I’m posting this now because it seems the timing is “write,” but I actually wrote this in 2007, when I was living in Portland. If you’re still there, you should go to The Grotto. It was a very spiritual experience.
Dana and I have completely opposite schedules most of the time, which means that even though we live together, we really don’t see each other any more or less than when we didn’t. I find myself with lots of time alone at home with the cats and the Tivo, and I’m very happy with it. Especially as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become less willing to put up with an evening of trying to meet people.
But then there comes a point where I know I’m spending too much time alone- a sign I’ve come to watch for as a depression indicator- and I force myself into new and different situations to try and reverse the downward spiral.
On Friday, I came home and looked through the Willie Week to see what was going on. I thought about seeing a play. There are several going on right now that are inexpensive, and it’s been a while since I’ve done the theater. But then something caught my eye that I thought was just right.
Billed as the Festival of Lights, there are decorated trees, a petting zoo, a live Nativity, and many, many different sets of carol singers. It’s going on from now until Christmas at The Grotto, Portland’s National Sanctuary to Our Sorrowful Mother. Sanctuary is kind of a misnomer, because The Grotto is not an expansive building with cathedral spires. It’s more like a labyrinth or a Stations of the Cross-type setup. As you walk through the lighted displays, piped voices tell the birth story. When the Christmas decorations aren’t there, the walk is contemplative regarding the rest of Mary and Jesus’ life (Joseph, fortunately or not, gets very little airplay).
Normally, I am not a big fan of piped voices, but against the backdrop of the lights, it seemed fitting. It felt more like a museum tour with headphones than the muffled sounds of a speaker system whose last job was a drive-thru.
After I took the short baby Jesus tour, I arrived at the top of a hill. From there, I could see a chapel, the aforementioned petting zoo, and a small stage. I made a beeline for the petting zoo, because I am a big fan of those goats that are almost as small as my cat.
I also managed to charm a camel named Fezzic into taking a carrot from me, which was far more entertaining than my last run-in with a camel. When I was a little under five, my mother and father took me to a Nativity play and a camel spit on me. Who knows, maybe I deserved it. In any case, I liked Fezzic a lot and resolved to work on my camel issues.
After I finished at the petting zoo, I went to listen to a quartet of singers that really impressed me. They didn’t seem like paid professionals- more on the level of the best singers in their church choirs. There was something comforting about it- took me back to the days of standing around my friend Suzanne’s piano with all my friends from my own church choir… which brings to mind a memorable year in which I was wearing a sweatshirt that had jingle bells sewn all over the front (Mother, I will take your apology for that shirt now). My friend David said that I “tinkled when I walked,” and started shaking the everliving bejesus out of me when Suzanne started playing “Sleigh Ride.” I don’t think my cerebral function has been quite the same since (shut it).
So there I was, absolutely freezing my bits off in the cold, lost in my memories of Christmas past, and I realized that this was the first time in, well, as long as I could remember, that I was able to take in Christmas at my own pace. I wasn’t worried whether everyone else was having a good time, I didn’t have to be anywhere, the hot chocolate was overflowing and the music just kept getting better.
I ended the night by going to the chapel, where the choir from St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church did a setting of English carols- some even by Andrew Carter, the composer who wrote the solo I sang at Trinity last year.
I relaxed and listened to the music as I pondered the things in my heart. Christmas for the past few years has been stressful. This year, it has wrapped around me and comforted me before I even realized what was happening. It has made me more grateful for the life I have, for the people I have around me. Christmas isn’t all about busyness, though there’s certainly that aspect of it. But my advice is not to get so wrapped up in someone else’s Christmas that you end up missing your own.
It was a worthwhile experience to go to a Christmas festival alone. I chatted with some people while I was there, but for the most part, it was just me and my (cheap) camera phone. I saw Christmas more fully- introspectively, I suppose- as an active observer of both music that conveys sentiments for which there are no words and pictures for which words do no justice.
I used to belong to a group called the “RevGalBlogPals” and we did this thing (a meme, which is where the current picture term comes from, but back in the day it was bloggers who sent each other a writing prompt. We did the Friday Five, and this comes from one that said, “what makes you laugh at Easter?” It’s still 100% true, and I wrote this in 2007:
Dana.
Dana made me laugh so hard that I almost wet myself when I went to lunch at her house for the first time, which was, in fact, Easter 2003.
The funniest thing was that she didn’t mean to make me laugh, and I think she might have even been a little offended that I laughed, but come on. When you hear what I laughed about, you’ll laugh, too.
Dana’s family has LAMB for Easter. It’s a tradition. Apparently, lots and lots of people have LAMB for Easter. I did not know this.
Perhaps Easter lunch should *actually* be roast lamb, fava beans, and a nice chianti.
And yes, it is not lost on me that communion is Jesus’ body and blood as well. Transubstantiation isn’t any less disgusting an idea when thought of literally, either.
But then again, with communion there are no leftover Jesus sandwiches.
This is from Good Friday the week before Ash Wednesday of the same year.
I can’t believe it’s already time for Ashed & Smashed! Such a great time was had by all at last year’s, and this time shouldn’t be any different. In fact, it’s getting bigger. We’ve invited just about everyone we know, and as it turns out, we know a lot of people.
For the unfamiliar, Ashed & Smashed began when Dana (my best friend) came to hear me sing at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Portland, Oregon. Afterward, we went to Jake’s Grill, a little bar on the first floor of the Governor Hotel (10th and Alder). We had *so* much to eat, and like, two hurricanes apiece. So we started throwing names around for this brand new holiday that we’d just created.
Was it going to be:
-Blessed and Blasted? -Kneeling and Reeling? -Crossed and Canned?
Ashed & Smashed got the most votes by far, and there was only the two of us. Last year, the tradition was continued here in Houston. Dana came to visit and we invited as many people as we could think of. We ended up with a table full of friends, but surprisingly, no sketchy management of alcoholic beverages.
It’s probably because Ashed & Smashed will always fall on a Wednesday. Few, if any, jobs like it when their employees show up smashed, ashed or not. Tis the merriment of the holiday that counts, and there’s always lots of that.
Last year, a minister from Resurrection MCC stopped by our table and said that he could see all of our ashes and wanted to know if we were *celebrating* Ash Wednesday. We started talking and we asked him why we didn’t see HIS ashes. He said, “HELLO!!! I’m BLACK!”
And what do you say after that? We fell on the floor laughing, and went back to our drinks.
Someone, and I will not name names, wrote me this very pissy e-mail about how since I’d started writing about politics, I’d gotten a lot more conservative.
That’s not true. I’ve gotten a lot more indifferent. As a senior political science student, I do research that leads me to believe every damn day that both parties are completely insane and neither one of them really deserves the attention that the average American gives them… because in order to fix the parties, what really needs to happen is that the average American needs to start giving the Democrats and the Republicans more attention than they know what to do with.
Because believe me when I say that constituents intent on content are like kryptonite to Congress. Say that three times fast. I’m on a roll today.
There are members of both parties that would sell their mother for Jack Abramoff to take them to Scotland… and a good bit of them are trying to sell their mothers right now because Jack Abramoff did. If you haven’t gotten a chance before now, start reading Vanity Fair. It’s a little biased to the left, but even if you’re a right-wing conservative, you’ll still have plenty to chew on. My personal favorite was the roughly five page article that started with the President denying that he’d ever met Abramoff, and five (count ‘em, five) pictures that state otherwise.
For all you yellow dog democrats out there, are you following the story of William Jefferson? I know you’d like to think that the Republicans are the axis (or “asses”) of evil, but Jefferson is a Democrat accused of orchestrating a corruption scheme- demanding cash and prizes for negotiating African business deals. Now, I’m not a lawyer, but I think they’ve got some pretty convincing evidence:
The investigation became public on Aug. 3 when FBI agents raided Jefferson’s homes in New Orleans and Northeast Washington, where they found about $90,000 in cash in his freezer, law enforcement sources have said.
In the freezer? If you’re going to claim innocence, you for damn sure don’t hide shit in the freezer. This story will get weirder before it gets better. Law enforcement officials are lucky all they found was money. There could have been a severed head.
And if the two parties weren’t causing enough trouble, let me play a lawyer on TV…
My first love is constitutional law. Nowhere in the Constitution does it say that the Feds have the right to enter congressional offices and loot around. It doesn’t even have a sentence from which you can extrapolate the right to fuck up their program.
I was just about to say something very naive, like “when the founding fathers were writing the Constitution, they probably never dreamed this would be an issue…” Then I realized I’d only be saying it because it sounded good, not because it’s true. Half the Constitution was written by taking the right people and getting them too sloshed to move right before they were supposed to vote.
Surely the Framers figured out that something like this was bound to happen. So what we have now is a truckload of evidence and no way to use it… a lot like the OJ case, actually… (And confidentially to the pretentious fuckwit who told me to cite more recent cases because it made me look like a rookie, THIS is going to be the next huge precedent in Fourth Amendment violations. ) The problem is not that there’s too little evidence, it was that it was obtained in an illegal search and seizure. Whether or not they had warrants, Justice does not have the right to wrestle Congress to the mat during Saturday Night Smackdown. If you remember nothing else from this web site, remember this- one branch of power does not have the authority to make any other branch his or her bitch.
I’ve been spending some time reading my old blog, “Clever Title Goes Here,” and it’s the easiest way for me to see myself as a different person, often losing all the context around something, even forgetting the people I was with at the time. It’s what hits a home run for me every single time. I am batting a thousand at recording my own life, and I cannot tell you how valuable it is to me. I am only in charge of what I’m putting out there, not what I’m receiving. That means I can’t count on you to like my writing, it would just be nice. I’ve had imposter syndrome for a long time, but I realized two things. The first is that if I’d gone into journalism when I was young, I’d still be there. I know this because I can sneeze a thousand words, and it only takes a little bit longer than that to type them. I am connected to Mark Twain on a deeply spiritual level…… “I’m sorry this is long, but I didn’t have time to make it shorter.” I am a Stephen King kind of bitch. I start writing and who knows which way I’ll go, and I’m as fascinated by the way I think even more than everyone else because my eyes get opened quickly when I am no attacking it with a red pen. It’s so long ago I don’t care.
