Tag: life

First and Second Chair

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

In what ways does hard work make you feel fulfilled?

The title is a music reference, because when you’re the lead trumpet player, depending on where you live it’s called “first chair” or “first desk.” Everyone has a chair, and they’re ranked. Yes, I have been as low as 7th chair. I wish I’d done better on that audition. But I was 7th in the city of Houston. Beat that with  stick.

I was also 13 years old.

I am not a prodigy. I make a lot of mistakes.  I’ve splatted wrong notes on the back walls of MOST Houston auditoriums, but a time I didn’t and it went really well, I was on a television show called “Black Voices.” I was a soloist during Summer Jazz Workshop. Didn’t make it less funny when I was on camera. I am just picturing all my black friends falling over with laughter right now. “You were on what now?” My favorite was the logo over my big ass glasses.

Another time it went really well was when I was in one of the jazz bands (I was in Jazz II. I told you I wasn’t a prodigy. But again, different playing field. You know who else was in Jazz II? Robert Glasper from “The Robert Glasper Experiment.” and Jon Durbin from “The Suffers.” If I’d stuck with it, maybe I’d have a Tiny Desk Concert of my own, but I sincerely, sincerely doubt it. I loved performance. I was unconvinced by hard work. It’s not because I didn’t want to do hard work. It’s that my embouchure was wrong (how you set your jaw and ilps), which made practicing for more than a half hour complete murder, and it’s good concerts don’t last that long because I’m not sure I would have made it through all of them, either. For that reason alone, symphony was wonderful for me because in general, trumpet parts in classical music alternate between resting for 200 measures and the most majestic clarion call you’ve ever heard. It feels like being a goalie when your team is superb.

Most of the time, everyone is on the other end of the pitch, but when it’s your turn, you come up BIG. You have to have enormous balls for classical music, because a random eighth note high A in the middle of nowhere and perplexingly alone is not uncommon. The other thing s that I could hit a high A out of nowhere, but it may wander a bit in pitch from left to right until I find dead center. In classical music, this is not an option. It must be crisp and clean, every note tapered. The hard work was never the notes, though. The hard work for me was in reading music the first time accurately, which takes thousands of hours to learn how to do.

I have never been so relieved in my life than when I went to a huge ass choir competition in high school. The sight reading portion was lifted straight out of the United Methodist Hymnal. It was the first time in my life I had “sight read” anything so perfectly. And no, I did not tell anyone…. no trumpet player (or soprano, for that matter) would tell you they had an edge at something. Trumpets are line cooks. Sopranos are line cooks with nail polish.

I got into choir the same way. I auditioned, and I got into the junior varsity choir. I asked the choir director, “are you sure? I’ve done major works at my church…. messiahs and requiems and all that stuff.” Believe me, questioning her was the hardest work I’ve ever done, but I came up big. She gives me this contemptuous look and throws a Handel at me. Hard. Then, she picks the most exposed, most difficult entrance she can find……………… FOR HER. Bitch, I earned this. She thought she was so clever, but I’d been in the adult choir for three or four years by this point. You know what you do EVERY SINGLE YEAR? The Messiah, or at least highlights. Few churches put on “the whole thing” (in quotes because even that is redacted most of the time by taking out optional sections. It’s long. It’s really, really long. And you do “The Hallelujah Chorus” occasionally at Easter as well. This was not a piece with which I was unfamiliar. I’d memorized the highlights by now…. and if I could explain my voice type, it would be “Charlotte Church as a teen.” My voice (and hers) has matured, but still what people at Bridgeport used to call my “high, high, fluty voice.” I drove that audition like I stole it, and I was the first person in the history of Clements to be in varsity band and choir at the same time.

I’ve just noticed I sound like an obnoxious dick. It goes with the territory, but I figure I can tell you I’m good at something when I’ve spent so much time telling you all the ways in which I need to get it together and how my life is an emotional dumpster fire of my own making a lot of the time.

Additionally, I gave up trumpet a long time ago. I’ve taken prescription meth for a very long time (Adderall or Concerta, depending on what release schedule we’re doing this month……… eyeroll……..), and it has been murder on my jaw and teeth, just like for junkies. Therefore, playing my horn is painful because of the sound vibrations. The fact that I don’t play anymore has not occurred to the rest of my personality, because I have turned ego up to eleven when I need it. The key words are “when I need it.” I don’t need to walk around DC feeling 10 feet tall and bulletproof all the time. I’m sure that if I dressed like a baller I could walk into any meeting anywhere and fake it. You cannot convince me for love or money that I do not have the smarts to be a Rep or a Senator. Not possible anymore. But I have the mental acuity to do the job. I am woefully unelectable, mostly because I would hate every minute of campaigning. I would frustrate the fuck out of my support staff because my answer to every problem would just be “let’s skip it. There will be people there. ” But if I was in Congress doing the job, I’d be as diligent as ADHD allows you to be, and on my worst day I would wipe the floor with Y’all Queda. I’d probably be censured by my own party for my language, but nothing I said would be untrue. Congress has issues and they scare me. The legislation doesn’t matter right now. The people are sub-par, and that’s okay now.

Because of all of these experiences (except working in Congress. I was a political science student, so I know about working in that part of Washington, I just don’t.), writing sets me on fire. I’m old enough now that I really have stories. It’s age that gives me credibility now, because I don’t have letters to fall back on. Graduating from college has been a shit show because I am barely capable of working a full-time job and going to school. I should have stayed the extra year in Houston to finish up, but I had a partner with a very lucrative job offer who said “go to George Mason. it’s right across the road.” I didn’t even get a chance to enroll and register for classes before that deal fell apart.

Besides, I got my money’s worth, anyway. I wasn’t one of Brene Brown’s kids at Graduate School of Social Work, but she was one of mine when I was the supervisor of their computer lab. I actually got into the Graduate School of Social Work contingent upon my BA. I’d just helped the Dean figure out a very complicated computer issue and she was very grateful. But I didn’t get into GSSW based on that issue. It was based on the conversation I had with her while trying to fix it. I always chat about nothing because people have no idea what I’m doing. All they hear is “blah, blah, blah, I’m done.” So, we engage in small talk and she’s the Dean of the GSSW and I’m an INFJ. I didn’t get in because of what I do. I got in because of who I am.

The thing is, though, I’d forgotten all about it because all I heard from Kathleen was “blah, blah, blah let’s go to DC.” And if I had thought about it, it wouldn’t have changed my mind because unless I’m at my family’s house and never leave to do anything, Houston feels like a toxic mess. The only exception to this is that Lindsay still lives there and introverts don’t make friends. An extrovert adopts you and drags you into public.

That’s the hard work right there. Being industrious enough to make my own friends and get my own dates. It took a lot of courage to lay it all out in front of Zac and say “this is what I’m dealing with, are you in?” In fact he was. ❤ The added bonus is that Zac told me that he was military intelligence the second time I met him, but not the first. So, I actually was brave enough to get my own date that time and manifested a really great partner, because my interest in intelligence doesn’t come from him. It just provides us with “intelligent” conversation.

He doesn’t emotionally overload me and I don’t do it to him. That’s because I process like a lesbian all day and by the time it’s evening I do not give a fuck about my feelings. (I just laughed so hard I would have made Oliver jump straight in to the air if he was here.) Zac doesn’t hear my bullshit, because I don’t need him for that. In fact, it’s great when he opens up to me about his problems, because I’ve spent enough time on myself.

Editor’s Note: Straight women are crazy. Absolutely insane. Why do you not date bi men when you’re all over gay men like white on rice? I would bet A LOT of money that my boyfriend smells better than yours and I’ve never even met him. Remember when we used to have a special term just for straight men who bathed? Straight women worry a whole, whole lot when his ex is male. They can save a lot of time and energy by not doing that.

Also, I’m a good enough writer that I could have gotten into a GSSW anywhere. You see all the stream of consciousness crap, but I clean up nice. 😉  I sometimes feel bad that you’re getting the B-sides and rough drafts, but at the same time, this is the hard work (said in Kristen Bell’s voice). Blogging is writing as a valid art form. It is a lesliecology of brain droppings in which I can cherry pick the best lines I’ve come up with and use them elsewhere. So much of my writing comes from e-mail and Facebook comments because I’m reflecting on something that someone else said, or something I’ve written previously works even better in another context. Making the commitment to write every day without fail. I got up to 63 days before I broke my streak for one. This is because writing is a muscle. I will not be a good writer until I can write in any mood, in any situation, in any anything. Creativity is a grind, and I will not be where I want to be without woodshedding, a music term that extrapolates nicely here.

When you’re practicing, some parts of a piece are really easy. The notes, that is. You still have to craft a narrative and that’s where the work comes in. That being said, you have to be technically accurate before you can craft the narrative, so you isolate the four measures in which you’re really going to be screwed during a concert if you miss. In a symphony, you have moments where if you miss a note, it won’t be noticeable because there are 150 people playing next to you. At others, there are three. When you’re out there all by yourself, it is frankly really fucking scary. You learn to manage, but it doesn’t go away.

Through voice lessons, I’ve become a phenomenon with singing comparatively.

It’s not how good of a singer I am, it’s what a train wreck of a trumpet player I was. I mean, obviously, there are high points to when I was living that life, but I feel so much more at home in my body as a singer because apparently the large amount of metal in front of my face was blocking my talent.But now that I’ve worked really hard in all things, given my whole heart to everything and everyone I’ve ever loved, I only have one thing left to say.

I am fulfilled.

Second chair no longer exists.

A Mel of An Entry

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Mel is a chef in England who loves my food posts, so I keep thinking of writing them, especially as the food entries climb to the top of the leaderboard. I got this writing prompt from a web page called “19 Creative Writing Prompts About Food for Kids.” This seems to be in my natural age bracket. I’m 46, but I identify as a nine-year-old, I just say “fuck” a lot more. 😉

Describe a trip to the supermarket. What kind of food do you find there? What would you buy? How much would you buy and why?

I follow the Michael Pollan rule at the grocery store. Don’t shop in the middle. Everything you need is on the outer rim. To add to that, the aisles are a trap of advertising the new and most convenient thing, but it’s not always food. As Pollan also says, “don’t eat anything your great grandparents wouldn’t recognize as food.” I also adhere to this last piece of advice: “Eat food. Not a lot. Mostly plants.”

I only eat meat when I go out because I don’t like preparing it at home. So, I will tell you what I think in terms of an omnivore’s diet, which for me is mostly vegan with all bets being off if I’m outside the house. I feel like I’m showing I take Pollan seriously. I do eat “mostly plants,” even when they taste like Italian sausage.

As an aside, one of the best meals I’ve ever had was ordering a Beyond Italian sausage on a bun in a restaurant, because in a restaurant they’ll drop them into the deep fryer. If you’re a vegan, buying a deep fryer is a lot of fun because there’s not a lot of saturated fat in the food, so you can afford to let loose on preparation. Deep fried sausage would taste good even if the sausage originally didn’t. You can cover up a lot of shit with fat, more if the protein is breaded. A good example would be that you may not like Beyond Beef or Impossible Burgers, but you’d have a foodgasm if I served vegan “chicken fried steak.” But people get touchy about that stuff. The idea is off-putting, so they won’t touch it. I’m never going to get people to try vegan food by telling them it’s good. We don’t have to talk about it. Just eat it. (oh, and even the most hardened vegan can relax about deep fried foods. The temperature is high enough to destroy ALL biologicals. This is not true of a flat top. Beef *will* get on your Impossible Burger at Burger King if you don’t tell them to microwave it instead……… but that little bit of beef fat is really fucking good.)

I’m also not the person that likes to fool people for fun.

I don’t categorize my diet at all. I’ll just tell you what I eat, because I’ve already told you the rules.

“Eat food. Not a lot. Mostly plants.”

I swear to you, this advice is better than you think it is. You are better off counting calories than counting fat grams and carbs. Just make sure you stay under 2,000 calories a day. You could have a healthy heart and eat a stick of butter that way. Fat in and of itself is not bad. Calories are simple math, don’t force them into calculus. You will naturally slim down by eating more plants because you won’t be eating all saturated fat and you can eat way more of things that have very few calories and plenty of vitamins. You’ll also stop craving so much sugar by eating fruit. It’s not that your body doesn’t crave sugar, it just needs complex carbohydrates and Hot Tamales won’t cut it (I am bad about taking my own advice. Hot Tamales are life.)

