Somewhere Over Idaho

So I'm coming home from Seattle to Cincy, and flying as Liz for the first time. It is ridiculously easy. I debated whether or not to go through security completely dressed, but realized that I didn't have a bra without metal clasps, and I didn't want to get wanded (I have to remember to get a sports bra for next time). Instead, I put on foundation before I left the apt., with a sparkly blue tunic and leggings underneath my male khakis. In my carry-on, I put my forms, bling, a pair of comfortable flats, and the rest of my make-up. I went through security with no problems, and changed he rest of the way in the first uni-sex bathroom I saw. Easy-peasy.

The biggest problem is that I have an extra carry-on, besides my purse, and of COURSE, we flew out of D8, the absolute furthest D-gate at Seattle, and there was no people mover. And in Chicago, I have a tight connection with another long walk. Thank goodness for those comfy flats

A lots of trans-folk make a big deal of this. There's even an entire blog dedicated to the experience (which, don't get me wrong, I adore). The truth of it is that it is not as big a deal as we tend to make it; airport personnel have seen it all, and there are even TSA directives on how to treat trans-women *vis-a-vis* the whole body scanner issue (I wasn't scanned in Seattle, though I was in Dayton on the way out.)

The moral if my story? Though it was a thrill, it was also kind of ho-hum at the same time. If your're on the fence about "flying pretty," don't hesitate. Just do it.

Posted with Blogsy

Ghost No More

Geez Louise, it's been almost two years since the last post to this blog. During that time, I've moved (twice!) and changed jobs (only once). I've started to get out as Liz a lot more, and my skills at what Stana would call femulation have matured. I rarely get read any more, and when I do, it's more an uncertainty, like "there's something different about her, I wonder ..."

The thing is, it doesn't feel like emulation to me, whether with an 'f' or not. When I'm Liz, I feel like me, and when I'm my male self, I feel like me, too. Don't get me wrong, I don't feel like a born woman when I'm Liz, I have to be a bit careful in public, mindful of my "t's and q's." I guess what I do feel like is a trans woman. If I were to put a label on what I am, it would be dual-gendered, perhaps two-spirited, I don't know, but mainly just me.

Well. Reintroductions aside, I will be posting here again, general t-stuff, and over at my new blog, TransSpiration.org, where I'll write things of a more serious, spiritual nature. I hope you'll check it out!

Posted with Blogsy

On Christmas Shopping . . . For me.

Many trans folk like Halloween because it's the only time of year they can dress the way they want with no -- well, fewer -- questions asked.  Many like Christmas for a similar reason: you can buy clothing of your preferred gender without embarrassment or question.  It is possible to get real elaborate with it, too: the fake shopping list was always one of my favorites, and there's always the "she's just about my size ..."

I am convinced that most sales people are chuckling to themselves and thinking "yeah, sure ..." And the thing is, they really don't care, most of them anyway: after all, the more sales, the more secure their jobs.  That's one reason I've pretty much abandoned the practice of obvious excuses ... at fifty-something, I just don't care any more.  Heck, I don't have time to care.  So I'll go shopping for most things in male mode, especially things that a guy might buy for his wife ... shoes, tops, jeans, jewelry, almost anything.

Of course, here in the Bible Belt, you occasionally run into someone who objects on religious grounds and assumes -- correctly -- that you are buying for yourself.  You can usually tell when that happens, because a look of disgust crosses their face.  I had that happen one time at a J.C. Penney's in Birmingham, when I hauled a load of tops up to the plus-size register, and the cashier shot me a look that would freeze over hell.  Of course, it didn't help that they were all on 60% discount ... even the cheapest guy wouldn't buy gifts for his S.O. from the clearance rack.  More than once, anyway.

Elizabeth's Excellent Adventures -- Coffee Time, Part II

Ok.  When we last saw our intrepid explorer, her worst fear had apparently come true:  she had lost her keys somewhere.  And in my mind, I already was having to call a locksmith and one of two things would happen:

1. I would remain Liz, and endure ridicule and possible bodily harm when Bubba showed up to spring the car door, or
2. I'd call Bubba, then repair into the coffee-house bathroom, change into my drab other half, and wait for him to show up.  In front of the customers and baristas, who would know who I am in both incarnations, and I'd never be able to go back there again.

