was in the studio until almost 2 last night and just before I left I was asked to come in this morning to help check for errors so that everything could be turned in on time. So I carted my ass back into the studio this morning after a mere 4 hours of sleep, thinking we would churn this puppy out and be on our way. Only when I got there the plans hadn't been printed yet. So there was nothing to proof. I worked on a few things but ended up just surfing the web until S.T. came back with the hard copies. By this time it's almost 12:00 and the plans are an hour late. We red-line the drafting and he starts to make the corrections while I check for other errors. This goes on until we have corrected everything.

It's now 1:45 and there is now a car downstairs waiting for S.T. because he's flying home today. So over the course of the next fifteen minutes he starts making lists of things for me to do once he is gone. Make copies of this. Print that. Run get the new hard copies and drop them off at the designer's. Draw up new plans of this. Mail the rest my computer to me because it won't fit in the box. The list went on and on and by the time we got him into his car I had enough stuff to keep me busy for the next week. At this point I stopped learning. I have now become the errand boy. And I am not getting paid.

Before you start, and I know you are going to, it's too late to put a stop to it. The minute I volunteered it became too late. The designer doesn't care and won't get involved in money issues. The production company won't pay me because they didn't want to hire me at all once they found out I was moving to NYC. The assistant wants to look good to the designer so if that means making me do extra work so be it. And I'm left standing there with my list wondering what happened.

So today after S.T. was off to the airport I walked 20 blocks to pick up the new hard copies of the drafting. That wouldn't have been such a big deal except not all the files were received and I have to go back tomorrow. So why didn't I just wait and get them all at once. Well that's because S.T. insisted that the first round of copies be picked up today, just in case the designer wanted them. I then had to make myself available for the next 4 hours in case he called wanting them. So I picked up my drafting and wandered around the Village, and Chelsea, and Union Square until 6:30 waiting for him to call. Eventually I went to dinner with some friends and of course he called in the middle of dinner. I ignored the call.

Did Mr. Designer want the plans? Of course not. He doesn't want anything until he has a complete set, which he would like to have by 5:00 tomorrow. Which would not be such a big deal except my printer is in an office in midtown and I can't get it until after 12:00 p.m. tomorrow. So tomorrow I have to run get the printer, come back home print everything, go to the printers and get the final copies of the drafting and then arrange to meet Mr. Designer around 5. And that's just the first item on my list. Who knows when the rest of this stuff will get done.

Did I mention that I am not getting paid.

Oh and by the way...my soda was 1.25 today. I guess it's only 1.50 on the weekends.

All this week I have been working on a show that is being done in San Diego at the beginning of September. I am one of a couple of assistants on the show. We have been doing our work in studio in midtown. It's basically a large room with large tables for spreading out and an internet connection. I have been here everyday this week and I have just walked in the front door gone to the elevator, pushed #7 and come up.

Oh, but not today. When I got here today the door was locked. On the other side of the door was an older man who refused to let me in. He just started shouting "You gotta call, You gotta call." What he didn't say was who I had to call, where I was supposed to call from, and then he refused to discuss it further. He did all of this without opening the door.

So using my cell phone I called S.T. the other assistant and he came down and let me in.

I am the first to understand that there are rules and security precautions. What I don't understand is why it's not possible for the man who was "guarding" the front door not to speak in coherent sentences. Would it not have been possible to say that unless you have a key to the front door, you can't enter the building. Should it have been impossible to say, perhaps you should call and see if there is someone up there already who can let you in. Perhaps he could have been a little bit more "human".

What I should probably say at this point is that I was already a little annoyed. For the past week I have stopped at the bodega on the corner to buy Diet Coke. Everyday for the past week it has cost me $2.50 for two Diet Cokes. I pay I go on my way. In fact on Wednesday I only had $2.00 and the guy behind the counter agreed to let me pay him the rest the next day. So today, I stop to get my Diet Cokes, but today the price is $3.00. At first I thought he said $2.00 because his accent was so thick, but finally he held up 3 fingers and said $3.00.

