How, but more importantly, why?

So, just how does a same-sex couple from San Francisco, America’s “Sanctuary City” in so many ways, end up here in the county that chose George Bush over John Kerry in 2004 by 59% to 40%? Here’s how: my partner of nearly fifteen years, Fred, was transferred from his position in San Francisco with a large boutique hotel company (California’s largest) this past April. It's no secret to anyone who knows him that he's a Southern Californian at heart, even though he's a native Long Islander and has lived in D.C., Atlanta, Orange County, Dallas, San Francisco and now, Orange County again.

I entered his life in February of 1994 at the tail end of his first O.C. habitation. I had lived in Southern California for several years, in L.A., but by the early ‘90s was ready for a change and after a few weekend trips to San Francisco, I knew it’s where I wanted to be. After living there for a little more than a year, I met Fred during one of his business trips there, and, at risk of perpetuating a cliché, our chance meeting took place at a gym. After finally getting Fred to talk to me on the street outside of the gym as we both departed, we chatted on the corner of Grove and Hayes Streets for a while. He then invited me to join him as he was on his way to have dinner with a former co-worker at the venerable Zuni Café. As it turned out, his friend and I shared a mutual acquaintance so we vaguely knew one another. During dinner, Fred’s friend spoke at length about someone in Southern California that he thought would be a perfect match for Fred. As he extolled his virtues, Fred would embarrassingly look across the table at me. Ultimately, it was explained that we’d just met and that I was essentially crashing their dinner plans. Awkward to say the least, but the rest, is history.

We spent the rest of the year flying up and down the coast alternately to see one another, but by Thanksgiving of that year, Fred got the news that he was to be transferred to Dallas at the first of the New Year. He asked me to go with him and in gay terms, it was the moment our relationship became official. We arrived in Dallas on a cold, rainy January Saturday in 1995 and by Monday we were plotting our return back west. Intentions aside, we ended up spending three years in the Big D before being transferred on to Austin. Our California homecoming finally came when Fred returned in the spring of 1999 to accept a position with his current employer. I followed at the end of that same year as I couldn’t go back with him right away. I was then enrolled at the University of Texas and was preparing for my December graduation. Within two days of my commencement I was on the road and on my way out of Texas for good, completing the drive to San Francisco in a brisk twenty hours. The Lone Star State insisted on giving me a going away gift during my journey as I approached the New Mexico border: a speeding ticket just about an hour outside of El Paso. I guess it was their way of saying, “The feeling’s mutual.”

I always figured that if and when we were able to go back west and knowing Fred’s preference for Southern California, that’s where we would wind up. His pickle with where I lived when we first met was the weather and he’ll never forget (or stop mentioning) that July 4th in the city when he needed his winter coat. I've personally always preferred the Bay Area to L.A., but since any relocation back would likely be the result of Fred's work, it was only fitting that we go wherever his career took us. In other words, the breadwinner gets to pick. Much to my surprise and welcome, the position was in San Francisco. So, if you're still with me that brings us full circle to where we are now: Newport Beach, or as I've long heard it referred to: New-Porsche Beach. Truer words were never spoken and we’re here because his company is in the midst of a major expansion beyond the Bay Area, primarily in Los Angeles and Orange Counties and for me to complain would be selfish. After nearly nine years in my element, it’s Fred’s turn.

Next week: Orange County gym etiquette? Forget-iquette.