Getting settled

The bulk of the chaos is over. Furniture is set up, radios are plugged in. There’s vodka in the freezer. May 2013 may be the month I look back on years from now and say to myself, “what the f$%! was I thinking?”

ImageShe’s prettier than me.

So I’m 75% unpacked, and thanks to some of my gals at work, I will be selling a bunch of stuff next weekend down in Ole Draper Town. Once I have the address, I’ll be sure to pass it along so that you too can have a slice of my hoarding history. Think things you would never think I would have a hankering to buy. Like wall lighting. A photo printer. Shower hooks. Because these weird items share space with my holiday things, the cabinets above my laundry room look like a Christmas warehouse outlet.

ImageNow where did I put my eggnog.

Work has been challenging in terms of trying to juggle life and moving, but I survived it by the skin of my teeth. Big G has been awesome, and the visit with the folks was good (and boozy). How two adults consume four bottles of wine on average per day each boggles the mind. I’m even toying with the notion of driving up to Bozeman this summer for a long weekend just to say to people that I was in Montana this summer. Makes me feel rugged.

Of course, the biggest news will come after PRIDE this weekend, where I will hit the sauce in the morning, stagger to the parade with my inappropriate friends, and gawk at a group of my peers who will confirm every stereotype about gay men that you can shake a stick at.

ImageWhat, this isn’t your average commuting outfit?

I will do my best to try to build some camaraderie with my queer brothers and sisters this weekend. The fact that they are confident enough in their bodies that they are willing to literally walk down the center of town in a pair of briefs I could use as a ponytail holder is impressive. And who knows, the last time I went out to a bar I ended up making out with someone to ring in 2013. If I’m lucky, May will leave with a whimper while June starts with a bang!

Ewww, not that. Don’t be crude.

So Runs The World Away

Can I get a recap:

Moved from University to Sugarhouse: check. Transferred all of my belongings and address information to the new place: check.

Well, mostly. Also, shut up.

Finally finished my thank you notes and announcements for my friends and family while nursing my voddie-Fresca (round three-ish): check. Gotten used to being a certifiable homo-wner with a bunch of queerly baby-gays wearing briefs as bathing suits at the pool while toting wagons full of moisturizer and listening to Lady Gaga?


Still working on acclimating to my new, and potentially even more liberal (if that’s even possible) location. The ‘rents came with a giant truck filled to the rafters with the ghosts of Christmas past, present, future, etc. My friends, being awesome, proved yet again how lucky I was to trick a bunch of really smart people into liking me for something other than my ability to cut off people on the interstate while eating an Atkin’s bar on a conference call about homeless health care. In some other life I must have saved a busload of nuns and puppies from imminent doom while multitasking and making sure that my appearance was appropriate and my beard adequately trimmed.

ImageThis would be me, being an asshole. If I ever shaved.

So May has been insane. I still have a bunch of work stuff that I have to shoehorn into a four-day work week, my place still needs some serious unpacking, and if I see another end table magically appear in my place I will punch a toddler in the throat. But I was able to make significant headway. Big G is only threatening castration occasionally. Mom and Dad seem happy with my current trajectory.

I am also proud to report that I made my very first meal for others in the new place (I mean, how hard is toast, bacon and eggs, and I right?). It felt very adult. Until Mom broke out the white wine, but still. Progress. I’ve met some of my neighbors and the parking situation is prime. Now it’s onto sorting through plants, watching the new episodes of Arrested Development, and basking in the glory that while this summer will be busy as hell, I can always reflect on the fact that I owe a mortgage company hundreds of thousands of dollars.



And no, this isn’t another ridiculous blogspot of a post where I ponder the meanderings of nothingness while trying to simultaneously recognize the awe of the spirit in terms of crowd-sourcing and empowerment. Because unlike some of my contemporaries, I am a lady.


ImageWhich is code for bullshit.

Comcast came and went. Work was insane, but manageable. The ‘rents came through like a thunderstorm with some advanced warning, but no real true understanding of what a Category 5 Suzie storm will so to a local population. Hint to those with a semblance of understanding, the fridge is full of wine. Full.

ImageDon’t make it weird.

