What?

My potential leap into owning my own home continues apace. The Boy and I are meeting the realtor at the house this evening to make an offer, and we'll see what happens. I'm excited, but very nervous, too. I mean, I've never owned a house All By Myself. It's daunting to think about dealing with property and repairs and improvements without a partner to share the stress with. What if I can't do it? What if I'm not up to the challenge, and I end up with a yard with no grass, weeds growing through cracks in the driveway and sidewalks, holes in the roof, clogged pipes, termites, rats, cat hair all over everything, stacks of unpaid bills, empty cupboards, and overflowing litter boxes?

Oy. Breathe. Okay. It may not even happen. The last time I made an offer on a house, the guy who did my home inspection all but begged me not to buy the place, as it was going to fall down. Maybe there will be a similar hitch this time--there are lots of things that can go wrong between making an offer and actually closing on a house. But if it does happen to work out, and I can indeed handle all of the hazards of owning my own place All By Myself, the benefits will be great. I may close in time to get the tax credit. The mortgage payment will be significantly less than what I pay in rent. I will be able to retire--or at least potentially switch to part-time work once The Boy gets through college. And I will have something to leave The Boy when I die.

All good things. So please cross your fingers for me.

Some things seem to be going my way. I just spent an hour outside in this lovely weather

knitting this kick-ass hat for The Boy

Talk about peace and happiness!

And I'm reading a pretty cute book, At Least in the City Someone Would Hear Me Scream: Misadventures in Search of the Simple Life, a memoir by a guy who moved with his boyfriend to rural Michigan, in hopes of creating their own version of Walden and finding, well, peace and happiness, like I mentioned above. It gets a little twee at times, but I like the writer's voice, and he's achingly sincere, which goes a long way. He's funny too, and there are many things to laugh aloud over. The only thing that troubles me, though, is that the writer comes off as a little . . . "Just Jack," and it makes me worry that he's trying to be the kind of gay fella straight people like.

Remember him from Will & Grace? He was funny, of course, and I liked him well enough--at least from what I saw of the first season or two that I watched of the show, but . . . he seemed pretty contrived, in a way that would make exuberantly gay men seem like nonthreatening pets that straight people could show off to their friends.

And gay people--even my ultra-flaming friend who collects Barbies and paid me to sew him a Size 24 bridal gown "with velvet, and satin, and yards and yards of tulle" one Halloween aren't as Sanitized for Straights' Protection like Just Jack. You know?

Now maybe Wade Rouse, the author, really is just like he portrays himself in the book. And if he is, that's obviously fine--good for him. But if he's altering himself to make him seem more appealing to straight folks (in exactly the opposite way, mind you, that he tried to make himself appealing to straights in high school by hanging posters of Farrah Fawcett on his wall and trying out for the football team), then . . . it's kind of sad.

It's a fun and funny book, though, worthwhile and tender. I'm going to request Rouse's other books to see if I get a better sense of who he really is.