I cook with concepts, so I’d start with a couple of ideas.

When buying staples, you want to duplicate salts and sugars. For instance, a dish will taste better with soy sauce AND salt, or brown AND white sugar. It adds complexity, more notes in the chord. I also like to double up on fats, because olive oil can withstand higher temperatures and butter has a completely different flavor profile. You can go on baking your turkey with butter alone, but mine is better and I haven’t even tasted yours. 😉

A NOTE ABOUT STAPLES

You’re going to think laying out serious cash for staples is a mistake. Let me tell you why it’s not. Good salts, sugars, vinegars, and oils will obviously last a lot longer than the proteins you’re cooking with them. $200 spent on those things will last six months to a year depending on what you’re making, whereas you’re buying protein and veggies every week.

With expensive staples, you can afford to buy everything else on the cheap. Cooking isn’t down and dirty when I’m making a Filet Mignon. I’ve started with the best ingredient, so it’s automatically going to be worth three stars. Give me a meal that’s three stars when you started with chicken backs and necks. That’s when you’ll lose the audience because the idea of a desperately cheap ingredient that tastes bad is stuck in their minds when they think of peasant food. In my world, they don’t matter. I’m not here to impress you, I’m here to impress David Chang, who would know implicitly that I started with garbage and made him a feast. Because that’s how he cooks, and Bourdain before him.

Editor’s Note:

Here’s the dirty secret to peasant food.

Food is beholden to gentrification. If I made a flatiron for someone 30 years ago, it would have cost about the same as picking it out of the garbage. Rich white people found out what you could do with a flatiron, and now it’s an expensive steakhouse item and five to ten times what it used to cost before it was valuable to Karen and Chad. How did it get valuable so fast? There’s only two flatirons per cow.

If you’re going to make the next trend, peasant food also requires the best in spices. I would prefer to buy it all fresh, but I can’t find that and neither can you. I can always find basil, oregano, rosemary, mint, and cilantro. Harder to find more than that, but I do recommend buying them when you’re actually going to cook something within a few days, and just buy a small amount, otherwise, it will be as rotted as the salad you bought with the best of intentions.

In my own kitchen, whether it’s vegan or dairy, I like to have plain yogurt on hand. It is useful for everything breakfast and everything that needs an emergency dollop of sour cream, like putting too much ghost pepper sauce in your eggs. Also, yogurt is the best at cooling Indian dishes. You don’t have to make raita. Vindaloo is just as good with plain Greek yogurt.

Moving on, sauces are easy to make if you have containers to store them. They just won’t have preservatives in them, and there’s no shame in buying them because of it. I like Grey Poupon just as much as the next person. I also have never attempted ghost pepper wing sauce, but I eat a hell of a lot of it.

However, I’ll tell you how to make the sauces I use most frequently, even though I’ve explained some of them before. Fresh salad dressing is so much better, especially with fresh herbs. You just don’t need as much fresh vs. dry.

Top of my list is mayonnaise, but I hardly ever leave it plain. I could live on vegan Hellman’s for the rest of my life….. I make my own mayonnaise when I’m branching out into salad dressings or burger toppings…. pasta salad is also a hit around here.

You need a large bowl and whisk or a blender. I recommend a blender because mayonnaise is so much easier with both hands free.With a bowl and whisk, get ready for a workout because you’ll be holding the bottle above the eggs and whisking them simultaneously and it’s a bitch if you haven’t done it a thousand times with a chef watching to make sure it’s perfect.

You need three egg yolks, a bottle of good oil (canola, grapeseed, and avocado are all very good), and some acid. Lemon juice is classic, but other vinegars are just as good or better. I do white vinegar the most often because it tastes like the “tangy zip of Miracle Whip.” However, I have made creamy ginger salad dressing with lemon juice and sesame oil.

How thick or thin it is depends on ratio, but you can thin it out with a small amount of water (an excellent fix if you feel it start to break, and you will definitely feel it….. it’s like watching a bowl of spaghetti sauce balanced precariously on a table knowing you’re the klutzy five-year-old.)

The easiest way to get egg yolks (for me) is to crack all of them into a soup bowl and carefully pick up the yolks, placing them into the blender or mixing bowl. Please for the love of God do not tell me you have an egg separator. In cooking, your best allies are your hands. You can learn to separate eggs with a gadget, but you know implicitly when all the eggs whites have left your hand. Just don’t pick up more than one at a time. They’ll break, and you’ll have to start over.

Editor’s Note:

Always put a cutting board down if you’re going to crack eggs. Egg whites on your countertops are an invitation to food sickness. After you’ve cooked with eggs, it’s very important to scrub down all your surfaces, because egg whites are invisible. Also, much easier to use a cutting board if you dampen a tea towel and put it under. It will keep the board from moving as you chop if you’re working with plastic (or wooden and not as heavy as a butcher block). My recommendation for how to clean the kitchen no matter what is a few drops of Dawn in a bucket of warm water. It will strip the oils and biologicals off of anything, superior to something like 409 in my opinion because I’ve never worked in a kitchen where we used multipurpose cleaner instead of Dawn. If it bubbles too much, just wipe with a towel and use less soap next time. 😉

Once you get the eggs yolks in the mixing bowl/blender, add your acid- one tablespoon of whatever. Whether you’re mixing or using a blender, the acid will make the egg yolks turn white. In French, that’s called the sabayon stage, and it’s the signal you can start pouring in the oil.

I don’t have any set amount of oil to add, because I just add it until I have what I need. Three egg yolks, I’ve found, will support a large amount of oil. So, whether I’m making one meal or several, I just keep whisking until the gods whisper to stop.

At this point, you can add anything you want. I will always add a pinch of salt, but anything else is a no-go unless the mayonnaise is a compound, like, say, blue cheese dressing. Salad dressing is not fancy. It’s just mayonnaise with stuff in it. So, you can literally throw anything you want at mayonnaise and it will adjust. Throw in some garlic powder or roasted garlic, it’s an aioli. Ranch dressing is probably the most complicated on the list, and not because it’s technically more difficult. You have to shop for more herbs and spices (I also add fresh tarragon- it’s not for everyone, but I love it). For burgers, I just throw in a little ketchup and sweet relish. A good pesto sauce will rock your face with mayonnaise. You can make a killer blue cheese dressing by buying all the ingredients for ranch and just adding blue cheese crumbles to it. Either of these dressings taste much better after the flavors marry, so leaving it in the fridge overnight is advisable before you serve.

For dressings, I really like sesame oil. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. Mixing it with any kind of vinegar or citrus is just amazing. Put your oil and acid in a jar with fresh herbs and shake. You’ll have to shake it every time you use it, but it will still taste better than anything you could buy.

Peasant food is also things like lunch meat. For instance, shaved ham that you bought at Dollar Tree can be transformed with eggs, jalapenos, and butter….. even better if you have nopales as well.

I can also cook the hell out of Spam.

The trick is to get it so thin it looks like it’s been shaved, but not quite. Then, respect first contact and put it on medium-low heat (a three on electric). Walk away. Don’t touch it. Call an adult. No, seriously. It will take about 10 minutes per side (I think…. I’d just look at it and decide if it had enough color on it rather than setting a timer. Instructions are for um…. civilians.) What you’re looking for with Spam is the same carmelization that you’d get on plain ham or bacon. It’s red, then brown, then black. I like cooking Spam until it turns the color of the caramel on a creme brulee. What you end up with is something that’s crispy and perfect on the outside, a little mealy inside. Perfect for breakfast or diced for a hell of a fried rice, though I’d also saute pineapple in butter and carmelize it before adding it.

(Mel, shut it. This is Hawaiian friend rice. ;))

The staples you can skimp on are things like rice and beans. The no-name is going to taste exactly the same as brand, including buying them raw in nondescript bags and preparing them yourself.

I would explain to you how to make rice, except that making rice over the stove is hard to me when rice cookers are as low as $14, the only specialty item I have in my kitchen because it also does grains like oatmeal, brown rice, millet, quinoa, etc. You can learn to make rice over the stove from someplace else. I have $14. Why spend time explaining something that will actively make you stop reading? 😉

I don’t use water when I make rice, though. I use vegetable stock. I also don’t generally make rice plain, so I keep lots of dried cherries, cranberries, nuts, and seeds around. This is also useful for breads and pancakes, so dried fruit and flax seeds are a minimum for me. I also have hemp hearts, chia seeds, cashews, walnuts, almonds, sesame seeds, and pumpkin seeds. Putting these things into bread/carbs gets me the protein I need in addition to Beyond sausage dropped in a deep fryer (praise to you, Lord Christ).

Let’s wrap up by talking about drink staples.

I will not buy skim anything.It is devoid of everything about milk that is good for you, including taste. Plus, if you are not putting full-fat milk in your coffee, you are allowing the acid to have free reign. Let the acid bind to fat and your stomach might have a fighting chance. I use soy milk since it’s the thickest of the plant milks, but only because I can get it shipped by the case from Amazon. If I was buying from the grocery store, I’d probably buy Ripple, which my dad will be pleased to find out is not, in fact, a 40. It’s milk derived from pea plants. I call it “Gregor Mendilk.” I like it in coffee because it’s a little sweeter, like lactose free.

Always buy decent coffee. It’s like a gift to future you. However, what many people don’t do is buy a pack of Folgers and mix the expensive coffee with it. I prefer a very, very dark roast, so you won’t notice the difference and you’ll only have to buy coffee once a month or two (the time savings alone make it worth it). I also recommend having a backup Folgers, because it will keep forever. You know what’s worse than having cheap coffee? Getting up at 0500 and realizing you don’t have any coffee.

I also buy Stash teabags in obnoxious quantities. I’m going to have to buy some loose leave at some point, because I think it would be cheaper than using two or three bags at a time in the Keurig. I use that much tea in the Keurig because what you lose with it is steeping time. If you are using a kettle and pot (microwave water and you are dead to me), I recommend steeping for a lot longer than the British do. I’ll leave my teabags in for 11 minutes if that’s what it takes. I want my tea to be as full-bodied as coffee, which generally means letting it sit longer.

My mind has just been wandering regarding food. Like, what is it I really know? What advice do I have to pass on?

I don’t. I am passing on everything I have ever learned. Just follow the rules.

Eat food. Not a lot. Mostly plants.

You Got Me Straight Trippin, Boo

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What’s the trait you value most about yourself?

I’m not so good at talking about my “traits,” because it feels like all of them are somewhere in the middle in terms of value being good or bad. I’m tripping because none seem more important than the other.

For instance, being queer does not make me interesting in and of itself. Overcoming other people’s reactions to me being queer is what makes me brave, because it’s not something to which people have the right to react. It is what it is.

To me, it’s all like that. A trait’s beauty is dependent on its circumstances. If having brown eyes had been interpreted as wrong in the Bible, I would be overcoming fear and hatred of that instead. It’s the same amount of important.

Plus, my mind is an interesting combination of nothing right now, because I just woke up about 20 minutes ago (getting up at 0700 hasn’t taken. It’s 0520). I could go downstairs, get some coffee, read the paper. But that’s what normal people do. Creativity is a cruel mistress, even when it’s Internet word vomit.

[At this point I started joking with Cora (The War Daniel’s daughter who is now also mine)… Why was I not smart enough to have a child that lives with me? “The problem with using infants for waitstaff is that you get very poor service.” -Lemony Snickett She’s 25. Still funny.]

We’ve been chatting back and forth- she’s got some amazing artwork and I was telling her she should put it up on CafePress. All kinds of weird creatures with extensive back story- just more creative than I’ll ever be with visual art. She could make money easily because all she’d have to do is upload her art digitally. CafePress buys all the merchandise and you just pay for what you use- no up front cost because the costs to CafePress are billed to the customer.

I did a limited run of “Fanagans’ Wake” t-shirts, as well as one for line cooks that says “Keep Calm and Sell the Rail,” and they eventually did ok. But I’m not Cora. I enjoy working with fonts and spacing. She can design and decorate whole worlds.

An inborn trait for all INFJs is wanting others to be the best they can be. I thought of this because when Cora started sending me her artwork, I thought it might be useful for her to know about CafePress, and not because I’m trying to direct her into success. I genuinely would like to have a coffee mug with her artwork on it because I’m not saying that as “overbearing tiger queer mom.” I mean that her work wouldn’t look out of place at ComiCon, and I believe that the only reason she’s not making bank is that she’s an unknown. All unknowns start somewhere, and I’m getting in on the ground floor. I am also not here to make my dreams her reality.

