Friday, June 30, 2006

"You are KILLING me with the lack of blogging updates."

Settle down, gentle readers. Settle down. I'll have you know that I was recharging my batteries after my debauched Pride weekend. And now it's the start of a long holiday weekend (I have Monday and Tuesday off), but let's not forget this past week. Dear readers, I present you with the bounty that has been my week -- a veritable cornucopia of banality.

* I have been sick on and off (more on than off) since March. Sinus infection, chest infection, cough, plague -- you name it, I've had it. Went to the doctors on Monday and he seems to think that it's all tied into seasonal allergies and prescribed me Zyrtec. M'kay, but what of this painful swollen throat I've had for nearly two weeks? It's the PLAGUE.

* On Tuesday I staged an email beatdown letting Val know what I thought of the situation. It got the intended response when a reply came at 10:10 pm ending a ten day standoff with 839 words of text. She said everything that I expected and everything that I needed hear -- she's been crazy busy, she's been withdrawn because of stress, she can't handle a relationship now though she really likes me. Okay, thanks. I told her we should stick to being friends.

* On Thursday I nearly got a hell of a shock when I got an unexpected bonus at work. A bonus! WTF, I never get bonuses. Also an outstanding freelance invoice finally got paid and a check is on the way. And I got paid on Thursday. Now I can buy an AC unit for my apartment.

* After a long day at work on Thursday, I went to the CasHank Hootenanny -- best described as an jam session for the fiddle and washboard set. Very different and an awesome way to spend a Thursday night.

So there you go. I'm going to have to restart OFTL, Val is only a friend, and suddenly I have mo-nay in my bank account. This lesbian is going shopping!

Monday, June 26, 2006

"That girl's got some moves!"

Dyke March
Ah, Pride. It's like Christmas for The Gays. This weekend was the culmination of Pride in NYC and everywhere I went people wished me, "Happy Pride!" Well merry Pridemas to you too and a happy gay new year! Where are my presents?

Pride apparently involves lots of drinking because I drank constantly from Friday to Sunday with The Lesbians. There was salsa dancing and whisky drinking at my friend's place on Friday, gay bars and the Dyke March on Saturday, and a champagne soaked brunch on Sunday. Then there was a sex toy singles party at Babeland on Sunday night. Speaking of presents, I bought myself a gift whose main componants are batteries and silicone. I'm going to have to keep myself entertained while I slink back into singledom, you know.

Still haven't heard from Val. I'm planning a Okay, what the fuck is going on phone call sometime on Tuesday. Then I can say I've done all I can apart from showing up at her place and demanding my sari back. My Lesbian Club members tell me to buck up -- apparently the way I salsa dance means I won't be single for long.

Dyke March photo from Kinkyink's Flickr.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

"It's just that I envisioned you with someone much different."

Val is so fired. It's Thursday and STILL no word from her. I even emailed her yesterday to asked if she had fallen into a ditch. F-I-R-E-D.

I wish words could express how irritated I am right now.

In other news, I met with some Lesbian Club members at Cocoa Bar for some red wine and chocolate -- natch. As I spent some time talking to BC, the subject of Val came up. "You guys make a very cute couple," she said. "It's just that I envisioned you with someone much different."

"How so?" I asked.

She hesitated and I assured her she could be honest. "I don't know Val that well, but I always saw you with someone who would be just as quick and witty as you. You need that challenge. You need someone who can wage a battle of wits."

How insightful. Perhaps that's why I've been feeling bored with Val -- not enough stimulation.

The conversation went on a tangent. BC related how she worked a photoshoot recently in the Upper West Side with a woman that reminded her of me. "She was in her 60s, but I couldn't stop thinking of you. She was sweet and witty and so cultured. She was just like you're going to be when you're 60."

I thought it was nice to know that there is a woman out there in New York who is my 60 year old version. Gives me hope for the future.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

"Don't put all your lesbian eggs in one basket."

All this talk of naked fun and blog disclosure has me examining my own current relationship status. In other words, I'm bored.

Yes, bored.

