Here's the deal: I also don't like to kill them. I'm not sure why. I just feel bad about wrapping the little guys in toilet paper and flushing them to a swirling death down the toilet. It just seems like bad karma. It just seems so cruel. The other problem: they keep popping up through the window, making webs, and arriving uninvited in my shower.

"Maybe you're a Buddhist. Buddhists don't like killing living things," my friend Mark jokes with me while we're sharing a soft pretzel at a street fair. I'm telling him about my spider predicament while walking through the throngs of fall-dressed patrons.

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Nate asks me this a few nights ago while we're watching a news clip of anti-gay marriage after running out of tivo-ed episodes of the shows we're addicted to.

"Yes."

I instantly respond not peeling my eyes off the television screen where a powder-white- haired man spits and fusses about gay people ruining what marriage is and what marriage does and blah... blah... blah. I've been seeing so much of this lately. I mean, everyone has. But something about it doesn't just get me upset it makes me feel incredibly fortunate. My mom and I had this conversation the other day (We have these conversations like how friends have conversations. See, that was something no one ever told me. Your parents sort of become your friends as you get older. They aren't the ones that remind you how much you cost them to raise or how often you don't make it home. They become really great and have conversations that remind you that getting older(aside from the wrinkles and falling apart thing) is pretty awesome.) where she told me that I've always been the one that's taken the long way. "But that's what makes you interesting. That's what makes you exciting. That's what makes me proud of you."

She not so much talking about the long road of getting what, you know, anyone deserves(ahem, cough...rights). She talking about the stories and the experiences that have taught me all the stuff that some people never learn... or, in the future, some people may never understand.

Maybe that's why I'm a writer. A storyteller. A teacher. A gay man.

I'm living in one of the biggest historical movements, currently, in my lifetime. There are people trying to change the constitution. There are people dedicating their lives to allow me to marry another man. There are people doing everything possible so that one day I can experience that moment my kid to comes up to me and says: Dad, why was it such a big deal to for you to marry Dad?

I'll explain to my kid (while he or she plays on a hover-craft) the story of the how some people chose to take a really long road in life and on October 11th, 2009 in Washington D.C.

Equality Across America

I panic because I don't know how to drive stick shift in her car that I think is a Lexus. I'm pretty sure it was a Lexus. I mean, I didn't have a chance to look because the Indian woman was still yelling at me from her front door. Then the panic started setting in. "I don't know where I am!" I started yelping while making a right turn. "I don't know what city I'm in!" I started shaking. The wheel is sort of jiggling. One turn looked like a street in Chicago. Another turn looked like I was in my grandma's neck of the woods. I looked at my jeans. "I love these jeans!" I kept saying. "Why can't I wear jeans to a Indian dinner party!" I kept stuttering. "I hate showing up to a party under-dressed!" I said trying to look for the nearest mall. "I hate the mall" I remember saying when I realized that's where I had to go to get new pants. " I hate shopping for pants!" I said crying.

Nate shakes me awake.

"What's wrong! You were having a nightmare!" He yelps in the dark. "Are you OK?" He asks rubbing my arm.

"It was the worse! An Indian woman told me she didn't like my jeans and I had to find a pair at the mall!"

Nate sighs then kisses me on my head falling back to sleep. No questions asked.

LISTEN HERE!

- Buzzer goes on/off continually. I answer. No response. I go downstairs. No one there.

- Three hours later toilet starts flushing on its own.

- Two hours later bedroom light turns on and off on its own.

So I scan the room and he's right. There are groups of girls sharing a big bag of popcorn and there are guys with girls and husbands with wives, but no guys sitting right next to guys. It's a scenario I never really get used to. I mean, I'm not much of a "hood" guy. With that I mean "gay neighborhood". Chicago is all super great with it's 'Gay'borhood. You can go to bars to feel safe and eat at restaurants without feeling like your being ogled by others. But there's a whole big city out there and I'm not going to restrain to a neighborhood just because it's 'friendly'. Some people do this. Not me.

For whatever reason I start to get hyper nervous about being the only gay couple in the room. I'm not usually like this, you know? But when it kicks in, it really kicks in. I start getting all high-horse-like. I start getting all political. I start preaching in my head. I get on my imaginary soapbox (a tall one because I'm short): "I just want to go places without thinking someone's going to say something!" I pretend to scream. "I don't even want to think twice this stuff anymore!" I imagine yelping. "I! Just! Want ! To! Feel! Safe! With! THE! GUY! I! LOVE!"

Then, without speaking, Nate takes my hand and holds it.

12pm- Beyonce, "Single Ladies"

12:30- Beyonce, "Single Ladies"

4:15- Beyonce, "Single Ladies"

The sun-filled apartment smells of cardboard boxes as I watch the movers haul out Jeff and his wife's packed goods.

"Moving is a pain in the ass. " Jeff says to himself as he seals the top of a large box with tape. The loud screech of tape coming off the roll mixes with footsteps of the movers, the nervous pacing of paws from his pets, and the sound of cars passing on the busy street in front.

"It feels like you just did it." I say while chipping at my fingernails. It's what I do when I'm nervous and don't want to face the reality of something.

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