"That's the best wrong answer in the history of wrong answers."

When I started Operation Prove Me Wrong, I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into. Would I get any responses? Were there actually sane AND single lesbians out there? Ms. Snarker was quick to comment, but eliminated herself by doubting her own sanity. Hmmm. I also received this from one reader:

* Myself: I'm a divorcing, bi girl in a committed relationship with lesbian girlfriend.
* Friend #1: married lesbian in long-distance dating relationship with another married lesbian.
* Friend #2: divorcing lesbian in a committed relationship with lesbian girlfriend.
* Friend #3: single girl of questionable orientation who is currently experimenting with kissing women.
* Friend #4: lesbian in a committed relationship with lesbian girlfriend.

Sweet Jesus. You realize, anonymous reader, that your life sounds like an L Word episode. Then again, so does mine. In the words of another one of my readers, this has me concerned, very, very concerned. But before my faith in the lesbian world faltered, I received these nominations:

* My friend is super creative. She used to be a tattoo artist, but now does all her artwork on canvas, wood, or window shades.
* She tends to be somewhat shy in crowds of people, but warms up rather quickly.
* She is very warm and compassionate towards animals and humans, and finds great joy in working with handicapped/special needs children.
* She isn't flighty or irresponsible, nor is she arrogant or insincere.
* She is very authentic, and intense (but not too intense, mind).
* She is fit, and very cute.

I think we're making progress here, ladies . . .

* I suppose you could stick me into the creative-type category as well. I play the drums and fool around on the guitar. I also write, draw and paint.
* This feels strange.
* I'm pre-shrunk, have a good relationship with my family, and am very introspective.
* I've been deliberately single for quite a while, and am very comfortable being alone. My friends think I need to date more, and I think they might be right. I'm independent. A bit too much so.
* I think my best quality is my ability and desire to communicate with others. Processing is fun!
* I am also not particularly flighty, or irresponsible, and I consider myself to be a genuine and kind person.
* I'm dead sexy. Well, I'm slightly awkward and nerdy, but I've been told it's sexy.
* I have a cat, but I don't enjoy herbal tea.

Single ladies. "Dead sexy" single AND sane AND they live in the New York City area. This gives me so much hope, but keep your nominations coming -- my email address is in my profile. And remember, my little lesbians, that your cat is not a substitute for love and affection, but good for keeping the lap warm.

"Did you get your luggage back?"

On Friday I hit a low point. It had been building for some time, egged on by a disappointing Christmas, a disastrous trip abroad, scary finances, wayward luggage, and the fallout of a failed romance. It probably didn't help that this time of year is statistically proven to be the most depressing according to Dr. Cliff Arnall, psychologist and former tutor at Cardiff University. So when I left work on Friday, wanting nothing more than to crawl up into a duvet cocoon never to emerge, I made a detour to Trader Joe's and bought a couple bottles of red wine and cava. Then I went to Whole Foods and stocked up on dark chocolate and tiramisu. When I got home to Brooklyn, I poured myself a silly amount of cava, flounced down on the couch, ate the dark chocolate, watched Inside Man, and ordered Chinese while one of my cats curled into the crook of my neck and purred in my ear.

Damn you, 2007. You've made me your bitch. And it's only January. At least I have my cats.

But somewhere between the gorge of chocolate and red wine and a Spike Lee movie, I reached my saturation point on self pity. Perhaps it was the natural mood enhancing effects of chocolate, but when I woke on Saturday something was different. I was different. My mood was different. Case in point? I actually contemplated, if only for a few seconds, returning to the scary world of internet dating by putting my profile back online. I even had this burning desire to clean out of my apartment and remove all the crap like I was preparing myself for the next phase in life. But what surprised me the most was my desire to make a non-cynical return to Operation Find The Lesbians.

Maybe that's what I need? Maybe I need some sort of overarching, purposeful goal or plan to work towards. OFTL started as a New Year's resolution for 2006. Maybe what I need to do is launch Phase V OFTL, but mix it up a little.

I will call this phase Operation Prove Me Wrong (OPMW).

Ladies, I know you're out there. I know some of you stumble on this blog from the lovely Dorothy Surrenders. I know some of you are longtime gay readers. I know some of you HAVE to be single. And while some of you are straight and perhaps feel a little bored when I get my gay on, just bear with me.

