Pajama party

Saturday was RCC. A fantastic party, and then eight(!) of us had a fun little pajama party back at the hotel room. Ok, so we didn’t really change into pjs, no one even took off any clothes, we just sat around and drank wine and champagne told funny stories and laughed our asses off. Sunday, Monday, I don’t remember. I think I mostly stayed home and was bored.

Ditched

Friday was Sisters. A great time at the Sheraton as usual, then we danced at Avalon, then I, um, left with a guy.

Writing January 30, 2008 now, I’ll tell more about that night. I was really quite reckless. A guy on the Avalon dance floor was rather taken with me and having lots of fun dancing with me. I was having a blast too because with a few months of practice at Rise club now under my belt, I was pleased with my own dancing, and for the first time in my life, I was feeling like I might just possibly be a better dancer than my partner. Dancing turned physical and we indulged in a couple of little make out sessions right there on the dance floor. I was also enjoying showing off my girl skills in front of my Sisters. They were kind of just doing the t-girl thing of dancing with each other as one group. We kept an eye on each other, of course. I imagined them envious of my ability to engage a male dance partner just like a “real” girl. In fact, they were worried for me because they perceived that my partner was high on some sort of drugs and didn’t know he was dancing with a transwoman and might possibly not like the idea if he knew what he was doing. I didn’t pick up on either. At one point he even had his hands in my hair and asked in puzzlement, “why are you wearing a wig?” I know, I’m an idiot. I had also been drinking myself, of course. I’m sure I brushed off his question with a coy smile and some cryptic answer.

At closing time, he wanted me. With a wild look in my eyes, I told my Sisters I wouldn’t be riding home with them and asked them to take care of my large tote bag that was in someone’s trunk. They said okay, then discussed amongst themselves and decided they had better caution me and advise me not to do this. They tried to catch up with me, but I was already gone, absorbed in the crowds flooding Lansdowne street as they spilled out of the closing dance clubs. In his car, my guy told me he lived in Brookline, and we headed in that direction. Somewhere along the way, we stopped in dark shadows of huge shade trees on a dead end residential street. I, um, gave him oral. At one point his fingers explored under the waistline of my skirt and he discovered my shapewear. He studied it for a moment and then went back to focusing on what was working. We finished and…the car wouldn’t start. Much frustration, and then eventually his roommates arrived with jumper cables. We got his car started.

I’ll never know, but it’s possible that while jumping the car, his friends said something to him like “Dude, I never would have imagined you with a tranny…” And it’s possible that with drugs wearing off, he finally put the puzzle together. It’s possible that at that point he decided to ditch me.

He drove for a bit, with his friends following, you know, to make sure his car was running ok, then we pulled over and he parallel parked between two cars on the street. “This is it” he said. “This is your place?” I paraphrased. He grunted. I waited for him to get out of the car first. He got out, closed his door, started to walk around to my side. I got out and closed my door. He jumped back in his side, started the car, and drove off, tires squealing and smoking. His roommates walked over to me, all of us looking at each other with wide eyes. They were concerned for me and asked if there was someone I could call, but they offered no explanation for his behavior, and extended no invitations themselves. My attitude suddenly turning to exasperation, I told them I wasn’t their problem and I walked out in the street and hailed a cab. I had cash. I could take care of myself. Safely home at, probably, 5am or so, sobering now from the experience.

Gender Genie

I need to document a couple of changes occurring simultaneously here. First, as mentioned, I’m full time now, and second, I’m suddenly poor. This is a result of court last week. Alex was one of the people I had told about my court date so he wanted to hear the outcome. “They ordered me to be female–poor, that is” I texted him. So I’m going to have to adjust to going out clubbing much less, drinking much less, going out for expensive dinners much less, and spending less on clothes and such. The drinking thing will be good. I haven’t had a drink in a week or so now, and I’m not missing it at all. Maybe I’m not an alcoholic after all? Really it’ll all be good for me. I’ll like cooking more rather than going out, and my roommate Al will like me better for living closer to his austere lifestyle.

