“This building old as shit.”
Byron’s Russian Landlord (2009).

(As compiled from one very long night)
- Buzzer goes on/off continually. I answer. No response. I go downstairs. No one there.
- Three hours later toilet starts flushing on its own.
- Two hours later bedroom light turns on and off on its own.

Because of this.

I’m sharing licorice and a one-straw-two-people-soda with Nate at a movie the other night. I’m not going to lie, it’s a romantic-comedy. I’m not going to lie, it’s opening night. I’m not going to lie, I have the best boyfriend who will humor my chick-flick desires(while secretly he admits loving them too). When out of nowhere Nate says: Where our people at? He says it just like that because he’s cute and even though he’s from a small town in Ohio, he likes to sound like he grew up in the city. Anyway, I’m like: What people? And he’s like: Our people? And with that he means “gay people”.
So I scan the room and he’s right. There are groups of girls sharing a big bag of popcorn and there are guys with girls and husbands with wives, but no guys sitting right next to guys. It’s a scenario I never really get used to. I mean, I’m not much of a “hood” guy. With that I mean “gay neighborhood”. Chicago is all super great with it’s ‘Gay’borhood. You can go to bars to feel safe and eat at restaurants without feeling like your being ogled by others. But there’s a whole big city out there and I’m not going to restrain to a neighborhood just because it’s ‘friendly’. Some people do this. Not me.
For whatever reason I start to get hyper nervous about being the only gay couple in the room. I’m not usually like this, you know? But when it kicks in, it really kicks in. I start getting all high-horse-like. I start getting all political. I start preaching in my head. I get on my imaginary soapbox (a tall one because I’m short): “I just want to go places without thinking someone’s going to say something!” I pretend to scream. “I don’t even want to think twice this stuff anymore!” I imagine yelping. “I! Just! Want ! To! Feel! Safe! With! THE! GUY! I! LOVE!”
Then, without speaking, Nate takes my hand and holds it.

9 a.m- Beyonce, “Single Ladies”
9:30- Britney Spears, “Womanizer”
10:15- Beyonce, “Single Ladies”
11:30- Justin Timberlake, “Sexy Back”
12pm- Beyonce, “Single Ladies”
12:30- Beyonce, “Single Ladies”
4:15- Beyonce, “Single Ladies”

(Cough, cough. You can catch up on any others you’ve missed here. AHEM).
The sun-filled apartment smells of cardboard boxes as I watch the movers haul out Jeff and his wife’s packed goods.
“Moving is a pain in the ass. ” Jeff says to himself as he seals the top of a large box with tape. The loud screech of tape coming off the roll mixes with footsteps of the movers, the nervous pacing of paws from his pets, and the sound of cars passing on the busy street in front.
“It feels like you just did it.” I say while chipping at my fingernails. It’s what I do when I’m nervous and don’t want to face the reality of something.
Continue Reading the column, here.

1) Wait, isn’t that what Facebook is for?
2) Won’t it be weird to, you know, introduce my high school ex-girlfriend my really really really hot boyfriend?
3) Is it sad that I wish that my old teachers were going to be there more than my old classmates?