"Have I told you lately that you're awesome? Really."

IT'S SPRING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The winter coat has been shed, I have my gold ballet flats on, and my new pink cotton H&M boheme shirt. Normally I'm not this giddy over a sudden uptick in warm weather, but this winter felt like it lasted forever. And since we're nearing the end of March, time to do my monthly briefing on Operation Find The Lesbians.

Lesbians identified for possible tackling: 3
Lesbians tackled: 1
Lesbians who just want to be friends: ≥ 1

[ January's Update ] [ February's Update, Sort of ]

Yeah so that's where it's at. Progress was made in March -- I must not forget that, even though I may dwell on the Anne issue. Where were my stats back in '05? In the crapper.

Maybe it's the flush of warm weather, but I have high hopes for April.

"We left them in charge with a dagger and a cocktail."

Updates, schmupdates

Let's see . . . life got really busy once I got back to the US, I got a cold, and I feel like I've been burning the candle at both ends. It's hard being the Grand Poobah of Gayness. Boo hoo.

So yeah, let's talk about Anne some more. Being in the UK gave me some good distance with the situation and the ability to start moving on . . . or at least that's what I thought. Of course once I got back to the US I couldn't wait to see her again and moped when she didn't call. And then when I did see her, my mind goes to the naughty place and all I want to do is get her naked in bed.

Oh emotional fortitude! Why have you abandoned me so soon?

Before the comments start flooding in saying I need to move on, I should say easier said than done. What would you do if you were a mushy girl who has feelings for a girl who also has feelings for you but doesn't want to start something? See, not so easy. Hang on . . . wasn't this the same deal with Holly?

Sadly I don't have any other irons in the fire so to speak. What I really should do is email Thwarted Third Date Girl. Yeah. Let's do that. Maybe she doesn't think I'm a chump after all.

"Yay!! It's Girlie Wednesday!"

Last night during Lesbian Club, I was given the title of Grand Poobah of Gayness. How much does that ROCK! Fuck being an art director, I want that on my business card . . . in flashing pink sparkles. Three months into Operation Find The Lesbians and I'm already a Grand Poobah. Can you tell I'm basking in the love and adoration of my Brooklyn lesbian empire?

Word.

"You're lovely! I can't believe you're a lezza."

On my British holiday, I . . .

(a) Got a flat tire on the M4

(b) Fell off a bus

(c) Nearly burst into tears

(d) Missed check in for my flight by 7 minutes

(e) All of the above

I originally wrote these words from a Heathrow bar, sipping on Leffe Blonde, and trying like hell to calm my nerves. Though I managed to not to burst into full crying hysterics -- the was some lip quivering -- the nice gray haired man at the British Airways customer service counter calmly switched my flight for the next one bound for JFK -- even when answering his questions threatened to send me blubbering.

The reason why I was late for my flight was because I was stuck on the Heathrow Express, which is a train service from Paddington to Heathrow. Despite it's name, there was nothing express about the run. Instead of a jaunty 15 minute ride, my journey was something more like 70 MINUTES. I could have walked faster.

Oh yes, I shall be demanding my £14.50 back.

Falling down and travel snafus aside, I had a great time in London, Bath, and Bristol. Saw some new friends and some old friends, drank a lot, and saw a lot of the west country along the M4 -- especially a town called Chiseldon where my friend's car got a flat tire.

So nice to be back in Brooklyn and sleeping in my own bed.

* * *

My Ode to St. Patrick's Day

Sometime shortly after the good people of British Airways switched on the cabin lights, waking me from my meager sleep, I slid open the window shade to blaring sunshine, ocean, and clouds. I spotted land in the east, the south western coast of Ireland quickly approaching. 39,0000 feet above is the closest I've ever gotten to my ancestral homeland, though the melting pot of America has long since dissolved me of any special claim to the island. After five generations, the only vestiges of Irishness are my fair skin, my height, and my last name -- yet there was something that pulled me from all that distance and the closing gap where ocean and land met.

And as clouds swallowed land, Ireland slipped away and the connection was broken.

"How did it go with Ms. Ambivalent?"

Thank you, Mick Jagger, for reminding me that I can't always get what I want. And thank you, Apples in Stereo, for reminding me that people come and go just like the rainbow. Can you tell that I've been listening to a lot of sad bastard music?

Uh, so I go to London tomorrow to see friends and cut a path of destruction along the M4. Hopefully I'll have computer access to update you all of my international Lesbian shenanigans. Actually I'm glad that I'm leaving NY so I can get some emotional distance between Anne and I. Yes, I want her in my life as a friend, but only if I can stop being a sad bastard.

[ Fast forward 1.5 hours -- mood shifts from sullen to pissy ]

Now I'm an angry bastard. Anne, you can't tell a girl that you think they're pretty and you want to kiss them etc and then pull back citing that I'm either (a) not the one, (b) not long term material, or (c) that we'll "end up killing each other." I respect your prescience, but wished you had had it back when you first confessed to wanting to kiss me. Gah! I'm still very fond of you, but this bullshit makes me so pissed off.

