"Spread the love vibration."

As today marks the last day of January, let's look back on the progress of Operation Find The Lesbians.

Lesbians Found: >15
First Dates: 5
Second Dates: 0
Lesbian Bars Visited: 2
Alcohol Units Consumed: >40 (conservative estimate)

Hmmmmm. Not too bad after all, though I should probably consider penciling a few nights on the wagon after trying to guesstimate the number of alcoholic beverages consumed during January. And I'm disappointed that there weren't any second dates and I probably have a few more weeks of online dating stamina left in me before tedium levels reach a breaking point. Actually it's not the tedium but rather the constant going out that gets tiring. Lordy, January was anything but boring. My new workweek bedtime is 12:30 am.

Today marks the first time since last Wednesday that I haven't had something going on at night. I'm absolutely knackered. Last night I went and saw Josh Rouse at Joe's Pub. I was in heaven because I managed to snag a table right by the stage and thus I was all of three feet from Josh. Holly was my concert companion and props to her for getting Josh to sign my ticket. I felt like such a nerd. [Good review of the show I found online and with pictures!]

"I wanna be Kate"

What's in a name? I've known Mr. Bad Apologies since the second grade when we were both in the Plains Indian project group at Belmont Elementary. Since I've had the privilege to know Mr. BA for 20 years, I call him by his first name -- the same name he had way back in 1986 when we boarded his parent's VW van to the public library, the same name he had when he borrowed my Madonna tape on a Wyoming trip in 8th grade. (That should have been my first clue that he was secretly one of The Gays.)

Once Mr. BA got to college, he soon adopted a new version of his name -- a name that everyone calls him save for his high school friends. When I was out with Mr. BA and one of his college friends the weekend before last, he seemed keen for me to start calling him by his v 2.0 name. I find this hard since I've been calling him by his first name for 20 YEARS. (I can't believe that I've known anyone for that long save my parents.)

My point is that I'm having a bit of an identity crisis. Apropos of nothing, I starting signing emails as Rouge instead of Rougie (not literally, but you get the idea). Even though there are people that call me Rouge already -- my family and my roommate -- this is the first time that I've been calling myself that.

What does this sudden missing letter i mean?

"The good times are killing me."

For those who want to play armchair psychoanalyst:

Tuesday night I dreamt that I was getting married. At first I was wearing a paper gown like you do, but then opted for a real dress -- some late Victorian number with poofy sleeves and a high collar that I would not have chosen in real life. And when it was almost time for the ceremony, I went to the church ladies room to touch up. The bathroom was filled with women, some of which I knew. Holly was there in a wedding gown and telling me something that I can't remember, but it kind of annoyed me. Beth was also there wearing a tux suit jacket and bow tie with jeans and it suddenly dawned on me that I was supposed to marry Beth . . . which is odd because she's straight and a friend of mine. I remembered thinking that there had been a terrible mixup and Beth didn't have to take one for the team just because I've been single forever.

And then I woke up about the time that I realized that the stick of concealer was in fact "mood changing" lipstick and to my horror I had streaks of black on my face.

(Note to Beth: Don't freak out that I was going to marry you.)

"What does not kill us makes a thong."

Fear not, gentle readers. Though I have been slack with my updates, it has not been because I've fallen down a deep crevasse. Rather Operation Find The Lesbians has gone into full swing and, well, I've been finding the lesbians.

Last night I had a date with a lovely Irish woman who looked like the lesbian version of Alan Cumming. Even though there was a little too much flat-top going on, I really enjoyed my time and was out at the bar till 1 am on a school night talking about Irish politics, Mondrian, and Italian opera. I was even up when Mr. Bad Apologies texted me at 1:30 am. I expect full blog disclosure of your shenanigans, mister!

Which brings me to this: what the hell did people do before coffee???? Or rather what did Europeans do before the tea and coffee trade? My ancestors must have been sleepy because they were at the pub too long the night before. Actually I think the real answer is that they woke up and started drinking again. Ooof.

