my has it been a while....

ok, so this is weird: one of my co-workers asked me how many days after i miss my period do i start to freak out?

um.....huh?

really, this wood working thing is so super new to me. i really don't know how do this. i swear i thought my head was going to explode. huh? it's not like i don't understand the question, it's that i don't know how i got here. i simply cannot fathom it.

when i started my transition i was sure that i'd never pass so i took the punkrawkish position that i didn't want to, that i wasn't going to try. i was going to live in the middle, out, open and honest. i would respond to either he or she, pronouns were irrelivant. i would strive for androgeny. i tried on different gender identities, gender labels, i was a androgyne, a inbetween, a all-in-one, a chick with a dick, a boy with tits, a gender bender, a gender blender, a gender fucker, an either/or, and and or an all-terrain vehicle, a t-girl, a trans woman, a male born female, a trans dyke, i made some up, fusing other identities, like i was trying on clothes. fuck yeah, n fuck you! torn jeans and skateboards, makeup and street burns. the rule was defy the rules. i relished the question, so, are you a boy or a girl, or what are you? honestly i didn't then, nor do i now think it's anyone's business what is between my legs, but the reaction, and watching people try not to offend me was the height of hilarity. i suppose it helps to have one of those faces that is pretty for a boy, and/or handsome for a woman. and the hormones certainly helped that. changing the shape of my face in subtle ways...i was right there... in the middle. i'd giggle to myself when people would, on meeting my say, oh, you're that skateboarding tranny my friend saw. they said you were badass....fueled by feminism i yearn not to be some frail damsel, but the tuff girl. the scratches, scabs and scars on my knees and palms are my accessories. tres chic, non? they show me how to survive. to grow hard.

for at least my first four years living fulltime i kept my boy name. i remember working my dj gig and some guy or other in a suit would come up to the dj booth and start hitting on me. sooner or later he'd ask my name, i would smile, slyly, and reply, hand extended to shake theirs, making sure that they were standing on the large "X" on the floor before i drop the anvil...

"carlos."
"what? i'm sorry? the music is loud..."
"carlos."

and then... the anvil would reach it's target. acme products have got a bad wrap. they work like a charm. they'd get this dazed wile e. coyote look on their face. then turn pale. so delicious. really. there is no price for something like that. such a change from the times you get rejected as soon as their friend clues them in, or they, in the act of heavy petting, stop suddenly when they feel the bulge in your panties, passion evaporated like a vapor. the people talking shit behind your back. no, these times, you savor them.

some how the need to blend in creeps in. slow as molass, the pointing and whispering take its toll like water carving out the grand canyon. there is no defense. like trying to stay away during a boring sermon, fighting it just makes it stronger. sooner or later, you will be dragged under, you will lose the strength to resist.

i had umpteen jobs where i was out. but that's me, i have umpteen jobs anyways. so being "the transexual" means little if the job is transitory, temporary. i will just be "the tranny that used to work here" or there. a ghost, a footnote. after all, the first five letters tell you all you need to know, "t-r-a-n-s". meaning to cross, from one side to another. my body, my heart, my life are all in flux. not that i mind, that little punkrocker in me loves change, but there is that undertow, the one that comes with growing up: the one that wants stability. the trappings of punk are gradually shed, i stop riding my skateboard as much and start riding a bike, or driving my car.

and i search for something i want to do for a while, a career, but of course i can't play it straight. i've still got that rebelious spirit, and the picture of rosie the riviter in my head.
and what i want most is this; to be one of the girls, to be seen as a woman, nothing else, but i wonder how different that was than where i started, because at the end of the day it all boils down the the need to be accepted as you are, be that punk androdyne or lady welder.

the first thing that told me today was different was going to the tool room and one of the usually cranky tool guys, brightened and said, "what can i get you little lady?"

really? me? a little lady? seriously, if it's my kidney you want, you've just talked me into it.

i don't think i have to remind anyone that i'm 6'0" at the least. hell, you can have a lung for that comment too.

i went back to my usual station, where i work with one of my classmates from welding school, who, is my fitter. in the last 2.5 weeks ive come to loathe. why, you ask? it's simple: he's an unmittigated ass. my supervisor came by and asked m, one of my co-workers who i'm starting to get a crush on, (really, i can't help it-- she's a chubby little latina with thick legs...) if she wanted to go and weld elbows all day since she didn't have any work today. she wrinkled her nose and said no. he turned to me and asked me if i wanted to. i jumped at the chance. it's in a quiet section of the place, sectioned off from the rest of the place. and i like s, a cute little korean 80 year old lady welder they hired back when her hubby died, and t, who is her fitter. they are both nice, and t said when he and s were training me, that i was the only one who picked up different types of TIG tack welding quickly. he's right, to me tig welding is like a puzzle. i can figure out most welding assignments i've been given by about the 3 setup, if not sooner. if, and i'm discovering, if, i've got a good fitter. which my classmate, sadly is not. i would rather take pride in my welds, but when he doesn't care i don't care to spite him. but i digress. as soon as i told t that i was going to weld with him today, he said, i was hoping they'd send you. you're the only one who can tack. (yay!) i ended up welding with t all day. which was great. the night shift welded 24 elbows in 8 hours, we did 29, and according to everyone who came by, my welds were better. nice clean, tiny, beautiful....

