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Sunday, May 23rd, 2004
- ALL HAIL...
...THE FORM! The DEE EM VEE FORM! The form is life!
*on knees* Okay, so last Thursday I took "The Form" back to the Department of Motor Vehicles to be Office Stamp'd. Yet another woman there was nothing less then gracious to me and wondered why in the Hell they would want the Office Stamp and why they keep sending it back to me all the time. I told her why. She in turn still wondered why. She asked for my license and I presented it to her. She wondered why they would send me my license and then still go through all of this. Hey, that's what I have been wondering too. A whole lotta wonderin goin on. Wonderin Thursday.
So she office stamped The Form and I can only hope that this is the end of it. Please hold your laughter until the issue comes to a complete stop.
By the way, has the Department of Motor Vehicles changed their policy? They are all so nice now. I have been to the DMV four times for my new license and every time they are totally nice. In the past, the most you could hope for was indifference. Indifference was better then the usual sour attitude. But now? Nice. Total nice.
The following is an attempt to illustrate how GRS or SRS or whatever you want to call it has felt to me physically. If you cannot behave like an adult about it, please skip the next two paragraphs.
Now then, for communication purposes, I have created the following diagram:
This sensation that I am about to describe has been slowing disappearing over the weeks but it is still with me just a little bit. It was very strong in the first few weeks. If you refer to "Diagram A" it might help to understand. Okay, take a rope and tie one end of it tightly around your genitals, your penis and testicles (genetic women will just have to use their imagination). Now take the other end of that same rope and tie it to a bowling ball, preferably a 50 pound weight ball. Now gently take the end with the bowling ball and bring it up over your shoulder and lower it down your back until it is suspended like a sack of potatoes. Feel that? Feel that constant upward pull? Very tight. That is what some of being post-operative has felt like. I guess you could also describe it as feeling like somebody pulled your genitals just up over your belly button and pinned them there. I will have to work on a diagram for that. (And don't tell me that there are not two L's in testiclles. Diagrams don't lie.)
But anyway, if I could say there has been one overriding constant sensation, the Bowling Ball Effect is the one. It is not pleasant, but you have to get used to it for a time. And like I wrote, it is over the weeks and months going away.
Besides being hopefully the final DMV Day, last Thursday was also the four month mark since my surgery.
Tomorrow is the last day that I am required to dilate twice per day. I usually dilate the first time in-between 1 and 5 p.m. The second time I dilate is late, anywhere from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. The second time I do it is sometimes a killer as I am laying there just trying to stay awake. It's my own fault as I could do it earlier, but we get to watching television or something and I just keep putting it off. Dilating can be very uncomfortable too and sometimes I am just not ready for it for that reason. So I put it off and put it off until it gets really late.
There have been times like the day we went to Sea World that I have only done it once a day, later at night. There is just no way I want to dilate after first waking up and right before I am showered and out the door for the day. On days like this the window of dilating opportunity is just too short for my liking.
Before surgery I had thought, "Hey, how hard can it be. Using a vibrator one to four times a day? Sounds cool to me." It is not like that. It may be like that for other post-op women, but it is not that way for me. It so far feels intrusive and is not easy. Like I had written in my last entry, if intercourse is not a lot more pleasurable then dilating with a stent, you are reading the words of a life long virgin. I hope that this is not the case. You can't know how badly I hope that this not the case.
Before you ever have surgery, you learn that you must dilate for 15 minutes, that means to place the stent in the vaginal canal, leave it there for 15 minutes and remove, one to four times a day depending on where you are at post-surgery.
"Wow, that is not all that much! Even at four times a day that only comes to an hour!
Twice a day? Only 30 minutes! Wow! Easy!"Wrong wrong wrong. I have found out that it is not quite that easy.
There is the preparation time: Thoroughly cleansing the dilation stents and getting everything together that you will need while dilating and making sure that it is within easy reach. There is the time that it takes to lubricate and insert the stent as far in the vagina as possible and sometimes that takes a little bit of time and work. Then there is the 15 minutes of actual just being in there time. When 15 minutes are up there is the time it takes to remove the stent, and sometimes that takes a little work and finesse. Now you have cleanup. It is necessary to clean yourself of the lubrication you have used, etc. The stent also needs to be thoroughly cleansed once more. Now you go back and clean up the area you dilate in. By the time all of this is done, it amounts to a bit more then 15 minutes. Four times a day? We are talking some time here.
So you see, it is not just 15 minutes. It is wonderful to be able to do this. It is beyond dreams. It happened way too late in life. And it is not just 15 minutes.
Time has come today.
The Chambers Brothers
Trish's Current HRT Statistics (05/23/04):
Hormone Regiment: 6 mgs estradiol once a day.
Emotions: Hmmmm. Well, up and down as usual. No real lows lately, I don't think.
Breasts: Dormant. Shrunken. Not sore anymore at all. Non-existant. Gone.
Might as well burn my bras. I hardly ever wear one anymore.
Hips, Thighs and Bottom: Nope.
Body Hair: Stable.
Skin: Nothing. I have been exfoliating a lot lately with a pink puff and Bath and Body Works
sheer freesia shower gel. El yum.
Masturbation and Sexual Desire: YES! Good. Right in there. I have masturbated 3 times now since being post-op.
The last time was with a battery operated vibrator I have been saving for years just for this, used externally.
Gawd yes. Wonderful. I will continue to explore, with glee.
Trish Bottom Line: Things still have potential. Anxious, and anxious. All forms of anxious.
Saturday, June 5th, 2004
- So, you want to...
...hold the door open for me? Walk me out to my car with your umbrella? Give up your seat for me? Pick up something that I dropped? Well, I will tell you what, mista: Thank you, please do.
I know you have been sent mixed messages over the last ten, twenty or even thirty years, and it is perfectly understandable to not know what women want anymore. It is perfectly understandable to be afraid of the possible repercussions for opening that door or passing along a compliment and I think it is a damn shame. It is a damn shame that men take a fifty-fifty chance that the action of a polite gesture for a woman could lead to a slap or even a lawsuit.