INFJs think in visions of what might be. We start with an issue and spin it out. We throw everything on the table to see what it looks like and look before we leap to an enormous degree…….. except in my case, this is often derailed when I have stars in my eyes to an enormous degree. But everyone goes stupid at love. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t.

I saw kids with Auna.

I saw living with Theresa.

I saw being old with Sam.

I do see being old with Supergrover because life is long and it’s not over. I am terribly small, but would never sing that particular song.

None of these things have or have yet come true, and it doesn’t matter that they didn’t or haven’t. That’s because the visions in my head are only guidance. I think in some ways it’s my brain protecting me from fear. That if things do work out, here’s what it will look like. Here is a goal you can work towards.

It was particularly important for me to see a future with Sam because I was so terrified. I am glad she broke up with me in retrospect, but she’d have to know just how many walls she broke down in order for me to even go on a date with her, especially after she gave me so many red flags in the beginning that I just ignored because she was adorable and I felt safe. Even with the red flags, everybody’s got ’em, so I would have tried harder had she let me. I’m just glad I didn’t have to. It was too early to work hard. I’m sure I came with red flags, too, clearly. I’m just glad I didn’t have to mourn her, because Supergrover was there to catch and told me how much of an idiot Sam was. She has a history of telling the absolute truth, so it was easy to rest in my pet monster on a leash.

If you’re playing Skyrim, she’s very unapologetic that she is Alduin.

She’s not. She is Paarthurnax for everything he was, is, and will be.

I want the best in life for her, too. If she was a fan of Avatar: The Last Airbeder, I believe she would see some direct correlations to our relationship with Uncle Iroh and Zuko. It feels amazing that I’m in season three now.

If you never met Supergrover or she never sent you a photo, you’d think you were being e-mailed by a prize fighter, but one who seems like he spends his time at home painting his nails and wearing a tutu just to see his daughter smile. But then you look at her and realize that she’s a six year old girl with lots of complicated layers who also believes in adorably seductive and tasteful Halloween costumes, thanks be to God.

Just because we’re not a couple doesn’t mean I can’t be interested when Vogue magazine is on the coffee table. I, just like her, love pictures of beautiful people. I’d like to see pictures of her in different outfits and settings whether I knew her personally or not. I love photography. I do know her personally, though, so I pretend like settings and outfits matter when I’m really only looking for her microexpressions.

An inborn trait of INFJs is that we all know you can’t tell when someone is happy by looking at someone who’s smiling. It is not found there. It is found in their eyes, the way their muscles tense when pulled just so, whether crow’s feet go up or down (in my case). You can hide a drained soul from many people. I am just not one of them.

If you are my friend, though, I do have boundaries. If I can tell that you’re struggling, I will not intrude unless I feel there is clear and present danger. I need you to be capable of realizing that you’re struggling and asking for help. I also see when people are incapable of doing those things and probably won’t just step in, but I will be relentless about telling you to handle your shit with medication and therapy. It’s not my job to fix you, but it is my responsibility to tell you when your behavior is affecting me. I am not the be all and end all, but I know from depression and alcoholism. If I’m willing to say something, it’s already bad because I’m not judgmental about everything. I assume you’ve got it handled right up until you don’t. However, I’m not sure I would be insistent with someone who didn’t live with me. Their behavior just doesn’t affect me enough for it to be a burden on me otherwise, and criticism is always unwelcome no matter how constructive you’re trying to be. No one thinks you are trying to lance a boil. It’s always an attack.

I’ll give you a huge for-instance. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, and didn’t tell Dana to stop drinking or I’d leave. That’s because I was in the situation, not looking down on it. Is it surprising to anyone that I accidentally developed a wandering eye? I needed a catalyst for change, and Supergrover was it. The “accidentally” part is that I did not go into that relationship expecting anything close. I walked into a wall of bullshit I’m still not out of yet. Even she would agree that I stepped in it up to my ass, because she knows she’s a handful and calls her own life crazy because it is. Laying out the story exactly how it happened is like that scene from Men in Black II:

J: Okay. Straight to the point. [whispers in a serious voice] You are a former agent of a top-secret organization that monitors extraterrestrials on Earth. We’re the Men in Black. We have a situation, and we need your help.

K: There’s a free mental health clinic at the corner of Lilac and East Valley. Next!

No one gets this life by accident, and yet I did….. just through my inborn traits.

Lost in Your Mind

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dear Supergrover,

When my mind goes quiet, there’s a black and white picture of you that appears. It’s the only one you’ve ever taken just for me. It’s not that I don’t like other pictures of you. That’s not it at all. I like that you were thinking of me when you took it, and there’s just a hint of a smile with mischievous eyes. I wonder what your eyes looked like that day, and the days after…. in which we were clinging to each other and you kept whispering “you’re safe.” Beautiful girl, you whisper me to sleep with that one enduring phrase. I don’t sleep much, but when I do you watch over me, just like you’ve done since I was “young.” When I get scared in the night, I hear you in my head. “Maybe a doughnut will help.” I would have taken any vow that day, but the one I took was unusual.

Sometimes I feel like you don’t realize it’s unusual, because you’re big picture and I’m in the weeds. I know it would take you being on vacation for us to even have a chance to drink coffee together, so it’s just difficult having feelings you’re not there to catch because you can’t and shouldn’t be. Yet, I still signed the paper with blood.

The game changed from Old Maid to No Limit Texas Hold ‘Em, beautiful girl. Please know that this is true. Feel it in your heartbeat. Let the knowledge settle in you, because I am not placing guilt or blame. I am asking “where do we go from here?” Our connection is pure, but not our communication.

This relationship just makes me turn things over in my mind constantly, but is only one cog of many. My complications are dependent on what I’m tracking, and I owe you an apology for making you think you’re not on the face.

I am so sorry that when you came to me with what you were going through, I reacted poorly. I was having a bad day and I exploded. A laundry list of what you were going through with no thought to what I was going through made me crazy, because it was just reinforcement of the last eight years. I express needs, you express avoidance. I was frustrated that nothing was changing no matter what I did. I thought you were blind to something that has been in place since our inception. That the things we share do not go away when we don’t speak. We are making things worse for both of us, convinced we’re right and without each other. It’s stupid, but I’ll live.

The reason, though, that I was upset is that I could have written the essay on what you were going through. I do not take my needs lightly where you are concerned because your time is more objectively valuable than mine (during business hours). I have to weigh how I feel before I talk to you because I pick my battles carefully. I don’t try to goad, provoke, or scold you. I agonize over every decision because I have to think “does this matter right now compared to what she’s doing?” There will never be anything in my life as important, comparatively, so by the time I’m brave enough to lay something out with you, I’ve thought about it for weeks.

Every decision where you are concerned comes with complications, and I’m one of the people that can handle complicated. What I cannot handle is a conflict between two people where only one person says anything. You explained to me what you were going through, but ignored everything I said so I felt unheard after years of saying the same thing.

While you’re off thinking I’m a judgmental dick about everything, here’s what is actually running through my mind:

Where’s she going? What’s she doing? Does she have all her meds? Where’s Michael on this? Did she get that weighted blanket? Are the girls going with her this trip or is she on her own? Is a driver picking her up? What’s his story? When is wheels up? When does she land? Will she have e-mail in-flight or will there be crap going on? Don’t forget to tell her you love her when you know she’s going to be in the air.

This type monologue has been running every day for 10 years, and intensifies when I know it should. I know you don’t necessarily like it, but I remember pleading with you- that you need someone to care about you and could you just let me? Please? I always want to take care of you and I’m sorry I haven’t done it more often.

Limiting our interaction stops me from feeling unwanted, but it doesn’t stop the monologue because we fucked up and we’re married now- without me ever being able to explain why I mean what I mean to anyone other than you, and so far you don’t get it, or you really, really, do and that’s why you don’t want to talk about it. My job is to be lost in your mind. To be the best at separating what can go into the character of Supergrover from what can’t leave the building. I am afraid that I’m the worst.

The simplest answer would be to just stop writing about it, and I say that to myself every single day and realize I can’t go anywhere else. In this space, I have complete control of the narrative. I can relax and breathe, because no one else can respond. I mean, they can. People leaving comments is fun. I mean that Bryn and I aren’t going through each other’s comments and responding on the other’s behalf. I tell a story, people only talk to me.

I am not just writing the you in the entries, but the you in the comments. The you that exists in my world vs. the you that exists in yours. It’s never going to go away and we are both cutting off our noses to spite our faces by pretending we can walk away as if nothing happened…. but that’s not the problem.

The problem is that you absolutely can walk away like nothing happened, shooting emotions like metal spikes while I’m telling you that nail guns fucking hurt. By the time you told me everything you were going through, you told me there was no space for me in a way that meant change. That I could deal with things as they are. Period.

It cannot be the whole story. I know it. But you should understand that you walked into this willingly. I don’t need you to say you’re sorry and disappear into the ether. I need you to accept the reality of the situation and say “what’s next?”

There’s no one else for me and you knew that’s what would happen- because it happens every single time. The information becomes more important than the connection. I do not say that to guilt you at all; there will be others, just not ever again in the same way. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for at least seven years (now eight).

Nothing about our situation is wrong and bad. I love you in a way I don’t have the capability to love anyone else, and that makes me feel unique and special in a way I didn’t before. My worth on the planet doesn’t come from you, but the perks to living here sure do.

No judgment. No guilt. I just can’t engage anymore because I can’t communicate where you can hear it.

If I send a letter by publishing it here, it’s because I don’t have any expectation of it being read. I don’t want to open the door to more fighting. I want you to be at peace, even if I’m not it.

We told each other we loved each other once upon a time. Now, that check needs to cash. I’m just not going to wait at the bank all day, leaving empty-handed at 4:00 PM.

But know that if we agree to meet, I’ll be in the lobby with your coffee. I’m tired of feeling crazy for doing exactly what you need me to do. I’m just working without a net, and afraid.

Until my mind quiets, and the shadows reveal your face…. contemplative because I’m lost in your mind.

Yours,

Leslie

Writing a Letter, Part II

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Dear Mel,

I thought you might enjoy a food post since you’re in “learning a new kitchen” hell right now. I hope you’ll think of me when it’s time for your shiftie. If you don’t get this, I completely understand. See you in three years.

Love,

Leslie

When I think of food, I think of Mel, because she has jumped on the bandwagon of telling me to write more about it.

Because I am not up on current trends, I pick her brain looking for inspiration. I ask her food questions, she sends me pictures of Bletchley Park. It’s an even exchange. This is because asking her questions about food gives her energy. Getting the pictures is just a bonus. I don’t remember what food we were talking about at last interaction, I just think of her in general, the chef who can tell me about food culture in England and yet we’re tracking together like white on rice due to Escoffier’s meticulous detail.

If you have worked in a professional kitchen, you are beholden to him. The entire system was made by him. That’s why Julia Child was a tough motherfucker, and my language skills aren’t good enough to tell you how much of an understatement it is when you go through a program like that while female now. She was the first.

Working for OSS in Technical Services carrying around highly classified information is way less dangerous, but she did that, too. The reality is that there’s probably more sexual harassment and rape in kitchens/culinary schools than there is at OSS. I could be wrong. Those things are everywhere. Men do not like competition, and when their words fail, their fists come out- with other men. There’s a special hell for smart women, because few men truly recognize female brilliance when they see it. They’re programmed to be annoyed.

This is not any less true in the kitchen. It’s harder for women to speak up in all fields, but the kitchen is its own kind of hell because when you’re working that closely, you can’t help but touch each other. Assault happens every day of your life if some guy decides you deserve it, and some guy will. It hasn’t happened to me in every job consistently, but it has happened to me in every job. Every male line cook who has ever stood next to me saw me as his assistant. Every goddamn one.

We were paid the same, we had the same rights and responsibilities, and every day Daddy Knows Best. Nothing changes, whether they’re shit or fantastic. Male line cooks won’t ask women for advice unless they’re so young we have a matronly vibe to us- because they know they’re both screwed and scared and they can’t talk to anyone else. Men will not ask women anything until they’re afraid they’re going to lose their jobs and they have no choice but to be vulnerable. To be vulnerable to another male line cook is deadly for all kinds of personal and professional reasons….. one of them being that they’ll start treating the vulnerable kid like they treat women. Sexual harassment is real for men at work, because the amount of towel snapping and ass grabbing is highly regulated….. amongst each other.

