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.)

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

I was one of those millions who sought solace in someone's arms.

I WAS GOING TO POST TONIGHT about September 11th--a significant day not only because of the World Trade Center attacks, but because this was the day Lovey and I first "hooked up." That's right, I was one of those millions who sought solace in someone's arms. I was going to post how my psycho roommate Freddy came bleary-eyed out of his room that morning to watch the second plane fly into the second tower and how he said, "Cool," and laughed like Butthead.

(Though Freddy's comment creeped me out, he was probably just in denial. Minutes later I caught myself marvelling that these were some of the "best special effects" I had ever seen.)

I was going to post on how I called in sick, or whatever...traumatized, and how I then called up Lovey and went out to her house in the Pacific Palisades for the first time, and how I transported my little Peke puppy there in a turquoise kitty crate.

I was going to post about how strange it all was--how just as those towering buildings were brought down, so were some towering barriers between people-- but I cannot. It's far too late and I have a splitting headache. So, let's save it, eh? Maybe tomorrow.

Prayers for the victims --both then and now in Iraq.

L.L.

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.

Lesbian Divorce

June 13th was a big day for me. I qualified for a home loan so I could move from a large house in Palm Springs to a small one in Desert Hot Springs, got my first job in three years, went into escrow, and—in the evening—opened the envelope that contained my divorce papers. It’s weird seeing my name on a form that shows me as the “respondent” and her as the “petitioner.” There's a major drop in status for the "respondent"--I just know it. Right on page one, in a big box, in red ink, it says: “YOU ARE BEING SUED.” And beneath that in Spanish: “LO ESTAN DEMANDANDO.” They should just change it to “HASTA LA

VISTA

, BABY.”

I guess I didn’t realize that when the divorce was by mutual consent, one person still had to “sue” the other. It’s humiliating. I have never been sued in my life… now I’m part of an underclass, those who have been sued, rejected in a relationship LEGALLY, on paper.

The divorce papers also contain a section called “family law restraining orders,” which is not like the usual restraining order you’d take out against your ex when she is stalking you. (What lesbian isn't familiar with that?) This kind is about restraining your domestic partner from a. making off with the kids or b. shuffling her hard-earned assets around so you—I mean, I--can’t get to them. Thank God, Lovey and I don’t have to worry about any of that! We're solving our problems amicably.

Amicably means never having to use the children (or dogs) as pawns and not searching out the perfect lawyer stick it to your ex. Yep, Lovey and I are taking the high road...I didn't write the book on dyke drama for nothing! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with my computer. Dreaming up good passive-aggressive insults, guilt-trips, and emotional blackmail in e-mails is hard work, and it can take several drafts to even draw near the level of eloquence I'm shooting for.