You know what is really the most damnedest shame of the whole thing? That I will have to open my own doors, that I will have to walk to my car being soaked by the rain, that I will have to pick up my own dropped things and that I may never know when someone finds me attractive.
"You cannot pick up your own things, Trish? You don't have an umbrella??"
Oh quiet.Guys, there are women out here who like your chivalry, and appreciate it. There are women out here who welcome tradition. There are women out here who value your kindness. Don't give up the ship. Everything old will be new again, eventually.
Or maybe women who have grown up in society as women know something I don't. Maybe it is not "my place" to make such comments yet. Maybe I have not paid the dues and known all of the risks of seemingly polite strangers, co-workers, etc. I am not backpedaling, I just hope that it is not that complicated. But for now, please, it's okay, go ahead and open my doors. Thank you.
Oh, by the way, just a small note about my last Transition Diary entry. When I had written "If you cannot behave like an adult about it", that was a joke. I mean, look at my diagram. The disappointing part of that was doing up the whole diagram and then realizing that I had spelled testicles wrong. It's like, "Oh shit." Anyway, it was supposed to be funny...
"Ha ha, Trish. You-are-so-funny. F-U-N-N-Y."
Why you bustin my chops today.Regarding going down to dilating once a day: Oh man, it pains me to write this. On Tuesday one of Dr. Meltzer's nurses phoned to check on my progress. We decided that it was in my best interest to keep dilating a couple times a day for now. Why? Oh man. Because I am not up to the size dilation stent that I should be. This means that I have to bite the bullet and do my best to get a move on. If I ever want to dilate just once a day or less, I have to get up to the biggest stent. That is what I will do and that is enough information for right now.
"Trish, you slacker."
My chest has all but disappeard. But you know what? I think it helps me to "pass" as genetic female.
"Oh right, Trish. How could no chest help you to pass as a women."
Are you kidding? People out there in the world that might wonder if I am a this or a that see me with absolutely no chest and think to themselves, "That cannot be a guy in women's clothing. We all know that guys who wear women's clothing find big boobs really important and this person has no boobs whatsoever. Therefore, logic dictates that she has to have been born a genetic female." Shazzam, instant pass.
"No doubt there is a message in there."
No doubt. (And yes, I am passing up a great Gwen Stefani line.)My son and his mom stayed with us last Saturday, Sunday and Monday morning. Just a visit over the long weekend. It was nice. My mom and I had taken my son about a year ago to have his ear pierced. Welp, he wanted his other ear pierced now too, so on Sunday I took him to have it done. Just him and I, me and him.
Funny (or not) how things change. Ear piercing for guys used to be a hanging offense.
"You FAG!" And that was just for one ear.
Back when I first got my ear pierced in 1974, you never saw a guy with a pierced ear unless he; A. Had a definite swish in his git-along or; B. Sported a parrot on his shoulder or; C. Was making millions playing rock and roll or; D. Was about to knife you. As I was a drummer, rock and roll was my excuse (sans millions). And not just any ol' eighteen year old kid working in a kiosk at a mall could pierce your ear. Ear piercing had to be performed by a Registered Nurse.
For my first ear piercing I searched The Yellow Pages and I found a jewelry store some distance from my house that had an RN on the premises, Wednesdays only. So I had a friend drive me down there after work. He drove because I got rip roaring drunk on vodka screwdrivers. Yes, I am a coward. I thought it would really hurt. The place turned out to be a family owned store I guess. I walked in and the man behind the counter asked if he could help me. "I would like to have my ear pierced" I said. "HEY SON!!" he yells across the store. "Tell this guy what happened when you pierced your ear!" This young guy turns around and "I got my ASS kicked!" he warns. "Um yeah. Can I have my ear pierced now?" I says. And with that, history was made. And yes, I did almost pass out when the RN pierced me.
So my pierced ear came with a small warning. Wear an earring and DIE.
Now, back to the present. Sixteen year old wants both ears pierced: "Okay, that will be $15. This a good spot? Yeah?" *CLICK* "Done... and done. Thanks for your patronage. Rock on buddy."
Times change.
And I just realized that I had written about my first ear piercing in my Transition Diary some time ago. So please just go back to the beginning of this entry and skip that part. Dang. I have been redundant before but this one takes the cake.
"Jeez Trish."
Now I know why you have been on my butt today. You knew I was going to do that.
"Precisely."After having my son's ear pierced we went and sat at a table outside that I sometimes sit at for an hour or two when I am at the mall by my lonesome. It was a beautiful day, me with my Diet Coke® and he with his bottled water: good boy.
This is day 233 without cigarettes for me. Eight months and eight days. This still sucks. You know the drill. I have gone from 130 pounds or so to 145. I am almost, not quite but almost starving myself because 145 is too heavy for me. But I seem to be holding right there at 145. After quitting smoking and the surgery I guess I will need to learn all over again what will work for me in the lose weight department. I am still looking for a place to walk. Ongoing.
Shitty Thing About Being A Guy #4: Pee troughs. Sometimes shoulder to shoulder with "the guys", unzip, hang it out and commence to peein. Always made even more fun by the fact that you are at an event on a hot day, drinking lot's of liquids (beer), you have to pee like a race horse, you stand there, and you can't (pee). The longer you stand there, the more you cannot pee. And the longer you stand there with a line of guys waiting to go, the more it is obvious that you cannot pee. The restroom becomes warm, sweat beads form on your forehead, guys to the left of you come and go, guys to the right of you come and go, voices become muddy, the whole place is a blur. So you pretend you pee'd, shake it (not more then twice of course), reel it back in, zip up and leave feeling ready to burst. Will try again in ten minutes and hope the levee does not break before then. And you know what they say about a guy who uses the stall all the time; Use the stall and you have something to hide.
