I’m watching Ken Burns: The War on Netflix. I used to think that Netflix was kind of a flash in the pan, but the amazing value in seeing these documentaries on demand is astonishing. There are glimmers of hope, green shoots, in a rotten world. I’m thinking that Americans these days are just all running from something. Hopefully, they’ll at least reach a point where they stop running and start reconsidering things. We’ll see. Who knows. As for me? Well, I was born to write not to run. I don’t really like running. Maybe it’s those really heavy Taurus horns I gotta carry around.
When I jumped off the gangplank about a year ago and set about building the modern American trans-life, I thought it would be something to be proud of. Now, let me explain. I’m proud, but when you start a whole new life, you don’t have time for pride or sentimentality or mirrored praise. You just do. We are human (surprisingly huh?), and we are mostly doers. Some of us can rhapsodize and commemorate and etch the runes into stones, but most of life is just forward facing. We pull up memories when we need them, when utility fits, but not that many of us are interested in nostalgia. I’ve said it before, but the word nostalgia contains the greek root word for pain, so I don’t think it’s as carefree as Ice Cream on a Sunday. It hurts to know that we are always pushing forwards. Part of our soul wants to prop up that Chaise Lounge and just hang out here forever.
I don’t know if I’m a trans-american. I actually just neologized that right now while re-writing the title. I like it, though, as an expressive instrument. When you say you are trans-american, you hook two things together that are awfully complicated. I love and hate being American. I think it’s a fairly providential lot in life to be born here, as far as creature comforts and opportunities are concerned. But it’s all in the details. And just like African, Asian, Italian or whatever American, you can’t really choose that part. I didn’t choose my trans nature. It chose me. So, maybe that’s my new ID.
I’m Abbie Kathryn Pope, Trans-American reporting for duty.
5 of Wands. I must be a Pagan right? Or a Satanist? I didn’t pull the Devil card, so the deck knows that I’m not a Satanist, so I’m ok. Go back to your dining rooms people. Your dining rooms being filled with the gentle permeation of The Velvet Fog, Mr. Mel Torme. Nothing could be….
So, this card represents tension and conflict and teamwork and strife and the glorious agony of victory! (sorry Howard Cosell). Where might this conflict lie? Hmm, well all around us. LGBT volk being pinata’d at the Republican Convertion in Tampa. Check! Of course they use a veil of shadows by saying “traditional marriage” and “sanctity.” Well, the media buys it so, it must be working.
I got some zeal today. I won’t say where. I dare not say! hrm. I’m in the business of saying. I am a professional soothsayer (btw, what is a sooth? Oh it means truth??). Well, I am a professional soothsayer then! I need a button or lapel pin or something. Can I get a team of stylists like Lady Gaga? Is it passe to make LGG references already? I don’t know.
I think if I had a team of stylists, the best I could get is a trainee from Supercuts and an art school dropout. I live in LA, so art school dropouts are kind of everywhere, like tribbles.
Back to the deck!
The Seven of Pentacles! Uh oh. Those kind of look like pentagrams! I saw that on the news in the 90’s where there was this Satanist cult and… WITCH!!! WITCH!!!
I actually have some ancestors from circa 1620 that founded the city of Salem and may or may not have contributed to some good old fashioned witch hunts. Not the crappy blair witch stuff us modernistas are used to, but good, old-fashioned crucible, multiple decibel, black and white clothing, witch hunts. No wonder I’m a self-hating WASP.
So this card is of a nicely appointed young lad. He looks like he gets his layers from American Apparel; they have the best leggings. And he basically has a money tree…lucky!!
This card is kind of an autumn card. It’s all about harvesting your crop. Of course the crop isn’t always super awesome though. So this card can also be about being disappointed. If your money tree is underperforming, I think you really need to rethink your priorities. You have a fucking MONEY TREE!! He looks like he’s lost in thought too. Thinking about the cute salesman at American Apparel who helped him pick out that perfect shade of blue (We had the same color!!!). Or he’s thinking about all of the strife from the previous card. The blowhards at the Sticks-R-Us that he works at are such turds. He just wants to go home, put on his blue leggings and tend to his money tree. Ah the life of that guy.
