that time i lived with my best friend

December 2018

Four and a half years ago, I met this guy up above. A mutual friend connected us, we had a couple dinners with conversations that went on for hours, we dated for three months, and then that was it. 

And FUCK does my head look huge. Damn.

January 2019

It's only now as I look back on that time that I realize I never wrote about him. He was mentioned in a new resolution part viii, but that was it. Two little lines. I wasn't sure about things with him at the time... I wasn't sure about myself and who I was or wanted to be. That part hasn't changed about me. What has changed is how these pictures, the first we ever took "together," gave no inclination to the fact he would become one of the best friends I've ever had. Where romance failed, and any kind of friendship took a year-long hiatus, something else developed between us. I'd like to share about that today.

Jonathan and I reconnected during Covid, both of us newly single again and sorta going through the motions of life. At first, it was awkward, coming back together and addressing the gap year, while also mostly just ignoring it. We're pretty good at ignoring stuff when it's uncomfortable. Our first day really hanging out together was toward the end of May 2020, when I was pouring concrete pavers for my patio at the Manor, and he came over to day-drink and chat.

With the riots in Minneapolis after what happened to George Floyd, the city enacted a curfew that evening. Coupled with the day drinking, we decided he should stay the night. We grilled out and drank some more, watched movies, and then had a live-karaoke session in my living room. It eventually resulted in us putting on heels from past Halloween costumes and lip-syncing to "I2I" from A Goofy Movie. That was the night that I knew (and he knew) there was something there between us. It wasn't romantic in nature, it was more than that. We always had a certain kind of comfort around each other, but now it had become this sort of next-level type vibe. With the world falling apart from the pandemic and the city in literal flames from racial injustice, our friendship was growing stronger and stronger by the day.

June 2020

It was that summer he earned his nickname, Mursula Gandalf, one that I am very proud of for coming up with in the organic way that I did, and one that has stuck quite profoundly. It is an inside joke that I don't want to share the details of, but I just want that name to be known here and now. For what it's worth, at least.

I sold the Manor later that summer, and he got involved in a relationship that had him out of town often and otherwise booked. Which was fine, of course, because as I told him the other day in a letter, what's the point of a friendship if you can't grow separately and still remain "together"? But as the colder months rolled in, I had health issues that started to rise. A few days before Christmas that year I had to drive myself to the ER for some debilitating pain in my abdomen that turned out to be a massive kidney stone.

Jonathan was the first person I called, and he made the trek up to the hospital in Maple Grove to sit with me in my morphine-induced euphoria. And like... it's not like that is moving mountains or anything, but when you don't have many people you can reach out to, and there's one that will drop everything to help you or console you or just be there for you, that means the world. Maybe not to everyone, but to most people, and certainly to me. 

As many of you know, I'm not typically a fan of asking for help.

December 2020

Sometimes I need help though, and a person like Jonathan makes it easy to ask for it, because he does it without pretense. He does it without asking for something in return, or on a condition... he just acts like a friend should, and he shows up. It was the first year I would ever spend Christmas alone, with Covid going on I couldn't leave the state due to my job, and with a stent placed in my gut and kidney stones having a holiday party, I also didn't want to drive somewhere. With my birthday the next day, that meant another solo ride for the first time. But he showed up that night when he got back to town, cake and gift in tow, and a party-cracker that scared the life out of me. For the record, NaeNae also came over that evening.

January 2021

Then there was my actual surgery, and of course, he was there for that too. Brought me jello to eat the day before because I had to fast for it, and then stuck around as I had the stones blasted. When I look back on this time, it feels like a very intimate thing even though at the moment, it wasn't. Perhaps it was just how he had inserted himself into my life and taken on a leading role among friends? This was mostly due to his proximity to me and having availability to do so. That's not a knock against any of my other friends, of course, it was just how the circumstances rolled out.

Over the next... year and a half, really... we had some distance between us. Relationships on either end of the line had each of us preoccupied. But the foundation existed now, y'know? And it was pretty fuckin' unshakeable, to the point that we started leaning on each other again long-distance during phone calls, albeit rare ones. As fractures in our romantic relationships started appearing, we were able to confide and share with each other in a way that was new for me. I've only had a couple of male friends over the years, and one or two I still hold very near and dear to my heart. 

With Jonathan, it was just different. Maybe because it had once been romantic between us, and now that it wasn't at all, there was no worry anything could be misconstrued that way? I suppose that granted me a certain level of calm and openness around him, knowing neither of us would ever interpret an intention in the wrong way.