So one night last week there was a ruckus on the patio. Mom and I looked away from the television and at each other. Then back to the television. Then, more ruckus. I knew that I had to go turn the porch light on and see what in the hell was making that noise. Was it a person? Was it an animal? Was it a.............. sasquatch??? On the way over to the door and the light switch I said to my Mom, "If I turn on the light and a person is standing right at this door, prepare yourself, I am going to shit." I took a deep breath and flipped the switch. The light shines on a coyote right outside the glass door. It was a young one and pretty. Not like those usual varmits you see. He/she had a tummy on him/her. Not the stick-ee out-tee ribs you are used to seeing on a coyote. He/she ran around a little bit more and then off into the night.
Then the next morning right in the same spot is the cutest little bunny, just hip hopping around. So cute. You just want to grab em and eat em up. I am glad the coyote was at night and the bunny was in the morning and hopefully the twain shall never meet out there on the porch. I would die.
Later on that day I was driving down our road to the main road, just thinking about I don't know what when I realize a hair too late that the "crack" stretching across our road was really a big snake. THUMP THUMP! Oh shit! Oh SHIT. I look in the rear view mirror just in time to see the thing slithering off the road. I felt so bad. "I would never have done that if I had known it was a snake. I would never have done that if I had known it was a snake", I kept saying to myself hoping that God and the snake would hear me. I felt so awful. I felt so bad that somewhere out there now was an animal in pain and that I could do nothing about it. It was in the brush and it was gone. Shit.
I had to let it pass.
Tomorrow, June 6th 2004 is my eight year sobriety birthday. Eight years sober. Now this is something that I do not totally celebrate. I like to recognize it, but I don't rent a ballroom or anything. After all, it was quit drinking or lose everything and die, so what is to celebrate. Nobody would celebrate my return to drunkendom, so why celebrate sobriety. I either stay sober or eventually my lousy ass is kicked to the curb for being a drunken good for nothing loser. I have only done what is necessary to stay alive, to not feel like dying everyday, avoid the bush police and keep people from wanting to kill me or put me in prison.
And for anybody who has ever read my Transition Diary....
"That would be me?"
Precisely....you know that sobriety for me is many times not what it is cracked up to be. It is boring, it is trying, it is tedious and it is.. did I say boring? For those of you that like to party and escape the humdrum every once in a while, imagine God parting the clouds and in his booming voice saying unto thou:
"YOU!! Mortal!! Designated driver!! For LIFE!!" Nightmare, eh?
I am for the most part not unhappy with sobriety. It has allowed me to live. Without sobriety, for me, there would be nothing. It is sobriety or it is nothing.... BUT...
...one of my favorite favorite favorite favorite places on earth is and always will be a bar, a hole in the wall neighborhood bar, any neighborhood bar with dirty floors, pictures of God knows what on the walls, mirrored beer signs that will not survive Saturday night, rows and rows of bottles filled with booze eerily illuminated by deep blue or green fluorescent lights in back of them and bartenders that put your drink down on napkins imprinted with dirty jokes from the 50's then rappity-rap-rap the bar with their knuckles and wink at you. A bar that still has cigarette machines, aspirin under the table, possibilities for chance encounters and the aromatic bouquet of the previous evenings (if not years) activities. A bar with real country western music on the jukebox with the occasional Missing Persons or Lynard Skynyrd's Freebird pounding from it.
If I could belly up to that bar at 9 a.m. in the morning and do nothing but drink and watch people and listen to music and smoke and munch stale old bar snacks from cellophane bags and drink until closing time everyday of my life for the rest of my life, that is what I would want to do. As long as I could get drunker then shit and stay drunker then shit, that is what I would want to do.
I suppose that is a bit of what makes me an alcoholic.
Happy Birthday to me, Happy Birthday to me.
Happy Birthday dear me-eee,
Happy Birthday to me.
Me
Tuesday, June 8th, 2004
- I am sorry, but...
...the "transgender community" sucks. I will not get stuck in your world. I will not stay behind in your world because you try to put a guilt trip on me.
I am not turning my back on anybody. I did my time as "transsexual" and as anybody who has read this Transition Diary knows, I hated it. I did my best to get out of it. And if I had never been able to? Then I would have done what I could do to deal with it. I am not turning my back on anybody who is "transsexual".
"Transsexual" or "in-between" can be so awful and I know we all have to go through some stages of it, but if it is your goal to be "transsexual" and to stay "transsexual" then I am sorry... I just cannot understand and your battles are your own. If you cannot get out of "transsexual", then you will need to deal with it as many of us do. Start a diary and cuss and scream and stomp your feet like I did/do, but don't put it on the people of the world to change the laws to accommodate what they see as a man in the women's restroom.
Oh, and please do not attempt to force society to build a third restroom in every building in existence. You want to be an even bigger thorn in society's ass? I don't.
I didn't want your laws. If I felt at any time that it was not a good idea for me to use the women's restroom, I didn't use the woman's restroom. That was my problem, not society's. I don't want your laws telling women that "Damn it, if I am wearing a dress I will pee in your presence whether you like it or not." What the kind of shit is that? You have respect for women? Self respect? I don't want those kind of laws.
Housing protection? If I felt that by living as a woman I would not be able to obtain housing, I would not live as a woman. I want to LIVE, not spend my life making points to the world so I can wear a dress. If it is your wish to make points, then that is your choice. More power to ya, just leave me out of it.
If I had actually lived in a place for a certain amount of time and my past was outed and they attempted to evict me, I would fight it on my history as a good tenant, not with any "transgender" protection laws.
My goal is/was to integrate my life as a female into the world, and I do not want your "Third Gender" rights. I am not and never was a "Third Gender".
You wish to do what you are doing? Fine. Good for you and those who consider themselves a "Third Gender" or whatever. But do not try to make me out to be an asshole because I will not join you on the Transgender Pride Chevy Truck. As I keep saying, that truck is always full anyway.
