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So Do They

November 8, 2013

Since meeting my girlfriend of five years, butchness is what I’ve gawked at and admired most in the lesbian community. Who isn’t attracted to a butch’s confidence? I’d even say I have a lethal attraction to “players”. Now, take one of those butchtastic, smooth-talking tops and U-haul it to paradise. My curvacious dreams had been realized, I found somebody who loves to squeeze my thighs, bite my dimply ass, and politely tell me to shut up.

I live with my hot boi-friend, and we also share the space with a bi-sexual besty of mine. Stick three women in a Long Island apartment together and watch everything you thought was true unravel. The low self esteem my roommate and I share, can be looked at as typical. We wear dresses and cry. We don’t wreck anything but our egos. We believe we are fat, we are desperate to be loved, and we are so god damned needy, it’s pathetic. Wait! We are also two of the most intelligent and kind people you will ever meet.

I’m opinionated to a fault and people generally strive for my confidence. The latter excludes my partner. My inability to trust her attraction to me has at times began a viscious cycle leading to our demise. So imagine my surprise when she told me she would consider liposuction. She only had to say it once, and all my assumptions regarding butch (even of the soft variety) women shifted. It is not her transparent “gay”ness that makes her insecure in public. It is not her Polish speaking upbringing that causes her social anxiety. The reason her swagger only comes out after a few beers, is not because she is busy trying to stifle her sexual prowess out of respect for women. It’s because she IS one.

Gay, straight, black, white, asian, fat, skinny, single, married, we all have that one thing in common. We have different backgrounds, training and outlooks; but deep down inside, no matter how we choose to live and appear, there is a nagging “be better” that has been learned. Society, family, tradition, something has taught us all to be more feminine, stronger, quieter, louder, skinnier, curvier, more independent and less alone. It’s unrealistic and it’s what we can’t avoid sharing as women, even if it is not obvious in our most intimate inter-relationships.


Girl, You Know You Better Let Go

April 18, 2013

I haven’t written in over a year. Not a single blog post, not an article to submit to my favorite magazine, not even a simple journal entry during the many nights of emotional turmoil I’ve put myself through. I moved permanently to Long Island, and apparently “working on myself” consisted of feel-good flings and NYC outings with coworkers ( and possibly drinking by myself once a week when I went to my “bad place”). Last I left you, I was putting on a strong front and trying to see the humor in the ending of my three-year live-in relationship. Dont get me wrong, I actually didn’t do half bad. I moved, found a job with animals, and made new friends I will most likely keep for a very long time. I did figure out that I could be happy and single; a good lesson to learn and hold onto.

Agnes and I got back together a few months ago. It’s been a whirlwind of emotions. I find it tough to let go of the anger and start over. I don’t have the type of mind that easily forgets (this is convenient for the good memories in my life, not so convenient for the hurtful). I’ll randomly remember a night she put somebody else before me, and I can’t contain my jealousy. A woman I once assumed I would marry, who I once had no reason to doubt, was not that woman during 2012 (and even parts of 2013 once we were reunited). I’ve been lied to, felt abandoned at moments, and struggle to feel secure enough in myself to not care. Of course, I did enjoy the wooing, and the proclamation that I am the love of her life. She’s dumped people for me and moved to New York. This isn’t as easily remembered as the moments that lacked truth, in which she’s put one type of “friend” or another before the honesty in our relationship.

I want to find the humor in it all again. So I can write. So I can forgive. I want to be inspired enough and excited enough to wittingly tell you all about what goes on in our recently revived bedroom. So this is a start. I also have a roommate, who has been so easy-going during the transition of Agnes moving in with us. Can you imagine? She hears us fight, lives without a door to her bedroom, and lets me steal her coffee. I have nothing to complain about.

Anger Danger! How do we rid ourselves of the pattern?

February 7, 2012

Growing up, I lived in a fairly honest and open-minded household filled with support given by both my parents. My mother was and still is my rock, and she taught me how to lie. It was simple, we lied for peace. This quality of life was passed down by her mother, whose husband was a stressed out cop who liked to keep his gun visible at home. It is a type of abuse that is rarely portrayed accurately in movies. There is no hitting, and only walls are punched. We weren’t scared, on average. My own father worked all day, and usually gave us everything we asked for. If something were to happen while he was at work, such as the taking in of a stray animal, or the accidental breaking of an object as a result of some sort of spontaneous fun, we quickly gathered to get our story straight. If it was a successful cover up, then we could spend the night watching television opposed to hiding in our rooms until the screaming subsided and his face returned to it’s natural color.

