You’d think that since I got my OB/GYN license and will start my practice next month I would be in a good mood. And I was in a good mood for most of yesterday. Pretty much happy, texting with friends and generally living in the moment.

I sat on the front steps, smoking a cigar and reading Uncut magazine with Kate Bush on the cover. Saw Rob La Rosa walking by and chatted with him. Talked to Julio on the phone before I came upstairs to watch some comedy on NBC.

Community was good, but not as good as the Paintball episode. Parks and Recreation was OK, merely OK. The Office was good, mainly because of Kathy Bates. That was also when Bill came home. Sitting on the couch he remarked how that woman reminded him of Kathy Bates.

Then came 30 Rock which was pretty funny, perhaps the best of the four. Had the classic line, ‘I’m suing you, I’m suing Vagisil and I’m suing this baby.’.

I saw that there was a documentary on Tito Puente at 10:00 so I changed the channel so Bill would enjoy that. He did. It was his father’s era, and apparently his father grew up on the same street as Cuban Pete who it was said was the greatest dancer back then.

Bill went to bed after that, I stayed up and watched whatever was on. A little before 1:00 I decided to go to bed after taking a melatonin.

It was quite warm and with my thick hair, (hair, not head) it wasn’t easy to fall asleep. Bill was feeling cuddly last night for the first time in a while and after a half hour I got back out of bed, argued with some Libertarian online and took another melatonin.

When I finally did fall asleep it wasn’t restful. In fact I had some awfully violent dreams. Too gruesome to write about, I’d rather forget them.

In the morning, as he left for work, Bill was a prince, kissing me goodbye and telling me how happy he was that I found a job as an OB/GYN.

Eventually I got out of bed and started my day, but a melancholia settled in and I found myself terribly depressed.

I decided to head into the city and check out some art, specifically the ‘Remember the Upstairs Lounge’ at the No Longer Empty art space on 447 w 16th street, next to the Highline Ballroom where Bill, Juan and myself had that ‘ecstatic’ night last summer. Or rather Juan and I had the ecstatic night and Bill chaperoned.

Remember the Upstairs Lounge was based on a fire at a second floor gay bar in New Orleans in 1973. 37 people died in the fire. Gasoline was in the air, leaving people to think it was arson but the New Orleans Police didn’t care enough to pursue any detective work and the case went cold.

The exhibition was a recreation of the Upstairs Lounge, photographs of some of the patrons and some 1973 beefcake photos of Burt Reynolds and Mark Spitz.

Since it was 1973 and gay liberation hadn’t really caught on besides NY, San Francisco and Los Angeles, no identification was found on the bodies since the victims were more than likely closeted.

Another sad fact was that the Catholic diocese absolutely would not allow any church services for the victims. Scumbag motherfuckers they were and still are. Actually that’s not right, they’re not motherfuckers, they’re child fuckers.

The Reverend Troy Perry of Bill’s former church, the Metropolitan Community Church stepped up and performed whatever religious requirements the community need. Bill and I met Troy Perry a few years ago.

Nice guy, has to travel with bodyguards since an out gay man ministering to the LGBT community might as well have a target on his back, even though I think he might be retired now.

I definitely did the right thing, heading into the city and seeing some awesome (in the truest sense of the word) art.

It was a beautiful day and not too many people around. And I’m feeling a lot better.

Fortune (cookies) on the go