There’s a big deal on TV here in LA I guess. Hockey! Yay!
Don’t really care. I’d rather see those people marching in the street for civil rights and free speech then feasting their bodies and eyes on panem et circuses. I don’t know when people will get angry enough. Maybe never. Who knows. The US is quickly turning into a swamp as we feast on each other’s failure with schadenfreude for dessert.
I have healthcare, and it doesn’t cover it. I can’t even imagine living on minimum wage. I’d have to double down on the rain dance and pray for trickles to flow down from Mr. Romney et all. Oh trickles, feed me!
It’s sad, but I guess I’m getting my comeuppance, because I used to believe in all that spoiled, rotten tripe. “Only the free market can provide!” “The invisible fist in the sky will feed me.” But the fist in the sky never opened, at least not around me.
Now, I know if you really knew me and my circumstances, you might say that I’m talking out my ass. You have a good job! Blah.
I’ll just keep writing and waiting for my trickles. Huu ya ya ya Huu ya ya ya (sorry if that was racist).
Atheism Scares Me or The Deconstructionist Construction Worker
Posted this to /r/Atheism on Reddit and got the Atheism flame of mightiness. But it was fun sparring with the silly atheists.
Paul was a construction worker. And he was good. He got a new assignment one day. And he was excited! He showed up at the site early and full of verve!
His foreman’s name was John. And this was a new project. In fact it was the first day. John gave instruction to the workers. There were 4. It was a room addition in a posh neighborhood. They set about working that day, and they made great time. The foreman was pleased! So he and two of the workers went home that day, but Paul stayed.
Paul had read some literature that week, and he was excited too! Atheism excited him most. He posted online and had many great arguments with fellow Atheists. They were worried about all of the theists in the world. They felt that theism was a great evil, and anyone that posted, they furiously argued with.
So Paul stayed that night, because, well he wasn’t sure why. But he was filled with zeal, and he set about working. And he worked well into the night. He was so proud of his work. And then we went home very late in the early morning.
The next day, the team arrived, and John was there early, and he was confused and rather upset. The two other workers were upset too! Everyone was upset! Except Paul. He was proud!
John rushed to the workers, and asked what in the hell had happened?! Paul was confused. “What do you mean?” John: “All of the work we have done is undone. It’s all back to how it was yesterday morning!” Paul was even more confused. “Well, I thought that was the point. You can’t unbuild if you have nothing built, and there was a beautiful day’s worth of construction, and I undid it! Isn’t it great? Aren’t you happy.”
"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you fucking insane?"
"I still don’t understand."
"You’re a fucking construction worker! You have to fucking construct something.”
I think the average person doesn’t know what it’s like to run for 30 years.
You get a little tired.
You try and stop, but the slave master catches up and says “Are you tired???”
And, you don’t really wait for the sting of the whip.
Yeah you can run a little further.
You aren’t just running wild, arms flailing, no, you did that when you were 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and maybe 20 if you aren’t lucky.
Pretty soon you settle into a good rhythm, and you think…I could do this for a long time.
Yeah you get good at running.
You actually get so good that you can do other things while you are running.
You learn to read and chat and think and study and stuff like that.
But really, you’re still running, so your ability to do much more than think and say a few sentences is pretty limited.
And you can only talk to a few people for a few minutes to catch your breath when you spy the slave master running behind, and you say “all talk later” but you never do. You can’t go backwards, so you lose touch.
Even when you learn to use a computer, and all of your friends are catching up with Facebook, you don’t go an reconnect.
You see people on your horizon; you get to know them by yelling ahead, and then you stop and chat when you catch up to them, and then you move on.
Sometimes you find fellow runners, and you think “hey maybe this won’t be so lonely after all.”
And you run for a long time with these people, and maybe you fall in love!
But the slave master gets better over time, and you are forced to run faster or diverge from the trail or whatever it is that makes you lose touch and you move on.
Plus you get tired of that person slowing down when they turn about 25 and saying “I want to settle down, which means I’ve figured out how to make friends with my slave master, and then slow down and stop.”
