Latest Posts by pamprinninja - Page 6

Phone call

I had literally forgotten about this until tonight, when someone jogged my memory... but ten years ago, I got an obscene phone call.

It must have been three or four in the morning when the phone rang. I was, rather understandably, asleep at the time; and quite groggy when I answered.

The man on the other end sounded mid-thirties; had an American accent; and an inflection that I can only describe as “Poorly imitating the iconic Scream voice”. He wanted to know what I was wearing.

In my confusion, I thought that this person was a friend of mine; and told him to knock off this strange prank of his. But as he persisted with his request that I identify my clothing, it dawned on me that this was in fact not my friend. And then I hung up on him.

I don’t want to come across as downplaying the seriousness of unsolicited, sexually-explicit communication; but more than anything, I just found the entire event bewildering.

Ponytail

At the age of fifteen I decided to grow my hair out and tie it up. It stayed in a ponytail for twenty-two years (excluding a brief period where I was foolishly convinced to cut it); even when swimming, or at night.

(In retrospect, I really wish I had been kinder to my hair; I’ve been fortunate to retain my hairline, but there’s some thinning at the front and I’m convinced that this isn’t age but rather, mild traction alopecia. Alas; live and learn.)

Leaving my hair down felt... physically uncomfortable. It was a rarity.

Fast forward to today, and I had temporarily tied my hair up to keep it dry in the bath. It didn’t occur to me until after: “Why does my hair feel so weird?”... And it was then that I realize that I still had the tie in.

It’s fascinating to discover that there are actual, physical sensations associated with my gender and how it might be perceived by myself and others!

Presentation

Last year my employer embarked on an initiative to improve presentation skills company-wide. We broke into groups of ten or so; ran through some training courses; and culminated things by each preparing a ten minute presentation on a topic of our choosing, to be delivered to our colleagues via video conference.

I was already out with half of the people in my group; so I figured this was as good a time as any to out myself to the remainder and to that effect prepared a presentation on the subject of transgenderism.

(It’s probably worth stressing at this point that I had been on HRT for a while at this point; and while the outward effects were minimal, internally it had realigned my brain and I was now all about being out; consequences be damned.)

Come presentation time, there were three people ahead of me. The first was the head of the customer service team, who delivered an excellent sermon on the subject of climate change. She was followed by a sales executive, who covered the importance of giving back to one’s community. The third was an intern from a musical family and sharing their passion.

(Impressively, he transitioned between his slides in such a way as to give the impression that he was flipping through pages of sheet music.)

Then it was my turn.

Alas, due to time constraints, I had neither prepared an accompanying PowerPoint, or practiced my presentation, or even put together anything bar the scantest notes taped around my monitor.

I launched right in with: “Today, I’ll be talking on the subject of transgenderism. This is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, because - as some people here already know and the others have most likely surmised - I am in fact transgender myself.”

(This brings me to two interesting asides:

First, I was dead wrong: nobody had deduced that I was trans.

Second, that human beings commit certain facts to memory in relation to their acquaintances - such as gender - and unless explicitly given reason to, will not update this information. I had bangs, pink streaks in my hair, and I was wearing a mint green top imprinted with a delicate floral pattern; and yet it was apparently still a surprise to some that I was not, in fact, male.

Both of these things were audibly confirmed when one audience member gasped into their microphone.)

I then proceeded to explain the concepts of gender identity and dysphoria; the pain the latter had brought me (having been actively suicidal as a teenager and passively suicidal as an adult); the process of transitioning and the many different parts involved.

Each presenter was given a few minutes afterwards to answer questions and solicit feedback. I opened the floor to my fellow group members, and our West Coast sales exec chimed in to let me know that she admired my bravery, and that she had my back. I was not aware at the time, but I had brought her to tears during my talk.

(This was apparently a common theme; several of my colleagues - including a number that already knew I was trans - had cried during proceeds.)

The course presenter then opted to postpone the next presentation to a later session, wryly noting: “There’s no way anyone tops that”.