Today, though, I have a “guest blogger.” He doesn’t even know it. His name is Dr. Ken Wall, and he taught me Constitutional Law in 2006. I posted one of the lectures on my old blog and it fascinated me today. Mostly because I thought they were lost for good and Ken was one of the best teachers I’ve ever had. Since this is an hour lecture, you might want to bookmark this page because he’s worth the read.
When I’m in my classes, I type every word the professor says. Last week’s lecture in Foundations of Law was incredible, and I thought you might want to read it.
The Myth of Moral Justice
We need laws
Think of the legal system as an unloaded gun.
We need law. If there wasn’t law, people would come up with their own set of rules. We all have our own internal rules… laws that we live by. Very few of us are completely spontaneous because we need guidelines. We like the laws to be enforced and we enforce the laws ourselves. But we don’t want them enforced to the point where we get pulled over for doing 4 miles over the speed limit.
When you get married you inventory the situation. You move into the place that’s bigger, and then you find out that there are loaded revolvers in drawers, under the bed, etc. You don’t like loaded guns in the house. We all like to get along with our partners, but through no fault of our own, we make them mad, and all of the sudden there are GUNS IN THE HOUSE. The government is like an unloaded gun- I want it there, and I don’t want to be afraid to use it.
The problem is what do we really want out of the legal system?
I’ve not actually been sued or sued anyone. But I know if I were sued or if I was being sued what I would want is to win, but that’s an unfair thing to say because we don’t always deserve to win. What do we really need? To be heard. You want fairness, you want juries that are fair. You want fairness until you are the one that’s disadvantaged.
What are we looking for from the system?
Consistency
Justice
Fairness
No bias or prejudice
Facts
Truth
The bottom line
Remedies for grievances
Equal treatment
A soul?
What if every time you went to court, the judge said a different thing? Is it fair to make someone tear down a $35,000 garage because it’s two feet over into your property? Do you want your opponent to come in and say “hello, Uncle Fred” to the judge? Do we want the law to be feeling?
One of the major problems with law is what people want from the law is not what the law is set up to provide.
Falsehood 1
The law is in the business of seeking out the truth. It’s in the business of seeking out the facts. I’m driving along the street and there’s a 35mph zone. I’m doing 40. The light goes yellow, then red, and since I’m in Texas, I just go through. As I get through the intersection, a little boy steps in front of the car. I hit him and do serious damage. I’m going to be sued. One of the big questions is going to be how fast I was driving and what was the color of the light. Those are important facts that the court needs to determine to make their decision. This little kid wasn’t paying attention, might not even know his colors yet. There’s only me and my passenger, who is dependent upon me for her college education and everything she needs in life. Passenger corroborates the story. The other two people on the street say he was going slow. The young lady says, “I’m not sure. One of the lights was green.”
What color was the light? It was green. All the evidence says it was green. It was really red, but there is no way for the court to prove otherwise.
What is the law really trying to do? Find out the facts based on the evidence presented. It can be very confusing. We keep out more than we let in. We often keep out evidence that is highly relevant because of hearsay or copies instead of originals.
What if we changed the facts just a little bit and another car as the kid is laying there in the street and I’ve pulled on ahead to check my tires and see the kid “awww, man!” I go back and the mother is screaming. Another guy runs almost instantaneously through the light and runs over the kid again. The testimony in my lawsuit is that it was green and because I’m a nice citizen I testify for the kid in the other case because he got sued. The facts are different even though the truth is identical. Although the truth is the same, when the facts are decided by the court, it’s usually not the same.
Falsehood #2: The courts are here to do what is fair and what is right; Justice equals just, fairness, or morality
They’re enforcing the standards of the community. They want to come to the bottom line. Move it, tear it down, or leave it alone. In some cases the law does what is fair, but it’s an extra. Even ignorance of the law is no excuse.
Another example would be that there are people with certain expertise. Let’s say I’m an art expert that knows Old Masters. My little old lady next door neighbor is having financial difficulties. I’m over there sympathizing with her and say, “you could sell some stuff and make some money.” “All I really have is some old stuff that my parents brought over to the old country.” It turns out to be a Cezanne and a Rembrandt. They are dirty and need cleaning. The moral thing to do would be to tell her that she’s rich. But you tell her, “the paintings are okay, but no one will buy a picture of a fat lady. I’ll tell you what. What was your bill the last two months? I’ll pay your bill if you’ll give me the three paintings and we’ll call it even. We sign a contract. You read in the paper that I’ve just bought Galveston island. LOL cannot sue to get her paintings back. She accepted the offer, I’m not a merchant so it doesn’t have to be in writing. There’s a legal term called tough noogies.
Falsehood III: Negotiated pleas and settlements based on falsehoods are not allowed.
I don’t want to know how many times you’ve been arrested and pled guilty, but it does happen. It used to be and is still in a few jurisdictions that for whatever reason the head prosecutor won’t allow plea bargaining for criminal cases. Some other guy who looked like me was in a jurisdiction that didn’t allow plea bargains and I couldn’t make any agreements on charges, etc. Between 90 and 98 percent of cases are plea bargained. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that if every case went to trial that if you got arrested you wouldn’t go to court for thirty years.
Deals are made. Defendant pleas guilty. “Has any agreement not in writing been made concerning these charges? The judge will gavel down guilty. When you work out certain deals on civil cases, although maybe not quite as bad, the attorneys will decide how to work it out. We’ve all got dirt on our spouses that work in our favor. House of cards, house of lies.
I hope that I never knowingly took someone to trial that I thought was innocent. (He’s a prosecutor.) I don’t think I ever used the shotgun method- take every statute involving criminality and just load ‘em into the gun and start shooting. Charge ‘em with 100 different things because SOMETHING has to stick.
Falsehood IV: A lawyer that fastidiously maintains all the ethical requirements of his/her profession is a fair and honest lawyer.
It doesn’t mean that justice will be done if you follow all the rules. One of the codes of ethics says that you can’t knowingly present false evidence to the court and try to pass it off as truth. So I’m defense counsel, the question I NEVER ask is “Are you guilty?”
Now I know because I’ve seen the bank video that he’s guilty, but I don’t want to know so that I can always say, “I didn’t know because I didn’t ask the question. The video could have been manufactured. The witnesses could have been lying. I had to believe my client.”
Falsehood V: The reasonable person test is a good method of determining what one should do in differing circumstances.
I’m driving along talking on the phone putting on my makeup drinking a Slurpee. Would they be doing all those things? Probably, but is it reasonable? Today driving and talking on the cell phone is reasonable because that’s what most people do. There have been some tests that talking and especially dialing the phone is more dangerous than driving at .08 BAC.
Was it reasonable for the black man charged with raping the white woman to run? Generally, running is an admission of guilt. In the 30’s, no matter how innocent he was, it was reasonable for the black man to run. A black man that would have stayed would have been shot and the girl’s father brought down as some sort of hero even if no rape had occurred. (To Kill a Mockingbird)
If the community believes that the legal system is there to do what is just and to discover the truth, then the adversarial system of justice may not achieve a legitimate sense of the truth.
There’s a guy in NYC who was depressed and homeless. Decided to commit suicide by jumping in front of a subway train. Train missed him. Suffered severe shock. Wasn’t pushed. JUMPED. Sued the city of New York and was awarded over 3 million dollars. Tried to commit suicide and got MORE money from the city.
In this case, with these facts, should the city have put up a barrier to keep the guy from jumping?
In the next lesson, we’ll go over ways to fix the problems with the legal system. A lot of the problem is the way the law is set up in and of itself. It’s hard to get people to change. You’ve got to look at an opinion that just goes stupid to see what changes need to be made.
I don’t have one top favorite, so I’ll give a few of them. I’m not a huge traveler, so I would rather get an AirBnB for several weeks than try to flip body clocks twice in three or four days. Just not my style anymore. “I’m older and I have more insurance.” But if money were no object, I would love to see:
Paris
I have been to Paris once, but only for a few days. I definitely hit all the highlights with my dad, but I don’t know what it is to sit at a cafe and people watch. I don’t know what it’s like to go to Paris and do nothing, and that’s why it’s valuable. You don’t go there to find things to do. You go there to walk around in its culture and see what sticks. Then, you either commit yourself to finding out what coffee shop David Sedaris frequents- or perhaps going to Pere Lachaisse for inspiration. Oscar Wilde and I had a marvelous time. Just because I am living and he is not doesn’t mean we weren’t both entertained. I told him that Stephen Fry played him in a movie once. He said it was perfect casting.
New York
I have never spent more than 24 hours in New York, so it’s the same idea there as in Paris. I’d like to go there for a little bit and then get back out. There’s a rhythm, and it’s intimidating to me. It’s sort of like Las Vegas in that the culture is different but the level of sensory input you receive when you get there is just as heightened. In 2003, I wanted to retire in New York, and I have absolutely no idea what I meant by that. I do remember past trips there to be fun, but not in a way I’d like to live there- except maybe someone I liked wanted to live there, so I did, too. Now, I just want to find hidden treasures on out of the way side streets.
Ho Chi Minh City
I have to do a lot of research on the Vietnam War, rightfully called “The American War” there. I’m writing a novel about it, and I don’t think I could do setting justice if I just made it up. I mean, I can and I will,if I have to, but there’s a lot to be said about putting effort into understanding something fully. I have studied political science since I got to college- the news junkie in me drove me to poli sci and it hasn’t given up. With political science comes lots and lots on international relations as well. So, I know the story from the American side fairly well, but I don’t like to write from the perspective of only trumpeting American interests. The military and C/DIA had many faults and failures during this time, and since most things more recent than Vietnam are still classified, I don’t know that either organization has really wrestled with our actions in that theater in a way that processes out institutional pain. Vietnam was the first war in which it was clear that we might not lose, but we don’t have enough money or resources to outright win, either. The Vietnamese have the right to call us out on that, because American soldiers were responsible for a lot of atrocities. We have the reputation of being feared, and not in a healthy way. It’s why we’ll never win a land war in Asia……. and death is on the line.
