In one week, the boyfriend and I will be homos. I mean homeowners. But! Instead of moving all our crap into our new place immediately, we’re going to hold off until we take a couple trips that were planned long before our closing date was set. Hell, they were planned long before we even knew we’d ever get out of Bad Developer Smackdown 2006.
How long is the wait before we officially move in? A month. But we’re going to use that lag time to do all kinds of projects that are just easier to do without furniture in the way: Refinish the floors. Customize and paint the closets. Replace the sagging Barbie mantle over the fireplace. (For the record: sagging modifies mantle in the previous sentence—not Barbie.) Update some wiring. Add fancy little under-cabinet lights in the kitchen. Maybe add fancy little over-cabinet lights too. Maybe even wire the wall above the fireplace for a flat-screen TV. Maybe even add a fancy tile backsplash in the kitchen. And while we’re thinking so big here, we may as well dig a tunnel to the White House as well so we can advise Dubya directly on gay-marriage legislation.
The first little vacation happens a week after the closing date. I am going on a gay cruise through the Caribbean (sans boyfriend, who was still just a faraway dream when I booked it) with about 30 friends and 3,000 strangers. In preparation, I have been (warning! vanity alert!) working out at every possible moment, whitening my teeth, making sure my swimsuits don’t make me look positively delusional, and eating a diet of about 90% good stuff. I’m so hungry for chocolate or a doughnut (or a chocolate doughnut!) right now I would sell my own brother for a cruller. (And I commit that thought to writing—exposing myself to innumerable brother-trafficking and carb-policing legal ramifications—for two reasons: I don’t have a brother and I think cruller is a funny word.)
The trip is a Saturday through a Sunday, effectively killing the first two weekends we own our place. The third weekend is our first theater pilgrimage to New York as a couple—something the boyfriend and I planned pretty much on the day we met. On the docket: Follies, Grey Gardens, Jersey Boys and Cats (if it’s still playing—we keep hearing it’s going to be a hit, but you never know). The boyfriend, who is the entertainment director for our tour, habitually plays box-office roulette every time he goes to NYC, so we currently have big theater dreams and no tickets to our names. So we may end up seeing five back-to-back performances of Rush Limbaugh: The Musical. Time will tell.
And on the fourth weekend, our crap gets delivered. And we move in. And we don’t fight even once about where any of our combined stuff goes.
And we live happily ever after.
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