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.

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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!

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Ghosts in the Machine

So.  I've been out and about, as countless trans-picture albums put it, for a number of months, since mid-September, really.  And I have precious little to show for it, at least in terms of that tgirl currency supreme, the photograph.  That's because I'm always by myself, there is never anybody out there with me.  I visit coffee shops, malls, thrift shops, malls (and, uh, malls) all without noticeable incident -- one or two odd looks, maybe, but nothing ugly.  But setting up a tripod or asking a stranger to take a picture are not exactly ways to blend in, so I never do.

Once in awhile, I see other ghosts in the machine, other lost t-folk flitting amongst the civilians, and I wonder if they're as lonely as me?  I remember one poor woman, in the Salvation Army store, who kept her eyes straight ahead, never looking at anyone, never drawing attention to herself, and I wanted to say "I've been where you are, my friend, I understand."  But I didn't . . . I was in drab, and being approached by a strange middle aged man with a knowing look isn't conducive to ones equilibrium.  Although perhaps she guessed, as I was perusing the women's shoe section at the time.

Why do we do these things to ourselves?  Why do we isolate ourselves from the only ones who understand?  Fear is the key . . . fear of rejection, of exposure, of ridicule.  Fear that if we are exposed, we will lose everything, all we think we love and cherish, gone in one frightening second of recognition.  As Frank Herbert wrote, "fear is the mind-killer."  It's also the soul-crusher and the spirit slayer.  I salute those who have overcome it, who have come out in the face of terrible condemnation and been their true selves, and hope someday to join them.

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.

Bad blogger! Bad blogger!

I have been a baaaad blogger.  It's been almost two months since my last post. I just lost the motivation.  It was like, I'd start a post, then when it got to the point I needed to stop and think, to the point that I was at a momentary impassé, I would just give up.  I lacked the motivation to get back to it.

Part of the problem is that I have been diagnosed with adult ADHD, and one of the symptoms is that its harder to get motivated to get past the little roadblocks that crop up along the way.  Whenever a task arises that is unpleasant, we all have to work up the motivation to get over the "hump" of resistance that is created.  For people with ADHD, that hump is higher -- sometimes a lot higher.  And the symptoms of ADHD generally get worse when one is under stress, as I have during the past year over employment issues.

To compound the issue, I discovered over the Christmas break that I am clinically depressed, and probably have been for years.  This is not uncommon in ADHD-ers ... being perceived as a screw-up all your life wears on a person.  But in my case, I have the extra added bonus of a load of shame for being TG.  "Stuffing it," as my therapist puts it, hiding and burying part of me all these years tends to produce a profound depressive malaise.  As we all know, the rate of depression is much higher in trans-folk than in the general population.

Well.  As I write this, I am on my second day of anti-depressants -- a SSRI, if you must know -- and I am waiting to see if it works.  Which can take a month with this stuff, and that's speedy  With the originals, it could take months to work your way up to an effective dosage.  But this one goes to full dosage after a week, and then we'll see.

Another Good Thing

Yesterday, I said that the good thing about the Neil Patrick Harris flap is a funny headline in LGBTQ Nation.  Actually, here's another good thing:

A little education for the gay community, which sometimes seems to tolerate us only marginally better than society at large.  The original is here.

Poor Neil

That cute little 'ol thang

We've all heard of the Neil Patrick Harris kerfluffle by now ... on last Friday's Live With Regis and Kelly, NPH said the word "tranny" not once, but twice.  Here's how the web-zine On Top described it:

During a segment with Science Bob, Harris and host Kelly Ripa inhaled sulfur hexafluoride, refereed to as “helium's evil twin” by the scientist.

Harris received big laughs from the studio audience when he delivered the line, “It puts the lotion in the basket,” a reference to the transgender villain Buffalo Bill in The Silence of the Lambs.

“I've never sounded more like a tranny in my life,” Harris said after his voice retilurned to normal. “We can sound like trannies all the time. That would sound hilarious.”

Yes.  Hilarious.  To sound like trans-women desperately trying to make their voices right, so they don't get beat up or worse, is a barrel of laughs.  Or to associate the psychopath from Silence with the transgendered one more time ...