Some things you just can’t predict. Sometimes we all say something stupid. My mother and I are both sincerely intelligent people, yet we can be a bit flighty. We are writers, thinkers, and don’t necessarily live in reality, a quirk that most find endearing at first. Imaginative types are often drawn to those driven by success and order. It begins as a love affair. We admire their determination and perfectly pressed clothes, and they admire our ability to just be ourselves. The initial year of hot sex masks their anger due to the belief that we are perfect and beautiful.

My first marriage was to a man (problem #1). He was a literary guy, and came off to others as very gentle, in touch with his feminine side, and didn’t necessarily find the need to self-groom (there goes my previous theory). My current partner, or should I say ex-partner now room-mate, has sarcastically said to me “Oh yeah, I’m sure he was terrifying”. He was, at times. When we were living in Manhattan, which I was blamed for for years due to it being one of my stupid “dreams” (it also happened to be one of the happiest times of my life), I lost one of the 8 jobs I had during the two years we lived there. On the way home from getting fired from my highest paying job yet, I rode the subway in the absolute wrong direction. I tried to figure out a way to get another job so quickly, I would never have to tell him I lost this one. I didn’t lie. As a result, I will never forget that night, it was the first time he called me stupid and useless.

I left that marriage for somebody who called me smart and funny. I was auditioning for movie roles at the time, and she believed I could get any role I went for. The support and acceptance felt great. I was sure that being out of the closet and accepting that I was gay would be the end of my anger phobia. I literally have fear of a feeling. I don’t feel a  physical threat, I simply don’t want to be screamed at, and no matter how much I scream back, the fear hasn’t gone away. I fear a look of disappointment. It turns out that women can be quite angry, quite disappointed, and are able to punch walls (the holes are just smaller).

I’ve come to the conclusion that in the future I will require a certain level of support. My exes have always supported me financially, and that has often turned into resentment on their part. If you want to be my partner for the long term, I require encouragement when I lose a job. We all have the right to live with somebody who makes us feel better about our shortcomings; who admires that we do what we love, opposed to what offers the greatest success. I may be outspoken, and due to a recent state of unhappiness, I may be a bit moodier than normal. I have been called a bitch more times than I can count. I deserve somebody who would love to make me happy, which is as simple as a hug. We all deserve a god damn hug.

The Lesbian Breakup Checklist

January 31, 2012

One of the million "couple photos" I will stare at obsessively over the next year.

Every lesbian remembers her first; and here’s hoping your lesbian breakup is everything you dreamed of (and witnessed on lesbian television dramas)! This simple check list will enable you, like me, to keep track of just how predictable the end of your relationship is (let’s face it, you jumped on the stereotype bandwagon the second you U-Hauled it a few years ago).

  • Your heart is broken in pieces, and you are reminded of it 24/7, as the girl who shattered it still lives with you and shares your bed (not to worry though, you make sure the dog is strategically placed between your two barely dressed bodies).
  • There’s anywhere from one to four adopted animals glaring at you, begging for a happy reunion. They don’t want yet another new Mommy.
  • Your lesbian best friend, who used to be in love with your lesbian partner, is now your lesbian rock (and annoyingly right all the time, when she urges you not to beg your girl to swap spit one last time).
  • You’ve been sexually inactive for so long that the thought of future encounters seems irrational (you can’t seem to find one other lesbian as attractive as your ex, anyway).
  • Now you can really stop shaving! Forever!
  • You and your now ex partner have made a pact to be best friends forever! This way you can still throw things at her (both physically and emotionally).
  • Therapy. Lots of Therapy.
  • You’ve got a bad case of amnesia. You were in fact the perfect couple and you just don’t understand why this is happening. You’ve forgotten all about the last six months of her ignoring your needs in order to play video games and eat food.
  • Porn. Lots of Porn.
  • Lastly, none of the above seems funny. The reality is, you built a life with a woman you love. You share a home, possessions, and broken dreams. 80% of the time you are going to feel a deep sense of panic and gut wrenching pain. Enjoy the other 20%, and don’t forget to dig up the lingerie your cats now use as a bed, and WEAR it! One day soon you will meet somebody who actually wants to see you in it.

Hold the Phone

December 29, 2011

As a writer, I should probably have my own laptop. I use my girlfriend’s Mac daily, but here I am at work posting a blog using my oh so smart phone due to a lack of inspiration at home.

Home has been a tough place lately and I seem to have entered a delusional state of home making; vegan baking. You name it, I baked it this week. Cookies, cupcakes, curried chickpea patties.

