Get the Ball Rolling

Finally, today, all the inspection reports are completed and in. And beyond the minor and medium fixes that you'd expect with a house of this age, all the news is really good (with possible exception of the garage roof, but if it leaks on my car I'm not too concerned). So I called Realtor Michael today and let him know I just wanted to move ahead with the sale (no contingency remedies) and get escrow closed as fast as possible. I WANT MY HOUSE!

It's not that I don't enjoy staying with Amanda and Natalie (now that I have grown inured to her occasional emotional meltdowns — Natalie, not Amanda), but I want my stuff, in my new house. I want to know that I'm not going to move the cat again anywhere (except the vet's) for a long, long time. I want to get starting a new life in a new town with new people. And I want somewhere I can fart without saying "excuse me," (which is more for Natalie's etiquette training than my own need for acceptance).

I'd say it's been about a year since I felt "at home." This feeling of not belonging anywhere started with the remodel of my place in Pasadena and has expanded with the sale and move out in California, the cross-country drive with Patty and our temporary housing here in Winona.

And while Winona is a very beautiful place and it's pleasant to visit with Amanda and Natalie, they are elsewhere most of the time, living their lives, and any business that takes me into La Crosse means a 30-mile drive each way. Likewise, visiting Pam and Steve in Ettrick is also 30 miles each way. It's like a McDougal triangle: 30 miles in any direction to visit.

Deeann Hoff, whom I used to work with at the Hollywood Reporter, is from Viroqua, a small town about 40 miles or so south of La Crosse. She e-mailed that you have to get used to driving 30 to 50 miles to go visit people; things are just that spread out here. This is one of the reasons I wanted to live in town; more likely people will come visit me while partaking of the city's amenities.

The biggest stumbling block in the process of getting my place is the seller's agent: it takes him three and four days to return an e-mail or phone call to answer a simple question. Michael said he's a new agent in town, and I told him, "He doesn't really have the necessary communication skills for your industry, does he?" Michael laughed at that. Then I suggested the guy would call right quick when he heard a cash payment was in the mix.

I'm hoping Mike and I will get to be friends once this sale is done and long finished. In a town of 50,000, there are not a lot of gay professionals to hang with, and Michael is involved in the LGBT resource center (which I plan to work with), so we'll probably cross paths in the future.

So I closed the conversation by saying I will await his call on what my next move is: probably cutting a cashier's check and signing some papers. Then comes coordinating the move in and getting settled. Lesson learned from my move out: make sure there's at least one bed and one table and one chair. All else can be dealt with later.

I saw an ad online for a production artist for a sportswear manufacturer here in Winona, but I decided not to send a resume. This is my time, these next 12 months, are for me: to establish myself, make friends, and network in the community. There is no need to put my nose to the grindstone just yet. I’m trusting that something wonderful will emerge from La Crosse, either employment or business clients or a whole new form of generating income I haven't even imagined yet: that's what this year is for…and to have fun!

The weather here is very weird, changing every 45 minutes or so. Today started sunny and cool, then blasts of winds that would beat out the Santa Ana winds came rushing through; they subsided and it started raining, then everything got still and muggy. Then the wind was back up again and the sun popping in and out of a partly cloudy sky. And that was all in about four hours’ time.

Half the people here seem like they stepped out of the Cohen brothers’ “Fargo,” you betcha. Lots of what in California they would call funny looking white people. But these folks are simply who they are. Pretense is not rewarded, I think. "Beautiful people" and celebutants are few and far between, and that is so refreshing for me.

My online banking is all set up now with a local bank that has maybe three branches in the entire county. I realized that a new customer coming in with a six-figure deposit was a big deal, because they immediately assigned me to one of the vice presidents of the bank. And Pam, my sister-in-law, has worked with the CEO on many charity projects, so I’m not a total nobody, as with BofA.

And so I congregate with my people, here in the Midwest where I was born, and chant to corporate America: "I am somebody!" Then we all huddle in the shadow of Gov. Walker and sing "We shall persevere. We shall persevere. All we need are cheese curds and draft beer!"

I'm really getting into this, don't ya know.