So ladies, prove me wrong. Prove to me that you're not all sitting at home with cups of herbal tea and your cat and your ridiculously co-dependent girlfriend of 3 months who hasn't spent a single night apart from you since you met at a used book shop. Prove to me that there are some sane, single ladies out there, so single that it's a crime against humanity that they haven't been recognized for their awesomeness. I know you all have gay friends out there. Now it's time for me to turn my spotlight on you, dear readers. This is what you do:

1. Nominate yourself or a friend as Single And Sane. Don't be shy.

2. Email me with your nomination (email address is in my profile).

3. Provide a short list and reason why you or your lesbian friend is Single And Sane and why this is a crime. You can keep you or your friend's name anonymous. Don't worry -- I have a big respect for privacy and this exists only as a spotlight for the wrongfully overlooked.

4. I post nominations. You restore my faith in humanity and specifically the lesbian world. The caveat is if you send in a nomination and you're clearly neither single nor sane, I won't post it.

5. Depending on how successful this experiment is, I post nominations either weekly or monthly in addition to my own finds in the field. If no one emails in, well there's no hope for any of us or some of you are way to busy drinking herbal tea.

There you go. Prove me wrong. Spread the word far and wide across the lesbian land. Tell your friends to prove me wrong. C'mon, I'm waiting.

"So when are you moving to England?"

"So when are you moving to England?" more that one person joked at the wedding I attended in Nottingham last Saturday. Only hours before I had watched Jane get married to her English boyfriend, the second of my American roommates to find British husbands and move off to the UK. If two makes a trend, then apparently in four or five years time I'll be packing up my stuff to move to England to marry my hypothetical English girlfriend. (Perhaps Scottish? We've already got a Welshman and an Englishman.) Who am I to argue with fate?

When it was commented on for the nth time that it was now my turn for the UK wedding, I quipped, "Maybe I'll convince her to move to New York."

Or maybe I'll convince her to move to Amsterdam.

As I walked around the Grachtengordel last Monday afternoon enjoying a rare bit of January sunshine, rare for this corner of Northern Europe, I fell in love with Amsterdam, the Dutch design aesthetic, the bikes, and the architecture. And fantasizing on the days and years to come, I envisioned this:

While walking through Prospect Park, shamefully using my friend's two Shiba Inu dogs as girl bait, a beautiful English woman approaches me and we hit it off. Turns out she's half Dutch too and lives in Park Slope. She's a foodie, works for some International finance firm in lower Manhattan, and loves art and music. We then form the stereotypical instant co-dependent lesbian relationship which is only foiled by the fact that she's not a permanent resident of the US. She goes back to London because of her job and a long distance relationship ensues. We talk about me moving over there with her and we even talk about domestic partner registry so I can get EU benefits. After a year of back and forth Atlantic trips, I move to London, and we live happily ever after with my two cats. There's even a London wedding to celebrate our life partnership. Later she's transfered to Amsterdam and luckily her family has an old house on one of the canals we can live in. I get a job working in design or the arts, write a couple of books on the side, and we spend our days riding our bikes, cooking for friends, and walking along the canals.

Sigh. It could happen. My luggage is still in London just waiting for me to come back and retrieve it.

"Enjoy the, uh, coffee."

Things I realized on my trip abroad:

* Vomiting is an inherently private act and doing so in public is best avoided.

* Given a pinch, friends will miraculously come through in the end.

* Sometimes it's best to travel alone.

* When booking rail services in Britain, best to do so in advance to get the best rate.

* Luton Airport isn't as close to London as I thought.

* Amsterdam is lovely, especially the Dutch aesthetic.

* Getting stoned and going to the Rijksmuseum is a perfectly lovely way to spend a rainy Tuesday afternoon.

* Never fly American Airlines for international flights.

* Never eat anything that comes out of Terminal 9 at JFK Airport.

* When I die, and if I am a bad little girl, my hell will be the Sisyphean task of going back and forth between Heathrow's Terminal 3 and 4 while jet lagged, dirty, and suffering from food poisoning.

Now a confession:

For all my libertine tendencies, I'm not a drug user. My experience with drugs has been limited the occasional joint passed around at a party. I'm okay with that as I do quite alright with drinking alone.

"Please don't die. Especially not in England."

I didn't die. Especially not in England. And I'm back at home in Brooklyn to tell the tale. Barely.

See almost everything that could have gone wrong on this trip did, and while it is currently almost 5 am Amsterdam time right now, I am going to do my best to tell the tale.