Ahh, the High Priestess. I think she is high. For sure! This looks like one of those cards they snap and pass out in Vegas, the ones with the nudey pics on them. “Would you like to sleep with the High Priestess?” I mean she has the letters B & J on each side, and there is a black and white column on each side. I don’t think I need to lead you all down the sordid path to glean the meaning of this lady.
She actually would just probably read your tarot and leave you alone in Medieval Vegas. Thou wouldst be mightily let downeth.
Well that’s all for tonight children. Go to sleep and know that tomorrow is another day to muddle through the mud mired maw of mostly meek misters and merry misses.
Group Three (G3) is composed of natal males who identify as female but who act and appear normally male. We can hypothesize that prenatal androgenization was sufficient to allow these individuals to appear and act normally as males but insufficient to establish a firm male gender identity. For these female-identified males, the result is a more complicated and insidious sex/gender discontinuity. Typically, from earliest childhood these individuals suffer increasingly painful and chronic gender dysphoria. They tend to live secretive lives, often making increasingly stronger attempts to convince themselves and others that they are male.
I was totally repressed, married, capable of living a “male” life, but really, really depressed and lost. When I discovered my true self and let down the walls and barriers, what was at the bottom was a total surprise. That’s just because I was a master of hiding and dissembling and distracting people.
Living while trans. “Living” while trans. I know we are all great at denial. I don’t want to say we are lying experts, because we obfuscated ourselves after years of abuse, from peers, parents, TV, books, movies, magazines, pastors. Our lives were a burning, bright, scalding wash of "you are wrong."
I was one of the last ones. I knew I was gender variant, but I didn’t know I was trans. I knew I was bisexual, but that never brought me happiness. Only when I accepted it fully did I get happiness from these things. Before that, they were just abstract concepts. Also, they did bring me the Eureka! moment when I accepted them for the first time, but because I never fit in with the Straight or Gay folks, I got more discouraged than a Lion in a crappy zoo.There is a darkness that we live through. I’m really guessing, because I haven’t been in the head of other trans folks, but I’m guessing they struggle with finding a solution. Some are finding out young these days. Some just know from a young age, and I guess it’s better. Some know at a young age but just cram it down into the recesses of their injured brains. Some just never know, because they started cramming so early.
Providence helped. I believe this. Not a born again providence, or any stereotype, just a simple faith that things would be ok. I guess when I first took those steps and things got way, way better, I knew in my heart that when I stepped onto the invisible bridge like Indiana Jones, I would be ok (OK, cheesy metaphor, sue me, lol).
We’re all going to be ok, the hollow “men” and the hollow “women.” Then, you will be filled and full and not be hollow, but a man or a woman.
I’ve been on a journey now for about a year. Let me see, I know a few things about the gods and goddesses. Apollo woke every morning to ride the chariot sun across the sky. Diane the moon goddess, my one google check, ok, done, let me start over.
The moon is almost full, and I’m cleaning up my room and doing laundry. For various reasons the moon has haunted my soul over the past few weeks or so. I’m not going to go into the myopic detail on that, but it has, and it is.
So here I am, approaching a full moon. The animals, the pets around me are acting foolishly. Well, not foolishly, but more so as if the volume is being turned up on the sensory tingles that rattle their eyes, ears, nose, mouth, brain, soul. The volume is increasing. When the volume increases, two things can happen. Either your soul grows great and fast, sliding in phase with the increasing noise, or the noise becomes a cacophony of interruptions. Like someone who is constantly turning around to follow the sounds that haunt around his being, this reaction is best described as paranoia.