September 2022

This past fall I got to bring him back to Appleton with me for Oktoberfest, which is arguably my favorite time of year in this city. Everything is green still, the weather is phenomenal, and everyone is just happy to be here. That's why most of us live in the midwest, after all... the short couple months of fall that are utterly perfect. Jonathan got to meet my parents for the first time, and he got to meet a few of my friends as well. It was the final step, in my humble opinion, of cementing someone in your life forever. When they get to see your hometown and where you grew up, things change. There's perhaps more understanding? I don't know if that's a thing or not, but it is what I liken it to.

In November we made the decision for Jonathan to move up from Oklahoma and in with me at the Ranch. His relationship was ending, and this was the opportunity for a few things. First, to get him away from the situation he was in. Second, so that I wouldn't be so goddamn lonely working from home after leaving retail behind. And third, so that we could have a few months together for him to figure out his next steps and so that I could prep for my move back to Wisconsin. 

For the outsider, however, I think there was a lot of confusion over this choice we were making.

It's common for people in the gay community to try and destroy things between other gays. We don't need bans on drag queens or transgender individuals to hurt our community, we're generally pretty content hurting it on our own. I won't say I'm entirely innocent of nastiness, though I will say any evil-doing I participated in is wellwellwelllllll in the past (like... 15 years in the past, truly). I think this animosity tends to arise when there are two individuals such as us, living a life that perhaps the outside doesn't understand. Best friends, no romantic inclinations whatsoever, who enjoy each other's company more than anything else. I think it's somehow viewed as "wrong" by others, and they will attempt to sabotage it in cruel ways. 

In the few months living together, the messages I received from strangers trying to "enlighten" me as to who Jonathan "really is" were insane. Some people thought they might have dirt, reaching out to one of us to spread gossip from fake Instagram accounts with a "did you know THIS about your friend?" And I didn't engage... there's no point in it, particularly when yeah... I did know "this" about my friend. I know everything about him, and he certainly knows everything about me. And it has been demonstrated easily that when one of us THINKS the other doesn't know what we're thinking, we're quite wrong. I'm hard to read, but this big bitch sees right through me.

I've only met a handful of people in my life that are privy to all of the real thoughts inside of me, for better or for worse. But he's one of them, and for that, I am grateful. Remember when I said our foundation was unshakeable? Well, I'll reiterate it here: it's unshakeable.

February 2023

It's not all sunshine and roses, y'know. There are things he did that drove me up the fuckin' wall, and they tend to begin and end with the kitchen sink (literally, not figuratively (you know what I'm talking about, Mursula)). But like in any relationship, that's how friendship goes too, isn't it? Look over the tiny things you don't LOVE and enjoy the rest? Because usually the rest is pretty great. 

You might be wondering right now "Sean, are you sure you don't have feelings for him?" And the answer is no, I do not. Not in a romantic sense, and I'm confident in saying he doesn't either. Maybe in the grand multiverse, there's a version of us that is together and happy. I totally see how that could be. It's just not in the cards for this one, and that's perfectly fine. We need friends... we need people that stay as friends. We need friends to keep us in check, to remind us of who we were and who we're turning into, to hold up the mirror when we don't want to see and just... to be there. 

That's him.

A week ago we got home from Australia, a "best friend trip" that changed my outlook on life. I will never forget our time in Sydney. The amount of laughing we did, and singing and dancing and libations and screams and tears and pure, unfiltered, joy. It was the trip of a lifetime, and one I am indebted to him forever for granting me the ability to partake in.

March 2023

I love my friends, one and all. I know that seems like a blanket statement, and perhaps it is, but the people I maintain some sort of contact with are the ones that bring me to life. I can come across as guarded to people, more often than not, as I get older. Some might say I can be cold. But my best friends are the ones that see this side and know what's beneath it... they're the ones that have sat with me while I cried, and they know who I am in my core. 

Having one is a treasure; having multiple is a gift. Though I'm moving back to Wisconsin to live near two of my bests, I am leaving a couple behind. Jonathan is one of them. 

I'm so sad to not live with him anymore. It breaks my heart that I won't be able to greet his groggy ass every day with a "Good morning, Camille," to get loud and scream movie quotes at each other. To hurl scathing insults that ONLY come from love and ALWAYS leave the other in laughing hysterics. I am so thankful we had this time together, however short it was, to lean on each other as we brushed the dirt and blood of the past from our knees. The last three months were a time for healing and coming together, and I know we succeeded in that. It's funny how living together followed the exact timeline of us dating... the end of November to the start of March. 

This time though, we came out stronger than we entered. While there's heartbreak in its ending of that form, there's excitement and hope in how it will continue.

It's particularly interesting how sad I am that this situation probably won't ever happen again... a perfect storm of events led to living with one of my best friends. I'm so happy that it did. Mursula Gandalf, my dear Jonathan, you've changed my life forever, and I want the world (ie, my 3 readers), to know it. 