As you know, I got food poisoning. And I didn't make it to Amsterdam on Thursday when I was supposed to. I did, however, make it to a friend's house in London and spent the next day recuperating and trying to track down my luggage. I even went all the way out to Heathrow on Friday (something like 20 odd stops on the Piccadilly line from wherever) just to speak to someone in person. Although it took not only a conversation with British Airways but a trip to Terminal 3 to talk to American Airlines too, I'm glad I did because my friend Wendy whom I was traveling with apparently was using my baggage claim ticket to claim her lost luggage over in Amsterdam.

See, when I was sick on Thursday -- sick many times -- I shoved a bunch of papers into Wendy's hands so I could run off and find a toilet or a trash can. When I did this, I also shoved my baggage claim ticket, which explains why Wendy was accidentally using my info to try and get her luggage shipped from Heathrow to Amsterdam. Thankfully I was there to sort out the mix up before my luggage decided to go onto the Netherlands.

To make a long story short, I didn't get my luggage on Friday and thus had to go shopping on Oxford Street to buy things like shoes, underwear, toiletries, and clothes to wear to a wedding. On Saturday morning, backpack brimming with my new purchases, I took a train to Nottingham for the wedding. While there my friend received a text that my bags had arrived at another friend's place back in London.

Still with me?

So yeah. I'm back in New York. Amsterdam was lovely when I finally did arrive on Monday afternoon. Really really loved the place. Oh and did I mention that when I traveled back to JFK this evening my luggage didn't join me?

Yeah, the fun never stops.

"I hope your luck changes."

Things have not gone according to plan.

I'm writing you from London. Forest Hill to be exact. I'm enjoying some coffee, checking email, and constantly redialing American Airlines to see if they found my luggage. You can see where this story is going.

Everything was going according to plan at first. My flight over the Atlantic seemed routine, I even got some sleep on the plane until I woke up and thought, "Hmm. I'm feeling rather nauseous." Yeah, it was food poisoning and I spent half the flight vomiting in the lavatory. First time in my life I've ever used an air sickness bag. To make matters worse, I vomited on myself during the landing because of the turbulence and, well, it's not exactly like I could leap up during the landing to use the lav.

To make matters even worse, in addition to feeling like death, my connecting flight to Amsterdam was canceled due to high winds. Really high winds. Wendy and I then spent a long time in line trying to make alternate flying plans. Never mind that I had to bolt out of line periodically to go vomit some more. After a while we finally, or so we thought, got on a later British Airways flight.

I then took a nap in the terminal and thankfully stopped vomiting, but still felt nauseous. By one pm UK time (we had been in Heathrow since 9 am and I had been vomiting since 5 am thereabouts) it was time to get on our connecting flight. Oh but wait. That piece of paper in our hands that customer service gave us really wasn't a boarding pass and we couldn't get on the flight, especially since it was completely booked. Wendy looked like she was going to strangle someone.

As we went back in line to make new flight plans, I figured I would cut my losses since I was planning to come back to London the next day and spending less than 24 hours in Amsterdam seemed silly. I dialed a few numbers on the pay phone before reaching Fals, my former roommate now living in London. I begged to stay with her and she thankfully and enthusiastically agreed. Okay, I'm sorted, I thought. I then canceled my connecting flight while Wendy booked a 4 pm flight to Amsterdam. Things were looking up. No longer vomiting, but exhausted as hell, I bid Wendy goodbye and set about trying to locate my luggage.

Since nothing about this trip has been easy, it must come as no surprise that I spent the next two hours or so trying to track down my luggage and making the awful trip between Terminal 4 and the arrivals/departures area of Terminal 3. British Airways said they didn't have my luggage. "Have you filed a claim?" they asked. "What?" I said. They sent my back to American Airlines, the carrier that got me over the Atlantic in the first place. AA said they didn't have my luggage -- BA did. I then put in the paperwork and noted that probably four bazillion other people were trying to track down their luggage too.

The sympathetic woman at AA told me just to go to my friends house and keep trying the number to the luggage people. And that I did. So here I am at Fals's place and have been trying the AA number since I got here. It's been busy and I'm seriously considering going all the way back to Heathrow today to just see if I can track down my bag.

At least I've taken a shower, although I'm still wearing the same clothes. I'll probably have to go shopping for new clothes today as thoroughly worn jeans and a sweater will not cut it at the wedding I'm supposed to be at tomorrow.

Please send me all your good luck.

"Not a lot of sympathy here, my dear."

Toodles, everyone. Off to Amsterdam and England, specifically a wedding in Nottingham on Saturday. Be good, don't burn the house down while I'm gone, and don't forget to feed the cats for me. I'm going to be off having a diviant time.

