I feel sick to my stomach. This is all so wrong. And I’m sorry, Lauren. You’re the best there is and you deserve so much better than this. I wish I could set all the fucking signs on fire and all the red baseball hats, too. I know exactly what it feels like to have this little person with the chubby arms grow up to become someone who turns on you, and it hurts like hell. My heart aches for you but I’m also furious.
I sure wish you didn't have to write this. And live this.
I try not to see the signs. One guy, a rancher, thought he'd run for state house. His neighbors got horses and rode back and forth along his fence-line, with those fucking flags, scared his cattle. Scared him out of running. My neighbors know who I am, that I'm married to a dude. A few of the older ones have that look. I don't trust them. The ones in their 30s don't give a shit. Good people and bad people and a few fucking scary people. I debate whether or not it might be a good idea to have a gun. My hubby has one, but he's five states away at work, mostly. I got some yard signs from the little Harris office in the small town 30 miles away. I was too chicken shit to put 'em up. But I love being out here. And my 83 year old lesbian cowgirl comadre needs me, and it was cheap enough, the land was, so I can have a horse. I'm staying. But I can't not see the fucking signs, telling me what they really think about me, about my immigrant husband, about my stepkid, about us.
My son who is gay is a tough MF, and maybe I cling to this too hard in the face of the realities he faces. Thank you for reminding me that regardless of how self-assured and superficially armed a human may be, no one is immune. I should know this just being a woman. I am grateful every time you post, mostly for your artistry but also for the personal reflection you incite. If you ever decide to give Iowa a try, you and the dog are welcome at my place (dog and cat already in residence, dog friendly except to the cat).
I had that moment with my nephew at my mother’s house two weeks ago. I tried, but in the end, what could I say? My heart broke a little. I’m so sorry, Lauren.
One of your best. I’m sure I’ve said that before, probably more than once. You just have a knack for writing that is so engaging but so profound and powerful at the same time. It is such a classic example of alchemizing pain into art. Ok, I’ll stop fangirling now lol
I've got 20 years on you (I think), I have friends in Austin that I love. I have friends in other parts of Texas too, friends that have a place in Alpine TX (which is just a lovely little town) I have been to and hung out in Marfa too. But since 2020 I have not been able to justify a visit. None of my $$ are going to become part of Greg Abbott's hateful pot of creative legal ways to hurt people.
I will stay in my NE/MidAtlantic bubble where we (gay people) still have agency.
I am not someone who has ever dealt well with being "tolerated" and so I stay out of the places where that has become the accepted dynamic.
Call me a coward if you like, but at 65 I don't give a fuck about it. Not one.
Direct hit - I feel this, from my own father's wake a few years back when a receiving line of relatives offered guilt-laced condolences shaming me for leaving my rural hometown over twenty years ago. I feel it from trips north of our bubble in Wisconsin to visit extended family with queer, black, activist stepsons - how we were trailed through department stores, glared at by the people sitting near us at the popular local burger joint, and told by staff that we had to pay when we placed our order now because it's the "new restaurant policy" which didn't seem to apply to other tables. I feel it when you see one of your own family who you babysat and grew up with, having a laugh with friends posting sickeningly transparent comments revealing just where I stand with them now, or when a close relative says of their threatening friend, "Oh, he's fine. A very upstanding person." I felt it this weekend, on a short trip across the little city to the farmers' market on the other side, when I was unexpectedly detoured onto nearby country roads due to construction with so many signs for him, and the lifting sense of relief as I turned back toward the bubble and the signs changed. Thank you for all you acknowledge. Holding my breath north of you..
I live in suburb and political signs must not be allowed because the only one I’ve seen says “people suck. Dogs 2024” or something. I’m glad they’re not allowed because it’d be depressing AF. I joke with Uber drivers when they enter my neighborhood that once they cross Gun Club Rd, they’ve crossed into Trumpistan.
I feel sick to my stomach. This is all so wrong. And I’m sorry, Lauren. You’re the best there is and you deserve so much better than this. I wish I could set all the fucking signs on fire and all the red baseball hats, too. I know exactly what it feels like to have this little person with the chubby arms grow up to become someone who turns on you, and it hurts like hell. My heart aches for you but I’m also furious.
