Countdown to Pinko

Pinko will be here one week from today.
Every now and then, I'm a bit bewildered by the magnitude of what is about to occur.  Then I repeat all the reasons why it's all just fine and that I have consciously done exactly what I felt like doing throughout this situation - which I have deliberately created.
My reasoning is documented all over the internet.
This past weekend, I started making space for his stuff.

He needs dedicated space so that there can be a place for everything and everything is in it's place.  For the most part, this project simply involves finishing up the sorting and consolidation task that remained after my parents were here last spring.  I said multiple times over this last eighteen months that I was going to finish up the apartment before I let a man through the door. Now a man is coming next week, and he's staying 'til Christmas.

Who knew the man would be a Burner?  Summer before last, when I spent so much time reflecting in the Heather Garden up by Gigi's old apartment, I hadn't even heard of Burners.  Now I've gone and brought one home.  My mood is swinging between Stunned, Delighted and delightfully stunned, especially since I've been listening to a mix he made the other night while I've been puttering around making sure he has a couple of bookshelves to himself.  The mix is kind of sexy and romantic, and it's pretty romantic to be making space for him here.
Here's the Dropbox link:
Deep House mostly All Female Vocals

I half way expect to find him at the airport carrying his pillow and wearing his Grinch PJ pants.

The PJs are made of fleece with this print and they have bright green fake fur trim around the bottom, like 2" cuffs.  He wore them everywhere at Burning Man, and even though I've seen pictures of him in street clothes, I always seem to picture him in those pants.  We'll probably need to pick up a few things for him once he gets here, but that will be fun since thrift shopping is what Burners do best, besides setting things on fire in the name of Art.  Burners often cultivate a certain thrift shop style, and tend to agree with Macklemore & Ryan Lewis that paying a lot of money for Tee Shirt is "some ignorant bitch shit" and "getting tricked by a business:"



A couple of Burner groups have regularly scheduled happy hours - there's an Uptown contingent who meets monthly, and a city wide group that often lands in the East Village.  In late November, we're going to a screening of a documentary called Is the Man who Is Tall Happy An Animated Conversation with Noam Chomsky.  Noam himself is expected to be there, and since Noam is one of Pinko's heroes I naturally got tickets.

Our first date at Burning Man is a tough act to follow, but between Banksy, and Noam and scoping out bars where Pinko might work all while expanding his lefty network, I think we'll be having fun.
I'm mindful, however, of my experience with Gayle the Hillbilly Hustler when I learned that I really don't like it when someone is parked on the sofa watching TV and drinking in my house while I'm at work.  I don't think that Pinko will do that, but just to make sure, I've set a trap with a big bottle of Bulleit, a bigger bottle of Jameson's and a refrigerator filled with PBR.

I also have an issue with leaving skid marks in the toilet.  Pinko knows I have personal mishigas around bodily functions - poop in particular since I didn't poop the whole time I was out at Burning Man.  Some people are just like that.  When I told my mother, she said, "You are your mother's daughter," so needing special conditions for pooping could run in families, for all I know.

Velvet didn't inherit my tendencies, or if he did, the folks at Hippy Dippy Quaker Camp took care of it because the walls around the outhouses at camp, known as Kaibos, only go half way up.  Not only does it prevent staggering smells from filling the outhouse by promoting ventilation but these half walls act to turn every Kaibo into a room with a view - generally of the lake peeking through the birch forest.  Kaibos are typically two or three holers, but with a little effort, you can achieve some degree of privacy.  For the kids, though, this system effectively counteracts any body shame associated with the bathroom.

Actual Kaibo at the Hippy Dippy Quaker Camp

They aren't supposed to leave the lid open like that

Casual, communal pooping in Kaibos notwithstanding, Velvet knows I don't like poop crumbs or skid marks in the toilet. I don't lose my shit, so to speak, if I see them but I've chased him down with a toilet brush enough times that he understands I'm not on this earth to clean up after him.

While all my girlfriends are excited and happy for me, and my mother is generally supportive about Pinko, my brother and my father are taking a Wait and See attitude.  They're not exactly skeptical because a few men have had a lasting role in my life. The Man from San Antone comes to mind.  Sometimes, I get bummed because, for all practical purposes, The Man quit speaking to me after I told him he was a sell-out last year at Cafe Luxembourg.  But really, he is a sell out and that's why I didn't marry him in the first place.  More importantly, I sure don't want to be mixed up with all his family's self-important bullshit now.  They remain all up into electoral politics and like to view themselves as Power Brokers.  As much as I enjoy piles of cash, I don't want piles of BS in my life and life with The Man would mean piles and piles of Bull Shit.  He's probably drinking himself into a coma somewhere right now.

On our regular Sunday morning phone call this week, my father reminded me that I have said on several occasions, sometimes quite adamantly, that I would never, ever let a man in my house again.  He wondered why I changed my mind.  I pointed out that when I was living with Gigi and with Diane during the Restoration Project, I found out that I enjoy the company when I'm living with someone I like.  For the last decade of our marriage at least, I didn't like Buzz Kill very much - and I certainly didn't like The Narcissist or Notta Goodman at all even though I was technically "intimate" with them. 

It may be my recent practice of getting involved with people I don't necessarily like but about whom I am curious that has prompted my brother and my father to take a Wait and See attitude.  They may be thinking about that Preacher from the Mountains who came to see me and was dispatched to Velvet's room in a nanosecond.  That the Preacher was in my bathroom was especially distressing (Intimacy Issues (Mine), Stonerdate 05.07.2010).  But that man had driven me crazy on a few counts before he even got here.

With Pinko, I'm enjoying the anticipation and adventure even when I'm stunned by the magnitude of it all. This apartment only has one bathroom, so Pinko's going to be in there no matter what, and I don't even mind.  I kind of like the idea, actually.  I made room for him in the medicine cabinet too.

When I told Velvet that there was a distinct possibility that Pinko would move in for real, Velvet was very supportive.  The first thing he said was, "Oh Good! He can help you pay the bills." His mouth to God's ears, or the Dog's ears - which ever you prefer.

There's something very comforting about facing the future with a partner.  It's like Countdown to the Apocalypse with Pinko the Bear and PENolan.