So, where am I going with this? OK, so I’ve laid out a few bits and pieces of percepts, precepts, concepts, ideas, and all that like. Let’s get there.
The moon is pulling on my soul. The animals are pacing, neurotically. I’ve got a feeling that the something that some thing has been wanting and waning for is about to be here. It’s been a year. It’s been a long, long year. But length is not always a dangerous, sad thing. It’s been a year.
Sure, this all sounds rather mystical, I’m sure, but isn’t that the point? Do we really want to read something that is just what we expected to read? Don’t we want to be challenged? Why else would you put this post in your brain and let it simmer if not to understand some new thing or feeling or revelation.
I’m transgender. I was born male. Like a butterfly larva, I metamorphosed into this. I’m special. We, the transgender people, are all special. They don’t want us to know that, but it’s true. We are a different type. Yeah, we are normal people, but we know we’re different and special. Not better, well maybe. Maybe better because we’ve embraced ourselves.
Us transgender people down through history have always had that power of the moon. I know right now that some of you are asking in your heads “what power?” But some of the readers, the special ones, are just nodding in understanding. We know who we are.
I made it up against your rocks. I broke the banks and let the seamen flounder there. You pathetic men, your challenge was supposed to be hard. But now, the sissy’s outwitted the gang of you all.
You said, women can’t handle this! No, the bitch is lame, and limp! that stupid tit-proud paramour. Only manly men of Oxford swindled pride can cross this gap!
Here! Here! Here! Man! Men! Man!
So sweetly I did go. I had the frame of many men, and quick with surreptitious stoles around my eyes, I learned. I worked in darkness thinking. The sprites of the night fluttered up my senses, so that I could go on. Here I was, a sheep in wolf’s clothing, working daily taming all the lout’s petty challenges.
From all the pompy, stompy, I’m a manly man of fire! bleats, you’d think that man was the super and not the other way around.
But, please…I did it. I carried the flag and ran through the torment. I, she, made a good he.
When you are running through life at the speed of mud, and the world is laughing at you, what do you seriously do? I remember when I was young, I had a recurrent dream. I was racing with a group of boys (I think it was boys; they could have been Predators, who knows), and I couldn’t move my legs, and I would have to start crawling. I would pull and scramble with the grace of a one legged dog with arthritis. I couldn’t keep up, and to a young boy, this was not acceptable. It would come back every now and again. It was not a pleasant dream. I don’t even know if I had pleasant dreams back then.
I wish someone would have told me that I didn’t have to run the race, that I could just wait at the start line. I wish someone would have told me that I didn’t have to compete with them. I wish someone would have said that you can act however you want to act. I wish a lot of things for my youth.
Now I’m 32. I wish I could say that I’ve figured out the whole race thing. I haven’t. Life still says “run, damnit!” I think I should move as far away from that starting point as far as I can get. I think it just moves with you. I don’t really know. I know that the fucking race is “all in my head…” I know that the race is “metaphorical…” I know that the race is “just an illusion” and “you’ve made such great progress this year!”
I don’t have that dream anymore. Maybe it became too painful, and I covered it up by wearing a pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt. That sloppy, ugly uniform covered up a lot. It covered up my “metaphorical” scars. It covered up the pain that was “all in my head.” The life that I wanted to live was “just an illusion.” All the time, when I was morose “for no reason” or couldn’t get out of bed, people would say “you’ve made such great progress this year!” People say what they want to see. They don’t say what they see. Really, we know now that people really “see” what their brains think that they should see anyway. There is a blinding, overwhelming blizzard of sensory data, and the brain says “I’ll take one of these and one of those and two of these, ahh! objective reality!”
I saw what I wanted to see too. I wanted to see a tall, handsome boy then man. I wanted to see a sufficiently athletic model of a very modern major general. I wanted to see a success in the business world. I wanted to see a winner of the “metaphorical” race.