If you live in NYC long enough you know that prices on most things can be somewhat random and they do change just like everywhere from time to time. But I was not it buying today. I told him that in fact he was wrong and the sodas were $1.25 each and that I was only paying $2.50. Which he agreed to, but I was annoyed that he tried to overcharge me. So then when I got to the front door of the building and wouldn't be let in I became very annoyed.

So what do you do when your very annoyed. You write about it in your blog so everyone can be annoyed. Now I have to get to work, before I get fired.

I was all prepared to blog about being blank tonight. I have thought all day and it's been a constant zip, nada, nothing. So I sat down tonight to read my blogs. It kind of feels like watching my stories, which my mom called soap operas when I was young. I had been reading for about 15 minutes or so when A.N. instant messaged me and said hello. Then C.D. Then M.L. That was over an hour ago and I am still chatting with A.N.

Which leads me to my post tonight. I HATE IMing. I hate it. It takes so much time and unfortunately I can't do anything else while I am typing. I can't read other sites, I can't watch t.v. I can't talk on the phone. The minute I try to do anything else I get distracted and both things suffer. The part that gets me the most though is that for the most part I would love it if you just picked up the phone and called me. The conversation would take half as long, you could discuss more, you don't have to worry about misunderstandings and I get to hear your voice.

Don't get me wrong. There are a lot of good things about IM'ing. If it's a quick question. Or you don't have a cell signal. Or your just saying hello. But that's about it. Just call me.

That's my rant for the evening. I wouldn't be so pissy, except that it's 12:40 and I wanted to be in bed an hour ago and I suppose I couldn't have just ended the conversations, it's just that with the time difference I don't get to talk with my friends in San Diego nearly as much as I would like to. Which is the point. I called A.N. today. Couldn't she have just called me back? But I love her anyway and as my friend D.T. always says, "You can sleep when your dead."

I think I may have woken up my roommate last night laughing at this. I find Stephen Colbert entertaining but I rarely laugh out loud at his show. This was hysterical.


Colbert's DeLay Ad

Today was a better day. Not great but better. Actually felt like a real human being. I'll keep you guys posted as time passes.

Yesterday I was reading this blog about mistaking a butch lesbian for a guy. Which reminded me about the time I met my friend M.M.'s roommate M.

M.M. lived in Chicago for a number of years. I would visit as often as I could. I loved the city, the night life and spending time with M.M. After living there a couple of years she decided to get a roommate. It was several months after M. moved in that I came to visit. The night I got there M.M. and I went out and I got more than a little tipsy. We stumbled into the apartment in the wee hours of the morning and I passed out on the couch.

Several hours later I was awakened by someone moving around in the room. I rolled over and standing in the foyer with their back to me was the cutest little boy I had ever seen. He was about 5'4" with short cropped hair and tight little body and from what I could see he was tying a tie. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why there was a boy in M.M.'s living room, but I dismissed it and went back to sleep.

Several hours and a hangover later both M.M. and I pulled ourselves out of bed. As we were sitting sipping coffee I mentioned to her that there was a boy in her living room this morning and I wondered if maybe M.M.'s roommate wasn't as much of a lesbian as she professed. She looked a little panicked but I told her he wasn't stealing anything but was just getting dressed. At this point she didn't believe me, so I described what he looked like. She then began to laugh. She then got up and went in to her roommate's bedroom and brought back a picture. I was stunned and couldn't believe it. Her roommate was who I had seen that morning. She looked just like a 19/20 year old boy.

Of course M.M. couldn't let it rest there. She had to share the story with her roommate and the two of them spent the weekend jokingly trying to fix me up with their other butch lesbian friends. To this day when I see M. the roommate she reminds me of the story and we get a huge laugh out of it. And just for the record she still looks like a hunk of a boy when she is standing with her back to you.

For the past three weeks I have been in a funk. I have told myself that it's dealing with all of the transition that's been going on in my life. In the past few months I have graduated from grad school, moved cross country, lost my health insurance, left my friends and support, sold my car, put all of my belongings in storage thus I am living out of two suitcases for the moment. I am sure if I thought about it I could think of 25 other things that I have been dealing with since graduation.