Part of being full time is that in a sense, I’ve arrived. “Dressing” for me is now what it is for most of the population–getting up in the morning and putting on clothes for the day. Going out in public is being normal and boring. So one question is what am I writing about here? I heard one TS recently say that it would be absurd for her to journal everything she does every day because it’s all the boring stuff of life like going to the grocery store and stuff. I’m kind of there myself now. Do I keep documenting all this boring stuff? I think I will to some extent. I think much of what I’ve been documenting here has been boring all along, just mixed in with the far more interesting chronicles of my insane social life over the last few months. My purpose in writing wasn’t initially for the entertainment of URNA readers, it was for me, to document changes in my life. I think I’ll stick to that if nothing else.

I’ll write here from some notes I made on Monday. I was in the middle of an observing run then, sleeping during the day and being awake at the telescope at night. This the day that Tom from the boat house had said I should go watch rigging class, so I’d set my alarm for 4:30 pm. I woke up on my own an hour before that and made myself lie there and doze to try and be as rested as possible for the night. The alarm went off, I got up, dressed quickly, and got to the boat house on time for the class. Tom was right, the instructor was good. It was Keith, whom I remember sitting with at lunch on the work day just before opening day this year. (See? I should remember him from three years of sailing before, but I don’t. I was such a basket case as a guy.) After class, I decided to splurge on pizza at Uno. While waiting for the pizza, I went outside to return a phone call to Erica. She was calling to just catch up on stuff with me, give me her new phone number, and find out what I’d been up to. I’m afraid she’s still suffering some jealousy. She was dying to ask me who I’d been seeing and who I had plans with in the near future, but at the same time she was catching herself, repeating “you know, I don’t need to know.” Poor thing. It’ll take time. I think she’ll be at RCC this weekend. That should be a really fun night. I think lots of fun people will be there and that it’s going to be a great party. While I was on the phone with her, I was surprised to see Craig Mitchell walking toward me on the sidewalk! We recognized each other and I held out my arms to give him a big hug. I was on the phone, he was going somewhere, so we just said hi and that it was fun to run into each other like this and, that was all. He walked on, and I went back to talking to Erica. But really, just how cool is Harvard Square? That a tranny, hanging out on the sidewalk outside a pizza joint, talking on her cell phone, could see one of the area’s best house music DJs, exchange hugs, and just, go on with life. Pizza was good. Yes, I drank diet coke instead of alcohol, and walked through Cambridge Common on my way to work as the sun was setting. Just out of being in a great mood, I called Deedee. We talked for a few minutes before she told me that she was with a client. Oops! At the office, I emailed Wendy with some plans for Saturday. I told her that I had a bottle of champagne (the one mentioned in my last journal entry) to contribute to the hotel room party. Also, reading emails there was a post from someone leading to a fun toy on the web (http://bookblog.net/gender/genie.php) that characterizes your writing as male-like or female-like. It’s fun, try it! I tried it on my URNA journal here, and, no surprise, it says I’m a girl. Later in the evening, Deedee called me back. Her client was gone, but I was busy with the telescope, so she had to put up with me setting the phone down every now and then to move the telescope. Mm, otherwise, I did post a reply to Kim. I’d met Kim at first event and just in the last day or two she had joined Sisters and made an introductory post. I don’t know, is this life boring? It’s still the life of a very new t-girl, all caught up in socializing with other t-girls.

