"Turn right. Right! NO YOUR OTHER FUCKING RIGHT!"

Hello, my lovelies. Did you miss me? Where have I been? Floating in a swimming pool in Staten Island surrounded by scantily clad lesbians and at one point a bunch of plain clothes cops with guns and badges. HOT! I have the pictures to prove it.

For the sake of my international readers, this past weekend was a huge holiday weekend in America and the unofficial start of summer. Not only did I spend two days in the borough of Staten Island, but I also ended up at a mall in New Jersey for some shopping. My more astute readers will see a joke in there somewhere.

The unfortunate reality of spending two days in a pool is that I also had to break out the bathing suit that was buried deep in one of my drawers. In fact I own 2.5 bathing suits and hurriedly tried them on before packing to meet my caravan. I was left with one realization.

Oh. Holy. Jesus. I'm in trouble.

Nothing is worse than the painful knowledge that your summer clothes, nay, your bathing suit, doesn't fit anymore. As I surveyed the wide expanse of my thighs in horror and a very unsexy ripple of belly fat via full length mirror, I contemplated three options. (1) Commit ritual suicide, (2) wear the other unflattering bathing suit that at least fits, or (3) quickly fashion a burqa made of shower curtain lining or an old bed sheet.

I went with Option 2.*

Bathing suit crisis aside, I had a good holiday. And as I laid in the pool, drifting on a piece of aqua colored foam hoping that no one would notice the size of my thighs, I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I had a proper holiday over Memorial Day weekend. Last year I was at a wedding and the year before that I was apparently getting propositioned by a lot of men.

Hmmpf. I do detect a whiff of progress. Now I need to work on my Ass Crisis.

* The irony to all this is that we ended up skinny dipping on Saturday night. I discovered the heretofore unknown fact that my boobs float.

"Second, I think your blog needs more imagery."

I've been a very bad blog writer and despite my best intentions, nary an update in almost a week. Sorry, I've been laying low. Unfortunately a proper update is going to have to wait till I get back from Staten Island. Yes, um, I said Staten Island. I have a friend with a house and a pool, so I can't complain.

The photo above is from my rooftop back in Bushwick circa July of 2005. Oh how time flies. Can't believe that this is my third summer in the city. Anyway, enjoy -- especially Mr. Bad Apologies, who asked that I post more New York centric photos.

Smooches.

"I feel lost when I don't hear from you."

Apparently (former) Fake Girlfriend is my new BFF. We talk every day and hang out on the weekend, which explains why perhaps I was a bit confused about whether we were fake dating or not. No, she just really likes me . . . as a friend. Guess we'll forget about that time we kissed. Strange, yes.

Now that (F) FG is my new BFF I can merrily move along with my OFAG plans (Warning! Acronym levels almost full!). First things first -- give Fake Girlfriend a new name. Um, let's call her Laura. Yes. Secondly, I need a plan. A plan! Obviously I can't think the women to me. I have to go out there and find them.

Laura and I, as BFFs do, grabbed a drink in Park Slope before heading to what passes in Brooklyn for a mall. Lamenting our love lives, she said, "I just haven't met anybody I want to date right now." Well, there you go, our relationship defined. Underlined and in bold. Don't worry, I don't mind. I'm trying this new resolution where I stop getting myself involved in nebulous situations.

Nodding my head, I told Laura about Operation Find the Lesbians and my efforts throughout 2006. She was very intrigued and wanted to embark on her own OFTL. "June is going to be our month!" she said.

I then mentioned that I always envisioned OFTL as a book, a sort of mock dating guide intertwined with notes from the field, but that my plan to write it had sort of fallen by the wayside as dating apathy took over.

"You have to write this!"

Okay, BFF. Settle down. I'll get to it. OFTL and OFAG are only as good as the effort I put into them. Five first dates in one month? That took effort. My effort of late has been sadly lacking.

So here's a number of things I can do this Summer to get the ball rolling:

* Look hot (which involves trying to get rid of my burgeoning paunch and actually fucking exercising). Laura said she'll help my bike become roadworthy again.

* Go to one of Out Dancing's open houses at Stepping Out Studios and partner up with the lesbians. Who doesn't love a lady who can move her hips?

* Online dating? A viable option that makes my stomach clench in an unpleasant way, but does make for good comedy. And blog entries.

* Write a Craigslist ad v. 2.0. Because it worked soooo well the first time.

* Borrow my friend's cute puppies as girl bait and walk them around Prospect Park and Park Slope. The women will flock to me.

* Pour more effort into Lesbian Club and meet new women.

