But alas I am back and ready to go…

Last night NAM and I went to the NY Comedy Festival to go see Rosie O'Donnell perform. As a fan of Vh1's Stand-up Spotlight (I always thought it was the coolest thing to see a woman in a tuxedo) we did what every other young lesbian in NY would, we purchased the cheapest tickets and sat in the rafters to see Rosie speak her mind. I have to admit I was intrigued by how young and hip the audience was in our section, it was like going to an Indigo Girls concert except everyone was in better clothes.

To start, Rosie walked out to Eminem's "Without Me" and high-fived the front row .

To everyone's surprise , she announced that she wasn't going to talk about "The View." She said it "was over" and she preceded to move on by talking about Kabbalah and how the red string everyone wears costs $32 dollars. From family life to politics, she was exactly what made her so great on daytime TV last year and a reminder of what we are missing this year.

45 Mins into her set, she talked about when she was touring around the country in the 80's there were so few female comics in the circuit that they never got to work together. She mentioned how one time she saw on a bill that another woman was performing and her name Roseanne (Rosie's given name). This comic had just been picked to perform on Johnny Carson and a few years later had her own hit series.

Roseanne was amazing! She did her own 45+ minute set and rocked the house. From Bush bashing to menopause she proved that she still is a voice to be reckoned with.

After Roseanne finished her set, Rosie came back and joined her on the stage for a 15min Rat-packesque banter that targeted everything from Hilary Clinton to a new rendition of Sonny and Cher's I Got You Babe, re-titled I Got You, Bitch.

If they go on tour - we will definitely be in the rafters again.

Yes, gay Montreal.
As you can see by the photos, it’s a real happening town. Those dots on the screen are me.

To start, I have had baby fine hair since my 13th summer when I decided it would look cool if I dumped a bottle of peroxide on my head every week. My plan was to look like a chunky Mary Stuart Masterson in "Some Kind of Wonderful," instead I looked more like an aging golden retriever. After that failed attempt I have since opted to sit with the old ladies in my hometown and get my hair highlighted by wearing a cap that looks like a Barbie head when you turn it inside out. Ahh..., the secrets of my beauty.

After a few endless days of staring at the back of my head by angling a compact mirror in the right light for hours and calling my mother every night insisting that their were bald ladies in our family that no one wanted to talk about, I finally broke down and went to a dermatologist. And I thought they only did skin…

Dr's Advice: Rogaine… Rogaine the crap you have to apply on the top of your head twice a day for the rest of your life. The evil solution that promises if you go out drinking one night and forget to apply its magical powers you will wake up to all your hair on your pillow. This was a commitment way too similar to some of my past relationships, here I was again waking up in a panic fearing what was lying next to me in the morning…

Another blow was finding out that the only variety of Rogaine I could find in NYC was floral scented. I really want to meet the genius that come up with the idea that already frustrated balding women would want their topical hair solution to smell like a fresh summer breeze.

They must be the same geniuses who decided women would want scented tampons. I made that mistake once, and never again. Looking way too similar to the regular scented box when I grabbed them off a shelf in a hurry, I spent a whole afternoon wondering why people were complimenting my perfume when I didn't put any on that day.

Now, after applying gallons of Nogaine, receiving corotzon shots to my head, and accepting that my balding spot is not a cowlick gone array, I have decided that when the time comes I am going to shave my head.

I applaud all the wig wearing woman out there, but knowing me I would wake up one morning in a rush and would be wearing the damn thing backwards for half the day, plus I finally get to shave my head - although it just doesn't sound as cool as it would if I was 18.

To be continued…

- Not intentionally, but he has....

hmm... Where do I start. I love boxer shorts. The louder in color they are, the better. I have everything from seals carrying bate and tackle to sunflowers (an ex-girlfriends failed attempt to feminize me). I highly recommend Jcrew - they have the best patterns.

Boxers were a slight addiction. I'd wear them everyday, even if that meant you could see them through my pants. I haven't worn linen khakis since.

When I was younger, My 95+ year old grandma was insistent that if I was to wear boxers as my bloomers, there were no secrets in our house, than she was going to sew the crouches up for me. I don't know where she found fluorescent orange thread, but all 76 pairs of my shorts were sewed up with seamlessly.
Semi grown-up and long gone from living at my parents, I still leave clothes behind for my returning visits. Mainly because I am too lazy to lug home dirty laundry. Thanks Mom!

Shortly after one of my trips home, my parents went to a dinner party at the neighbors house. After dinner was served and before the coffee was finished brewing, my dad excused himself from the table and went into the bathroom. After a longer than expected amount of time, my father finally walked back into the dinning room laughing. As if they were in their own kitchen my father announced to the party of 10 that he had my underwear on. With my mom the only other guest laughing, he explained that he tried to find the slit in his boxers and when he couldn't he assumed that he had them on backwards. So he turned the shorts around and again couldn't find a way out. He apparently did this for about 15 mins.

I thought there would be more dykes in TV.

Upon graduating with my surprisingly lower than expected GPA, I decided to do exactly what I got my degree in: watching TV.

Finally watching endless hours of "Sale of the Century" and "Small Wonder" would pay off. Plus I thought I'd have the dating life of a champion. I was certain there would be plenty of chicks out there like me working in TV and looking for the same. I just had to pick the right road they were all heading down.

Road 1 -- production. I'd get to wear jeans and a headset everyday with a cigarette stashed behind my ear. Hot,
right?

Road 2 -- corporate. I'd have to brush my hair, stock up on khakis, and remember how to spell.

Instead of being in the land of plenty, I was a colonist in the land of what the fuck. 10 years in the biz and I can still count on 1 hand the number of Corporate Lesbians In Television that I've met. Maybe they're all at ESPN or HGTV (two networks I've never worked at, but I have my suspicions.) I know they are out there, I just can't find them.

That is why I can going to create the Corporate Lesbians In Television Club. Otherwise known as the C.L.I.T. Club.

I'm not sure yet what we will do or what our charter will say. How does everyone feel about bowling? Too
stereotypical? E-mail me and let me know you are out there. I'll keep a running tally.

*** What does "I'll charter" mean? ***