So there is a lot to talk about. Suffice it to say that now that I have renewed this avenue of commerce, crazy and concern that I can get back to my wireless BLERG with few incidents. Suffice it to say that I’ve missed you all, that I’ve felt the neglect, and that when push comes to shove, after I duck and cover I am there for you. HOLLER!

A Double Life, Continued

And the saga continues.

Everything is officially out of the old apartment. Cue that old Barenaked Ladies song. My buddies at the shelter are still working to pick up the couch, a microwave, and some shelves. The aforementioned items are sitting outside of the old place white-trash style. I’m tired, dirty, and my car needed service like a month ago.

ImageStay Classy Salt Lake.

So I am still in limbo. Everything I want to keep* is in one location, in piles the size of Mount Rushmore. Everything is out of the old place, but some of it is on the curb. I’ve scheduled cleaning and carpet stuff, but that’s not until tomorrow and Friday. Today was supposed to be one of closure. Instead it’s that weird in-between place when you’re not sure if you should kiss the guy on your first date or not.

ImageSorry buddy, but things are about to get weird.

So I’m unsettled. I am hoping that by this weekend I feel like I can start to make a dent in the piles of sh$% that are my old life.

But enough about this damned move, it’s time I moved on (see what I did there?) to a good old fashioned rant. I’d say a rant or two, but in the interest of space and time, I’ll limit it to just the one pet peeve.

Yes, friends, I’m talking about people that slow down at green lights. Again, I will keep it brief.

Red means stop.

Green means go.

If the light is green and you are approaching an intersection, why on Earth would you hit your BRAKES? Even if the light turns yellow, you’re still moving too fast to stop unless you slam on the brakes, which, by the way, fu%^s over the poor guy behind you with a teetering pile of his belongings just trying to make it from A to B. Why? WHY?! Slowing down at yellow lights, understandable. Slowing down at green lights? It’s pointless. It makes everyone else crazy. It’s like asking questions in a letter.

ImageCheck me out, I overpaid for a car I can’t drive.

So friends, another day, another dollar. Look forward to more rants where I focus less on real life issues and more on the things that make me completely batshit crazy. Toodles!

* = and by that, I mean everything I own other than the 14 foot truck full of furniture on its way from the East Coast. Which I have no clear idea where I am going to put because I am completely out of floor space.

Losing Fat Amy

As usual, I’ve fallen down on the job when it comes to my beloved blog. Since I got the keys to Castle Graystone, I’ve spent all of my non-work life since last Monday moving every possession I own from East Central to the Sugarhood. Every night, I’ve packed my beloved Element to the gills a combined total of about 20 times and trucked it down 11th East to the new digs. As a result, there are now mountains of s%^& on both sides of the general living area. Mountains. And I’m still not done.

ImageThis would be like, maybe 10% in comparison to my pile.

So my current living situation is borderline hoarding. Ok, it’s hoarding. It’s scary. SCREAM scary. Now I know what you’re thinking. What the F does this have to do with Fat Amy, Matt. What does this have to do with a hilarious character that is of course tangentially related to Glee and therefore something you can’t not talk about. Stop burying the lead for Christ’s sake and get on with it already.


Crushed it.

Here’s where the storylines intersect. If you’ve read any of my blogs (Alejandro, I’m calling you out), you know I’ve been working on losing the equivalent of an entire person in body weight. For those of you who knew Skinny Matt, he slipped into a coma roughly ten years ago when he moved to a state that has Jell-O as the state’s official snack and that lives for casseroles and “Utah scones” which are basically giant funnel cakes topped with powdered sugar that I’m convinced is laced with heroin.

ImageSeriously, who are you trying to fool here?

Between this cray-cray diet and moving like, 5,000 boxes, I feel like I’m on the right path in terms of taking better care of myself. I mean, I still run on ethanol, so there’s always that devil to dance with, and I still hate exercise like poison, but in terms of my super-complicated relationship with food, I feel like I’m losing Fat Amy and moving back towards Skinny Matt.

Without the eating disorders of course.