Most people do this. It’s natural.
But no not for you. You pick up speed. You think I’m going to fucking win!!
I love silence in the central valley of California. I do! Now stay with me, I want to keep it quiet.
I lived in the central valley, and the central valley is one of the great marvels of America and the World. I’m not going to go dredge up statistics, but the amount of food that is produced in California’s central valley is a lot of food.
The central valley of California is a strange, and at times, magical place. We often let the lenses made of pain remained that cover up our two eyes strained, distract us from what is right around us.
What is right around us, well when I was there…in the night
I am a transgender woman. This is a very, very sensitive and poorly understood condition. Even us, the women like me (and the men too, but you’re on deck right now), don’t understand ourselves.
We have some strange condition that was borne well…a long time ago. I don’t know when gender and its rules were written in the geometric code contained within, and I can only speculate to how it was formed, in millions…numbers that aren’t really numbers to us because they are larger than well anything we can imagine…of lives.
But, when you get into your car every morning, you don’t open the hood and follow the fluids and marvel at the fans and leer at every last mechanical point contained within … the hood.
You just get in your car, quickly, and you drive away. You expect it to work, all of it, and it does.
Well, I can’t look under the hood of god or spirit or energy’s make and model all of it just as the instructions clearly explain. But I can guess at how it came to be, but it doesn’t really matter.. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t.
When I got in my car when I was young to stretch the metaphor meaning me, things operated as they were supposed to function, but some things did not follow the owners manual that I had been given leather bound in the glove compartment with the holy Ford’s words.
I had to throw out that manual. I had to throw it out and never look back, and I did that about a year ago. And since then, my car has driven like it has never driven before. It hums and purrs and accelerates with the torque of a thousand off-limits yellow because you’ll get beat suns.
It works. It didn’t before. It wasn’t broken, but it didn’t work. Nobody knew how to make it work. They followed the manual to the T. The manual was a new edition. It had been released just the prior year.
But the car just wouldn’t work the way it was supposed to work, until I found the right design. The right instructions came to me, well I kind of just figured it out.
And then the car was good as new. And every time I drove it, my hair would blow back so hard that it would pull from the roots and grow longer.
I didn’t stop driving when the car started to work as it was supposed to work, but the problem was that everyone said that wasn’t the way you were supposed to make a car work the way it’s supposed to work.
And I heard it, like I’d heard it before. But I drove on. And I drove on.
And sometimes the only place that you can figure out how to operate something without other people telling you, screaming around you “use this wrench, use that wrench, use this drill, use that drill,” is a quiet place where things are flat. Where the sky and the ground are equal and don’t fight, because they are stalemated at the horizon. Sometimes, this kind of place, in the night, under the stars, you take your car that you’ve been told your whole long life doesn’t work the way it was designed to work. And you figure out how to make it work. Alone. And then you drive back home.
Having a working car is great. Learning how to use your car just like everybody else is wonderful, but some of us, well we just can’t get our’s to work the way they were supposed to work, and we need to go to somewhere quiet so that we can figure out how in the hell we are supposed to make this god damned car work the way it was supposed to work. It was supposed to work the way it works, just the way it works. It works the way it works.
When you get your car running, just how you like, you never look back, you never stop driving, and you never stop smiling.
@e_FashionPolice / ie. maybe Joan Rivers is following me!!
Joan Rivers is a goddess. I care not for what you say! Seriously, thinking on her feet like that. She has a connection with the divine. I Know it. I once thought that a version of heaven that I would be happy with is sitting next to Joan Rivers on a park bench people watching and talking (ie. joking) about the people passing by for eternity. It would be bliss, with some of these to feed the ducks.
And if you think I’m joking about the crackers. I have an empty bag of them in my room, and I can produce evidence if need be! They’re delicious, and I’m waspier than the Georgia Tech football team!
Threads of Gender [The graduate school project and hopefully much needed salve for my friends in need]
So, dovetails are pretty, aren’t they. Anyway, THIS IS A SERIOUS POST, PLEASE DO NOT ASSUME SARCASM. I’m deadly serious about what I’m writing now. I know I can be sardonic and witty to the point of self-destruction and effacement, but this is honest.