Smooches.

"Can I get a sippy cup? Does anyone have a sippy cup? Jesus!"

Is it liveblogging if you blog about a show you watch on the internet? Well here it goes. My bourbon inspired comments on the L Word premier:

* That fucking theme song. It just doesn't get better.

* God, Jenny annoys me. So does Max. (Sorry, Danielle Sea -- I know you're a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend, but your character annoys me.)

* Seriously?? You mean Showtime online is going to bleep out swear words and nudity?? Does Showtime really think that minors are going to clamor to watch this when they can readily watch the freakiest of freaky free p*rn?? This gives me no incentive to watch this legally.

* Apparently Shane goes swimming in the Pacific with her cell phone. Oops she just threw it into the ocean.

* I love Alice! I love Kit!

* You know what, I strangely don't mind the weirdness that is Kit and Angus's relationship.

* Love Alice's hair. How can I get that hair?

* Oh my god. They really made a Chart in real life. And worse, they wrote the website into the storyline. I really don't want to email my "hookups" to ask if they want to be on my hookup page. Does anyone else think that's weird? A MySpace for lesbians? I don't exactly want to advertise my dodgy taste in women.

* I'm so glad I don't have kids. Much less have kids with a gay partner. Much less divorce a gay partner.

* Ugh. That stupid guy. Tina should know better than to have him get in the middle of this custody battle. Bette should know better than to let him in her house.

* Wait. Is this clinic scene with Kit real or a dream?? I'm kind of confused.

* Holy fuck. Jenny is tied to the bed and hot French woman with a corset on is straddling her.

* Don't drink and drive, folks. It's bad, mkay.

* Oh. The clinic scene wasn't a dream. The weird pro-life people were not imagined.

* "You just backed away from us like we had some heterosexual cootie." That's what Tina said.

* Someone should tell Shane that she has blood on her face.

* Holy shit! Marina is back and she just upstaged Jenny's reading from her new book at the Planet. Jenny just gave Marina the Look Of Death. Fast forward a few minutes. Did they just show up at Marina's hotel room to have a threesome? In what universe does this happen? But Jenny goes home to be all moody.

* Uh oh. Looks like Shane might be a defacto parent.

Thus concludes my liveblogging of the L Word premier. For those who don't watch it, my comments made absolutely no sense.

"She told me to pack my stuff and leave."

So I didn't watch the L Word season 4 premier last night. I know. I just didn't feel like dragging my lazy ass in the rain to either Cattyshack or some other lesbo-centric locale for a free, if not crowded, peek at the show. The L Word premier is the second gayest gay holiday after Pride. Why the apathy? Well for one, I can cogh*illegally*cough download it at my leisure (or legitimately here). Two, I live my own L Word.

If Ilene Chaiken is looking to franchise out the series, I've already got a couple of story ideas for L Word: 11215. Picture it -- Park Slope, Saturday night, a birthday party. Sixteen people cram into Nina's fourth floor apartment to celebrate Wendy's birthday, some of whom have spilled onto the roof to smoke and enjoy the views of Manhattan. The tequila is flowing freely amongst the lesbians. I made a decadent chocolate cake for the occasion. A token straight guy, a friend of Nina's friend and clueless to the gay quotient in the room, drunkenly hits on a series of women, all of whom respond with, "I'm a lesbian . . ."

A fight is slowly brewing, but not with the straight guy. Seems that Chris, the girlfriend of Nina, caught her seemingly a little too close to a cute blonde woman -- some friend of a friend. After some low level discord, Nina and Chris's bickering blooms into a full scene while most of the guests sit in the upstairs bedroom drinking and talking.

"Nina told me to get my stuff and leave," Chris says, appearing at the top of the spiral stairs to retrieve her duffel bag from the bedroom.

"Huh? What happened?" a bunch of us ask at the same time.

Chris tries to explain, but it doesn't make much sense, which could be attributed to the drinking. It's getting late and when Chris leaves the party, it brings the revelry down quite a bit. Those remaining clamor downstairs to find out what happened, although Nina's version of the story differs, including a teary, "I didn't tell her to
leave . . ."

Kerry and I go downstairs to try and find her. Meanwhile birthday girl Wendy, sensing that it's perhaps the best time to exit, leaves with her girlfriend. We find Chris down on the street not too far away with her duffel bag. After trying to get the story on what happened and figuring out what to do next, Kerry offers to take Chris back with her to her place, while I go back upstairs.

