"I'm looking for something a little less 'leather daddy'."

2007 is over. Slam dunk. No mas. Done. And boy and I'm happy to see it go.

While the year ended on a cathartic high, 2007 was not an easy year. I started the year off with the worst food poisoning/travel experience of my life, later Operation Find A Girlfriend came to an end after a long run, I turned my focus inward, survived a tornado, and felt like I was on the long and painful run up to a major shift in my life. But there were good things -- I met Ms. K, got linked in the New York Times, rediscovered my love of astrology while getting paid for it, got crushed on by Dorothy Snarker, learned how to drive a stick shift, and re-came out to my parents.

Thankfully I didn't spend New Years Eve like last year. Instead I spent it in the quiet company of Ms. K, having copious amounts of hot lesbian sex whilst trying out a new harness, later cooking dinner, and drinking fizzy booze. Really, could there be any better way to ring in the new year?

And while we're looking back, here's the soundtrack that was (soft?) rocking my Oh-Seven.

* Armchair Apocrypha by Andrew Bird
* Emerald City by John Vanderslice
* In Rainbows by Radiohead
* Back to Black by Amy Winehouse
* The Broken String by Bishop Allen
* In the Aeroplane Over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel
* Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie
* Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga by Spoon
* The Reminder by Feist

"It's a terror of knowing what this world is about."

Sorry I haven't been around much, dear readers. My work has decided implode, which has cut into my will to blog. I've had to go through all the stages of grief as beloved colleagues have suddenly left. So yeah. Perhaps tomorrow? I have been too busy secretly crying at my desk.

But let's look at things that make me unbearably happy!

David Bowie.
Flight of the Conchords.
Flight of the Conchords parodying David Bowie.
Oh yeah, and cats.

"You are the mac daddy of desserts."

I had an epiphany last night as I stood in the cold, steady drizzle of Central Park while watching Rufus Wainwright play SummerStage. It's so refreshing to have artists back in my life. Although I already have a wonderfully strong cadre of women around me, the newest addition of Sinclair and Bird has stimulated a part of my creative brain that I hadn't realized was not getting any love and probably has not been since I was a Studio Art major in college. As a stimulation junkie (the intellectual variety), my brain is very happy to have made these new connections -- especially since Bird said that if she were to choose anyone to be her Siamese twin, she'd choose me. Sniffle.

Speaking of Rufus Wainwright, yesterday marked the third time I had seen him in concert and the first time whilst standing in the rain. And no offense to Maire, who graciously facilitated the evening, but I began to wonder if it was worth the effort as my gray hoodie grew increasingly damp despite huddling under an umbrella. But my doubts vanished when Rufus did an encore dressed as Judy Garland complete with choreographed dance numbers. A-fucking-mazing.

Now this is the point where I talk about the bottle of lube and half dozen pairs of black latex gloves I had stashed in my purse. They were a gift from Maire who along with Sinclair are my new sex positive role models, although I'm a little intimidated at the prospect of trying to work the whole lube avec latex gloves into my daily activities. And after the smutty conversations we were all having before and during the Rufus Wainwright conversation, I've come to the sobering realization that I've barely had the chance to wave my kink flag. As Maire said last night, "No more vanilla girls."

At least I can console myself in the fact that I have been proclaimed the mac daddy of desserts because of my blueberry crumble making skillz.

"Electricity will scribble out your name"

Ms. K and I are going to meet up tomorrow evening for various activities. I have alerted the mayor's office, the Department of Homeland Security, and NOAA because you never know what sort of calamity might strike when she and I get together have sex.

Wait, perhaps I shouldn't be so flippant. I mean, what if this is a real problem and not a coincidence? What if I have heretofore undiscovered dark powers? What if when Ms. K and I meet some calamity befalls the city? The day after we first met 41st Street blew up. Literally. The third time we met there was a tornado in Brooklyn and a flood. Fo reals.

But what of the second time we met? It took some digging around the internet and some retracing of my steps but I am highly suspect about the bridge that collapsed in Minnesota. Okay, it collapsed the day after the day after we met up and it was not in New York City, but this is a worrying trend. And I'm not making light of other's pain and suffering.

My point is that if Thursday, August 16, 2007 manages transpire without some sort of major calamity then the world can breathe a sigh of relief. Apocalypse will have been averted. My dark powers will have been contained.

In other news, in lieu of a belated My Friday Fave, here's my new favorite song.

"So, I have decided that I think you should go out with me again."