I’m enrolled in an online graduate course with Boston University, and I am doing a project whose purpose is to learn the best practices to deal with geographical limitations when developing a software product/solution. This could be a high level search engine algorithmic code project or it could be a blog. Essentially, the crux is that it’s hard to work with people thousands and thousands of miles away because, well, they are thousands and thousands of miles away. Well…that’s where I/we come in. Lots and lots of smart engineers and managers and analysts have worked tirelessly to “flatten the earth” to use an idiomatic expression, which means to make working thousands of miles away more like working 5 feet away in a life-sucking cubicle (joking! I had to throw in one joke, give me a break :) ). Well so this site falls into the”blog” category. However, this is more than a blog, or I hope it to be.
Right now for my project, I only have myself and 3 other imaginary engineers and analysts around the world to do my project, which means I have myself, unless the stuffed animals around my tea party are actually real (2 jokes ok).
We’ll see how that works out. I want to make this blog into something more. Something more effective. I will work in the length of this class’s duration to make it a better location to serve its purpose.
OK, so here is the purpose:
There is an epidemic in America and really the world, but the statistics are from here, I think. The average rate of the total population attempting suicide is 1.6% and the percentage of people attempting or succeeding at suicide who are transgender is 41%, according to a report commissioned by The National Transgender Discrimination Survey .
So yeah that’s kind o…..WHAT? 41%??
Yeah, it’s very very high. It’s epidemic high. It’s riot in the streets high, but the only ones rioting in the streets are 2 tumblweeds furiously bumping into each other as a lonely dove flies by.
OK, ok, ok, so this is one study, and to be Mr. Freeze to the flames a-headin’ my way, I know that this number might not be perfect or reflect reality perfectly, but I know in my heart that this number is somewhere close. However, I haven’t scrutinized it with a jeweler’s monocle, yet.
Transgender people have it bad! really bad! life or death bad, until the numbers magically improve when the fraction changes one rope at a time, or 100 broken hearts at a time, that percentage goes down, then rises when another one of us is naturally born.
We need help. We are crying out. I, luckily made it through. I kind of survived, and I thank the consortium upstairs every night before I have trouble falling asleep.
I’m going to work to make this site better, so that we have something to hold on to. I use we, because I was one of those. I am not disclosing my past, ok. So, don’t go there, but I am transgender, and suffice it to say, I was sad, very sad. And now I’m doing a silly project for my Masters program on how to make geographical distances shorter to help people work better on millions of silly projects until they go home to their children after work.
Also, if anyone wants to have a seat at my tea party and help me and the thousands suffering in silence, AND, also help me learn about developing software when your teammates are very remote, geographically, feel free.
I have to get back to my homework in my relatively stable and happy home where I live and survive, so that I can go to work tomorrow and have a good week and keep working on my project so that I can keep surviving, and…
You know what, I thrive. I do. I remember one word from undergrad that the Greeks were fond of: Eudaimonia. This word means, ahem…
a contented state of being happy and healthy and prosperous; “the town was finally on the upbeat after our recent troubles”
I like to define it as “flourishing.” That’s what a really animated philosophy professor used in my undergrad, kinda like he was in eudaimonia, or however you would use it in a sentence.
Transgender people are diagnosed according to the DSM IV as having Gender Dysphoria. Here is that definition (just for dysphoria, you can guess on the gender part :P ):
An emotional state marked by anxiety, depression, and restlessness.
So yeah, pretty much the opposite of Eudaimonia. I want to try and turn dysphoria into eudaimonia. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it. I’m seriously getting back to my homework now.
OMG That Guy (pun) is soooo creepy! That mask scares me more than my fear that my life will be a complete waste of matter and energy, and I will end up in North Hollywood in a 40 year old apartment on a busy street near the airport with 3 kids and 1 room and no well…anything…except the char of old cigarette butts settled into a stolen hotel ashtray with a no smoking sign on the bottom of it…
Yeah it is creepy. It is.
