So, J has a new job lined up, one that requires a 600ish mile move to Chicago, which is fine for me as I finish my thesis and look for a better paid gig than “stay at home doggy daddy” and “unemployed masters student”.
On a recent trip up there we found an apartment that we really like: cute, renovated (read: fresh insulation and IKEA kitchen), and well within our agreed price range. The application process is thorough, as I would assume most are in cities larger than OKC, and requires a part to be signed off on by the employer. Here is where my frustration comes in.
J’s brother is getting married in Hawaii this week, so J is out of town with little access to communication to the mainland (at least, little cheap communication). And we have still yet to hear back from the new employer. I understand, they’re busy, we’re busy, everyone’s busy. Not placing blame on them. But, part of this equation would be slightly different, I believe, if I were his “girlfriend/wife” rather than his boyfriend/non-legally-recognized-“partner”. (For the record: I hate the term “partner”. It just feels gross coming of the tongue.”
If I were “Mrs. J”, I could call New Employer and explain the situation and probably get the info that we need to secure our apartment much easier than I can as “J’s boyfriend/’roommate'”. Yes, I realize this is Illinois we’re talking about, the land of newly minted domestic partnership laws. Yay! Hooray! We’re not domestically partnered. Legally in Illinois, I have no more access to employment hooha for J than our dog. Actually, she may even have a bit more than I do at the moment.
So for now I sit with an apartment application that is 99% completed with my hands tied by our nation’s inability to grant equal rights for all of its citizens.
That said: Yay moving!
Antigravity Cobbler 