I Am Leslie Lange

Shared Brain Detail

So, today I see this headline on yahoo: Gay men, straight women share brain detail: report and I can't help clicking on it. Then I read on....

Mon Jun 16, 1:50 PM ET

LONDON (Reuters) - Gay men and straight women share some characteristics in the area of the brain responsible for emotion, mood and anxiety, researchers said on Monday in a study highlighting the potential biological underpinning of sexuality.

Brain scans also showed the same symmetry among lesbians and straight men, the researchers wrote in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

and all I can think is...why do gay men and straight women warrant a headline, while lesbians and straight men are an afterthought?

Is there a global conspiracy to link straight women and gay men? I think, mayhaps, it is so. And I think, mayhaps, that this is because a hyped up link between straight women and gay men SELLS PRODUCTS, LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF PRODUCTS, while a hyped-up link between straight men and lesbians would only sell lots and lots of HOT LEZZIE PORN. And while hot lezzie porn is an important subset of our economy, it doesn't really need to keep up with the latest fashion trends.

Simply rove my hallowed archives for all those "weird search of the week" entries to see the sole link between straight men and lesbians. That's right. We are all girl-crazy, and we are all pervs. We also don't like to throw out our underwear.

By the way, I love the concept of shared brain detail. It sounds like a companionable military chore-duty, like shared kitchen detail or latrine detail--only brain detail is smart. "Wish I could go to the MENSA event with you guys tonight, but my fag-hag and I are sharing brain detail." (says Willy, the grown-up gay wunderkind)

Next Top Lesbian Model (part 3)

It turned out The Advocate was not going to pay me $5,000 to model for their upcoming auto issue, but whatever...Anne at least bought dinner for Pontifica and me at The Blue Coyote the night before the big shoot. Also present at this Last Pre-Modeling-Career Supper: the two delightful guys donating their swank Palm Springs home as a backdrop for us posing with our new fantasy BMW. As I was about halfway through my swank chicken taco, Anne--one of the most matter-of-fact women I know-- peered intently at me with her pale gray eyes. "So, I hate to do this to you, but we think the light is going to be best at about eight tomorrow morning, so...can you girls make it that early?"

As iiiiif, Anne! I would be there at 4:30 sharp with a cardboard tray of vanilla soy lattes and a bag of assorted nonfat muffins! Anything, anything, anything--JUST LAUNCH MY CAREER!!! Put me within arm's reach of fabulous Jenny Shimizu! Or the beautiful, intellectual Kim from America's Next Top Model. (Kim, who challenged societal norms with her "gender as/s construct" quandary, yet could still pull off everywoman's heartfelt battlecry: "Hey, are you calling me FAT?") Seriously, though. Could we make it there at eight? Anne, we will give you a freaking foot massage.

The next day, at six a.m., Pontifica and I simultaneously sat up wide awake and looked at each other. We were both about to become "Next Top Lesbian Models" and it was far, far too thrilling to enjoy needless REMs. What happened between six and eight, however, was entirely unexpected...

Leslie Lange's Top Model Author Site

(Pictured above: two of my good very best  top lesbian model friends.)

Introducing Pontifica

BEFORE CONTINUING MY TOP LESBIAN MODEL SAGA, I have to confess that (until now) I’ve been avoiding introducing my new girlfriend, the tender, opinionated Pontifica. She is fast-talking, bright, and beautiful. She likes candy too, and I love her—already, yes. I love her! Life is now more luxurious than ever.

T'is Catholic guilt that kept me, an unkept (and kept out) lesbian, from talking about Pontifica. When Lovey and I split, I’d had grand notions of not dating.  Shrouding myself in black, garnering sympathies and consolatory advice from one and all, I'd finally know what it was like to be "noble," and my friendships would become deeper, more meaningful with every Kleenex-passing day. All this would happen despite the clamorous uproar once the pussy flag was hoisted: Cold calls from women I barely knew, inviting me to the party of their Single and Actively Looking Friend So-and-So. Yikes! Run! Bury yourself from the waist down in concrete!

Pontifica hit me like a bus though, flattening me, my faculties, and a whole slew of sorry-ass defense mechanisms. It began when she evited Lovey and me to her birthday party, and--as Lovey and I were no longer Lovey and me (we were no longer us!)--I went alone….knowing, I'll admit, that in Pontifica’s orbit there had always floated a promise of something mystical and miraculous. We chatted at the party, I called her the next day, and anyhow, blah, blah, blah..there is now Pontifica--carved into my heart, listed in my cell phone number directory, magneted--smiling in a photo--to my filing cabinet.

You will get to know her better, but it won’t be like her privacy’s invaded or anything. Oh, no...it'll be more like the gradual unveiling of a fictional romantic heroine…

(Mark my words, Pontifica, if you are reading this, it will be.)

Leslie Lange's Web Site

Strange Friends: Lesbians pulling hair (at a car wash?)

Ahoy, Avid Readers!

Just when I thought I was going to have to use the mild "lesbian leash" as this Friday's "Strange Friends" entry, a couple of come-from-behinds (in every sense) came--you guessed it--from behind with "lesbian car wash" and our WINNER this week:

"lesbian hair pulling lesbians pulling hair"

Now, isn't this a very thorough individual? I would like to offer some additional searches: "lesbian hair-pulling", and "lesbians puling". Mispellings are common among "hair-pull" fetishists slobberingly banging out their latest fantasies on the keyboard. Have you ever heard a lesbian pule? Very very hot, my friend. Very, very hot.