there is a guy who is the janitor of the place. the quickest discription of him would be rudy from the fat albert (you know the one with the red paperboy hat), with a couple of gold teeth. he's nice, always says hi to me. so in the middle of the day, he comes by with this guy who works there, and introduces me to him saying "he's been asking about you since day one" he turned red and introduced himself, denying that he was asking about me. t teased me. i should have guessed they'd have people coming by to meet you... he smiled.

at lunch m and i talked food... again...we always talk about food. although yesterday was beauiful. there was a table all the women (or most of them), and i felt so wecome, so a part of the group...

before the last break i saw m. she asked if i wanted to switch with her. my fitter was driving her nuts.....

the site ate my 1st version of this post, so this is the less funny, observant, and witty, truncated version.


so... its starting.

i always forget how much i need to be employed. i think i love the freedom of being self-employed, but i get too crazy. i spiral down, i get agoraphobia. i stop talking to my friends.... i need a job where i am forced to leave the house. it's too bad since i think a part of me would love to stay in and paint all day...

so i got a windfall, and i found an electrologist, again. meh. i always start, but then work troubles intrude and, well here it is years later and i'm still fucking shaving every morning. argh. i always make it the primary goal when i get a job, but it always takes too long, and well, it's one thing to hire a tranny, but when she starts growing a beard a few weeks into things. and is stubbly half the week. and have to be. the electologist needs to have hair long enough pluck so, that means i have to go without shaving 2-3 days a week. you know that saying you can't make a purse out of a sow's ear. it's not like it's wham or miami vice type stubble, this is pretty thick. and take my word for it... beards and lipstick clash like you wouldn't believe.

i've started the new job welding, and one of my co-workers, this sweet girl, who i think is maybe 19-- impossibly naive-- told me that a guy who she was working with was making fun of me. she said he was saying i was a guy. my usual reply is that, "i always get that." neither confirm nor deny. she said that i can't be a boy since they wouldn't have let me in the women's locker room if i was a boy.

and then at the end of the week i've got facial hair....

it's hard enough doing this already, i'm still on probation for the first 90 days, and these bits of friction... i can't do anything cos in washington state it's a fire at will state, so inspite of anti-discrimination laws, they can give any reason they like to have rid of me. my last job let me go because they felt the job was "too confining" for me. i get sailing along thinking a job is going well, and i work my butt off, and then there is nothing. electolysis is off again, and i have to start all over again... another year shaving.... spinning my wheels. i hear so many stories of trannys who get so much done, electrolosis or laser, boob job and by the second year have srs.....and here i am years later... my life in fits and starts again... i think everything would be at least be a bit better with my face taken care of.... it just seems never ending.

i went out with l last week and told her that daddy and i got back together again. she looked disgusted. i suppose most of it is my part. i'm really a homebody. i'm older than most of my friends, and a night of drinking and dancing, well, it does little for me most of the time, and i am a super flake. really. if it weren't for my being a fantastic listener, my spot on advise, and my utter and complete idolization of all of my friends, and constant praise of their virtues, i would be the worst friend ever. i rarely call anyone (i dislike phones), i rarely show up when envited to parties (i dislike crowds, or groups of more than 5 people), and more often than not, i'd rather be at home with the person i'm dating or out seeing movies or some such. i prefer my friends separately for the most part, since when my friends know each other they tend to disgard me... in this case when daddy and i were initially dating i would always flake when l invited me to her parties. l is my polar opposite. gregarious, constantly sunny, and the consumate entertainer, she is one of those social butterfly types who, goes nuts unless she throws a party atleast once a month. consumed by guilt, i dragged myself and daddy to one of her parties, using daddy as the excuse for leaving early. it was only fair, since i insisted on being her excuse for anything she didn't want to do. a company function? i was having a fit, and we were fighting. we weren't but still, who could blame her for trying to deal with this personal issue? when her co-workers would meet me they would be suprized. when forced to go to such events, i would enjoy myself, being charming, witty, funny, and nice. they would always talk about what a great gf i was, attractive, and interesting (my secret is to let them do all the talking. i would leave the party knowing their life story, but they couldn't tell you a thing about me other than i could converse about anything, and was dating daddy.) but using your date/mate as an excuse has drawbacks, which i always kind of knew, but never really minded before. perhaps it was because i was always the excuse. now that daddy is the excuse, i realize how fucked up doing that is. i don't think daddy gets a fair shake with one of my best friends, and that isn't very cool. but it's too late. daddy has been exceptionally good about making me socialize with my friends even when i'm lazy and would rather just stay home and draw. she and i are alike in our homebody-ness so i push her to be social too, which i'm glad of, but i hate the idea that l blames daddy, when daddy is so good to me. it kind of breaks my heart....


meh. i need to work on a paintng, so that's all for now.

gt.

the main reason it's been so good is that i realized i've got some really good people in my life. people who allow me to grow and change. i came to this realization when t came back into town. i was house sitting for her (cat hell week), and was just leaving her house when she arrived by taxi. i helped her bring her bags up and, while at first she offered to give me a ride to my place, she decided that she was hungry and wanted to go to lunch. i will never understand my friends capacity to put up with my perpetual brokeness. but they are super sweet and they do.

i have to admit i have a crush on t, but then, i have atleast a small crush on all of my girlfriends. i idolize and idealize them. i know their flaws, but do my level best to over look them, but more often than not i think they are just the shit. part of my crush on t has to do with her thick legs. i just love thick legs i love looking at them drawing them, touching them (not that i would do that to t, i'm just saying). that, however, is far from her only virtue. she is a graphic designer, and treats me as an artistic peer, even though i don't do art as an occupation. all the same she has been one of the biggest boosters of my art. she also loves much of the same music i do. not necc'ly current music, but we can talk about 80's soul/r+b, hip hop, and alt. it sounds like that is not a big deal but i love obscure music, and someone who loves ready for the world as much as i do....? well that's hard to find.

at lunch, she gave me the rundown on the soap opera that is her neighborhood. and it is a soap opera, trust me. the latest is a friend of hers whose hubby is sleeping with a girl who could only be described as certifiable.

it's good to talk to her. she, like me also has a love of all things odd, criminal or morbid. i put her up on a book that is a long time favorite of mine, luc sante's lowlife. which is a criminal history of turn of the century nyc. then we talked a mutual favorite book, geek love, and i talked about the b-day present i'm working on for her. it's about 2 years over due, but she doesn't mind. she is just happy that i'm making something one of a kind for her.

a few days later i am preparing to go over to my friend r's for the night. r used to be my madam, back when i was escorting. i also worked the phones for her business. i was actually kind of nervous to see her again. the last time we hung out she was getting off some bad meds she was addicted to, and, well it was ugly. she had moved back into town about 3 mos ago, and we had been mutually making and flaking on dates since she arrived. i think we were both a bit weary.

i had a bad feeling about the night, she moved in to the bottom floor of a house of some people who were also involved in the escorting business, a gay couple. they are nice guys, but well the three of them drink. hard. i don't really drink all that much anymore. i have three speeds: sober, buzzed, or vomiting, with not much space inbetween. so i am a slow drinker as much out of weariness as out of habit.

when she called me she asked if i was wearing a skirt. i said, i wasn't but she insisted i did, saying" i would never wear jeans if i had those long, beautiful legs, and that great ass... i could die happy." so i switched to my favorite skirt, a stretchy black pencil skirt that gives me an hour glass-ish figure. problem was, i had no underwear that i could use to tuck-- they were all dirty. no matter which i picked i would have a bit of a large bulge that was, if you looked closely, rather revealing....

she took about 2 hours to get to me (after complaining that i always took too long to get ready. hmph! as i try to explain to people, you have to give me a deadline. i've got an artist's temprament-- you give me too much time i start playing with my make up or finding flaws in what i'm wearing, and then we're off to the races. i've got to change everything.

i barely recognized her. she's lost a lot of weight, to be sure, but the kicker is that she's got her hair sandy beach-blonded. she's still wearing too much make up. in seattle a very defiant act-- women look at you like you're crazy for dressing up for most things, let alone wearing half the make up she does. the exception to the rule of course is if you are 'ethnic'. if you are black, latina, or asian, you can get dressed up for anything, but white people usually dress down. it's changing, of course.

this must be the 3rd of 4th wave of californians she's riding in on. shouldn't badmouth californians, since i moved up here from oakland/berkeley/san francisco more than 10 years ago. but, well i'm going to. californians have fucked this city up. but what do i expect. they fucked sf up. last time i visited the bay it liked to break my heart. my old hood, the mission had gone from being a beautiful little enclave island of latin culture. mexican, latin families crowded the sidewalks and low riders paraded by to a seranade of sunshine and ranchero music blaring out of every open window. every other shop sold super tacky furnature or taquerias.