Before settling on door number 2, I decided to go into the coffee house and look around the comfy leather chair in which I'd been sitting, on the off-chance that the keys were there.  So I did: I walked over to the chair (thank goodness another customer hadn't since occupied it) and began to look around it on the floor, run my hands around the cushion edges, and etc.  One of the baristas -- the cute bald one with the neat goate -- asked what I'd lost, and I said, my keys, and he began to help me look.  Finally, I dropped down on my knees to look under the chair, and he proceeded to say: "Here, let me move it for you."

Elizabeth's Excellent Adventures -- Coffee Time

I'm not much into the club scene -- and have nobody to go with if I were -- and the quiet atmosphere of a good coffeehouse and a book relaxes me and allows me to decompress as few experiences can.  So simply sitting as myself, as Liz, in a coffeehouse and chilling had become something of a lodestone in my journey of, well, out-and-about-ness.  I was determined to do it on one of my weekly trips to my Birmingham therapist.  As I said in a previous post, I found what I thought was the perfect place: Forest Perk Coffee in the South Side area of Birmingham, and so last Tuesday, I was determined to go for it.

Once again, I was able to get ready at home, though I was determined not to take as long as last time.  In this I succeeded:  beginning at about 8:15 am, I applied my makeup (Maybelline mineral foundation, a sweep of blush, and a couple of coats of lippy) and my new auburn wig.  I chose -- after much less hesitation than last week -- a nice blue top over a white lace-trimmed cami, denim capris, and 10-dollar black flats from J.C. Penney.  Finally, I threw on a cardigan -- its finally gotten cooler here in Alabam -- and some jewelry, and I was out the door shortly before nine.  Not bad, not bad at all.

What I Didn't Do on Halloween

I didn't go out, that's what I didn't do.  My small-ish town and my position in it kept me from doing it.  I cannot even think of doing a poor job, and too many people would say the proverbial "Hmm.  He sure is good at it maybe that explains the long(ish) fingernails ..."  It is my firm conviction that people don't normally think "transgender" or "crossdresser" when they see single things like cleaned-up eyebrows or pierced ears singly, but when they see more than one, they can begin to put it together.  But maybe I'm wrong.

Given my circumstances, I don't know if I'll ever be all the way to "I don't care" as Meg puts it over on her blog.  I have to make a living, after all.  So for the moment, when it comes to Halloween, at least, I'll just have to go on living vicariously through others.

Sigh.

Motel Dreams

One thing we TG types do is decorate motels.  I mean, it's sad when we can't openly express our other side on a daily basis.  So a staple of many a transwoman's photo collection are pictures taken in various motel rooms, snapped on lonely trips away from her loved ones, standing in front of the door, or window, sitting on blandly-upholstered couches or posing provocatively on the bed.

For many, especially those toward the heterosexual crossdresser end of things, these are the only times they get to express their inner girl.  The resulting pics often have an undefinable desperation to them, as if this is it, as if they can see their entire career as a TG playing out in these rooms.

t-Spotlight -- The Lazy Crossdresser

I live Somewhere in the Bible Belt, and at the moment, anyway, I am not near a big market, where there are makeover places, trans-friendly bars, etc., etc.  So in my recent renaissance, I have had to find help online and via the mail.  There are many helps out there in the form of books, web-sites and specialty companies, and in this occasional feature, spotlight a resource that has been of particular help to me.

First up is The Lazy Crossdresser,  by Charlie Anders, the single most positive book on getting dressed and getting out that I've ever read.  Sure, it's got the word "crossdresser" in the title, but it applies to all trangendered who experience the paralyzing fear many of us feel at the thought of getting out and about as who we are.  Plus, he doesn't write crappy sentences like I do.

News You (might be able to) Use (9/14/2011)

Is it just me, or is the rate of violence against trans-people on the rise?   I sincerely hope not, but it sure looks like it.  Diana, over at her little Corner of the Nutmeg State, reports that "Washington DC is becoming a place of death for us," and tells us about the third group of assaults on transwomen this summer in that city.

Meanwhile, the most high-profile case has been resolved.  Sort of:  the teen who pleased guilty to beating a transwoman in a Rosedale, MD McDonalds was sentenced to five years in prison, plus three of supervised probation.  The maximum sentence for such a crime is 35 years, but the 19-year-old woman had no previous record, and tearfully apologized in court.