* Wander around Brooklyn (or hell, Manhattan works too) with a sandwich board that reads: ATTENTION SINGLE LESBIANS! ASK ME HOW YOU CAN DATE ME! This option can also double for exercise.

So if you see a forlorn woman walking about Park Slope and you are gay . . . and single . . . and for chrissakes SANE . . . please tip your hat my way. Hope you like brunettes! I'll even salsa dance for you.

"How far down the Rabbit Hole do you want to go?"

Now for a movie review of sorts:

After watching the movie What the Bleep Do We Know!? last weekend I was profoundly moved. No, I was blown away, my mind teeming with all sorts of ideas never considered. Who knew that quantum physics could get the heart racing?? I watched it twice with the zeal of a convert and wanted all my friends to watch it. There was so many ways that OFAG could benefit from changing my quantum reality! Yes! I will think the women to me! I even had mentally composed a blog entry encapsulating my excitement but I never got around to writing.

Still with me? Oh, you haven't seen the movie? Well it has developed a cult following since its release in 2004. In a nutshell the movie attempts to reconcile science (ie, quantum physics) with spirituality. Before you run away, just bear with me for a moment. If you need to, you can easily watch clips on YouTube for reference. I just need to vent because my excitement for the movie has been seriously dampened and this is why.

1. The movie glazes over the fact that JZ Knight, one of the main interviewees, performs her interview while channeling a 35,000 year old spirit named Ramtha. It also glazes over the fact that many of those involved with the making of the film are students of Ramtha's School of Enlightenment. Believe what you will, but I kind of wish they had been a little more upfront with that because when I found that out -- and only by doing some Google research on the movie -- I felt a little dirty. No, a lot dirty. Like I had read the small print and found out that everything was funded by Scientologists.

2. Another interviewee, Jeffrey Satinover, is a proponent of the ex-gay movement and has written a book called Homosexuality and the Politics of Truth (1996) and has also written extensively on how homosexuality can be cured.

Ewwwwww.

What is it that I'm feeling now? Shame? Anger? I really wanted to like this movie and there are still nuggets of information that are valid only for the way in which they made my brain consider an entirely new paradigm, but please PLEASE! Why give credibility to a man who shills for Focus on Family and thinks the American Psychiatric Association was wrong for declassifying homosexuality in 1973 as a psychiatric disorder?

Mea culpa, my gay readers. I feel so dirty that I must now wade in the waters of gayness to cleanse myself. Perhaps watch a marathon of L Word? Tool around the GLAAD website? Thank god next month is Pride. This girl needs to go get her gay on.

"As sure as the stars shine above . . ."

This idea of OFAG The Musical!!! (exclamation points optional) is starting to grow on me. Dean Martin came on my iTunes and again the image of a sunny Union Square came into my head. I then had myself a fully fledged daydream for 2 minutes and 18 seconds that I could only describe as awesomeness.

(You can download the song here, scrolling down to the link for "You're Nobody Till Somebody Loves You." Please tip your hat to the person hosting the song or you can alternately buy on iTunes. If anything, just listen to the song so you can follow along with my daydream. It took me forever to find a copy online.)

Cue Scene:

Protagonist walks forlornly through Union Square, but suddenly her hips start moving to the rhythm of the brass section of a big band. The sun starts to shine brighter.

You're nobody till somebody loves you . . .

As the Protagonist starts to walk jauntily towards the stairs, both boys and girls start notice her.

. . . You're nobody till somebody cares . . .

A cute fem and butch start to trail the Protagonist, matching the rhythm of the song, arms swinging. More people start to look up and notice the Protagonist walking by, bopping their heads with the beat of the song

. . . so find yourself somebody to love . . .

Musical Interlude:

The Protagonist starts to swing dance with a cute looking boy, but a cute girl suddenly cuts and they start galloping around. She lets the Protagonist go and she comes upon a woman with a puppy, which the Protagonist pets.

The world still is the same, you never change it . . .

The Protagonist starts to dance with a couple of anti-war protesters.

. . . as sure as the stars shine above . . .

Cute women abound, some with flowers from the greenmarket.

You're nobody till somebody loves you . . .

A couple of lunch cart guys carry the Protagonist quickly down the stairs for the big finale, girls streaming behind. Camera pans wide and everybody is dancing to Dean Martin. There are a couple of drag queens in '50s dresses and even a cameo from Murray Hill.

. . . so find yourself somebody to love.

Song winds down with and people slowly return to their lives. The Protagonist smiles and walks off as if nothing happened.


I wish I could just upload my thoughts to You Tube. Will somebody please make my dreams a reality?! This could work. Oh yes.