Some years ago on my website I offered little graphics I created that I wanted to give to people to put on their websites. They featured little sayings like: "Transgendered and Proud", "Transgendered and Happy!" and "Transgender is a Gift". But now I no longer feel that "transgender" is a gift. I no longer feel like "transgender" is something to be proud of. I have changed. I have grown out of one thing and into another. I wasn't lying to myself then, and I am not lying to myself now. And do you know what? Others may change also. Others may decide that "transgender " is not a gift and want to move on too.
I just hope they are not shot trying to climb the fence.
Just because I wear a skirt on occasion and once had a penis does not mean I have to make it my life's work to ensure that nobody who ever hid or hides a penis under a skirt is ever wronged.
However, I will make you an offer; If you can get all "transgender" people to stay out of miniskirts, exposed thongs, putting down on men to make themselves feel more like women, if you can get them to never say, "You GO girl!" again, if you can get them to stop bragging about how much of a girl they are for this reason or that, if you will communicate to the people that wear and do these things that they are negating any progress that you make and putting me in a bad light at the same time, I will consider helping out a little.
What I do promise to do right now for you and anybody in transition, with no strings attached is this:
I will represent who I am and if necessary where I came from in a good and moral manner to the best of my ability. I will do my best to be transparent with regard to my needs as a woman in society and never cause the world to feel ill at ease towards myself, my friends or any part of the "transgender community". If that is not good enough, then raspberries to ya.
Okay, I am going to attempt to put this issue to bed once and for all. It is tired. I will try to avoid you whenever you are discussing this again, mostly....
...because you had to be a big shot, didn't you, you had to open up your mouth.
You had to be a big shot, didn't you, all your friends were so knocked out.
Billy Joel
Thursday, June 10th, 2004
- On my website, on a...
...page about me, a page entitled "Who I Am", I wrote:
"From the time I was very young I have always wanted a big sister. I used to wish Gidget was my big sister, the Sally Fields Gidget. Welpers, now I have one, the best one." That "best one" being the friend who helped me out of the closet and into life.
But earlier on in the warm summer of 1968 when I was twelve, I had at a younger age for a short period of time and unexpectedly come close to having that big sister that I had always wanted. Her name was Jolene and she was my seventeen year old cousin from New Jersey. To me she was the coolest. She was adventurous, she was hip, she was so fun to be with and she was just beautiful.
I had only met her once before I think, at her home in New Jersey. I remember sitting at the kitchen table while she was on the telephone with her boyfriend or one of her girlfriends while the AM radio was playing The Lovin Spoonful's "Summer in the City". To me Jolene was girl. Total cool ass girl.
And sometime after that, during the summer of 1968 she came to stay with my Mom and I.
As Jolene had a drivers license, she and I went so many places and did so many things. We cruised The Sunset Strip, we went to Knott's Berry Farm, The Movieland Wax Museum, the beach, just all over. And I was not the only one to like Jolene. The guys did too and she met and dated one or two very nice ones while staying with us.
I had a friend that I hung out with quite a bit myself and her name was Roberta. We were like best friends. Roberta and I used to go every Thursday night to dances with live bands on Wilshire Blvd in Santa Monica. This was when they were playing great songs by Cream, Jimi Hendrix, Iron Butterfly, The Doors and Janis Joplin. Stacks and stacks of Marshall® and rows and rows of Acoustic® guitar amplifiers. Award winning psychedelic light shows were brought in. It was kickin me broothas and sistahs. I have great memories of Jolene and her boyfriend giving us rides there and picking us up. The 60's summers were happening in Santa Monica.
Jolene gave to me my first pair of bell bottom pants. My Mom was trying her best, taking me around to find a groovy pair but we were having a difficult time finding any that were not looking like they should be the bottom half of a leisure suit. That is when Jolene took a pair of hers out of her wardrobe and gave them to me. I loved those pants and they fit perfect. I wore them just about every day that summer and I wore them long after Jolene had returned to New Jersey.
When I finally got my Mom to buy me a portable radio/record player from Radio Shack®, one that I had been begging for since forever, and then on practically the same day my friend got his mom to buy him one, just like that, which pissed me off, Jolene said, "He's just spoiled." She made me feel better. Not much of s story there, but it meant a lot to me for her to say that. I guess don't try to figure it out.
When Jolene and I went to Knott's Berry Farm we had taken my dog Corky with us for the ride. This was back in the days before Knott's turned into an amusement park, back when it was just the Calico Ghost Town and back when it was a cool place. It was also back when they had chickens just roaming around free.
Well, when we parked at the Berry Farm and Jolene turned off the engine of our Earl "I'll paint any car for $9.95" Scheib blinding Surfer Orange colored 1966 Datsun, darn it if Corky did not spot those free roamin chickens and jump right out the car window and right into Knott's Berry Farm. He wanted one of them thar chickens for whatever dog chase and dog eat chicken reason.
Above: Actual dog named Corky and actual gate Corky ran through at Knott's.So Jolene and I jumped out of the car a'high tailin it behind my dog. All we needed was piano music and a little black and white and neither The Keystone Cops or The Brady Bunch woulda had anything on us. We headed through that gate and ran in circles behind Corky trying to keep him away from the chickens and get him back to the car. If we'da had overalls on and straw hats on our heads and Corky woulda been pink with a little curly tail a'wigglin around, the tourists probably woulda thought we was a'part of the entree-tane-mant. Round and round and round we went. Corky was fast but fortunately them chickens was a'faster and to make a longish story a'shortish, Corky was herded up and not one of them thar chickens lost hisnerher life. It was great. I mean, that was a lot fun.
On another day, on our way to The Movieland Wax Museum in Buena Park we got lost, so we pulled into a gas station to ask for directions. We were actually not far from the museum and the second Jolene asked the attendant how to get there he hurriedly told us, "Follow that car!" and he pointed to a car just pulling out on the other side of the station. So Jolene put pedal to metal and got behind them. Cool, this will be easy.