In the following days I received emails from each and every person in the group; reiterating their support for me.

This was, for me, one of the highlights of my coming out process; but also, a most surreal event. What I perceived to be an nervous, stumbling exposition (made all the worse by hormone therapy, as I experienced stage fright for the first time in my life) was interpreted by the audience as a courageous baring of the soul.

If there is one takeaway for me, it is this: I had spent the entire duration of my career at this organization - a decade and a half - in utmost fear that were my second side ever discovered, I would most certainly be terminated. When it came time however to reveal my authentic self, I received only unanimous love and support.

There is no joy to be found in the anxious what-ifs; only in what lays beyond those fears.

Nails

On a scale of one to chipped, my nails are currently at “I’m Prying Open Pistachios With Them And I Don’t Care”.

Classic cars

My young friend, currently showing me his new car in Need For Speed:

Him: “Check out my Nissan!”

Me: “That’s a Fairlady Z, right?”

Him: “It’s - yeah, it’s a 240ZG. Damn, you really know your classic cars!”

Me:

Coming out

I have come out to a great many people these past eighteen months; and I have been fortunate in that there have effectively been no negative reactions. (I know too many people that have not had the same experience, and my heart bleeds for them.)

There were two instances where I was genuinely terrified of how the other party might react. The first was my spouse - not because I thought for a second that they would respond poorly, but rather because I felt that I was unilaterally introducing an enormous life change into a relationship that I value beyond estimation.

(Of course, I should not have worried - they accepted this new state of affairs immediately. That’s the kind of amazing person my spouse is.)

The second was my friend and colleague of fifteen years; a fiercely intelligent and analytic man of few words. He is an émigré of the Soviet Union and as such holds very different views from myself in many matters; including, I feared, the subject of transgenderism.

Again, I should not have concerned myself; as he delivered an answer that in one sentence perfectly encapsulated the man’s outlook, brevity, and uniquely blended mode of English and Russian speech.

“Ah, well; that’s just your decision.”

To those unaccustomed to his way of speaking, it might sound harsher than intended; but on the contrary, this was one of the greatest endorsements I could have received and remains a highlight of the coming-out process: “Hey, you do you”.

Incomplete sentences

Sometimes, when I’m writing, I will omit words or even entire portions of a sentence. I don’t know why this is; only that it’s something I’ve done for a very long time.

The solution is, of course, to proof-read vociferously. Ironically however, I will often not notice that I have made this mistake because my brain kindly fills in the missing detail instead of alerting me to its absence.

I note this because I know I have written posts previously that suffer from this issue; and I’m sure there will be more in future. To that effect, dear reader: thank you for your continued patience, and understanding!

A newfound pain

...Ruining a perfectly good item of clothing by accidentally sticking your thumb through the lacy part. I’ve done this twice now! Girl clothes are awesome; but definitely more delicate than I’m used to...

Nouns

An interesting and unexpected part of transitioning is the process of adjusting the nouns I use in my inner monologue.

For instance, just this morning, an item fell out of the kitchen cupboard and I jokingly thought to myself, “Can’t a guy catch a break?!”...And then I corrected myself to “Can’t a girl catch a break?!”.

I think the reason this is taking so long (versus say, adapting to my new name and pronouns) is because there isn’t any one thing that needs changing - rather, I have a large library of gendered idioms, each and every one in need of updating.

On the bright side, I don’t get quite so upset about it nowadays; so I would call this a plus!

Housewife

I wish I was a housewife.

Perhaps I have overly romantic notions about such a thing; but I greatly enjoy cooking and cleaning and other domestic pursuits. It brings me such great joy, ensuring each day that my wife comes back to a house that is just a little nicer than the one she left.

Similarly, I greatly enjoyed the time I was able to spend with my daughter during her infancy; and took delight in being her tour guide to the world. Keeping home and raising my child seems pretty neat!