Oh and speaking of the Irish, I booked my ticket to London and I am almost certain that I am going to take a (hopefully) cheap detour to either Dublin or Cork. Hooray!

"Heaven, I'm in heaven."

It's Monday morning, raining, cold, and I'm a little hungover, but it's nice to savor life's little joys:

- Listening to Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald while crossing the
Manhattan Bridge.
- Hot coffee that only costs 80 cents.
- The freshest muffin to go with said coffee.
- Seeing Claire (aka Lauren Ambrose) from Six Feet Under walking up 4th Avenue. Apparently she was on her way to karaoke.
- Spending a lazy Saturday with Mr. Bad Apologies.

I managed to persuade Mr. BA, up from DC for the weekend, to come to Prospect Heights for the Best Brunch Ever™. Then we proceeded to eat and drink our way through Saturday, which is probably why I am poorer and probably fatter. Maybe I shouldn't have had that muffin this morning.

In my previous entry I mentioned that I really enjoyed one of my dates last week and was not sure how long to wait before writing her again. You all in your infinite wisdom recommended that I write her straight away, which I did. And that's when I heard absolutely nothing back. Sigh.

Completely unrelated thought: If I had a minion, I would send them to the Soho post office to wait in the long ass line and get me a book of stamps. Stupid USPS and their postage increase. Stupid post office with its long lines. Why don't I have a minion??

"What if I don't? You gonna hit me with your Jesus stick?"

Blurgh. I've been bad with the updates lately and the only angle on my life lately that I seem to want to write about is PMS. Truth is I've been hit with some fierce PMS which makes me want to alternately use an untapped magic power that turns all my enemies into life size chocolate bars . . . or just be irrationally emotional. Remember Friday's cake incident?

Actually what I can write about is the fact that suddenly I have a real social life. Usually I rely on Holly and Jess to keep me entertained, but they have been flakes and thus On My List (just you wait for the rant on friends who get sucked into the Relationship Vortex). But hark! A recent slew of dates and my lesbian social group have picked up the slack and now I've been finding myself repeating, "Sorry, I can't do that night." I love being popular!

Now for my conundrum. I went out with a girl Monday that I liked and thought there was actual chemistry with (as opposed my usual dates). How long do I wait before I stick my neck out and email her to see if she wants to go out again?

(The title quote is from Lost, the bestest show ever next to Law & Order.)

"Hi! It would be desirable to get dating with you."

Operation Find The Lesbians: An Update

You'd think being sandwiched between 400 lesbians -- including two cast members of the L Word -- would be a good thing. Instead I could think of nothing more of going home. Yes, this was the most girl action I've gotten in a long time and my only opportunity thus far to say that I partied with celebrities, but going to Starlight on Sunday night afforded me one of those rare glimpses into hell.

Let's rewind a little bit.

Online dating is starting to pay off with real live dates. Tonight I have a date with Hannah and last night I met Carrie, former neuroscientist turned social worker, at Soda in Prospect Heights. I think it was more of a friend date, but we did go to Starlight afterwards to "look at hot girls." That's when I found myself in the East Village stuck in a club with about two or three hundred people above fire code. The place was so packed that it took 10 minutes to go five yards with people bottlenecking around the bar. "You look so bored," a drunk girl named Nicole said to me as I people watched. Great, I have my big chance to hang out with the lesbians and I can only managed "bored." Actually the look is called "sober."

Sorry, I just wasn't feeling the claustrophobic vibe -- though I did get to see both Katherine Moennig and Leisha Hailey from the L Word.

"Oh I hate it when they do that."

I never eat fast food, I hardly ever buy junk food, and I don't buy processed foods very often. (Don't worry, this won't be a holier than thou diatribe on why we should eat only fresh foods . . . which we should.) Occasionally the need for junk food strikes me and, well, I have my weaknesses.