So your brain keeps filtering like a magic Britta pouring crisp, clean water from the sky. Until it is overwhelmed by confusion and loss and pain and the holy spirit of giving up. You sit on a park bench with your brain while feeding the ducks, and your brain says “so what’s the deal? I’m doing what you wanted and wished for.” You keep feeding the ducks as the sun starts to dwindle behind the greedy horizon. You keep feeding the ducks as the witching hour makes you strain to see your “friend” on the bench next to you. You keep feeding the ducks until they leave to fall asleep.
Where is that one point where your scale, which is ridiculously weighted to the side of cis-reality, reaches a balance and then tips the other way. You can’t even see what’s on the other side. It’s just air, but it overwhelms the “cis side,” and you even press on the “normal” side to keep it from tipping. You hold your hand there until your hand starts shaking. You hold your hand there until the strain starts to make you grimace like the poor skinny gay guy on a real world/road rules challenge. You hold your hand there until you pass out.
When you wake up, and it is morning, and the sun, this time, kicked the horizon’s ass and started running its own race across the sky, you look at the scale. All of the weights that held the “I’m going to be rich and famous and normal!” side are gone, and the scale is perfectly balanced in the middle. This really doesn’t make sense to your “I just slept on a park bench because I’m an idiot” brain. But what the hell, so it is.
When you get up to walk away, you notice something different about yourself. You notice a lightness in your step. You look down at your khakis and polo and think “these clothes make me want to vomit up in the sky and have it come down and smack me in the face.” When you walk, you have a bit of swing in your stride. You notice you are smiling. You start singing some silly song that is “kinda gay.” You feel happy, and you think you know why.
When you finally tell the world that the world is full of shit, and you just want to live your life like you control your nightmares and can just walk away, the pain starts to sublimate. You kind of think that everything is going to be “alright from now on.” Even the path in front of you kind of looks golden and bricky. But, Dorothy skipped down the road away from the Munchkins, and she stopped skipping when that bitch of a witch came to stop her.
When you tell the world to shove it, at first the world says “ok, you win, you’re right, be yourself.” Then the world reverts back to its normal, ignorant, hateful self, and starts to swoop in to stop you “my pretty!” But, just look at the world and say “you’re just a metaphor” and “you’re all in my head,” and finish with “you’re just an illusion.” Watch that horrible bitch of a world start “melting, Melting, I’m MELTING!”
I was watching a live screening of Mystery Science Theater 3000 last night at our local movie theater, and it was hilarious, definitely. But there were a few transphobic jokes about men in dresses. It’s really an odd experience to have a whole theater of geeks and generally really cool people laughing at you (indirectly). I know they are probably from a different generation where gay and trans jokes were thrown around willy-nilly (fun word eh?). Anyway, the comedy was so neutral and unbiased that I really didn’t care, and I had a great time. I guess I pass pretty well, so it’s kind of like people making fun of your profession or religion before they know that about you.
Anyway, down with those fascists! How dare they take risks in comedy. Tar and trans-chicken feathers for them! I’m going to fucking kill Tom Servo! Well, disassemble anyway…
I don’t really write many over the top, semi-comedic posts anymore. It’s such a shame! I think the drain of transitioning has led me to a phlegmatic (haha like that one?) state. Basically, I’m calmer than I used to be. When I was battling everyday, I had a reason to get fired up. I need an enemy! or a frenemy.
We work our asses off to get to this state, and it looks like Valhalla through the mists as a mirage. Then when we get here, we realize we are female or male, and we get to live a boring life of satiety, unless we create some new Valhalla to chase. I need a new Valhalla. I need a new muse. Honestly, I’m turning a corner on being mired in the morass of conflict with certain people, and I think all is smooth sailing from here on out (haha, I’m really nuts).
Meetup.com seems like a great resource for us Transfolk to be able to connect. And a bizarre thing about LA is that I can’t find many support groups! I thought we would be crawling with them like reformed, patient, connected roaches. No, there are no calm, roaches who are in support groups to deal with the genocide they experience. None at all.