I haven't talked to Val since last Saturday night and an attempt to invite her to join me for margaritas on Sunday resulted in getting her voice mail. It's Tuesday and nary a peep from her. Contact over the past couple weeks has been spotty at best, though I'll concede that part of the problem is that she didn't have email access at home and work time has been kray-zee, but there's this other invention called the cell phone that I hear works wonders for communication.
When I previously told Val I wanted a normal relationship, I should have also specified that a phone call once and a while was part and parcel of normal. And yes, this isn't supposed to be "super serious," but I'm not going to accept a relationship that only exists when it's convenient to her.

So there.

While the sex is nice, I'm coming to the realization that I'm far more on the chocolate side of vanilla. What does this mean? It means that I need passion. I need hot, dirty sex. I need to feel like I'm consuming my partner and they are consuming me. I need -- dare I say -- some kink. And the awful thing is that I can't stop using my day long bed romp with Anne as a yardstick.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

"And I'd like to suggest a conference call tomorrow afternoon to discuss the REALLY dirty details . . ."

Up until very recently, J-Wo's parents were regular readers of her blog. Why J-Wo EVER told her parents she had a blog is beyond me -- sometimes parent's can't handle the dirty truth about an adult child. Sure enough they read something that perhaps they didn't want to know about. Trust me, I know all about hysterical mothers who discover too much.

Now J-Wo needs a place to detail her exploration of FWB and even her gay side without her mother reading it. So without further ado . . .

A Tale of Two Lovers

This past weekend was one of those delightful anomalies when I engaged with two different sexual partners. Today, I took some time to reflect on the similarities and differences of the experience.

He met me naked at the door to his apartment and--with a minimum of words--convinced me to take off all my clothes in the hallway, perform deviant behavior, and then traipse past the closed doors of his sleeping roommates for additional fun in his bedroom.

She was curious and forward, and we ended up on her bed having a frank discussion about the awkwardness of two straight girls exploring the vagaries of lesbianism. Once the giggling had stopped, we found that our bodies responded the same way, discovered that kissing a girl was like kissing ourselves, realized that girls know exactly what girls want.

He told me I took his spanking like a champ; I replied that he administered it like a professional. She told me I tasted nice; I sighed with post-coital bliss.

He was hard; she was soft. He towered above me; I bent to kiss her. He did not ask me to stay the night; she offered to share her bed. He kissed me goodnight; she hugged me at the door.

I left with a spring in my step after both.

Monday, June 19, 2006

"This is a very proud day here."

Sunday morning.

I've overslept and need to get into the shower if I want to make it to brunch on time. A habitual check of my cell phone reveals the blue voice mail icon. I hit info and see that someone called and left a message at 4:59 am. Since no one ever calls me at
5 am, I assume someone is dead. After dialing into my voice mail inbox, this is the message I hear:

Hey Rouge!

It's J-Wo. It is . . . 5 am on Sunday and I just wanted you to be the first call that I made.

I have just slept with a woman.

This is a very proud day here. So, I hope you're having a good weekend and I'll talk to you soon! Bye!

J-Wo has obviously taken this whole kissing a girl resolution one step further. I later play the message for assorted Lesbian Club members who find it highly amusing.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

"Are you okay?"

Middle school was one of the more unpleasant times in my life. I don't think anyone came out of middle school unscathed, but I had the adjectives fat, ugly, pimply, and awkward working against me. Trust me, it was awful. And now that I'm a well adjusted adult, I can look upon those years with a sort of Thank fuck I'm not 12 anymore.

When I jello wrestled on Sunday at Henrietta Hudson, I couldn't help but feel that I was 12 again and that I had been magically transported back to 7th grade gym class (paging Farquhar Middle School). The irony is that this event was in honor of Pride -- a time when we all give ourselves big gay pats on the back.

See, the people who run jello wrestling and those who regularly participate can only be described as being of my tribe -- you know, the artists, the iconoclasts, the different. Normally jello wrestling is a lot of fun with its emphasis on fake moves and costumes. But when I suddenly found myself on the other side of the kiddie pool from a tall, muscled, bikini clad, fake tanned Amazon, I had the realization that perhaps I was going to get my ass kicked.

