my forays through love and other gastronomical stories

The Lesbian Chronicles 29: Hope Is A Bitch In A Rose Coloured Dress — June 28, 2016

The Lesbian Chronicles 29: Hope Is A Bitch In A Rose Coloured Dress

I must save myself, still I long for a saviour.  Searching through my mind’s rolodex, I consider every person I have ever dated, fucked or sated and come up empty. Nothing outside of me can save me and I know this, yet I resist. I am waiting for my big lotto win, for the one that got away to return, for my proverbial knight to arrive on her white horse and take me away from all this.

Right this minute it feels like all the hard, back breaking work I have done for the last twenty five years has gone to shit in a sandwich, because I am still wanting and waiting to be saved, and if that fucking lifeboat isn’t coming; if the magical mother/lover fairy godmother doesn’t appear on the horizon at the very last minute to save me, I will go down in my ship.

So I sit in my comfy corduroy La-Z- Boy  watching The Bachelor  hoping that love will knock on my door. So how’s that going for me, you ask?  Actually not so fucking well.

But that bitch Hope keeps showing up in her beautiful rose coloured dress, seducing me with her promises of Someday. I am really getting sick of this girl! Because everyone knows that The Bachelor is an ‘unreality’ show, the chance of that lottery  win is pretty damn slim and truthfully, horses scare the shit out of me!

As my dad has often said “Here’s the deal.” I can see the glass half empty or half full or just be fucking happy I have a glass at all, because I have a sink with running water right in my kitchen that can fill my glass any time I want!

Now back to those twenty five ‘lost’ years. Truth: love and money have not yet graced me, but what here is left?  I am finally free of a serious eating disorder that has dogged me since I was fourteen years old. If all I do moving forward is not harm myself with food than I shall feel whole and free.

This morning even though I was feeling ‘faklempt’  I did not eat the two day leftover msg ridden Chinese food. I did not eat the blueberry danish with icing and that was icky and sticky that I would have eaten with masochistic glee. I did not eat those Honey Oat Cheerios with milk that would have given me a migraine before I had even finished the bowl. I did eat fresh Ontario strawberries that I paired with almond milk yogurt and honey, feeling happy.

So here I am- still looking for love, feeling a lot lost and more than a little victimy, working hard to be okay with not being okay, and taking pleasure in life’s small mercies.

The Lesbian Chronicles 28: Take The Time…To Be Kind — June 19, 2016

The Lesbian Chronicles 28: Take The Time…To Be Kind

Let’s start a  micro – kindness movement!

Yesterday in my ongoing attempt to meet my beloved, I signed up for a nutrition/cooking course at my local Metropolitan Community Church. MCC is primarily an LGBT church, so I signed up for this course not as much for the nutritional information but for the possibility of sitting next to a sexy dyke, and sending her my love vibes as I ask her to pass the persimmon or the parsley.

I got to the class a bit late which is unusual for me as I tend to be at least five minutes early, so I didn’t pay particular attention to the ‘No parking after 5 pm’  sign that was literally right in front of my car. In my defense, I am short and somewhat near-sighted so it wouldn’t  have been organic for me to have looked up to scan the sign, and again I was rushing!

Since the class was only one hour I had brought my puppy Lucille with me as I had intended to take her to the dog park immediately after the class . I walked into to the church and then into a fairly dark room where the nutritionist was speaking to a group of ten people. Melanie the nutritionist was both strident and perky , two qualities that should not be brought together in one person.  I sat down and said hello to the group.  Strangely no one acknowledged my presence. I found that a little disturbing and a lot inhospitable. Now, I understand that Melanie  was in the middle of speaking, but I felt a few seconds spent on making me feel part of the group would have gone a long way to make me feel comfortable and a part of the whole.

Almost as the long hour was coming to a close, a man rushed into the church and pointed to me and said ” The police are here with a tow truck, and they are about to tow your car away along with your little dog!” I ran outside just in time to prevent my car with dog in tow, from being taken far far away. I thanked the man profusely, and asked him how he knew it was my car the police were going to tow away. He told me that he lived right across from where I was parked and  had watched me go into the church next door.