Nina is still distressed, Chris is outside with her stuff, and Holly asks what she can do. None of us want to leave Nina alone when she's so upset, so we settle in for some emotional bolstering. Just as we do so, Kerry comes back in with Chris and says to Holly and I, "I think we should leave."

As we walk out the door, we let Nina and Chris know that we'll be at the bar downstairs. This is perhaps a little unwise because it's already 1:30 am or so. After an hour, Chris finds us at the bar.

"So what happened," I ask.

"Nothing happened. We didn't talk." Chris seems bitter and I remember every last fight that I ever had with a girlfriend in the space of a moment.

I like Chris, I really do. But some of us have been a little weary since her and Nina started dating a few months ago, especially since Chris initially lied (kept secret, whatever) about having three young kids and a soon-to-be ex-husband back in Pennsylvania where she lives. We've also been weary since every time Chris comes into town (which is surprisingly often seeing how her children are all under the age of six), she and Nina disappear into the Relationship Vortex.™

"I'm ready to sacrifice so much for that woman," Chris says after a long conversation about her relationship with Nina. "I'm willing to sacrifice my children to be with her!"

"What?? Never sacrifice your children for a relationship!"

"Nina said I have to give up custody of my children to my ex-husband if we're going to be together.

I'm not sure what to believe anymore. I'm trying to be a fair yet supportive person. It's late and the bartender is yelling last call. I'm drunk and I just want to go home and sleep blessedly alone. I soon thereafter say goodbye to Chris and head back to my side of the park while she finishes her cigarette before climbing the four flights of stairs where Nina is sleeping.

Tune in next week for more real life lesbian drama!

Showtime would make millions. And it's all true. Or at least it's less tedious than Jenny from the L Word. Oy vey, the show can be horrible at times . . . which is probably why I didn't rush off to watch it last night.

"Totally screwed."

The problem with scheduling a big trip after the holiday season is that it's not until after New Year's that I really began to think about my trip to Amsterdam and England. When am I going? Uh, like, six days.

Totally screwed.

This is my first trip to Amsterdam, my sixth to London, and my first to Nottingham. Check out my itinerary. New York to London, switch planes, arrive in Amsterdam. Next day head back to London, eat dinner with friends, stay over with another friend, take an early morning train to Nottingham, go to wedding, go back to London next day, stay with friends, fly back to Amsterdam, meet back up with American friends, fly back to New York on Wednesday. Doesn't sound like much of a vacation, right? I need to factor in a massage somewhere. Did I mention I was broke too?

Totally screwed.

"All Hands Lesbian Emergency!!"

I spent the first day of 2007 much like the previous year -- hungover and watching Law & Order. The only difference was that this New Year's Day I had a sleeping cat draped over me, or at least I did when I wasn't leaping up to go vomit in the bathroom.

It was a painful end to a rather awful holiday season. On New Year's Eve I had attempted to throw a party for my Lesbian Club. Having shelled out for a deposit and guaranteeing 25 people on the perhaps naive assumption that people would readily pay a nominal fee for an open bar slash food slash hang with the lesbians deal, I was more than disappointed when only seven people showed up. Seven. This includes Dennise whom I practically begged to come and visit me for the holiday. It wouldn't be such a big deal if my Club helper didn't shell out hundreds of dollars along in addition to me.

Lesbians suck. I almost flashed on my special signal in the night sky denoting an All Hands Lesbian Emergency. Then I realized that I'm not Batman, Batwoman, or any sort of gay superhero nor do I own any device that flashes a powerful beam of light into the night sky. But if I did, all Lesbians in a 15 mile radius would feel drawn to Prospect Heights knowing instinctively that one of their own was in great need (and in great need of their $$). Then again if I did have said magical light beam device, I wouldn't be single.

So I ended up having a great time with my friends that showed. We danced, ate, and drank. Thankfully I was drunk when I handed over my credit card at the end of the night. Hence the horrible hangover the next day. Now I'm seriously debating if I want to continue running Lesbian Club because, well, lesbians suck.

Now it's 2007 and thankfully the vomiting has stopped. I've spent today and yesterday in a reflective mood. What do I want for the new year? What do I want in life? What are my resolutions?

* Less drinking (obviously)
* More exercise
* Less spending
* More saving
* Less falling in love with crap people
* More adult relationships
* Less wasting the pretty

Oh these ones are oh so banal. If I weren't so burned out on dating, maybe I could muster up some old school OFTL love for 2007. Would definitely make for some interesting blog reading.