So I was Whole Foods and the first thing I picked up was single serving chocolate cake parfait because sometimes a single girl needs cake and vodka on a Friday night. I couldn't wait to get home and be a total fatty and consume said cake in front of my television before spacing out for a few hours. And boy was I surprised to find NO CAKE in my bag when I got home.

Fucking bastards!

Meanwhile Jane is trying to have a conversation with me about the cable bill and I'm searching vainly through my groceries for the missing parfait.

Me: "Damnit!"

Jane: "What's wrong?"

Me: "They forgot to bag something!"

Jane: "Oh I hate it when they do that. What are you missing?"

Me: "Cake!" I exclaim in a wallowing tone not unlike that of a four-year-old.
"I wanted cake tonight!"

Then my cell phone rang. I rushed from the kitchen hoping it was Whole Foods apologizing for not bagging my cake and promising to rush over a replacement. No, it was my landlord telling me that someone was coming by on Sunday to appraise the apartment. Maybe they'll bring me cake.

"If you lose your job, I'll make out with you too."

Day Seven of Operation Find the Lesbians and my little foray into online dating has resulted in a couple of email conversations. We'll see if it results in actual dates too. And working the real life angle, yesterday was another meeting of the lesbian social group that I joined back before Christmas. Though I had to use three different subway trains to schlep out to the other side of Prospect Park, I eagerly awaited my chance to converse with real live lesbians.

And so I waited . . . and waited . . . and the only one other person to show up was Carmen, the organizer. The lesbians are proving more elusive than ever. That or they are definitely not in Windsor Terrace. More like hanging out in Vermont it seems.

Carmen and I ended up chatting for an hour, talking of goals for the group (if anyone shows up), and then about ex-girlfriends -- a common subject amongst lesbians. I then explained my recent history with Holly and my idea to write The Field Guide to Lesbian Dating -- kind of a spoof, but serious at the same time. Then I went on to say how email chemistry doesn't always equal physical chemistry. "That could be the title of one of your chapters!" she exclaimed. Hmmmmmm . . . Then Carmen tried to convince me to join a softball league. Errrr . . .

After the meeting, I convinced Carmen to walk all the way up the west side of Prospect Park -- two miles in all -- to Grand Army Plaza. I am now officially a walking BEAST. In other news, looks like I'll be going to London in March. You'd think I'd branch out a little and try other countries in Europe.

"Fortunately (or unfortunately?) there was no public nudity."

My brain was broken this weekend. I broke my brain while going to see Brokeback Mountain. In fact, I broke my back too because I was sitting in the second row and I had to contort my neck and eyes into a position so I could actually see the screen. Why was I in the second row when I arrived at 8 pm for an 8:15 movie? Because apparently there's this new fangled idea where the movie actually starts at the listed time. Wow, what a concept. Too bad I didn't get the memo.

That was Friday. The ensuing broken brain left me with a painful headache into Saturday. Yes there was ibuprofen and there was even some Law & Order watchin'. Did I mention I was obsessed? It's gotten to a point where I try to insert Detectives Briscoe and Green into murder mysteries. Law & Order meets Gosford Park? Now that's what I call entertainment.

I promise I left the house this weekend. My brain was no longer broken on Sunday, so I took advantage of the sunshine and mild weather to walk five miles around Park Slope (I checked my path against an online pedometer). I needed some exercise because I was a total fatty sloth on Saturday. And how did I follow up my five mile walk? Had a beer and watched some more Law & Order.

"Excuse me if I break my own heart tonight."

When we last left Ms. Post No Bills, she was thinking of sticking her head in
the oven . . .

Day One of Operation Find The Lesbians and I already feel like I'm up against a gargantuan task. Spent time perusing the online listings and I've come to the conclusion that besides being tedious, you really can't tell a whole lot from grainy pictures and seven word blurbs. I mean c'mon -- I'm seeing a lot of profiles and thinking, "Meh." Maybe things would be different person to person.