Instead I threw myself strongly into being a financial provider; and now I see that the same energy can exist in the role of homemaker - merely expressed through many small acts of love, rather than the singular act of acquiring income.

I try (with limited success) not to be overly regretful of my life choices. At least in this instance however, I do not blame myself; as I ended up a software developer and not a homemaker because of the godawful capitalist system we toil under and not because my perceived gender at the time drove the choice.

All the same: I wish I was a housewife.

Identity crisis: addendum

As a follow-up to my earlier post:

I have a friend that lives in Texas. He is eighteen; and was in the process of learning to drive when the pandemic struck. He recently visited the state DMV to renew his learner’s permit; and much to his surprise, was given a full driver’s license instead.

I get it; they are trying to keep the system working under a difficult set of circumstances. All the same, my friend is attempting to continue on with his driving education, for what he holds in legal capability, he lacks in actual practical experience and confidence.

This is what it feels like to become an entirely different gender at 37. I’m legally a woman, but I have no idea what I’m doing.

Identity crisis

I came across an interesting article recently, of the “Ten signs your self-esteem is in the gutter” variety. My self-esteem has indeed been in the gutter these past few days, so it was certainly a topical read.

A major reoccurring theme was: “Self-esteem should be a function of how you see yourself; not how others see you”.

This makes a lot of sense: self-esteem is, by definition, the measure of the value we place on ourselves. However, only we can truly know what is in our hearts, our minds; each and every facet of our person; who we truly are.

This unfortunately poses a challenge for me; as I do not, in fact, know who I am.

A person in my orbit once told me that he felt as if he had a mask for every occasion; a performative persona that he would adopt depending on the audience. However, he could not discern the person behind the mask; and this troubled him greatly.

It’s a sentiment I can sympathize with. I feel as if my personal identity is not a unified whole, woven from many individual threads; but rather, a fractured collection of parts that do not interrelate.

Matters have of course further been complicated by my gender upheaval; because one of the foundations of my character was that of a man, a husband, a father. I am none of these things now; and while I have technically replaced these epithets with woman, wife, mother; I don’t feel as if I actually have the requisite underpinning of experience to claim them.

As my friend Abigail wryly noted: we are women, born yesterday.

For now, I default to a measure of self-worth familiar to many raised male: that of one’s utility. As I am stretched rather thin at present, this does not seem to be working well; and alas, brings us full circle: it is a function of how others see me; and not how I see myself.

Cellulitis

For the uninitiated, cellulitis is a bacterial infection under the surface of the skin. It isn’t so bad by itself - some redness, some swelling - but by virtue of being trapped below the surface, it often takes medical intervention to clear. Additionally, if untreated, it can lead to some nasty and potentially fatal complications (like necrotizing fasciitis and blood poisoning).

I’m familiar with the premise as a couple of years ago I had a bout on my kneecap thanks to - of all things - the tiniest of ingrown hairs; one course of antibiotics and all was well in the world.

Until. Until.

As I have reported previously, my first few months of Estradiol shots went well (barring a period of psyching myself out). Thereafter, everything was good... Until the day I got a big, red, ugly patch at the injection site.

“Oh,” I say to myself, “I’ve really screwed up”. I fastidiously ensure that my medicine vial, needles, and leg are sterile; but evidently somewhere along the way I missed a step.

I went to see my family doctor; he agrees that it’s cellulitis (even deeper than normal as the bacteria was fundamentally injected an inch into my thigh muscle), proscribes doxycycline; and I’m on my way. (There was a slight detour where I suffered the most agonizing heartburn of my life in response to that particular antibiotic, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Fast forward: next shot, and the same thing happens. Like an idiot, I suddenly realize: “I’m using the same vial of Estradiol as last time; and it’s contaminated”.

(I should have thrown it out as a precaution; but the cost of American healthcare tends to breed a conservationist approach to medications. Plus, it honestly didn’t occur to me at the time.)

My doc probably thought I was an idiot but thankfully did not offer his opinion.