Food isn’t worth it if you’re female. It’s just not. Those misogynistic French bastards took the thing women had been doing for millions of years unsung and decided it was valid when they learned. Just one of the many things women regret teaching men because thinking that women are the way they are (intellectually more stumped yet emotionally intelligent to the prehistoric) has so often come from theft. I can’t even imagine the numbers on an intellectual property lawsuit covering all women everywhere.

I am not saying women should quit (go on strike, really). I am saying that if you are female, you pursue this job because you can’t fucking do anything else. This is your passion, your drive, your coffee, your cocaine….. when you are high as hell on adrenaline after a rush, it becomes as primal a thrill as can be had legally. You dream pars and food cost. You have no idea what to do with yourself before 5:00PM. Days off are a story they tell little kids. Your family is a distant memory.

You didn’t come here to win. You came here to own the whole fucking thing.

And that’s what I’m thinking about when I think about Mel taking on a new kitchen. She can handle herself just fine. But I hope she has a me on the line, because there comes a time in every young man’s life where he will not accept female authority and needs to be disabused of the notion. This is probably best done by a chef barking down. But when they don’t, there’s safety in numbers and laughter in revenge.

I hope it’s going well for her. At least well enough to get a “heard.”

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier (Spy)

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

List three jobs you’d consider pursuing if money didn’t matter.

There’s four. I’m giving you a bonus.

Or it would have been a bonus answer if it wasn’t a joke. I couldn’t think of three jobs at first so I just went with a movie title. I would be good at none of these things except spy, and even then I would be good at the people part, not the paying attention part. Prevailing wisdom says that’s a bad idea. You can’t have a disorganized priority list when people’s lives are counting on it. I am the god of chaos wherever I go.

Editor’s Note: At this point I got lost in a tangent when my mind flipped to “chaotic god.” Just roll with it. I’ll circle back eventually.

Supergrover is neurotypical, which makes me fall over with laughter that our bff name has always been “The Holy and The Moly.” The funniest part is that I didn’t come up with it. Dana knows us. We’ve met. Whether I am chaotic good, neutral, or bad depends on perspective. I will accept either. I would imagine Dana thinks of me as both depending on the hour. Supergrover would look at me with amusement and say, “hard same.” I wouldn’t notice anything except the playful nature of her eyes. I think of her as Aziraphale in the bathtub at the end of Good Omens Season one. I think of me as Crowley in the other bathtub. Those of you who know what I’m talking about will see what I mean immediately………………

Aziraphale and Crowley could have been the couple that best represented us right up until they kissed. At the time, I was hurt. Friendship is underrepresented and I felt a relationship where they were deep, open, and vulnerable without romance was something vastly underrepresented on TV. I wasn’t disappointed, necessarily. Just that what was a good analogy became a bad one for me, but that has nothing to do with Neil Gaiman’s talent as a writer.

I get enough of that type friendship on Doctor Who to last me a lifetime. You just have no idea how much I am Martha Jones, or would want to be. Remember how Martha went through shit with The Doctor and it made her attracted to him? Remember when she got over it and saved his ass on multiple occasions because she realized that there was something bigger than her at work? Hard same, said with the same amusement in my eyes. I liken it to Jodie Whitaker being cast during Martha’s storyline instead of David Tennant. (Random aside… who says “Martha” better than Matthew Rhys on “The Americans?”)

Back to me.

I probably could win at being the CIA trainee to recruit an asset first at The Farm (they put on scenarios like cocktail parties). If you were going to bet on me, bet on me for that. I am smooth enough that the plant would just tell me. I can get one of the best spies in the world to tell me what she knows with a wink and a smile. I had Jonna Mendez dead to rights, where she couldn’t say anything and absolutely did. If you’re wondering, it was whether she worked on a Cold War movie. Her redirect was “maybe we should hire you.” What I should have said was, “dear God, you can’t imagine what a bad idea that is.” What I actually sad was………… nothing.

After that, I developed an affinity for satchels.

Now that we’ve fully explored my dream life, because I couldn’t get away from the bipolar thing even if money were no object, let’s talk about real stuff.

If money were no object, I would do two things. I would become a TA and get a master’s in whatever I felt like, in perpetuity. Read law at Oxford if I wanted, what the hell? When I wasn’t working on school, I’d be writing. It would just be a lot harder to make time for it. I think I’d be a great TA in divinity, history, psychology, political science, sociology, and education, particularly music education. I couldn’t be a choir director now, but I could learn. I have also worked with kids long enough not to get rattled, which is harder than learning to conduct.

Although, the thing that grates on my ear most is sopranos who are out of tune, even me, and at that age, all kids have high voices. I would learn to be good at my job for the sake of saving my hearing. If I was a band director, beginning oboe will clear your sinuses.

I would be a wonderful musician if I wanted that life. I know that I’m good enough for an opera chorus, and could be trained for mainstage roles because I was offered one when I worked at Marylhurst and I turned it down (I don’t remember the role, but it was Penzance). At the time, I was terrified. I didn’t even show up for the audition even though I was wanted for the role already. It was more of a coaching session.

That’s because the role was for a lyric soprano, not a mezzo, and at the time, it was pre-voice lessons. I now know I’m a true lyric, but it would still take years not to Florence Foster Jenkins my way through “Queen of the Night.” I knew I had one aria in me. I didn’t think I had all of them in one night. The workout to do that is tremendous. You just don’t see that from the audience because it happens internally. It feels like circuit training trying to get your body do respond quickly. You can’t have air when you need it the most. You just have to deal and move on. Sometimes, that’s another soprano in your section bailing you out. As a soloist, you’re completely screwed if you haven’t inhaled down to your feet. The heavy lifting is being able to control that much air after you have it so that it doesn’t all come out all at once. I cry with laughter when I think of the flops I’ve had. Wrong notes are horrifying in the moment and hilarious later.

I just don’t want to live that life, because it’s piecemeal. I wouldn’t have a permanent place in a choir unless I was in the military. I’d have to get contracts all over the world and move frequently. The gig economy is not easy, so I just don’t want to do it. I will probably end up auditioning for Washington National Opera Chorus or National Cathedral’s choir eventually. The thought of hiking to Georgetown twice a week doesn’t thrill me, though.

The life I’d like to live is quiet. Even if something of mine goes viral, I will still want to take it in from a distance. I only trust those closest around me because they’ll keep my head on straight. I would rather keep being an introvert and able to produce because I’m not lost in noise vs. signal. The signal comes in purer the less there is to compete with it.

So, I suppose my ultimate job is ogre. Just get off my lawn, but know I’m okay because Fiona and Donkey are around somewhere.

Letting me control my chaos in peace.

This Kid Named Leslie

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What aspects of your cultural heritage are you most proud of or interested in?

I don’t want to write about my white cultural heritage. It’s not interesting, but I will give you the highlights. There are Irish and English immigrants in my family. The most direct was an indentured servant who ended up in Louisiana, where later descendents settled in northeast Texas. My mother, father, stepmother and me were all raised there (sort of, we moved a lot with my dad being a pastor). Lindsay was not born until we moved to Houston, but we returned to northeast Texas for five years shortly after that. It was a quiet life interrupted by bursts of show mode…………….. although I did have a great, great uncle somewhere tied to organized crime in, I think, Rhode Island. That seems to track. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my next career, but mafia seems to be a viable option given my personality on some days. Anxiety and depression feel like the mafia. You get irritated and want to whack an employee, but you’re self-employed.

Yes, Where were we?

I come from Irish and English people, but not with landed titles and Downton Abbey and all that crap. My family was basically owned by the English, not even close to American slavery though very close to Reconstruction. When the Civil War ended, enslaved people were sometimes hired back to their plantations, but weren’t paid enough to really leave. That was my family’s situation. The English would do shit like give us land to rent, but they could take it any time they wanted and you’d never be able to pay off the debt you owed on tools, etc. Many, many people escaped Ireland through work contracts, which is what my ancestor did. The contract paid for his passage, and was a seven-year logging thing in which he cut off a leg two years in. Answers to the name “Lucky.”

Even with that fun fact, there are billions of people who’ve come through the US since its inception by rich white people offloading their indentured servants, enslaved people, and criminals here. America was Australia before it was cool. Still white people history. So, again, not interesting.

It’s queer history that makes me interesting.

Being queer is to take on institutional pain, passed down from one generation to the next. We don’t grow up biologically together (most of the time), so it’s a process to seek out a family that understands….. for most of history, the family that took you in when your first family just couldn’t get over their vengeful God long enough to stop themselves from being terrible parents (and worse in-laws). Children are not capable of supporting themselves at 15 and 16. You’d be surprised at how many just have to figure it out….. and not because it’s surprising to queer people. It’s surprising to the people who generally don’t want to look it up. It’s so hard to be them.

Because I did have someone queer in my life at an early age, I was braver than most because I didn’t see being queer as abnormal anymore…. but this was after two years of torturing myself first. Bad things happen when people come out. It’s more rare today than it was in the ’80s, but it’s alive and kicking. Look up the rates for homeless queer youth. It’s not acceptable. Stop pretending it is.

If you think I’m being harsh, fuck your feelings. This has got to stop, and I know because I’m from the belly of the beast. If you think legislation about trans kids’ medication in Texas is bad, you’re just seeing the surface. Imagine what these kids go through at home when they’re born to people like this rather than to people fighting against them.  Trans people are taking the fire right now, but gay people were (and still are in some circles) called mentally ill pedophiles for centuries.

Gay people are not predators. Predators are predators. And straight people are like, 85-90% of the population. It’s not gay people that are the problem, because even though there are gay predators, too many kids are abused for those numbers to check out. Not many people are gay. Many people are power hungry and some are ill enough to take it from a child.

So, to straight people, the call is coming from inside the house.

I was never molested by a queer person, but certainly had my life interrupted by that kind of absolute power imbalance. But having my life interrupted wasn’t all bad because I came out earlier. I don’t think I would have had an easy time in school if I’d stayed in the closet all the way through. There were too many people that used it as leverage. I know this because it was very popular to tease me for being gay even though I never said I was. They just knew it got the desired painful reaction and liked it.

Once I started wearing rainbow shit to school, all that stopped. It wasn’t blackmail, so it wasn’t fun……… which is how I have a legacy at Clements and my girlfriend at the time doesn’t. She was with me, but she wasn’t out, Therefore, I know I did something that makes me happy because I had the courage to do what many people couldn’t. It’s not a slam on her, it’s saying that I didn’t realize how important the story would become to me now that it’s been so many years. That I’m happy I had the courage to stand up then, because it makes me feel strong now.

I don’t have to wonder if my life would have been better had I come out later, because it was hell on earth then. I was just surviving, doing what I had to do. In retrospect, it feels like a badge of honor.

My sister is almost six years younger than me, with our birthdays being June and September, respectively. So, she didn’t get to elementary school until I was in junior high and didn’t get to high school until I was in college (and I would have been gone if I’d taken four years). So, I was a junior at University of Houston before I heard what happened:

When my dad left the church, I really stopped giving a shit about who knew what. I wore Pride rings (fruit loops) and had a rainbow ring and a couple other things that I bought under the radar (we all think that. Give it to us. Let us believe we are oh-so-clever.). It got me two things. The first is that I stopped getting teased. The second is that I could advertise.

She was an athlete. I felt like a god.

So, in addition to getting the girl, it was the rainbow accessories that made me a legacy.

I was off doing my own thing, oblivious.

My sister told me that she saw a group of kids with rainbows on their backpacks. She thought it was really brave, so she asked them about it. They said, “oh, we all do it. That way no one knows who’s gay.” Lindsay said, “who started it?”

They said, “I think it was this kid named Leslie.”

I will never do anything in my life more important than this.

Evensong

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

Today I found a quote that made me feel better about moving on from Supergrover (if that’s what she ultimately wants, I don’t know). That’s because it made me know that we won’t move on. We’ll absorb:

The two worst days in falling in love with a writer are realizing they’re writing about you………….. and realizing when they’ve stopped.

