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Recently I decided I would try to write a book. I'm not sure where the idea came from but it's there and it will not leave. The book wouldn't be a work of fiction but instead a meandering series of essays written about my long relationship with lesbian fandom. I'm sadly hoping it turns into a piece of work that is humorous along the lines of David Sedaris or Augusten Burroughs. Not that I think I can ever write as well as them but I would love nothing better than to be considered their less talented lesbian counterpart.
Anyway, I figured I would post the first part of the book here for people to read and possibly give me feedback on. Don't worry about hurting my feelings. Just be honest and tell me if it's amusing at all. I'm still debating a title for the book so if you have any ideas for that let me know.
As a reward for reading my drivel I present you with a link to a song for my new favorite artist. The song is Love Today by Mika.
I love his music. It's very poppy but he's got a sort of 70's high pitched weird sound that's really unique. He also gets props because I loved every single song on his Life In Cartoon Motion album. Okay enough music babble.
Book excerpt away!
One: Daytime Lesbian Defined
At the age of twelve I discovered I was a lesbian thanks to Oprah.
During this period of time, Oprah was going through her big phase. Big hair, big clothes, but unfortunately she did not, as of yet, have the big money which meant no Zen half hearted attempt at religious finding your long lost spirit. Instead her show was a more tasteful version of Jerry Springer.
She needed the ratings, you see.
The Oprah back then didn't have her mighty empire which clothed the homeless, delivered AIDS medicine to Africa, and gave out free Toyota Prius' every day to the middle aged housewives in her audience. She was developing said empire, planning it in her mind, biding her time until she could be boring as hell and subtly preachy.
To achieve her dream she needed money and to acquire money she needed to attract advertisers and to do that you need the mother fucking ratings.
Enter the lesbians.
Despite what some may claim I believe lesbians have always been regarded with a degree of awe and fascination by the general heterosexual public. Like we are a rare species of animal on display at the zoo. You might claim to find said animal ugly or even disgusting but you cannot drag your eyes away from it. That is the power of a lesbian.
Or rather, the power of watching two women kissing.
Being the greatest strategist of modern entertainment times, Oprah chose to seize our lesbian powers for herself. And no, not by her involvement with Gayle King. Rather, she plotted to put us on her show and rely on the instant zoo exhibit we caused to lure the viewers in.
It worked brilliantly.
My memories of childhood are vague and I suspect, at times, somewhat falsified. As if my brain has decided to fill in the blanks to prevent my mind from appearing like so much Swiss cheese. Horribly, my brain can do nothing about the moldy state that it has developed.
While my memories are often not so clear there are, of course, exceptions. Seeing lesbians on Oprah is one of them. Perhaps because it was so significant in my life. The event which allowed me to identify confusing feelings which had been bubbling up inside of me for years now.
More likely though, is the fact I remembered it because it involved watching television. Ask me to recall my first grade teacher or trip to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee? No idea. Ask me the outfit Jo wore her first appearance on The Facts of Life? Blue jeans, blue jean jacket, red t-shirt, and an adorable red and white dirt bike helmet. Admittedly, I wish she had worn black leather but she was 15 at the time and living in the 80's. It wasn't Jo's fault.
Summer had arrived and with it stifling heat. By the age of twelve I had developed an acute dislike for both the outdoors and exercise. Growing up in Missouri I had always loathed the changing of seasons. I loved the cold but resented the snow. How it made traveling difficult and inevitably transformed from being pristine pretty white to ugly blobby black. Snowman turds. That’s what I thought the snow looked like.
I loved the fall. It wasn't hot and it didn't have snow. Plus there was Halloween in October. Pure bliss, was the fall.
However, it wasn't fall. It was summer and intolerably hot. Therefore I was inside eating Sour Cream & Onion Pringles and watching TV. I knew I shouldn't be eating the Pringles because they're junk food and junk food makes you fat. This had been informed to me by my mother who wasn't exactly small in physical stature herself.
The polite wording would be husky. My mother was husky and I was rapidly following in her footsteps. Earlier in the year I had been taken to my pediatrician, Dr. Lyle, who I felt I had painfully outgrown. At twelve years old, I was far too mature for the sight of colorful fish swimming in a cartoon themed tank and building block cities set up on a miniature table in his waiting room.