I bought more Estradiol, and was perhaps three shots into the new vial WHEN THE SAME THING HAPPENS AGAIN.

And I’m in tears. I don’t understand what it is I’m doing wrong; there’s so much surplus alcohol on my skin that the needle burns going in. There’s simply no way I can carry on with an injection regimen that results in an infection each and every time.

Thankfully, in this particular instance, it was a very small instance of cellulitis and cleared by itself. I was pretty shook up all the same.

My next best guess was that the Estradiol was being stored at the wrong temperature. It’s supposed to be at room temperature (which is classified as something like 68 - 75º F). I kept my medicine in our bathroom closet; and while I checked the temperature in there and it never seemed over range, the closet does back directly only the location of our furnace.

I also asked my endocrinology clinic if I should be storing my Estradiol in the refrigerator, and their answer could be summarized as: “IDK, maybe? It’s worth a try”.

(This isn’t an attack on them - they are great! As much as I wish it were otherwise however, trans individuals represent a small slice of the population. Medical provider experience is directly proportional to the sort of ailments they treat; and Estradiol storage issues are not something that commonly end up on their radar. This is one of the reasons why it’s so important for trans folk to become experts in and advocates of their own medical needs.)

Anyhow, I moved the medicine to the bedroom and so far, that seems to have done the trick!

My reason for mentioning this however is as follows: yesterday, post-injection, I had some major soreness in my thigh (as if someone had punched me right in the muscle). Most likely it was just regular, garden-variety soreness; but the sensation was close enough to the early onset of cellulitis that I seriously started freaking out.

Thankfully it’s calmed down today, and there isn’t a patch of redness in sight. Still: the trials and tribulations to go through!

Two useful additions: First: The Paradox Of Tolerance. Per Karl Popper: “Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them... We should therefore claim, in the name of tolerance, the right not to tolerate the intolerant. We should claim that any movement preaching intolerance places itself outside the law...“

Second: this rather instructive video by Innuendo Studios. (Transcript for the reading-inclined.) It succinctly encapsulates the origins and character of modern Conservatism, and how contrary to all assertions, intolerance appears to very much be an intended feature and not a bug.

Conservatives will be like “Why are you holding me accountable for my bigoted beliefs? Whatever happened to tolerance???”

Self-fulfilling prophecy

I’ve discussed before that I administer my Estradiol via intramuscular injection; and that sometimes this does not go to plan. This is not the only HRT-related mishap that I have experienced.

The first few months of injections were without issue.

Thereafter, I started to experience increasing amounts of pain with each shot; and in turn, I became more and more reluctant to - you know - actually stick the needle in my leg.

On the fifth go-around, I realized that I was breaking one of the (many) cardinal rules my endocrinology clinic had educated me on: don’t tense up! A tense muscle is a dense muscle; and it takes a lot more effort (and subsequently, discomfort) to push a needle through the tissue. My desire to avoid pain was, ironically, the cause of a great deal of pain!

I learned to relax, and not to hesitate when sticking myself (seriously, it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid - quick and forceful is so much more tolerable than slow and steady)!

I’m not going to pretend that popping the needle in is fun by any stretch; but it’s tolerable. If I have to do this twenty-eight times a year, between now and eternity, to attain True Girl Form... That’s a price I can live with!

Flowers

One of the first additions to my all-new female wardrobe was a floral raglan shirt. I own multiple dresses adorned with flowers; and my most recent clothing purchase was a pair of floral-bedecked high-tops.

As a kid, I spent a lot of time drawing flowers. I loved laying out the stems and leaves in intricate, rhythmic patterns; punctuated by colorful collections of petals.

I’ve documented previously my experience with PTSD-type issues; and during one such episode, I opted to seek calm via art therapy. I immediately defaulted to drawing a collection of flowers; each one different; ever-overlapping one another.

Incredibly, it only occurs to me now - far into my transition - that I love flowers.