Supergrover didn’t fall in love with me as a woman, but she did with me as an author. She absorbed me like she absorbs every writer she’s ever read…. completely. I know she’ll never forget words I’ve said in anger, but she’ll also never forget how much I love her, either. That’s because I have learned through writing to you that she lives in my ink. As long as I write, a thread of her will be somewhere. There will be other women, other stories, none of them her. None of them even close. She cannot be convicted of a crime by a jury of her peers. She doesn’t have any peers, like Meryl Streep….. except comparatively Streep is a swamp witch. Nothing makes my face light up more than hers. Nothing. I doubt anything ever will. I do not say this in a sad way. it is the truth. I will never meet anyone like her ever again. Our connection means she cannot go away, so I’m not going to make her. She can sit here until she’s ready to go on her own. I’m at peace, and when she comes to me in dreams we have the conversations I would have liked to have had in person. I bring her a new book every time. New books make her smile at me. I would do anything to have her keep doing that. Even when she’s smiling at me in a photo, I feel light and warmth.

If she thinks I’m painting her as a villain, it’s not because I have any need. She is made of industrial light and magic in a film George Lucas could never dream up. I have had negative thoughts about this relationship as I’ve worked through whether our patterns work for me, things she’s unwilling to discuss. At no time has that made my love for her smaller in any way. I can choose to limit interaction to protect myself and have this space to get angry on my own….. but as the anger leaves me, you’ll see joy as well.

A lot of it has been stopping being an apologist. Trying to make my emotions look smaller so that they’d be more acceptable. For instance, I played off what hearing her voice did to me because it would not have been a proportionate response. I’m flowery and romantic with language, anyway, so she starts talking and there are bells ringing in my head… not church bells, just that her voice was musical and I wanted more. I could have listened to her talk for hours about nothing or everything, and I minimized it. I’ll never get that moment back.

I should have told her a lot of things, and i didn’t. But more than what I wish I’d said, I wish I’d heard. I wish I’d heard how my words affected her and in more than just broad strokes, because I know it wasn’t all bad or good. I have e-mails where she’s just copied and pasted what she’s liked, and I wish I had more of those. I have taken so much hell for the things she hasn’t liked, and there are a lot of them.

Alternatively, I love her anger. I never want to see it because it’s scary, but it walks the pain/pleasure line quite effectively. We rile each other up and seeing her fire is impressive. You just can’t put it out. She has to sneeze angry fire until it reduces to sparks on its own. You stand there with a blanket, because making fire takes a lot out of a dragon. You give her a shoulder to sleep on because when she gets that angry, she’s about to pass out. When she does, I’ll be still til she wakes. Never wake a sleeping dragon. This has been written many times.

I don’t need to be her husband/wife/partner because I am none of those things and also permanently etched into her mind. Affixed on her heart. She cannot forget me even if she tries very, very hard………

So I know she does indeed know how it feels to be me.

I am a writer, lost in a book.

She is a reader who doesn’t know whether she’s reading a story that’s finished, because the author isn’t sure, either. We will chase each other through time. If love is as certain an energy in the universe as novelists think, she and I will keep finding each other. Love never gets destroyed, it just changes. In our next lives, we may not even be female. But because we’re writers, we would recognize each other anywhere. There’s slim chance I wouldn’t recognize her, even in a different face. She can put on all the Halloween makeup she wants, but I’ll remove it in three punctuation marks.

Opening up to each other the way we did was just as vulnerable as rushing into an affair. We will never see each other without our clothes, but we have been naked emotionally more than once. I absolutely think that’s harder to find in a relationship.

I did indeed get my romcom with someone who absolutely knows it, whether she accepts that she’s my shite in nining armor or not. I will always be the Keeley to her Rebecca, because I didn’t settle for fine. I got hit by fucking lightning. She’s the gift you get from the universe for being an extraordinarily good person and somehow the universe still sent her to me. My heart is big enough to accept the package that comes with her. She is too big a gift to be mine alone.

On this evensong, I am reflecting upon the fact that I never want the second day to come for either one of us………

I can fall asleep easy knowing it never will. Neither of us will ever forget this time in our lives, when the story was us. It has already been written.

What’s On Brand for Me

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

What brands do you associate with?

Sometimes I think about “if I were an influencer, what would I want to promote?” It’s just a fun thought exercise, but if I had enough power to get things done in the advertising industry, here’s the people I’d like to give me stuff for free because I’ve been singing their praises for years without them cutting me a check.

Bombas Socks

I got the recommendation from Pete Holmes and have never looked back. Just order 10 pairs and throw your other ones out. They’re just the best ever and I will buy them until I’m dead unless they do something lame like change them in any way at all ever. They are ADHD/Autism relief in a box.

American Giant Hoodies

The Original Hoodie is the only jacket you will ever need. It’s double weight, double stitched, and all the hardware is strong and comfortable. No rough edges and extraordinarily well made. If you have teenagers, you need to buy one for yourself and one for them or you’ll never see yours again. Can’t find it? Check your daughter’s closet.

Starbucks Coffee

I don’t like Starbucks because it’s the best. Far from it. I like Starbucks because I’m ADHD and it tastes the same all over the world. It tastes the same on Connecticut Ave. in downtown DC as it does at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris. I checked. (CDG does have chocolate cereal milk lattes and I will die mad they don’t make them here.)

Nescafe

Talking about Paris reminded me that Starbucks was the best coffee I had while I was there. I think “French Roast” is a lie they tell little kids. My dad and I didn’t find a decent independent coffee shop or a Starbucks anywhere. The Starbucks was at the airport. So, I became absolutely reliant on the little packets of Nescafe the maids left for us at our hotel, which does not taste like American instant coffee at all. It was good. Therefore, I would pitch Nescafe all over the world because you can stuff packets in your suitcase in advance just in case you get somewhere and nothing is above Folgers with extra water. I know I will have a personal friend living in France or a French reader that will tell me I just went to the wrong coffee shop. Please, prove me wrong. That would be great. I need a place to go the next time I’m in Paris, and I want to live there for a few months so we can stretch out. I can already tell you that you can just show up at the Musee D’Orsay the first couple of days after I arrive. No worries I won’t be there. Vincent and I need some alone time. Maybe I can sneak some Nescafe into “our room.”

Chuy’s

No clothing brand represents me better when they’re on point. I think they have the best graphic designers in the business. I have several t-shirts and a hoodie that I wear constantly, except the one that says “Expecto Burrito.” I gave that one to Goodwill. Yes, I know Chuy’s is a restaurant, but their merchandise is very affordable and well made. I think my favorite Chuy’s shirt has the outline of the Chuy’s fish with Walter White hat and sunglasses. It says “Heisenchuy.” I also have a very cute kids’ t-shirt that’s a throwback to 80s Nintendo and says “Super Tex-Mex Brothers.” It’s perfect because I’ve worn it enough that now it actually looks retro instead of a current kids’ shirt. I also have one that’s still in production. It’s a Tattooine-type desert with a lone man and says something about “Juan Solo.”

Bourbon Moth

I love Jason Hibbs’ designs, and I would fill my whole house with his furniture if I could afford to commission Jason or buy the equipment to make it all. Having no idea how to construct anything, I think everything would turn out better if I just paid him. Jason is the kind of furniture maker that you want to entrust with your daughter’s first rocking chair when you find out she’s pregnant, or the crib she’s eventually going to need. You don’t just trust anyone with those projects, and he’s at the top of my list. Here’s how much I would trust Jason:

I would trust Jason’s vision if I lost a child, as well.

CIA/FBI/DNI/DIA/Pentagon/Branches of the Military,etc.

I’m putting the names of the agencies in here because I can’t find the name of the company that makes their swag. So, I know you can’t just walk into any of these gift shops, but you have options in terms of seeing if you know anyone. I say this because Zac has brought me several things from those shops and they’ve all been as well-made as my American Giant hoodie. None of the t-shirts have had tags, all the hardware is smooth, the workout clothes are double weight so you can run in he winter. I am sure that if I could find the name of the company, they make clothes without logos and I’d be there for those, too. It’s the difference between getting a jersey at Eastern Market (knockoff) and ordering it directly from the NFL. With my CIA baseball cap, I loved the logo, but I don’t wear it all the time to look like I’m pitching for USG. It’s so comfortable on my skin that I can’t take it off. ADHD Life, the struggle is real, etc I also walk a lot and “it’s beginning to look a lot like fuck this” becomes a refrain in my head when I don’t want to take the time to get fixed up; it won’t last. My baseball cap feels even more comfortable on those days. I don’t know how they would actually want me to support them, but I know I can’t not. My country is depending on me to want soft clothing, and who am I to stop them from providing it? Before CIA, I had a GAP hat that was just as comfortable and I wore it for 15 years straight. By the end it looked like I had old underwear on my head. I did not care. This hat has the same vibe and I’m looking forward.

Celestial Seasonings

When I say I switch to something innocuous like fruit punch when I’m not drinking caffeine, I really mean cold brew Red Zinger at obnoxious amounts. Obnoxious. I should buy stock.

Wendy’s

I don’t really care about their food. I want to work for them. I would have a riot in that writing room if I was on the social media team. Also, I have been repping their French fries and Frosties since I was a shorty (for the rest of the world, that’s American slang for a child. I am still short.). To me, theirs are the ones that taste best because they actually taste like they have real potato in them somewhere. They’re not as crispy, but they’re authentic. They’ll actually put a little more color on them for you if you ask nicely and wait patiently, just like at In-n-Out. I just think Wendy’s are better than In-n-Out because I prefer a thicker cut (more like they’d serve at a steakhouse).

McDonald’s

I want free smoothies and soft serve for life. I don’t know what I would do for such a favor, but I am willing to negotiate heavily. I know it won’t cost you much because the ice cream machine is always cleaning itself. Maybe not. I can drink the hell out of those smoothies. If you start making orange vanilla with the soft serve, you can just build me a house in the ball pit.

Chicago Cutlery

They’re some of my favorite knives because they fit my hand, whether it’s chef or santoku. They’re also cheap and hardly ever need sharpening. I choose to get mine sharpened over getting another one because even though it’s the same price or more expensive, your knife grows into your hand and vice versa. It’s like getting a fountain pen. Once you bend the nib to your handwriting, you cannot lend it out. That’s because the nib will bend to someone else, and it won’t go back to you. It’s the same in the kitchen, even for pastry chefs because their cuts need to be even more precise than the cooks who just throw things into a pan. Your knife becomes as close to you as a lover, why we often name our knives after women. It’s an extension of our bodies, where we cut to the beats of our hearts.

Staying Up

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What could you do more of?

I am slowly starting to stay up later and sleep in. Not by much. Just one or two hours. I’m starting this entry at 7:48, after I’ve done the things I need to do to get going. I have taken my medication, and gotten myself something to drink, and settled in. Therefore, I woke up at 0700 instead of 0500 for love.

That’s because the person that most represents safety to me and vice versa is in Portland, Oregon. That’s three hours into the past from here. I’ve done it with other friends, had this asynchronous life because I’ve had friends in Portland since 1996 or something like that and moved to DC in May of 2001. The events of September 11th did not drive me away. Kathleen did. It was the best mistake I’ve ever made. When I went to Portland, I found everything I have ever needed to know myself. It affects me every day, and I’m grateful to my time there for it, no matter how low my Vitamin D was when I got home (six).

I don’t stay up for me. I stay up for Bryn. I want her as a real part of my life rather than a fake one, and video calling is easier for both of us in the evening. It’s just that her evening is generally my bedtime when I’m getting up at 0500. When I get up at 0500, sometimes it’s so early for her that she hasn’t gone to bed yet. We make it work, and yet we don’t. It’s not a matter of how much we love and adore each other, just that our relationship isn’t as full of practical love as it would be if we lived in the same neighborhood. Maybe we will eventually, but I don’t want either of us to do the hard sell on each other. Our lives will unfold as they should. The difference between this relationship and most of my other virtual ones is that I don’t video call with them, ever. I barely even do audio. I can do that with Bryn because we’ve had so much face time over the years that we call each other no matter what we’re doing or how we look because the video call is more important than fixing up for it. Video calls are so much easier when you don’t give a shit how you look on camera. It’s not that we look bad, it’s that we’re going to love each other no matter how we look, so why waste time on something so frivolous?

I like our back and forth, the way we’re both on the “think it, say it” plan because we can be. It’s a trust that’s implicit and makes it easy to breathe. She’s made the commitment to learn my attachment style and love language, but she doesn’t really have to do research because they’re the same as mine. She understands something in me because she wears it on her skin, not because she’s lost in a book…. or if she is, it’s the one I’m writing for us.