I never related to the Betty Crockers of the world. Why would a gorgeous intelligent woman of the world spend her nights whisking anything but a lover? Yet I found myself at Whole Foods buying toasted sesame oil and organic cane sugar, excited to get home and get my hands dirty in an alarmingly none sexual manner.

The cause of my three-day spell of domestication is simple; denial. I have lost myself along with my loving three year relationship. I can’t think about anything but her, our demise, possible solutions, past joys, and a questionable future. I finally understand the lure of the kitchen, the simplicity of ingredients and the pleasure of being able to control the outcome of a cake. Then, I get to stuff my face with my accomplishments.

Today I feel more like myself. I once again have the desire to shed these holiday pounds and start up my yoga practice again. As for my relationship, I’m not confident in it’s core. I leave you with this question, what is your definition of weak vs. strong? I have been struggling with their similarity.

Soy Sexy for the Holidays

November 18, 2011

The untimely snow has melted, and oddly enough, preserved fall beneath it. Food and gifts are now on the mind of every woman in America, and I am out to convert her. There is nothing less sexy than a woman who doesn’t understand what she has in her mouth and wrapped around her body. I lure women in with truth, and lead by example. I start them off slowly, and in the end they almost always find they love what they never knew they could; Tofu. The sexiest, most flexible ingredient on the planet looks both appetizing and festive when served correctly.

I know you all love animals, humanity, peace, and yourselves. You enjoy being proactive, and putting your dollars toward cruelty free foods and clothes. Trust me, everything you enjoy, from your favorite comfort food to your combat boots or stilettos, has an equally awesome alternative. I could take the route of informing you on the inhumane practices of factory farms and such, but holiday shopping is so much more fun (and surprise, it’s cheaper this way)! Check out this jacket my lady friend has been directed to buy me from

A hot, kind, of lesbian jacket

It’s going to look so good with these shoes she is destined to wrap up from ASOS:

Holidays are about family and fun. My favorite part of Christmas morning is watching Agnes undress in order to try on her new clothes (jokes on her), while my cats roll around in cat nip (they look ridiculous). I then enjoy eating, a lot. There is no better feeling than knowing my pleasures don’t directly or indirectly hurt anybody, and that when I send out that Holiday card reading “PEACE” on the front; I mean it.


When people ask you how it is two girls fall in love, tell them this.

October 11, 2011

I lay on my stomach, waiting for her to come home while drifting in and out of sleep. I loved the sound of those stairs, she would always make her way down them really slowly, as if to surprise me, even though she knew I was waiting. She would smell like chinese food, but it couldn’t mask the natural powder scent of her skin. She was gone for six hours, and slowly lowered her body on top of mine, kissing the back of my neck and whispering “I missed you” into my ear, while my face was still buried in her pillow. I loved inhaling her sheets.

I would take that feeling for granted, thinking I deserved it and it was mine forever. Hours would go by, of us doing nothing, but somehow enjoying it. Before I knew it I would feel soft hands attached to me, taking in every pore, and I could feel her tasting my skin. I don’t know how many people get to feel a person’s lips telling them they love them with every intentional kiss venturing down their body, but it was a feeling I fear to never have again. I still daydream about her kissing my breasts while I lay down and allow her to, not needing to give her anything in return. It’s hard to believe those were my breasts; being treated so gratefully. I never appreciated my breasts before then. Never realized they could be beautiful.

It’s only something we can experience during one moment in time, even if it lasts for months. That kind of love fades, with every fight, with every familiar and ordinary feeling. That passion is meant as fuel; for writing, for art, for day dreams. Who came up with the phrase french kissing? Making out… tongue kissing…. open mouthed. Such a vulgar description for something so beautiful, so vital to love. Money can tear you apart, greeting cards can try to keep you together, but nothing works without a kiss. A kiss can be anywhere, it’s not a motion, it’s an attachment; an attachment that I yearn for, to remind me of my beauty, of hers.

Do we drag on? Our body parts representing work, angst, pain and rejection. There’s something said for not dying alone, for a type of love that’s not passionate, thats not fueled. There is comfort, there is true love. There is trust, but not the same kind; It is now an educated trust, a trust we have to rationalize.

To get to her I would take a train. The trip lasted for over an hour, flying by as I carefully applied my make up and checked my hair. I would stare in the mirror and try to read magazines, but all I could accomplish was picturing her and what was about to take place. Her face, her slouch, her smile and easiness. Ultimately what always got me was her surprise, her shocked expression. I could tell the moment she saw me that she was relieved I had traveled, lied, and put all my day’s energy into seeing her. Then, it was pure joy.