Two Degrees

I was thinking next time I go, I should just park it at the bar and do shots for every ex that comes in. And then an extra one for the new soul mate I was sure to meet that night.

Lesbians really like each other. They must because there are never more than two degrees between them. I would love to pay my Italian cousin to "take care" of my ex---just a little re-location situation. A girl can dream.

So what's a modern lesbian to do who lives in the Bay Area, or any area where packs of lesbians live, have L Word dinner parties, and go to the same two bars on every other Friday or second Thursday? Or who yearns for the yearly dyke march so we can have those lovely ex-girlfriend run-ins on the street while screaming into our cell phones to find our friends who used to be ex’s and are now official friend status again?

That's a long way of saying: when a new bar opened near me, I was thrilled. I knew that every Wednesday, dyke night, I could go and find a new date. However on my first night there, enthusiastic and hopeful, I entered Charlie's, a neighborhood bar where everyone knows your name and your business. I saw not two but three of my previous exes. Actually, the situation was more like three x two = six happy coupled-up ladies. I was thinking next time I go, I should just park it at the bar and do shots for every ex that comes in. And then an extra one for the new soul mate I was sure to meet that night.

The answer? FOB! The Festival of Babes, a marathon of soccer by day and parties by night, when athletic wear gives way to naughty nurse's uniforms and Catholic boarding school skirts. FOB is designed to be about free and easy jello shots and free and easy lovin'.

The first night a few party girls and I all drove home from the games and then the post-party together at 11pm singing "We are Family" while wondering when the action would start. What I got instead of action was an appearance of my latest Nerve.com date, the one who thought, "Let's see in my closet: I have 10-year-old Teva's and yoga pants, I think that's a great outfit for my first date." OK, she was very nice. And we had some fun. But Teva's?

Night two: lots of sweaty lesbians, the same hip hop song from the 90's on heavy rotation---but no love. Good thing my Teva-wearing lady was there and bought me a drink---while she downed her thirteenth Long Island Iced Tea and slurred her words. It was charming, really. I think she took dance lessons from her favorite episode of Seinfeld (you know the one where Elaine stole the show). And as I was leaving, Nerve.com gal leaned over in a whiskey-laden whisper and asked me to go kayaking.

Not all was lost, I did see one girl I wanted to kiss. I asked her out the next sober day via email. Naturally, her current girlfriend is my ex's tenant.

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