Thank you for being you and never trying to be anybody else, you're perfect as you are.

To the rest of you, I'll just say ciao for now (c:

selling the ranch

October 2020

I hated this house.

I hated it from day one, did you know that?

Day. One.

Nothing went right, from the purchase, to the move day, to the subsequent issues that plagued the house and then my body and then the house again and then my relationship and then my body again and then ultimately my life in general. Two and a half years here were a fuckin' mess, and had I been present on social media for the entirety of it, you would understand that any large semblance of happiness was just an illusion. Allllllll optics.

Case-in-point: that picture up top? I wanted to take it before moving all my furniture into the house, like I did with the Manor. I wanted to go through the house, alone, and have my time with it to sorta "greet" the house. But it didn't happen that way. This is the day after I moved in, re-wearing the clothes I wore the day before, with all of the furniture shoved to the right side of the frame so it looked empty.

And I'll tell ya another secret. The picture at the end of this, of me as I am now, house empty? Another fib. All the furniture is shoved to the right, and I have a few days to go until I make my journey to Wisconsin.

That all being said, do you know, or do you have any semblance of an idea... how excited I am to have sold this house?

Like, truly... can you even fathom my excitement?

You actually probably can because it's not the most exciting thing I've ever done in my life, but still, it's pretty GD thrilling.

When the Ranch went "live" on the market, it had been pre-listed for about a week so that hopefully people could salivate over the pictures and imagine building their own lives in it. And then, when it went ACTUAL live, I had my first offer in less than 24 hours. This was very exciting to me for three distinct reasons:

- 1. It meant the house technically sold in a single day, rather than the six the Manor took.

- 2. It meant a certain stress level could start washing off and far away from my shoulders.

- 3. It meant the Minnesota chapter of my life was finally ending.

Has it been all bad here? No, not specifically. Of my six and a half years living in the land of lakes, it wasn't always horrible. It was largely bad, yes, but not ALL. It resulted in the fact that I met some of my best friends here, which as we all know, gets harder and harder to do as you get older. I arguably grew stronger in my sense of self here than ever before, though that was only for a brief term and has subsequently been wiped out. I had my experience buying the Manor, which was really everything I wanted in my first "project" house and gave me a sense of purpose for two years. I left retail here, after 19 years, to pursue a career in writing. So there, not all bad.

But everything changes, y'know? Most of my friends here moved away, or are in the process of moving away. Of course a couple remain, specifically my dear Nae Nae, but the rest have moved on. Not working retail means I'm not tethered to a physical store. My sense of self is just... we'll say dogshit, that's fair enough. And as for the house, and how much I loathed this one... I now know what I want from the next.

The Ranch was a panic buy, through and through. When the Manor sold, I had 60 days to find a new place which in a normal market, would be plenty of time. But in the cluster-fuck of 2020 when the housing market was absolutely insane, it meant I was feverishly looking at houses with an axe swinging merrily over my head. I made offers on four houses and lost all of them. Then I took a look at a handful on like, a Thursday, with my agent and we went to lunch after. I decided to write an offer on the "California style Ranch", named for the 'U' shape the house makes around the backyard decking. I thought it was fitting because later that afternoon, I was boarding a flight to, wait for it... California!

My view in the Sausalito hills when the call came.

The day after arriving in San Francisco, my best friend Tina and I went for a walk with her kids, up into the hills behind where she and her husband were living in Sausalito. On the hike, I got a call from my agent saying that the house had gone into multiple offers and that the seller wanted "best and final" bids by the end of the day. I think it had been listed at like $218K, and maybe I offered $226K? So I just said "alright, $236K," which was at the absolute height of my budget but I was (I've already mentioned it) desperate. And when operating in desperation and exhaustion, and just being plain-ass tired of dealing with things, you make choices.

Well, all of the other offers came with "here's my new offer, but here's an escalation clause just in case someone outbids me." And MY offer did not have an escalation clause, so the seller said "we asked for best and final and he gave it, so he gets it." And I got it. My California Ranch while I was visiting California, who knew?

Probably me, because I look for signs. I digress.

From there it just went wrong though. My agent made a mistake and forgot to tell my lender that my offer was accepted, so a week before move day he called to tell me about it. He was going to put me up in an Airbnb for the two weeks between when I HAD to be out of the Manor and when I could actually close on the Ranch. He also paid for my furniture and all that to be moved and stored. Lemme make it clear: I don't hold it against him at all. It was a whoopsie that he made up for, and he's a good friend that I just had sell the Ranch for me. All's well that ends well!