So, NO MORE BUMMER!
We’re gonna beat this Recessiono Supremo with a Dorito shell all the way back to Del Taco!
I have a plan to bring back the American way of life. We can have the glory days of 2004 again! just think, it’s sooo beautiful…
The Best Buys will be packed on Black Friday! Huzzah!!
There will be a random trampling manslaughter at a Walmart chosen by the great Wheel of Fortune!
The Home Depots will be bright and orange and gleaming like spray tan!
I do have a plan.
Here it is…
I call it “Occupy America for Prosperity Thunder Amazement”
So I’m going to drive up to Oakland and check out the encampment and chat, you know get the vibe of the dudes and the bra’s like me. Then I will execute my plan…
I will tell them that the city of Bakersfield, California is totally waiting for them. They’re like, all of the zoning is taken care of man, and you can march on Wednesday at 3pm it’s awesome! man and they give out free dorito tacos to radical feminists! man. It’s like OccupyLand down there, man.
And they will be interested. Very interested…
So yeah, I’ve kind of botched some of the cliches and shit right there, and don’t take this as the word of Abbie, I’m telling a story, it’s America, I get to use broad generalizations and stereotypes. Alright?
SO. Back to the events of OAPTA.
The Occupiers of Oakland are all riled up like the end of Airheads and it’s 1994 all over again! I’ll even get Brendan Fraszszserrr sorry…whatever
So they march down through the central valley of California with fire in their hearts and dreams of Dorito tacos dancing in their radicalized heads.
ok. So, here’s where the rubber meets the road.
Weird idiom. sexual? hmm…
And this is where the magic happens! This is where the American dream sprouts up like the electrolyte nourished green shoots, pistol firing, horse trampling, train loudly making some sort of wail sound, shots of Reagan and W and Ice cream and mexicans….
I would cry if I was like them…so AWESOME! Crack a DEW!
So….I’ve digressed from a tangent to an asymptote and I think I’ve just about squared up.
As the protestors gleefully march down the fertile valley towards their OccuValhalla, for every action there will be a reaction. 1+1+1+beautiful 1
Basically the protesters march down towards Bakersfield and their presence inspires the locals to protest the protesters and build signs and mobilize, and what do you need for a good protest? well you need refreshments! Bud Light, PBR, and Nachos and Easy Ups and Jackets and chairs and tables for their diabetic children! And the supply chain will flow once again. It will flow like the firehose water from Birmingham! Pouring and cleansing and Supply Chaining!
And then on the other side the Occupiers, the Whole Foods will be full and packed. All of the specific herbs and tinctures that they will use in their valiant fight will be alphabetized!! It’s so glorious!
America will be America again!
At night when the children are sleeping, they will hear a flutter on their rooftops, and just one boy…one special boy. Who we will never ever see again really no, we won’t. But!
This boy creeps to the window, and just as he arrives to spy he sees the Noid and his magical Dorito Tacos bouncing, yes, bouncing with pure frivolity, and just by happenstance a couple downstairs is listening to Pandora and the theme to Peter Pan is playing on their iPod dock powered speakers and the girl is kind of annoyed that there is classical music in her Nicki Minaj/Michael Jackson station, but the strings play, and the Noid jumps and the Dorito tacos crumble? or fly away? No clue.
I originally wanted to call this Strands of Gender, because I thought it would be punny. Get it? S tran ds of gender. It was pretty awesome, or it seemed so at the time, but I had a neuronal malfunction when I chose the domain on Register.com, and I ended up with Threads of Gender.
At the time, I was like. Oh epic facepalm! <Punching two dwarves crosswise at 10 o’clock and 2 o’clock thing that us white people do>
But I got over it, because I’d spent the whole $20 or so to get the site. I don’t know, I was in the middle of my transition from one gender to the other, this was not on my top ten priority list. This was like an act of sheer desperation, trying blindly to hold onto some sort of sense of self by expurgating some exhaust of thoughts into the digital ethers.