It is a powerful testament to gender norms - to the guilt and fear they breed; the warping effect they have on our view of ourselves and the world around us - that only now, decades after the fact, that I can acknowledge this love.

Unexpected HRT side-effect #4: addendum

I’ve previously touched on how HRT has affected my ability to tolerate extremes of temperature. Today was an interesting illustration to that effect.

First, my wife - who is much wiser in these matters than I - took stock of the current temperature before going outside. (I generally choose my outerwear first and foremost based on what will compliment my current outfit, and then complain loudly while shivering in the car.)

She told me that it was currently 28ºF. In a former life I would have considered this ‘mild’; and maybe - maybe - thrown on a light jacket. Apparently I am learning however, because today I said to myself: “Twenty-eight degrees?! Time to break out the winter coat.”

New shoes

Exactly what it says on the tin. I got new shoes!

Purchased from NerdyKeppie (not an affiliate link; I just like to share neat stuff). I did see some comments about the high-tops running small, but I wear a US women’s 10 and they fit me perfectly.

(I will note however that unlike regular Chucks, they don’t have that little canvas loop on the back - so getting them on can be a battle.)

Love me some subtle trans pride!

Shuffle Meme - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

...And finally, the part of the music library that has yet to be tidied up!

Everything Else

Clash Caravan Palace - Live At Le Trianon On my to-do list: catch a live performance from electroswing trailblazers Caravan Palace. (True story: the band was formed when three traditional instrumentalists / DJs were hired to produce the soundtrack to a black and white pornographic film. How French is that?)

Eustonia CoLD SToRAGE - Android Child Legendary for his Amiga and PlayStation soundtracks; Tim Wright also has an exceptional catalog of personal work (including an album that incorporated the moon - the moon! - as a production effect)!

BROKEN HEART 月野うさぎ Desired Desired is a pioneer of the anime-themed future funk scene, and a major tent-pole in the portfolio of Neon City Records. For a fuller sampling of his work, please enjoy this excellent mix by Real Love Music.

Ebough, Delicious DFast - Out Of The System DFast exists somewhere between funk and big beat; as is typified by this stellar contribution to HBC-00004: Field Trip by ½-bit Cheese.

As You Are Garfunkel And Oates - Music Songs Although better known for their hilarious output, the final song of their first album - dedicated to a mutual friend - is a message we all need to hear.

Eer Amak Et Amor've! Keith303 Arguably one of the greatest .mod music files ever made; through the magic of technological manipulation, Keith bends a sine wave into a more than passable imitation of an electric guitar.

Part One Mike Oldfield - Tubular Bells At 17, Oldfield composed the entirety of this album; at 19, recorded almost the entire thing single-handedly using analog technology utterly unsuited for the task. (As an illustration: a BBC performance demonstrates the number of musicians required to achieve this feat live.) From a technical standpoint, this album represents one of the greatest accomplishments in modern music history.

Yuki Satellites Mosaik Mosaik's work features a kind of quiet, contemplative beauty; and this - the theme to the demo Channel 5 Sequence, by Haujobb - is no exception.

Activate One Now Subi The mad maestro of 4-channel .mod music. (I was astonished to learn later in life that we grew up just a mile and a half apart!)

Holly Republica - Republica One of the first albums I ever bought. I strongly suspect that if I had been bestowed the luxury of transitioning in my teens, a great deal of my personal style may have ended up modeled on that of Republica frontwoman Saffron.

Shuffle Meme - Part 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Now, the music from my library that I’ve actually taken the time to clean up...

Groove

Turbo Killer Carpenter Brut - TRIOLOGY Literally the perfect horror-themed synthwave song, and with an amazing accompanying video. I have very happy memories of racing through the hills of Pennsylvania with the top down and this blasting at full volume...

Sun, Rain And Fire Dee Mac - Eve Of Destruction I’ve mentioned Dee Mac before - not only is she a tremendously talented genre-bending artist; she’s also worked incredibly hard to evolve her vocal style - and it shows!

i ‘ m  e v e r y t h i n g  y o u ‘ v e  e v e r  w a n t e d ImCoPav - H E N T A I  M I X T A P E I’m not the biggest vaporwave / Eccojams fan; but I unapologetically love this entire, absurd album.