Seoul
Before I started watching both Josh & Olly, I’d never wanted to visit Korea before. They’re responsible for making a lot of people feel that way on their YouTube channel, Jolly. Josh met Olly in college (I think- British system), then went to university in Seoul. I think. I haven’t done all the math. Anyway, when Josh and Olly were both done with uni, they decided to start making videos about what Koreans think of English people. Hilarity ensues. I’m not sure how often Josh and Olly get back to Korea, but one of the fun things they do is “red carpet” style interviews while they entice celebrities to talk using Korean food. It worked very well on Ryan Reynolds. 🙂
Enseñada, Mexico
I have been to Enseñada once. It’s a small enough city that I could picture myself living there. I don’t speak much Spanish, but I took two years in school and have spent time in both Texas and Mexico speaking Spanish. My language skills aren’t as good now as they were in high school, because I was going to Mexico regularly (Reynosa and Progreso, both on mission trips). I could not land in San Diego and drive across the border without incident, but within a month or so I’d be all right. Within three or four years, I’d be fluent. It’s amazing what you can do when you have no choice. The water is gorgeous. La Buffadora (Buffalo Snort) is magnificent, a geyser that makes me feel the power of nature unlike anything else. I’m sure Papas & Beer is still there, it’s an institution. I don’t know about Habana Banana, which used to be my favorite Mexican clothing brand. I bought a ton while I was there, and at the time, they didn’t offer online ordering or international shipping. So, part of it is to find another clothing brand I like just as much…….. the rest of it is to sit outside with a Coke (we’re in Mexico, after all) and see what nature is saying around me. I live my life like the sound track is 4’33. I think it would kick things up a notch to perform it outside. My past performances have all gone very well. No one even knew I was “conducting it all while I sleep…. to light up my yard.”
Vancouver
I didn’t live in DC very long before I went to visit Meagan in Ottawa. However, I lived in Portland for 12 years and never made it to British Columbia. I have heard I would love it, now I need to go see it for myself. I will admit, though, that there is some truth to only the Canadian provinces with her in them being interesting. It wasn’t a draw while I lived there, but now I’m just curious. I sort of know what life is like on the East Coast of Canada because Meag has lived in Alberta, Ontario, and New Brunswick….. maybe more, but I’ve slept since then. But West Coast Canada is completely different, it seems. They don’t have bagged milk there. 🙄 Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I regret not going when it was only a five hour car ride. It would be a much bigger deal now.
Washington, DC
I live in Silver Spring, Maryland. It’s a suburb that has everything I could possibly want within walking distance. As a result, I can go as long as a year without needing anything from downtown…… and most of it is that the bands I like don’t play in Silver Spring- some of them do, though. If I want to see something relatively big, it’s at The Kennedy Center, not The Fillmore. I also haven’t been to Wolf Trap in 20-odd years, mostly because it’s such a hassle that I think about going to Wolf Trap and back out. I feel about Wolf Trap the same way people feel about Cynthia Woods Mitchell Pavilion. It’s going to be a long concert, there’s no easy way in or out, and there’s a thousand people all screaming at once. I much prefer smaller venues, and wish Indigo Girls would play The Fillmore once in a while. 😛
Helsinki
My love of Finnish Independence Day led me to believe that one day I’d make it to watch the celebrations live- I watch them every year on YouTube from here. It’s not just that, though. I’ve said before and I’ll say it again that the palate for that part of the world is completely different- they don’t even have the same flora. Learning to cook there would be a whole new experience, and Anthony Bourdain introduced them to me through the magic of television. Why yes, I do want a large reindeer pizza. I also want to fly into HEL and drive up to Kilpisjaarvi so I can sleep under the aurora borealis in a clear-top tent. I also want to dress up really warm and sleep outside, just to see if I could do it. 😛
I got an e-mail from someone who works at ExxonMobil the other day, interested because I mentioned being an out lesbian and working there in the same weblog.
So I talked a little about my experiences in Fairfax, both the good and the bad. I started with Kathleen and I walking in Dupont Circle and picking up a copy of The Washington Blade, then nearly dropping our ice cream on the pavement as we read a quote from senior media advisor, Tom Cirigliano. I’ll paraphrase it here: “ExxonMobil does not support domestic partner benefits, but in countries that allow LEGALLY BINDING gay marriage…” We started planning our trip to Vermont that afternoon.
But the real fun began after we came home.When Kathleen presented our certificate to Human Resources, they acted like they had never heard of civil unions, and to be fair, they probably hadn’t. We were assigned a caseworker and given a possible date at which we might be given more information. That date came and went. We finally called back. We were given another date at which we might possibly be given information. We went to church. We prayed. We crossed fingers.
Another month went by, and the date at which they said they’d call us back came and went, and we were assigned another date at which they might possibly give us more information. It was a nightmare of bureacratic red tape. What we didn’t know is that the senior media advior had spoken without any clear definition of what he was talking about. They were literally having to write a proposal for how they were going to include us from the moment we presented them with our certificate. No advance planning had gone into it, presumably because they thought no one would take them up on it.
Another few months went by, and I was hired by ExxonMobil Research & Engineering, which alleviated our concerns about joint health coverage. Now that I had my own, we weren’t concerned about my getting ill- but it was still a justice issue in that each of us wanted to be listed as the other’s spouse in case of a true emergency.
Another two or three months went by, and we finally sent a letter that was very kind but firm- something to the effect of “if the next time we meet we are only given another date at which we might possibly be given more information, we would like to seek legal counsel.” It was worded more diplomatically than that, but our intentions were clear nonetheless. I sent copies of every e-mail and every transcription of every voice mail to the ACLU, the National Center for Lesbian Rights, and sincerely thought about the Washington Post. In retrospect, I would have had a lot of compassion for the people in HR if they had just e-mailed us and said, “we didn’t really think anybody was going to use this, so be patient with us while we write this thing from the ground up.” Wading through months and months with no inkling that any information would ever be forthcoming was the hardest part.
This morning as I sat down to write I didn’t particularly feel like writing about anything. But people who work on the assumption that you only write when you feel like writing don’t get book deals. So with that in mind, I went to Yahoo! and searched for “writing prompts.” The first site that came up was a writing resources page for people who teach junior high. Most of them were pretty inane, but this one just cracked me up: “What does Canada mean to you?”
I’m assuming that this prompt was meant for Canadian teachers wanting to bring out a small bit of patriotism in their students. But in the interest of having a good laugh, I’m going to attempt it anyway. So here it is, for your viewing pleasure:
What Canada Means to Me by Leslie Lanagan
I am pretty sure that if Canada weren’t around, it would have taken the world a lot longer to realize just how ignorant and egocentric Americans can be. For instance, when I was in high school, I dated a girl from Fort St. John. Her accent was so thick you could cut it with a knife, so when we would go out together, people would instantly start in on this conversation in various forms:
Random person: Hey, that’s a great accent. Where are you from?
Girl I Dated: I’m from Canada.
RP: Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone from there. Do you guys have Christmas on the same day?
GID: (flustered) Of course.
RP: Say out and about. Come on, please!
GID: Ok, let’s just get this out of the way: Out, about, house, mouse, boot, shoe, sorry. Is there any other word in the English language that you’d like to hear me pronounce before we move on?
RP: End a sentence with “eh.” Come on, you know you want to.
GID: (turning to me) That guy is a total fucking hoser, eh?
As an American citizen, Canada also means easy access to good Cuban cigars and cheap European imports. Hey, let’s not forget that even though I am sympathetic to the fact that Canadians have little to no identity outside their own country, I am also one of the egocentric bastards they do their best to avoid.
I decided to publish some of my old stuff from “Clever Title Goes Here,” which has been archived in “The Wayback Machine.” However, I cannot download all the data at once, so I’ve been picking through things to see what’s still good. 😉 I have a list of 50 Things already, but I got a new one for 100 Things…………
I cannot wear high-heeled shoes properly.
Current favorite beer: Bridgeport India Pale Ale
Current favorite wine: Rosemount Estates Pinot Noir
Current favorite spirit: Bailey’s Irish Cream
I am currently housesitting for my friends Ann and Scootter. Therefore, for the next three weeks, I have a dog. She is a boxer and her name is Radley. I love the name so much I might name my first daughter that, but she will never know it came from my best friends’ dog. Unless I’m mad.
Ann and Scootter call people they like by both their first and last names, and fortunately or unfortunately, I have picked up the habit. If I don’t call you by both your first and last names, though, it doesn’t mean I don’t like you. It just means I like other people than you MORE.
I do not like white wine, and I get migraine headaches from red. But does that stop me from ALWAYS picking red? NOOOOOOOOO.
I am married- but not emotionally… and divorced… but not legally. It’s very complicated. In short, no matter how much you love someone, do not fall for that old “let’s get a civil union certificate in Vermont” line.
I am a native Texan, but currently I reside in Oregon.
I have dated three women seriously… and two boys.
I met my current girlfriend through Friendster, and it has caused no amount of grief among my friends.
Especially when we moved in together after a month. Well, technically I’m just staying with her until I find a new apartment/house, but it was worth saying that just to give my parents a heart attack. 😉
I sing in an all-women’s chorus called Belle Voci. It means “beautiful voices” in Italian. Some days, I’m not so sure.
My father’s family is from Ireland, and there’s a fairly interesting story behind it. Apparently, our family is not related to anyone else with the last name of Lanagan in America because my great great great great great grandfather was the captain of a ship during Ireland’s cholera epidemic. Therefore, he was out to sea when it hit and our clan survived.
I am active in my church, Bridgeport United Church of Christ. I sing in the choir and I teach senior high Sunday School. If that doesn’t get me extra brownie points in heaven, I don’t know what will.
My father is the clinical coordinator for Angela McCain, M.D. Incidentally, Angela McCain, M.D. is my stepmother.
My mother is an elementary school teacher in a neighborhood so horrible that the teachers in the accompanying junior high and high school receive hazard pay. Her husband, my stepfather, is the Chief Financial Officer for the Port of Houston.
Once, on a job application in high school, I was asked this: “Give an example of extraordinary customer service.” I replied that one time a blind man had come into the Eckerds in which I was working and needed a greeting card for his daughter. So I read him an entire aisle’s worth of cards until he found just the right one. It didn’t happen to me. But it was a damn good story, a tearjerker even, so I wrote it anyway.
By now you’ve probably learned that for me, morality is a sliding scale. This happens to a lot of writers. I hope it doesn’t get in the way of our friendship.
I hope that clears up before I start seminary. I want to be a minister when I grow up.
The best book I’ve read this year is The Solace of Leaving Early by Haven Kimmel. I wish I could explain it to you, but I like very complicated stories and I only have so much room…
I also like John Grisham novels, however, as I believe that they are the literary equivalent of crack.