Though I was still fond of Highlights Magazine. Mostly for the Goofus and Gallant comic strip. I found myself despising that goody goody Gallant and hoping that one day Goofus would eradicate him. The day of my appointment I was reading a particularly enthralling adventure of theirs where they happened upon a gun. I was pondering what seemed to be Goofus' probable demise when the nurse called me back into an examination room.
I sat on the uncomfortable exam table hating the crinkling sound the thin paper that covered it made. Logically I realized it was there for sanitary reasons but I hated that sound and because I hated it I was paranoid about making the slightest movement while sitting on it. My mother was unusually chatty and overly cheerful. There was a strange worried light in her eyes. I wondered if I had cancer.
Dr. Lyle entered the room and said I was doing fine. I already knew this and restrained the urge to roll my eyes. Then there was a dramatic pause and he exchanged a look with my mother before he began to speak, very delicately, about my weight.
Immediately, I froze and the only thought resounding in my Swiss cheese excuse for a mind was, "He thinks I'm fat."
The more he spoke, the angrier I became and even as a child when someone would anger me my first instinct was to rip them to shreds. Point out one meager flaw of mine? I will reveal at least six of yours and hopefully make you cry in the process of revealing them.
When he was done speaking on the dangers of being overweight as an adolescent my rage had overwhelmed my apparently chubby body. Crunching up the exam table paper in my hands, I spat out, "You're not skinny! Why don't you lose weight?"
Until that moment, the moment that in my mind he called me fat, I thought of Dr. Lyle in terms of a medical Santa Claus. He was jolly and kind and gave sugar free lollipop presents to good boys and girls.
Now I hated him and wanted to hurt him.
"Nicole!" my mother exclaimed, looking mortified at my outburst. "Apologize to the doctor, right now!"
Scowling and staring at the vinyl floor of the examination room, I muttered, "I’m sorry."
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Lyle," my mother said, her eyes burning a hole into my skull. I could feel the power of her disappointment in me and I hated it but not nearly as much as I hated being called fat by my doctor.
"It's okay," Dr. Lyle gave me a pained smile. "I understand this is hard for children to hear. And she's right," he gave a sad little laugh. "I could stand to lose a few pounds."
The drive back to our house was silent and uncomfortable. My mother scolded me for what I said to Dr. Lyle then said nothing more. Furthermore, no attempts to curb my increasing plumpness were made. And while I knew he was right, I was getting fat, I felt he was mean to me and now refused to accept it. Or perhaps, more accurately, I refused to care.
So there I sat, starting my life long problem with weight, eating the forbidden Pringles and watching TV. Getting fatter by the moment and having the childlike innocence not to care.
I was in the process of a very focused episode of channel flipping when I heard Oprah say, "Women who have left the men in their lives for other women." Stop. Blink. Blink again. Drop the Pringle into its container. Flip back to Channel 5.
Oprah stood before me in all her glory. Gold triangle earrings dangling, her power suit a garish combination of bright purple and gold, not fitting what seemed to be her serious mood.
She walked through the audience, weaving in the aisles toward the stage. Reminding me very much of a preacher speaking to their flock. I was entranced.
"Today my guests are women who have left men they had romantic relationships with because they are now in love with other women," Oprah intoned, acting as if this was a matter of utmost importance. Like it would create World War III. "Please welcome our first guest!"
The woman who walked onstage was very plain looking. Brown hair cut in a bob, brown eyes, beige sweater, black skirt. So wonderfully, utterly normal, that I wondered why she was on the show. She began talking about feelings that developed between her and another woman in her book club. The audience rumbled, some hooted, some booed, Oprah gave them a regal wave of her hand. It was as if she had declared, "Silence, peasants! I am the Queen who is holding court and these women are guests of my state."
Immediately the audience hushed.
"So," Oprah said slowly, eyeing the women as if she was a very difficult puzzle to solve. "You're in love with another woman."
"Yes," the woman, whose helpful box under her face declared her to be Sally: Turned Lesbian. "I'm in love with another woman." Seeming to realize she had just repeated what Oprah said, she added helpfully, "Janet."
"Well," clucked Oprah, raising her arm up in an expansive gesture, her gold bangles jangling. "Lets meet Janet, shall we?"