Then I got tonsillitis and had to have my tonsil sliced open to drain, so that was fun while living in an Airbnb.

Signing for the house, note the shirt that I was gonna double-wear.

But that was what kicked it all off, y'know? Jonathan helped me with the move, sitting in my car in the parking lot with the cats while I signed all of the paperwork, and then we drove up to the new house. The moving crew was already there and moving some things into the house, which was ANOTHER thing that set me off on the wrong foot (refer to the above, where I said I wanted a moment with the house). But it was what it was, and I just wanted it done. I wanted my things, and I wanted my comforts, and I wanted to be left alone.

A week later, the water heater was leaking rusty water, and upon inspection, I was told "yeah this has been bad for a while, didn't your inspector look here? It's all rusted out." And no, my inspector hadn't, which also goes to show that getting an inspection sometimes (not always) means jack diddly shit. So that was $1,200 to get a new one.

A week in, guys. One week. This did not bode well.

Then I chose to paint the main space dark green, and went against my better judgment that I should have used a primer despite the store telling me I didn't need one. So that was four coats of VERY expensive Sherwin-Williams paint, and it probably could've used a fifth.

Waking up after the first of two surgeries.

That winter I had my fun round(s) with the kidney stone(s). Part of it was diet related, my body producing too acidic of urine (solved with a potassium pill), and a larger part was stress. And it had been a stressful few months, believe you-me. But you move along and go about your business.

May of 2021 meant Andrew and I got back together, which was what it was. I'm happy we did in many aspects, and I'm upset we did in some others. What I gained from our reunion was the final understanding that a romantically inclined relationship between us just wasn't going to work. It sucked, as he was/is one of my favorite people, but when the cards are down you've got to read them for what they are. He moved in that July.

Fabulous.

In October, the basement bathroom flooded with sewage. The toilet in the bathroom down there did not work (thanks for catching it, inspector (NOT)), and it was time to re-do the space. I'd purchased three new toilets for the house that fall, one is in the box in this picture, and had just had the basement finished with all new paint and carpeting and laminate flooring. You can even see in the picture that I had just edged in the paint in the whole room. 

Post-demolition

So that meant a call to insurance to get the whole process rolling, which meant more money flying out of my pocket for something dumb as shit. In the end it meant professionally installed "everything," so that was nice. But this time I won't say "if the ends justify the means" because I just... I didn't want it this way. And I didn't want to spend the money on it. In a nutshell though, that's homeownership and sometimes it does suck.

Spring of 2022 arrived with Andrew and I breaking up, which I've written about before here. To distract myself from the heartbreak of it all, I buried myself in renovating the primary bathroom in the house. 

Where the dinky corner shower had been

This meant gutting it to the studs, and paying a plumber to literally replace all of the plumbing (the shower didn't have a p-trap, so uh... thanks again for not noticing shit, inspector). It was a month-long project that absolutely destroyed my hands and wrists, but it turned out pretty good and became my happy space in the house. I calculated it costing me about $2K, plus an extra $1K for the plumbing, and this was because everything else I was doing myself. Ended up being closer to $6K, but we're not here to split hairs.

All done

That summer Andrew moved away, and I was broken again. Work was awful, and I quit my job in August for a new retail spot. Then I had more health issues just detonate into existence, and with an opportunity to be a writer, I took it and left retail permanently. Jonathan moved in late November, more about that in another blog, and then I was just in a holding pattern until right now. Knowing I was going to sell, knowing I was going to move, and knowing I was going to take the final great big step in my plan toward happiness.

Y'know... I wanted to be happy here, in Minnesota. 

I did. 

But I just never was, and that has to be okay, y'know? You have to be able to call something for what it is, or at least what you deem it to be, and leave it. Maybe that's the take-away I have with the Ranch, because it's what happened with my life here. Relationships and jobs... the house itself... just walk away when you know it's no longer right. It makes me curious to what the next lesson will be in Wisconsin, if there IS a big lesson or just a return to the old ones and how to make them better. But we'll see.

And just like that, it was time to go.

The house was listed at $334,900, and it sold $16K higher than the list price after four separate offers came in and three of them worked to out-bid eachother. As always it's a stressful process, and one you don't have much faith in until the paperwork has been signed and you are walking away with your check of profits.

Does that make it all worth it in the end?

Hell no.

Money certainly does not buy happiness, and in this specific case, it definitely did not justify the means of what it took to earn. My hands and wrists, my body, my heart, my sanity... some things I'll get back and some I never will. Maybe that's part of getting older, and may it's not. But for now I get to smile in whatever fond way I can muster, and I get to go home.

Where my heart always was.

Ciao for now (c: