New Year Message

The last two years around this time I have sent a mass emailing to all of my internet friends, saying happy holidays, and giving them an update on my life.  I don’t have the energy for that this year.  Instead, I’m just going to post my message on various sites and hope that lots of my friends stumble on to it at some point.  In a post last month, I listed off lots of these sites.  I’ll list again here the sites where I’m posting this message.

• Crossdressers.com (in “Writer’s Society” forum)
• Drag Watch (blog entry)
• Facebook (wall note)
• Hi5 (journal entry)
• MySpace (blog entry)
• MySpace For T-Girls (blog)
• Susan’s Place (in PMS zone!)
• TransSpace (blog entry)
• URNotAlone (journal)
• Yahoo (guestbook comments)
• Yahoo 360 (blog entry)

Ok, those sites are done.  I’ll do Flickr, YouTube, and Podomatic (if I can figure out a way to do it) later today or tomorrow.

And now, the message that I’m posting on the above sites,

Hello friends, each of you is more dear to me than you know.  I wish I could send direct emails like I have the last two years, but I’ve been so slow on the computer lately that I know I would never finish that project this year.

2008 has been a dark year for me.  I’ve made little progress at resolving my legal problems, and consequently I’ve spent time in jail, time under house arrest, and I’ve lost my right to have a bank account, a job, health care, a driver’s license, or a passport.  I’m wanted in two states.  I haven’t checked, but in one of those states, I suspect my photo is on a “ten most wanted” poster.  I’ve been essentially homeless for all of 2008.  No, I haven’t been living on the street or in shelters, but have been totally dependent on friends and family for whatever roof I’ve had over my head.

I learned early this year that I have cancer.  I was near to dropping dead in my tracks by the time it was finally diagnosed, the diagnoses being delayed by six months or so by my legal problems.  Obviously, I survived that close call.  I got radiation treatments that treated the cancer very well and gave me a new lease on life.  Only a lease though; I should have started chemotherapy by now, but that is delayed for the moment as I’m focusing on resolving my legal problems.

Most of you know me as a transsexual.  (Apologies to those of you not exactly in the transgender community.  This paragraph may sound a little strange to you.)  2008 was my first full calendar year to live as a woman, and I’m happy to report that being a woman has continued to be wonderful for me.  Due to both legal and health problems, I haven’t been able to make much progress in “physical” transition, but if you’ve got to pause somewhere, “full time” is a great place to pause.  My “mood” status on one of my social networking sites currently says “Peaceful” and that really sums up how I feel about my current place in my transition.  Yes, there is much, much more I would like to do.  It can wait.  I’m not suffering terribly from “birth defects.”

One happy diversion I found this year was photography.  After being away from Sisters of Boston for months, I was badly missing weekly photos of myself from Ashley’s omnipresent camera.  I fussed and delayed for months more before finally buying a pocket digital camera, in July of this year.  I took a few of the vanity photos of myself I had been missing, then realized what an amazing instrument I had for creating art.  A pocket digital camera, vintage 2008, is incredible for its capabilities.  I began taking *lots* of photos, learning creative photography by just doing it, and also learning from studying the ocean of spectacular examples on Flickr, and before long, from meeting a few of Boston’s most enthusiastic amateur photographers, watching them work, and listening to them talk about what they do.

I’ll end with an invitation to everyone to write to me, just to say hello.  But I have to also end with an apology to so, so many of you for not writing to you this year.  I’ve failed to return emails to a vast number of my friends this year.  My only explanation is that I’ve been just overwhelmed by my problems, my situation, and haven’t had the mental energy to…to just return friendship, awful as that sounds.  I do love you, each and every one of you.

Best wishes, love, and peace to all in 2009,
Sonia

Panasonic TZ5

Thursday was a day of running many errands. I absolutely had to do laundry, and when I took stuff to the laundromat by the house earlier this week, they said they weren’t doing drop off laundry this week. Rats. Laundry can be carried the half block to the place by the house, but taking it anywhere else involves loading it into a cart. Now since the subway is just four blocks away, the nearest laundry isn’t necessarily the nearest as the crow flies, but the nearest to a subway stop. Davis Square wins. In fact, it’s just as close now as when I lived with Al in Davis Square. I dropped off laundry in the morning and went to work for a bit, but left very early to get stuff done. I got medicine at CVS, and, probably went other places. I don’t even remember.

I had a late lunch at Blue Shirt Cafe. That turned out to be a long and painful affair. I always thought of the wraps at Blue Shirt as being fairly mild in flavor and fairly soft in texture. I got their sesame chicken wrap, and, in fairness, I’m not sure I’ve ever had that before, so I don’t know what it tastes like for real, but wow it was hard for me to eat today. The spices burned and the texture of the chicken was really punishing. Knowing I needed to eat though, I worked through it and finished it. I think it took me close to an hour.

The stop after that was the social security office. I was making my first attempt at getting a replacement social security card. Now, requirements say a “recent issue” Passport or Drivers License. It doesn’t say non-expired. I was counting on them accepting my expired ID. No. Flatly rejected. Same with the photocopy of the hospital birth certificate. He explains, “no, anyone can go and get a copy of your birth certificate. That doesn’t prove anything.” So what does the guy tell me to bring? A medical record that shows my age. Now, this makes no sense to me. I followed the official social security office instructions, and the guy behind the counter just throws all that out and makes up totally different requirements? And, let’s talk about what makes sense. My drivers license being expired means that I am not allowed to drive. Does it mean that that the authenticity of the card is now suspect? Same with the passport. Look it’s the same physical document with photo id and stamps and laminations and seals and stuff it always was. Does the fact that it is expired make it now look like a forgery? No, it just means that I am not currntly authorized for international travel. I presume that’s why the social security instructions say “recent issue” as opposed to “valid.”  Now the birth certificate. Yes, anyone could get a copy of my birth certificate. And the point is? The birth certificate is not proving my identity, that’s what the photo IDs are for. It’s proving my AGE. I’m not sure the guy behind the counter even read the requirements for getting a social security card. He certainly doesn’t understand them. So then…a medical record? WTF? He said, “have you seen a doctor recently?” Well, the plastic tube sticking out of my neck would indicate so! I walked away thinking that yes, I’ve seen a doctor, but no, I didn’t have to prove my identity or age to the doctor. He wrote down whatever I told him for my name and age. What a crock.

Defeated there, my next errand was a happy one. I had decided, after two years of talking about it, to buy a digital camera. I hardly needed one my first year as Sonia. Going to Sisters every week, I had a constant stream of photos courtesy of Ashley. Over the last year though, so many events had come and gone undocumented, and I’d missed having a camera of my own. Each time I thought of buying one though, either I thought that I had no business spending money on a camera when I had other financial concerns, or else I simply didn’t have the money. Here today, something tipped, and I both had the money, and thought that the amount of money I would spend on the camera wouldn’t make a bit of difference in my current or future financial situation. And, well, I’d done my homework and knew what to look for. When I got to Best Buy, they had it. They had the latest Panasonic point and shoot, which has the image stabilization feature I wanted most and has, well, everything. Point and shoot digital cameras these days are just amazing for their features, image quality, and price. Here it is.

Panasonic TZ5

Back to Davis one last time to pick up laundry, home with treasure: clean clothes and a new toy.

Boston Pride 2008

My third Pride Parade was really nice and felt really good. It wasn’t wild and crazy, but was happy and warm and…proud.

I’d gone to bed the night before at 2:00 am, just from usual sleeplessness, but was feeling so wiped out that I vowed to just sleep as late as I could, up to a full eight hours for once. Incredibly, I did it then. I managed to doze soundly enough that I felt I was getting productive rest right up until 10:00 am. Still, I was feeling a little slow and took my time showering and getting dressed. Official line up time was 11:15. Ha, no way. I ended up at the head of the parade about 12:30, just at the moment it began to start. This turned out to be perfect for me. I got to see it start, I got to see the motorcycle clubs, the official banner, and then a number of parade entries in quick succession as I walked quickly in the opposite direction. Moments later then, I spotted MTPC and jumped in with them.

Honestly, at this point I was still dragging. I know I still had a long face and no pep in my walk. I was happy to see Sally marching with the group and walked and chatted with her for a bit. It didn’t take but a few minutes though, before the infectious excitement in the air started waking me up. Interestingly, this energy was coming mostly from the crowd lining the sidewalks. The spectators were all cheering and waving. How can you not be touched by that? I was awake now, smiling ear to ear, making eye contact with as many people as I could, waving and saying, “Happy Pride!” I know the parade was long, but it seemed like it just flew by and was over in no time. It turned out to be a total rush. There were diversions. I talked to a couple of people here and there. Sally handed me her camera at two points and I attempted a few pictures. I carried a sign for a while.

At government center, I turned in my sign and then Sally and I waited for Ashley and Sisters that were with the Fenway float. Parade entries just kept streaming by and we couldn’t believe how long the parade was. They showed up eventually. Ashley, LiLLi, Caroline, another girl I didn’t know. We made friendly hellos and then I kind of got distracted with a guy that approached our group, intrigued, and struck up a conversation. The sisters group was headed off to rest their feet I think; I was planning to do the simple routine of wandering the vendor booths then watching the festivities on the stage. But this guy and I still weren’t quite done talking. Sally, always prepared, handed me a walkie talkie and said to call her later and we could meet up again. Isn’t she the coolest?

So this guy was fascinating for his interest in us. I think he was straight, and was simply a spectator, but for some reason really wanted to understand us. Answering his questions but trying not to digress into things he wasn’t asking, I bet I spent twenty minutes with him, ultimately giving him a pretty fair “Transgender 101″ overview by the time he had satisfied his curiosity. Ambassador Sonia.

Vendor booths didn’t take too long. I didn’t want to pick up and then have to carry a bunch of literature. Didn’t have anything I wanted to buy. I just kind of wanted to see what all was there. The political tables were right in front so I stopped and said hello to Carl Sciortino, since I had met him just the night before and thought it would be fun if he remembered my face. Of course he did. Politicians are amazing. I spent a few minutes in the Bisexual Resource Center booth, looking at a new book they had, and looking at all the fun buttons they have. I sat for a bit in the MTPC booth and talked with Michelle. Ready to watch the festival then, I found a space to sit close to stage…in the sun again. Well, I had a giant bucket of lemonade I’d bought for $5, and had SPF 55 on again, and it seemed ok for a while anyway… Luckily for me, I suppose, it wasn’t but a few minutes that my cutie pie friend Terri appeared, greeting me and saying, “boy, you like to sit in the sun, don’t you!” commenting obliquely that perhaps I hadn’t learned my lesson last week at Northampton. We stayed for just a bit before I agreed that yeah, we should sit in the shade.

So we found this nice bench in the shade, still with the stage behind us. Everything was just perfectly pleasant. The temperature, the shade. We could hear everything from the stage clearly, but it wasn’t annoyingly loud. There was this amazing stream of people to watch. I’d radioed Sally when I was done with the vendors. She said she’d be on her way to find me soon, and it wasn’t too long before I spotted her searching for me. I jumped up and pulled her over to our bench. The three of us then just had the best time talking and people watching. Kate wandered by at one point distributing literature. One group of girls had a snake that they were happy to pass around. I was the only one that held it, but a few people wanted to pet it while I held it.

I was back in Harvard Square by 5:00, feeling melancholy that I wasn’t up for a night of drinking a bit and then dancing until dawn. I was also overdue for food. I’d had a light breakfast and that lemonade and that was it for the day. Comfort food was in order and I went to Uno Pizza and got the Chicago Classic. It was comforting because I just knew that if I could taste it, it would taste really good. The woman next to me stuck up a conversation after a while. I explained the tracheostomy and the cancer. She asked about my day and I told her about the parade and friends. “Oh darn! I wish I would have known. I would have gone to that.” She repeated this and seemed genuinely sad that she had missed it. I talked about it a bit more and asked what her day had been like. “Honestly, I spent most of it here” she confessed. I told her I missed drinking. I thought to myself, “uh huh, if not off of alcohol, I’d probably just sit there for the rest of the evening myself.” As it was, I’d choked down the pizza and paid my tab. I explained, “in another life, I’d sit and drink with you, but I gotta run” and walked out.

Pride 2008

Girls grow up to be women

Idle thoughts, Saturday morning in the hospital, unedited and as I wrote on my pad:

I think that girls don’t necessarily want to grow up to become women, they just do. Girls certainly want some things of womanhood, different girls wanting different things, some girls aspiring towards traditional women’s roles of marriage, home making, and mothering, others dreaming of more adventurous things. A few girls maybe are eager to leave childhood and adolescence behind as quickly as possible, but most, I think, don’t give it a thought, they just live through it (happily or not.) So what does it mean to grow up? What is the difference between girl and woman? Some things are marks of immaturity. Some are marks of maturity. Growing up is leaving behind interest, behaviors, values considered immature and replacing them with ones considered marks of maturity. Some of these “things” — marks — interest, behaviors, values — are gendered. They are gendered by social tradition, by biological tendencies, some mix. Science doesn’t understand all this yet, but there is no denying gender differences exist.

It’s hard for t-girls to grow up. Let’s call a t-girl a MtF transgender that is relatively new to going out in public dressed. It’s wild and exciting. It’s great being a girl. What next? Does the t-girl grow up? Can she? Does she want to? How can it happen? The answers are that it’s really hard. Becoming a woman takes yeas for a natal girl, and it happens with the support of family and society. The t-girl is missing most of that support, is way behind in years, and often is not even living full time as a female. How can you fault the Ashleys and the Stacys of the world? They hardly have a chance.

The C word

For the first time today a doctor was brave enough to tell me it might be cancer. We should know next week after surgery. Best case is I end up with a little scar on my throat. Worst case is that I never talk again and so can’t complain as I die of cancer over the next few months. Sorry, but I’m really grumpy and cynical these days. I feel like shit, I have a cough that will clear a subway car of all passengers in a single stop, I feel so weak, so tired, I ache. I don’t like the idea of having a blow hole punched in my neck. I get asked all the time how long this has been going on. My answer lately is that I guess it’s been getting worse over a period of years. Of course, two years ago I weighed 70-80 pounds more than I do today. It was easy to shrug it off, saying “of course I get out of breath, I’m fat!” But then I lost all of that weight and people still often commented on how easily I would get out of breath. I still ignored it. Just today Lisa stopped by my office to check on me and was asking this question, and I was saying that it had only been really bad recently. She immediately countered “that’s not right, you were telling me last summer how you couldn’t swim across a pond.” Whoa. Smart cookie, that Lisa, she was referring to this story from last August. It made me wonder, did I document earlier cases of breathing problems? I searched, but apparently the answer is no. It’s not that I didn’t have problems. See, by August there, I was so familiar with having trouble breathing that I just mentioned it in passing in that story. I was just ignoring the unusualness of it, and the seriousness of it. It wasn’t until I started having those terrible muscle spasms that I finally went in to see Dr. Bershel. Then that little jail sentence got in the way, then the house arrest, so here six months later I have doctors scheduling surgery for me on a day they previously had scheduled vacation time. It’s scary.

Happy Sonia news is that I had lots of fun Friday at the goth/fetish “Night of the Dolls” at TT The Bear’s Place. I went with Jessica, the only one I could claim for sure as being there with me. But then Ashley ended up bringing the whole Sisters of Boston gang, so I had a wonderful time seeing lots of my friends. I was really struggling with the coughing and stuff and so stayed off the dance floor for the whole night. Finally had a nice conversation with Michelle, after we had traded emails over the last couple of months. Also–I know I’ll miss people–but also seen that night was Holly, Jacinda, Danielle, Wendy, Denise, and Sabrina!

Saturday I was at Jacque’s for a FoRCC Diana roll call. Again lots of fun. Three girls there were kind of Sisters of Boston girls and sat together. I wanted to get them to meet Diana and mix with some of the other girls but was only partially successful. Diana is always in demand and I’m too timid to just interrupt and say “Diana, I have some friends I’d like you to meet…” Lace kind of stepped up to that role though. She was great at talking with everybody. Fun girl. I do hope I don’t die, so I get more chances to go dancing with her. They came with Michelle, but then there were I think four Michelle t-girls there before the night was over. There ended up being a nice little crowd from FoRCC. Sharon came! Rebecca. Paula! Again, lots I’m forgetting.

Stay tuned for tomorrow. Busy day. I’m going to start with a visit to Dr. Bershel’s office. Then work, I think, and then the theater!

The restroom post

Saturday morning after Sisters, I logged in to Yahoo and resigned from Sisters of Boston.

Shocking, I know.  Well, it was shocking to most who knew me as one of the forces involved in forming Sisters of Boston over a year ago, as one of the charter co-moderators, and as an energetic smiling face for, er, well, several months anyway, before I kind of dropped out of sight.  Shocking because I resigned pretty much without notice.  I had grumbled to a couple of close friends, but that was about it.  I suspect it was much less shocking than it could have been, given that I hadn’t been seen in seven months.  I was, in fact, fading from relevance to some extent.  My resignation had nothing to do with my life problems, however.  Rather, it was in protest of the restroom situation at the hotel restaurant where Sisters of Boston meets.

Ashley, our group leader, had explained the policies and their evolution at great length.  In short, they are hideously discriminatory, but then hey, there are no laws in Woburn, Massachusetts that protect transgenders from discrimination.  So I was expecting discrimination.  When I finally got to see the policies in action, what I experienced was outrageous harassment.  Here’s my account:

Jean arrived, I started crying with happiness to see her, makeup was running in my eyes, and I turned to LiLLi and asked her if she would help me find the restroom.  She hesitated for a split second, probably knowing that this might not be pretty, and said sure, let’s go.  We walked out of the restaurant into a hallway of the hotel, and around the corner to the front desk, all per policy.  At the front desk, we had to ask to be let into the exercise room, so that we could use the restroom there.  Policy is that transwomen are not allowed in the public men’s or women’s rooms–we have to use the the facilities in the exercise room, which of course requires an entry key, which the hotel does not give us.  When LiLLi and I approached the front desk, the person working there nervously looked away from us and looked for the second person working there.  LiLLi indicated that we would like to be let in the exercise room, the desk clerk said something to the second desk clerk, he glanced at us nervously and disappeared around the corner as the first desk clerk shuffled papers in front of her.  Just then a family walked in the front desk of the hotel, wheeling suitcases behind them.  “Hello!” the desk clerk called to them, smiling.  “Can I help you?”  “We would like to check in.”  “Of course!  Do you have reservations?…”  LiLLi, seeing what was coming, interjected, repeating that we we needed to use the facilities.  “Oh, you’ll just have to wait!” the desk clerk answered with annoyance in her voice, waving her hand at us and looking intently at her computer now.  We stared in disbelief.  The family turned slowly and stared at us.  We stared back.  After a moment, the second clerk returned and was ambushed by the first clerk.  “Can you, um…” she said, thrusting the key card at him.  He took it and walked to the end of the front desk, across the width of the hallway, and opened the door for us.  Yes, that’s where the exercise room was, practically arms reach from this woman refusing to help us.  The exercise room, once we were inside, was packed with a group of young teens, playing on the treadmills and exercise bikes, and basically hanging out.  LiLLi and I began jabbering as I walked into the restroom and began washing my eyes at the sink.  She stood just outside the doorway though, faithfully honoring Ashley’s policy of only one person in the restroom at a time,  When I had dried my eyes, LiLLi took her turn in the restroom, as I waited outside in the exercise room.  I looked at the kids.  They looked at me.  Luckily, these happened to be relatively young teens, and well behaved at that.  They could have just as easily been older, ruder, or rowdier teens.  Later, I talked to a number of the girls (Sisters of Boston, that is) who told me that they won’t use the restroom there.  Instead, they make sure they pee before going to Sisters, and try not to drink anything while they are there.

So here’s my take on it:

Separate but equal facilities:  Discrimination

Being forced to ask each time you need to use the facilities?  Harassment

Disparaging looks from the desk clerks?  Harassment

The desk clerks balking at opening the door for us?  Harassment

Being forced to stand and wait when the door was at arms reach, when there were two desk clerks, when there were no hotel guests in sight when we first walked up, and when we were asking to PEE?  Harassment

Being forced to stand before the hotel guests as they gawked:  Harassment

Being forced to navigate a gauntlet of teenagers:  Harassment

Feeling so cowed that you take measures to ensure that you will never have pee at this location?  Harassment.

Shame on those desk clerks.  Shame on Ashley for subjecting her Sisters of Boston to such humiliation.  Shame on everyone, everywhere who puts up with conditions such as these.

One last night with Sisters of Boston

Ok, so a quick check in my journal reveals that September 11 was the last time I appeared at Sisters of Boston. It’s an interesting numerological coincidence then, that it turned out to be the 11th of April, seven months later, when I reappeared. The first two of those seven months were spent with me simply burned out on making the two hour trek to the meeting location. The last five months I had other problems. All this time, I’d missed it. I’d missed meeting so many new girls, missed the fun of seeing their giddy excitement, missed the fun of going out dancing. So I was all ready to return. I just needed the courts to set me free. They did so Friday afternoon and I was in my groove again.

Home from work, I decided to go to Sisters dressed just in work clothes, but with a little makeup, with which I so rarely grace my coworkers these days. Knowing there would be dancing later, I packed a miniskirt and a barrette, and was out the door at 6pm. The Red Line and Orange Line were both miraculously waiting for me to step onto without breaking my stride and I got to Wellington in 40 minutes, with 20 minutes still to spare before the 7pm bus to Woburn. 40 more minutes later, it dropped me a block from the hotel where Sisters meets, and I walked in the door actually being the first Sister to arrive for the evening.

I was amused that as a supposed leader within this group, I had to stop at the hostess stand and explain that I was looking for Sisters of Boston, that it was my first time there, and so on. With a bit of nervousness (that I ignored at the moment) she said I could have a seat at the bar. “Do you serve food at the bar?” “Oh yes, of course.” “Wonderful” I looked happy to have things settled. She relaxed and smiled. At the bar, the two girls next to me looked so darned familiar! I hate it when that happens! I didn’t ask though. I got no look of recognition from them, so I just let it go. I ordered a rum and coke and pizza and sat and did my usual bar thing. Sometimes I would look up at the TVs, but really I didn’t care to watch whatever was there. Really, right in front of me was just mirror, rather than a TV. The mirror showed how meager my prospects were of blending at this place. Now, my sense was that it didn’t have anything to do with me being trans. Rather, I was very obviously a Cambridge-ite, far from Cambridge. Black hair, black cat eye glasses…

Omg! I hadn’t written yet about my new glasses. In a night of drunken confusion at the indescribably cluttered home where I live, my last pair of contacts got thrown out with the dishwater somehow. I was blind and forced to return to the optician and get new glasses. I got these really great (and really expensive ) cat eye frames that are very femmie, and also a little something like geek, punk, or retro, I don’t know what.