We followed them, and followed them, and followed them, and followed them some more. We followed them up city avenues, down neighborhood roads, they u-turned, we u-turned. They stopped, we stopped. Finally they pulled over and parked, but what's this? We were not yet at the wax museum. Uh-oh. We inconspicuously parked a car or two behind them. Oh shit, they see us.
The guy gets out of his car and approaches ours. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Jolene and I are freaking. He comes up to our window and says with the accent of a tourist from Japan, "Excuse please, why are you following us??" We explained how the gas station guy said to us, "Follow that car!". We all ended up having laughs galore about it and finding the wax museum as a team. Hey, maybe you had to be there, but that was fun too... and a little weird. If you ever see this story written in Japanese, that was us.
As a budding young musician I had gone many times to one of the most popular and successful music stores in Santa Monica and West Los Angeles, just to drool at the guitars and drums and whatever else was there that I could not afford or even dream of having. I had known by sight who the owners of the store were and admired them for their prowess in the music industry. Then on one occasion when Jolene had ventured out on her own for the day, she called to let us know she was bringing home a date and a pizza for us all to share. Her date turned out to be...... the owner of the music store. I was blown away. Of all the people. This guy, sitting right at our kitchen table eating pizza with us. Rock on Jolene. She had not known anything about me and that music store. The summer of '68.
One evening we all went to The Hollywood Bowl to see Sergio Mendez and Brazil 66. Man, that was a beautiful night. I remember Jolene driving us home afterward and listening to "End of the World" by Skeeter Davis on the AM radio.
"Why does my heart go on beating. Why do these eyes of mine cry.
Don't they know it's the end of the world, it ended when you said goodbye."The warm summer night's air rushing in the open car windows as we cruised the Hollywood Hills and the freeway heading home.
On another night Jolene decided to cook for us a chicken dinner. But the thing is, I guess she forgot how to actually cook a chicken. What to do. She dialed up a telephone operator and asked her about it. The operator walked Jolene through preparing our dinner.
That was Jolene. Cool. I loved her and no amount of my writing can do that period of time that she was with us any justice at all.
On the day that Jolene left for home we were to give her a ride to Los Angeles International Airport. I was going with them but when I returned home from a friends house expecting to leave, I was told that her flight left earlier then expected and she was gone. My heart sunk. My heart was broken that I was not able to see her one last time. I was very upset but I never really let anybody know. I mean, I was really crushed.
I have very briefly seen Jolene two times since that summer; once when she and her husband stayed with us for a day or two about seventeen years ago and once during a family reunion in Maine. I was still not able to tell her how much she and that summer meant/means to me. There was just never a good opportunity. Perhaps one day she will read this and find out. I kind of hope she does. For once this is not a message to me, this is a message to my big sister of the summer, Jolene.
If you're in doubt about angels being real,
I can arrange to change any doubts you feel.
Howard Greenfield and Jack Keller
Monday, June 21st, 2004
- Remember when I wrote...
...of seeing car accidents and people being hit by cars, just as I would be drifting off to sleep? That has not been happening very much at all lately for whatever reason. This is good.
On Thursday the 25th of May I had taken the "change the 'M' to an 'F' please" form to the Department of Motor Vehicles for the third time and it looks like that was the charm. My drivers license is mine and it do say "F". Huzzah! Now I just have to go back in five months to have it renewed.
I had therapy this last Wednesday. My therapist is now going on vaction and I won't be seeing him for two months.
*shiver* "You can do it girl!"
Wait wait wait wait wait...
"Huh?"
Did you just say, 'You can do it......... g-i-r-l'?
"Yes."
Don't do that.
"Why."
I just hate that shit is all. You should know.
"But... why?"The "you can do it" part is fine and dandy. I like that. That helps me. But when you tag "girl" onto the end of it, it is just like so much play acting. Unfortunately for me (and I am speaking for me only), it feels condescending. It is like you are trying to give affirmations to me that I am a girl and you are accepting of it. It is like "Oh cool! You called me a girl and I feel good!" and it is like, "Oh cool, I called him a girl and made him feel good! Aaaawwwwwww..."
So we will knock that shit off, right?
"I will think about it, TRISH."
Bullshit, just knock it off. There is only one person in my life who can do that and she is in real time and she is not being patronizing and I know it, but anybody else? Especially in 'the community'? I don't like it.
"It's getting oooooold, Trish."So two months until I see my therapist again. During our last session I think he was trying to get me to focus on the positive when he asked me what a few of the rewards of having had SRS were. The first thing that came to my mind..... I actually experienced this for the first time when I had left the Greenbaum Surgery Center (after SRS) and took a drive to Sedona with my Mom and a mutual friend of ours. I have also had this feeling, this appreciation many times since then, and that is to walk around with no penis. Having no penis. To walk and have no penis. To be out and about with no penis. No penis. That without a doubt has been the biggest reward so far. When I say no penis I am including the testicles also. But no penis. Why is walking around with no penis a huge reward? I have no idea but that is the first reward that came to my mind.
You can take away my vagina tomorrow, but you cannot put my penis and testicles back. And if'n you tried, you'd be outta luck, Buck. Right on right on right on.
I have been researching how to modify my birth certificate. The good news is that for California there are specific instructions for "OBTAINING A NEW BIRTH CERTIFICATE AFTER GENDER REASSIGNMENT". The bad news is that within these instructions it is suggested that you hire an attorney for assistance. Well, the attorney is out because *I* am out............ of money. I printed out the four pages of instructions provided by the California Government website and will do my best to get it done following them. They suggest going to the library and checking out some books that will explain the procedure. Oh lord. This is going to take quite a while. It should be good for about 2000 more Transition Diary entries.
