"This building is full of miserable old people."

So we have finally moved to Kensington -- it only took a week. But hey, it takes a while for two women to move interstate households into one apartment, especially since the only help we had was someone that Ms. K knew in Pennsylvania. It was hard going through one of the most serious transitions of my life with very little support. There are scratches on my arms and fingers, bruises on my thighs, muscles that ache, emotions that are fragile. But we did it. Finally.

Like any good lesbians, Ms. K and I have been spending a lot of time at the local home improvement chain store. We're seriously worried about the state of the wiring in the apartment and Ms. K is confident that she can replace the outlets with something safer. I defer to her, especially since I don't want to die in an electrical fire. And our concerns were only deepened when one of the outlets started sparking and destroyed a table lamp. (Mental note to self -- check to see if the smoke detector works, update insurance policy, and call 311 to narc on the landlord.)

Apart from that, we're slowly getting settled and rooting through all the extra stuff we have. There's also a cultural adjustment since the building and the neighborhood is mostly Orthodox Jewish and Russian -- old Soviet types who have probably only smiled three times in their lives and shrunken widows with their heads covered with babushkas. I'm already making friends with the neighbors.

The other morning when I went to go move the car at 8 am, I tried to park in one space before abandoning it for something easier to pull into. As I got out of the car, still bleary eyed from a lack of sleep, a heard someone shouting at me. "Miss! Miss!" an old Russian man barked from his second floor terrace as he pointed to the space I had previously abandoned. "Your parking . . . is no good!" And then put his fist repeatedly into his palm. "BANG, BANG, BANG."

The man seemed to think that I had been banging my bumper into his. First of all, I didn't bang my bumper into his whilst parking. And second, if there was any bumping it was totally within the legal limits of fair urban driving. It was a love tap at best.

I put a hand to my ear and made the international sign of No comprende, Señor and started to walk off. He made a sharp hand gesture and I was afraid that he was going to come downstairs and confront me, but he didn't. Part of me wished he had because I needed to blow off some steam.

Ah, good times.