The man who sat next to me when I was volunteering at Oregon Public Broadcasting thought it was HYSTERICAL that I wanted to be a minister. I’m trying to decide if he thought that because I was sitting next to Jenn and clearly indicating that she was my girlfriend, or if he just knows me entirely too well for sitting next to me in that short of a time period.
I am horrible with e-mail. I try to keep on top of it as best I can, but I get so many a day that I think my brain is going to explode. So if I haven’t e-mailed you lately, don’t give up hope. One day I WILL wade through it all.
When I was in grade school, I was such a dork. I had braces and a headgear and I wore glasses. But just look at me now, baby!
I have met most of the really great trumpet players: Maynard Ferguson, Marvin Stamm, Dizzy Gillespie, Wynton Marsalis, Clark Terry, Barry Lee Hall, Jon Faddis, Dennis Dotson, Lew Soloff, etc. The story about meeting Jon Faddis is the funniest, because when I went to meet him I was absolutely punch drunk on the experience. I had just met Lew Soloff, the lead trumpet player for Blood, Sweat, and Tears, who thought that if I knew who he was then I must be a trumpet player myself (well, kinda…). He told me about an audition in New York for the Manhattan School of Music, which I took down for a friend. So after that, I was on cloud nine. I went to Faddis’s bus and told the guys already on board that I was a big, big fan and I wanted an autograph. Total MISTAKE. The guys started ragging on Faddis like, well… like junior high band geeks, frankly. So I finally get my autograph and my few minutes in the “FADDISPHERE” and I just about walked away on air.
I WATCHED CANADA SHUT OUT CHINA IN THE 2003 WORLD CUP, AND I WILL NEVER, EVER FORGET IT! Miracles do happen, and I was there for one of them.
I have managed to turn my girlfriend, Jenn’s, attic into usable space, but only because I have a futon and an electric blanket that can be turned up to HELL.
My favorite blogger in the whole wide world is Heather Armstrong of dooce.com.
My butt is starting to hurt, and I still have 70 more to go.
I was born in Tyler, Texas at a hospital that has a statue of Jesus looking like he is directing traffic.
I am still in touch with my first love.
I have always been a voracious reader, and I would rather read than do almost anything else. Currently I am rereading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and reading David Sedaris’ Naked for the first time.
My grandfather died when I was in junior high, and I played Amazing Grace on my trumpet at the funeral.
What is really weird is that although the only people I’ve dated seriously have been my age, I don’t normally have friends that are the same age as me… but I do not discriminate. That’s just been a force of nature.
I am three years older than my mentor was when I met her, therefore I regret just a little bit not getting to “catch up” to her because she’s a different person now. We would have been great bad girls together.
I am starting a writing class on Sunday regarding spirituality. Our first assignment is writing about something that’s a curse as if it’s actually a blessing. So far, I’ve got nothin’.
For some reason, actresses do not appeal to me. Perhaps it’s because I prefer really down-to-earth, crunchy granola girls, or perhaps my crushes are on actors because I’d rather be them than be with them.
I’ve had four Diet Cokes today. It’s a sickness.
I have now been to Seattle, and while I was there, I ate at the restaurant in which the tiramisu scene is filmed. Or at least, I think it’s the tiramisu scene. There’s a big picture of Tom Hanks in the front window.
For the first time in my life, I am dating someone who is ALSO a first child… but we’re still very, very different.
My favorite recording artists (in no particular order): Eminem, They Might Be Giants, Ben Folds, Live, Panic in Detroit, Koufax, Indigo Girls, Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park, Staind, Tenacious D, and Weird Al Yankovic.
Favorite character in the Potterverse: Arthur Weasely. His fascination with the Muggle world is endlessly entertaining, particularly in the fifth book.
Though I’ve only seen him once on Comedy Central, my favorite comedian is Stephen Lynch. He does this great show with beautiful music where the lyrics are all twisted, such as, “Had to see you one more time, there’s somethin’ on my mind… How about bitch, gimme my money…. Gimme my money and I want it fast…
No, of course I’m not bitter. Why do you ask?
I have never cheated on anybody, but I do, much like Jimmy Carter, lust in my heart.
However, having been cheated ON does not make me a martyr. For long. Two months tops. Okay, four, but that’s my final offer.
My favorite driving experience was loading up Kathleen and Lindsay and going to Manhattan. I drove the entire time, and I wasn’t scared once. It’s a new record for me. In fact, it was especially cool cruising down West Side Highway and looking out over the water.
My two best friends in the whole wide world have the same name… Sorry if it’s not you.
I’ve really begun to feel the responsibility that is involved with the term “faith community.”
I often have ideas that do not stick with me, so when they do, I know that they’re worth pursuing. Right now my dream is to retire in Greenwich Village. Therefore, somebody better tell both Simon AND Schuster that I’m alive.
I wrote in my last 100 Things that my friend Giles is getting his Master’s degree at University of Montreal and I was wrong. He’s at McGill. In Canada, that’s like saying, “he’s at Harvard.”
My standards are bendable. If I truly hate a movie and all my friends want to watch it, I’ll go ahead and give in for the greater good. Though I think it’s prudent to think of a way my friends can pay me back for all the crappy movies I’ve sat through.
At ExxonMobil I had a 21-inch monitor and an Aeron chair. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
The reason my hair isn’t red anymore is that it costs money for hair dye and I’d rather spend that money on other things. But the hair will be red again when I have copious amounts of disposable income.
My favorite DC memory is standing on the roof of Molly’s apartment building watching the fireworks over the Potomac… and the ones in Virginia and Maryland in the distance.
Even though I am 26 years old, when I hear a song that was played a lot during my senior year in high school, I forget that I’ve aged at all. I particularly enjoy Back for Good by Take That, Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Deep Blue Something, and Santa Monica by Everclear.
I have daydreams of the lovers/friends/acquaintances I’ve lost over the years that will suddenly flock to me when I sell my first novel, short story, and or New Yorker article.
There is a cry that comes from deep within me that I know is the sound of true sorrow. Fortunately, I’ve only cried that cry three times: when my parents broke up, when my first love left for college, and when my first wife told me that we should get a divorce.
It’s been over a year, and I still can’t believe that I now have to say first wife. Because I still believe in marriage. It will just take a lot longer for me to enter into it.
My church is throwing a Halloween party on the 25th of October, and they have asked me to be Dr. Frankenstein. Perhaps because I have nice knockers?
Meagan was the first person to whom I ever wrote a REAL love letter, and when I gave it to her, I learned just how much time could slow down while people were reading.
My friend Chason says that I have a bigger smile than anyone he knows, and I really can’t dispute it.
My AOL Instant Messenger Buddy List has 42 people on it. My screen name is Leslian.
I was so premature when I was born that my six month old pictures look like the day I came home from the hospital.
I have a long scar on my chin because I busted it open three or four times and had to have stitches. I think each time was due to the concrete steps at my nursery school.
Speaking of injuries, I once had to be rushed to the doctor because I had watched my dad put in his contacts and then at school stuck a red sequin in my eye.
I’m not terribly fond of the Thanksgiving/Christmas holidays.
My biggest pet peeve is when something doesn’t go with my outfit. Like if I’m wearing a brown shirt and I don’t have brown shoes, or I’m wearing a belt that has a gold buckle and I can only find my silver earrings. Being ADD means that I’ve just learned to deal with it because I never remember to put things back where I found them… mostly because I don’t REMEMBER where I found them.
I love the heaviness of a good fountain pen, and the absolute dazzling quality of a good purple or deep red ink.
Radley just farted under my desk.
I have a membership to SuicideGirls. It was a birthday present that I did not ask for, but well loved nonetheless.
The thing I love and hate about being in long term relationships is that if they end and you move on, there are still really intimate details that you don’t need to know anymore that stay with you.
The entire time I’ve been writing this, little ants have been crawling around on my desk. Ew.
I’ve probably had 400 ideas about what to write on this list, but haven’t put them all down because I can’t think of a way to phrase them correctly. I am SUCH a writer.
My girlfriend has gotten to meet David Sedaris, and I am so jealous that I could spit nails. But not at her. Directly.
Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I think about the piece I’ll write that will get me on Oprah. I don’t know why I like Oprah so much, but ever since she played Sofia in The Color Purple I’ve followed her career both as an actress and talk show host. I didn’t much care for Beloved, but I thought The Women of Brewster Place was great. I apologize if my admiration for all things Oprah makes me sound more like a Midwestern housewife than a crunchy granola Portland lesbian, but that’s just the way it is.
My hair is terrible in the mornings. Scootter calls it HAIR NOT FOUND IN NATURE.
There are only three commands that I would like to teach my dog if I ever have another one of my own: 1) Sit. 2) Lay down. 3) Bring Mama a Diet Coke.
I’ve only smoked pot once, and I will (probably) never do it again. The reason why is because Matt was using a broken lighter and set my fingernails on fire. If that isn’t enough of a deterrent, I don’t know what is. You might think that one cannot set one’s fingernails on fire, and you would be wrong, grasshopper. If there is plenty of acrylic on the tips, it lights most magnificently.
But I will sit in the backyard and smoke cloves with you if you bring me one, INSERT NAME HERE AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE(S).
I thought Spirited Away was the most fucked up movie I’d ever seen in my life and I can’t believe they show it to small children VOLUNTARILY.
I never knew true natural beauty until I went to the Columbia River Gorge for the first time.
Some of my best Portland memories so far are about being in a kitchen with lots of women and making soup… I’ll probably write about it- Divine Secrets of the Church Lady Sisterhood.
I’m not afraid to disagree with people as much as I used to be. My girlfriend can attest to that.
I am not the guy that you want implementing or wrapping up your project. But I am definitely the guy you want comin’ up with the ideas.
Listening to my friend talk to her father after the Cubs lost the NLCS championships made me incredibly homesick, not only because it made me miss my own dad, but because she and her dad have roughly the same accent as we do.
I opened a tampon just to see what was inside the little plastic thing. What do you mean, why? It wasn’t that exciting, so let me save you a tampon. It’s cotton. It’s string. No big whoop. I thought it was somehow going to be more than that if you have to put it in your hoopdedoo. Big disappointment.
I did not like breakfast food until I found French toast flavored bread. I think you are supposed to use it to make French toast, but I just like to put it in the toaster and then add butter. Normally my breakfast is a smorgasbord of whatever leftovers there are in the fridge.
I find it ironic that when I went to Boston, I was not nearly as taken with the history of the city as I was with The Real World firehouse.