Where am I at with electrolysis. Let's see. Oh yeah, two hundred eighty nine hours and thirty minutes. I remember when I had reached one hundred hours back in October of 2001, I had written, "Anyway, 100 hours. Good deal, I am a big girl, no?" Well at two hundred eighty nine hours and thirty minutes, I feel like I am an OLD ass girl, no?? It appears that we have reached a point whereas at least for now, we must give it a few more days between appointments, enough to let the remaining hair grow out. So we are thinkin about ten days. That would have us skipping a week here and there. I have not used a razor on my face since May 4th (before jury duty) and things are looking not too bad. Of course, I have been to electro, but things are lookin okay. We could be seeing a light but I am not going to get excited just yet.
Dilating is getting to be a real pain boys and girls. And I am using what amounts to a small fortune worth of KY® Jelly. Another hidden cost. Thank goodness for coupons. But as much of a pain as dilating is, not having the opportunity to dilate would be much worse.
It appears that at least for the time being whether I like it or not, I have for the most part been weaned from sleeping with my bunny (stuffed animal, OUCH!) Mary Lou. I really don't like referring to her as a ssshhhhhhhhhhhhhh.... stuffed animal. I have been sleeping with her, meaning holding her whilst I sleep for years now. But with surgery (SRS, GRS, whatever) came the desire to not have anything hindering my body movement in bed at night. So I always had her near me, but not in my arms. Well, here it is five months later (as of last Thursday) and I have only two or three times held her while sleeping. A turning point for Trish-Marie? Perhaps. I would rather hold her as I sleep, but it is just not happening. Anyway....
"Excuse me, Trish?"
What now.
"Pardon me for saying so, but the bunny thing?"
Yes?
"That is fuckin A the wierdest ass thing for a person your age to be doin."
I know.
"As long as you know."
I do.
"Okay then."
Okay then. Don't cuss.Wednesday June 16th marked my four year point on Hormone Replacement Therapy. Replacment therapy is great, but it is better in at least one way after surgery: The cost goes way down. I am taking less estrogen, and I am no longer required any anti-androgens (testosterone blockers). My cost per month has gone from an average of $88.00 down to $12.50 and that totally rocks.
I am not really aware of anything different as to the effects of HRT after surgery, although I am at times still experiencing hot flashes. I will ask my endo about this in twenty years when I can afford to go see him again. Actually my next appointment is in July, but I am going to call and have it postponed for three or four months. I just cannot afford it. I had blood taken not too long ago. I am good.
I remember (oh do I ever) before surgery hating, despising my libido and my ability to have an erection and masturbate to orgasm.
"We all remember it, Trish."
I was so looking forward to hormones taking all of that away as I had heard that it would, and to some extent it did. But even after three and a half years of HRT I could still do that become erect and masturbate to orgasm thing and it took me a while but I finally realized it was not the libido and masturbation that I hated, it was the equipment that I was forced to use to enjoy it. Ejaculation was horrid to me. I was surprised and disappointed when I was still able to do it. And I was not on a lightweight HRT program. I was taking the max recommended dosage of spironolactone and even a little higher then recommended daily dose of estradiol.
The good part about my libido and desire not disappearing with HRT is that post-operative it is no longer a detriment, it is wonderful. It is different then before starting HRT four years ago. It is not that "want to jump on any boulder and hump it" kind of libido. It is much more subtle. And now that I am post-operative I can for the first time in my life appreciate it with no guilt and no shame. Bring on the libido, no worries. I guess there is an upside to hormones not knocking out the ol' libido.
Remember, I am coming from a non-scientific view point. I am not a doctor or a scientist.
"Effin duh."
Jeez you.
"Well did you really have to say that, Trish? It sounded so stupid."I only know how things have made me feel, how they have affected me.
They talk about that inner peace, that serenity from Hormone Replacement Therapy, the inner self being calmed. Have I found that? Naw. I don't think so. There is so much shit going on inside of me that it would take a lot more then a little estrogen to put me at ease. But I will tell ya what, I do know that there is less conflict in there. I do know that when I look down at my body, even though I am way less then happy with it (as to the effects of HRT), I am happier with it then I was before.
I am very difficult to please, to a fault. When you look up the phrase "we are our own worst critic", my picture, no, make that my biography is right there next to it. I may not be the best person to evaluate the physical effects of HRT.
For me, the effects of HRT have mostly been up here anyway:
*taps noggin* Right up in the old brain center. I have written of it before lots of times so I won't go into it again, except to say that what bothers me at times is that it has had such a strong effect on my emotions and my thinking that some people think that I am putting on, that I am playing girlie games, pretending to be the "oh so sensitive" one. That bothers me, a LOT, because I pride myself on being as honest as I can be, especially with all of this shit.
Oh well, HRT for four years. Anything that it has done or was going to do for me it has done or will not do and so I think that this is pretty much the end of Hormone Replacement Therapy reports, unless I am forced to stop estrogen or some mad doctor comes up with a new plan to induce breasts on Trish. I seriously doubt that I will ever have breast augmentation unless somebody says, "Trish, hop in the limo. I am taking you to have breast augmentation surgery, bought and paid for, best surgeon in the world too." If that don't happen, it ain't gonna happen, so it ain't gonna happen.
~ Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls ~
Mr. P.T. Barnum is proud to present to you, as he has to the Crowned Heads of Europe,
the one, the only,
~ The Magnificent Breastless Trish-Marie ~
!! Eighth Wonder of the World !!Cool. Employment at last.
Oh yeah... Thursday I went to the dentist for my cleaning. My Mom was out of town, so I drove down to the dentist parking lot and took my valium there. I waited for fifteen minutes and oh man, valium. Emily the hygienist said that, "It looks like you are doing your homework." I am SO good. Everybody there loves my Mom and at least 100 people must have popped their heads in to ask where she was. "Oh I am doing quite wel.... Huh? My Mom? Oh she is out of town so I ca... What? Oh she is fine, thanks...." Very wonderful office. I cannot believe I went to the dentist by myself like it was nothing. Thank you Mr. Valium.