I was so grateful, as this adventure in towing would have cost me hundreds of dollars not to mention traumatizing my poor little poochie. As I drove away, I thought about how this man, who just by spending a few  extra minutes of his time to help me,  had saved my ample ass big time.


This morning I went to buy eggs at Oillife in Rosedale. I went to the front counter to pay for the eggs and the young man who was serving me took my carton of eggs and opened the crate to see if any of the eggs were cracked. I was impressed with his diligence and commented. He told me that his mother had taught him to be thorough and that he knew I would be upset when I came home and found one of the eggs had cracked. How lovely!


I felt very cared for in both the above situations , and I realized how these small micro-moments of kindness, strung together like tiny Christmas lights, make me feel whole -er, and more humane, more connected to my own well of kindness.

So I decided to write this tiny blog where I (hopefully!) inspire a micro- kindness movement. No big gestures necessary. Perhaps you ask the elderly woman in front of you at the check out line if she needs help carrying her groceries to the car. Perhaps you smile and say hello to the man who takes your subway token as you make your way to work. Perhaps you stop to hold the door open for a mom struggling to hold the hand of her rambunctious toddler.

Really any small gesture of kindness will suffice, just begin!





The Lesbian Chronicle 27: Darkness and Light — June 13, 2016

The Lesbian Chronicle 27: Darkness and Light

My IPhone clock reads 1 a.m. and I am wide awake. Why is that you might be asking?  I am awake at this hour because I keep on engaging with someone who is emotionally unhealthy and then magically wishing that she would suddenly ‘snap out of it’ and be healthy.

So then who really is the unhealthy one? Yup. Me. Does anyone in HuffPo land know Harville Hendrix? He is a therapist who believes you choose your partners to work out all the shit you couldn’t work out with your parents. Since I had a shitload of shit to work through from my fabulous parental units and I am a perfectionist, I worked hard to find the perfect woman to work through all my mummy/daddy issues. So I searched and searched to find my perfect foil and I found her. 

Sadly there is a caveat. In order to heal according to Hendrix, both parties have to undergo Imago Therapy.  In my case, only one person wanted to do said therapy and I know you can all guess who that wasn’t. Eventually our relationship ended because I could not bear to be lonely with her sitting right next to me in the same room.

 Back to tonight : against my better judgment when my ex – partner in question asked if she could come out with me to a memorial vigil for our lost brothers and sisters in Orland, my instinct was to say no because I had a strong sense it would not go well.  How I wish now that I had said no, but I said yes because I felt bad for her and truthfully because I did not really want to go to the vigil alone.

 I have been working on better boundaries but it is slow back breaking work. When the drama happened I should have just shrugged it off and said to myself, “Well, that was interesting!” But because it was exactly the same mind fuck that my mother did to me, it was harder to shrug off. I felt eviscerated by my ex’s anger and her inability to take responsibility for her actions. 

 Of course I blamed myself as I should have for engaging in this mind fucking repetitive behaviour. And again, if I just blamed myself and kept it to myself I would have been sleeping by now; but unfortunately I did not. I tried to talk about my experience with the woman in question. Okay, I admit to not just talking but repeating over and over again. “You hurt me! Take responsibility! “

Yes, just what I would have wanted to say as a child to my parents. As you can imagine, it did not go well. Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results?

Now it is almost two a.m.  I am reminded of the words of my psychosynthesis teacher Olga Denisko, who kept reminding me that ‘slow is fast’. I am going stop typing now and just remember that tomorrow is another day to practice loving kindness  and that building boundaries takes time and effort and radical self care.

I feel very blessed to have this day, when so many LBGT women and men will not.