Variation IX. Nimrod Holst - Variations On An Original Theme, Op. 36 The crown jewel of The Enigma Variations; a majestic tribute to overcoming adversity.

What Have You Been Living For IRIS - Underground Arts, 09.07.19 In celebration of their 20th anniversary, all three members of the group assembled for a show studded with highlights - amongst them, this spectacular rework of a song originally destined for the cutting room floor.

Retro Reverb Records Festival, Live On Nightride.FM Let 'Em Riot It was this performance that sold me on the work of LA native Alan Oakes; combing uplifting melodies with a wistful look into the past.

スターヴァージン サクラ SAKURA-LEE - Star Virgin II A stand-out in the world of anime-themed future funk; leaning into the utter ridiculousness where her fellow artists fear to tread.

Ben Kedim Yatağım (ft. Rob Dougan) Sezen Aksu - Biraz Pop Biraz Sezen Dougan disappeared for almost a decade and a half to run a vineyard; and celebrated his return in this collaboration with Sezen Aksu, the Madonna of Turkey.

I’ve No More F***s To Give Thomas Benjamin Wild Esq. - Awkward Encounters While Walking My Dog The perfect antidote to a bad day; and with such delightful wordplay to boot! (There’s also a fantastic little live performance.)

Stand Alone (Peter Vanek Remix) We Were Strangers A delicate remix of an already haunting slice of Americana.

On to Part 3...

Shuffle Meme - Part 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

feed-the-roses tagged me on this, and it looks fun! Now I’m gonna go ahead and do it completely wrong.

For starters, I don’t have a single, unified music collection. There are albums that I’ve fixed the metadata and art on; they live in Groove. There is a considerably larger collection of files that haven’t been fixed yet, and they get played in Winamp (which is currently enjoying a revival, by the by). And I’ve been using Spotify of late.

I also did some serious curating here. Although I used shuffle to get a random sampling of artists, I thought it made more sense to me to list my favorite tracks.

Without further ado:

Spotify

Mega Dis Bomb The Bass - Mega Dis EP I love Beat Dis. I fucking love Megablast! What’s not to love about an update that combines the two? (Also highly recommended: d4xx’s Step 2 Dub Remix.)

Suicide Jag Chemlab - Burn Out At The Hydrogen Bar I’ve had a copy of KMFDM’s Death Before Taxes Remix of Electric Molecular in my library since forever; but this year I decided to revisit Chemlab’s back catalog and I am so glad that I did!

Out Of Touch Hall And Oates - Big Bam Boom I realize that this has been doing the rounds on Tumblr; but for me, it has a different association: I played a lot of Saints Row 2 last year, and this became my go-to song while driving to a soon-to-be crime scene.

Everybody Wants To Rule The World Ted Yoder - Songs From The Orchid I instantly became a fan of Yoder after catching his collaboration with Curt Smith. Also: the hammered dulcimer is such a gorgeous-sounding instrument; it deserves more love!

Human The Chain Gang Of 1974 - Felt It’s such a bittersweet song; as if the subject is revisiting their regrets in their last few moments of life...

Why does the list stop at five? Well, because practically everything else I listen to on Spotify is from my ‘80s playlist and revisiting it here might get a bit redundant!

On to Part 2...

Facebook friends

I may have a Facebook page. It’s a nice way to stay in touch with the family.

I have noticed however that the site’s friend-finding algorithm is a bit... wonky.

“Hey, you know how you have that friend on the opposite side of the country, and otherwise no mutual acquaintances? Well, here’s everyone they know. IRL friends, family, everyone. Are you sure don’t know some of these people?”

“Hey, we think you might know this person. You have no mutual friends. You don’t live in the same part of the world. We’ve raided your phone and email contacts and as far as we can determine, you have never communicated once in your lives. But... they’re trans. Are you sure you aren’t buddies?”