Yesterday was Fathers Day. This coming Wednesday I am going to take my son out for Fathers Day pizza. It was two years ago yesterday that I experienced my last Fathers Day while actually living with him. He took me out for pizza and we must have sat and talked for about two hours. He was just fourteen then. Man did he make me laugh. His sense of humor is wonderful. It was a great evening. Very special. I am looking forward to this one. How do I feel about Fathers Day? At this point in my transition? Let me just say this: Some sixteen years ago I signed up to be my son's father and with any luck at all, I will always be his father.
Trish
Thursday, July 1st, 2004
- I guess it was...
...just natural instinct that the first thing I did when I stopped bouncing around was to check all my body parts. I remember feeling the back of my head, then around my lower back and midsection, looking at my legs. Everything in the cab of the truck had been thrown out of whack. Dust and old cigarette ashes that had been resting under the dash board for years were now on the floor or floating around in the air.
I looked in the rear view mirror and saw the car that had hit me. My mind was all over the place. Should I try to get off to the right or stay where I was, in the fast lane of the 101 Freeway in the San Fernando Valley. I drove for a foot or two and stopped. The traffic was incredible. Normal for 7 PM Los Angeles traffic in the valley. Cars were now starting to back up behind us, intermittent honking as they tried to pass our accident site.
There was no warning. I had stopped safely behind the cars in front of me, I had heard no screeching of tires, there was nothing, and then
BAM! It was all I could do to just find the brake pedal to keep from hitting the car in front of me. It was like one of those bad dreams where you cannot get a car to stop until you are within inches of colliding.
So yeah, I was rear ended on the way home from electrolysis. With all the years of driving, the thousands of miles I have gone strictly in the name of transition, I suppose I am getting off easy. No injuries (knock on wood) other then being sore and headachy today. I still had to drive a hundred and fifty miles to get home so I ended up getting right back on the horse. I didn't want to. I was slightly shaken.
And yes I am passing up the inevitable James Bond line.
"In a way you didn't pass it up, Trish."
Cut me some slack, Jack.Thank goodness the truck is still very drivable.
Anyway....
Last Wednesday I took my son our for Fathers Day Pizza. We had a really nice time. We got stuffed, bought lots of stickers out of the sticker machine, got stuffed, talked, ate a lot of pizza, and laughed. I didn't start for home until about 10 PM. These are the kind of times that it is especially difficult to leave and know that he lives there, and I live here. Once again, old story.
This is day 279 without cigarettes. Nine months and four days. The night before last I dreamt that I smoked a cigarette, not the whole thing, just a couple of hits, and it was really good. I think that when I reach a year of no smoking, it might be encouraging. Right now, it just sucks.
Dilating has gotten no easier. If anything it seems to be more difficult. I just have to do as I have been told by a trusted one and "stay with the program". This at times is much easier said.... then done.
My libido is skyrocketing. But I couldn't let anybody get near my crotch right now even if I had the opportunity. It is still too tender. Way too tender.
Love me tender, love me....
Elvis Presley and Ken Darby(Vera Matson)
Tuesday, July 6th, 2004
- This is not...
...a good week. On Saturday my lower back went out and my upper back feels heavily stressed as does my neck, I have had a dull headache every day. I do not know if this is related to the accident or not. I am going to give it a few more days. I'm not in a real good mood.
"Typical."
Huh?
"I said... TYPICAL."
Typical what?
"You get into a little fender bender and now you want to get something out of it."
Oh fuck you.There is absolutely nothing else going on. I have not been off of this mountain but two times in the last two weeks. I have not seen a soul since I went to mall last Thursday just to hang out, drink a Diet Coke®, people watch and window shop.
And I will probably not see another soul until I leave the Ponderosa for electrolysis this Thursday. Adam, Hoss and Little Joe are fixin to stay on the ranch and see to the lower forty. Pa says they gotta.
On this land we put our brand, Cartwright is the name,
fortune smiled, the day we filed the Ponderosa claim.
Here in the west we're livin' the best Bonanza.
Jay Livingston and Ray Evans
Monday, July 12th, 2004
- I can't believe...
...that last Friday, July the 9th was the one year anniversary of the day that I started genital electrolysis. I am so glad that is over with. As I wrote back then, for me it was not as bad as I had heard it can be. I was actually pretty surprised that I did not need a team of anesthesiologists to put me out for each session. *KA-BLAM* goes the big cartoon hammer. My electrolysis person is also surprised. To this day she shakes her head and says, and I paraphrase, "Trish, I am totally surprised we made it through that with such ease." She knows me well, and she knows I am a wuss.
One of the worst parts of genital electrolysis was the cleanup afterward. All that creepy topical numbing gel in your crotch. It was..... icky. And the numbing stuff was irritating period. It was kind of like putting Vicks Vapo Rub® all over your genitals. But anyway, a year ago. Trip.
Re: The car accident where I was rear ended on the freeway close to two weeks ago; My back (etc) is/are still bothering me a lot. Headaches. I am trying to get the other persons insurance to cover a trip to the doctors office and what ever else is needed to get me back up to par. That is all I want. So far the other person's insurance company is not calling me. Could be funny stuff going on, or maybe not. We will see. My back is playing a big part in my day to day at this point and it sucks.
"I'm telling you, Trish, you could make some money off of this."
Man, I hate that. That is what I am so afraid it looks like.
"Well?"
Hey you, she... hit... me. Do you think I need this? Want this?
"You are turning into an I don't know what, Trish. Who knows what you want. I think that you will these things to happen to you."
I do not.I am having trouble sleeping. Lot's of anxieties again. It is just weird that so many things are going my way and are so great and you would think I would be celebrating, but on the other hand it is just totally amazing that things have gone my way because really my life could be totally lousy right now. I mean really lousy. This is one of the things that scare me. How lousy it really could be at any turn of the bend. When the "amazing" stops kicking in, things could spiral in a hurry. So I am in the worrying about it mode and sleep is not all that good right now.
I am missing my therapist. He is on vacation and I will not be seeing him for about four more weeks. Dang.