And, no, I will not pule for you right now. You sick shit.

Weird Search of the Week

Weird Search of the Week is supposed to be on Friday, but what do you expect from a total lazy-ass supermodel?

This week's winner is:

"moll, lawn mower repair, parts"

To the poor guy or gal who wound up at Kept Lesbian searching for a moll to fix the lawn mower, don't expect me to give you any answers. I live in the desert, and my yard is purely moonscape, with a smattering of dog piles distributed about the perimeter. (I hesitate to place the term "dog piles" in my blog, knowing it will lead to the arrival of some trembling individual typing the words "lesbian dog piles" into his or her search engine. But, hey, I don't choose the facts, folks, I just prints 'em.)

Baby Suri's Secret Twin

Rumors of Baby Suri's moppy wig were confirmed today as numerous sources disclosed the existence of a tinier conjoined twin brother separated from the top of Suri's head. "The wig was to conceal the surgical site where the wee boy-child was removed," said O.R. nurse Julie O'_____ who asked (but was not granted) that her identity remain anonymous. Baby Uri, as the boy was cruelly named, is reported to be alive and kicking.* His whereabouts are still unknown--though sources claim he is being held somewhere within a Scientology trailer compound in the town of Desert Hot Springs.

*Literally, as he is jealous of his sister's instant celebrity, and leading his team of 39 Thetan wet nurses to sometimes call him "Baby Fury."

Strange Friends

I have a blog through typepad, which enables me--me! a total computer nincompoop! an HTML illiterate! I couldn't find my way out of a chat room!--to see how people came to visit my blog.  

A lot of the time, folks are just searching for me. But more of the time, folks are just seearching for something. It has come to my attention in the last 24-hours that I have some very strange friends visiting my blog. For example the three "searches" below:

"lesbian tits slamming"
"is dog poop good for fruit trees"
(and the deeply disturbing) "lesbian little girls playing together drink pee"

Apparently my blog entries contain enough of these words to make my blog one of the top sites to pop up for folks looking for stuff like that.

Hence, my new "Weird Search of the Week" column, which shall appear every Friday (God willing) in this blog. This week's weird search of the week has to be the dog poop one. I will attempt to research this question and get back to the searcher (who, I assume, is by now an ardent fan and won't miss an entry).

Peace out. Leslie

Vicious Cycle

NOTHING TO SAY about my first visit to the laundromat except that I almost died when I opened up a certain double-loader and was hit head-on by a killer smell. Twas as if an elephantitic homeless person had curled up inside for the night. The next one I opened was coated with dog hair. Emulating Goldilocks, I finally settled on the third one: sparkling clean, with six shiny nails at the bottom (pointing--like tea leaves--in all directions). Before dumping in my clothes, I scooped the nails into my pocket, intending to use them for hanging pictures later, but they poked my ovaries so hard in the car on the way home, I found myself pulling over to chuck them into the sand. Nothing's free, eh?

During my laundry's spin cycle, I was recognized by a friend's housekeeper: "Leslie...is that YOU????"  I got to meet her daughter, Deborah, who showed me how to eat a hot dog "the right way"...and really mess up your T-shirt. Do try this at home. It is most satisfying...and you can always use the T-shirt as a dust rag from then on.

How to Survive Your Break-up

Just a quick note of advice for all of you out there going through hard break-ups: Have I got a novel for you! Pick up James Cain's Mildred Pierce and you will not only be thoroughly sucked in, but every ounce of self-pity will be thoroughly sucked out. I'm not kidding. M.P. is the vacuum cleaner for all those unwanted wallows.

Announcement

We interrupt this program to bring you a special—no, an earthshaking —announcement. Lovey and I BROKE UP!

Hence, my absence lately from the blogosphere.

Here I am, right in the middle of telling you all—well, all five of you, but five very important people in my eyes—about how I confronted my roommate Freddie about the smell coming from his room on the very same day that I met Lovey, and how I always felt that confronting Freddie was a turning point in my life because I was standing up finally for my own right to breath fresh air in my own living room…and all this was going to be revealed in the most beautiful and romantic way anyone could imagine, leading up to my first night with Lovey—and now (NOW!) it has all been tainted.

I am no longer a kept lesbian, but a KEPT OUT lesbian.

(Actually, she’s letting me stay at the Palm Springs estate for the summer, all bills paid, plus our lovely girl-factotum will still cook, shop, and do dishes, BUT STILL!!!! What am I supposed to do when summer’s finally over? Work? Sigh.)

Oh, Lovey! How could you do this to me? How could we have done this to each other?

The truth: Lovey and I have had our problems, reconcilable differences have turned irreconcilable. Now I’m sharing my bed with two pitbulls. The platinum "magic bullet" credit card is gone, flung across our table at Hunter’s restaurant in Los Angeles, flung right at Lovey, oh, yes, flung like an angry Frisbee (Yes, a Frisbee can be angry if—just as you fling it--you transfer your own anger into it.)
Lovey is staying in Los Angeles these days.

At Hunter’s, I had the halibut and it was delicious.

I miss her one hell of a lot.

Ruined is my column “Kept Woman” in the prestigious Absolute Palm Springs magazine. (Just because Issue II has been stuck at the Canadian border for three months now and I still haven’t been paid for column I (which I really REALLY NEED right now Jeremy, if you’re reading this, which isn’t likely) doesn’t mean the magazine is kaput, does it?

Does it?

Ha ha ha (maniacal laugh)!

Stay tuned.

Leslie's Web Site (visit her, she's lonely)