Pleas

Queens Trees, Winter 2019 

Gifts to Me and Gale, My Best Friend because She Fucking Rocks. Well, and I do, too.

Gift for my Dad, because, well, he helped me build my life.

Rob's Christmas Gifts (because he fucking rocks.)

KB's kitchen at 69th Avenue and Queens Blvd in Forest Hills / it rocks

Merry Christmas!

5:45 in the morning and I'm awake. Like a kid. Only, I'm far from being a kid.

I just splattered a clunky set of photos but the only reason is because I'm in a clunky time of my life. That said, thus commences this Christmas post.

December 17th (8:34 AM) was Rob's 45th birthday. I was elated, as I am when it comes to birthdays, and I began the celebration by texting him at precisely 8:34 AM. 

He had celebrated with his friends and family leading to *the day* so I was the proud owner of *the day.* No one in this universe who knows me needs me to further expand / expound upon the fact that me owning the day was significant. Even Rob, wow...7 months into this situation...(I just gasped and counted the months on my fingers...my knees are weak) knows how spending his day with him was monumental. 

So we met for coffee in Chelsea. 

Small place, Gotham Coffee Roasters. I got there first and I was placing my order for an iced coffee and requested oat milk and the cute butch lesbian barista, maybe like...mid-twenties, was like, I am so sorry, we are out of oat milk, and I screeched, You are out of oat milk? (then smiled to show I was playing.) I heard in my ear, Is there anything good here? And it was Rob, the hero of my life, right behind me.

He ordered a cortado and we sat at a cute tiny table and made eyes at each other. Because, that's what lovers do.

Then we took the F train to South Slope. We went for Thai at Jintana Thai Farmhouse, went to his apartment, and drank wine and bourbon and ate cheese and olives and listened to Morrissey and kissed and other stuff. 

We talked at length. A lot of words came out of our mouths that were pertinent to us moving on together.

Big deal: I packed an overnight bag. My first night there I did not and had to do what I lovingly have dubbed the "Uber ride of shame" (back to Queens to shower and change.)

Thing is, I am in love. I never have been. So this is foreign territory and I'm lost in the desert. 

Stupid (and not stupid) shit:

I walk up to his 4th floor apartment and I see his shoes on his shoe rack right outside of his apartment: I swoon. Shoes. KB, they're shoes.

He gives me water before bed. What a gentleman. 

His shower temperature sucks. (I'll learn it, Rob.)

Rob,

I love your cats. I hope we get to keep Jenny, she is sweet.

Now - I need you.