when i last saw it had been ruined by that human termite/leach known as yuppies/dot-com-ers. they had turned the entire area to a horrible hive of condos and pretentious fucks, upscale boutiques and tiny fancy resturaunts. the only remant of mexican culture was the mission itself. the only thing they couldn't buy....

and so goes seattle. my old hood here of capitol hill has 3 new condos everytime i visit, and i heard that 3 of my favorite bars were closing because the people who owned the block were demolishing everything to make way for more-- ugh-- condos. everything that i love-- save the weather, which, luckily has gotten more surly-- is evaporating. two of those bars were quintessentially seattle-- one of them, linda's was a a bar with a neon light in the window that read :"fresh bait, tackle" the interior of it was like an old trucker bar-- a logger theme, with log walls and humble furnature. i remember when it opened. this was a city of dive bars. the rendevous got an up grade, sadly. it used to be an old mob bar, and had a little screening room where the movie owners would watch movies and get loaded while bidding on them. the room, i'm sure was once opulant, but had obviously fallen on hard, punk rock times. it also had an old cold locker that had been turned into a room for the hard core down and outers by adding a picnic table. yeah. the kind that you put in your back yard for the family to eat at durring the summer. picnic tables were not uncommon in seattle bars. one of the lone survivors of the traditional seattle dive bars is the legendary comet, which has a couple of the tables, along with 40 years worth of neglected graffiti, walls pockmarked with holes from bar brawls, thrown mugs, stray feet missing their targets of someone ass. i still miss places like the gibson, refuge of bike messengers, with it's sad, gaiety girl decor, menu of horrible chinese food, punk rock karaoke, and the biggest fishbowls of long island ice teas in town. ahhhh getting drunk for only $6.

how funny that i'm bitching about californians when half of my friends moved here from there.

r looks good. happy. for a second i day dream about when we were lovers, brief as it was. i miss her raspy, whiskey soaked voice, a strange counter point to her perky almost cheerleader-perky personality. and her smell. something and cigarettes. heh. i always did have a weakness for smokers.

she's my only friend who gets her nails done. all my friends give me grief and heckle me the 3 or 4 times a year i do. i'm glad she's back in town. she tells me i look beautiful. she hasn't seen me since i was early in my transition...it sounds nice to hear. i miss how she makes space for me to be myself at my most femme. the skirt is a case in point. she knows i rarely wear them, but insists on it. she knows me so well and i am glad of it. as much as i love my friends, i also keep things from them. my life has always been so compartmentalized. it can't be helped. after a while you figure out that most people have a fixed idea of you, and it only has so much elasticity-- and there is a breaking point. a lesson learned the hard way when i came out to my family and friends as trans....

she's a terrible driver. she's to busy telling me about her mom's questions about me, and where i am in my transition, and her hilarious attempts at being either polite or politically correct. r knew me back when i still stubbornly stuck with my boy name... even though i had boobs and lived full time. god, i really do always do things the hard way, don't i? she also fills me in on how the guy she's seeing is jealous that i'm going to be staying over, sleeping in her bed with her. i doubt anything would happen. we're just trying to figure out where we are, and if we still like each other to start....

we spend the night putting up fake ads on craig's list getting drunk. i wanted to do a goofy fetish ad titled "weenies n beanies" from a girl with a pork and bean fetish, but j, from upstairs insists we title the first ad, "feces pieces"

and we concoct the very revolting ad that follows:

i love to have it given to me hard, and if you don't mind a little mess, hell a LOT OF MESS, then you are the man i'm looking for! i want someone to fuck the shit out of me, and i've got a hotel room so we don't have to clean up! let's be poop flinging monkeys together!
))<<>>((
what can brown do for you?

strangely there were no responses. i wonder why? r got restless and put in another ad. i was pissed because she got an ton of pix-- face pics-- wtf?!? i can post that i lost my puppy, and i will get nothing but dickpics! argh!

in the morning we hung out and had breakfast. she told me about her work. i am so proud of her. she has been working her ass off, and turned her life around. in a lot of ways, she's a role model for me, and it dawns on me that there has been a void in my life where she was. it's good to have friends like her. who let me be a different part of me, and at the same time inspire me. i am very glad she's back....

i've been housesitting for a friend for the last half week. i thought it would be nice to get away, but, well my friend has three cats, and since she left they have been puking up like it's a full time job. ugh. thank god today is the last day. no offense to any cat owners, but i've decided cats are disgusting.