If Sally: Turned Lesbian was the epitome of normal and mundane then Janet, whose box declared her to be Longtime Lesbian, was anything but. Her bleached blonde hair was styled in a crew cut with a stringy rattail in the back. Her clothes consisted of ripped heavy duty Wrangler jeans, a tight white t-shirt, and clunky black cowboy boots which her jeans were tucked into.
She captivated and horrified me.
Unfortunately for Janet: Longtime Lesbian the audience of Oprah only shared my horror and a sea of boos burst forth. Sally: Turned Lesbian looked like she might cry and Janet: Longtime Lesbian reached for her hand, threading their fingers together as she leaned in and murmured something into Sally: Turned Lesbian's ear.
Suddenly I wasn't so horrified. I scooted forward on the floor and stared up at Janet: Longtime Lesbian who wore a face of devout resolution. "Ha," I thought. "She's going to kick their asses if they’re mean."
Giving into the grumbling demands of her subjects, Queen Oprah had descended amongst them. She held her royal microphone before a man with balding hair and a bad comb over. I swore I saw him pull up his pants every so slightly before saying Janet: Longtime Lesbian should be ashamed of tricking Sally: Turned Lesbian and ending her marriage.
"I didn't trick her," Janet: Longtime Lesbian said, glaring fiercely at him. "You can't be tricked into being a lesbian."
"Yes," Sally: Turned Lesbian hesitantly piped up. "I've always known I was a lesbian. Even when I was a child I had crushes on other little girls. I just wasn't brave enough to accept I was a lesbian. At least," she favored Janet: Longtime Lesbian with a warm smile. "Not until I met Janet."
This time some clapping invaded the sea of boos and Oprah nodded wisely. Perhaps sensing the changing tide her subjects. She looked into the camera and said, "We'll be right back after these commercials."
Today I paid even less attention to the commercials than usual. The freshness of Tide couldn’t hold my imagination, not when my mind was spinning over today's guests on Oprah. I understood women in love with women and women who dated other women but I had never seen any. I vaguely heard of it before, from flipping channels on another day and watching Phil Donahue. Only his episode mostly dealt with women who wanted to be men and in particular one woman, Mike: Woman Who Pretends To Be A Man, that used tight rolled socks in replacement of a penis. She even used the tight rolled socks when having sex with the women she was dating. Women who claimed to have no idea that she wasn't a man.
At the time it seemed baffling but now I wonder at the horrible sex lives that those women must have had in order to mistake tight rolled socks for a real live penis. I also contemplate the terribly humorous idea of rug, or rather, sock burn on their vaginas after each bout of sex.
Suddenly Oprah returned and I scooted forward again. A man in a boring blue suit was seated next to Sally: Turned Lesbian. I wondered if it was her former husband.
"We're back!" Oprah stated the obvious. "And we've been joined by Dr. Stephen Fleishing, Clinical Psychologist. Thank you for being here, Dr. Fleishing."
"You're welcome Oprah," said Dr. Fleishing politely. "I'm glad to be here."
Boringggggg, I thought.
"Now, doctor," began Oprah, acting as if she was thinking very hard. I wasn't fooled though. Oprah was a professional and ruled her show like a Queen. She could talk to this boring blue suited guy in her sleep. "What exactly is a lesbian?"
"According to Webster's Dictionary a lesbian is a woman who is a homosexual," said Dr. Fleishing plainly. Oprah opened her mouth to comment further but he smiled then continued, "A homosexual is a person who has sexual desires focused upon members of their own gender. In other words, women who want to kiss other women, to have sexual intercourse with other women, and so on are homosexual. They are lesbians."
"Nicole," said my mother who had a tendency to appear out of nowhere and at the most inopportune times. "What are you watching?"
Slowly dragging my eyes away from Oprah who was now giving her audience a lecture on love and tolerance, I said, "I'm watching lesbians on Oprah."
"Well stop," my mother said, a bit exasperated. "And bring in the groceries. I've been calling for you for at least five minutes now."
I groaned loudly. Unloading groceries for my mother was a nightmarish task because she always bought enough food for a small army despite having only a family of four to feed. It was like she was preparing for a great famine or something.
Reluctantly, I rose to my feet and trudged towards the kitchen to get the groceries from my mother's car in the garage. Looking back, I watched sadly as my mother changed the channel from Oprah to The Young & The Restless. It didn't matter though. I now knew what I was because I heard that doctor give the definition.
