I Am Leslie Lange

Tasty Nagel Print

"What's a tasteful Nagel print?" you ask.
Well...here's one that's tasteful and tasty.

[note the sexy mullets on these two babe-a-liciouses]

Mullet Memories

Early on in my coming out phase--and no, not when I was 3, but around 1986 or so when I had just turned 21--in the rainy and depressing city of Portland, Oregon, my self-described upper middle-class girlfriend, Blair, said to me, when I proposed one day getting a flat-top for fun, "As long as you don't get one of those awful lesbian haircuts...you know, the ones where the hair is short in front and long in back."

[FYI, she had a little hair tail when I met her]

That was a lesbian haircut? I created a mental checklist, searched my memory banks for the women lounging at Bar 927* where my last gf had bartended, and a little light went on--aha! She was right! Moments later, another light went on: as I was imagining my own hairstyle about two years earlier. For shame!

Blair went on: "That has got to be the UGLIEST hairstyle I have ever seen. Whenever I see one, I cringe. It makes me ashamed to be a lesbian. In fact, it's the very thing about lesbianism I DO NOT want to be associated with."

Of course, part of me was thinking Blair was being a bit mean. But another part of me was thinking Blair was giving some good information. After all, Blair was artsy and sophisticated. She'd taught me how to use my silverware. She'd taught me only low-class people lived in apartments with wall-to-wall carpeting. She'd eased me out of polyester and into 100% cotton. Her insights were invaluable, infallible, and respecting them got me laid. My decision was easy: I adopted a disdain for all things mullet.

Years later, a friend tried introducing me to "The Indigo Girls," but I took one look at their album cover and said, "Um, no thanks." He tried playing their music for me ("just listen to these lyrics"), but all I heard was, "Mull-et, mull-et, mull-et."

Now, however, I am over it.

I am not afraid of the mullet. I EMBRACE THE MULLET!

Join me, my sisters! Free yourself from class-based shame!

Send your mullet photos to leslie@leslielange.com. I will post them. I WILL FLY YOUR MULLET FLAG! We'll get though this together.

* the rougher lesbian bar of two in Portland. The other was called "The Primary Domain" and its lavender walls wore tasteful Nagel prints.

Doggie Haiku

Prehistoric gaze
scooter pulling wrinkle dogs
noble worry-warts

Holy Mugilidae!

The definition of a mullet per Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (10th Edition): "any of a family (Mugilidae) of valuable chiefly marine food fishes with an elongate rather stout body"

OK, I don't know if I'm crazy or what...but, how can your body be both elongate and stout?

But then again, how can your hair be both elongate and short?

Wait. Oh, my God...is that it?

One further mystery: just how valuable are these food fishes? And how can I get my hands on some nice mullet-stacked mutual funds?

[Below...what appears to be a rather stout lesbian sporting an elongate rather stout mullet]

Mullified2

OK, so no one thought I had even close to a mullet at Pride. Turns out gf and I were suffering from "lesbian mullet hypersensitivity syndrome," wherein short-haired (or even fairly short-haired) lesbians and their friends and girlfriends, fairly freak when they see even the slightest wisp of a hair inching its way down the back of the neck.

It's time we all joined hands to fight this disorder. Start by sharing your own mulletophobic story with your friends--analyze how shame played a part in leading you to loathe only the mullet at first, but gradually yourself, and your own wisps of hair, even your own lesbianism.

Sigh.

Soon I will share my own sad story.

And a picture of myself when I used to have a real mullet.

The Cat

Right now, as I sit here typing, a very cute cat is walking back and forth across my hands, artfully stepping over my forearms, tightroping along the tiny edge of desk in front of the laptop's keyboard, and running her tail along my upper lip, which is to say up under my nose. The cat's name is Maisie and she's filled with love for me, and I for her...except for one problem: I am allergic.

Weird Search of the Moment

"new anaesthesia lesbian story"

It's true...lesbians are famous for discovering new anaesthesias, as many pursue the pleasure of "going under" on a fairly regular basis.

I'm always thoroughly amazed where vibrating hand-held devices lead me...

Regarding my recent foray into EMDR therapy, a reader sent this comment: "I started that last week...she uses these little vibrating hand-held devices instead of the rapid eye thing. At the end of the session, I was thoroughly amazed where it led me...." Wow! If only my therapist were a) a hot Pontifica-resembling female and b) used vibrating hand-held devices on me! I may not be surprised where the treatment led me, but I'd be sure to get my money's worth. Social phobia? What social phobia? I'm too...ahem... busy, OK?

Asscrack Powder Spritz

Today, I was asked by a 97-year-old man: "Please, help me pull up my diaper." (Not so unusual at the hospital where I work.) I grabbed the back of his Pamper, hiked it gently, and...poof! A puff of baby powder billowed into my face. I then laughed merrily. Why, I do not know. Maybe it was simply the element of surprise. But there was something sweet about it too.

But also something tangy.

[Rose]Mary Cheney's baby

Right-minded Americans unite! Stop Mary Cheney's immoral procreation! The apocalypse is upon us! Aaaaagh!

(This isn't a gay thing. This is a Cheney thing.)

           READ MY LIPS: NO NEW CHENEYS