"What is wrong with you?"

I'm having one of those days where I can't concentrate. Perhaps it's because it's Friday and warm outside or because I found out that my former roommate -- the one whose wedding in Nottingham I recently attended -- is pregnant while another friend's husband has cancer. It could also be the tetanus shot I got yesterday, the antibodies or whatever swirling around my bloodstream causing me to feel a little off. It could also be that I have decided in the last few hours that I need to get laid.

Yeah.

How long has it been? (Counts out six fingers) Yeah, six months. Maybe this is all a psychological reaction to the skeezy dream I had of my crazy ex, a need to replace subconscious sex with that of sex with someone who doesn't make me cringe.

So OFAG. Where is it? Um, right. Well I (a) don't have much of a plan (b) realized that I still have feelings for Fake Girlfriend and (c) things petered out after my big push a couple weeks ago. Haven't heard from Hot Friendster Girl and Patricia hasn't called.

I threw a housewarming last Saturday for my new roommate. The party was going to be mostly coworkers, but I invited a half dozen of my friends over to join in, one of which was Carmen. I wrote to her that she should let Patricia know that I was having a party since I didn't have any contact info for her.

Later I got an email back form Carmen.

"I can not believe you did not invite Patricia!" she wrote. "What is wrong with you?"

Ugh. Does anyone read anymore?

"I don't have her bleeding email address!!" I shot back. "That is why I asked you to pass along the invite to her since you know how to get in contact with her."

"I thought you got her card the other night."

"No I gave her my card. Was a bit drunk so didn't realize till later that I didn't get one from her."

In the end Carmen gave me Patricia's email address and phone number, but when I invited Patricia to the party, she said that she was going to be out of town. Sigh. Must come up with a plan. Is it weird to contact someone when you weren't given their info directly?

"That's really freaky."

Believe it or not I've had a couple of half started blog entries over the week dealing with anything from my mother to the lesbian comedy show I saw on Wednesday. But in the end neither seemed particularly interesting, especially since I have nothing to show for my latest OFAG push, which I'm sure is what you all are anxiously waiting to hear about. Sigh. I haven't really been trying.

Last night I dreamt that I took a train to London, arriving at Kings Cross just as the sun was starting to go down. I was there with my parents and as we negotiated the recent construction, I told them that London had changed a lot since they had last been there. We then rented a car that looked like a black cab and then drove out into the countryside. I'm not sure why I have been dreaming so much of travel lately, but I think I shouldn't be reading Harry Potter before bed.

Beth called me on Tuesday from Sweden to check in on me. I hadn't talked to her in a while, especially since she left the States, but she was surprised that I didn't know that she was going to be living in Paris with her boyfriend Nils till Christmas.

"I thought you knew!"

"No, I had no idea," I insisted. "I must be really out of the loop."

"But you said on your blog that you dreamt of going to Paris, so I thought you knew."

"Nope. No clue."

"That's really freaky."

"Guess it means that I'm going to be visiting you and Neils in Paris."

Speaking of dreams, I also dreamt last night -- before going to London -- that I was having sex with my crazy ex-girlfriend. The dream was skeezily vivid, especially the part where her wife discovered us. Wretch. Vomit. Wretch. Note to subconscious: please do not go there. Ever. Again.

Excuse me while I go wash my soul with bleach.

"I love the smell of OFAG in the morning."

In the immortal words of Dean Martin, or at least made famous by, you're nobody till somebody loves you. I have to admit to a special fondness for the song (I wish I could find a better link than ol' Dino singing like he's on his fourth martini). While I hate HATE musicals, I can't help but imagine myself slipping into a well choreographed song and dance a la Gene Kelly every time I hear it or perhaps something akin to Bjork's video for "Oh So Quiet." When they film the movie of Operation Find The Lesbians -- and they will -- I would like to put a request for the Dean Martin song to be played as pedestrians in Union Square suddenly abandon their lives to join me in a quick dance, sunlight streaming down, dogs frolicking in the park, kebab cart guys two stepping with anti-war protesters, etc. Just for irony.

I think Mira Nair should direct.

J-Wo's recent comment about how she and I are the only members of our high school group still single resonated because I realized that . . . strangely enough . . . I'm okay with being single. Seriously. OFAG is not about finding someone for someone's sake, but rather having a quality person to snuggle up to on a rainy Sunday. And just as Dean Martin said:

You may be king, you may possess the world and it's gold,
But gold won't bring you happiness when you're growing old.