I was a lesbian and I hated bringing in the groceries.
Anyway, I figured I would post the first part of the book here for people to read and possibly give me feedback on. Don't worry about hurting my feelings. Just be honest and tell me if it's amusing at all. I'm still debating a title for the book so if you have any ideas for that let me know.
As a reward for reading my drivel I present you with a link to a song for my new favorite artist. The song is Love Today by Mika.
I love his music. It's very poppy but he's got a sort of 70's high pitched weird sound that's really unique. He also gets props because I loved every single song on his Life In Cartoon Motion album. Okay enough music babble.
Book excerpt away!
One: Daytime Lesbian Defined
At the age of twelve I discovered I was a lesbian thanks to Oprah.
During this period of time, Oprah was going through her big phase. Big hair, big clothes, but unfortunately she did not, as of yet, have the big money which meant no Zen half hearted attempt at religious finding your long lost spirit. Instead her show was a more tasteful version of Jerry Springer.
She needed the ratings, you see.
The Oprah back then didn't have her mighty empire which clothed the homeless, delivered AIDS medicine to Africa, and gave out free Toyota Prius' every day to the middle aged housewives in her audience. She was developing said empire, planning it in her mind, biding her time until she could be boring as hell and subtly preachy.
To achieve her dream she needed money and to acquire money she needed to attract advertisers and to do that you need the mother fucking ratings.
Enter the lesbians.
Despite what some may claim I believe lesbians have always been regarded with a degree of awe and fascination by the general heterosexual public. Like we are a rare species of animal on display at the zoo. You might claim to find said animal ugly or even disgusting but you cannot drag your eyes away from it. That is the power of a lesbian.
Or rather, the power of watching two women kissing.
Being the greatest strategist of modern entertainment times, Oprah chose to seize our lesbian powers for herself. And no, not by her involvement with Gayle King. Rather, she plotted to put us on her show and rely on the instant zoo exhibit we caused to lure the viewers in.
It worked brilliantly.
My memories of childhood are vague and I suspect, at times, somewhat falsified. As if my brain has decided to fill in the blanks to prevent my mind from appearing like so much Swiss cheese. Horribly, my brain can do nothing about the moldy state that it has developed.
While my memories are often not so clear there are, of course, exceptions. Seeing lesbians on Oprah is one of them. Perhaps because it was so significant in my life. The event which allowed me to identify confusing feelings which had been bubbling up inside of me for years now.
More likely though, is the fact I remembered it because it involved watching television. Ask me to recall my first grade teacher or trip to the Smoky Mountains in Tennessee? No idea. Ask me the outfit Jo wore her first appearance on The Facts of Life? Blue jeans, blue jean jacket, red t-shirt, and an adorable red and white dirt bike helmet. Admittedly, I wish she had worn black leather but she was 15 at the time and living in the 80's. It wasn't Jo's fault.
Summer had arrived and with it stifling heat. By the age of twelve I had developed an acute dislike for both the outdoors and exercise. Growing up in Missouri I had always loathed the changing of seasons. I loved the cold but resented the snow. How it made traveling difficult and inevitably transformed from being pristine pretty white to ugly blobby black. Snowman turds. That’s what I thought the snow looked like.
I loved the fall. It wasn't hot and it didn't have snow. Plus there was Halloween in October. Pure bliss, was the fall.
However, it wasn't fall. It was summer and intolerably hot. Therefore I was inside eating Sour Cream & Onion Pringles and watching TV. I knew I shouldn't be eating the Pringles because they're junk food and junk food makes you fat. This had been informed to me by my mother who wasn't exactly small in physical stature herself.
The polite wording would be husky. My mother was husky and I was rapidly following in her footsteps. Earlier in the year I had been taken to my pediatrician, Dr. Lyle, who I felt I had painfully outgrown. At twelve years old, I was far too mature for the sight of colorful fish swimming in a cartoon themed tank and building block cities set up on a miniature table in his waiting room.
Though I was still fond of Highlights Magazine. Mostly for the Goofus and Gallant comic strip. I found myself despising that goody goody Gallant and hoping that one day Goofus would eradicate him. The day of my appointment I was reading a particularly enthralling adventure of theirs where they happened upon a gun. I was pondering what seemed to be Goofus' probable demise when the nurse called me back into an examination room.