Hey, I feel better! More jokes and yuks!
I want to know something about FTM. Is there a derogatory term for trans men like tr***y? It just popped into my head the other day. I don’t know if there is. Hmm.
Also, can trans men compete in professional sports, because technically they are taking a performance enhancing drug, Testosterone. So many questions! I really need to stop thinking like a dog on crack at a petting zoo.
Well, it’s Friday! Time to relax. No not really. I’ve done too much of that lately.
I think this page is great for some hair tips for trans women. I’m planning on getting extensions soon (I wear clip in extensions, but they are kind of a pain, except for curling). I think I’m going to go with some semi-bangs on top that sweep to the side. And I’m going to have a length of just past the shoulders.
The above is from the website FeminizationSecrets.com which is a good resource. There isn’t a ton of information, but it is good info for how to add the little things that make you pass more (if that’s your thing) and feel more feminine. My philosophy is learn one or two things a week and experiment with them. Put on makeup and then wipe it off and try again until you really like it. I might do a video someday about my makeup.
Of course Susan’s Place is a great site for a whole mess of info. Also the Transgender Roadmap is what I read early in my transition. The second one has info on just about every subject that you can think of. Both of these sites are a bit dated, but they are a great starting place. The message boards on Susan’s Place are very active too.
I’ll add some more later. Gotta get back to work :P
It’s incredibly difficult to start over after being kicked out of your old life. I can see why it works so well for cults :). Also, when you are transgender, life can be, well, we know.
I’ve been looking over my posts in the last 3 months or so, and I definitely have a rhythm to my posts. I tend to go in cycles. I don’t always have the urge to post, and sometimes I feel this responsibility to write big, meaningful posts. I know that is just my personality, but I have to relax for awhile after hitting the blog hard :).
I started Yoga. I have a feeling it will be really good for getting the stress I’ve stored up forever out of my body. I believe that negative emotions can hide in the body, well at least for me. I think it’s also just meditative. I’ve been working on my deep breathing.
Also, I really have to work on having a more healthy life. I’m not just talking about food and exercise, although those do matter. I’m talking about building a new, meaningful social life. Los Angeles can be a little alienating in that respect. Well, it is where I live.
I’m going to see RiffTrax, “Manos the hands of fate” tonight. It’s a live version of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I’m excited about it. It will be a welcome diversion.
I’m nearing my “cake day” or my year anniversary of starting my transition. Honestly, I think I was much busier earlier on in the transition, and now I have to figure out what to do with myself except be bored. Has anyone else had this experience?
I’ve always said I wanted to write this blog to “give back.” I think it gives back to me quite a bit though. I hope so, or else I am quite the altruist, and I don’t know if that’s true. I do think I will look back at it later in life as a record of my transition.
God, Allah, Buddha, Yahweh, Higher Power, Emptiness bless all.
I don’t want to sound like some kind of know it all, but I love answering questions from people and sharing what I’ve learned. This process sucks without the right information. Just click on the little ‘ask’ at the top. Have a great Monday!
just a quick FYI "transgender" is an umbrella term used for people who dont conform to their birth sex gender norms. Transexual is used to refer to people who have a desire or are undergoing a transition to the other sex. (for example, transgender includes crossdressers, genderqueer and transexuals)
Yeah, transgender can mean transsexual, but it can also mean no-op or pre-op gender variant people. Transsexual usually means you have had bottom surgery, IMHO. The whole thing is a bit of a semantic mess, and I prefer transgender too, btw.
Hi. Where do I even begin in asking this. I've been following your blog ever since I came out as a transgender about a month ago. I know I have a hell of a long way to go. My biggest problem right now is that I have no clue where to even begin. I've come out to my family doctor and friends, (I'm not ready to come out to family yet) I have no idea what drugs to ask for, or if I need therapy. My doctor says its not a requirement. I just need... Help.