A post I haven’t responded to yet is Sharon’s. Sharon asked on one of the mailing lists, “How come I don’t see more t-girls out in public?” She quickly got the obvious answers from others on the list. All the transitioned girls said “we’re there standing right next to you, but we pass and you don’t notice us.” All the closet dressers said “we choose not to go out in public and be ridiculed and humiliated” So that left me thinking about myself. I don’t pass completely, but I’m out there anyway. I guess that makes me pretty rare. I got me thinking that I am the public face of transgenders. What does the public see? Not the passable TSs, not the closet dressers. If they go to a drag show they see drag queens, if they’re on certain streets at night they’ll see prostitutes. But in the grocery store or in the office at work? It’s me. Coincident with Sharon’s post was an excellent thread debating the merits of gender therapy, the standards of care, and the real life test. Now, I have my therapist, but she’s not a gender therapist. I haven’t read the standards of care, I’m not doing any formal real life test in order to qualify for hormones or surgery, and yet, here I am going full time. How crazy is that? One of the arguments against the real life test is that it’s hazing. Forcing a person to go out in public in a non-passable state as a prerequisite for medical treatments to become passable is just wrong. But then my experience hasn’t been that bad. If fact, the reason I’m going full time is that I felt so well accepted while I was part time. This chain of thought led me to appreciate again the environment of Somerville, Cambridge, and Boston. Others have prepared the way for me and made these places accepting and welcoming. Cambridge and Boston have gender expression explicitly protected in their municipal codes. I heard recently that the reason Somerville doesn’t is that it was one of the pioneers in getting sexual orientation protected by municipal code, and that gender expression wasn’t even on the radar back then. Now we have new legislation introduced, 1722 at the state level and ENDA at federal level. The future is looking even brighter.

So I’m writing this up at work, and Gareth pokes his head in my office and says “I read your blog…” Oh-my-god. My face was beet red. I suppose I should get back to work…

Life is Good

First two days of work went just fine. Let me back up to the meeting yesterday. This was the meeting with people in my department for me to announce that I would be coming to work dressed. A few of them knew already, for a few it was a complete surprise. I explained the minimal stuff I thought people needed to know, and there was lively discussion and questions, and in the scheduled 30 minutes it was all over.

During the meeting I explained that I planned to come to work as Sonia for the first time in one week, following a directors meeting where directors would be notified. I learned then, that the directors meeting had already happened, so I said “well then, I’ll just be in tomorrow as Sonia.” But then…I ended up going home for lunch and so thought, “why not, I’ll just start today!”

Home, Al fixed lunch for me as a gift, I changed and did about 10 minutes of makeup, and was back at the office as Sonia. At lunch time, I was thanking Al for lunch, and telling him how sweet it was and that it was first gift–probably my only gift–and then I joked that what I’d love is a bouquet of flowers. I about died then when I got back to my office to find–a bouquet of flowers! They were a gift from Lisa, the secretary.

Today was relatively uneventful. I guess I have just three stories. I had promised Nayla, the woman that handles our contracts, that I would stop by her office. I knocked and stepped in her door, and she just looked at me blankly at first. She didn’t recognize me. Later in the day, Nancy, the supervisor, brought me a bottle of champagne(!) And finally, a coworker from a different department came to talk to me today and was totally surprised. He had some silly question for me, so I’m suspecting that he was set up by someone else who thought it would be funny to surprise him like that. Anyway, he was cool with the surprise, and…that was it for the whole day! The day was otherwise totally routine.

Online, I got a ton of congratulatory emails. I haven’t answered but one or two of them. See? I’m doing a bad job of being a girl already!! (lol) I’ll catch up, I promise.

After work today I went to the boat house for a bit to watch another person teach rigging class. It was a cool gray weekday so there were just two people there for the class, besides the instructor and myself. They were all nice to me. A couple of regulars I knew were there and they were nice to me too. I texted Alex later, “life is good”

Home right after the boat house, I fixed dinner and went back to the office. I kind of needed to finish my day’s work. (Heh, so here I am working, hm?) I’ll go home in a bit and watch a late movie. The object is to stay awake as late as possible in preparation for observing tomorrow night.

I’m full time!

Yes, I’m still way behind on writing, but this news couldn’t wait. I’m full time now! I’m breaking all kinds of rules by updating my journal at work, but not by being dressed at work. Everything’s been discussed with everone, everyone’s been notified, so, here I am! I got hugs and kisses and congratulations from people, and when I got back from lunch there was a bouquet of roses for me. It’s a *really* happy day.

