Call Me Miss Cleo Pride

Call Me Miss Cleo

Pride was pretty much what I predicted. In fact Saturday followed the script exactly - right down to the 23 voice mails. All in all another fantastic Pride. The weather was beautiful. I swear God is gay.

I'm still here - sort of - in the physical sense. Still in San Francisco. We were supposed to head back yesterday, but due to some unforeseen plumbing and lighting circumstances, we're here til Friday (damn it - I hate being stuck in SF - there's NOTHING to do here!)

While this trip may have seemed like it was all about Pride, it's not. We're here for another reason - preparing to sell our house. Which is another entry entirely, but suffice to say that we're exausted. I didn't realize how much fucking work went into getting a house ready to list. It's a pain in the fucking ASS. So much piddly little crap - 15 friggin trips to Homo Depot[tm] and a few eye-popping painting estimates later ("Uh, are you sure the decimal is in the right place?") all I can say is ... fuck me.

Our tenent kept the place in fantastic shape but there's all the little things we always meant to do but never got around to. And the fact that we are marketing the house to rich fags means that we have to "De-Brass" the place and go brushed chrome throughout (which is what we always wanted but never got around to.)

De-brassing is a tedious process. Every hinge, every switchplate, every door knob, every faucet, every light fixutre... the mail slot, the house numbers, the goddamn fucking peephole. This place is going to be my wet dream: The Ultimate BFZ (Brass Free Zone.)

In the process of the de-brassing, I finally reached the end of my DIY butchness today. I broke down and called a plumber to help me swap out the shower valve. Every now and then you reach a point where you have to swallow your pride and bring out the check book just for the sake of time. Except he was no help, unless I wanted to pay him $1100 to rip out a wall. I have go-go BACK to Homo Depot (trip number 8 - yes, really) and get my THIRD shower valve. Don't even get me started on the low-voltage lighting. Anyone know a good electrician in SF? That will work on the 4th of July? I didn't think so...

Compounding my sore ass and exausted brain is our new 5 week old kitten (yes, another one - now you can call me St. Francis) whom I affectionately refer to as The Devil in Disguise. I will fill you all in on how we happened upon this darling creature in another entry soon, but right now I just need a slice of pizza and a fucking beer.