First! Relax… There is no progress through fear and confusion. I know that sounds like a preachy load of bullshit, but it’s a hard road, and you need to be calm about it. There is an end to it, though.
OK, so, you definitely need to find a therapist. Do you live in a small town or bigger city? There will be resources available to you through professionals like therapists and endocrinologists. If you can find one of each, I would make appointments. Just remember that there are good professionals and lousy professionals, so if you can’t find a good one that you trust right away, keep looking.
Also, your doctor doesn’t really know what he or she is talking about. Most doctors, outside of endocrinologists, don’t know dick about TG people. You should look for support groups too. This is something I should tell to myself too! Because I don’t always seek help from other people.
Transsexual Road Map is kind of dated, but it has a lot of great information for people like too. I consumed everything the internet had to offer when I started to transition. They should also have some good links to other sources of information.
I would be careful coming out to your family too fast. You don’t want to set yourself back if you live at home. You’ll find the right time to tell them, unless they are total homo/transphobes. If you have more questions, let me know!
Living in California is better than some, most places for a transgender person. The whole world is Mississippi, even for the lucky. For the worst, I’m not sure where they live, but I don’t really want to imagine it. We are a bastard people. But we survive.
It took me a decade of living in an open manner to realize who I am. I didn’t really know what transgender was, but when I started to open the door to cross-dressing. (I’m watching an interview right now with Fred Phelps, paster of the Westboro Church, kind of a funny juxtaposition). Oh my, the hate. A bastard people.
We are separated on purpose. Don’t think your loneliness is natural. It is artificial and man-made. They want you to be lonely so that you will hate yourself.
I was thinking today while suffering a sinus infection in 105 degree California heat, and I started thinking about a fact that I heard from a prominent Transexual surgeon in this video interview. I use “transexual” over the usual transgender because when it comes to surgery that’s really what they are changing, sex.
So Dr. Sherman Leis states, and I’m paraphrasing, that 40% of transgender people attempt suicide, and 70% consider suicide. After transitioning, this drops to normal levels for society. If this isn’t a mental health wonder treatment, I don’t know what is. Just tell people this figure, and hopefully they will see that the numbers don’t lie. Trying to inform people about brain structures can go over their heads, from my experience.
So, I’m sweltering in the heat with a sinus infection. I don’t know if I’m at normal levels for society, but it sure ain’t 70%! ;)
Sometime today, I won’t say at what time, but this is just to be coy, I became very angry and sad. It was if sadness had been trapped in the recessed undulations of my brain, and a thought, action, or memory stirred it just enough to release all of that buried emotion in a violent muted rage.
I keep it in, I guess. I trap those emotions like any other emotion I learned to trap since I was 3 or 4 or 15 or whatever. I create these cellars of darkness and kidnapped memories, and the lock that holds them in is made of censorial denial. Ignore it, and it will go away. Distract yourself when you start to wander into the corners of your cephalic mansion.
I’m in need of some contact information for legal services and assistance relating to divorce and/or custody. I don’t know if there are any organizations that offer such assistance, but I’d love some help in the matter if possible.
I don’t always talk like a woman. At work, I can be more self-centered and posturing than is expected of a woman I suppose. I wonder where I picked that up? Oh yeah, men.
For example, today I changed a sentence from “I used that in my last job” to “I created that in my last job.” I know women say this stuff, but I kind of feel like an ass when I say it, and I have no problem with that, lol.
I was going to get a nice, neutral picture for this post, but every picture about Obamacare is paranoid, semi-racist histrionics. No wonder people are so brainwashed. Just search for pictures with “obamacare” as the search. OMG. It would make Geobbles jealous. Sigh…
I guess I decided to be honest about a year ago. Now, I’m much more honest, for better or for worse. We all say how we value honesty, but honestly, nobody cares about honesty these days. It’s all a big ball o’ deceit. A conceit of deceit so to speak. The politicians dissemble. Mitt Romney is such a bald faced lier. Compared to Romney, Obama is as forthcoming at George Washington.