My response to these changes has been to sleep a lot. When I say a lot, I mean a lot. On Monday I didn't get out of bed until 3:30 p.m. This has been the norm since I arrived in New York. I get up around 10:00 or so. Check my email, read the news online, see who's posted on their blog, then go back to bed until the early afternoon. This really wouldn't be much of a problem if I were independently wealthy. But the truth is my savings is dwindling and I am no closer to having a job in NYC than I was a year ago.

Today I helped out on a show that I am doing in San Diego at the beginning of September but the catch there is that I am not under contract for this part of the work so I don't get paid. Granted I will learn a lot, and I am kind of looking at it as an unpaid internship. And at least it got me out of bed today. Unfortunately by noon I was looking at my watch hoping that I would be told I was finished for the day. Don't get me wrong what I was doing today is something I love to do...I just wasn't feeling it.

That's been my mantra for the past several days. I am just not feeling it. I am not feeling like working. I am not feeling like walking. I am not feeling like eating healthy. Basically I just don't care. Tonight on the subway I realized that all this amounts to...I'm depressed.

This doesn't come as a surprise. Depression has run rampant in my family my whole life, and I have been treated for it for the past 6 or 7 years. I actually had an amazing doctor when I was in NYC the first time (recommended by a good friend) that worked with me to get me on drugs that actually helped for the first time. I was actually put on a series of drugs that worked in tandem to help, and for the first time in my life I felt like a normal person.

I continued taking these drugs while I was in school under the guidance of a doctor in San Diego. Nice doctor but he was not Doctor B. Unfortunately, I graduated from school. For those of you who are not aware of it, every student enrolled in a college or university is required to have health insurance. You can either provide it yourself or the university provides it for you. It's not the best coverage but it's better than nothing and it covered my prescriptions. Well sort of. I ended up paying about 125 bucks a month but it was better than not having coverage at all.

So since I graduated, I haven't had health insurance. Yeah for Universal Healthcare. But I digress. Since I didn't have insurance, I talked to my doctor and we decided that the best thing to do would be to wean myself off all but one of them, the one that has done the most good. So that's what I have done. Since mid-April I have only taken one drug a day. Of course I don't know how long that one will last either since it's more than 300 bucks a month for just the one prescription.

I stopped taking the drugs. I got depressed. And now what the fuck do I do? I have called Doctor B. in NYC but he's on vacation this week, so nothing will happen for a week or so. The real problem is the money though. I don't have the money to see the doctor and I certainly don't have the money to get my other prescriptions filled. And I don't have the money for therapy which is always recommended while being treated for depression. Am I just going to have to suffer through this?

This is where I am today. Who knows what tomorrow (it 1:00 a.m. right now) will bring. I do know that I am working again tomorrow (for free) so at least I'll have to get out of bed and function as a real person. And I know that I can continue to talk about it on here and just having any outlet helps. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

Thanks for listening.

I use BlogRolling to tell me when the blogs I read have been updated so that I don't spend time wading through the ones that haven't. However, I just discovered that it only shows the blogs from Blogspot, not the blogs that are attached to someone's personal website. Is there a way to fix this?

Tomorrow will mark the two month anniversary of my starting to blog. I am still amazed that I can think of things to write. Which brings me to today's post.

I was on the train home at 12:30 tonight, thinking about what I would post. I have lot's of ideas about things to write but many of them are super personal and I don't know if I yet feel comfortable sharing my whole life here. I am sure it will get a little easier as time goes on but for now that's how I feel. Which brought me to why I started the blog in the first place.

I started reading blogs back in February, when I happened upon Scott-O-Rama's blog while doing an image search for Mike Piazza, the baseball player who played for the Mets but was traded to San Diego. If you don't know what he looks like you should Google him, cause he's hot, hot, hot! I began reading Scott's blog and through his blog began reading blogs he links to, which led me to other blogs and now I have a nice collection of people I follow day to day. They are like mini soap operas only they are real which is far more interesting.