Obviously I'm have not been really good at updating for My Friday Fave as evidenced by the fact that last week's Fave came out on Sunday and I never wrote one for this past Friday. And after a very fruitful blogging July, August kicked off with a sluggish start. Patience, dear readers, patience.

* The UTI is pretty much gone thanks to a course of antibiotics, but probably exacerbated because of the drinking I've been doing lately. Thank you all for your concern, especially with my peeing/wiping habits.

* Ms. K and I have tentative plans to meet up this week for drinks. If past history is any indicator, we will end up making out in some bar in the wee hours of the morning and then I will ask her to come home with me. Because the dirty whore in me likes it.

* I went to go see Tegan & Sara at the Hiro Ballroom last Wednesday. My original plan was to write a review of the show, which was great, but deadlines and laziness got in the way. Once Band Buddy Maire sends me over her photos from the concert (hint hint, nudge nudge), perhaps I will be more motivated to explain why the show was awesome. (Photo below! Maire even took some footage and placed it on YouTube.) Maybe it was the fact that they played their new album, The Con, in its entirety from back to front? Maybe it was hearing the song "So Jealous" performed live that rocked my world? Maybe because they are a pair of gay twins who can rock out?



* I have a crush -- an intellectual, spiritual, platonic crush -- on a beautiful former Franciscan monk that I met whilst drinking with friends in South Slope on Friday. I want to pick his brain and spend evenings with him discussing history and spirituality. Perhaps I even have a monk fetish? My (budding stalker) friend found a picture of him online in his Franciscan robes and it was hot. Can a gay woman find a former monk hot? Too Thorn Birds with a dash of Chasing Amy? Discuss.

* I broke my vow of honesty on my blog for the first time when I wrote an entry that will never see the light of day. Well maybe someday, just in time for the DVD extras of the blog. Don't worry, I saved the entry.

* My new favorite singer is John Vanderslice. I mean, like, seriously. I must come across as a slut for good music, but I have a feeling that his album Emerald City is going to get the same heavy rotation on my iTunes as Andrew Bird's Armchair Apocrypha did.

"Third time's a charm."

I think "Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy is one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever created and I don't care if you all think it's as trite as a Impressionist painting. If OFAG the Musical ever sees the light of day, the song will surely have a feature, perhaps when our heroine spies a beautiful woman at the end of an unusually empty Manhattan street. The air will be crisp, the nighttime sky clear, and the song will play like a soundtrack. But until then I think you all should take five minutes of your time, shut off the mobile phone and the lights, put on the headphones, and close your eyes as you listen to "Clair de Lune" while imagining everything in the world fading away.



As it is almost midnight here and I have the song playing. It makes me forget that spent my entire Sunday working on freelance design, that my body aches from my desk chair, that I need to do laundry, that I have nothing to wear for my date tomorrow, that I ran out of cat food, that I think I may have my first ever UTI, that I have a crush on someone that I shouldn't, that there is no more Harry Potter to read, that I have to go back to work tomorrow but what I really want to do is go on vacation, or stay at home and write and forget that I'm broke. It makes me forget all my worries, troubles, consternations, and lets me melt into one of the most beautiful songs ever written. I makes me wish that I was in a dark room and completely oblivious to the world at large, tricking myself into believing that I am floating amongst the stars.

"Take another picture with your click click click click camera."

Last week I was supposed to post a Friday Fave and while I started an entry, and tried my very damnedest to not talk about music, I couldn't help myself. In the end, quite unsure of what to write about, I abandoned my fragmented entry and rolled on with my Pride-soaked weekend.

So now, two weeks after my last Friday Fave, I feel the pressure to be extra favorite-y. Let's spin the wheel and see what I could discuss. Harry Potter? Cooking? Picnics? Prospect Park? The new iPhone? (Sadly no iPhone for me.)

Whirl . . .

Whirl . . .

Whirl . . .

Cooking?

Okay! Cooking. I like cooking. I'm a good cook. I'm such a good cook that it doesn't make sense that I am single. I'm also a foodie. All my coworkers are foodies. In fact last Friday, when I should have been writing a blog entry, I was at a coworker's house cooking up a Southern inspired feast of grits, ham, roasted okra, catfish, biscuits, kohlrabi hashbrowns, and pecan pie. I made the butter pie crust, a classic recipe that I got from Epicurious, in addition to being a dutiful sous chef and bourbon drinker. Mmmmm . . . pie and bourbon.

And yet despite all this talk of food I still want to talk about music. Check out Bishop Allen, my new favorite band. The song Click Click Click Click is perfect for Summer . . . and for cooking.

"Would you like to buy a tiara or a feather boa?"