Though I have several different online handles, I don’t generally let people call me by them because to me, when you get called by your online handle it is proof that you haven’t been spending enough time offline.
Last night I went walking with Radley and Kristen whereupon I proceeded to fall flat on my face on the sidewalk because I had my hands in my pockets and couldn’t break my fall. Surprisingly, I walked away with just a scrape on my pinky and on my knee. But they both hurt like a mofo this morning.
Sometimes, if I can’t get into whatever is being said at church, I lean up against my friend Diane or Matt and think about what I’ll wear when I meet Matt Damon.
I eat too much because I am such a foodie.
Before I was asked to play Dr. Frankenstein at the Halloween party, I had come up with several ways in which I could make a SpongeBob costume. That’s right, kiddies. I was going to be SpongeBob for Halloween. Bring it around town.
I am often accused of being on drugs and it is always a moment of displeasure for me when I have to reassure the accuser that no, really, I am this way. Sometimes even on purpose.
I should never get manicures. Each time my girlfriend has manicured my nails, I’ve forgotten about the polish and it just starts chipping away week after week. Since the last time she painted my nails I asked her to make them “margarita green,” it looks like I have little pieces of booger clinging to the ends of my fingers.
I am just now starting to realize what a gift I am to the world. Before now, I needed lots and lots of people telling me how wonderful I was and I didn’t really believe them.
I still remember how cold the surf was in the Pacific Ocean when I stepped into it.
Life is beautiful, but the movie of the same name rendered me into a puddle on the couch
Some days, I talk about how much I love Diet Coke and cartoons. I talk about that to not talk about the ways in which I’ve emotionally abused people because that’s “how I was raised…” Not by my parents, but by someone who became a parent figure because my mother checked out. You cannot convince me that she didn’t let it continue because she didn’t want to raise a lesbian daughter, and you cannot convince me that despite my mother’s warnings, I got hurt anyway. However, it is a truism that the more you tell a story, the more it loses power. Supergrover is coming to mind less and less because I realize there is nothing more I can do except turn my attention. She’s going to be whomever she wants to be, and I can’t help that. If she wanted to make anything better, she would have come to me long before now.
Funny thing about that, though. Once I said something healthy and would return her fire with healthy boundaries, she wasn’t interested in me. She’s not a narcissist, so she wasn’t using me as a dopamine source…. but she only knew how to answer rage with rage, so when I answered it with “I love your anger- let it out,” she was done. It let me know that we were always going to fight like that, because I did the work and she didn’t. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have had the willingness to walk away from someone I truly, deeply love. She doesn’t understand me, because she doesn’t understand her. When she says she wants to understand her, she will- and not before.
She also won’t learn it from me. My breaking her trust was the beginning of something for her, because we had to resolve our conflicts in order to go back to loving each other as rabidly as we do when other people hurt our friends. If she learns like I do, someone else will say something that triggers her back into my letters, and they will make sense to her in a way they didn’t before, because it’ll be the same thing I’ve been saying for 10 years, but it’ll look different coming from someone else because she’s not attaching her preconceived notions about me onto their words.
It’s something she will really love learning. She’s a people pleaser, but not at work. That’s because she can negotiate logical boundaries and gets lost with emotions. If she was in the military, she’d do very well because she’s a perfectionist. If she was a therapist, she’d burn out quick because in addition to being a boss, she’s also a people pleaser because her reality is just as fractured as mine was; I started my own therapy- my blog more than my psychologist. I am almost solely responsible for my recovery and not because I had a shitty doctor or anything. It’s that there is no possible way to recover from PTSD on one hour a week. Just like having diabetes, the doctor doesn’t hold your hand every day. You go in for appointments, but they can’t manage you every moment they’re not there.
I have been startlingly self aware since I was a child, but I didn’t have the confidence that I do now. I didn’t say things like:
That’s mean. Please rephrase.
I am too tired.
It’s not that I don’t love you, it’s that I need space. Please go away and leave me alone for X amount of time. We are all good, I’m overstimulated.
I am not lazy, I am autistic.
I am not flaky, I have ADHD.
AuDHD is a lifetime gig, and we’re going to have to manage it because otherwise, you’re going to get angry and resent me your whole life if you’re my partner.
If you cannot handle any of these things, you cannot be in my life.
I am responsible for my actions, but I’m not responsible for yours.
I am not “throwing things back in your face. You don’t want to admit that you do the same behavior repeatedly.”
The reason I drop people quickly is that I have good boundaries. If I’m not happy, it’s because I tolerated something I didn’t like, some times for years and years. I am using my own examples to bring insight to others on why they do what they do………..
laying out my own flaws and failures from the mundane to the insane…….knowing joy does that, too. If there’s anything I hope people say about me, it’s that it works.
Tell us about your first day at something — school, work, as a parent, etc.
Some of these are just vignettes in my memory.
On my first day of school, Lindsay was an infant and my mom was having a tough time letting me go to school all by myself when I was just as happy with Lindsay all day. She was the extrovert of the two of us- still is. I remember Mrs. Youngblood, and what she looked like down to the green smock she wore every day. My mother remembers that I walked over to a girl that looked sad and a few minutes later, she wasn’t sad because she thought she was going to be alone the whole time.
On my first day of work, I learned about shampoo. My first job was as a receptionist at Supercuts, and they saw me coming. My register never matched up at the end of the night, but at least the first day was a blast. I really enjoyed working there when people weren’t yelling at me about their hair, because I didn’t cut it. I swept, mopped, did laundry, and sampled everything. I was there when Tea Tree from Paul Mitchell hit the shelves. One of the first people to try American Crew (white people pomade). Those two things are my favorites today…… mostly because they don’t smell too girly.
Editor’s Note:
Apparently, this would not be a plus to a rando that just messaged me. He led with, “don’t take this the wrong way, but are you a woman?” I said, “how am I supposed to take it? I’m genderqueer and play around with gender a lot, but I’m genetically female.” He said, “I don’t even understand your answer.” I left it on “read,” because no matter what I respond, it’s going to lead to no good….. for him. Although I have to say that just because I’m not the one he’s looking for, some men love it. Some men have never had a queer girlfriend before and that in and of itself is novel, because they’re buying into something much bigger than themselves- or me. But the first step is always saying, “I bought rainbow boxers because I don’t know if I like them, but I knew you would.” I did. It made me feel incredibly loved and supported. Straight guys are getting there. Just give them another four hundred years.
The day of my first sermon, I was more nervous than I’d ever been in my life. I kept repeating something my dad said. He said it about other people, but here is what I heard. “I have big shoes to fill.” “I BROUGHT MY OWN SHOES.” I’d forgotten my cell phone that morning, subconsciously on purpose so I could focus. I was dating someone in the congregation and wanted to impress her, and I did…… but right as I was the most panicked and about to hyperventilate, someone came over and said the most beautiful words I’d ever heard. “Leslie……. it’s your dad.” He couldn’t get ahold of me on my cell, so he called the church- much to the parishioners’ astonishment. He gave me a pep talk and sent me out there.
The way I got to that time and place is not dictated by a “first day,” but first impressions. Here’s something I wrote about it in 2005 on “Clever Title Goes Here.” It’s what I remember from the day she invited me to visit her at school when HSPVA did a concert at UNT. I was 16 and so nervous I thought I was going to throw up everywhere, and now I still do, but for very different reasons.
Your stationary feels heavy in my hand, and I’m glad there are several pages to flip through. I wish you were next to me while I read your letters, because your handwriting is so unique that even after years of reading it, there are words I can’t figure out. I laugh to myself, glad that one of my strong points is context clues.
I’m glad grad school is going well. It’s fun to think of you as a student again, and kind of cool that one of the requirements of being a student is teaching younger singers. Do you have any good ones this term? Better yet, any REALLY bad ones?
HSPVA is tough shit. I’m on academic probation again because I’m in three performing groups and rarely have time to do homework… and when I do, it’s usually half-ass because I have four subjects all piling it on at once. I wish there were more hours in a day. I’ll probably be able to get back on track with English, Physical Science, and American History, but Algebra I is a wash. I’ll be lucky to get a 50 for the semester, never mind the six weeks. I think I’ll just drop it and take it again next year. My teacher is way over my head- she teaches at Rice for half a day, so I don’t think she has much experience with the mathematically illiterate. Well, maybe illiterate isn’t the right word… mathematically terrified is more like it.
Funny story- I had a HUGE trumpet solo in my last concert, and during the performance I came in a measure early. The ENTIRE band skipped that measure with me so that it wouldn’t look like I messed up. No harm was done, but Katrina looked at me like, “COUNT, YOU ASSHOLE!” Mr. Carter told the low brass that when he realized what was happening, he wanted to take them all out for a beer.
Church is so different without you.
We have a new scholarship singer, Stephanie. I wish the committee hadn’t chosen a soprano, because even though she’s good, her voice is so different from yours that it makes me a little teary-eyed, kind of like, “you’re replacing HER with THAT?” But the good part is that since Stephanie sits next to me, we’ve kind of gotten control of our sectional sound. Much less old lady vibrato. It’s not the same, but I suppose over time it’ll be tolerable.
I told my friend Amy that I’m gay today. I didn’t know she was Southern Baptist, and she dragged me into a practice room and started screaming at me. Then she ran to the bathroom. Her friend Laura told me that she was throwing up. I don’t know if I believe her or not. If I called Laura a bitch, I’m pretty sure it would insult bitches everywhere. How do you deal with all this shit? I’m so confused. I know I was wrong because I only told her that because I like her. I didn’t expect her to come down on my head over it.
The worst part is that after I told Amy, she told everyone else. I was sitting outside with my friends when Amy and her group of airheads walked up to me with their Bibles and started reading me all this crazy shit. I ran to my counselor about it, but she didn’t do a fuckin’ thing. She just asked me what I did to provoke it.
…….
I sat next to Scott on the bus ride up, my palms sweating with nervousness. It had been two years since we’d seen each other, and a person can change a lot in two years.
I didn’t recognize you at first, with your super long permed hair and painted nails. And not that I would ever hold it against someone for losing weight, but you hug different and I’m not sure I like it… as if these things are up to me, right?