I sat on the uncomfortable exam table hating the crinkling sound the thin paper that covered it made. Logically I realized it was there for sanitary reasons but I hated that sound and because I hated it I was paranoid about making the slightest movement while sitting on it. My mother was unusually chatty and overly cheerful. There was a strange worried light in her eyes. I wondered if I had cancer.
Dr. Lyle entered the room and said I was doing fine. I already knew this and restrained the urge to roll my eyes. Then there was a dramatic pause and he exchanged a look with my mother before he began to speak, very delicately, about my weight.
Immediately, I froze and the only thought resounding in my Swiss cheese excuse for a mind was, "He thinks I'm fat."
The more he spoke, the angrier I became and even as a child when someone would anger me my first instinct was to rip them to shreds. Point out one meager flaw of mine? I will reveal at least six of yours and hopefully make you cry in the process of revealing them.
When he was done speaking on the dangers of being overweight as an adolescent my rage had overwhelmed my apparently chubby body. Crunching up the exam table paper in my hands, I spat out, "You're not skinny! Why don't you lose weight?"
Until that moment, the moment that in my mind he called me fat, I thought of Dr. Lyle in terms of a medical Santa Claus. He was jolly and kind and gave sugar free lollipop presents to good boys and girls.
Now I hated him and wanted to hurt him.
"Nicole!" my mother exclaimed, looking mortified at my outburst. "Apologize to the doctor, right now!"
Scowling and staring at the vinyl floor of the examination room, I muttered, "I’m sorry."
"I'm so sorry, Dr. Lyle," my mother said, her eyes burning a hole into my skull. I could feel the power of her disappointment in me and I hated it but not nearly as much as I hated being called fat by my doctor.
"It's okay," Dr. Lyle gave me a pained smile. "I understand this is hard for children to hear. And she's right," he gave a sad little laugh. "I could stand to lose a few pounds."
The drive back to our house was silent and uncomfortable. My mother scolded me for what I said to Dr. Lyle then said nothing more. Furthermore, no attempts to curb my increasing plumpness were made. And while I knew he was right, I was getting fat, I felt he was mean to me and now refused to accept it. Or perhaps, more accurately, I refused to care.
So there I sat, starting my life long problem with weight, eating the forbidden Pringles and watching TV. Getting fatter by the moment and having the childlike innocence not to care.
I was in the process of a very focused episode of channel flipping when I heard Oprah say, "Women who have left the men in their lives for other women." Stop. Blink. Blink again. Drop the Pringle into its container. Flip back to Channel 5.
Oprah stood before me in all her glory. Gold triangle earrings dangling, her power suit a garish combination of bright purple and gold, not fitting what seemed to be her serious mood.
She walked through the audience, weaving in the aisles toward the stage. Reminding me very much of a preacher speaking to their flock. I was entranced.
"Today my guests are women who have left men they had romantic relationships with because they are now in love with other women," Oprah intoned, acting as if this was a matter of utmost importance. Like it would create World War III. "Please welcome our first guest!"
The woman who walked onstage was very plain looking. Brown hair cut in a bob, brown eyes, beige sweater, black skirt. So wonderfully, utterly normal, that I wondered why she was on the show. She began talking about feelings that developed between her and another woman in her book club. The audience rumbled, some hooted, some booed, Oprah gave them a regal wave of her hand. It was as if she had declared, "Silence, peasants! I am the Queen who is holding court and these women are guests of my state."
Immediately the audience hushed.
"So," Oprah said slowly, eyeing the women as if she was a very difficult puzzle to solve. "You're in love with another woman."
"Yes," the woman, whose helpful box under her face declared her to be Sally: Turned Lesbian. "I'm in love with another woman." Seeming to realize she had just repeated what Oprah said, she added helpfully, "Janet."
"Well," clucked Oprah, raising her arm up in an expansive gesture, her gold bangles jangling. "Lets meet Janet, shall we?"
If Sally: Turned Lesbian was the epitome of normal and mundane then Janet, whose box declared her to be Longtime Lesbian, was anything but. Her bleached blonde hair was styled in a crew cut with a stringy rattail in the back. Her clothes consisted of ripped heavy duty Wrangler jeans, a tight white t-shirt, and clunky black cowboy boots which her jeans were tucked into.