Middle school style.

Guess who won the match? Hint . . . it wasn't me. I was flat on my back in 15 seconds with the Amazon on top of me. For some reason this wasn't sexy at all.
Ms. Amazon failed the read the memo that this jello wrestling lark is (a) meant to be fun and (b) not at all serious. The viciousness of my beat down and the viciousness of her friends, who spent the evening hurling invectives, reminded me that some people never really leave middle school.

Monday, June 12, 2006

"I just want a normal relationship."

After all the hand wringing of the previous post, Val suggested an impromptu lunch today, which did a good job of setting everything straight -- much unlike our hurried drunken conversation at Cattyshack. "I really wanted to see you today," Val said explaining that the reason she hasn't been around is that she wanted to shield me from all the stress she's going through.

"Yes, but it makes me feel like you're blowing me off."

Val looked apologetic. "That's not my intention at all."

"I didn't know what to think after our conversation on Saturday."

"That's why I wanted to see you and explain."

Meanwhile the USA/Czech Republic World Cup game played in the background. The whole bar threatened to drown her out when the Czech Republic scored their second goal. Some of the men enjoying Guinness at the bar did not look happy.

Val continued despite the interruption. "It's just you've been single for three years and I didn't know if you were looking for a super serious relationship."

"Look, I just want a normal relationship." To me normal means not ordering a U-haul. Normal means going on dates and getting to know someone. Normal means not picking out china patterns on the third date. I explained this to Val, who looked relieved.

I'm relieved too. "I don't want to be another burden in your life right now," I say bluntly in an attempt to say, We don't have to do this if it's too much. Lord knows I don't want to get hurt.

She seems surprised by the implications of my words. "No, no," she says quickly. "You're not a burden."

Sunday, June 11, 2006

"The woman I slept with is behind you. I need to go deal with that awkwardness now."

The quote above comes from C, one of my lesbian club members who the week previous went back to the hotel room of a very cute English tourist. My encouragement of those shenanigans reminded me of recent conversations about casual sex and friends with benefits type relationships. Now C had to deal with one of the more awkward outcomes of casual sex -- you might run into that tourist from England again.

This weekend was Brooklyn Pride and the ensuing party at Cattyshack on Saturday promised that every Lesbian in a 10 mile radius would be packing the two floors of the bar. And indeed by 10 pm it was difficult to navigate the crowd swarming around the bartenders. Pride week (month?) in New York City strikes me as the high holy days of the gay social calendar. And much like church, some of the women last night were like twice a year Catholics -- they only come out for the big holidays.

In a sort of meandering way, this brings me to my point: I'm crazy. I've been feeling sort of brushed off by Val over the last week and thusly have been a bit mopey. Sure, Val has a lot of personal shit going on that she has to deal with, but the 2 year old in me wants attention. Now I'm crazy because when things first started off with Val, I could feel myself slipping into a relationship that had a high probability of becoming serious . . . and part of me ironically was resisting falling into something that I've been trying to achieve hardcore since the start of this year. Part of me still wanted to date around. And when I talked about this with J-Wo and Mr. Bad Apologies when I was in DC two weeks ago, I was told that I was "such a guy." Two weeks later my feelings for Val have solidified more and suddenly I was more accommodating of the idea of a serious relationship with Val.

See, I'm crazy. Or maybe just conflicted. Or just a stupid girl.

So Val met up with me and AD at Cattyshack last night. (AD is the other girl who likes Val. Not to be confused with AC. Everyone got it?) Apart from briefly at a picnic earlier that day, this is the first time that I've spent time with Val since the previous weekend. And because AD doesn't know that Val and I are seeing each other, Val and I don't get to talk until AD heads for the bathroom.

"Sorry I haven't been around." Val's words come in a torrent as if she's trying to say everything she needs to say in the time it takes AD to come back from the bathroom. "I just get the idea that you want something serious right now and I've got a lot going on with school and with family."

I think I manage to mumble something over the thump thump of the music.

