Saturday, I made my reluctant, yet still triumphant, return to Los Angeles. I kept note of everything that happened along the way, just for fun. Here’s how it plays out, in real time.

Prologue

Perhaps the reluctance to fully pack comes from the fact that I am not yet ready to say goodbye. Packing everything completely signals that it’s time to go, and for all there is to look forward to, I know how much I’ll miss those small everyday things I’d gotten spoiled with on a daily basis over the summer. Time bests me, and with a heavy heart, I accept that the memories remain, and more will be made, all in good time.

Chapter 11:35am, Mountain Standard TIme

The metal detector beeps as I walk through security at the airport. A high-strung TSA employee orders me to move back and then try again. I oblige, and this time I get through without the glaring beep beep beep. I move forward to await my bag, computer, and lunch. A man stares intently at his computer screen, scrunching his face up in what could be constipation, except it occurs to me that he is concentrating deeply on the orange, blue, white, and yellow images before him. After a solid minute, he lifts up my Whole Foods bag, gives me a suspicious look, and asks if this is mine. I reply in the affirmative, and he proceeds to open it up and remove the children’s meal I had purchased for half an hour before. Apple juice, 6.7 ounces. Apple sauce, unknown amount, but certainly more than 3 ounces. Both are contraband, and because I opt not to have to wait another twenty minutes to repeat the process, they are confiscated.

Chapter 1:30pm, Mountain Standard Time

I board the plane to Phoenix. Despite being in the second herd of passengers, the plane is quite full. I head toward the back in the hopes of finding an empty row with an available aisle or window seats. I spy an empty row, but upon my arrival I discover a child seat in place next to the window. I wait, and a mother approaches with her infant daughter. She smiles and says I’m welcome to sit next to them. The next hour or so is spent chatting amicably and playing with her thirteen-month-old. This surprises me, but very pleasantly so.

Chapter 2:45pm, Pacific Standard Time

After running into a friend I made last semester, I board the plane to Burbank. This time, I secure a window seat in the second to last row of the plane. A haggard old man approaches and decides to take the seat between me and the 6′5″ hulk on the end. This old man is probably pushing 90, and his slightly curved frame makes him appear shorter than he probably is. His hair is white and cut extremely short. He sits down and promptly places his elbows on the arm rests, never to move them for the entire hour and a half flight. He removes from his shirt pocket a book. Judging by its size, I peg it as one of those travel books that shows the highlights of different places. Judging by its red and busy cover, I wonder if it is erotica. I look over his shoulder and see words that talk about Mass and Jesus. So much for first impressions.

Chapter 4:23pm, Pacific Standard Time

My landlord picks me up and drives me back to my new home. My heart races for the next forty minutes as we tear through the streets at 50 and 60 miles per hour, despite the heavy traffic. Relief washes over me as we finally arrive. I reflect on how I’ve never had motion sickness, but that ride certainly could have induced it.

Chapter 5:30pm, Pacific Standard Time

I begin to unpack, happy at least that the traveling is over. I see light glint from the floor. I do not expect this, and then I see the light scurry underneath my bed. I spy more as I look around the carpet. Crickets, it seems. Unbeknownst to me, crickets are pretty common in Los Angeles. Robert informs me that they’re a sign of good luck. This helps, but I still prefer to see them outside.

Epilogue

Fish tacos were the one thing I missed about LA. I have no food in the house, so I go out and get fish tacos. I call my friend and we decide to go hang out, eat, and then go to a pub for beer and live music. We meet odd new people, including one self-proclaimed Casanova who, for every sentence you spoke, would want to bump fists. Then he asked my friend on a date and was devastated when she said “NO, BITCH!”*

The End.

*She was quite a bit more subtle than I just made her out to be.

Today, Thursday, marks six weeks that I’ve been in Albuquerque this second time around. It’s been a pretty awesome time, sort of to the point that I’ve started to take roots here. Doubtless, Robert considers this an understatement. This could be because I’ve taken over the dining table and converted it into my laptop desk, replete with pens, coins, receipts, and the like. And maybe the way I’ve unceremoniously tossed everything I have with me on the living room floor, in front of the television.