She captivated and horrified me.
Unfortunately for Janet: Longtime Lesbian the audience of Oprah only shared my horror and a sea of boos burst forth. Sally: Turned Lesbian looked like she might cry and Janet: Longtime Lesbian reached for her hand, threading their fingers together as she leaned in and murmured something into Sally: Turned Lesbian's ear.
Suddenly I wasn't so horrified. I scooted forward on the floor and stared up at Janet: Longtime Lesbian who wore a face of devout resolution. "Ha," I thought. "She's going to kick their asses if they’re mean."
Giving into the grumbling demands of her subjects, Queen Oprah had descended amongst them. She held her royal microphone before a man with balding hair and a bad comb over. I swore I saw him pull up his pants every so slightly before saying Janet: Longtime Lesbian should be ashamed of tricking Sally: Turned Lesbian and ending her marriage.
"I didn't trick her," Janet: Longtime Lesbian said, glaring fiercely at him. "You can't be tricked into being a lesbian."
"Yes," Sally: Turned Lesbian hesitantly piped up. "I've always known I was a lesbian. Even when I was a child I had crushes on other little girls. I just wasn't brave enough to accept I was a lesbian. At least," she favored Janet: Longtime Lesbian with a warm smile. "Not until I met Janet."
This time some clapping invaded the sea of boos and Oprah nodded wisely. Perhaps sensing the changing tide her subjects. She looked into the camera and said, "We'll be right back after these commercials."
Today I paid even less attention to the commercials than usual. The freshness of Tide couldn’t hold my imagination, not when my mind was spinning over today's guests on Oprah. I understood women in love with women and women who dated other women but I had never seen any. I vaguely heard of it before, from flipping channels on another day and watching Phil Donahue. Only his episode mostly dealt with women who wanted to be men and in particular one woman, Mike: Woman Who Pretends To Be A Man, that used tight rolled socks in replacement of a penis. She even used the tight rolled socks when having sex with the women she was dating. Women who claimed to have no idea that she wasn't a man.
At the time it seemed baffling but now I wonder at the horrible sex lives that those women must have had in order to mistake tight rolled socks for a real live penis. I also contemplate the terribly humorous idea of rug, or rather, sock burn on their vaginas after each bout of sex.
Suddenly Oprah returned and I scooted forward again. A man in a boring blue suit was seated next to Sally: Turned Lesbian. I wondered if it was her former husband.
"We're back!" Oprah stated the obvious. "And we've been joined by Dr. Stephen Fleishing, Clinical Psychologist. Thank you for being here, Dr. Fleishing."
"You're welcome Oprah," said Dr. Fleishing politely. "I'm glad to be here."
Boringggggg, I thought.
"Now, doctor," began Oprah, acting as if she was thinking very hard. I wasn't fooled though. Oprah was a professional and ruled her show like a Queen. She could talk to this boring blue suited guy in her sleep. "What exactly is a lesbian?"
"According to Webster's Dictionary a lesbian is a woman who is a homosexual," said Dr. Fleishing plainly. Oprah opened her mouth to comment further but he smiled then continued, "A homosexual is a person who has sexual desires focused upon members of their own gender. In other words, women who want to kiss other women, to have sexual intercourse with other women, and so on are homosexual. They are lesbians."
"Nicole," said my mother who had a tendency to appear out of nowhere and at the most inopportune times. "What are you watching?"
Slowly dragging my eyes away from Oprah who was now giving her audience a lecture on love and tolerance, I said, "I'm watching lesbians on Oprah."
"Well stop," my mother said, a bit exasperated. "And bring in the groceries. I've been calling for you for at least five minutes now."
I groaned loudly. Unloading groceries for my mother was a nightmarish task because she always bought enough food for a small army despite having only a family of four to feed. It was like she was preparing for a great famine or something.
Reluctantly, I rose to my feet and trudged towards the kitchen to get the groceries from my mother's car in the garage. Looking back, I watched sadly as my mother changed the channel from Oprah to The Young & The Restless. It didn't matter though. I now knew what I was because I heard that doctor give the definition.
I was a lesbian and I hated bringing in the groceries.