"I like you and I like having sex with you, but I don't know if I can do anything serious right now."

I mull these words over and try to save face. "Have I given you the impression that I want this to be something super serious?"

"Well . . . ."

"Because I just want a normal relationship," I add.

"What's a 'normal relationship?'"

Christ on a fucking bike. Apparently nothing I ever seem to get involved with. "Do you want to date around?" I ask.

"I don't want to date around. I like you, but I can't do anything serious right now."

Now after this little exchange I can't decide if I'm getting the brush off or if Val is just trying to define our relationship -- the much anticipated RDT that happened in the time it took AD to go and come back from the bathroom.

Why do I feel like I'm getting the brush off? Why after thinking I didn't want a serious relationship with Val I suddenly want something more than casual sex? And why do people only want something when it's taken away?

Thursday, June 08, 2006

"This was only the second time I've ever seen your father cry."

On June 8, 1997, my mother wrote in her journal, This is the day I lost my daughter. Not a particularly nice day for me either since shortly before writing those words, she had been searching my room on suspicion that her daughter was -- gasp! -- a lesbian. When she found a couple of love letters from my first girlfriend, she went into hysterics. The confrontation happened later the next day.

Mom: "Are you gay?"

Me: "Uh . . ."

This brings me back to the journal. After feeling like my privacy was unforgivably violated, I searched my mom's things in retaliation. I must have thought I was really clever when I opened up her nightstand and found her journal. This is the day I lost my daughter. What an awful thing to read.

I'm writing about this not to gain any sympathy points, but to hopefully exorcise myself of a demon old enough to enter the 4th grade. My coming out was not pretty -- lots of tears and something about Catholicism. It was hard to keep track of all the purported influences that mother hurled at me. My favorite was, Was it because you had a teacher in high school who was gay?

Yeah, Mom. That was definitely it.

If OFTL and Lesbian Club has had any successes it is that I am more comfortable with myself and comfortable with my sexuality -- it only took nine years. Since that day in June, my mother has thankfully calmed down and learned that she didn't lose her daughter after all. Though the L word is not mentioned, I have the sense that she's since come to peace with it and feels bad about how she reacted. See, no one in my family talks about what they are really feeling, so I have to speculate and take my victories where I can get them.

Thank god for happy endings, right?

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

"Love is careless in its choosing."

This morning I dreamt . . .

Wearing surgical scrubs, I am prepped for surgery -- green gown over my clothes, covers for my shoes, and a cap for my hair. The doctor tells me that it's only "minor surgery" and nothing to be worried about. I nod my head, understanding.

I am then escorted by the doctor through the various wings and waiting rooms that line the journey to the operating room. People gawk a little as I am rather conspicuous in my gown and coverings. We go through a crowd of people on our way to a flight of stairs and I panic when I glimpse Anne among the crowd -- I don't want her to see me, much less see my ridiculous hospital outfit. Then again how could she recognize me?

The doctor and I head down a labyrinth of stairs and into the basement level of the hospital. Along a long corridor with black marble floors, I pass a number of operating rooms. One is particularly cavernous -- as large as a basketball court and lined with empty elevated seating. From the windows in the door, I can view an operation in progress. I don't linger long.

The doctor directs me to what will be my operating room. Metallic and sanitized, bright overhead lights surround a metal table. It is at this point that I become nervous. Is this really minor surgery? On the long metal table before me is a what can only be described as a pathology specimen -- an organ in pieces from some unknown trauma. But wait -- this organ belongs to me! There's a certain horror in this realization and my hands grasp at my abdomen and chest for any clue as to where this missing organ belongs.

Bernadette Peters enters the room. Perhaps she is the chief of surgery? She holds the one of the pieces of my broken organ, which looks suspiciously like a torn piece of a human heart. "It looks much smaller than it should," she says with disdain.

"But I'm only 27!" I protest.

This is when I wake and realize I've overslept my alarm.

Monday, June 05, 2006

"Yeah, it’s been FIVE days since a Val update. Are you too busy with the U-haul?"

Ask and ye shall receive, Mr. Bad Apologies.