Of course, since it has been six weeks that I’ve been here, I’ve ended up accumulating a rather shocking amount of things. There was the initial purchase of more clothes in order to not offend my gay sensibilities, of course. But in addition to that, I’ve managed to acquire some six CDs, nine books, ten DVDs, and a pair of flip flops. All of which I could no longer live without, and therefore had to purchase.

The challenge, I suppose, will be packing everything into my single suitcase and shoulder bag. Because, as I just noted, I can’t live without any of this stuff, and so must bring it all back to California with me. Friday will be an interesting exercise of suitcase-packing mania. Probably I’ll start packing and then get completely distracted by all the cool stuff I got, since despite my 24 years on this planet, I’m still not quite ten. And yet, if I really was ten, I’d love getting up super early. Take my word for it, but my 5:30 am zombie face is anything but youthful. It’s more like 5,000-year-old rotted mummy.

Here’s a couple of things I’ve learned from my time visiting Albuquerque this second time around.

1.) In June, I fully expected to stay here for two and a half weeks, and thus I completely stuffed my suitcase with clothes in preparation. During my stay, I managed to buy even more clothes, which is completely awesome.

This current trip was intended to last only eleven days, and thus I packed considerably lighter. I ended up staying longer, and it’s now almost been three weeks. While I confess that this makes me happy, I must also disclose that having such a limited wardrobe is extremely difficulty. Sure, I’ve done laundry, but my gay sensibilities get offended when one shirt is FORCED to be worn three times within less than two weeks.

Which leads me to the following: thank heaven for Target. Oh my word*, but Target is a lifesaver. I finally caved and decided to invest in some new clothing. It’s pretty much the best decision I’ve made all week, not in the least because I got the most amazing royal purple shirt of all time.

2.) Just because you bring along certain books to read while on a trip doesn’t mean you end up wanting to read them. I snagged a random two or three books from my shelf and stuffed them in my bag. But, even though I’ve been wanting to read them for some time, I haven’t much felt like reading them at this point in time.

While channel surfing the other day, I stumbled across the movie version of Roald Dahl’s Matilda. It reminded me that I hadn’t read the book in years, and I wanted to change that. We wound up at one of my favorite local used book stores, and this morning, and I found myself a copy. And, over the course of the day, I read the entire thing, cover to cover. All 240 pages. I loved it when I first read it at the tender age of nine, and I loved it when I read it for the fourth? fifth? (I don’t know how many times I’ve read the thing.) tenth? time, over fifteen years later. Talk about some serious staying power. Roald Dahl kicks ass.

*I ran into the parents of an old babysitter of mine while having lunch with my dad last week. The father of said babysitter kept saying “oh my word” to everything I said. Age? Oh my word. Height? Oh my word. Where I’m living? Oh my word. What I’m doing? Oh my word. That shit was crazy.

Today was the big day when I flew back to Los Angeles. The whole thing was rather unceremonious, and not unlike pulling teeth. I’ve discovered that the more you love someone, the harder it is to part ways, even if it is just temporary. Everything seems that much more lackluster when that certain someone isn’t there to share in the moment with you.

Here’s a quick and dirty list of some cool aspects of the trip:

• I ran into some Albuquerque friends at the airport, so it was cool to catch up with them.
• On the flight to Phoenix I sat next to a chatty female who talked a mile a minute and said “yes” when I asked if I could get a discount for talking to her before booking a stay at her pueblo’s new resort.
• In Phoenix, I got a high five from the cutest pre-toddler ever.

Here’s a quick and dirty list of things that, well, sucked:

• I had to sit next to one Mr. Business Card Strip-Club-Lover on the flight from Phoenix in to Burbank. Although he did provide for interesting text message conversation:

Phil: Not liking my seatmate… hetero businessman chauvinist. Ew.
Robert: Butch it up a bit!
Phil: Oh yeah, so butch in my musical* t-shirt. We’ll knock a few back and talk about chicks, I’m sure.

• I had to return to the house of ill fame that, upon pulling up to at the curb, I realized I loathe with ever fiber of my soul.