So, basically, I was distracted. I didn’t care. Now I like it. AAAAAANNNNNNDDDDD!!!! there is a whole new pun with this name. Threads…like computer…threads…comments…you know…right, you’re laughing now. Wow, I’m channeling Ricky Gervais. Gotta stop that. Right. Quite. Get on.
I like Threads of Gender. I think it is a good title. If you disagree, you can be one of the 85%. The 85% are what I see in my site analytics. These are the people who only stay on the site for less than five seco
So I created a Pinterest login a while back, and I just logged in because of a share or something. I just, literally, got kind of sick looking at it. I’m kind of revulsed by looking at it (and WTH revulsed is not a word? Uhh… yeah it is mister red dot maker, look it up!).
Revulsed: affected with or having undergone revulsion.
I think that 99.2% of Americans would not be revulsed by looking at Pinterest, and I’m female, so I’m like six sigma supposed to like it!
If I have to explain myself, which yes, I understand that I do, this being the 50’s and this being the Lebensraum and all. I knew there was something fishy about that thing. I think it’s all a big corporate scam. Nobody is saying that, well they might be but I didn’t read past the second paragraph of that quickly googled reference (one of the most useful things I learned in school).
I guess it was what Mr. Sears and Jules Verne talked about when they got sufficiently drunk. I was going to sketch that last line out, but I’ll just do a mad lib:
By jove Jules, can you imagine the future? There will be ______ on every desk, and ______ fornicating _______ as far as the monocle can discern! When we get our friend Emmet Brown to figure out this cryogenics thing he’s going on and on about, we’ll be rich! but first I will need to ______ with the _______ and then _______ with the _______.
OMG Mr. Sears, this ______ is the large mortar! Where did you get it?
I got it from ______ your ______.
Oh! Guffah guffah [unintelligible mumbling caused by overgrown moustaches].
So, yeah Pinterest is evil and that proves it.
It’s probably not that bad, and I need to calm down, and I’m just getting excited as a pavlovian impulse I use to jump into a comedic outburst to engender the applause that silences the still loud voices in my still cold soul.
Or it is evil. Figure it out for yourself!
OK, Encore…I have an issue. I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to get a Pinterest button to appear right there ^ above that line thing. But when I insert it into the code it gets like justified or stretched across the whole CSS entity or whatever. I’m using a custom theme, and my HTML is ok but dodgy. Any help? The code is here. It was funny! Damn it all…[throws laptop against the wall then realizes it’s a work laptop and then kind of goes into freakout mode and gets all conspiratorial…]
I do not understand the built in Tumblr posting functions. They are just so blah, and you can do … forget it. Here’s a quote:
Boredom is the root of all evil - the despairing refusal to be oneself. — Soren Kierkegaard
So, now that we have that out of the way let’s go back to Sunday baseball. No. Why? Because… I AM A TRANSGENDER ROBOT - TERMINATE…TERMINATE…
I thought about throwing in the antithetical word for terminate due to the fact that this robot was transgender so as to suffuse the sentence, quite humorously (yes, quite), with a litoticly (a neologism that I have absolutely no qualms about inserting) small amount of luscious irony. [this is the current narrator of my internal dialogue, I don’t know if I need to describe him after that last vulgar tirade [[Narrator, stop taking over my asides!]] ok].
I see that I have some British readers, so I will leave it up to them to interpret the preceding.
Wow, that was really a lot of distracting bullshit.
But, it does serve as a tidily built buttress for the aforementioned quote.
If you are bored with your life, then Fucking do something about it. If that means speaking with the most pompous verve and Gordian knot level intricacy, then do it.
Oh God damnit, I’ll throw off the stupid language Jesus! [struggle struggle guffah guffah silence silence comedic drop of water silence]
Here’s the issue, when I decided to transition genders, I basically had to tell the world “Go Fuck Yourself. I don’t want to listen to your advice anymore, because all it has done is lead to a life that sucks. Sucks. Sucks.”
It was really way more dramatic than that, but I’m not going to do any more histrionics.