As I read, I discovered that everyone used their blog for different purposes. Some posted their daily routines so friends could keep up with them. Others posted political rants about the Bush Regime. And still others used their blogs as journals posting thoughts and feelings and problems for others to see and comment on. These were the blogs that interested me most. I found them compelling and interesting, and I found myself completely taken by a few people who were posting their deepest darkest secrets.

I used to journal religiously. Every night I would write about my day, what I was going through, my secret crushes, and my secret life that no one knew about. I did this for years. And then in 2001 I moved to Brooklyn. I journaled there as well. Only what I didn't know was that my roommate was reading it. I only found out because one night we were drinking and watching movies and the drunker he got the more he talked. While in the middle of a long winded speech, he suddenly ask me about something I had never told anyone. When I questioned how he knew he admitted to having read my journal. I played off my anger. If you knew J.A. you'd understand that it would have been useless to get angry especially when he is drunk, which turned out to be most of the time.

I felt violated knowing that he had read some of the things that I had written. That night, I hid my journal away so that he couldn't find it and that was the last time I wrote. Since then I let things play out in my head and keep them to myself. That is until I started blogging. I realized from reading on line that perhaps an online journal might be the answer I was looking for. I could post on line, and I wouldn't have to worry about hiding it because it would be there for the world to read. I could remain somewhat anonymous. At least I like to think that, so if any of you know who I am don't tell me, I want to live in my bubble.

So now I write here. I tell you guys what I am thinking. I share my story with you. And hopefully I will reveal my deep dark secrets that will allow me to let them go and move on with my life. In the meantime, I will keep you posted on what's going on in my life and I'll listen as you guys share your experiences and thru all of this I hope to become a better person.

As I post, you'll come to realize that there are a number of things that cause me anxiety. For the most part I figured this out long ago and have learned to deal with it. I just wrote about my battle with claustrophobia. I just take deep breaths and tell myself that I am not trapped and everything will be okay. Of course my worst fear in the world is waking up from some horrible accident and finding myself strapped to a gurney. I know the odds of this happening are not great but I think about it.

So another thing that causes me anxiety is being late. I am habitually early to everything. If you tell me to meet you at 7:30 for dinner, I'll probably be there at 7:15 and sometimes it'll even be 7:00. I have to work at not showing up for parties at the time they start. I know intellectually that a party that starts at 9:00 translates to 10:30. But my body doesn't work that way. Why would you tell me to show up at 9:00 if you didn't mean it.

This little anxiety of mine is rarely a problem for me. I am never late getting to the airport, I was never late for class, I always make doctor's appointments, and my jobs have always loved me because they knew that if I am more than a few minutes late something was definitely wrong. Sometimes when I am running late, usually because of the trains or traffic, I have to tell myself that it's out of my control and just let it go. This works 90% of the time unless it really is that airport then my heart starts to pound and I sweat and really have to work to stay calm. The catch there is that we are supposed to get to the airport 2 hours in advance these days so late for me means an hour and 45 minutes in advance.

As I said, my being early is not a problem for me. I know that I'll have to wait, and that's just the way it is. The catch is that I really like for my friends to be on time. I accept that they probably won't be early, but if you say 7:00, then you should mean 7:00. It causes me almost as much anxiety for other people to be late as it does me. Is it really that hard to get to a restaurant at the prescribed time. I should mention here that I usually let others pick the time so it works for them. I'll be early anyway so it doesn't matter to me. And yet I have friends who couldn't be on time if their life depended on it.

My friend S.G. was late to every meeting we ever had. Dinner. Theatre. Parties. Movies. It got so toward the end of our friendship (It ended not because he was late but for a variety of other reasons that I'll tell you about later.) that I knew that if dinner was planned for 8:00 not to show until 8:45 because he wouldn't be there until 9:00. My best friend M.M.'s ex-girlfriend once met us for the theatre at intermission. She was so habitually late that she missed about 75% of all the flights that she booked. I finally had to explain to M.M. that although I loved her I wouldn't make plans with the two of them again.

