Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would have to become so butch in order to live in this new place. I suppose that's just part of the package deal that comes with moving into a place that was built over 50 years ago. Basically, if this was 2003 instead of 2008, they would have added me as the sixth guy on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I would have been the guy telling the straight guys how little they actually knew about all their favorite macho hobbies. For instance, I could help them out with simple maintenance things around the house. Like, say, any problems they have with a refrigerator. A refrigerator that's leaking, in fact. And I'd be like, "Uh, Girlfriend, it's simple, honey. There's this tray, see, and it sits underneath the refrigerator and catches all the water. And normally, it catches the water, and eventually the water evaporates, so it's really no big deal, nothing to worry about. Unless it leaks, honey, and then you've got some problems." And when the guy would be totally flabbergasted by my wealth of straight knowledge (not to mention enthralled by how savvy and hip I am), I would brush it off. "Eh, it's something I learned from a couple of my girlfriends."

And I'd be able to identify different scents in the air that are natural to a home. "Oooh, you have an older gas stove. Well, that means that there will always be a flow of gas to it, especially since there's no electric spark to light the burner. Your stove doesn't use any electricity." And then I'd go to town telling him about how much that saves electricity, especially considering the place is so old that there's only four circuits throughout, two of which are in the kitchen. And you don't want to share an outlet with that refrigerator of yours, unless of course you'd rather constantly blow out your circuits.

And, scene.