You’ll just have to put up with romantic and flowery language from me about her because I am Anne Shirley crazy for her. She knows that she is my Diana Barry…. so much lighter than I am in some ways, darker in others. We complete, not compete. I am the friend that would get her drunk on purpose, though, and she wouldn’t complain because I’m an excellent bartender and it doesn’t take much for either of us. 😉

I am sort of in a relationship in terms of having a companion but not a possible husband, and she definitely is in a relationship with promise. It fits us to a T to have other partners, while also making space for each other; our history is too long for us not to put each other first in some ways. I might have to be around for the next boyfriend, and Dave will be excused for cause. I have no reason to believe this will be the case, it’s just a sitrep. We’re a package deal, get used to it. 😉

Being with our respective guys gives us more to talk about, not less. I don’t feel jealous and neither does she. It’s nice to have a place to unload about everything, because neither of us blink when the other has a problem. We’re on it like a team. Later I have to call Multnomah County on some business of my own, so I’m going to do hers as well. It’s no thing because if I have to do something over the phone, I know she’d be my proxy if something needed to be done in person. It’s a give and take now that I have someone on the ground that I can trust to have my back in a city where I used to live and still need to bat cleanup.

I’m not divorced yet, or at least, I have been unwilling to check. Dana told me she would take care of it, but I haven’t been sent anything to sign and I don’t think people have the capability to divorce someone without their knowledge. I could be wrong, but I can’t assume Dana is more likely than me to fill out paperwork, either, even though she said she would. I am not being catty. Paperwork causes anxiety for both of us sometimes because of the emotional attachment it represents. We’re both ADHD. If it fell off her radar, it won’t come back.

I can have empathy because in some ways, we’re the same person and that will never change.

Now my mother lion has kicked in, because I should have done it long ago for Dana and followed up on the paperwork myself, because I know it was difficult for two reasons. The first is that the way our relationship ended is shameful to both of us given the connection we threw away. We should have been able to deal with the Supergrover issue because I shouldn’t have gotten so high on her. Dana would know exactly how being married and being lost in new relationship energy would feel, because she was married during most of the time she was dealing with her feelings for me……………. yet another reason I didn’t want to get involved in the first place.

I struggled with the idea of having an affair because she was using her wife as a safety net if I said no and I knew it. That’s because her wife knew what Dana was doing, too, and was never blind to it. She saw how Dana reacted to me and thought her days were numbered, then stuck around watching Dana be lovesick over me for years and putting up with that shit. By the time she broke up with her wife, even our girlfriends were convinced we should be together instead of with them because we couldn’t stop talking about each other. Being friends was easy. Taking the leap was hard……………. right up until it wasn’t. By the time we were ready to leap, we had years of emotional closeness feeding our fire. We loved each other because of what we’d been to each other as friends, not because we each thought the other was perfect. We knew what contract we were signing, and we were better for it.

For a while.

She could not accept that the same thing was not happening to her. That my feelings were supposed to have been light and flirty wordplay to give me some dopamine after Dana and me going through a really rough time. Supergrover wasn’t threatened, and she was so cute about flirting with me one time that I knew I’d opened the door to something I could dish, but I could not take. I thought I was a silver-penned devil.

I was, in fact, mistaken.

I laid the golden fiddle at her feet because I had gone down to Georgia and knew that I’d been beat. It was a mistake. It called my bluff. I felt things I never had because it was attention from someone who really deserved mine.

It was all a mistake. It was not a happy compromise, It jumped me further into something she was rightfully afraid would happen. It jumped me into something the relationship couldn’t sustain, but it wasn’t her fault because I pretended to be so cool. it was the beginning of the end with both of them. It just will never be a new beginning with Dana because I can forgive her punching me, but it’s not worth a chance it would happen again and the statistics are against us.

I fucked up asking for more patience from both of them and then not actually doing anything to move myself forward. It was my own choice to feel heat for someone that would never feel that way about me, but that’s based on all the other relationships I’ve had, the mark my emotional abuser left on me. That I couldn’t really know someone until I’d slept with them. I know that because if someone opens me up emotionally, I tend to want all of them. I don’t tie people’s worth to it, though.

If they just want to be friends and I love them that much, I’ll sit in that pain until it goes away. I certainly have done enough of that to feel secure. It’ll never happen again, like women who do fall in love and realize later that it was never the sex that mattered and they’re better off as roommates and friends. But it’s because I’ve felt those feelings that I’m a real and genuine friend and also never less protective and possessive of her than her husband- and not because I want to “keep her safe from him” by acting like a jealous fool. It’s not him that matters. It’s the the rest of the world.

I’m not here to fight her battles for her, just with her. But I won’t if she acts like I don’t matter, gets angry when I tell her that, and treats me like an annoyance a good bit of the time. I’m not here for that, but I am for the relationship in which we do the work to be strong and comfortable at 20 years, like we predicted we would be in the beginning. I can live with boundaries, but not when I don’t know what they are. I will fuck up, and I have. I was out of control, then lost and finding my way back.

I can’t be lost anymore, because I’m tired of feeling insecure. I can’t make up fantasies to ignore the reality of the situation because they feed me. She avoids me in a way she shouldn’t, and that’s not my call. But because she says that she’s enormously impressed with me as a person, everything I’ve said tracks. There is room for all our feelings by now because nothing happens quickly anymore. There’s not an exhilarated rush of trying to know each other as fast as we can.

Our feelings are extreme on both ends. The lovebombing is absolutely genuine, and so is our conflict. The reality is that I would have left Dana no matter what because of two hard outs, not just one……… and now need Supergrover in my life despite her not needing me because of the first hard out’s upper limits, not because I am “trying to get her back.” I was damned if I did, damned if I didn’t at that time. Life was full of hard choices, and I did the best I could with the information I had. It didn’t matter what Supergrover thought. It matters what I thought would happen to me in the future. Supergrover didn’t think about that and I know she didn’t because I didn’t, either. We both got lost in new relationship energy and told each other things that would have consequences long into the future without knowing how stable we were or weren’t. Without knowing how stable I was with Dana, because even I didn’t recognize the toll her DUI would take on me and how that was more of a threat to me than anything Supergrover said that enticed me. I never want to have to bail anyone else out of jail, because it was traumatic. My friend Volfe drove me downtown to pick her up, and she had already left on the bus. I was racing to get to her only to have my hopes dashed. I did get to see her later, but she knew we were coming to get her and she left, anyway. It made me crazy to the point I couldn’t think, and then Dana lost her license. The entire legal process wore me down, and Supergrover was the gift I needed at a time when I was really open to receiving it.

I fucked up by loving her so completely I couldn’t see anything else, and not because it was wrong. Some of my actions were crazy, but I’m not. It was all painful and could have been avoided. But I’d already run from her several times, saying that I couldn’t be friends with a woman who excited me this much, and because we couldn’t separate, we didn’t. The swings just became bigger as my emotions grew. It was embarrassing to tell her I had to back off and why so she didn’t feel like I was dumping her because I wanted to. I had to. Dana could compete with romantic love, but platonic trumped it because it had to, not because I wanted it to, for two reasons. I felt like I couldn’t have reactions in front of Dana anymore, because it drove her crazy for me to have a woman in my life that was just as important as she was for very different reasons. She could not accept that Supergrover and I needed a relationship that was separate from her out of necessity, not malice. I knew that every one of my actions would be up for discussion with someone. As Sam Seaborn would say, “oh, this is bad on so many levels.”

Having a relationship with someone who runs hot and cold is not my jam when they’re as close to me as Supergrover is. If we hadn’t already been so close, running hot and cold wouldn’t be a thing because I wouldn’t notice or care.

I reached out for Bryn because our attachment is secure. I don’t have to worry because there are no swings too big. We know that the other’s style is anxious, so we take care of it up front rather than letting the other believe we’re pulling back, or let the other know when we need some space, but we’ll talk about what was said later; we need time to reflect. It is not time to choose what kind of life we want together, we just know it’s there if we want it. I cannot be on thin ice. I cannot run from her love because it’s just too big. I can’t jump into something the relationship can’t sustain. We are there for every regeneration, making it a good story in the end.

I could do, need to do more of staying up…………… to read the chapters she has written on her own.

Speak More to That -or- That’s So Interesting

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 1 Comment

In my last entry I was talking about hearing people’s voices in my head when I type, literally transcribing a movie onto the page. Two of the voices I hear all the time are ex-girlfriends, and one of them means just as much as the other even though one relationship was seven years and change, the other was three months. That’s because they’re the two that caused me the most growth and development the fastest.

The first title comes from Dana doing an impression of her therapist. When Dana would put out a statement, she’d always say, “speak more to that.” Every time we got into an argument, pulling that one out made us both dissolve into laughter and we could proceed arguing again because it was never a case of right and wrong, but a case of figuring out how to move on. I didn’t want to pack up and live in our problems. I moved to Washington so I could say, “what’s next, Mrs. Landingham?” DC gave me the backdrop to believe I could be more than I was used to being in the world, and I am.

I mean something to someone who really means something. Her Wikipedia page would be better than mine. That my history is woven into hers in such a unique and beautiful way will never leave me.

Beautiful girl, whether you believe it or not, meeting you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just because there are complications doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. Our Apple Watches also have complications, and we use them every day. I hope the day comes where our complications are in the right place. We both need to be on each other’s six, and I’m on it if you are. I just need you to want it more, and you can’t. Life is long. I’ll wait because you’re worth it, and you always will be. When we can say “one more mountain…. hey, so what” we’ll be able to say “trust me baby, this is love.” (That’s an Amanda Marshall song, but mountains just about cover it in terms of metaphor.)

Sometimes I hope I can resolve things with Supergrover, sometimes I don’t. I feel the same sort of push/pull I feel with Dana. That because Supergrover won’t talk to me the way she used to and it hangs shame over my head. I don’t want to live that way anymore when I’ve agreed to do big things for her the rest of my life, and I did that without really thinking it through in terms of being a blogger. Neither did she. Now it’s the tie that binds because I need you guys emotionally to support me and I can’t slip up. It’s walking on a wire every day, because she made it where she couldn’t not be my first thought. Clearly, she doesn’t want that, but it’s work product, not emotions that are my concern now.

I don’t know what to forget, and what to remember.

I can talk about absolutely getting wasted off her energy, but I can’t describe her too closely. I can only tell you she’s up there with Helen Mirren on my list of gorgeous women (no one can beat out Helen, stop trying…….. but Supergrover does think I have amazing taste in women). I can say she has power, but not where because it’s a niche and would make her immediately identifiable. I have to think like a journalist protecting a source, not a blogger with friends who have everyday issues not tied to working here. The power imbalance is absolute and correct.

So that means I think a lot about someone who doesn’t want to think about me, and not for malice. Just through the nature of how we work, which is vastly different from each other. The problem comes in when she will never have a problem smaller than me so that I can move up on the priority list while I am also struggling, genuinely. I can either move on and try to forget, or we can be close. In the middle is too scary because I don’t know what I’m doing….. and I’m a perfectionist, so it’s really hard to admit that.

I am sure that Supergrover thinks that me digging deep to let go is what should have happened long ago, but I didn’t realize then what I do now. We both regret making fuckups that affected our careers, but by not acknowledging it, we are keeping to our separate corners, unable to trust each other when we should lean on each other the most.

In my own life, it feels like I’ve given up a lot for her that she hasn’t recognized, and it hurts, but it’s not my responsibility to change her. It’s not even her responsibility to want to change. It’s deciding how much chaos I’m willing to breathe without putting a safety net under the trapeze. However, it was never in the interest of getting closer tot her, it was an added bonus in escaping from Dana and getting a clean slate. That’s because I cannot tell her story. Only she can do that. She cannot even tell it to me, much less others. Whether that part is ironclad or subjective is up for grabs, because I cannot know that, either.

I’ve made a lot of assumptions and missed a lot of messages. She stopped standing up to me and started telling me that I wanted too much, so she isolated me from everyone else including her. I have a legitimate issue where I need her more than anything and she’s the one person who doesn’t have any bandwidth left over for herself, much less me. I have a ton of empathy, and know that’s not the whole story. She gets offended, shuts down, and wants to rage at me, but doesn’t. She saves up my e-mails to reply later, because she feels guilty and now doesn’t have any context to make connections.

I wanted to stop that part.