So where to start? We saw each other in the wee hours of Saturday morning, but it wasn't until Sunday that we got to spend some quality time together -- brunch, walk through the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, and then a trip down memory lane when she requested to see embarrassing photos of me during my high school era blazer phase.

Though it's been a couple weeks since Val and I started seeing each other, there has been no RDT -- relationship defining talk -- to establish if we're exclusive or if we are each other's girlfriends. And no, Mr. BA, trying to avoid sending out of the U-haul. Enjoying the pace at which things are going and that Val seems relatively sane. I told her while we were at the Botanical Gardens that she wasn't allowed to be crazy since I have a tendency to be attracted to crazy people.

Let's see how well that decree holds.

"You got something wrong with your nipples?"

Your honor, the prosecution presents Exhibit F: A transcript of Ms. Post No Bill's weekend. The jury will find that this is proof of her inability to sit still and her penchant for both debauchery and lesbian world domination.

Friday: After leaving work at 1 pm to get a haircut, Ms. PNB headed back to Brooklyn only to head back into Manhattan for margaritas and nachos with CJ. Witnesses later place PNB at Cubbyhole, a West Village gay bar, where she allegedly met up with members of an illicit Brooklyn social organization that PNB is reputed to run. PNB consumed numerous alcoholic beverages and phone records show that PNB also exchanged a series of texts with a VM, also a member of this Brooklyn social organization. VM later joined PNB at Cubbyhole at approximately 12:34 am. Further alcoholic beverages were consumed before PNB, VM, and four other associates left Cubbyhole for Henrietta Hudson's. Unsubstantiated reports have PNB either dancing on a pole or participating in "bootyshakin'." Witnesses have PNB and VM leaving the club around 4 am where they later consumed pancakes before heading back to Brooklyn.

Saturday: PNB left her Lefferts Garden home around 2:30 pm where she took the subway to Times Square to meet with JJP in order to discuss forming a "lesbian arts salon" and to view a possible performance space for said salon. JJP and PNB then took a cab to the UN where they received a private tour of the Security Council chambers and other committee chambers. Security cameras place PNB at the podium of the General Assembly around 5:15 pm. A second cab was then taken from the UN headquarters to Park Slope where JJP and PNB met up with BC for a photo shoot. It is alleged that these photos will be used for promotion of the "lesbian arts salon."

PNB, JJP, and BC then headed over to Sterling Place where they visited the home of WP, a lesbian associate. Also joined by two unnamed individuals, they drank champagne, ate cheese, and watched the movie Showgirls. Wiretapping reveals that words like "tiities" and "snatch" were used. Further surveillance records PNB leaving the premises at 2:12 am.

Sunday: VM allegedly picked up PNB and drove to Beast for brunch. While at brunch, PNB and VM had a brief conversation with a lesbian associate who was dining nearby. Later PNB and VM drove to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens at approximately 1:48 pm to view the roses in bloom and take in a little jazz. They left the Botanical Gardens at approximately 4:45 and walked to Bar Sepia where witnesses say they consumed two beers each and some penne pasta. Surveillance place PNB and VM back in Lefferts Gardens by 7 pm where certain naughty activities were rumored.

The prosecution rests.

Friday, June 02, 2006

"He doesn't work here anymore."

It's Friday. And you know what Fridays is, right? RANT TIME.

Only yesterday I was talking to Val about hair monogamy. Finding a hair dresser is as stressful as dating, especially in New York City. I used to go back to DC and get my hair cut at Axis Salon -- the equivalent of a long distance relationship. I wanted to make it work despite the distance. I thought Billy wanted the same . . . that is until he left me for some tart in California.

Broken hearted and jaded I jumped back into pool of salon options. After a few misconnections, I found Robbi. He worked it hardcore and gave me rock star hair. I thought it was the start of a long and fruitful relationship . . . until I called the salon today to find that Robbi went back to California.

What. The. Fuck? Why do I keep losing my hair people to the Golden State?

* Edit: I LOVE MY NEW HAIR! Anthony at Autonomy did an excellent job.