And this move feels the same way. Yes, I’ve been packing on the “stuff” in order to feel like I belong somewhere, or to deal with difficulties in life in terms of old school stuff or work stuff or relationship stuff. And now that the demons are all in one new place, I can start sorting through the artifacts of this sordid life and finally get my s%^& together.

On a completely unrelated topic, Arrested Development Season Four is coming out on Netflix soon (see the trailer here). I just peed a little.

ImageCount it!

High Pressure Zones

Remember that time I decided to buy a place in the spring? You know, because things are so quiet in life? Yeah.

Here’s a news flash. April showers don’t lead to May flowers. They lead to thunderstorms. And heavy winds. And downpours. This typically when I am trying to unload a car full of my possessions. The past few days have been crazy. Work has been reasonable; packing and moving, not so much. I know it’s my all stuff, but I still have serious trouble determining how I, as a single queer, could amass so. much. stuff.



So I’ve moved four toaster’s full of my sh$% to the new place. Being irresponsible, I haven’t switched over all of the utilities, but blessed be the powers of good that have kept the lights on and the water running. I can also safely report that I’ve made my first official home “bruise.” In moving a bookcase I dinged the ceiling in the living room. While immensely painful, this first ding as a homo-wner will hopefully serve as a reminder that what’s mine is mine to ding, and to hell with everything else. 


Come on baby, make it hurt so good.

So that continues. I’ve been working through work emails after subsequent moves and re-met one of my neighbors today. She’s very nice, but I’m working on gauging how my neighbors react to my Human Rights Campaign bumper sticker. I mean, it’s Sugarhouse, but the old guard is the old guard. I’m baking bacon so that I have something to eat tomorrow and the fans are running full blast because the weather has become borderline pleasant.

Looking around my old place, I’m both skeptical and optimistic that I’ll pull off this self-move one last time. What I do love is that I’ve scheduled a volunteer gig on Friday and the Komen walk this weekend with the knowledge that my queen sized bed (I know, fitting) and a bunch of other furniture has to make the trek across town in the very near future.


I said queen BED. Not queen!

Alas, I must tend to the oven as all good pioneers do. More soon from the new place, if I ever set up my interwebs there. Tatas!

Delaying the Inevitable

Where did I put that Xanax…

I get the keys to my new place tomorrow. As in 18 hours from now tomorrow. I haven’t packed 80% of my stuff. Instead of carefully wrapping every inane tchotchke I own in newspaper and taking the pictures off of the wall, I went and watered the Ocho and am making a low-carb veggie lasagna in the crock pot while drinking a voddie-Fresca and blogging about it.

ImageI’m procrastinating. Hard.

Don’t get me wrong, I am excited for the new place. Like, insanely excited. It’s a new chapter in my life and it’s going to be awesome because I am awesome (and humble). And let’s not forget the fact that new place is like a Bonnie Bede-llion times the size of the postage stamp I’m in right now.

I guess what is making it really difficult for me to move is that this is the first move that I feel a real sense of ownership over. Moving for college/work/grad school was something I did because I felt like it was mandatory: that is what young people do, they move based on the opportunities at hand and the futures they think they want to lead.* Back in the day I was going to live this fantasy life where I was gay-married with children in a house I had already selected at VC and heading up the psychology department in the office that had a fireplace in it by age 30.

ImageWhat do you mean that’s ambitious?

Instead, as my life changed around me and I took more charge in terms of the relationships I have and the work that I’ve done, I’ve come to terms with a lot of s%^t in this apartment. Leaving the psychology department at the U. Starting in public health. Changing jobs. Facing the deaths of a lot of people I cared about. All of those experiences happened on this beat-to-sh^&t green couch I am sitting on right now. And to leave a place with some many emotional memories is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

So I’m putting it off, knowing that I am only hurting myself in the long run. Hopefully I will be able to battle the inertia once I have the keys in hand and have a place to move things to. That should help the lack of momentum, right? And if not, expect that I may be a bit grouchy over the next few days as I try to move everything I own across town with nothing but fierce determination and a car shaped like a toaster. 

ImageNailed it. And no, this isn’t the last Element picture I will post.

*=except when you’re from New Jersey. They tend to stay there regardless. Which is puzzling.