Cool news: I got to see some of my friends tonight and we even went for dinner (a perfect excuse to avoid returning to my current place of residence). I also got to see my friend Letizia’s one-week-old daughter! She’s cute and fabulous, let me tell you.

Other cool news: the house was not burned down, as I was half-expecting. What I wasn’t expecting was to arrive home and find my roommate home and back together with the girlfriend who, mere weeks ago, she’d tried to choke with her bare hands. Not that it’s cool that they’re back together, mind; I’m just thrilled that all my stuff is still here, and more than that, I can’t fucking wait to get out of this hellhole. Bitch, I am so done with this place.

*I was wearing my brand spanking new Spamalot t-shirt. Strangely enough, as we were exiting the plane, the dude actually asked me about the show and said he wanted to see it because “I love Monty Python.” Sure he does.

Saturday, June 21, 2008, marks a special day in history. The original plan for the day was to hop on a plane and head back to Los Angeles. Instead, I opted out of traveling a couple of days ago by extending my trip through next Friday. One of the best side effects of this decision? I got to attend my first ever book signing.

The author was none other than David Sedaris (whom I shall refer to as “David” from now on, since it’s easier to type than his full name or Mr. Sedaris, and also since I got to shake his hand and talk to him for a few minutes, so we’re practically old friends anyway; plus, all the employees kept calling him Mr. Sedaris, and since they got on my nerves, I’m refraining from typing anything that reminds me of them), the fabulous and observant humor writer who stole my literary heart with a short story called Go Carolina. I was in my second year of college when I heard this story, and suddenly, at the tender age of 19, it hit me that all those feelings inside that spelled “gay” should be met with humor instead of fear. Such is the power of the written word.

While waiting for the book reading to start, Robert and I took up residence near where David was to present. We had asked, when we arrived just under two hours early, where he would be standing: on the second floor, by a railing overlooking the first floor. Because Barnes & Noble has shit for lecture space. We were very nearby, and had a sort of side view from which to spectate. I found it odd that they were going to make the poor writer stand behind a table display of books, and mentioned that to someone when I was waiting in line to get my book signed before the official reading started. I was wrong though, and ten minutes before the event commenced, a flurry of B&N staff rushed to the area, cordoned it off, and went about setting up the microphone and podium. Which prompted me to butcher a famous butchered joke: “How many Barnes & Noble employees does it take to set up a podium and microphone?” The answer is: I don’t know, I lost count of how many there were.

While we waited for everything to officially start, I found myself people-watching uncontrollably. I saw old high school classmates I never really knew, and wondered if they didn’t recognize me on account of the fact that I now sport facial hair. The scariest person I saw, hands down, was this woman who was probably in her mid-60’s. She had tall red hair that was more maroon than red, and curls that measured five inches in diameter each. My time in LA helped me pick out some evidence of plastic surgery on her face, too. (This made me proud at first, and then horrified.) And she also showcased a spaghetti strap top and shorts that read “US Body”, which did nothing to help her.

As my first ever book signing event, I of course wanted to get a book signed. I’ve not yet purchased the newest book, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, but luckily I’d left behind my favorite one, Me Talk Pretty One Day, for Robert to read. So I snagged it and brought it with me, throwing caution to the wind for the whole “IF YOU BRING YOUR OWN BOOK YOU MUST HAVE A RECEIPT TO PROVE IT’S YOURS” rule.

Though the book signing was technically scheduled for after the reading, David Sedaris is awesome and showed up early to get a jump start. So I jumped in line and eagerly awaited my turn to get my book signed. I felt it especially appropriate that the book I was having signed was the first book I’d read by him. While in line, a silver-haired woman in black pants and a black-and-white designer top walked up and down the line handing out sticky notes. “Open your books to the title page and fold the dust jacket over to make it easy for Mr. Sedaris to find the page to sign.” Then she’d take names and slap the stickies into the books. When she got to me, she stopped.

Silver-Haired Woman: What’s this one?
Phil: Me Talk Pretty One Day.
SHW: I’ve never read it.
Phil: What do you mean you’ve never read it?
SHW: I don’t know it.
Phil: But you work for the guy. Surely you jest.