Where was I? Yes, hair, glasses, and hot pink and black layered tops. *sigh* So I exchanged polite smiles with people around me, listened obviously to stories told in voices loud enough to advertise that they were fair game for anyone who cared to listen, and that was about it. It was cool. It reminded me somewhat of the time that I waited alone for Danielle once at a TGIF. In both cases, it was obviously the local, after work crowd where lots of people knew each other. Don’t be an ass, and you’re welcome too no problems. Come again another time, learn the bartender’s name, chat a few people up, come again, and you’re a regular–no matter how you dress. Acceptance isn’t automatic in the ‘burbs, but it can be earned.

For tonight though, I was just waiting for friends. My pizza had just arrived when, watching in the bar mirror, I recognized Caroline walk in. She had no chance of recognizing the back of my head, but after getting settled in the bar area herself, getting something cold to drink, and unwinding a bit, she finally read me as trans and walked over to confirm her suspicions. Still not recognizing me, she guessed I must be the new girl expected to visit from Maine that night. “Hello, are you Paula?” “No,” I said, smiling ear to ear and standing up. At this point, I think words failed her as her eyes were telling her something she thought impossible. “Caroline!” I said, and gave her a big hug. We talked excitedly for a few minutes, and that kind of set the tone for the whole night. I got to see old friends Jackie, Deedee, Sally, LiLLi, Kristen, Steffanie, Mike, Jean, and of course Ashley. I got to meet this new Paula from Maine, and also Corrine, Holly, Madison, and Mitzzy, some of whom I knew of and had been dying to meet. Blame it on the soybeans, but when Jean walked in, I was so overcome with emotion that I started crying and couldn’t stop without going to the restroom.

I’ll save my restroom rant for a separate post and mention that we went from Tony Pilla’s to Pearl, for the lesbian dance club experience that apparently the girls are addicted to now. Riding in Deedee’s car on the way over, I peeled off my pink and black tops and replaced only the black one, pulled my hair back neatly with the large barrette, replaced my ankle-length denim skirt with a mini with outdoorsy-inspired details, and took off my goofy striped toe socks. I’d gone from geek girl to urban club girl in a few minutes. Deedee hardly batted an eye. She’d seen my Sisters Friday routine many times before.

At Pearl, sadly, I didn’t recognize anyone I knew (other than Sisters, of course.) I’d been away too long Dancing was fun though, as usual. I felt very out of practice and awkward on the floor, and I couldn’t dance for more than one or two songs at a time with my breathing problems, but that was no problem with this group. I especially liked dancing with Madison, who, very high on gender euphoria, smiles ear to ear the whole time. Nn, also at Pearl, a girl named Sarah (I think) visiting from Germany(!) caught up with us. I had fun dancing with her as well. Gosh, so young and pretty, and having such a hard time understanding anything I said!

I danced until 1:30, then left the group to go catch up with Deedee at RISE. On the way I stopped for food at 7 Eleven and had much of it to finish yet when I arrived at RISE. I stood on the street and people watched. A group of four guys and one girl was also hanging out on the sidewalk outside RISE. One started in my direction and the others grabbed him and pulled him back, saying things like “uh uh, just let it go.” We all watched with amusement as some people went inside to find out what the place was all about came scurrying right back out. Done with my dinner, I walked around the corner to drop my trash in a bin, walked right through the middle of group outside the door, and disappeared inside. “Hi, I’ve been away for a while…” “You certainly have!” the doorman said. “…and my membership has long expired…” I started to explain. He already had a guest ticket in his hand. “Oh thank you!” I exclaimed, and scampered up the stairs, imagining puzzlement of the group outside that I didn’t come back out. Inside, I did find Deedee before long. Also saw Mandy, but as Deedee explained, most other faces I would have known from last year had moved on and were gone from RISE. The group from outside showed up before long. The guy that had started toward me on the sidewalk watched me dance and the expression on his face said “huh, I guess you do belong.” Deedee and I danced, talked, and were both tired relatively early. I think we left about 4:00.

Sure was good to be back.