Instead of blogging about Laura, I should have been mentioning that I went to see the True Colors tour last Monday at Radio City Music Hall. I guess I didn't blog about it sooner since I didn't have much to say owing to arriving terribly late -- sometime near the end of Rosie's monologue, yellow Croc shoes visible all the way from the from the other end of the hall like a beacon of bad lesbian footwear. My faithful band buddy Maire and I had managed to miss The Gossip, Dresden Dolls, Amanda Lapore, and Debbie Harry. Tsk. We're such bad gays.

However once we found our seats in the orchestra, drinks in hand, we arrived in time to catch Erasure, Margaret Cho, and Cindy Lauper. Basically we arrived in time (apart from the fabulously bitchy/raunchy Ms. Cho) for the 1980s revival part of the tour. Sorry, Ms. Lauper, I totally respect all your hard work for the gays and putting this tour together, but Maire and I cut out of your set early to head back to Brooklyn. Tsk. We're such bad gays.

Speaking of gays, I LOVE me some gay boys. They were so happy when Erasure went on and danced, and danced, and danced. Now, you don't see that level of enthusiasm at an indie rock concert. Clearly my life is missing something. I need more gay boy friends! Mr. Bad Apologies, can you help? I desire to be a fag hag.

"I think it's safe to say that I have no game."

Perhaps it's because I'm a little hungover, or perhaps because only had four hours of sleep owing to the fact that I thought it was a good idea to go hang out with members of Pela and Brakes till 2 am last night, that trying to form coherent sentences is rather challenging. I have my ambient music turned up and I'm hoping for some sort of design breakthrough with this tight deadlined work project. Mostly I'm just drooling.

Despite my best intentions, I got jack shit done this weekend unless you count copious amounts of drinking with friends. Friday night? A therapeutic dose of alcohol and tapas with coworker friends. Saturday? A prosecco soaked picnic with Lesbian Club, a trip to Ginger's to avoid the rain, and then a free Joan Osborne concert in Prospect Park with some new friends. Sunday? Brunch followed by an ill advised exploration of gin based beverages while sitting in the back garden of Flatbush Farm. My arm apparently needed no twisting when my roommate said I should join her for the Pela concert at the Mercury Lounge.

But let us rewind back to Sunday's brunch at Beast.

I should briefly mention that my second date with Ms. Y ended with her admission that she wants to be just friends. Disappointed, my friend Kerry and I used brunch to not only come up with some dating strategy, but to shine a light on my flaws. Some of which are:

* I intellectualize my emotions too much.
* I'm too afraid to make the first move.
* As someone who is aggressive in every other aspect life, the lack of this quality in my lovelife is a detriment if not an irony.

"Yeah because I don't want to get hurt!" I protested shortly after chewing through a mouthful of raspberry muffin.

Kerry, who was slicing through a sausage, made a face. "As they say in finance, you have to spread the risk. The more times you put yourself out there, the more success rate you'll have."

I frowned and stared into the remains of my burger. I wanted to remind Kerry of all the risk I spread while engaging in OFTL. Five first dates in January 2006? Risk-tastic. "I think it's safe to say that I have no game."

"Yeah. You have no game," Kerry said with a slow shake of her head that belied her embarrassment for me. "Girls see you and expect you to be the aggressor and I think it confuses them when you're not. Just go get a date with a girl and get her drunk and make out with her."

This is apparently my new strategy. It is a timeless strategy that has worked for millions of love challenged humans. Or I could just stop being a pussy and spread a little more risk.

Why does that sound dirty?

"The music and medicine you needed for comfort"

I'm not feeling particularly festive today, despite my professed love of Fridays, but it is nonetheless time for another My Friday Faves.

I feel like I'm cheating a little bit since my last Friday Fave was music related, but music plays such an integral part in my existence. I remember the staggering moment when I first put earphones to ears and played my newly purchased 20 gig iPod -- my life threatening to never be the same. You mean I can listening to anything, anywhere, at anytime???? Whoa! Perhaps this love of music started early, my parents playing LPs while my mom was pregnant with me, a hazy mix of late 70s classics and my father's love of Mozart. In fact my middle name has its genesis in the title of popular Beethoven song.

Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over The Sea" has been on near repeat over the last week. I'm not sure why, but the fuzzy distortion of such songs as "The King of Carrot Flowers" and "10" has filled something in me that has been lacking. An indie rock masterpiece, the album was inspired by the story of Anne Frank. If that isn't brilliance then I don't know what.

Neutral Milk Hotel – Holland, 1945