But she didn’t jest. So I did the only thing I could do: I discredited her completely. Anything she said to me from that moment on was like it had never been spoken at all. And when I saw her later, sitting on the floor just behind David, I imagined I could see right through her and read the titles of the books against which she was leaning on the shelves.

I’ve not had many brushes with fame. Though I recently met some pretty well-known stand-up comics, I consider it a tad different because I had no idea who they were beforehand. David Sedaris is a writer I’ve long enjoyed reading. Hence, I was thrilled at the prospect of getting to say hello and have a book signed, and just generally be in the presence of such awesomeness for a while.

While waiting in line, I ended up chatting amicably with a very fun group of people in front of me. I say “very fun” because that’s the only way to describe conversation with complete strangers that consists of colostomy bags, prostitutes, and illegal valet parking.

As I got closer to the table to get books signed, I could overhear bits and pieces of conversation between fans and David Sedaris. The writer had fun little quips and banter with everyone, it seemed. He’d ask questions like “Oooh, what’s that you’re drinking there?” or “What kind of sunglasses do you own?”, and then he’d sign the book, shake the hand, and greet the next person in line. I wasn’t having anything to drink and I was wearing a green polo shirt, so I presented no obvious conversation starters. Here’s how it went:

David Sedaris: So, are you with this gang?
Phil: I am now. They adopted me as their new friend.
Group of new friends: He’s ours now, yeah.
David Sedaris: Oh. Okay, uh, well, what do you do?
Phil: You’ll either love this or hate this, but I’m studying to be a speech pathologist.
David Sedaris: Okay.
Phil: I’ll be the gayest speech pathologist ever.
David Sedaris: Well good. The world could really benefit from a homosexual speech pathologist.
Phil: I thought so too.

And then he signed my book and sent me on my way. Mine says “To Phil,” then has a stamp that reads “AKYPO” in red, and then he signed his signature. Looking at it now, his signature looks like an O with a handlebar mustache for his first name, and a fucked up Greek Epsilon followed by a vertical line and a strange cursive “m” for his last name. It’s awesome. I asked him what the AKYPO was about, and he explained that it means “invalid” in Latin or some other dead language. Cool.

At 7 or so, David took to the podium and read a couple of stories from his new book. Then he read parts of his diary that he’d brought along to share, which was the real icing on the cake. And he ended with a brief question-answer session. Several of the questions asked were the same questions that had been used for an interview for a local publication, The Weekly Alibi. Original.

Though I’d gotten my book signed, Robert didn’t yet have a book to be signed, and we weren’t exactly keen to jump in line behind the mass of people who suddenly appeared in line and starting arguing about whose numbered ticket got to go first. So when David said that any grown men who were 5′6″ or shorter could skip right to the front of the line, we had our ticket in. And it wasn’t on account of my 6′1″ frame.

To David Sedaris: thank you for being real, and for being an inspiration.

I’ve been back in Albuquerque for one day so far. It’s amazing to be home, and I’ve found I’ve missed a lot more of the city than even I had realized. For instance, I love the way clouds form here. And it’s amazing how blue the sky is. That’s probably in part because I’m a mile closer to the sun than I am in LA, and partly because LA has SMOG. Not to mention twice as many cars as people.

Staying up ridiculously late Tuesday night (until almost 3:30), and then getting up at 4:45, was proven 200% worth it when I walked through the door past security and saw my partner standing there awaiting my arrival. I got stuck walking behind a woman who couldn’t seem to decide if she should actually risk exiting the area. She showed her indecision by shuffling constantly from left to right, thus making it impossible for me, bogged down with a bag slung across one shoulder and a suitcase dragging along behind me, to deftly football tackle her and leap into Robert’s arms like a crazed cheerleader.

It’s been great to run all over town. I’ve found it especially wonderful to know how to get around without once getting lost in the process. Sure I’m not driving, but I know this place like the back of my hand. (Funny side note: the first time I ever used the ‘back of my hand’ simile… I was probably 13 or 14, and thought I was being savvy beyond belief. Only since I said “I know [insert smart noun here] like the back of my HEAD,” I proved to the world that I didn’t know shit.)

