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For the Love of All That is Holy, RING!!!

2004-07-09 - 11:51 a.m.

I am sitting in the middle of the Free Speech Movement Cafe on the Berkeley campus, taking advantage of the wireless internet via the laptop of the delicious, wonderful, generous out of her ever-lovin'-mind distaff half of the comic book couple that I'm staying with.

I feel like, by writing this in the middle of the Free Speech Movement Cafe, I have reached the height of pretentiousness, which is very troubling, seeing as I haven't even started Berkeley yet.

There's classical music in the background and CNN on the TV (on mute, thank the Goddess). Yep, this is troubling.

Of course, I am not only writing in my diary. I am also waiting for the phone to ring.

I am not one to usually wait by the phone. Few people ever call. Today, though, I am waiting with all the anxious anticipation of a Cathy cartoon.

Can I just say that people who don't like Cathy cartoons can bite me? People are so afraid of identifying her because she's so pathetic. Well, we're all pathetic sometimes. Like me right now, for instance.

The boy I'm waiting for, however, is not a date. He is a landlord. I don't think I will ever want a boyfriend to call me more than I want this landlord to call.

You see, my feet hurt. I'm exhausted. Every time I look at Craigslist, I want to pluck out my eyes and squash them by slamming the screen down on the keyboard. This is not to impugn Craigslist, of course; I would certainly have been lost without it. The problem is that apartment hunting is the most active form of shopping, and I have all the shopping stamina of a Dallas husband dragged to Neiman Marcus on Super Bowl Sunday.

I know what you're thinking: "But NotoriousRRZ, aren't gay men notorious, in fact, for being able to shop for days on end for the perfect accessory? Aren't they known to shop 'til the MALL drops?"

And I say "Shame on you for indulging in such stereotypes! I am a human being, a man of many dimensions. Now, go away while I order a fat free mocha latte and listen to The Immaculate Collection! Talk to the hand, girlfriend!"

Not really. Anyway.

I arrived in San Fransisco yesterday after one of the most painful flights of my life, and I mean that literally. It wasn't enough that I was denied my usual aisle seats. No, there was some kind of problem with the cabin pressure during our descent, and not only were my ears popping, but for some reason the invisible demons that forever plague me decided to take the opportunity to sandblast my sinuses. I have had more than one sinus infection in my time, but this was by far the worst pain I've ever experienced in the facial region (granted, I've never been punched in the face by the likes of Mike Tyson, but this still hurt like a bitch). Once the plane landed and the doors opened, it quickly subsided, but now I'm paranoid that this is just the latest medical ailment to bite me on the ass, or in this case the nose, and that I'll never be able to land comfortably again.

Of course, it might just have been that one time, knock on wood. Let's hope so.

I took the BART (Bay Area Regional Transit) to Berkeley and camped out in front of the English building waiting for the Comic Book Goddess. She picked me up and took me back to her place for some of the best lentil stew I have ever encountered. This was only the beginning of her excessive generosity. She was more than happy to take me to see apartments and she and Comic Book God took me to a delicious taqueria that not only had a full vegetarian line-up, but had fried fish tacos that had obviously been hand prepared by Quetzalcoatl himself. They were that fucking good. So, I now have a relatively cheap place to go get fattening food. That, and an apartment, is all I need.

Of course, finding an apartment requires seeing them.

The first one was very pretty. To quote Rita Rudner, it was like one of those gingerbread houses that you see in store windows around Christmas, only smaller. Actually, there was nothing gingerbread about it. Sadly, there was nothing ovenwise or refridgeratorwise about it. I refuse to count a mini-fridge and a countertop convection oven as a full kitchen. I have shit I want to cook over the next few years.

The second one was a big one bedroom, but it was far away from campus and very expensive. It also had a balcony that faced a busy street. You know, when I go out and get fresh air in the morning, coffee in hand, I don't want to get hit full in the face with exhaust fumes.

This morning, I saw a lovely little victorian studio. Very little. So friggin little. I had serious concerns that the bathroom would be able to fit my big fat ass. The "eat-in kitchen" advertised should have had an asterisk leading to the footnote that says "You can eat in the kitchen provided you are standing up." It was, however, a lovely space. I was seriously considering it.

Then I saw the apartment I am waiting for.

I don't want to jinx it by talking about it, but it fits all my criteria: room for a guest, room for yoga, and close to campus. It also has distinct disadvantages, the first of which being that it's a basement apartment, but I am willing to overlook them. I told the woman managing the place that I was ready to put down my deposit today, and hopefully the landlord will call me back within the next hour or so.

I friggin' hope so. There's no end to the fun I would have if I found a place today.

If not, of course, there's always hope. I'll just have to give my feet a quick massage and get my ass back on Craigslist. Until then, I'll be ready to jump whenever my phone makes a noise.

ADDENDUM 6:46pm PST: I got the call just after I finished the entry. I got the apartment. It's a big studio with a huge kitchen within a 15 minute walk to campus. The kitchen is big enough to hold an air mattress for guests, and I have more than enough room for yoga. Also, it's a great price for being furnished with a TV and microwave and for havign all utilities covered. I'll have plenty of room for books. I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, but if it can hang on for six months, I should be okay. Best of all, I don't have to look on Craigslist again until 2005. THAT, my friends, makes it all worth it.

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previous - next

The End - 2005-02-11
Let's Go on With the Show - 2005-01-30
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