Thanks for the compliment on the performance. I was a little nervous about the triple-tonguing section, but I think I got it out ok. At least I didn’t have to play really high and triple-tongue at the same time. It’s murder on my chops. Dude, a LOT of things have been murder on my chops lately… I was put dead last in chair tests this week. I must not be practicing enough, but it’s such a vicious cycle. If I play more, it really hurts- but the only way to get it to stop hurting is to play through the pain. Theresa, my trumpet teacher, says it’s an embouchure problem that will take weeks to correct. What a thing to say to a musician three weeks before a jury! Dan told me the same thing in eighth grade, but I didn’t listen to him then, either… it was three weeks before my ‘PVA audition. If only the world would stop spinning long enough so I could fix this thing.
Oh, and what’s up with calling jazz masturbatory? The only time I really feel lost in the music is when I get to write my own… and that’s all a solo is- taking the music in my mind and putting it out there. Maybe if I was a better player, I’d agree with you… but most of my solos sound like muddy water.
That could be my jazz name. Muddy Water Lanagan. It has a ring to it.
Have you ever performed on stage or given a speech?
I have alternated between the quietest and the loudest person in the room for many years. This is because as a preacher’s kid, you have the personality you use with parishioners and the one you use at home, when you’re with your normal family…. the one that already knows you’re weird. I started doing things with music/music theater when I was three. And in fact, if I remember correctly, the first time I was in a choir performance I waited until it was over and then decided what the people really needed was a solo.
A few things that I’ve said have stuck with me, though.
At Bridgeport, I told the congregation that they were my Thanksgiving, and I meant it. Preaching in person is a whole different vibe, and I’m glad I know how to do it, and sometimes be incredible, even if I didn’t choose to go after it as a profession. It is enough to know that I could have, I just didn’t want to in the end. All I wanted to do was speak, and that’s not what pastors do. I’d be horrible at pastoral care and I know this about myself. It’s not that I wouldn’t listen. I would, intently, and then I would spend more time trying to figure out their problems than my own….. just like I do now, but I am only taking care of my family. They’re all over the world and right at home.
I wish I’d gotten to preach with Zac in the congregation at least once. I would have played so far against type that I doubt he would recognize me….. until I started preaching. Because yes, Zac, I have quoted Snoop Dogg in a sermon. It’s also just fun because he’s an atheist and also very, very smart. Therefore, we can have great discussions without ripping each other’s heads off. Religion is desperately, intimately ontological. God only exists as much as you believe God does.
I preach from the standpoint of resolution and resurrection, my faith absolutely secure in the mysteries of our faith, because the things that have been attributed to God are not God. I’m not even talking about The Crusades. I mean that people like Abraham didn’t write down God’s experiences, they wrote a record of their own.
It’s why I’m so glad this blog exists, because it is very much the Bible I am writing. Both in looking out over my experiences and processing them for better understanding (to me it’s a form of prayer), and because no one in the Bible is more important than me. The only reason my book of the Bible doesn’t count is that I was born a little later than the council of Nicea. I honestly treat my relationship with Jesus the way I treat my relationship with Zac when he’s not here. Jesus and I are kind of the same person, so I tease him all the time… and that’s a plural. I tease Jesus and he’s got some sick burns on me, too….. but those are just what I think he would say, and I like the comedic version of Jesus best.
If I had to pick a favorite Jesus representation, it’s the one from South Park. He manages to be relevant and yet the same calming presence he was back then. In the words of G.K. Chesterton, and I’m paraphrasing, “if you can’t laugh at your own religion, you haven’t picked a very good one.” I tease Jesus in his WTF? moments because I know I couldn’t have done any better. For me now, it’s thinking about me being so much older than he was. Having to go through that much, that young.
My whole take is that the best part of the resurrection was not having to do pastoral care. “Screw you guys, I’m goin’ home.” The truth is that Jesus was one of many people who thought he was the Messiah at the time, because the Jews were genuinely looking. If there is a Messiah, I choose to believe he’s it. That’s because none of the self-help he taught has changed for thousands of years. Brené Brown is an Episcopalian. Steven Colbert, Jimmy Kimmel, and Jim Gaffigan are Catholic. Trevor Noah isn’t a Christian, but he was raised in the church. Sarah Silverman is Jewish. Even under the Abramic tradition, we find our way in the world doing great things. For Sarah and me, it’s comedy (Sarah believes she’s one of God’s chosen people, and I believe Jesus is magic.) I don’t believe that it is the one true way.
I believe everything comes from us. We are not connecting to an Abramic or Hindu or Egyptian god, we are connected to The Source, the idea in which religion was created. We did not create The Source, we are all subtractions from it. You are a tiny piece of something great, but you block yourself from receiving it with ego.
But I didn’t come up with that idea. Jesus did. The check is in the mail.
I wrote a beautiful entry for all of you on the train. It was the best thing I’d ever written, or so I’m choosing to tell you….. because I accidentally exited out of AndrOffice before I saved the document. I had hoped there was a way to recover it, but unfortunately….. no. This is the entry in which I’m back at my house after having stopped at McDonald’s on the way home. I got a Happy Meal hoping it would rub off….. KIDDING. I was coming back from Zac’s after a very lovely time. I’m convinced we should write something together, but I don’t know what. I told him an idea in which I said, “I also thought you’d hate this idea, which makes you the best person to do it.” He said, “Rude.” I still can’t believe I got away with “peek a boo, bitch.” It has been my experience that few women talk like 15-year-old boys despite being ancient. I am filling a void filled by few others, and that does not suck. It makes me feel completely unique and also alone. But not. Alone together.
Basically, I realized I’d opened a door to poly by talking about it and not explaining my view on it… giving an example in action and not words. Zac already has partners, I don’t except for Bryn and she’s across the country. I don’t know what’s going to happen with that, I just know that no matter what we rely on each other because the boyfriends can all go away and we still need emotional support. It also fills my need to have someone to write to outside of dating Zac, most of the reason for my being poly in the first place because I crave so much more intellectual stimulation than I ever do contact comfort. It helps that Bryn understands why I call her my partner and I’m guessing that Supergrover doesn’t because I’ve never told her why I say that. I didn’t marry her, and if she thinks so, she’s not reading between the right lines. I also don’t care that she’s pissed off I’m a writer, because she knew that before she got close to me. She knew it was going to be a hard row to hoe and she went there. So I did, too.
I need friendship with her husband like I need air, and I would have gotten it if I hadn’t been such a dick. The flip side of the coin is “what could I have possibly done that would make you this avoidant for 10 years?” So, everything I did is bad and everything she did was justified. That’s not how that works, beautiful girl. What she cannot justify is isolating me from everything that would have made me feel better about our situation. She ramped up my anxiety, so I came up big. I don’t have the right to blame her, but I do have the right not to sign up for seconds.
It’s why I require so much of her now. I don’t need her time, I need her feelings. She thinks I’m not entitled to that. If that is true, I need to step away for my own mental health. She told me I couldn’t let other friends into our bubble, so I didn’t. Now, I’m in the posiiton of needing someone to talk to about my feelings without being able to make others understand why I feel the way I feel.
But nothing about this situation makes me regret it. What I regret is her not giving me a single second of relief by hearing me out and responding to it.
So, my reaction is to stand apart from other partners and just absorb. I can’t share everything, so I don’t.
Plus, now I’m not looking for a relationship, and if I was, I’d have to be with someone who understood why I didn’t want to break up with Zac and just be okay with that, whether they choose to be with others or not. Even marriage isn’t a contract where one of you owns the other, and if there’s anything positive that Will & Jada have done for the zeitgeist is show everyone how that is possible. Everyone has to be able to look at themselves in the mirror. Poly is more emotional work than being monogamous, not less, beacause you’re having to be that vulnerable with more than one person and practice makes permanent. If you don’t practice how to negotiate boundaries, you won’t learn all of a sudden.
I believe that this very idea is why Supergrover is so avoidant. She doesn’t know how to be me, so she doesn’t want to learn. It’s just easier that way. I wanted to help bring her into the light, but I don’t want to make her. I want her to want it, too. I want her to stand up to me, frankly. She used to, and she stopped. I remember I told her what being a partner meant to me years and years ago; was when she said that she wasn’t a God person and at the time, I was interested in starting a church plant. I said, “I don’t need you for that” (being a member). I need you to remind me that I serve God when I start to believe I’m them.” She said, and I quote, “I can do that.” When the words are that concise, you can take that check to the bank and it will always cash. My favorite check is “that’s how I roll.” It is so much fun thinking about how she rolls…. and also not.
She makes me want to give all the things while I can’t do any better if she doesn’t teach me the good things she wants me to give. I would have accepted anything in the way of guidance, and I’m sorry it looks from the outside that I’m not going to get it. It is so much not for lack of trying. Every time I tell myself I’m done, something in my mind thinks that’s unacceptable and to always leave the door open to reconciliation- just put everything away in terms of trying to make anything better between us. It’s my journey now, and I wouldn’t take anything for it. Even if we never reconcile, I needed this relationship to create the life I have wanted for a long time.
I have said this before, but if there’s a silver lining to having been with Dana and interacting on that level with Supergrover made me realize what I did want out of life and what I didn’t. Dana was going down and I didn’t want to go with her, first of all. Second of all, it was more important for me to learn what Supergrover knows and not Dana, because they had completely different approaches to life and S! has life wired, as much as she thinks she doesn’t. She has logic wired, and that’s the thing I needed in my life the most, because I’m all emotion, all the time.
It’s the role in my life that Zac fills, honestly, because I don’t know anyone who gets higher performance appraisals than Zac. My boyfriend is a rock star at life, and I am so proud of him because he figured it out at 18 being medically able to join the military. I would like to believe that I would have scored high enough on the aptitude tests for intelligence, but I probably would have ended up in welding. 😉 Zac retires relatively soon, and I’m going to be so excited to see what he does with his extra time.
I hope he expands the car idea. His short story was a banger, because not only did he use “we’re all hearses in the end,” he put a school bus behind it that said, “I know you’re proud to have been built as a hearse, but since all the humans are gone, we’re all carrying dead bodies in the back.”
What are your favorite physical activities or exercises?
I have floppy muscles, it’s an inborn trait. Therefore, I have success with physical activity to a varying degree. I think if I had to pick a favorite thing to do outside it’s very simple. It’s walking Oliver, who is a dog. It’s better when Zac is with us because I don’t trust Oliver to behave with me the same way he would if Zac was there, plus hiking in the woods behind his house is intimidating if you don’t know the area well. I could get lost easily and because I’d be in the middle of the woods, my GPS would only say “continue to highlighted route” and I’d be shit out of luck.