Machine learning has been all the rage of late (along with the godforsaken Cloud); but I’m really starting to think that if a company of Facebook’s size and expertise can pour millions of dollars into their friend-finding algo and this is the best it can do, well... we may be on course for yet another AI Winter.

Thigh straps

In my early twenties, I conceived of a story in which two individuals - one half-angel, the other half-demon - formed an unlikely alliance. I am not going to pretend that this concept was either original or going to set the literary world on fire; and it didn’t got much further than an initial outline and some character sketches.

I did have a particular affection for the design of the half-angel however; as his outfit incorporated a number of feminine elements. He wore a stylized headpiece (fundamentally a headband); a tunic with an incorporated tabard (practically a slit midi dress); and perhaps most glaringly, stockings held in place by leather straps.

In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious that I was trying to express my own gender confusion via a safe and private medium. (Exacerbated, I imagine, by having recently moved to an area that rigidly enforced gender norms.)

Happily, this is no longer the case and I am quite out the world as a woman!

Recently a friend reminded me that there is a whole world of leather-type garters out there. This triggered a series of thoughts in which I recalled the design of the half-angel; then realized how heavily his clothing had been inspired by my own suppressed desires; and finally set out to determine if thigh straps were actually a thing you could buy.

As always, Etsy delivers (bother metaphorically and literally); and now I am both living out my girlhood dream and also, finally able to stop my socks from falling down!

(It did occur to me, after they arrived, that the principle is no different from that of a regular belt - it is merely the length of the leather strap that differs. So at some point, I may go looking for a couple of cheap belts to cut to size and re-punch.)

Dresses

Each year my company celebrates Christmas with an all-employee dinner. I greatly enjoy socializing with my colleagues, but I’ve always found these events a bit overwhelming and have tried to dodge them where ever possible.

Not this year however! I am out, and very much planned to celebrate in style... Which, of course, did not happen (what with there being a very disruptive killer virus on the loose and all).

All the same, I bought myself a delightful Christmas dress - I was particularly smitten with the lacy sleeves. So imagine my confusion when it arrived, and instead of getting the dress on the left:

...I received the one on the right (sans sleeves).

Two months later, I realize that these are in fact two entirely different dresses and that I had mistakenly ordered the second one on the insane assumption that the brand only carried the one sangria-colored number.

I... am not a smart girl.

Delightfully, they still had the original dress in stock (and only in my size to boot); so I have one winging it’s way to me now!

Dancing

I did not dance in in my past life. At various points I was cajoled into the act, which resulted in a display lacking any kind of gracefulness or aesthetic pleasure.

I played a lot of Dance Dance Revolution, which I love dearly but resembles actual dancing in much the same way that Jazzercise resembles actual jazz.

Post-HRT, I found myself spontaneously dancing; while enjoyable for me however, I doubt the end result was particularly enjoyable for anyone else.

Recently my spouse has made a point of impromptu slow-dancing with me. This is not a new thing per se; but they have very sagely opted to start taking the lead.

That’s how I found myself this afternoon, hand in hers, eyes closed. It was then that I experienced what I can only describe as a profound moment of rightness, and I was so overcome that I burst into tears and was rendered speechless.

I can’t stop thinking about it. For one, singular moment, I didn’t feel like a work in progress; or an imposter; or a woman with an asterisk over her gender. I felt like a girl; the girl I always had been and will be.

I look forward to more moments like this!

I love, love so much the way my daughter draws facial expressions. They’re always so animated!

eboy inkling go [squid noises] 

Bras are tricky!

I have one traditional strappy, claspy bra; and everything else is a padded bralette (effectively a comfy, casual running bra).

The reason I have only the one strappy bra right now is because the aforesaid straps keep falling down; and the reason the straps keep falling down is because my band is too tight. The band is too tight as, generally speaking, women with A-cup breasts rarely have a 40″ chest.

