"I like the feel of your fingernails on my back."

Dear me, that last entry was a bit vitriolic. Sorry for the vent, but I was feeling a bit woe-is-me. How about some clarification.

The situation with Holly has progressed a bit slower than hoped. In fact it's been a little over a month since the fateful Provincetown trip and I thought that her and I would have gotten our shit together by now. Or at least some hot and dirty sex. Alas it's come in drips and drabs -- a kiss or holding hands from time to time. Or last last night where we acted like stupid people in love as we played with each other's hands while sitting in a straight bar. A later drunken proposition for her to come home with me failed due to logistical problems. Sigh.

When J-Wo was visiting me on Friday, she reminded me that the whole Holly situation has a whiff of deja vu. "You realize this thing is Elizabeth redux." Elizabeth is a girlfriend from nearly four years ago and damn it if J-Wo didn't nail it on the head. So not only am I a masochist, but I'm a masochist who likes to put myself through identical grief. It doesn't help that both Holly and Elizabeth look very similar -- long red hair and pale skin. I guess this means that I have a type.

"Holly is nothing like Elizabeth," I protested even though she was right. Somewhat. "Elizabeth was crazy and liked to slip into blind rages at the drop of a hat."

"Different crazy is still crazy. You need to move on."

"I did move on! After she told me about her and her boss, I moved on. I had five first dates in January and have dated two people since. Tell me that's not moving on!"

So have I moved on? Of course not. Only the next day Holly and I were acting goofy, holding hands as we walked up Second Avenue at one in the morning and blind to lecherous looks we were getting from drunken straight boys. Damnit Holly, why can't we get our shit together?

Postscript -- Dear Melissa, bartender at Burp Castle. Thanks for totally having our backs when those drunk straight guys obnoxiously took interest in us because we were lesbians. I wanted to totally high-five you when you said to them that they were "this close to getting kicked out." And since I saw you kick out a belligerent asshole out earlier in the evening, I knew that you didn't fuck around.