"So as you have retired from OFAG some of the rest of us are still on the mission."

Writing recently about Fake Girlfriend has caused me to think back to my single days. Two and a half years ago, OFAG was in full swing and I chronicled my efforts on this blog. OFAG, an acronym for Operation Find A Girlfriend, was a balls out, take no prisoners approach to lesbian dating in New York City and it was frenetic in the way that things get when they are hatched in New York. OFAG was also tiring and by the end of 2006 I had run into the "hard wall of little reward", burned out on dating and disappointment. But by the summer of 2007 I met Ms. K, a reader of this blog, and despite all my initial inaccurate preconceptions of the relationship, we've been seeing each other ever since.

So when Ms. K recently went back and reread some of my older entries, she wrote me the cutest email.

"I won the OFAG contest! Yes?"

Yes, yes you did.

"I want to go to there."

On Friday night my computer died. Its demise came not with a spectacular hard drive crash or calamity (water! fire!), but rather a pop as it spontaneously switched off for good and went to the great desktop in the sky. However the Mac support people assure me it can be resurrected by installing a new battery for $200, which I will do except that I used this opportunity as an excuse to buy a new computer -- a refurbished 24 inch iMac. Behold.



Shiny! Although Ms. K is not impressed that all of our big ticket items have decided to die all at once.

"There better be booze at this wedding."

Now that I'm shamefully domesticated and extra porky from all the love, let us turn the clock back to early 2007 when things were very very different. At the time I was maddeningly infatuated with a She's Just Not That Into You kind of friend. I gave her many pseudonyms on this blog -- Ms. Lawyer, Lawyer Girl, Fake Girlfriend, Laura -- and many long time readers might detect a stirring of recognition. (Memories jogged here.) It's been a long time since I last wrote about her, but what got me thinking of her former presence on this blog was the arrival of her wedding invitation in the mail yesterday. Yes, she's getting married to her long time girlfriend. Mazel tov. I know I previously lambasted the speed of their engagement, but seeing how it's been a year I am very happy for them.

"You look good today!"

"You look good today!" my work friend DJ said as she hugged me good morning. "Is that a new top?"

Indeed I was wearing a new top, a recent purchase from one of my long overdue shopping binges. Wow, clothes that actually fit? It's a hell of a concept.

New shirt aside, I don't know how she managed to overlook my dry and blotchy skin, worn out by both winter and successive cocktails, but I thanked her for her compliment. It's all the love weight I've put on," I confessed.

"I didn't notice that you had gained weight!"

Now you're just lying to be nice, I think, but thank you again.

Last night I had this plan where I was going to cook a nice dinner for one of fish and vegetables since Ms. K was working. And I was going to try to cut back on drinking as another targeted way to be healthier. Except when I got home my will powered crumbled courtesy of a Modelo Especial and leftover slices of pizza taunting me from the fridge. But at least I walked up the six flights of stairs to the apartment instead of taking the elevator!

Baby steps.

"You've made me fat!"

Oh, dear readers, I have a confession. My clothes don't fit anymore. Extreme lesbian domestication has made me both happy and fat. In the year and a half since Ms. K and I started dating, I think I've gained around 15 and 20 pounds. Even Ms. K has gained a little weight since she met me and recently accused me of filling her up with lots of delicious home cooked meals. Indeed my own growing pot belly is now 86% pork, 14% bourbon. Something must be done.

So Ms. K and I are shopping around for a gym to join and considering a fast an healthy lifestyle that doesn't involve as many cocktails. It's a cruel reality, yes. I mean all couples go through this, the packing on of the pounds. It's as if we've stop trying now that we've snagged a partner. Lord knows I don't shave my legs as frequently.

OFAG may have been a success, but now it's time for Operation Lose 30 Pounds.

"I'm sick of fucking around with these asshats."