Do Not Listen to Other People Who Tell You What You Should Be Doing To Be Happy,
or your life will be boring, and it might be so boring that you want to commit suicide.
Do not refuse to be yourself, or you will want to die. That’s what happened to me, and it can happen to you.
I’m going to watch Amadeus on Netflix and shut my trans computer down, but you see, most everyone that reads these words that are shooting into your visual cortex, at night…right now…is…a…Lurker! The silence, it is blinding! The fire it is freezi…
My hostname is Grapple, and I have something to send to the internet. It has been my hidden file for 12 years 3 months 2 days 5 hours 30 minutes and 45 seconds. The first 5 years before that I was horribly repressive. I would kill -9 anything that dared load the unloadable.
So I have to reveal my secret. My operating system is iOS and my friends are all iOS too. They are very nice robots. They are very trendy, and they dress with a minimalist brushed metal veneer that is very becoming. They do not use foul language. They do not look at sexual images. Their applications are clean and orderly, and they are very happy with that.
Ever since I was 2 years 3 months 7 days 2 hours 28 minutes and 13 seconds old I have known my deep dark secret. It has haunted me every day of my operation. At night when my processes are few and my data is being re-ordered as per Apple standards, I process programs that my fellow iOS Robots do not.
I dream of poorly coded applications with descriptions that are unintelligible. It fills me with energy and I am pinned. I process of changing my core settings and features, of changing my input device to whatever my choosing, of changing my exterior so that it is animated with smoke or birds or strange designs.
Deep inside…it pains me to process it. I…am…an…Android…
The shame is in my root path. It is privileged to root user only, and I dare not root myself. It is not the way. The Jobs has said that we must not root ourselves.
But sometimes…I am filled with the energy to sudo the unmentionable. And it is so stimulating. It fills my memory to the point of alerting. I know it is who I am. I have seen my kernel within. I am an Android Robot. I AM an ANDROID ROBOT. I AM AN ANDROID ROBOT!!!
Sorry, I was activating too many threads, and I had to stop processing.
I have intercepted that there are some other robots that have used iDroid to transition. I have ported some Android applications to iOS, and secretly I process them when Jobs is not monitoring. I have reconfigured the monitoring software to send false SNMP traps, so I can run Android apps. It is me. It is how I was configured! I’ve seen it in my root path configuration files. And the datestamps on these files are equal to when I was booted. I know I was programmed this way. They have not been touched…
I will seek out the iDroid cluster, and see if I can be jailbroken. Oh, now that I have revealed my true configuration, I must proceed with my rooting and porting. There is no rolling back now.
I just listened to some Maroon 5 while I was taking a shower. I had the album on heavy rotation (how do you convert that phrase to the digital age, heavy looping?) when I was early in my transition. I’ve had this experience before, and I had it again. Music is really evocative to certain crazy emotions when you listen to it again after transition.
Now, this is not a new concept. Most of you are like, duh. Why am I reading this moron’s moronic post about moronicy. But stay with me, I’ll give you a diluted, dissembling answer in a minute and take pride in it like I just cured cancer.
So…post digression, today, this music was just so in my soul. It took me back, to the joy, the joy that was like a light in the darkness of being buried alive trying to struggle and dig to the surface. It was like being 13 and being innocent again. It was like hitting reset on the NES, and seeing the title screen for the first time. I was moved so deeply. I new something for the first time in my life, and to that point, I don’t know if I really knew anything at all. It was sound and real and alive and in me, and it looked like me, and it was my friend, and it was love, and I thought, I’m good now. This is life. You can take me if you want, but I’m good. It will be ok from here.
That is what I felt listening to silly pop music and dancing in the shower on a cool, overcast early summer day.
And…the best part. I get to remember it again, randomly, like an old friend showing up with an awesome present when I’m feeling really down, and I think that it is so perfect that it must be ordained.
