So, it’s Fri­day again. It feels like a mil­lion years since last week­end. I haven’t been a bit busy at work, and I think that’s what causes time to dilate for me. Or maybe that’s a com­mon con­cep­tion that I’ve never really dis­cussed with any­one yet.

We are this close to hand­ing over the keys to Henry Street. Last night was a major push to clean the whole apart­ment. It was pretty clean to begin with, and since V’s craigslist win, all that’s left is a few boxes and a lot of stuff to donate. The Good­will has seri­ously made out on all the stuff we’ve been drop­ping off. But for some rea­son, I think it would be harder to sell clothes than fur­ni­ture. What­ever. I mean, every sin­gle room has been swept / mopped / vac­u­umed, the kitchen com­pletely san­i­tized, we even sprayed the oven before we left last night. I took every piece of the fridge apart and washed it (that was com­pletely nec­es­sary and nasty — let’s not have that hap­pen again).

So I guess tonight we’ll make a final run to the Good­will and take a few more boxes home. Sat­ur­day, after my class, we’ll do the last work. Sun­day, we’ll drop the keys off, and call it a day. Adieu. Farewell. GTFO.

I know memes are so 2002, but I can’t help it. I love this one prob­a­bly because it is all about ran­dom music on the pod. I love to shuf­fle. I have accu­mu­lated so much music, and I for­get that I have most of it, so it’s always a sur­prise to hear Dream Acad­emy pop up. Hahawhat?

1. Too Far (North Pole Mix) — Kylie Minogue
2. One Dream — Dream Academy
3. Hook — PJ Har­vey
4. Aller sim­ple — Isabelle Boulay
5. Till Death Do Us Part — Madonna
6. Slow Ride — Bon­nie Raitt
7. That’s Life — Frank Sinatra
8. We Live Together — Pet Shop Boys
9. Detec­tive — No Doubt
10. You Won’t Find This — Car­rie Underwood

And one more, because how can you refuse Rufus?

11. Imag­i­nary Love — Rufus Wainwright

Happy Fri­day.

V&I were at Henry Street start­ing the cleanup process the other night, when a man came up to us and asked us if we lived there. We looked at each other like “what does this one want?” but instead he said that he lived in the neigh­bor­hood for 30 years and lived in our apart­ment for a long time. I was intrigued, mostly because Henry Street has a lot of curiosi­ties that have made me won­der. So we chat­ted for a few min­utes and he revealed a boat­load of information.

• He lived next door when Har­vey Milk lived at 18 Henry Street and knew him well. That val­i­dates prob­a­bly the biggest thing about our place. We lived in Har­vey Milk’s apart­ment! OMFG. Can you get gayer cred than that? Total win. V found Harvey’s name and address on a vot­ing record from the 70s when Har­vey was a super­vi­sor and lived in that apart­ment. Granted that’s an offi­cial record, but what­ever. Word of mouth, eye wit­nesses, and all that.
• He con­firmed that the abun­dance of elec­tri­cal out­lets in the kitchen, din­ing room, and liv­ing room was because the first floor had been a porn stu­dio. No idea what movies were made there, what the pro­duc­tion com­pany was called, or any­thing else, but he hinted that it was a gay porn stu­dio. Why not? And you know, one of the biggest down­sides to old Vic­to­rian / Edwar­dian flats is the lack of power out­lets. This place had no lack what­so­ever, and they all worked. It was pretty con­ve­nient, and already I miss them.
• And that funky face mask above the door that leads to the garage? It’s just there to cover the door­bell. Ha. When I first saw it, I freaked out and instantly thought it was satanic or oth­er­wise pos­sessed. I grad­u­ally changed my opin­ion and made it a pro­tec­tive tal­is­man for the apart­ment. It still freaked me out when I woke up in the mid­dle of the night, looked out the bed­room door, and saw it look­ing back at me. And here, it’s only a cre­ative way to cover up the door­bell. Silly.

That’s all I can remem­ber right now. We talked for a good 15 min­utes, and it was nice to hear the sto­ries. I don’t like talk­ing to strangers because most of the time they want to crit­i­cize me for buy­ing a Ger­man car (even though it was man­u­fac­tured in South Car­olina), or to com­plain about how the pigeons on the roof are eaves­drop­ping on them, or some crazy shit. I guess, every once in a while, you meet some­one who has some­thing inter­est­ing to share.

I’m really going to miss Henry Street.

I’m not going to get all polit­i­cal and shit on this blog, but I have some­thing to say about this Prop 8 mess, specif­i­cally about the four “expert” wit­nesses for the defense who have dropped out of the trial for fear of ret­ri­bu­tion by “vio­lent homo­sex­u­als.” If these peo­ple were so right­eous in defend­ing mar­riage in the eyes of god and the bible, and if they’re so con­vinced that they are right about gays and how evil we are and how we shouldn’t be allowed to be mar­ried, why are they so afraid of a con­fronta­tion with other peo­ple? Why are they so afraid to defend what they believe? After all, they’ve got god on their side. These four “expert” wit­nesses are cow­ards for drop­ping out.

Fur­ther­more, what is a “vio­lent homo­sex­ual”? I have visions in my head about what being a vio­lent gay is, and these images con­sist of uni­corns puk­ing up rain­bows, feather boas, moun­tains of glit­ter, and show­tunes. They cer­tainly don’t con­sist of death and destruction.