Ask me how I know this.
I’m not sure what to call it, but Zac’s townhome development backs up to some sort of nature preserve, so I have hiking accessible to me that’s just as challenging as anything I used to do in the Columbia River Gorge . Zac likes to hike as much as I do, and because he does it more often, he’s more in shape than I am, too. Yes, I weigh less, but I do not work out my muscles in the same way he does. I don’t have to have a physical fitness test to stay employed by the Navy. However, I do stay slim and trim by not owning a car, and I have decided that because ride share exists, that should always be true of me. I don’t actually want to pay money for a car when I could pay money for a car and a driver, taking the risk of driving off me entirely. If we crash, it will never in a million years be my fault. It’s not the hassle, it’s that I know I don’t have 3D vision and driving is working without a net, knowingly putting other people in danger.
Nope.
I didn’t have a choice in Houston, which is why I moved back to DC. If you’re going to take public transportation, it’s a very good place to do so because we’re not huge like New York, yet we have all the same amenities. Maybe it’s because I lived here in my 20s, but New York frightens me in a way that DC doesn’t. I don’t know whether my sensory issues were out of control in Manhattan because it was that big a city or because I’d never been there before. I now know why writers live the way they live in movies when they’re set in New York. As soon as I got there, my nerves felt like they were on fire. As a writer, I was energized by it and also needed to find a way to mute it. Thus, writers in movies being hermits in New York. They’re trying to find a manageable amount of sensory input.
Writing is a sensitive area in terms of perception because you need enough stimulation to have something to say, energy that lets the words flow naturally….. but not so much that it makes your mind lose the train of thought that’s going to hit the New York Times. Fine-tuning that instinct takes time. When I am overwhelmed, I go back to zero. This means wired or Bluetooth headphones blaring white noise like TV snow or a jet engine (because people reading this are so young they might not know what TV snow is…..). Over time, you begin adding things.
I find that I function the best under a sensory deprivation diet, because it helps me to work faster when there’s less going on in the room. I cannot write if people are talking around me, and most of the time I cannot even write with music on. Today, my soundtrack is Zac typing in his office. I’m sitting in his room with my iPad and keyboard, he’s at his government computer because he’s neurodivergent as well. I wanted to cut down sensory issues for both of us.
The funniest thing that happened this morning is that I grabbed a pink coffee mug and Zac said something about it being his partner’s mug and her being picky about it. I said, “oh, no problem. If I’d known it was hers I would have respected the rule. You don’t have to apologize for having other partners or them having preferences.” He said, “I’m just sorry I couldn’t let you have a CIA mug.” I said, “that was a CIA mug? I didn’t know CIA came in girl shit.” I loved his laughter at that one.
Editor’s Note:
Every time I’ve read that line while writing/editing I’ve fallen over with laughter.
It’s not that I wouldn’t like pink CIA stuff, it’s that I’m a purist. I like the seal they already have on a navy background and think it looks classic…… There’s no need to change something that isn’t broken. I don’t need CIA feminized for me, because to me it’s already feminine. Look up all the department heads and count the number of women. It’s staggering.
The truth is that women my age are invisible, and that’s why we run the world. If you believe nothing else I say, believe that. There’s a reason female intelligence officers at CIA and in the military embed themselves in women’s groups all the time. Getting women together is a HUMINT ATM machine. Now I’m wondering what the equivalent of a “stitch and bitch” is in Arabic…………… You can tell a lot about a man’s mood, behavior, and actions by asking the women around him, because dollars to donuts he hasn’t heard what she has to say.
I love that my love of women in intelligence is making others excited as well. It caught on for Lindsay when we went to Zaytinya the other night, because I told her about a fabulous novel I’d read called “The Secrets We Kept,” by Lara Prescott. The premise is brilliant. In Russia, female spies were trained to use their sexuality to get what they wanted, so they were nicknamed “Swallows.” The United States does not do this, so the novel explores what would have happened if there had been an American “Swallows” program. It’s danger and intrigue, but also camaraderie. Spying is the world’s second oldest profession, and it bears a striking resemblance to the first.
My favorite female intelligence stories are “constant fish out of water.” At first, it’s being approached by CIA and getting trained…. hero origin story…. then it’s being fish out of water because CIA doesn’t work inside the US. My favorite part of the journey is from the approach to graduating from The Farm. The Spider-Man where you find out how he became that way is the best. I don’t make the rules.
I feel that though typing is not something one would classically think of as a physical activity, it is my origin story.
Especially since I can write it down.
Now it is time to transition into my day, because it always starts here at the keyboard and branches out. I have coffee to drink, news to read, and a trip across a city in which it snowed this morning. I am eager to get out and take pictures.
Taking pictures for me is a physical activity because I am one of those people. One of those who thinks nothing of holding other people up for a few seconds to be able to lay down in the middle of the sidewalk or whatever to get a shot. This is because I am willing to wait eons to make sure I’m bothering the least people. It’s really the only way I’ve shot the top of the steeple at Notre Dame.
It just occurred to me that creativity often feels like exercise. Creativity often feels like exhaustion once you’ve pulled ideas out of yourself. Both writing and taking pictures show your way of seeing the world, and especially because I don’t have 3D vision, the pictures I take look different than ones taken by people with stereopsis. It’s not a bad thing. It’s what makes me driven to take pictures. I want to see how I see the world by looking back at the way I shot it.
All writers search for themselves. In this blog, you can see it transparently. With novelists, you see it through archetype and allegory. A childhood is a writer’s credit balance, in the words of John le Carré. We start there and we excavate to a degree in which most people are uncomfortable.
And yet the physical activity of writing sustains us whether you’re comfortable or not.
Tonight is a Zac night, and we’re just hanging out. He’s doing some stuff for work in the morning, and I’m writing to you. Later, we’re planning on going out for dinner and watching “The Pigeon Tunnel.” I am so incredibly happy right now, because I can’t think of a better way to spend it than geeking out over my favorite boy, dog, and writer.
Because Zac is Naval intelligence, he was able to pick me up earlier than we usually get together (normally I go by Metro to his house, but Ft. Meade is a stone’s throw from Wire Ave. It’s not that Zac wouldn’t come to me, it’s that I have a lot of housemates and he doesn’t. Zac has a bigger social battery than I do, but we both like what we’re doing now…. I didn’t even know there was a term for it, but it’s “parallel play.” He’s working now, but he’s writing for fun later. We’ll keep doing this until we get hungry. Zac was given a fiction challenge. Genre is comedy, setting is a car wash, and the word he has to work in is “interest.” You cannot imagine the places my mind went when I heard those three things.
Having the setting be in a car wash was a trigger into something great. We started riffing off each other. I said that for me right now, when I hear that word I hear “autism” and “special interest,” so mine would be about a kid whose special interest was car washes and it would be a whole comedic essay on soaps, etc.
Then, I thought of something brilliant. Zac wanted to do something with robots, and I thought, “what if the robots were the car wash?” Like, the brush arm is talking to the sprayer or whatever. So, Zac comes up with this whole dystopian landscape like Fallout 3 where the cars don’t realize all the humans are gone.
I said, “if you’re going to go there, make sure that one of the cars is a hearse. I think it would be hilarious and tragic that he doesn’t know his services are no longer needed. Every day he gets dressed up, anyway.”
So, Zac starts thinking it over and I’m checking out at Safeway- thank God we were held up so long in line because we got a chance to flesh this out, ironically. He says that he thinks he wants it to be like a bartender and some customers. He has decided the hearse will be “Frank,”and I had a small meltdown in which I was all like, “awwww, you used my idea” and I straight up cried as I held up my Apple Watch.
We have to go, and as we’re walking out Zac says something and I have blipped since then, but the end was “….and after all, aren’t we all hearses in the end?” More tears, but good ones. I said something like, “God damn, Zac…. that was a good line.” He became very impressed with himself and he should be. This is why we work so well as a couple. We’d drive each other up the wall if we lived together because two writers in one house just doesn’t work. It’s a whole basket of crazy. So, I feel like I live this great life in my own little world in some ways, and in others I look like anyone else trying to have a good time………..
Ten years ago, I was working at Alert Logic in Houston, Texas. Because I’d moved back to Houston, I was hanging out with people I’d known most of my life. One of my childhood best friends has the same sense of humor that I do, so I would pick his brain for suggestions on kids’ shows because I am interested in the writing and he has two rugrats. I liked Adventure Time and continue to be a fan of Lumpy Space Princess, but I loved Regular Show.
Regular Show actually taught me how to handle my divorce in a way no other show ever has. I was in the middle of losing my Margaret, but watching Mordecai grieve her and then meet Cloudy Jane was all I needed to know. Margaret and Cloudy Jane would both mean everything to me, and loving a Cloudy Jane later didn’t mean that Margaret wasn’t in my box of memories anymore.
And in fact, Dana and I are an accurate representation of Mordecai and Rigby (or more accurately, Bert and Ernie- we were them for Halloween one year). I am sure that she is now someone else’s Rigby, but when we divorced, I promise it didn’t make me any less Mordecai. It also doesn’t matter that she’s someone else’s Rigby, because I don’t think of her in that way anymore. I think of her as pristine and perfect in my memory, which is different. All of you know that pristine and perfect does not mean that she is not flawed, and neither am I. You don’t love people based on their perfection. You love people because they aren’t perfect.
The smallest example I can think of currently is Supergrover forgetting my birthday year after year. I could choose to be mad about that, or I could choose to accept reality. Birthdays are important to me, they are not important to her. I always made a huge deal out of her birthday because that’s what my family does. She doesn’t make a big deal about mine because that’s what her family does. Because of it, there’s no foul. We were raised differently.
Over time, she picked up that birthdays were important to me, and I picked up that birthdays weren’t important to her. So, even when she can’t make the clock stop, she will say things like “I’m so sorry I missed you yesterday, but I did send a gift.” That’s because I communicated and she changed. She communicated and I changed. It wasn’t a matter of how much we loved each other, because neither of our reactions had to do with our relationship. I got vulnerable once and told her that it hurt when she didn’t remember, and she got vulnerable and said she was sorry, that’s just how she was raised- and yet, it impacted both of us because we both grew toward each other.