OFAG is a noble quest for love and one not for the faint of heart. One must be well prepared before embarking on their own journey. So gather 'round ladies and the lonely of heart. Let Ms. Rouge give you some sage advice cobbled from years of alternately fucking up and learning on the fly. I'm not sure if I can be called anybody's hero, but at least let me part with some well fought wisdom. (I may be guilty of breaking these rules, but at least I'm aware of them.)

1. You must first love yourself before you can expect anyone else to love you.

2. You must tell yourself that you are worthy of awesomeness and never settle for anything less.

3. You must be super okay with being single. Loving yourself and expecting nothing short of amazing also means that you will be single whilst waiting for Ms. Right. Yes, go out there and look for her, but don't settle.

Beware, OFAGers. Just because you've made affirmations 1, 2, and 3 doesn't mean that the journey won't be fraught with peril. Do not fall for the age old lesbian cliche of moving in with someone on the second date. If you're anywhere near a U-Haul after only knowing your special lady for a month, you've just lost the quest. Return to the start line and begin again. Do not collect $200.

So get out there. Just make sure you're solid first. And case you needed ideas on how to ask out your special lady, here's a reader provided link.

"The cactus where your heart should be."

I once read somewhere that a woman's body has an amazing ability to forget pain, that during childbirth a rush of endorphins causes an amnesia like state encouraging further procreation. Basically your body knows that birth is extremely unpleasant and if we remembered just how painful we'd never do it again. And then the species would die out.

I've always wondered if this biological adaptation applies to not just physical pain, but psychological too. Or is it that the two are forever linked, psychological pain manifesting itself as physical and thus prone to the same mechanism that tricks us into vulnerability. Reading my friend J-Wo's post titled "How to Recover From a Broken Heart" stirred up memories of the couple of times I got my heart broken from love -- and I mean big time broken, can't get out of bed, crying like my best friend had gotten run over by a bus heartbroken. It's been a good four and a half years since I've experienced those depths and the brief relationships since have been trifling in comparison to the amount of pain they've managed to exude.

So what's my point? Why focus on the negative when OFAG is all about boundless optimism and the Big Push? Because one must fight to remember why this time has to be different -- that I won't pick someone solely because they like me and wonder why they were so careless with my heart. Even with the body's capacity to forget pain, the memory still lingers like a cloudy trace, a smell that triggers visions of past girlfriends. It cautions us and reminds us to go forth with seat belts on, but it also reminds that for there to be pain there had to be love. And with that comes memories of happy times, a smile, hands entwined, and really great sex.

* * *

PS -- my new favorite song is "Armchairs" by Andrew Bird. Go. Go forth and listen.

". . . oh time's a crooked bow"

There's nothing better than Spring in New York. People are everywhere, happy, laughing, enjoying drinks at a rare outside table, clamoring onto roofs to watch the sun set and to smoke that last cigarette. Yesterday was one of those evenings -- clear sky, cool evening air as my friend Wendy and I walked past Washington Square Park. Everything felt satisfying and when we took a cab back to Park Slope from the restaurant Blue Hill, the air running through the open window of the cab as we crossed the Manhattan Bridge, I felt so happy -- apart from not being able to sleep lately.

I've come to the realization that I can't remember the last time I slept through the night. Maybe it's why it now takes two cups of Gorilla Coffee to get me through the morning, but my sleeping pattern has become woefully punctuated by cat chases, car horns, the occasional gunshots, and my next door neighbor's alarm clock that somehow bleeds its sound through brick and plaster. Last night was especially bad as my cats Jasper and Theo spent the night crashing about the apartment. Around 3 am or so, after waking up to inspect what sounded like one of my lamps falling over and muttering obscenities angrily, I let the cats into the kitchen hoping it would calm their restlessness.

I just wanted to sleep.

But if there was an unintended consequence to navigating a darkened kitchen at three in the morning it was the rare glimpse of urban tranquility -- dark blues of a perfectly clear sky over slumbering Brooklyn homes and the fierce brightness of a very full moon. I stood there and watched as the silhouette of a neighbor's tree, moving softly with wind, sent patterns of moonlight against my body. The bright spot of a planet -- either Venus or Jupiter -- reminded me of astronomy books and long discarded aspirations. Calmed, I returned to bed and slept till my alarm rang for 7 am, two cats curled up closely next to me.

This is my 400th post, two and a half years of my life laid bare since leaving my hometown of Washington, DC. How many words is that? How many rants? How many entries where I opened myself up to people as far away as Australia and Croatia, revealing insecurities and heartbreak? Thank you all for reading and I do hope it's been somewhat entertaining. We now return to our regularly scheduled screwball adventures in OFAG.