"Must be a gay thing."

I never did have that conversation with my mother. Why? An ex-girlfriend of mine once called my mother a force (imagine that being said with a South Carolinian accent) and she was damn right. My mom is absolutely unbearable sometimes, unsympathetic, overbearing, and talks over me. There are my excuses.

So am I a chicken shit for not just blurting out over manicures, "I'malesbianandthathasn'tchangedintenyearsandIwishyou'dbemoresupportive!" before stomping my pretty painted toes? 'Cause I am. Just a little bit. But whatever. My mom was being the biggest diva martyr poo this holiday and the atmosphere wasn't exactly conducive to supportive opening up. Them's the facts. However at dinner last night, which just might be the low point of a rather disastrous Christmas, she gave me a small peek into what she really thinks of my gayness.

After a few drinks with my parents and a series of tapas at Beast, I recounted one of the most awesomest experiences I've ever had in New York. It was back in October when I went to go see the Suicide Girls at Southpaw in Brooklyn. Opening for the show was a Japanese girl band whose musical style alternated between upbeat pop and death metal. It was amazing.

When I mentioned this band was opening at a burlesque show (in the interest of full disclosure), my mother turned to my father and said rather sarcastically:

"Hmmm. Must be a gay thing."

Must be a gay thing? A GAY THING? After FOUR years of not acknowledging my sexual orientation, this is what I get? Okay, I can take that. At least it means she's not laboring under any delusions. Hallelujah!

So in the spirit of the new year, here are a list of affirmations.

* I accept that my mother is crazy neurotic special in her own way and loves me in her own way and accepts my gayness in her own way.

* I accept that her accepting of my gayness is not dependent on my self worth.

* I accept that she knows that I am gay even if she isn't Best Supportive PFLAG Mother of the Year about it because really she and I have never had that relationship even when we were under the delusion of me being straight.

* I accept that my mother is a negative person, but that doesn't mean I have to be.

* I will not self censor my life when talking to my parents (eg, talking about my predilection for burlesque watching).

I am one with the zen gay buddha.

"Don't throw that away!"

More conversations with my mother.

"Hey Mom, where can I find the cold medicine?" My parents moved to a new house a couple of years ago and I still don't know where to find everything.

In the kitchen, my mom points to one of the cabinets. "Check in the box in there."

After pulling out some items from the cabinet such as a coffee thermos and an oversized bottle of acetaminophen I come across a box full of orphaned cold medicine packets and half used bottles of this and that. After settling on some Advil Cold and Sinus, I check out an old looking bottle of Cloreseptic.

"Hey, this expired in 1992. Can I throw it away?"

"Throw it away!"

I root around the box some more and discover a bottle of calcium tablets. "Hey, this expired in 1984. Can I throw it away?"

"Throw it away!"

Going through this box has been like a time capsule of pharmaceuticals that my family has taken over the last twenty years. I feel like an archaeologist as I unearth a bottle wrapped up in an open ziplock bag. "Hey, this expired in 1990. Can I throw it away?"

"Don't throw that away!"

No logic whatsoever.

"Do you see the abuse I have to put up with?!"

Merry fucking Christmas. I think this has been quite possibly the worst ever or close. Though perhaps not as bad as the Christmas of '89 when my then seven year old brother, in a fit of pique, declared that he hated all his gifts because I got a stereo and he didn't. My mother, in a fit of rage, took all his gifts and stuffed them into a garbage bag.

I LOVE my family.

I got a whiff that something was off this morning when I went into my parents' bedroom to ask my dad for a dollar to stick in the purse I was giving my mom (because it's bad luck to give a purse without any money in it).

"Your mother's not happy with me," he said.

I sighed sympathetically. "What now?"

"Because I didn't go see Christmas lights with her last night."

We both exchanged an eye roll. "Good times!"

Prepared for a testy morning, I later brought in my wrapped presents to the living room where my mother, father, and brother were already sitting.

"Whose pile is whose?"

"My pile," my mother replied, Bloody Mary in hand, "is the pile with the least amount of gifts."

Jesus-fucking-christ. I placed a pile of presents on her "meager" pile and declared sarcastically, "Ohmygood look!! You just doubled your pile!! Merry Christmas!!"