I sure wish you didn't have to write this. And live this.
I try not to see the signs. One guy, a rancher, thought he'd run for state house. His neighbors got horses and rode back and forth along his fence-line, with those fucking flags, scared his cattle. Scared him out of running. My neighbors know who I am, that I'm married to a dude. A few of the older ones have that look. I don't trust them. The ones in their 30s don't give a shit. Good people and bad people and a few fucking scary people. I debate whether or not it might be a good idea to have a gun. My hubby has one, but he's five states away at work, mostly. I got some yard signs from the little Harris office in the small town 30 miles away. I was too chicken shit to put 'em up. But I love being out here. And my 83 year old lesbian cowgirl comadre needs me, and it was cheap enough, the land was, so I can have a horse. I'm staying. But I can't not see the fucking signs, telling me what they really think about me, about my immigrant husband, about my stepkid, about us.
I’m so sorry it’s like this, Kenny.
My son who is gay is a tough MF, and maybe I cling to this too hard in the face of the realities he faces. Thank you for reminding me that regardless of how self-assured and superficially armed a human may be, no one is immune. I should know this just being a woman. I am grateful every time you post, mostly for your artistry but also for the personal reflection you incite. If you ever decide to give Iowa a try, you and the dog are welcome at my place (dog and cat already in residence, dog friendly except to the cat).
I had that moment with my nephew at my mother’s house two weeks ago. I tried, but in the end, what could I say? My heart broke a little. I’m so sorry, Lauren.
I’m sorry.
I hate this for you, for us.
It’s fucking killing me dude.
I know. I feel it in my bones.
One of your best. I’m sure I’ve said that before, probably more than once. You just have a knack for writing that is so engaging but so profound and powerful at the same time. It is such a classic example of alchemizing pain into art. Ok, I’ll stop fangirling now lol
❤️
I've got 20 years on you (I think), I have friends in Austin that I love. I have friends in other parts of Texas too, friends that have a place in Alpine TX (which is just a lovely little town) I have been to and hung out in Marfa too. But since 2020 I have not been able to justify a visit. None of my $$ are going to become part of Greg Abbott's hateful pot of creative legal ways to hurt people.
I will stay in my NE/MidAtlantic bubble where we (gay people) still have agency.
I am not someone who has ever dealt well with being "tolerated" and so I stay out of the places where that has become the accepted dynamic.
Call me a coward if you like, but at 65 I don't give a fuck about it. Not one.
I don’t blame you at all. I blame them.
Sending strength and love. Thank you for writing this. I am too angry to make sense.
Ooof. Another one. I am so sorry.
Direct hit - I feel this, from my own father's wake a few years back when a receiving line of relatives offered guilt-laced condolences shaming me for leaving my rural hometown over twenty years ago. I feel it from trips north of our bubble in Wisconsin to visit extended family with queer, black, activist stepsons - how we were trailed through department stores, glared at by the people sitting near us at the popular local burger joint, and told by staff that we had to pay when we placed our order now because it's the "new restaurant policy" which didn't seem to apply to other tables. I feel it when you see one of your own family who you babysat and grew up with, having a laugh with friends posting sickeningly transparent comments revealing just where I stand with them now, or when a close relative says of their threatening friend, "Oh, he's fine. A very upstanding person." I felt it this weekend, on a short trip across the little city to the farmers' market on the other side, when I was unexpectedly detoured onto nearby country roads due to construction with so many signs for him, and the lifting sense of relief as I turned back toward the bubble and the signs changed. Thank you for all you acknowledge. Holding my breath north of you..
💔
I live in suburb and political signs must not be allowed because the only one I’ve seen says “people suck. Dogs 2024” or something. I’m glad they’re not allowed because it’d be depressing AF. I joke with Uber drivers when they enter my neighborhood that once they cross Gun Club Rd, they’ve crossed into Trumpistan.
I was just trying to explain this exact thing. You say it so well! Appreciate you sharing your gift. ❤️
Wow, powerful writing, Lauren.
Right? Ugh.
Thanks.
This is heartbreaking. I’m so sorry.