Thanks for the Love and the Food

Lady luck has smiled on me. Throughout life, I have been fortunate enough to get involved with women who cook. It’s not like I planned it. On the Match site, I never said I was looking for a “chef.” It just happens. It seems to be one of my special talents. I can parallel park with an inch to spare and attract women who love to cook.

What can I say? Cooking is sexy; the smells, the tastes, the textures. She licks the sauce off her finger sucking on it a bit too long. I swoon.

I give thanks for the women who have always been the purveyors of hope for me. Giving thanks makes sense to me. This holiday of Thanksgiving, where the new settlers had a feast and survived largely in thanks to the Indians, only to steal their land from them and slaughter them later on. So, for Thanksgiving, I am focusing on thanking the women who always make life worth living with their smiles, their sweetness and their intelligence.

It’s funny, but years after a relationship is over, I may forget the scent she wore or what day her birthday falls on, but I always remember that one dish she made that I still crave. I have tried to find recipes to reproduce many of the dishes after the relationship falls apart. Call me sentimental. Who says love and food don’t go together?

My girlfriend from Maine was into seafood. My girlfriend from Charleston made the best seafood creole in the world. My current sweetie does something wonderfully creative with veggie lasagna. Just thinking about the savory feast makes me crazy with yearning.

So thanks to the women that make life worth living.


The Ups and Downs of My Lesbian Libido

I like the word libido for a number of reasons. I also like the word mojo. Both of these words bring a smile to my face for several reasons. Not only do they both have an interesting sound that makes the words sing in my ears like a nursery rhyme, but these words also conjure up memories of sleepless nights wrapped in curves so soft that I never wanted to leave the bed.

There were moans and whispers complete with shadows in candlelit rooms, where arms and legs embraced a warmth so primal, so instinctive, that I lost myself for hours and days in what I am certain is my truest purpose on earth, to love and be loved, in the flesh, in the mess, with hair flying and hot lips eagerly searching for acceptance in a world gone mad most of the time.

I am happy to announce that after a long drought of about two years, my libido has finally returned, roaring back to life. Who knew I would ever lose it. I would have never guessed it could happen to me. As it turns out, I think it drowned in sadness for awhile, got lost in despair over a terrible breakup.

I allowed my libido to be defeated by what seemed like a failure to me. How many more times could I trot it out, expecting the best, undressing myself, taking off all my armor for another woman, only to have them laugh at me, or worse, ignore me for some complicated reason I never fully understood. Her life’s disappointments became my life’s disappointments, until finally, I had to leave.

A voice in my head started as a whisper…”Save yourself. You’ve tried for seven years. You’ve tried everything. Save yourself.” The whisper grew louder and louder, until, one day after she screamed at me, “Get out,” I gave myself permission to leave. The facts are blurry. Rage affects me that way. Adrenaline takes over and I begin packing, or mostly not packing, deciding to leave most remnants from “our” life together where they are, with her, like the evidence in a crime scene.

When her sadness infects you and you care too much, your libido starts dying, gasping for breath. When you can no longer write it off as “her” problem because the kisses stopped and the sex became a passionless chore that no one wanted to sign up for like doing the laundry or cleaning out the litter box, your libido most certainly gets the message. The extraordinary deteriorates into the ordinary and finally into an obligation to be suffered through on Valentine’s Day, anniversaries and birthdays.

In spite of the lighthearted rhyme inherent in the word libido, I guess a person’s libido is a sensitive and fleeting component of a person’s psyche. No, I’m not a therapist. Although, I have paid a few for guidance. I always learn everything through experience. While this type of learning is painful, it does prove to make the lessons stick. What I learned through my last breakup is that when another person that I truly love crushes my spirit, my libido takes a leave of absence.

I have good news though. It is awake once again. As it turns out, I can’t kill my libido. It is a resilient part of my soul that seems to eventually resurface when I’ve finally cleared the way for new thinking and new people and new experiences. If I had to guess, I would say that my libido could be my compass, leading me away from the past, when the past threatens to suffocate me and no longer serves a purpose.

I am certain that lesbians will read this and disagree. As lesbians do, my friends have all weighed in, recommending therapy and to stick it out. I get it. We all long for “happily ever after,” with one perfect partner. That’s okay. I’m sure it is even possible. But, this is my truth. Maybe my “happily ever after” involves trying again instead of living in despair for another minute. I know now that my libido is smarter and more intuitive than what passes for my basic intelligence. Go figure. Carpe your libido.

Carpe the “Sign” When It Finally Comes

I started a new job recently so I have been doing technical writing instead of blogging here. This type of writing is preferable to me. Creative writing is so much fun that I am struggling with my 9 to 5 job of legal writing, which gives me a headache, but pays the bills.

I am in a corporate setting, which is always a challenge for me. I tend to keep a low profile in offices. Since I am single, it is easy for me to opt out of conversations about spouses and family. I don’t know these people very well yet, and I may never feel comfortable blurting out the fact that I am a lesbian. While I believe it would make little difference to anyone, it seems like such a personal admission to make to strangers. I imagine them immediately shifting their thoughts to me in a compromising position with a female when I finally do share this tidbit of information. Maybe that is why it feels so awkward to me. Perhaps I will just tell them I am asexual instead. I wonder what image that would provoke? pathetic or interesting? Who knows?

I went out for a glass of wine with a few people from work one day as my way of trying to be “one of the gang,” and found myself keeping my mouth shut and listening, which is easier for me than one might think, given my propensity to write so much. I swore to myself that I would never be “in the closet again.” So, I can’t figure out why I don’t simply ‘fess up when the subject of family or dating arises.