The gift opening that followed was beyond painful. My brother, always the morose bastard, declared that he didn't like any of the clothes my mother got him, which only worsened my mother's mood. "I give up," she seethed. And every gift that my father opened elicited a sarcastic, martyr like response from her.

"Christmas is the last holiday I can spend with you all," I interjected after a particularly bad round of bitching. It was my last ditch attempt to save the morning and to get everyone to stop acting like assholes. "You're this close to ruining it."

"What makes you think that it hasn't been ruined for me?" she quipped all martyr like.

"You think I'm ruining Christmas, Mom?" Because just you wait, I think.

"No body would go see Christmas lights with me last night. I had to go all by myself. And when I asked you to polish the silver ice bucket you said, 'Is there some reason you cannot do it yourself?'"

Side note to the folks at home. When my mom asked -- wait, that's not right because she never asks you to do something, she tells you -- me to polish the silver bucket yesterday, I was feeling very awful and dizzy because I was fighting off a bad cold. I was sitting in the chair trying to make the room stop spinning because, well, I'm sick and visibly so. When she handed me the ice bucket and the polish without word, that's when I said, "Is there some reason you cannot do it yourself?" Perhaps slightly bitchy, yes, but only because every moment I've been in this house it's been do this and do that. And when I said I didn't want to go look at Christmas lights with her, it's because I'm a little bit of a holiday grinch and driving around the suburbs looking at the lights/decorations on everyone's McMansion is, surprisingly, not my idea of a good time.

"Mom, I was sick," I protested.

"I've been sick since last July!"

Lord in heaven.

Later, when my mother got up to get breakfast ready, my father looked over at me and put his finger to his temple like a gun and pulled the trigger.

Exactly, Dad. Exactly.

"Boys should not have lady lumps."

Merry Christmas, my little blog readers. Or rather happy holidays. (Post No Bills is non denominational in its merry making. You should have seen the kickin' party I threw for Diwali. I kid, I kid.) I'm writing you from sunny boondoggle -- aka Howard Co., Maryland -- and getting geared up for tomorrow's festivities. And I just barely made it here. Turns out I have a bad habit of getting to train stations on time and was rushing to get on my train as they announced final boarding.

I know I say it everytime I go to DC, but it's weird being back -- like trying to remember how to speak another language. Worst is when I have to remember how to get anywhere. Upon leaving boondoggle to go meet Dennise for dinner last night in Dupont Circle, I spent a good minute and a half trying to figure out how to actually drive to DC. Nevermind the GPS equipped car I was driving. But I did find DC and also found an excellent parking spot on R Street allowing me to have some much needed time with Dennise. We even went for a couple drinks at the Big Hunt afterwards, reminding me of the few things I actually miss about DC (smoking in bars not being one of them).

So I had it in my head that I would re-come out to my mother this weekend. We had appointments to get our nails done together this morning and I figured it was a perfect time to discuss my gayness. As some of you may know, our initial conversation nearly 10 years ago didn't go so well and so I'm trying to improve upon that initial badness. Unfortunately I chickened out and have opted for the wait until she has had a few martinis cop out. Seriously people. Some conversations are not best had sober.

ps -- Come to Brooklyn, Dennise!!

"I Heart Brooklyn Girls"

Oh yes. I really do heart Brooklyn girls. And now I can do so in calendar form. Miss Red Hook looks delightful . . . but it's Miss Carroll Gardens that I really want to take home with me.

"I know things have been difficult this year . . ."

Since it's the end of the year and the perfect time to reflect upon the highs and lows of 2006, I present to you my OFTL style recap.

Lesbians found: 500 +
Lesbians kissed: 4
Straight women kissed: 1
Gay men kissed: 1
Lesbians tackled: 3
First dates: 9
First dates that led into second dates: 1
Times I got dumped: 2
Times I dumped someone: 1
Biggest lesbian drama moment: Provincetown
Biggest concentration of lesbians found in one place: The free Toshi Reagon concert in Prospect Park last July
Dating status at the start of 2006: Single
Dating status at the end of 2006: Single

When I opened up the Christmas card that arrived from Holly, it read, "I know things have been difficult this year, but I'm glad we're friends. Here's to a great new year." Well no shit. 2006 has been anything but banal. Difficult? Yes. Exciting? Yes. Tiring? Yes.