Anyway, us transgender people are generally forced to be honest. I guess that’s why I like us so much. It’s why my life is a million times better than it used to be. I don’t have to carefully craft my existence according to the expectations of other people. I’m not stupid; I still lie. I’m human. We lie to survive. If there is a completely honest person in the world, they are probably not being treated very well.
I guess I’m jaded. It’s not difficult to be jaded when going through this process. I’ve lost so much, although I’ve gained the world.
Here’s to honesty! OK, I’m lying. Fuck honesty. I lied there too.
I have entered the metaphysical realm and returned with a chotchkie for ye all. Your trans-tarot for the day is the Queen of Pentacles. On to the meaning!
The Queen of Pentacles is like the big hearted grandma that everyone in the neighborhood loves. She is full of compassion and understanding. She’s also wise and practical. If you have a problem, you go to the QoP. She is grounded and loyal. She is a really good friend. She is most definitely awesome.
I have a few people like this in my life. Without them, I would be, well, I would be in trouble. I hope to be this kind of person some day, and I’m working on it. I’m sure I get it right occasionally, but that’s about it.
May ye all take the spirit of this Queen with you throughout the week. Let your fairy godmother protect you, so to speak. Have a magical, wonderful week.
I realized something today. A good number of the trans people I interact with on the Internet and in person have a therapist. Since it’s kind of mandatory to receive treatment and get SRS, we sit on a couch and have someone tell us how wrong we are :).
Maybe this is why we are such a cool group of people. Seriously, I kind of love transgender people. Maybe it’s just because I am one, but we tend to have a cool, calm demeanor about us. It’s probably from years of having the dark side of reality shoved in our faces, but when we move forward, at least we’re not naive and oblivious.
Here’s to suffering, and how it makes people more interesting!
So, I joined a ritzy gym because I have a work credit for health and fitness. My company is rad. It was the last day to use it, so I went for the super impulsive. I want to lose some man-muscle and fat, and I also want to get off my lazy ass. Perfect! Well, so then I have to go to the gym and be social…that’s fine. Nobody there knows I’m trans, well not that I know of :). First, I have to learn the fine art of female fitness atire. I have zero experience with this except for working out on my own outside of the gym. Gyms are awesome at making people just self-conscious enough to have to rethink the obvious. I can go to the gym in any old thing I can find, but yeah, that’s not me. I am a vain woman to say the least.
OK, so I kind of figured the first part out. Some leggings and a t-shirt. However, my clothes aren’t “wicking,” OMG! I’m going to be a big ball of sweat! Nah, that didn’t happen. I think I can learn from my Mom on this one; she’s a no nonsense worker outer, and she don’t need no stinking “wicking” fabric to work out!
I’ll probably still get some clothes that “wick,” LOL. BTW, when fabric is “wicking,” I guess water (ie. sweat) evaporates faster which leaves your clothes dryer.
So, what about tucking. Hmm, this is tricky. When you’re “stealth,” you are hyper aware of that area. Even though nobody is looking at it. I think the standard rules apply here: a gaff or two pair of panties. Wow, I am getting pretty personal. Gotta go into innuendo mode…
Well, enough about the bits and pieces. Just make sure that the boys are all tucked into bed (ok that was a weird metaphor).
Anyway, fitness and tone go a long way in transitioning to female. Plus, they can help your mental attitude. For FTM guys, this is probably doubly true. Putting on muscle can help your “passability” quite a bit. Plus, you got all that T coursing through your veins to help out.
Back to the ritzy gym. They have free towels, free filtered water, cold, wet towels, free classes, free trainers, a juice bar, and it goes on. It is waaaaayyy overpriced for sure, and the money is probably better spent somewhere else, but after this year, I deserve the hell out of it. Oh, and everyone that works there remembers your name. Eat that, Cheers!