It was never about the gifts. It was about being remembered. This is why we were able to grow. I am able to recognize that there are times when the clock just doesn’t stop, and also my way is not more important than hers. It was a tiny conflict that in the end, turned out to be not a conflict at all.
Editor’s Note:
I realized that talking about cartoons was a good reason to make fruit punch. So, now I have an appropriate beverage. It’s Sunkist, but not soda. We are allowed to have bubbles when we finish our blog entries. 😉 I am also an expert. Make a 20oz fruit punch in a bottle, then fill my travel mug with so much ice that only 8oz fits, then keep refilling. I have the kind of travel mug where I can make at least two drink mixes before I need more ice. In fact, this morning I needed a drink of water as soon as I woke up and there was still ice water left over from yesterday afternoon.
But with a friendship like mine and Supergrover’s, we can be ourselves and communicate across all of that. Nothing has to be engineered to my specifications or hers, because we’re a spectrum of belief and action.
All of our experiences combine to make us Muscle Man and Hi-Five Ghost. Because she’s virtual, it would make sense for her to be Fives, but I need her to drive the golf cart.
She is also as sweet as Pops, and has taken me to Really Real Wrestling many times. 🙂
I could do less writing. It would be worse for my portfolio and better not to spend so much time lost in my head. I am not sure I get a choice on that considering how much quiet I require, but I do recognize that my mind is a busy place and I get lost there. I have said this before, but there are times when autism makes me feel lost to the rest of the world, and I wouldn’t have said that before because I have had that constant feeling since I can remember, I just didn’t have a word for it.
Because, I mean, of course I’m not autistic. I did not equate myself with other autistic kids because my school wasn’t mainstreamed, therefore I rarely saw any. There is also more and more evidence that ADHD and Autism are missed in many, many women because of the way we were raised. I didn’t look like a “special” kid, so I wasn’t. You get on YouTube and you find out that there is no “look” to autism. I do not have mental retardation because of autism, and those two things are conflated often. Autistic people are either savants at coding or developmentally delayed in popular culture. What is missing in the zeitgeist are regular people who also have that processing disorder. The kind where some doctors say, “I’m hesitant to give you a diagnosis because I don’t want you to be unable to see outside it.” Trust me, this is not just for patients. New parents of autistic children are equally shellshocked as me.
What is intimidating is receiving the same amount of information as autistic parents because it’s a lot easier to make decisions for someone else than it is to make decisions for yourself. You don’t have demand avoidance in mentally healthy parents because it is an inborn trait, the reflex to nurture. A baby’s cry affects men and women differently, but they both respond at the drop of a hat if they see a child in trouble and they are in any way parental.
It is so much harder when you realize the child you’re trying to keep alive is you. Like, in middle school there were not consequences this dire for my Tomagotchi. I’m older and less flexible, more demand avoidant because I’ve either been guided away from handling because I didn’t know I was autistic and didn’t realize that ADHD gives it to you as well (not mentioned in any of the layperson’s ADHD books I’ve read). I also didn’t know that if you have it pathologically, that is also part of the autism spectrum, and because I haven’t been diagnosed, I don’t know which is which. Pathologically Demand Avoidance is somehow part of autism and its own thing. Basically, you get treatment. If it doesn’t work, it’s PDA.
Social stigma around figuring out your processing disorders and mental illness is big and difficult because you get it on both sides. From neurotypical people, there is a constant need to reassure you that things aren’t that bad, you’re not autistic (because in their minds what I am saying to them is worlds apart from what they hear), you’re just too hard on yourself and if you X, then……… Their answers are not my answers because I am incapable of their thought process.
It is not a matter of pity on my end, it is a matter of acknowledging disability and illness. There’s a huge difference between acknowledging something and “making it your whole personality.” No one has said this to me, I just know I talk about it a lot because that’s what I’m reading/watching right now- educational videos. It’s not that “it’s my whole personality,” it’s that you didn’t come here on leg day, capiche? I am obsessed with getting the diagnosis of my neurodivergence right, not fitting the facts to a certain outcome. There is such a thing as ADHD with autistic traits, and there is a lot of overlap between the two diagnoses, so it’s not always clear which is which. I already have an ADHD diagnosis. The “huge leap” is in your perception, not my reality.
Here is the other very serious thing. I am the same amount of different now that I will be after I’m officially diagnosed, or after I’m told I have ADHD with autistic traits. ADHD is not valid in the way that autism is, because in other people’s minds, an autism diagnosis is devastating and if your child is ADHD, it’s bad, but at least it’s not fucking autism…………. when the reality is that the introverted form of ADHD can be just as debilitating. It’s invisible because it doesn’t come with physical symptoms and again, a processing disorder that doesn’t affect the development of the brain so that you can’t figure out how a person can be so smart and so stupid at the same time. But that’s neurotypical perception/stigma, not what’s really happening.
For instance, women’s voices were largely absent from ADHD research because to the researchers, ADHD became invisible in people without hyperactivity. People often don’t see autism because I do not have extraordinarily regimented sensory issues. I do not have a meltdown when I touch or taste something unfamiliar, so therefore I cannot have sensory issues. Some people have autism but do handle sensory perception well. Some autistic people are mentally delayed and some aren’t.
High IQ autistic people have two archetypes in society…… the manic pixie dream girl and “Comic Book Guy.”
I know what you’re thinking. Shut it.
No, I don’t identify with Comic Book Guy at all……….. eyeroll.
Now that everything is so expensive, I feel like coders who live in their mother’s basement are the luckiest bastards on earth. They live with people who love them on a salary that really helps everyone while acknowledging that they- are in some ways- able to take care of themselves and also not. I feel a jealousy toward programmers that I don’t feel in other areas of my life because they created the standard that all their sensory issues being tamped down was critical to the way they work and no other department in an office functions that way…… so if you’re autistic and not a programmer you’re just shit out of luck.
For instance, lights are usually very low in a server room, as are sounds. A server room has the same decibel level as a library. I live like Mr. Robot, because CPTSD and AuDHD being comorbidities means that I am constantly more comfortable with less stimulation through sound and more information through sight. Loud noises and bright lights are anathema to all of those things. I do not have a problem with flashing lights, but office fluorescents. I have a problem with prolonged eye contact, because sensory information becomes too much; I also become self-conscious about my eye drifting. It’s why I’m much better about maintaining eye contact when I’m wearing my baseball cap. I don’t think it’s much of a distraction, but my brain believes it is.
I could do less caring about my appearance, and so much more. By caring about my appearance, I could do more in terms of skin routines and putting on makeup once in a while when I actually feel like it. By not caring about my appearance, I mean constantly worried about how I look in front of other people because it’s not whether I’m attractive or not, it’s whether my social masks are working.
If I don’t call attention to my disability, you won’t notice it and I’m grateful until we get close enough that we can’t social mask around it anymore. It gets more intense with more connection, because social masks fail on a whole other level when you live with someone. I have never had a partner that truly understood me, partly because I’m a complicated case psychologically and partially because I didn’t have the tools to express myself.
You know what I also couldn’t do? I also couldn’t say, “I know you’re feeling personally attacked, but here’s several videos of other people explaining how their symptoms affect them so that you know I’m not just ‘using my disability as an excuse.;” The “motherfucker” is implied. I do not have a problem taking responsibility for my behavior as it is sometimes problematic, but I draw the line at seeing only my behavior as problematic and not acknowledging that things don’t happen in a vacuum. I can say that moving to DC was the last thing that happened, but Dana put us on the road toward divorce originally because of my reaction to her DUI, not blaming her because she got one. There is a cause and effect to everything.
In short, I can take responsibility for developing a wandering eye in a relationship not built for it, but I will not take responsibility for Dana’s drunken mistake that changed my whole sensory perception of life.
You are not the same person at work after a full night’s sleep, and one of the things that would have saved our marriage in retrospect was me putting my foot down and saying, “you’re on your own, kid.” This does not mean me stopping helping her. I mean forcing her to quit her job and get a different one if her boss didn’t move her schedule. That taking her to work in the middle of the night while holding down an office job would bring about destruction for me because I am not capable of it. I got fired from Marylhurst for the same reasons I got fired at Alert Logic. Especially when I don’t sleep at night, I cannot listen and talk at the same time, nor listen and write things down. The reason that transcribing the constitutional law class was easy is because I was transcribing, not taking notes. I was not having to constantly make a decision on what was important to write down and what wasn’t. I got that on my own, by going back and reading what I’d written down, faster to process because I’d heard it once.
I cannot blame Dana for her mistakes, but I can blame my reactions to them. Dana getting a DUI doesn’t make my words and actions okay, or let me off of any kind of hook. I am acknowledging that in a relationship, I only own half.
The problem came in thinking that my issues were so much worse than Dana’s. That Dana needed help and I was just a bad person. There was no medical explanation for why I did what I did, so it was worse….. and yet, there was a medical explanation. I was overloaded and overwhelmed, depressed and anxious except for when I was hypomanic and at no time able to regulate those things. So much was said without thinking, which is why there’s such a disconnect between my thoughts and the words I used in the heat of a moment.
With autism, the heat of the moment is everything. If your words are charged, we will pick up all 7,000 subtexts and our brains are immediately overloaded because we don’t know how to respond. This is why it’s easier to communicate with a neurodivergent person in text. It’s a balance, though, because we have to get to know your voices well enough to have context for when we leave it out. For instance, I think our conversations would have gone a lot differently had I known in the early years that hearing Supergrover’s voice feels like watching molasses drip……. she is a velvet hammer. I might not have been so quick to attribute rage if I’d known she was so laid back in person. She does not portray that through text. In text, she’s strident and it’s “pull yourself up from your bootstraps.” I only get frustrated when she can’t see I’m barefoot.
I choose to be butt hurt over this right now, while it’s happening, because what I know to be true is that my history is to save it all up until I explode, and as Supergrover herself has said, my anger isn’t helpful. She’s right, and in a lot of cases it’s due to lack of coping mechanism. In others, it’s autism and I can’t work around it. That’s because coping mechanisms fail when sensory overload is happening.
This relationship was a new level of sensory overload because we are both so different from each other. I cannot blame anyone else for anything, but I can get it all out so that I can look at it and see what I can do about my own situation.
I think more about it now, so that I know I can and will do less later.
I could do a lot less thinking about all of this. But it wouldn’t turn out the way I think it would. I would be even less able to regulate my emotions.
Stories That Are All True 