A Tale of Two Plane Rides

As I wrote about in my last post, I am not a big fan of androgyny, or more precisely, my presenting  androgynously.  Over the past few weeks, I I've begun to rethink this, at least a little.  On my recent trip to Seattle, I flew home as Liz on the way home, and I described the less-than-earth-shattering results here. 

On the way out, however, I was fairly androgynous in my presentation, without being over-the-top.   I was wearing my women's coat and a pair of baby-blue New Balance sneakers, and I carried the bag

I did NOT look like this guy

that my wife refers to as a man purse.  I was pleased, and felt relaxed ... I was at home with myself, and though there might have been some raised eyebrows, I didn't see them.

On the way back, I was full-on Liz, and felt, what?  Somewhat nervous and afraid of being read, though I don't think I was. I was aware that I was Liz, and that I had to be on my guard, thinking about voice and movement.  I went to the bathroom and panicked when I saw how bad my face looked in the horrible, convinced that I was surely read by everybody I came across, and that I was being laughed at--or worse!--behind my back.  When I got to more normal lighting, I saw that it was fine, and my paranoia had simply been working overtime.

Which of these experiences is more positive?  Which did I enjoy more?  As Liz, I reveled--as usual--in being "one of the girls," sharing in that easy camaraderie with other women. smiling at each other knowingly, etc.  But at the same time, there was an underlying sense of unease at the thought of discovery, as remote as the chance might be.

When I was androgynous, there was none of the anxiety, but none of the camaraderie either.  I was able to express femininity without the worry of discovery.  I felt relaxed and with no worries, but I did not that special satisfaction of being perceived and treated as a woman.

Two different flights, two different experiences.  Although on balance, I would rather be entirely Elizabeth, anxiety and all, androgyny allows expression of my dual nature when I can't be completely Liz.  Hopefully, I can move toward a more day-to-day mixing.  Can I do this on a regular basis?  Will it help me to feel more at ease, more complete?

I don't know, but I'm on the journey to find out.  Film at eleven.

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

Elizabeth's Excellent Adventures -- The Search for Coffee

I love coffee houses. I do. There is nothing more relaxing than to sit in a comfortable chair, reading and sipping a good cup of coffee. After my last, abbreviated foray into Birmingham, I checked out a couple of likely places in drab -- places that seemed like they'd be at least a little more welcoming to a t-person than the local neighborhood Starbucks.

The first was a bookstore/coffee shop named "Books, Beans and Candles," which bills itself as "Alabama’s largest Metaphysical Coffee shoppe."  I'm not certain there are any other metaphysical coffee shoppes -- or shops, for that matter -- in Alabama, given that the state is not known for its embracing of neo-pagan ideals.  Nevertheless, I found out about this place through safe2pee.org, which maintains an ever-growing database of unisex and family restrooms.  And along the way, in the notes section, it has at times
interesting and useful tid-bits.

Interaction, the Sequel

As I headed back last month to Somewhere in West Alabama, down through Atlanta and Oxford and Talledega, I wanted more . . . I'd begun to scurry to those way-points along my journey and gobble them up.  Out in broad daylight:  check.  Interaction with another human being: check.  It had been a great couple of days but I, typically, wanted more.

So I get out my little camera, and my mini-tripod, and stop at the Welcome Center on I-20, just  inside the border of Alabama (motto: what we don't understand we beat the crap out of), and snap a couple of pics.  Well, more than a couple, actually ... but I don't go into the women's room, and I have to go, you understand, but see the motto above.

But I want more, more you understand, so -- and this is going to sound really silly for those of you for whom it's old hat -- I decide another drive-by interaction is in order, this time (gasp!) in broad daylight.  So I pull into a Burger King parking lot.  And dither.  And slather on a more makeup, trying in vain to hide the pores on my chin.  And then I dither some more.

Interaction

Creature of the night?

One of the things I've never done a lot of -- make that any of, really -- is interact with folks as Lizzy. And that is what I crave: to be able to go out casually, in broad daylight and be ... me.  But as we all know, that is easier said than done.  When I get near others, my heart freezes and I fight a (usually losing) battle to (a) turn my head (b) turn around or (c) all of the above.   So, on my recent cross country trip from Somewhere In Western Alabama to Somewhere in Northern Georgia and back (detailed beginning here) I was determined to interact while I looked like how I feel inside.

It began, as do so many of our adventures, in the dark ... after indulging in the t-girl ritual of Photos at the Hotel (see some of them here), I got in the car to fill up its tank.  Of course, this was in Somewhere in Northern Georgia, in the roots of the Southern Appalachians, so it was cold, and I didn't have sweater one, so I stood shivering in my capris and tee, filling the gas tank, hoping that some roving gang of teen-aged hoodlums didn't read and/or harass me.

Travels With Lizzy: The Road Home I

The things we do to express who we really are.  On my recent cross-country trip -- well, my recent cross-two-state trip -- I was determined to return to Somewhere In Western Alabama the way I had come: expressing my better side.  Problem was, the check-out time at the motel was 11:00, but I had interviews until 12:30 or so.  Where was I going to change?