There was something about that Christmas card, something that led a sense of finality to the year and to my relationship with Holly. But as one door closes, another one opens.

Here's to a great new year indeed.

"What up, big girl?"

Four words a woman never likes to hear. Have you gained weight?

Oh god, yes. A little. 10 lbs since last Christmas and some extra padding on top of that -- too afraid to look at the scale. Why have I gained some weight? Because I no longer live in a 4th floor walk up and have been drinking/eating more than exercising and all the jolly holidayishness of December hasn't helped.

Remember the ass crisis? I do. Something must be done. SOMETHING!!!!! No one will fancy me at all in 2007 if I don't strike hard and fast.

But not until after Christmas. There's still some cookies I haven't sampled yet.

"What possessed you to booze it up on a Sunday night?"

Since there's been an uptick in web traffic, I think it's best to re-introduce myself.

Hello! My name is Rouge. I am a lesbian. I am single. I live in Brooklyn. I have two cats, which is as close as I'll come to the whole lesbian cliche. This blog mostly chronicles my disastrous attempts at finding love.

There you go. Enjoy!

So how have I been? Well I never did email Bernie Mac back to let her know (again) that I really wasn't interested. All you have to do is read this to know what I'm looking for. (Sadly she did not qualify) I've been in the process of figuring out what my new focus will be in 2007. Thoughts anyone? I've also been freaking out that Christmas is one week away -- freaking out that until last Friday, I had done ZERO Christmas shopping. Too busy sitting at brunch for six hours getting drunk. Other than that, there aren't any interesting developments on the love front.

Just wanted to say howdy!

". . . the woman behind the beauty."

Bernie Mac wrote me back. Mind you the email correspondence ratio is currently 3:1 in her favor, slipping her into that gray area that exists between interest and stalker:

Good morning Rouge. I hope you have a good work day. Its raining out. WOOHOO! I love the rain. I think I am always the only person who doesnt run for cover. If anything I start to dance and shimmy my ass off. I get looks from people probally because I cant really dance but I dont care. I love the rain. So can you tell me about yourself? Nothing you find too personal. You know general things so I can have a better idea of the woman behind the beauty.

"I have nothing against an occasional soy snack."

News flash!! Soy makes you gay!! And guess what? I was given soy formula as a baby. So there you go. All scientifically proven by one dude writing a column over on a conservative blog. Don't forget to buy your Reagan t-shirt after you're done reading.

"That said, I think we need to talk."

Ah yes. So I finally got the balls to talk to Holly about our retarded situation. We met over lunch today at my insistence that we needed to talk. It was a brief conversation, but she confirmed everything that I had guessed on my own. And thankfully we've agreed to put this pseudo-relationship out of its misery. Though I've been feeling sad of late, I currently feel so very relieved that I can move on with my life. Seriously, I feel like the last chains of a negative cycle have been broken.

I love Holly. I really do. And she's a good friend though part of me wishes it could be more, but I've accepted that this is for the best. So we decided to preserve our friendship and reconcile our feelings for each other once and for all.

"We should have talked long ago, but you were always surrounded by people. And there was always drinking involved."

"Yeah I really wanted to have this conversation sober," I replied, frankly relieved.

She continued. "Though I love you and you're one of my best friends in the whole wide world, I don't think I love you the way that you want me to love you."

"I completely agree."

"And it's been hard because I don't feel the way I should feel. It never felt right. While I don't regret what happened in Provincetown, I wasn't ready for getting into a relationship with you."

Thank fuck I am honest to goodness moving on and it feels great.

Strangely enough for all my pissing and moaning that nobody likes me, suddenly there's been a small yet noticeable uptick in interest from various people. And for your reading enjoyment, I have included below the email I received this morning:

Im sorry we didnt get the chance to talk last night at the football party. I wanted to say something and ask you something as well. First I wanted to say that when you walked in I got tunnel vision. You were the only person I was seeing. I know you probally get this a lot from women but I have to say it. I think your beautiful. Im a photographer and I see and meet beautiful women all the time so I never let myself get caught up in a woman's appearance. So what I wanted to ask you is what does a woman (me) have to do to get the chance to know you, the woman behind the beauty? I have to admit I was asking the other ladies about you after you left. If possible can we can talk some?