[bangs head on keyboard repeatedly]

Let's look at my options here:

Craigslist W4W: Pretty grim, truth be told. W4W is really just a place for bicurious and spelling challenged girls to demand certain sex acts. Oh and the place is notorious for men posing as women. That said, there are the occasional gems . . . though not for Dennise.

Fast Cupid Network: Used to be Spring Street Networks and syndicated out to the Onion, Village Voice, Nerve, and other publications. Used to be a good tool, but now they need to fire all their programmers. However, it was from this network that I had a date a few weeks ago. Just sent an email back to the date girl to touch base. The pessimist in me expects to hear nothing back.

Pink Sofa Network: Kind of new to this place. The cadre of lesbians don't look too scary. I will have to see if this site turns out to be a good resource in Operation Find The Lesbians.

Match: Disappointed with Match in the past. I feel that it's a site better suited or better utilized by the straights and all the bicurious 20-year-olds in New Jersey.

Executive Lesbian Dating: Wah? Do you have to be a CEO to use this service? I can't stop thinking about Eddie Izzard's routine about executive transvestites.

Real Life: Real life? What's that? Oh you mean lesbians actually exist in real life? Imagine the possibilities.

Incidentally, New York Magazine tells me not to give up hope.

"I think you've found a real groove."

Ugh. After writing the previous entry, I'm fighting the urge to self edit. My number one goal for 2006 is to get a girlfriend? I am officially pathetic. Maybe I'll aim low and stick with the foodie resolutions. Or stick my head in an oven.

"It's all fun and games till someone gets trichinosis."

Oh the Two-Thousand-Sex resolutions. Honestly, I never really have any hardcore goals with the start of each year because goals should be ongoing regardless of whether it's January. And, well, the resolutions people tend to set for themselves fall along predictable lines -- lose weight, spend less money, and do xyz with aplomb. There's nothing worse than big proclamations that fizzle out somewhere during the third week of January. That disdain aside, I'm going to set some resolutions. (No, J-Wo, I'm not going to quantify them.)

As sad as it is, my main resolution is to not be single. (I cringe admitting this.) Look, I'm tired of being conspicuously unattached during holidays. It's. Been. Three. Years. Folks. Seriously. Maybe that's my problem -- maybe I'm so focused on meeting someone that it won't happen. Or maybe I haven't been focused enough. The tarot cards stress patience and I say I've been far too patient.

So, my goal is to be a loose, amoral woman. In addition to that, I have foodie resolutions for 2006 -- cook more, try out more recipes in my dusty copy of Nigel Slater's Appetite, and splurge once on a high profile New York restaurant (Per Se? Le Bernardin?). Holly has similar ideas for 2006 -- she wants to learn how to cook. I'm going to do my part to reducate her.

I think dinner last night was the first salvo in her resolution. She had me over for Indian meatballs with yogurt -- a recipe she wanted to try out. There were some comedic moments when I had to correct some of her technique, but it's all about the baby steps. While eating dinner, I was reminded that getting over Holly needs to make one of my 2006 resolutions. Every time I think I've moved on, the feelings come creeping back. Damn damn damn. Also didn't help that she had a freudian slip and said "I love you" when I think she meant to say something completely different.

"Because nothing says 2006 like safety glasses."

Can't . . . stop . . . watching . . . Law & Order . . . marathon.

This all started because I was hungover yesterday (someone had to drink that bottle of champagne) and was stuck in front of the television. Damn you TNT and your Law & Order marathon. Now I can't stop watching and should be doing other things like working on J-Wo's stuff and finishing my father's project.

And this is how I've been spending the first couple days of 2006. Actually I really wanted . . .

[Pauses to watch Law & Order]

I really wanted to see Brokeback Mountain. Holly and I had loose plans to go see it, but apparently Holly has an immune system to rival J-Wo's and was not available. No gay cowboy sex for me. Boo hoo.

Oh and happy 2006 everyone!