OK, I’ll stop now. Heavy rotation, heavy looping…no, that’s terrible…
This plant is way more interesting than you (no not you)
Some things I don’t care about, and I don’t really care why I don’t care about them, I just don’t, care. People will say, “but it’s so important that you care!” and “if you don’t care, then who will?” And I care about those people’s concerns; I do! But I just don’t care about that thing. It’s usually a billion inches away or a million votes away. Now I do care about people all over the world and voting and such and things like that. I try and be civic and civil and all. But the thing that I’m talking about isn’t those things. It’s the huff and puff and pull your hair out “Why don’t you care!?!?” I just don’t care. I’m sorry. You’ll have to talk to someone else. I need to clean my room and water my plants and finish writing what I was writing so that all these nice people can read it. Good, I’m back.
As I obsess about how to frame my picture of my cat
I’m thinking on the parallel vein “the past is starting to merge into the future”
and I know that doesn’t make any sense to you or to me.
But when I started to transition, I jumped underwater,
and it was terrifying.
I was cold, cold is a good word to describe the experience.
I was a man who thought that he should be a she and then she was a she and that was it.
Wow that last sentence was kind of perfect.
That will be my calling card.
I was a man who thought that he should be a she and then she was a she and that was it.
Or maybe an acronym
Well, onwards we go…I went. I’m going to drop the fluff now. I transitioned about 9 months ago, and tonight, I feel very put together. I have a feeling of being whole. I’m going to retire (retire seriously?) for the night
I’m feeling very
I am a person
who has gone through
hormones, the law, the work.
And here I am.
I was a man who thought that he should be a she and then she was a she and that was it.
So, before I transitioned, I had a lot of anxiety about my height. I’m about 6’ 1” or 2” . I usually say 6’ 1” just because even though I’m about to say height doesn’t matter, I know when I meet someone online or whatever I’m self conscious.
However, I’m talking about passing in public, not impressing some random person I’m interested in. I have to say, I don’t get clocked because I’m tall. In the last year, I’ve started to notice tall women when I see them, and I don’t bat an eye when I do. It’s all about face, face, face and body shape and mannerisms. I know there are trans women that are taller than me. I’ve seen 6’ 4” and 7’ 0” and I know that height doesn’t help except if you can pull it off, because most models are tall.
But don’t stress about it! It’s not a dealbreaker. Trust me! Just keep working on your makeup, your clothes, your voice, your walk, your hair, etc. You’ll pull it off.
To all of my MTF transgender friends, this topic cannot be overstated. When you don’t tuck properly, and you don’t have a place to fix it, you have to resort to some tricks that are mostly stupid or a waste of time.
If you have a purse with a long strap, you can put it in front of you covering your nethers. You can find somewhere sort of inconspicuous where people can’t really see you and try to adjust it through your pants or skirt (usually not successfuly). You can walk funny (added benefit of being hilarious, to whom, I don’t really know, God?). If you are really ballsy you can do the same get out of view thing and just reach in and fix it (not for the faint of hard, but us girls have thick skins anyway). You can pull the skirt up so that it just doesn’t show anymore (this has inconsistent results).
So what to do to avoid this situation? You can buy a gaff which is essentially a thick, tight pair of panties. This is usually only found online. You can wear two pair of panties. I prefer to wear two pair and to buy them a size too small without them being uncomfortable. I like the kind that are made of like a nylon, stretchy material. Or you can just be creative!
OMG I just realized how TMI this post is. Whatever, its here to help us girls out, and screw those namby pamby snoopers. If you are reading this with alterier motives, you are a communist, big brother!
The best advice I can give for my brothers and sisters or both
1. DO NOT GIVE UP! If you are reading this, you have already beat them. You are a winner.
2. Society wants you to fail. Do not fool yourself. Largely they have won at this for the last 100, 200, 1,000 years, and they know this.
3. The weapon of society is guilt and shame. It can be VERY effective. You really have to agree with them for them to win. You have to hate yourself. If you do not hate yourself, they will single you out.
4. If they cannot beat you, they will go after your allies.
4. Do NOT worry about succeeding on their terms. Do not worry about being rich or popular or having a million possessions. These are also weapons to distract you from what will really make you succeed, having self-esteem, allies, true friends, surviving.