There was an ironclad space for me before, and there isn’t now. I have always understood why, yet marveled at the time that’s gone by without us ever really getting to the bottom of anything…. or if I did, it was completely on my own, like having a therapist who disengages and you feel like they’re bored….. they’re not. They’re covering up how bad they want to scream “LEAVE HIM!” When I perceive disinterest, what they’re feeling is trying not to take on my problems as their own. Those messages are drastically different, and lost in a chasm if you don’t address it.

I don’t have that kind of relationship with Supergrover, but I do have that kind of push/pull. I need things and get frustrated. I express that, she tells me I’m the only one who ever ruins anything. Then, she won’t tell me why she thinks that. Why am I so impressive that I’m worth keeping around when your responses come off as defensive and angry? To me, when you love someone and think they’re extraordinary, it means you’re willing to invest. I caused the original rift, butt she said she forgave me. Our ways of moving on were completely different. She thought the best answer was never to trust me again, but keep up the surface level stuff. I can’t do that. I won’t do that. I won’t feel insecure in an attachment and keep feeding it. I don’t care if she’s mine in a way no one else is (and frankly, I’m hers in a way no one else is). When she doesn’t look at my letters with love, she feels guilty and runs away. She shits on herself every time, saying that something isn’t good enough for me when it’s just that we have more to work out, and it’ll keep. Life is long.

She doesn’t feel as excited and impressed by her as I am, therefore why should I be interested in her? Meanwhile, she is 3D chess built on a Rubik’s cube. As I told her, “if you think about your story hard enough, you should want to hit that, too.” That was a time in which jokes like that actually made her laugh, because honestly. It’s just true.

We are connected because “what God has put together, let no man put asunder.” She is not God in this case, but she’s the face I use when I need to visit that place inside me to work out my shit on my own.

Through it, I can maintain a connection to the God I serve and how it is both Old and New Testament, vengeance and promise, everlasting life, and even still I’m making it up as I go along with fake as Christianese.

I just think of it as “the church has left the building.” If I translate that into line cook, it’s “we don’t have to talk about it. Just eat it.”

Going into your closet to pray has always been an excellent turn of phrase for me, and now it’s even more important. I don’t have to speak out loud to be heard. You guys listen enough as is. But you are the God that can take it, the face made up of many names, wants, and desires. I use God as the punching bag, not my beautiful girl. I can’t be sure that God is listening, but sure as shit, you are.

The second title come from an old girlfriend who knocked me on my ass with clever. she was a Rhodes Scholar who had the facade of a kooky teacher, but that was for show. She was brilliant, and a fantasy. We were at different places in our lives, but that didn’t stop us from having a ton of fun and leaving each other better than we found us….. eventually. It was hell when we first broke up because we had to live with each other, anyway (that has no bearing on my current situation……… Jesus. She’s straight. I’m gay. And we still would have had an easier time of it if we’d had triplets. I can laugh about that because we’re both past the age where we’d want to have kids, anyway.

But I know her. If I said “let’s foster” even ONE TIME we’d have five kids by EOB. But to be fair, that was her 10 years ago. She probably just adopted half her neighborhood instead. It’s one of the things that makes her Supergrover to me. It’s fun to have a hero that is also approachable. I think it’s because I am, too. I just talk about my life and invite other people to talk about theirs. I don’t choose friends based on what they can do for me, as much as they think I do when I don’t feel my needs are being met despite fulfilling theirs. Deciding how much energy they get of mine when I’m not getting theirs. It’s not dependent on how each other feels, but how well we can communicate to a happy medium where both people feel like they’re being heard. it is much more lonely to feel alone when someone else is in the room.

My ex-girlfriend used to touch my hand and say “that’s so interesting” to show that she really was intellectually turned on by something. It showed joy and passion on her face for every subject on earth. The whole time I’ve been writing, she’s been touching my shoulder and saying “interesting” the way she’d say it just so. I hear her in my head all the time, as a lot of my life is so interesting.

I cannot speak more to that.

I just know it’s there, and I’m grateful. I am settled within myself in a number of ways. I hope for a resolution in the end, it’s just going to take more than she thinks, but less than I do. If she thinks love is best served by avoiding conflict, that’s fine. I just need her to not do it to me, because she’s reinforcing the idea that I am no longer a value add and hasn’t stopped…….. when to me, I am Jay and she is Silent Bob. She is Harold. I am Kumar. We would look so cute together in a picture because if she’d just posted a photo of us in real life with a caption that said “I’m dating Pete Davidson” people would have believed it. They would have thought she was just as out of her damn mind as his other loves, while also being quietly pissed that they’re not dating Pete Davison, too (or her, for that matter. Christ on a cracker.).

But one relationship taught me how to feed the others. My relationship with my ex-girlfriend settled into her feeling at home with both Dana and me. There was a much larger age gap between us than Supergrover and me, so I was used to the yin and yang of having different cultural references and having to look them up. They’re west coast, I’m Houston. They’re Tupac, I’m Bun B. Different issues, different playing fields.

I am not explaining the rules of the game. I am giving color commentary on what it’s like to play it when there is no discussion or alteration of rules. You have to improvise and work with what you’ve been given.

Yet the more I speak to things, the less information you have. It’s just so interesting.

It All Mixes Together

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received?

I remember things by the way people say them, because if it’s a good line, I will hear it in their voices for the rest of my life. Good lines often have a cadence to them. For instance, my pastor came up with “resurrection happens in the middle of the mess.” I came up with “messages I’ve missed in the middle of the mess.” I gravitated toward it because it had the same musicality. One line leads to the next, a call and answer. Resurrection happens by examining the emotional places you’ve never been.

I have memories playing in my head like movies a good bit of the time. My writing is what happens when I stick my head into a pensieve, and I’m giving you access to it. The messages I’ve missed are often in plain sight when I’m seeing me as a different person, rather than perpetually reliving things. I am not reliving anything, I am searching for what I can do better in the future, and that only happens when you can look at yourself and see both your inner Aziraphale and Crowley.

How do I know what will work in the future if I don’t know how I broke the past? I know how I’ve broken my past because I wrote it down, essentially giving myself a past because few people write about their lives to this degree. When they go back to reassess, their memories are faulty. You cannot say that yours is infallible, but if there’s a blog entry on what happened written that day, that memory is secure by the nature of the timestamp. I’m not just making shit up. I am also very musical with words by nature of crafting rhythmic phrases on my horn, music only I can hear because only I know the voices on who said what.

I retain information with rhythm, essentially becoming a mimic in my writing and in my thoughts; I don’t just go back to that one line. It feels like I’m standing in the same room again, even just for a few seconds.

I give myself a lot of good advice by going back and reading what I thought years ago and seeing if I’m doing okay comparatively. Except that I don’t think of it as listening to myself, but the people who inspired my writing that day. It’s like an actor watching their old films. They aren’t living in the story on screen, but the one about how the art was created.

I like having written intimate things about the people in my life, hoping that the musicality of my words will stick with them, because being my friend isn’t easy. They all have their favorites, I’m sure, and their favorites never match up to my favorite things I’ve written about them.

Bryn loves the mirror I hold up on our relationship because she says it teaches her new things about herself. She gets what I’m trying to be, which is so real that people identify. I don’t want to be famous, I want to be heard. That’s why I don’t have to be on Oprah to know I’m making a difference. My platform is smaller, sure, but a platform nonetheless. And on the Internet, where everything is protected by a wall of anonymity, I never know when I’m speaking to people like her or people like me.

In fact, now that I think about it, Oprah did give me the best advice ever. On the last episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show, she talked about how everyone has a platform. Your family. Your church unit. Your work colleagues. All of those people add up, so no matter how small you think that platform is, it’s enormous. Use it.

Oprah’s not on at 4:00 PM anymore, so someone has to pick up the slack.

It’s the message I’ve missed in the middle of the mess.

A Dog in the Fight

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

I was just reading my last entry when something jumped out at me that I didn’t see before. My sister-in-law was saving me by protecting Dana. That’s because even when I didn’t understand it, it was better to go no contact with Dana…. and if Dana felt the need to reach out, she was right there to remind her it was a bad idea because she’d worked in a women’s domestic violence practice. She was and still is a lawyer for women like me. She knew something I didn’t because she’d seen it a thousand times. If it happens once, it will happen again.

I was only confused for about six months as to whether we’d ever get back together or not, but Counselor wasn’t. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she heard our problems from my perspective, which is trying to find the objective truth of the matter. There were so many good and bad points, but one was ironclad.

If it happens once, it will happen again.

It only gets worse from there, spiraling out until she has to explain to you while you’re getting a restraining order that “baby daddy” is not a legal relationship.

I just heard that in her voice and now I’m falling over with laughter, even though this is serious stuff.

Counselor was aware how bad it could have gotten, even with us living in different states. I don’t know whether they’re still in Virginia or not, but when I moved here they were. There was a chance we’d decide to get together because we were feeling nice and then see each other again and revert.

It only gets worse from there.

I know she got that because I invited her to come with me, Pri Diddy, and her then-girlfriend to Capital Pride because we also had to go to the bank together to separate our accounts. She stood me up. I was so angry because I missed her, but I don’t think she got there on her own. I think Counselor was looking out for me even when I didn’t know it. She knew I couldn’t take a chance even if it was offered. I didn’t.

I could be wrong. Dana could have gotten there on her own because she wanted to be nice and not kind, but I doubt it. She was really excited at first. I have people in my life that really look out for me and I notice, even when it’s long after the fact. I have to remember that not only does Counselor know why I left, she also knows why I had to on many levels.

She’s the only one who’d put it all together, could see my position from every angle, with a clarity I didn’t have- both because being hit had never happened to me before and she lives and breathes this stuff.

It’s all conjecture, but I think the theory has legs. It’s another good memory to bank when I get down on myself for failing at being married. I wasn’t failing, she was winning because she is very good at her job. I’m sure she felt trapped knowing her sister deserved empathy and a second mugshot.

She knows I ran to DC for an empathy I’d never get from Dana again, because I wouldn’t be able to hear it even if Dana did get it together permanently. I’d be trapped in a relationship that was secretive by nature, not because Supergrover and I were trying to spite her. She felt threatened and betrayed by my closeness with Supergrover, but she’d broken my trust already with her DUI, because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Supergrover became my emotional support honey badger almost immediately because Supergrover didn’t have a history of driving Dana to work in the middle of the night for three months while also maintaining a full-time job because her license was suspended, then not recognizing that as love and thinking I was running from her six months later. She could not accept that I was running for good reason. She didn’t stop drinking after that. Even if she wasn’t an alcoholic, she could get caught up in the legal system because she’d already been caught once. I don’t know if she’s an alcoholic, because that’s not my story to tell. I can only tell you what happened and she was at the very least cavalier with her ability to drive while hammered.

I ran towards Supergrover in a way that would break our relationship because I couldn’t get through to Dana that I didn’t want to go down with her and I didn’t want to be the source of her happiness. She was lumping a lot on me that didn’t need to be there. I was wrong for having a lopsided emotional affair where my affections weren’t returned, but our conversations were relief from everything that had been going on with Dana for the last few years. The pull to be near Supergrover wasn’t nearly as strong as the need to escape from Dana, because the situation had become untenable and I didn’t notice until I met and was emotionally vulnerable with someone who actually had their shit together, even when they don’t feel like it.

I am here for all of it. Her quirks, her flaws, her ability to be both the most intelligent and the funniest person in every room, and the quiet space that’s just for me.

Sometimes people direct you where you need to go. This was help where I least thought I deserved it. Everyone loved me kindly without being polite. It was the same thing as hearing the doctors and nurses talk about you when they think you’re out of it. The way Counselor loved me was objective, certain, and kept something worse from happening whether it was from my end or Dana’s.

Because it only gets worse from there.

A List, Physically and Mentally

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ Leave a comment

What things give you energy?

I am addicted to caffeine because I’m not on Adderrall currently. When I’m on Adderrall, I switch to something innocuous like fruit punch, or stick with diet soda rather than coffee/energy drinks. I still have to have a little to avoid withdrawal headaches. The problem becomes upper limits on dosage with caffeine, because in order for it to keep me awake, I need twice or three times as much as everyone else. The first few doses are just to keep my brain functioning normally. To stay awake, I need something like cold brew at regular intervals. Cold brew is high in caffeine on its own just due to how long it steeps, but also frequent re-upping to keep the bus from going under 50.