And, I hate doing this, but since I’m so far behind, here are my notes on what I should have written about:

More on Sunday: , Sheila, Terri from Fla, bubble bath, Jessica, phone, no trash.
Monday — MTPC, Flash’s, Ashley phone,
Tuesday — Uno male mode, Alex sleepover.
Wednesday — Eva, CBI, Miracle of Science, Middlesex, La Spina
Thursday — hesitant to go to Gender Crash, then went, Yuri’s night
Friday – Sisters, Xmortis
Saturday – sailing, new wig, Rise
Sunday – sleep, laundry, sleep
Monday – home at lunch time, Sharon
Tuesday – Court, Sharon, Alex, Johanna, Jessica, Dave, Work

Why are Sabrina and I the only ones who bothered to dress for Xmortis?

Wind

Early to bed last night let me be up on Easter Sunday to go sailing. The weather turned out to be rather harsh for sailing though. The temperature was right around freezing, there was ice on the dock, ice that didn’t melt all day–and one person coming in from sailing was telling how they were getting ice all over their sail because the spray was freezing when it hit. There was spray because the wind was just howling and the river was was solid whitecaps. Just the day before, when there was no wind, I’d complained as I signed up for a sailing class “is there going to be any wind tomorrow?” This day, I showed up for my class to have the instructor cancel it. “Am I crazy to want to go out in these conditions” I asked? “Yes, you are. Sorry, but I won’t teach in whitecaps like this” he said. Fine, I thought. If the instructor is afraid of sailing with me in a big keel boat, no worries, I’ll just go out by myself in one of the centerboarders, and that’s just what I did. So…I didn’t stay out long. It really wasn’t much fun, it was just surviving to prove that I could survive. I sailed for a while and came back in. During the time I was out, I think I may have been the only boat out. Oh, the biggest victory wasn’t just surviving, it was that my wig stayed on! I made sure the elastic was tight, I used a headband, bobby pinned it to the headband in three places, and just in case, tethered it to my bra strap. My silly hood wouldn’t stay up in the wind, but the wig stayed on just fine.

Like a good girl

After the salon, I went straight down to the dock in hopes of sailing. Sadly, there was no wind so I ended up just watching the sunset. Later in the evening, deciding against a late night at Rise, I went to Jacque’s, looking to see just how different the place is on a Saturday. It turned out to be really cool. I talked to a couple of regulars, including Jon from URNA. I think I’d met him just once before, at First Event, and that was just an introduction and nothing else. I recognized him though and thought it would be good to say hi again. We ended up having a nice conversation. It was cool to, like, hang out with a celebrity. At midnight when they closed, I hopped on on the train and came home like a good girl.

How did you burn your hair?

Saturday I had my first Sonia hair appointment! Here’s the post I just made to the Sisters email list:

Sonia Keys

Thu, Apr 12, 2007 at 2:40 PM

To: sisters_of_boston@yahoogroups.com

On 4/9/07, Mimi Lamour wrote:

> yes it was me that recommended Profiles hope it was fun. Tell us about it.

It took three trips. I stopped in on some random day and learned that I needed to talk to Bob, who would be in on Thursday.

I came back Thursday right after work (and therefore male-mode) and talked to Bob. He was very busy and a bit gruff. “Who told you I do wigs?” he demanded. We exchanged information quickly and he offered an appointment on Saturday afternoon. “What’s your name?” “Sonia.” At that, the looked up and glared at me. I made the appointment and left.

Saturday, I arrived as Sonia, and his manner was similar at first. “How did you burn your hair?” “Uh, uh, I didn’t…” I stammered. “Did you use a blow dryer?” “No.” “A curling iron?” “No.” “Did you try to iron it?” “No.” With my the pitch of my voice going up with each no, I finally squeaked out “I dance?” “That’s it” he said decisively. “Body heat and perspiration will do this.” I breathed asigh of relief with the culprit identified and the interrogation over, and with that, everything got easier.

He ended up cutting my “burned” wig for me, he gave me tons of tips, advice, and instruction, we talked about everything in the world, and, I just love this guy. I wish I had an excuse to go back! I’ll probably drop in again whenever I’ve bought a new wig, to show it off and see if he would have any styling tips for it. Oh, he ended up explaining that he has another client named Sonia and that he thought it was an unusual name, and so was startled that first time I told him my name. Mm, what else… I do recommend this place. They have several stylists and the place was very busy that day I was in. The brisk business they were doing says it all.