And you know, let’s boil this down to the brass tacks: it’s called igno­rance, peo­ple. Just call a spade a fuck­ing spade already. It’s not fear. It’s not god’s will. It’s just plain igno­rance, and igno­rance is ugly. It’s not like their biased hate speech will make much of a dif­fer­ence any­way. I mean, it will just be four peo­ple regur­gi­tat­ing what each of them has said before. So I guess it’s good that they’re not show­ing up; with two peo­ple, we won’t have to endure the cow­ardly hate­ful speech for as long as we would have with six.

V is my hero. My cuter, younger, hip­per boyfriend has come through time and again, and dur­ing this move, he has become my super­star. Last July, his room­mate moved out and fled to the East Coast. I left my apart­ment on Colling­wood to fill the empty space and cover half the rent. Then, just last week­end, we moved to a new apart­ment, a smaller apart­ment, and we’ve had to get rid of a lot of fur­ni­ture that just won’t fit. If it were up to me, I would call the Sal­va­tion Army (as much as I would hate that) and have them come pick it up in their super­huge truck. And thank­fully, it wasn’t totally up to me, because V has stepped up and posted every sin­gle piece of fur­ni­ture on craigslist, and so far, every­thing has sold. So instead of donat­ing (to a mostly wor­thy cause), we are actu­ally mak­ing some money off of it all. Well, he’s mak­ing money off of it all. We incurred so much debt mov­ing into this place, what­ever money he makes off of any of the fur­ni­ture goes directly to him to pay off what­ever is left. And that’s OK, because I was going to give it away for free anyway.

And I’m going to say right here and now — on the record — that I do not want to move again for at least ten years. I know, I know, ten years is a super long time, but hon­estly, I can’t stand the thought of pack­ing up and mov­ing again. So maybe it will end up being three, and we have a really cute new apart­ment with a fab kitchen, so maybe it will be seven. All I know is that mov­ing is the worst, and I can’t think of doing it again for a long long time. No more Uhauls, no more new fur­ni­ture. No more schlep­ping dusty boxes up and down stairs. I will grow to love NOPA and my cute lit­tle neigh­bor­hood, and the 5 stop right around the cor­ner, and I will deal with laun­dro­mats and no park­ing again. And I will save lots of money so I can buy a condo and never rent again.

And with regard to debt and all the evil that comes with it, I’ve had to drop my Eco class on Thurs­day nights because I can’t afford the fuck­ing text­book. Can you believe that shit? For three years, I lived on Colling­wood, shar­ing a $2000 apart­ment, and I had a lot of free time and money. Then I move to Henry Street, and I split a $3000 apart­ment, and I had a lot of free time and absolutely no money. That was the cat­a­lyst for mov­ing. We were both so broke that we couldn’t sur­vive much longer. And this whole school thing started up before I had a chance to reap the sav­ings of the new and cheaper apart­ment, even though the school thing was in place before we decided to move. Ugh. It’s so stu­pid. A text­book. Granted, they’re more expen­sive than they should be — I mean, why should an Intro to Ecol­ogy text­book cost ten times as much as Stephen King’s lat­est tome? And where’s the fuck­ing Kin­dle ver­sion of these text­books? It’s bloody high­way rob­bery, I swear to god. Oh well, les­son learned. I thought that work­ing full time and hav­ing a steady pay­check would make return­ing to school easy to afford, but return­ing to school as a 38-year-old work­ing adult is not easy in any regard.

So, another Mon­day, another week. It’s the end of Jan­u­ary already. Hahawhat? Jesus on the cross, Kathleen.

1. Food :: Pan­cakes and patty melts
2. Death :: Sweet release
3. Cafe­te­ria :: Meatballs
4. Need :: Want
5. Born :: Shoes
6. Stitch :: and Lilo (I’m sorry)
7. Badly :: Written
8. Blocks :: Chutes and Lad­ders (really, no idea)
9. Chuck :: Taylor
10. Spi­ral :: Perm

Fur­ther on the quest of higher edu­ca­tion, I’m wait­ing out­side of a locked class­room at 9:18 on a Sat­ur­day morn­ing. This is my soci­ol­ogy course, which should be inter­est­ing enough. Thurs­day night was my Intro to Ecol­ogy (yay) class. I still have to won­der why I’m doing this. It is in my best inter­est, I know.

Last night, V&I went out to a fab din­ner at the Green Chile Kitchen which is so con­ve­niently around the cor­ner from our new digs. So good. After that, we stopped by the Lone Star for DJ Beary­oncé. We got appro­pri­ately drunk and cabbed it home. He missed his run this morn­ing, and I’m sit­ting in the halls of the Mis­sion cam­pus, out­side a locked classroom.

What­ever. My week­ends are gone this month any­way. We’re still clean­ing out Henry Street, which is more tedious than I thought it would be. We’re in our new place, and I want to keep mov­ing for­ward. This seem­ing anchor to the old place is annoy­ing at this point. Patience, please.

The Glit­ter Blog lives. It has remained dor­mant for so long, and mostly out of com­pla­cence and bore­dom. And though it hasn’t stopped, life is hap­pen­ing, and I feel like writ­ing about it.