So why do I bring this up. I was at an event that had a speaker tonight. The event started at 8:30 which is somewhat late for a Sunday night. And yet there were people showing up all the way up to 9:00. I just don't understand it. How difficult is it to look at a piece of paper, see what time something starts and then get your ass there in a timely fashion. At one point I was unable to listen to the speaker because I was so distracted by the people coming in late. I wanted to...I wanted to kill them. But I knew that wasn't very neighborly so I sat there and tried to focus and reminded myself that it really was about my anxiety and not about their being late. That is except for the guy who entered the room, looked around, left and then came back 5 minutes later. Him I wanted to kill.

I realize that based on my post from a couple of days ago you might think that I don't like riding the subway. That is far from the truth. I actually enjoy riding the subway and am amazed at the breakdown in class that occurs when you take the first step down into a subway station.

For the most part in NYC unless you belong to the very wealthy elite it's impossible to exist without the aid of the subway. With both buses and subways combined the MTA moves more than 7.5 million people each day. We rank 4th in the world for most passengers moved per year. It's truly a grand experiment in the human condition. Once you swipe your subway card and head into the depths of the city several stories below street level, you leave behind the material world that represents you. There is no first class seating. There is no special rope to keep the less desirables from your part of the train. Everyone is equal.

This is what I admire. I sit (or stand if it's crowded) and watch the people around me. How they react to each other. Do they acknowledge each other? Do they ignore everyone around them. Do they talk in a whisper or with no regard for who's listening? How they sit. Do the sit with their legs crossed? Are they open and inviting? Are their belongings and clothing pulled tight around them as if in fear? How they stand. Do they hold on? Are they brave or do they clutch to the bars around them? Do they read? Is it the paper or the latest best seller. I notice many times they are reading books to learn the English language. Do they listen to music. More people listen now with Ipods than I remember from before. But I have noticed people recently that still listen to cassette players.

And of course I notice how they are dressed. Are the clothes loose fitting and comfortable? Tight and sexy? Gang related? Target? Macy's? Saks? Bergdorf's? Or from the homeless shelter?

Time of day also plays a big part of the experiment. Are people on their way to work? A night club? The theatre? Home? Dinner? The Park? Or are they riding because they have no place else to go?

I could sit and ride for hours. Often I will take the local train because it takes longer and affords more time people watching. People live on the subway. They take it to work. They sleep in the corner. They greet friends they run into on their way home. They fight over who gets the seat. Get off of my foot! Get out of my way!

In all the time that I have been riding I have never seen more than a shouting match and for the most part people live and let live. Occasionally you'll get the homeless man or the drunk teen that decides it can also be used as a urinal. And there was once the man who was masturbating at 4 a.m. But he was cute so I didn't mind. And the people who throw their trash onto the floor of the car.

For me it's learning to be compassionate. And understanding. And open to listening. And to be a better person. That's why I never mind shelling out my fare. I figure it's the least I can do for 30 minutes of instruction on how to treat my fellow man. Plus, every once in a while you get the little old man who plays the trumpet, or the break dancing teens, or the singing trio that entertains you while you make your journey thru life.

I was reading the news today online and discovered there's a new "gay" fad out there that no one told me about. According to this news story Guy Adams an organizer for the conservative group Renew America says that the newest trend in Chicago is having sex...with infants. Seems the perversion that is homosexuality is like an addiction and we will eventually have to move on to something else. Animals. Sex in the streets. Infants.

Although I don't doubt there are people out there who abuse infants. You'll be hard pressed to show me a gay man that wants to have sex with someone whose penis doesn't exist yet. I don't mind small dicks, but I would draw the line there. All joking aside, I am amazed at the crap that is attributed to the gay population to incite hatred toward us. If people actually believed everything said about us we would surely have been rounded up and thrown in prison years ago.

