"Any woman who doesn’t love an ample-bosomed serving wench is, clearly, crazy."

Most of the great conversations in my life have been over a meal or a drink with some of my very closest of friends. Often I think we must look like a down-market version of the characters from Sex and the City -- whip-smart urban women flowing easily from topics of sex to spirituality. We endlessly hash out what it means to find love in this vast metropolis and rally with all our strength when it seems that one of us is faltering.

There was something about yesterday that seemed to be underscored with weight. Maybe it's the ongoing negative atmosphere at work, but a couple of my very dearest friends/colleagues went to the Tibet House for a beginner's meditation class. With thoughts of refreshing ourselves and recharging out psychic batteries, we welcomed the peace. My mood yesterday already had been one of reflection, analyzing how far I've come in the last year, but I found it hard to turn my mind off and focus on my breathing.

Afterwards we sought out dinner, coming upon a strange little relic of a restaurant in the West Village -- the kind of place that still thinks it's 1962 with red jacketed waiters who look like they've worked there all their lives. After two bottles of rioja and an order of paella, our conversations became deeply revelatory and I had the sense that our friendship, while already close, had cemented into something more.

Its a wonderful achievement to have very close friends, especially since I've only been in this city for nearly three years and I remember when I once had zero friends here. Finding good friends is almost as hard as finding a girlfriend, which I suppose has silently been OFAG's opposite -- something that could have been called Operation Find A Friend. Now I have them. Score.

Another achievement is that I've managed to acquire myself something of a girlfriend. The next few days will mark the three month point since meeting Ms. K. How did this happen?? I'm still gobsmacked that she's completely the opposite from the nonsense I've dated in the past. Case in point: this photo.

Last Halloween I dressed up as a serving wench. I looked hot. REALLY hot. Some of you may remember I was dating Holly at the time -- a sort of experiment that can be likened to seeing what happens when you bang your head against a brick wall. Repeatedly. The nadir of this experiment came sometime around the moment I realized that despite looking extremely hot, Holly was clearly not interested. I was crushed.

Ms. K has since seen the photo of me in my serving wench costume, tits hoisted up to my chin courtesy of a tightly laced corset. Her reaction was "where is this costume and why aren't you wearing it all time time?" See? Already I'm miles ahead of where I was a year ago. Score. And I get flowers too!