At some level, I believe I am not ready to invite my new coworkers into “my world” yet. I am content to live on the outside of this circle and be the mysterious one who appears to be mute. I am typically rewarded for being such a good listener, so I am fine with that role for now. Over the years, I have learned that people are desperate to be heard, and I am willing to do that for other people.

Besides, I have not really started dating yet. I think about it, then I get cold feet. It is truly weird, because I have always been good at dating. Even though I can be shy at times, I have learned over the years how to talk to anyone. I also love to kiss and hold hands, so I am a great date by most women’s standards, or so I’ve been told. But who knows. I am a sucker for flattery. I know I am bragging. I guess I have been watching too much of Donald Trump lately and his bold arrogance has ignited something insane inside of me. That guy really pushes all of my buttons, but that is another blog post.

I guess the fact is that I am still recovering from my last relationship and that is how I am explaining a lack of action on my part for the moment. But I hate the idea of fall passing me by without an exciting kiss from a new love interest. Fall is definitely my favorite season. I expect that I will eventually recover from my temporary reluctance to participate in the exciting world of dating. Since this hesitancy is a new phenomenon for me, I am going with it, indulging this unusual urge of mine to withdraw for a bit. I did ask a woman to dinner, but she was leaving on a trip out of town and so that first step of mine was a false start and has been postponed for now.

I am certain that all it will take is one sultry look or one wet kiss to revive me from the sleep walking I am currently involved in, as I pass through my life like an outsider who is only vaguely interested in what is going on. I have immersed myself in books and am enjoying a connection with writers’ words that often make me swoon, leaving me expecting too much from the real characters in my life who seem a bit lifeless and in need of more interesting dialogue.

Don’t spank me. This blog says more about me than anybody else. Right now, I am the boring one. I hope that will change soon, and I suspect it will.

Carpe the “sign” when it arrives.


Lesbian Roles Be Damned

I know role-playing can be fun with the right woman on the right day. At least, that’s what I’ve been told. My problem is that I struggle with first impressions and defy typical roles myself. I look like the “girl next door,” or so I’ve been told. I’m okay with that until it gets in my way, pushing me in a corner by myself, unmatched and unloved.

Like most people, I would prefer a more interesting description. If people described me as sexy or edgy, I would definitely smile about that. Depending on what I wear and who I am with, those descriptions can be true. I have references. My personality is definitely more edgy than my looks. I have no tattoos, piercings or other markings that distinguish me from other people. Too often I am approached by total strangers who tell me I look like their sister, cousin, old classmate. I’m not sure what that means exactly, but it is weird.

While I never have trouble getting dates, I must admit to feeling some angst over the entire process. I actually went to a little party last weekend and only stayed an hour. I felt nervous and very quiet. I do much better one on one, unless I’m drinking. After a few drinks, I am much more talkative. But then I have to stress over getting UBER to pick me up and leaving my car. That is way too complicated. Besides, I want to meet people as myself, not the “buzzed” version of me that is much more dynamic, but much less genuine. That’s a subject for another post.

I guess the whole butch/femme thing, which is supposedly yesteryear, seems all too prevalent to me. I am not attracted to extremes. Super prissy or masculine women do nothing for me. I’m not trying to step on toes. I guess my reason for writing about this subject is because I rarely meet women who seem down to earth and middle of the road. Maybe I am looking in the wrong places.

With that said, I have hope and continue to put myself out there. At some point, I will jump on a dating site, reluctantly….The Girl Next Door seeks The Girl Next Door. Any takers? I know. I need to work on that some.

Carpe your fears for they will set you free! (or so I hear)

Wordy Grl

Lesbian Romance: Shoulda, Woulda, Coulda

After a seven-year relationship, I am slowly considering my options. I am hopeful about my future. My previous relationship was marked by highs and lows, but mostly lows. We broke up so many times and got back together, that it should have been clear early on that the two of us did not work. We tried so hard to make it work. Love is not supposed to be that crazy. That was my final epiphany after seven years of uncertainty and cruelty. I am embarrassed how long it took me to wise up and move towards “the light.”

Shoulda, woulda, coulda is all I can say as I move forward trying to put my best foot forward. After 90 days since the final breakup, I am no longer playing that sad and depressing game where I try and figure out the whys of all the disagreements and arguments that finally led to the chaos that defined our days together.

Now that I have experienced how bad things can get, maybe it will be easier to seek out the peace and kindness I want in my life. “Friendship first” is my new motto. I will not jump into bed quickly, destroying my ability to trust my gut instincts. Hormones be damned. At the risk of sounding like a reader of far too many self-help books, I realize that I need to protect myself from my worst instincts driven by lust. I have no one to blame for my past mistakes, but me, myself and I. I’m owning it, she said with her face bright red and her eyes shifting away and downward.

The good news is that I am no longer in deep pain, feeling like I have failed. We had some good times and I learned more about who I am, my own limitations and how I need to better watch out for myself and set my standards higher. You can’t accomplish anything in life when you live in constant turmoil.

So I am easing into new romance, eyes wide open, and slowly. Physical attraction will not rule my life. Neediness will not guide my decisions. Coffee dates instead of long dinners with too much wine will be the way I start all new relationships.

I promise I will not preach. I am simply reaching out to all those lonely lesbians who might be in the same boat, looking for a cyber friend late at night when the darkness allows us to feel our vulnerability in a way we typically don’t during daylight hours. You are never alone.

Carpe your next lesbian romance!

Wordy Grl