Of course there is no evidence to support this claim. There never is. They make this stuff up because they know that if they can convince just one more person to hate us then their job is done. What surprises me is that they continue to get air time. If I went on the air and said this same thing about any other minority group people would be up in arms yelling for my head on a pike. But because it's just us gays, it doesn't matter because what do you expect from a bunch of sick perverts

I think the part of the story today that bothered me the most was that Adams dismissed the contributions to society by gay people. He responded by saying what contributions? AIDS, Pornography? I am amazed at how many people don't realize the great accomplishments that have been made by "gay" people. I know I am preaching to the choir, but in my own little world I believe that everyone contributes to society in some way, shape, or form. Everyone has a purpose and it's up to them to discover their value no matter how small or insignificant they think it is. And to have anyone discount that contribution is doing a disservice to everyone.

Seems our new cable modem was not very happy. It was so unhappy that it decided not to work. So once again, no blog posting last night. But it's all fixed today, so I am back.

I have been claustrophobic most of my life. For the most part I have dealt with it without thinking much about it. Growing up about the only time it was a real issue was riding rollercoasters. I love them, but hated being strapped in. It takes all of my concentration not to freak out waiting for the ride to start and at the end waiting to be released. I also have an aunt who as a teenager babysat my cousins and me and thought it was funny to tie us up. I became so violent that she usually gave up before she could get me tied up.

What I have noticed is recently I seem to be more aware of it. When I get into an elevator I am conscience of how many people are on it, whether it appears to be working properly and I think to myself how will I deal with this if the power goes out and I am stuck. I've started taking the stairs more often using the comment that I am just trying to lose weight. But I am starting to wonder.

The one place that I am definitely aware of being claustrophobic is the subway. I get my train at the beginning of it's journey headed downtown, so when I get on it's usually empty. I always try to get a seat next to the doors and never sit next to someone else. By the time we make a couple of stops the subway begins to fill up. This is when my praying starts. I say little prayers that no one sits next to me. I eye the people who are getting on and hope against all hope that they sit elsewhere.

Before I moved to my new apartment I usually just stood. I don't feel as trapped and feel as though I can move around as necessary. When I'm seated I feel trapped. I feel like it would be rude to get up when someone sits next to me so there I am jammed into my seat waiting for my stop so that I will have an excuse to get up. This doesn't seem like such a big deal but it causes me great anxiety and I fear that it will only get worse and eventually I won't be able to ride the train at all.

One of the reasons I hate being trapped is that many people on the trains are oblivious to what they are doing and the discomfort they are causing. You would be surprised at the number of "large" people who try to squeeze into seats that were designed for people much smaller. Or they arrive with all of their luggage and pile it in front of you. Or perhaps they behave like the man I was mesmerized by on my trip home last night.

I have friends scattered all over the city. One couple I know from school have started inviting people over to watch Project Runway. It's a great time, but it takes me two trains and about an hour and a half to get home. Last night as I boarded my second train I watched a very overweight man push his way onto the train and claim a seat beside a 20 something girl. Subways have two different types of seating. One style is just a bench on either side that seats 6 to 7 people. The other style seats 5 people on an "L" shaped seating configuration. This is where he was sitting. He had the girl beside him and an middle age guy in front of him. When he got on the train he had an over stuffed backpack with him and he almost hit the girl in the head getting into his seat. Just watching him force his way into a seat much to small for him with his huge bag that didn't fit sent me into waves of panic.

But that was just the beginning. He couldn't sit still. He was also carrying a plastic bag and he kept moving it around, taking objects out then putting them back. Then he took out his newspaper and started to read. That lasted 45 seconds and then he got into his backpack. Then he changed pages on his paper and read some more, then the plastic bag some more, then the back pack. The entire time he's doing this he keeps elbowing the young girl in the back. She is visibly upset, but she tolerates it. He's also hitting the guy in front on him in the head with the paper. Finally the seat in front of him opens up and he only spreads out more. This continues for the next hour.

The entire event made me realize even more why I don't like being trapped. I see people like this guy on the train everyday. The subway has been provided to serve them and only them. No one else matters and we are mere inconveniences they have to tolerate. Even trying to remember the events make me start to get anxious. I'm really going to have to start working on this if I am going to continue to ride the subway. Perhaps I should just always stand. I'm perfectly fine then and have no anxieties.