Pure Sisters

Friday at Sisters, Ashley was full of excitement over the First Event Fashion Show. That was a bit tedious, then finally I had the chance to chat with new girls Lilli and Josie. Lilli was particularly appreciative of having someone to talk to. When Ashley was asking who wanted to go dancing, I said my only excuse was that I had no money in my pocket. At that point Lilli handed me a twenty and insisted that I go.

We went to Pure again and again it was a cool scene. Josie drove, and it was just three of us at first, Josie, Ashley, and myself, although Ashley was talking to people on the phone who were planning on joining us there. The three of us set up camp at the corner of the bar, ordered drinks, Ashley ran off to dance when the DJ played her favorite song. I hung out with Josie, although conversation was all but impossible with the noise there. I went outside at one point to check phone messages, and there walking up the sidewalk was an easily readable t-girl, dressed in pretty ordinary jeans and top, and walking with a rather masculine gait. I watched her thinking I could catch her eye, but she passed the club without looking at me or anyone standing around outside. She paused and looked back over her shoulder, and around the corner came a guy in a suit. They made eye contact, and continued on up the street in formation. Hmm, sex work, I suppose. Back inside, I ran into (f)Emily near the front door and she ran to me and threw her arms around me. Startled, I stepped backwards, banging my head against a door frame or something. Then she was gone. Sheesh. Plopped back down next to Josie, I spotted Sarah, the girl I had danced with last time I was here! She came over and said hi and introduced me to the friend she was with and talked for a bit. I was starting to feel like I belonged.

A little later I was on the dance floor and a girl came and said hello and that she knew me from Gender Crash. Crap, I walk around in such a daze. I didn’t recognize her at all. Anyway, her name was Lindsey. We danced a little bit, I think, and then another came and wanted to dance. Very cute, very young. Omg, how does this happen to me? I asked her name. Cindy. And I tried to be polite and let her drift away to dance with others. Nope, she liked me. We danced a bunch more. She liked pretty suggestive dancing too, so we were grinding a bit, touching a bit. I was being all self-conscious about what I might feel like to her. I’m a guy dancing with a girl in a lesbian club. Lump in pants? Nope, not there, even with the grinding. Sorry, just doesn’t happen with me on the dance floor at age 46. But my hands and fingers though, surely were unmistakably masculine. Testosterone and dancing had to have my muscles feeling very firm. I was trying to have a soft touch, but not sure how well I was doing at it. I was holding her hips, her waist, her hands, touching her collar bone. I’m really afraid my touch felt like a guy’s touch.

While dancing, I also spotted Lisa, TS Lisa that I first met at Laura’s party. We exchanged waves and smiles but that was all. I was a little busy dancing with Cindy, but also Lisa looked like she was looking for dance partners, and I imagined she wasn’t looking for someone like me. Am I too humble? She’s young, pretty, a TS on hormones, and at a lesbian dance club, apparently by herself. I really doubt her first pick of dance partners would be someone like me. I was kind of afraid of approaching her, for a few reasons, I guess. Sure, I didn’t want to interfere with her plans for the evening, but I especially didn’t want to out her, or make her easier to read just by standing next to her. Well, those were my excuses. Truth is, I’ve always been shy to the point of intimidation by young pretty girls. I was when I was young and growing up as a boy, I still was when I was a middle aged man, and I’m afraid I still kind of have that reaction.

Two of the four people that Ashley talked to on the phone showed up. They were a Stephanie from out of town, and FAB Natasha, who had just done Stephanie’s makeover. Stephanie looked a bit familiar but I was assured that was impossible. Natasha looked a bit familiar and I learned I had most likely seen her at First Event. I was shocked the next day to look at the Photobucket pictures of Stephanie from the night before. Her makeup looked absolutely awful in photographs. It looked hideously too light, and full of plain-as-day application streaks. I’m just positive that it didn’t look anything like that in real life. In real life, I thought the makeup looked beautiful, exactly what you would want from a professional makeover. Somehow the camera flash must have been particularly cruel to her. Gosh, if I were Natasha I would have been horrified.