What’s one of the best things to do when you go home? If you answered “Go to the dentist!”, you lose. That doesn’t mean I didn’t go. Because I did. No, it wasn’t wonderful. My teeth are white and shiny now, but in order to get there I had to lay back in that dentist chair for a full hour. It probably wouldn’t have taken quite so long if I hadn’t been on the verge of falling asleep the whole time. That bright white light was shining in my eyes, so I was like, “Fuck this, I’m closing my eyes.” Only I’m still kinda tired from all the lost sleep the other night, which means my hygienist had to tell me “Turn your head this way” and “Open your mouth wider” 3 or 4 times a minute. I don’t remember, exactly, but I think most of my replies consisted of me either grunting or drooling.

Now, if you answered “Go see Sex and the City with your honey,” please step away from the computer, stand up, and jump up and down and whoop a few times. Sure we were a week late, but it was well worth the wait. I wasn’t sure how well the show would look in the form of a movie, but I was pleasantly surprised. It stood on its own well enough that someone completely unfamiliar with the show would be able to follow the movie. If you’re a faithful fan and have seen every episode of the show, there’s lots of gritty inside story and far and away enough new juicy gossip to complement the old. And if you’re a casual viewer like me, you probably would have been like, “HOLY SHIT, I REMEMBER THAT EPISODE WHERE CHARLOTTE MET THAT GUY AND WAS HATING THAT SHE LOVED HAVING SEX WITH HIM BECAUSE SHE AT FIRST FOUND HIM SO UGLY.” And you’ll think it in all capital letters and bad grammar, just like me.

Here’s a few things I found myself thinking about during the movie for no reason whatsoever.

1. Yay for tasteful use of nudity! One word: sushi.
2. You know that mole Carrie Bradshaw brandishes on her chin? I don’t follow Sarah Jessica Parker enough to know if that’s real or a character trait for the part, but I’m fairly certain that at one point during the movie it was on the left side of her face, while the rest of the time it was on the right side.
3. What on earth is going on with Chris Noth (a.k.a. “Mr. Big”)’s chest hair? That one patch of hair in the middle of his chest seems strangely out of place. Just saying.

If you haven’t seen the movie yet, hurry up and go see it. Whether or not you like it, or find it worthwhile cinema, it’s well worth seeing because it offers something for everyone. It’s smart and funny and catty and gossipy and emotional. Just don’t buy a 75-ounce soda to share with your partner. Because you’re not going to want to get up for one moment for fear of missing some really juicy gossip, and you’ll end up doing like I did, clenching your legs together and then having to bunny hop your way to the bathroom once the movie is over, all the while fearing that your bladder will suddenly explode.

In about four-and-a-half hours’ time, I’ll be heading back to Albuquerque. It’s only taken me the better part of two days, but I I’m finally ready. As with most trips I take, I didn’t realize until about 10 o’clock this evening just how much shit I had still to do to prepare myself.

In no particular order, here’s a few signs you know I’m traveling:

• I didn’t start packing my clothes until around 10:30. It took me about 20 minutes to get it all done, only to realize that damn, my suitcase is tiny.

• I organized my room, which included picking up miscellaneous items from the shelves and floor and returning them to their proper place. This also included cleaning my dusk.

• It’s about 3am and I can’t fall asleep. No doubt I’ll fall asleep shortly and then when I have to get up at 4:45 it’s going to be a bitch to rub the sleep out of my eyes. No doubt I’ll be sleeping on the plane.

I’m all set to go now, though, and have only to pack the last bits of stuff once I get up in the morning. While I had intended to clean the bathroom at least a little bit, between packing, organizing, meeting friends for dinner, and shopping and acquiring renters insurance, I just didn’t find the time. I suppose I should feel guilty, but considering that I got dragged into my roommate’s recent bout of domestic violence, I pretty much figure any issue she takes with me is instantly absolved, whether she likes it or not. And boy howdy, does it feel good.

Albuquerque, here I come.