Unfortunately for me, I am an outlier in that - unlike many women - I spent a number of years accumulating visceral fat in my torso under the influence of testosterone (contributing to its unusual size); and then decided to instigate a second puberty late in life (and hence, I have two girls that are still in their initial growth phase and will be for quite some time).

(I’m not an expert, but I think most women take a more direct route when it comes to puberty.)

It’s not the end of the world by any stretch; and with time, my proportions will fall more into line with female standards (even if I’m never going to have, say, an overly girlish skeletal structure)! As with so many other transition-related matters however; the challenge is in the wait.

In the meantime, I’m just gonna keep fixing my straps throughout the day!

Spironolactone

A friendly PSA:

If you take Spironolactone in tablet form and your doctor and / or the instructions indicate it should be taken with food, TAKE IT WITH FOOD.

Studies strongly indicate that absorption of the drug is significantly higher when accompanied by food.

(This message brought to you by me, a girl that completely ignored the giant instructions on my pill bottles and took her Spiro on an empty stomach for months on end.)

The great chain

(Not to be confused with The Great Chain Of Being or The Great Chain as envisaged by Bioshock antagonist Andrew Ryan; or even Fleetwood Mac’s The Chain (although that is pretty great)!)

The start of my transition was... furtive. I imagine this is a fairly common phenomenon - trans individuals trying to build up a head of steam, as it were, before actually coming out.

In my case, I let my hair down; replaced my wardrobe with somewhat androgynous items from the women‘s section; began the process of facial laser hair removal; and painted my nails.

And it worked! These were all major milestones for me; but ones that went relatively unnoticed. (The one exception were my nails, which ended up breaking the ice with three particularly attentive colleagues.)

The first person to put all the pieces together was a barista at Starbucks. It was fascinating to experience: he had just taken our order, and was most of the way through the sentence “Have a good day-” before his eyes locked on to the crystal bracelet I was wearing and smoothly segued into “-ladies!” without missing a beat.

Later on I discovered that one of his fellow baristas was trans. At the time I really struggling with summoning the confidence to be out; and it was this particular barista that, by example, lead me to the solution: stop caring what other people think.

(Placing too much emphasis on the expectations of others is how I got into this mess in the first place!)

I make a point of thanking the people that help and inspire me (whether they are aware of it or not); and was both surprised and delighted to discover that I was now the fourth trans individual that this girl had aided.

Now that I am quite out to the world, I’m trying to pay this kindness forwards. There are trans girls I’ve run into in the wild, and I always compliment them; trans guys that have picked just the most awesome names and deserve to hear it!

There’s a young trans girl that I’ve taken under my wing, and I try to pass to her and her friends the knowledge that I’ve accumulated so far in my own journey.

I spoke with my friend Abigail about this (another individual that has done so much to help me personally); and she made the observation that one of the beautiful things about the trans community is its close-knit nature; how those that have already walked the path offer guidance to those behind them, and so on, and so on.

This is the great chain I speak of: stretching from past to future; each link a trans individual, clasped hand in hand with those before and those after them. I am so appreciative of those that paved the way ahead of me; and could not be more pleased to do my part and shepherd those that follow.

Unexpected HRT side-effect #12

In my former life, I was not above eating the occasional calorie-laden novelty food item (”Try our Kitchen Sink Burger!”) or having pizza for dinner and leftover pizza for breakfast. And this was all good and well.

Post-HRT however, I have learned (the hard way! Oh, oh, very much the hard way!) that I can no longer overindulge in this fashion. My gastrointestinal tract is a great deal more sensitive and will rebel in most spectacular fashion if I try to force-feed it some kind of burrito that inexplicably counts among its contents an individual’s annual supply of cheese and over one pound of french fries.

As much as some might mourn this change, I see it as a positive - now I’m eating the way that frankly, I should have always been eating. Still, not something that I was anticipating from a therapy the primary purpose of which is to make me look more girly!