I've managed to calm down somewhat after an infuriating day. Ms. K's insurance agency has been dicking her around and threatening to deny her claim over some misunderstandings about where she lives. Pennsylvania? New York? While she lives with me, she's still a legal resident of Pennsylvania. She still pays taxes and is registered to vote there. My temper was raised after Ms. K called to say that her insurance agency may not pay the claim even though the accident wasn't her fault. (New York is a no fault state.) Seriously? REALLY? And here I was worrying about Ms. K being a little upside down on the loan. But to have to owe the full balance of a car that was totaled due to someone else's actions??

I wanted to kill someone. Instead I talked to a lawyer who I work with. Armed with some helpful knowledge, I sat down to write Ms. K over the emails when she happened to call. Another insurance agent with the company, Sunshine was her name, was ready to discuss a dollar amount with Ms. K.

Huh? Just a couple hours before the other agent was threatening Ms. K. Now the company is ready to settle?

While nothing is set in stone, the propose dollar amount is MORE than what is owed on the car, so this is good news indeed. Fingers crossed. Even though Americans are litigious in nature, we are not and don't fancy suing anyone to recoup losses.

"Hello, Sunshine."

Apologies, I've been terribly remiss with this whole blog writing lark. I took some time to get my head screwed on after the accident and I am generally starting to feel normal again. The whole car thing is still in limbo and I'm waiting to get a copy of the police report, but I am finding it rather humorous that the first name of Ms. K's total loss adjuster is Sunshine.

Anyway, the other night I realized that Ms. K and I have gotten to that stage in our relationship where we walk around the apartment with our pants unbuttoned and such. Like that time Ms. K found toilet paper in a not so sexy location, it's funny (or mortifying) to realize that whatever borders of propriety and formality that humans have between each other eventually fall in a long term relationship.

There was an incident in particular that had Ms. K and I laughing at some very unsexy personal stuff. Except I can't remember what exactly -- probably for the best -- but I threatened at the time to blog about it.

"No! Don't blog that!" she said. "People are going to think we wear sweat pants and baseball caps and don't have sex!"

Again, lucky for her I can't remember what sort of toilet humor we were laughing about that night.

". . . having these thoughts is a very natural thing."

It's peculiar how it takes a while for the mind to fully process a trauma. Even though it's been two weeks since the crash, the shock is only now wearing off. Last week I wanted to find a womb like cocoon to crawl up into. On Friday I felt a deep sadness. On Saturday a sudden acute anxiety, like I had left my wallet on the subway or something. Not quite Kübler-Ross's stages of grief, I know. I suspect anger and acceptance are next?

I hadn't felt a lot in the wake of the crash apart from a need to stay calm. Ms. K was in shock and bleeding and I felt like I had to keep it together for her sake. Although there was a moment right after the crash when I almost began sobbing. Ms. K was in the ambulance and I was all alone by the car. Harley, so freaked out and not knowing what to do, had climbed onto the glass covered front seat and refused to move. Before me was an orchestrated chaos of police officers, EMTs, emergency flares, and flashing lights. Everyone had a role to play, but like Harley I didn't know what my role was. Victim? Survivor? I stood there and watched and suppressed my tears. I just wanted someone to hold me and tell me what to do.

Last night Ms. K found her anger. Something about the way the air smelled when she went to take Harley out for a walk triggered memories from the crash.

"You know I didn't do anything wrong," she said in agitation after she came back in from the walk, "and I'm going to get screwed on this."

Of course you didn't do anything wrong. If anything your quick thinking prevented us from getting killed.

"I know, right? It's not like it's that SUVs fault, but he didn't have to swerve into our lane like that."

No.

She took a long drag off a cigarette she had just rolled. "It just pisses me off that I didn't do anything wrong and I'm going to end up probably owing on the car."

What do you want to do? Sue for the balance if necessary?

She shrugged her arms and took another drag. "I mean, I have the right to be angry about this?"

Yes you do. Your anger is not unreasonable.

As for me I don't know what to feel. I think my brain is still trying to process it all.