"Don't burn your booty bridges."

I'm back from the Land of Mopiness and doing much better. For those readers who didn't get the veiled obviousness of my previous post, Anne just wants to be friends and I'm okay with that. I've come to realize that Anne, if anything, was a good person to break my dry spell with. Sure, a relationship with her probably would have been a "disaster," but what I lament the most is my missed opportunity for more mind blowing sex.

I've also realized that the longest sexual relationship I've had is with my vibrator. This makes me sad. Therefore Operation Find The Lesbians must move forward.

More tackling!

"Can we just be friends?"

Filed at 7:27 a.m. ET

New York (AP) -- In a stunning blow for Operation Find The Lesbians, a spokeswoman for General Rouge announced that negotiations broke down with the camp known as Anne. The reversal came after last week's breakthrough in the three month OFTL offensive. A released statement reads by Anne reads, "If we stop now, we can still salvage this friendship."

No word on further talks, but the sources close to the general reveal that tackles on neighboring lesbians will continue despite this setback.

"Are you doing anything that night?"

I have a rather unique dilemma. Actually it's not a dilemma since I know what I need to do, but I still feel crappy about it. And it's unique because these things DO NOT EVER happen to me.

Remember Second Date Girl? Well I haven't heard a lot from her since the second date a few weeks ago. I guess the girl's been busy/uninterested and lord knows I've been pursuing other avenues. And then Second Date Girl emailed me last night. She mentioned wanting to do something on Friday -- a THIRD DATE. Argh! Now I'm going to have to tell her about The Other and that I'd like to be friends. See why I feel crappy? I'm too nice.

In other news, Anne has requested that I spend the entire day of Sunday in bed with her. I just might have to oblige.

"Was this gay man free sex, or is there a U-haul on order?"

Mr. Bad Apologies's recent spate of blog comments lends me to think that perhaps I should clear up some burning questions, especially this one: "If J-Wo is visiting you, when did all this mad lesbian sex happen?"

As some of you know, J-Wo has been visiting me since Saturday evening -- 5 pm to be exact. I only managed to leave Anne's bed because of two poorly timed phone calls from J-Wo alerting me that she was finally in Brooklyn and driving up Flatbush Avenue. Being the bad hostess that I am, I gave J-Wo directions to South Slope to pick me up so I wouldn't have to do the Walk Of Shame (thank God she managed to make it through Grand Army Plaza).

Are we all clear on the timeline here?

Fortunately and unfortunately I had Lesbian Club duties to attend to. J-Wo ordered chinese food once we got back to the house and I scrambled to clean up and wash my greasy sex hair in preparation for going out. J-Wo was such a trooper and didn't mind being dragged to Bar Sepia to meet my bourgeoning Lesbian empire. Later we went to First Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum of Art, only lasting a hour or so until my 3 hours of sleep struck me down.

So Mr. BA, this was not gay man free sex nor was a U-haul put on order. It's somewhere in between. Yes there was negotiating so to speak during my time spent in Anne's bed. Gay woman free sex is a rarity and I think we're just trying to see where this is going.

Then again, let's be honest here. Gay woman free sex sounds pretty fucking amazing right about now.

". . . sitting close to you was not close enough."

Tackle
Pronunciation: 'ta-k&l, naut often 'tA-
Function: verb
Etymology: Middle English takel; akin to Middle Dutch takel ship's rigging

1 : to seize, take hold of, or grapple with especially with the intention of stopping or subduing
2 : to seize and throw down or stop (an opposing player with the ball) in football
3 : to seize or grab a prospective lesbian mate before she has had too much time to over analyze why making out or having sex would be a Very Bad Thing.

So, when we last left our heroine, she had spent the better part of last week moping around, eating Ben & Jerry's, and trying to sort through her feelings for Anne. Then Friday came and she perked up, ready to tackle The Lesbians. She joined Anne and her friend at Lychee Bar for cheap birthday food and drinks and then bowling. Things were going well for our heroine and in order to tell the story faster (ahem, J-Wo), I'm going to list the following events in chronological order:

- Anne invited me back to her place.

- I drank vodka.

- There were two Chris Rocks on the television because I was seeing double.

- Vodka bad.

- Anne and I went back to her bed.

- I tackled.

- I stayed in her bed till 5 pm the next day.

Three year dry spell? Over.

"Satan is happy with your progress."

I'm feeling much, much better.

When I'm down, all my bad habits -- food, alcohol, and shopping -- become fair game. Yesterday was Fat Tuesday and in the spirit of things, I was a Fat Cow and made crepes with chocolate ice cream, bananas, and washed it down spiced rum. Yes, that was my dinner. Did you know that yesterday was also Pancake Day? Apparently it's an English tradition to make pancakes (or crepes) the day before Lent. Like I needed an excuse to be a glutton.