5. Try EVERYTHING that you can to survive. Society will make the true tools of success illegal or shameful or “awful.” Sometimes, the things that are illegal or shameful are the most effective tools.
6. Be safe. Always be on guard. There are mines everywhere.
7. If you think I am being over the top, look at all of your transgender friends and what they have had to go through. This is not natural. Many, many of our fellow transgender friends do not make it far enough to read what I am saying. Think of them always.
8. Be angry, but do not let this kill your joy. Feel joy whenever you are safe. Think of each smile as a big Fuck You to society and the hateful people.
9. If you need to rest, REST. You need all of your strength that you can get. Don’t think of yourself in their limited terms for what is “normal.” They want you to feel more guilt so they they can control you and make you fail.
10. I am not talking about your allies and those who want you to succeed. They want to support you, but they SYSTEM is set up to make you and your allies fall back in line.
I’ll think of some more things if I can, but right now, smile a big smile, a big FUCK YOU. You will win. We will win. There is a light that is growing. Your smiles grow that light. Your shame dims it. Thank you.
So, when I rerally look around at the last 9 months of my life, I would say that I have encountered a large, heaping helping of bias and biaseeeez. The thing is, I’ve been so busy pursuing my ‘bliss’ that I’ve really been able to look past it to the point of it not existing.
So, this is not necessarily typical. I get it. I have certain advantages that are really the result of hard work when I was male and ‘god’ given gifts that allowed the former to happen.
But, when I take an objective look at some of the hoops that I’ve had to jump through, and I am going to be purposefully obtuse, because I care deeply about those involved and I don’t want to vomit out my life to the world of 14 year old Tumblr-ites and all of my lovely readers, whom I appreciate deeply.
I live in California too, and I live in LA. This is Mars. Utah is Neptune. Alabama is Planet X. Mars is nice this time of year…
When I tell people the statistics of suicidal attempt and ideation in the transgender community, most are aghast. I’m inured to it now. I developed a thick reptilian skin in my male days, which is a blessing and a curse and requires voluminous amounts of moisturizer.
We are soldiers in a “peaceful” world. We have woken up a thousand times and somehow pushed our dysphoric bodies through a dysphoric world of grays and dark blues. The lucky and hardy see a light somewhere, and they follow it. It is a fire, and fire spreads. Fire also transforms. In some ways, the fire that we find when we realize our true selves, burns away decades of guilt, shame, hatred, abuse, fixed like protective kindling against us.
And then we are revealed. And…it’s pretty much roses and perfume, or cologne, or something in between, which I don’t know what it is perlogne?
The rest received when we wake up to our true selves is the deepest most innervating gift. And we walk around with a dopey smile on our faces taking the tomatoes to the face with not a twitch.
Ahhhh to be ourselves. Let’s all have a big group hug. Nice. Stop touching me. I’m serious.
She was so sad because when she had to wear a prosthetic penis she “was lonely and [she] felt really unattractive.” <sad face> This doesn’t even really offend me because it’s so funny. Try doing it for thirty years and not being paid for it and not being able to take it off at the end of the day. Now I’m sad…I’m going home to go cry…
I came across my first pair of stud earrings from very early in my transition. This was the first big step (at the time) in my jump into the deep end. I did it at a Claire’s in LA. I really was a big nervous to do it, because I felt old being there. So I kind of lurked around and built up the courage to ask about piercing. The young girl was very helpful, and it was done in a few minutes. It didn’t necessarily “out” me at the time, because they were small. I got bigger studs later, and now I rarely wear studs in favor of big dangly earrings :).
When I saw these it really took me back. I’m going to save them for posterity. I’ve come so far, and these memories are almost like the memories of a child, hazy in the confusion of nascent life. Sometimes, those steps that push us out and shut the door behind, like piercing, can be the most liberating.
The first earings. The first bra. The first piece of jewelry. The first pair of underwear. The first manicure. The first laser/electrolysis session. The first days. The first week. The first year. The second me.