I will finish with this. When the 20 something girl finally got off, I realized that while the old man had been sitting there he had completely undone his pants. His belt was opened, his pants were unfastened, and his zipper down. He wasn't exposing himself, but it was completely inappropriate. It's almost as if he thought he was in his living room. Just before his stop he did up his pants gathered his belongings and got off the train. I will also add that this happens to to be my stop, so I will almost definitely see him again.

It seems like months since I posted. Especially since I have some serious guilt about not doing this everyday, and since I don't want to lose the few readers I have I think it's important to post as often as I can.

I do have a good excuse though. I posted my rant on tipping last week and then went off to have dinner at my favorite restaurant in NYC, City Hall. My friend M.L. and I have been trading voice mails for what seems like forever and in the course of the voice mails he's been promising to make time to have dinner. Sounds easy right? Not so for him. He splits his time between the two coasts. One or two weeks in California (not San Diego), One or two weeks in New York, depending on his work requirements. It also didn't help that for most of the time I've been back in NYC he's been on vacation in France. So we had finally agreed on Thursday and since he was already going to be in the Financial District why not meet there.

I at first said no to City Hall, because it seemed a little fancy for a catch-up dinner and I hadn't ironed a shirt since I left to come east so i wasn't sure what I was going to wear. He finally persuaded me and we agreed to meet in the bar at 6:00. I got there and it was as great as I remembered it. I can't really explain why I like it so much but I think it has more to do with the occasions that have spent there rather than the restaurant itself. M.L. and I have celebrated many occasions there and it represents the good times in our relationship. That being said, the restaurant is damn good. The service was perfect. The food was perfect. The wine was perfect. The dessert was perfect. The coffee and after dinner drinks were perfect. It was a great evening.

We finished dinner and I started my journey home. I was in a great mood when I got off the subway and was walking home. I checked my messages and had one from my friend S.H. I called him back and he was just passing my street in a cab. I persuaded him to get out at my place and that we could go the gay bar down the street and have a beer. Well one beer became two and two became four and the next thing you know it's late and I'm drunk. We finally left after I bumped the two inch by two inch square they called a table and I knocked an empty beer bottle to the floor where of course it shattered. I stumbled home a very happy, tipsy camper.

Friday morning was awful. I had to be up early to go to C.Z. and mine's new apartment for delivery and istallation of our new air conditioners. I got to the empty apartment that was about 10,000 degrees, opened all the windows and fell asleep on the hardwood floors using my backpack as a pillow. Of course the delivery wasn't at the beginning of the time frame. The air conditioners landed on our doorstep about 3 hours into my nap. But wait there's more. Turns out the guy delivering them doesn't install them. I have to wait some more. So I go back to sleep and wait almost two more hours before the guys come and install the units. Only wait, the large unit for our huge living area won't fit in the window. It's about an eighth of an inch too big. So after pushing and shoving they finally admit that there's no way to make it work. They leave and I get on the phone with my roommate who has a friend who's husband works at one of the big electronic retail stores in the city to see if they can arrange to deliver a smaller unit and take away the big one. By now my day is almost gone.

Friday night, is spent moving a lot of small items to our new apartment to make ready for the big move on Saturday. But before I get home Friday night, the internet at my apartment is officially disconnected. So not only did I not get to blog on Friday night I didn't even get to tell you what happened. To make a long story short, which I realize is about 5 paragraphs too late, we moved on Saturday, and the new air conditioner was brought today, and the cable guy also dropped by and now we have Project Runway and internet service. By the way, the cable guy looked exactly like what my fantasy of the cable guy looked like except that when he was finished hooking things up he didn't strip to cool down a little.

That's it. I am in my new apartment in the Northern Regions of Manhattan. It's great. It's two or more times bigger than the initial apartment and the rent is the same. The only thing now is for me to fly to San Diego and get my belongings and drive them back to New York City so that we can finally begin to settle.

It feels good to be back.