The Lesbian Chronicles 26: Chicken Soup For My Soul — June 7, 2016

The Lesbian Chronicles 26: Chicken Soup For My Soul

While driving down Yonge Street this afternoon on my way to pick up chicken soup for my soul ( Yitz’s, best chicken soup in all of Toronto, good for all that ails you) I noticed a woman trying to walk  across the busy intersection. The car before me had not slowed down for her and she was so mad that even though I stopped to let her cross, she could not summon up the energy to give me the ubiquitous wave as she was expending all her energy on glaring at the car ahead of me. Of course she then needed to give the driver the middle finger salute as she made her way across. As this exchange was taking place I thought how symbolic our brief connection was in reflecting my past behavior back to me. I was so focused on looking at who in my past did me wrong that I couldn’t see who was directly in front of me doing me right.

This week my ex – partner Marian told me that she had no intention of ever committing to me on a permanent basis, even though we had lived together for two years. She thought she was being terribly mean when she revealed that information to me. While I do agree that her intention to wound was disturbing, I was relieved to hear her   finally speak her truth.

When I first moved in to her apartment, she literally gave me a shelf in her cupboard and an even smaller space in her bathroom for my many toiletries. I came with an Arts and Crafts cherry wood dining room table which she was happy to welcome into her space as see was using an IKEA kitchen set which had seen better days.

I had never lived with a woman before, but even I knew that this was not the proper way to be welcomed in. Sadly I was so desperate to be loved, so desperate to be saved from my own un- looked at pain that I gladly took the crumb she held out to me and held onto it for dear life. When she told me that she did not want to be intimate with me anymore, I did not accept it with aplomb. I begged and pleaded for months, debasing myself over and over again. However, deep down in my body/mind I believed that I was not worthy of love and that she was correct in refusing me. It took almost a year for me to realize that I too was not that interested in having sex with her, for why would I want to be with someone so devoid of warmth? It was then I realized that what I was really interested in, what I was really turned on by, was the No!

Once I realized that I wanted, in fact encouraged her to say No to sex, I stopped asking her to sleep with me. Now why would I want her to say No? The trail of No’s lead back to my childhood. I was never told I was a good child, rarely praised for my excellent grades, only told how weird I was and how everything I did was not correct.

” Mommy, may I sit in a corner with a book? ”

No! Go play outside with all the other ‘normal’ kids.”

” Katharine, why can’t you just accept that you are deserving of a spanking, you are bad girl talking back to your mother!”

“Why do you have to ask questions about everything, Katharine?”

And so on, and so on…

My understanding of what love could be encapsulated in two words ‘ Love Hurts’.

So it made complete sense that when I became an adult, I would be attracted to and attract into my life woman who reflected back to me my ‘badness’, because I was still looking backward to my past, and the distorted reflection of love that my parents showed me.

It has not easy for me to stay in the present, I must constantly remind myself that I am deserving of a love that doesn’t use shame as its calling card. In the past if I could have chosen one lesbian out of a line up of one hundred women to be my date, I inevitably would choose that lesbian who would share her great big fat No! with me.

Not anymore!

I know now I am deserving of a relationship with a kind and caring woman, a woman who  will spend the rest of her life wanting to make sweet love to me, offering her heart and her home, and not just a drawer and a corner of her heart.

The Lesbian Chronicles 25: Mourning — June 1, 2016

The Lesbian Chronicles 25: Mourning


I’m mourning the loss of my family.
I’m mourning the loss of my dream
of sharing a holiday meal with
all my relations.
I’m mourning the loss of my
I’m mourning the loss of my
knee cartilage.
I’m mourning the loss of running
one more marathon.
I’m mourning the loss
of  ever seeing my name
on a marquee.

I’m mourning the loss of

my rose coloured glasses.
I’m mourning the loss
of all my addictions.
I’m mourning the loss
of all my hiding places.
All that is left
here for me
is to trust
in the voice in
my head

that whispers


Relax into the void.
Trust in your life.

I’m not exactly certain
how to trust in life.
Trusting traditionally
has not been my forte.
The one thing I know

I can do

that feels right,

right now
is to place my right hand
gently over my heart
holding it steady.
Perhaps for today
that is enough.



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