Caffeine will manage my symptoms up and to a point, but I’ll need the Adderrall back eventually. I can’t do a drug holiday forever. Sometimes I just have to suck it up and choose sick over crazy. The struggle is real.

Right now the thing that’s giving me energy is Pepsi Max, or Pepsi Zero Sugar, whatever they’re calling it this week. If my mother wasn’t dead, knowing I drink Pepsi now would have killed her. The fact that Pepsi gets any of my money at all is exclusively due to her untimely demise. You only think telling her I’m queer was hard. I didn’t even bother on this one. Too emotionally fraught.

I now know sugar gives me energy, or at least it does in other people’s eyes. My second day at Alert Logic, I asked one of my coworkers for a Sour Patch Kid and she said no. I asked her why and one of my other coworkers said, “you haven’t blinked since you got here.” I always thought it was them that gave me energy and not the candy. I remember Dana asking my supervisor why she didn’t keep me in line and she said, “I don’t hit children.” It was really funny because I must have been at least 10 years older than she was. Said supervisor also said I was “prehistoric” and I said, “why do you think I have so many dinosaurs on my t-shirts?”

Alert Logic fed all my addictions- coworkers where it actually felt good to be together after hours, the ambience of a room full of hackers when we weren’t on the phones (the sound of everyone typing at odd intervals is addicting to a writer), and a Starbucks machine that would fuck you up six ways to Sunday. You don’t leave Alert Logic when you separate from the company. You leave the Starbucks machine. Especially working overnight, those multiple free Americanos saved my ass. I got a Starbucks habit too expensive to maintain on my own.

In terms of my personal life, emotional intimacy turns me on. I want to know everything about a person down to the nth degree. This is because I don’t see people in 2D. I want to know all the things that make someone tick. It is not for malice, it is for curiosity. I am exploring the things that make up your character, what has affected you and what hasn’t. It gives me so much energy that I have to feed my inner sociopath once in a while. I do not mean giving in to any kind of dark side, I mean cutting off my emotions to protect myself from taking on everyone else’s. Clinical separation, not Dexter. 😉

I know quite a few people like that. People who cut off their emotions so they can even handle their shit at all. It’s the one thing that generally comes out of a reality break in childhood that’s useful. You’re not always cutting off your emotions to hide the secrets you protect when you’re being abused. You’re protecting your own energy so that you can put yourself first.

If you have been abused, you will never be first until you find out why that should be. Your abuser will be God in your life, the one on that you protect at all costs even though it would help you. After you get away from them, they’ll still be God, it’s just that now they’re the monkey on your back and the ghost out to get you.

My emotional abuser gave up her relationship with me when I put it together that she was God in my mind for all the wrong reasons instead of the right ones. The choir members who knew us both finally got through to me, but there was still doubt in my mind that it was abuse. We were just quiet, sweet music nerds and kindred spirits. You just couldn’t tell that we were quiet nerds because we both had huge show modes…… which honestly in retrospect I see why I was so attracted to Dana. I found someone who expressed love the same way my emotional abuser and I showed love, not good or bad but fact. We loved each other’s show modes and quiet moments equally. In fact, Dana had a crush on me six weeks after she met me. It took me three years to get on board because I needed her to let me in to the point where I could see if she had a mode besides show. I could not be with a show at home. Sometimes I was, but for the most part we were both introverted, preferring to spend time with each other more than anyone else.

The clash came in when I starting growing rapidly and she didn’t. She didn’t know me anymore, and vice versa. Supergrover was the first person I told my story to who didn’t have a dog in the fight. She could see what I refused to acknowledge, but couldn’t anymore when someone was reading the facts blind. Dana and I could have made it with more support, but I was sick and so was she. I have to believe that she was sick when she hit me because all people who abuse physically have some kind of screw loose. It makes it easier to move on than thinking of her in terms of good or bad. Thinking about our funny memories is vastly preferable to feeling phantom pain when I tap into those memories.

It stops me from dating other people, and I just happen to have another very good reason to avoid it. Someone else already has a piece of me that I can’t share and don’t want to because it’s just too painful. So I don’t. I don’t want to take the chance that I’ll have another relationship where I feel like I need to sneak around and hope it doesn’t get noticed. I’m not very good at it, so I don’t engage. I have to have Woodward and Bernstein ironclad boundaries with no capability with a girlfriend. They go through phones and are extremely entitled about it.

I’m not angry that I have to keep secrets. I signed up for this. I’m angry that I need things emotionally from someone who drains my energy because she can’t love me in a way I can hear it, and I drain her energy by being the least accessible person in her life due to the nature of where we live. From where she sits, Maryland is a different country. It is to all Virginians. Zac thanks me profusely for absolutely not going out of my way. It’s hilarious to me. I think that’s because I still have Houston geography in my mind. Everything takes a long time. On the train, I zone out. When we get there is when we get there. Going to Zac’s gives me energy, it doesn’t take it.

It’s not just Zac, it’s his house and starting to feel more at home there. It didn’t occur to me that Zac felt bad when I said coming to his house felt like a vacation to me, because it lifts me out of my real life for a while. I meant having the house to myself for a bit after he leaves for work without having to worry about my housemates making noise, especially when I’ve been recording. I also don’t have any other friends in intelligence, so those conversations always give me energy, too. Sometimes the vacation is just getting out of my head and into Oliver’s (Oliver is a dog).

Zac’s point I didn’t think of but value is that he is my real life. Thank God for that. I didn’t want to go any longer without a companion, because I learned from The Doctor that I can’t travel alone.

It zaps my energy.

I Don’t Have Favorite Children

~ Leslie Lanagan ~ 2 Comments

What’s your all-time favorite album?

The Eminem Show, Eminem

In order to know why it means so much to me, you’d have to know the circumstances in my life when it came out. Maybe six months before, my wife had slept with two of her coworkers in one weekend while I was out of town, and I know that because she called me while I was still away to tell me that and break up with me. I was not feeling particularly kind toward women at the time. I couldn’t get angry, but my music could. Eminem literally became the paramedic healing my emotional wounds, because his pain stood out to me. I am Stan yet I have wonderful boundaries and I don’t care he didn’t write me back. 😉 I hate to do this to all my other favorites, but this one takes the cake.

That anger went away quicker than it would have on its own because through someone else’s eyes I could see that my pain was valid in his artistic expression……. when to put out my own was worse because I protected her when I shouldn’t have on my blog and only told my closest friends how bad it got. I can look at either one of them and they know which person I mean when I say “Sgt. Fucktard” and both of them will fall out with laughter, because now I can laugh about it, too (such a pity that neither live in DC now).

I barely even remember her name is Kat anymore, and that’s for the better. Karma was good to me. If she knew what I knew about what happened to me, she’d be too jealous to be happy, and that would be true if I’d never published anything at all, especially blog entries. It’s a beautiful thing when you meet someone that is worth your career. It puts everything into perspective really, really fast. The love of my life isn’t out of romance, it’s that she has a space in my heart no one else can have or will ever duplicate because I have to lose the master.

Also, this part of “Cleaning Out My Closet” made me stronger: “have you ever been hated or discriminated against? I have. I’ve been protested and demonstrated against… picket signs for my wicked rhymes…” It felt a lot like blowback from my web site because I have never been protested against by more than one or two people at a time, but it felt like hell because my first reaction was always to pull the plug; I wanted to please them and my career said “people think you’re a good writer. If you want to be able to do this for money, you have to keep going. Dooce didn’t become Dooce overnight and you won’t become Leslie Lanagan that fast, either.” Eminem slowly gave me the confidence to push away people who don’t like being on this blog and gather the people who tolerate it, even if they don’t outright love it.

I felt like Supergrover felt like she was in some sort of hostage situation, that I was writing about her to provoke her so she’d have to be stuck with me, yet didn’t get that my feelings would naturally go away if I wasn’t focusing constantly on her. This is, in fact, not our situation at all. She’s acting blind when she shouldn’t or can’t.

She’s my first thought every day, nearly every moment because I accidentally went from a blogger to a journalist in 15 seconds flat. It’s not as cool as it sounds, but yes it is. Both extremes are enormous, and I cannot cope with the downside alone. I shouldn’t have to ever and it’s a gift she can’t or won’t give. I feel that by letting me into the little things, I have more material to protect her because I have a bigger library of analogies to protect her identity publicly, because she might not freak in my personal life (although she very well might, too), but there would be hell to pay if it leaked here, and she would be well within her rights and responsibilities to hate my guts. I don’t protect her like a lover. It’s so much deeper than that.

I’m neurodivergent. Rambling like this at parties just doesn’t happen. I am literally using my quirks for me rather than against thanks to having the strength to stand up for myself. It’s just that now, one of the friends I ramble about is the least likely to need or want it. So, I cut her loose off and on to see if these feelings will go away and they never do, because either I’ll apologize again or she’ll drop in and yet won’t. Three word e-mails most of the time aren’t going to cut it and she’s avoiding it and blaming it on time. It’s a conversation we desperately need to have in a situation where we can’t have it. Given the option, I’d choose her over writing every time, mostly because she’d never ask me to pull the plug unless this was a real problem and not a possible one. She thinks I’m entitled to my stories even when they’re all bullshit, but doesn’t realize they’re all bullshit because I’m doing the very thing I need to do. Even when I’m angry.

Especially when I’m angry. Right now I’m angry that she doesn’t see that she opened up herself to having a right hand ring out of necessity and by blowing up each other’s lives and not talking about it, the right hand ring burns us instead of tempers. She thinks I should get over it. I think I should think through it with her brain and my heart, because that’s how we show love. She does the thinking, I do the feeling. She would rather have a root canal than acknowledge what she’s done and move on from it, because it seems to me that I’m activating guilt where it doesn’t belong by needing something she doesn’t deal with in herself and also needs desperately. We could support each other, but we don’t. That ship, in some respects, has crashed against the rocks because of a Siren, and now she’s having a heart attack. Because she doesn’t have time to heal me and feels guilty, because she thinks I’m asking for so much more than I really am.

I don’t need to have chocolate and coffee with her every week, I need her to acknowledge that she’s the Earl Grey in the box, the one most people sleep on and I adore because she didn’t sleep on me. I am not the person that when she comes to work all this out, I heap guilt on her. I express needs and that’s what she reads, so she doesn’t respond like a mama wolverine when she’s the issue, but God help everyone else. There are a couple people in my life that if they became mutual friends, they’d regret it. I would have looked forward to seeing that in person. Something equivalent to “surely you do not believe that this person who is a mental bag of rocks is worthy of you?” Probably everything I would have felt about her husband until I realized that he was perfect for her and I was wrong. I have never been convinced that we would be even close to happy as partners, we’re just connected by chance. The enlightening that she found her person would have been a good day, too.

Lesbians totally have a straight guy side to them in terms of possession and jealousy because we’ve been taught to act that way by men. Not that they’ve straight up told us that, they’ve just modeled it for centuries. In my head I’m Anne Lister without the hairstyle. It’s unfortunate that Supergrover married a man on purpose and a gentleman jack by accident with loyalty, because now she has two guard dogs that probably wouldn’t always agree with each other (but I’m certainly willing to have that fight as it is so worth having).

The Eminem Show had the same effect on me that my mother’s cemetery has on me now. It gave me perspective on the fact that more people than me were in pain much worse than mine. It helps me now to release pain in the situation with Supergrover, because I will never be jealous, but always possessive where she’s concerned. She hasn’t made the connection that she needs me to be possessive. I see something she doesn’t. It sucks.

History repeats with music, because it also contains some of the tracks she likes. I’m naturally gravitating towards it. One of the things I remember from our first few years is listening to that album again because some of her favorites are ones I usually skipped, but became beautiful to me because she loved them. I am listening to this album because I have the right to that much anger and I feel same type pull that makes me crave her words, while she thinks I am telling her that I regret meeting her when I need her to open up. I am doing my best to curb my enthusiasm, but it cannot go away so it won’t. I am the Impossible Girl because I have to be wound into her whether I want to be or not, because it’s for life, even by accident.

It’s an album, a presentation. I haven’t bought any songs separately.

I bought the album, so I go to all the concerts, waiting for a Piccardy Third that might never come. We’re in the middle of the rap battle, not the delight of singing to Hailie. I look forward with hope because to not is not being me. When we resolve, so does the chord.

If and when it does, get ready for “the most feared duet since me and Elton played career Russian Roulette.”