"Reserved and ready."

Phew. All back to normal. Somewhat.

Things have been very interesting lately. I feel like I'm in a very transitional place and I don't know if it's because it's nearly the end of 2006 or some other cosmic force -- as if one stage of my life is ending and another beginning (I swear this has nothing to do with my entry about the Return of Saturn). I've decided to give up on Holly (again it seems), although she has been unavailable and thus have not been able to clue her in to this fact.

There's been a lot of introspection and a general sense of okay, what now? What now for my love life? What now for 2007? What are my goals? Where am I going? What do I want?

If there was Make A Wish Foundation for emotionally scarred lesbians, I would be a prime candidate. It would be called the Lesbian Make A Wish Foundation and upon when they discovered that I was most in need of having one wish granted and sent a team to Brooklyn to ask me what above all I wanted, I would tell them this:

My wish would be for the perfect Sunday. There's something about that day, something slow and sacred, that is best shared with a love one. The perfect Sunday would start out in bed with my specially wish granted lover/girlfriend/partner. We would lay around all morning alternating between naked time and brunch. Jazz would play on the radio. And when it seemed only sensible to shower and dress, we would go out into the day to walk in Prospect Park, taking in the sunshine and laying in the grass.

And then the next day I would die a horrible cancer ridden death. However I would at least die happy. Oh please Lesbian Make A Wish Foundation. Please let me have my one wish so that I may die happy?

* * *

Side Note:

I spent yesterday migrating this blog template over to the Blogger Beta. Technological high jinks ensued and I even had to enlist the help of a fellow blogger to sort out some code issues. Although my stats were down for a while, they are back and I have been noticing an uptick in traffic from a certain blog that is getting some well deserved attention. All I have to say to the newcomers is welcome to my fucked up gay life. Enjoy!

"I noticed you seem to be making the arduous journey from blogger to beta."

Please stand by. Post No Bills is experiencing some minor technical difficulties.

* Jesus-fucking-Christ. Now my statcounter isn't working. Who ever said change was good?

* Whoah. Looks like a wrote a lot more in 2005 as opposed to 2006. Only three weeks left in December. Best get cracking.

"The return of Saturn."

I've been taking part in a fun game during the last year or so. It's called, "Is that a blonde hair or is it really gray?" Although I am a brunette, I can confidently say that my blonde to gray hair ratio currently stands, after much scientific consultation, at 6 to 0. Woo hoo!

But as I rejoice at one more year gray free, I know that my days are numbered. There was something about turning 28 recently that had more than one person shaking their head. "Just know that this will be the start of a hard time during your life," one person said during my birthday party.

For those who don't know, 28 years old marks the return of Saturn. Whether or not you think astrology is total bollocks, you should know that none other than Gwen Stefani named No Doubt's fourth album after this monumental astrological phenomena so therefore it must not be bollocks. Anyway, the return of Saturn means that this is a time when we take stock in our life and clear out anything that is of no use anymore. Saturn, having taken 29 years to complete its cycle around the sun, is the grim reaper so to speak. Imagine his scythe sweeping over these crucial years -- relationships end, marriages end, people change directions, the old makes way for the new in a sort of karmic spring cleaning. According to my own specific astrological positioning, I can look forward to crises of faith, reexamining of long held beliefs and philosophies. Yipee!

Anyway, I think there must be a point to this entry. I think I was in the bathroom washing my face having had a few glasses of red wine, full of maudlin thoughts, and preparing for bed, when I spotted a "is it blonde or is it gray" hair and thought about all those weighty issues that come with gray hairs. I also have been in a weird mood as I decide how I'm going to bring the axe down on the Holly situation. So there. And I shall end the blog entry by saying that for all my serious introspection, the moment has been broken by watching my cats go all kung-fu on each other.

Word.

"I heart NA."

I'm probably propagating some nefarious brand of viral marketing, but as a New Yorker all I got to say is . . . seriously? Give New York back to the Dutch? Even stranger seeing how I spent part of yesterday planning my January trip to Amsterdam. Then again, as a nation, Holland is incredibly pro-gay. Hmmmm . . .