I called my endocrinologist today as I have an appointment for next Friday, the 23rd. I can't afford to go so I postponed until late October. Hopefully by then something will happen.
"Yeah Trish, maybe you will get rich off some car accident or something."
Oh stop.I also called in to refill my estradiol prescription today. This is so cool. I have not had to fill it for over half a year and this one will cover me for another six months. Only seventy five or so dollars. Man, that is so much better then before surgery. This is great. Very little testosterone being produced (I have no idea how much) and very little medication needed. I have given up on ever having a chest of any kind. So.... la la la.
I'm still working on getting ye old birth certificate updated. It will be quite a while before that is completed.
AND................... that's it right now....
Cause ain't nothin' goin' on but the rent.
Gwen Guthrie
Wednesday, July 21st, 2004
- I'm tellin...
...ya, there is just nuthin goin on.
On Thursday July 15th the insurance company for the party that rear ended me on the freeway finally called. Now I can go see the doctor about my back. Yesterday an insurance representative guy was supposed to come over between 8 and 8:30 AM to assess the damage to the truck I was driving, but when he was two and a half hours late and still no sign of him in sight, we decided to run some errands as we had planned to do.
We went to a few thrift shops. We hadn't done that in a long time. I bought two new skirts which is a good thing. Thrift shops can rock. We also stopped for a hamburger at a place that stacks their french fries a mile high. Doggie bag time, or in reality, Hefty Bag® time.
"Oh yay yay yay, Trish. That... is... so.. so... darn thrilling."
So anyway, the inurance guy shows up this morning saying something about not coming by yesterday "because my wife in in the hospital" or some such thing. Oh whine whine whine. And just what are WE??
Chopped liver?? "Jeez, Trish."
I'm kiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiidding. Who even knows if he was being truthful or not. What can ya do.Friday night I am going with my Mom and four friends to see a play. It is for my Mom's birthday. I am really looking forward to this.
This is day 299 without cigarettes. Nine months and twenty four freakin days.
I am not tired of writing in my Transition Diary. I am not letting it go. There is just nuthin goin on and I am not going to reach for something to write.
Ebb and tide, tide and ebb.
Trish
Monday, July 26th, 2004
- We have been...
...trying to find a doctor that would look at my car accident effed up back. I could not find one that would accept cash. They are all on HMO contracts. Me no have no good job? Me no have no lousy insurance. Me no have no lousy insurance? Me no have no doctor.
But hey, we finally found one. Free clinic. Middle of some God forsaken farmland. In a trailer. My appointment was at 1 PM. They were out to lunch until 1:15. The trailer was locked. We waited in the car in a field. It turns out that the biggest reason for this place to exist is best represented by three words: Pregnant illegal immigrants. Imagine laying on the examination table in your doctor's office and feeling the whole place shake every time a nurse in the other room opens a file cabinet. All the pamphlets in the room I was in (and there were lots of em) were about two things: Pregnancy and chlamydia.
The doctor looks me over. The good news? I can walk and talk and still play the fiddle. The bad news? I don't completely trust the diagnosis. I was sent home with a pamphlet (surprise!) illustrating a few exercises to strengthen the back (like I can fucking do them with a fucked up back), some glorified aspirin and a tip: If I am still sore in two or three weeks, come back to see them, only this time bring chickens for trade.
Oh, and on the back of the pamphlet I was given were steps one can take to reduce the chances of becoming chlamytic.
"Becoming chlamytic? Is chlamytic a word?"
Doesn't matter. That wasn't on the back of the pamphlet anyway. I was BS'ing.I told the doctor that this shit (pain) is interfering with everyday activities, down to cleaning my bathtub. I am in pain here. "Take the (glorified aspirin) medication, these things take time. Come back in two or three weeks if the pain is still there."
Damn it. Like just la la la waiting for two or three weeks for the la la la pain to go away is the optimal choice. How about a little la la la x-ray, or a little la la la ultra-sound, or a little la la la supervised physical therapy. Guess not.
One small note for those who have not transitioned because they are afraid to do so on accounta what a free clinic doctor in the middle of some God forsaken farmland in some dankee stankee little shakey ass trailer who is there mostly for pregnant illegal immigrants and venereal disease patients is going to think of them: Relax. Nobody hung me. Chances are they would not hang you either.
Yes, he had to know about my transition at this point whether I wanted him to know or not. One of the questions he asked me was if I had had any surgeries in the last few years. I did not feel as though it was in my best interest to be less then honest with him.
I went to a play with some friends on Friday night. And no, I didn't pay for it. I was treated. It was really really nice. I am however, in no mood today to write about it. Maybe next time.
This is day 304 WITHOUT A FUCKING CIGARETTE. GGGGGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
And then the witch doctor, he told me what to do.
He said that, "Ooo eee, ooo ah ah, ting tang, walla walla, bing bang.
Ooo eee, ooo ah ah, ting tang walla walla bing bang."
Ross Bagdaserian, Jr
Friday, August 6th, 2004
- In October of 1999 I...
..."went out as Trish" for the very first time. I was going to visit a friend that I had known only by way of snail and then e-mail for some five or six years. She is the friend that helped me out of the closet that I had been in for lo those many years. And going to visit her for a few days was to be my first "coming out".
During that time I had the beginnings of a website on the Internet where just as I do here, I was writing of my experiences as a "transgender person". Recently I was looking through my writings that I had put on that website, about my first trip out "as Trish", and here, a bit to my chagrin, are just a slice of those writings, unedited:
Finally. October 7th, 1999, 9 A.M. this morning...
I awoke fully intending to sleep for another 2 hours... I worked very late. Then I remembered. Today is my day. Wait! Today is my day!!! I can't sleep another 2 hours! No way!!! I have got to pack! I can hardly believe it. In the morning I will be on my way to living a dream. Sharing myself with others... Them sharing with me. I am experiencing so many different emotions right now....and I packed and I packed and I packed... giggle... Oh my gosh! Is it because this is my first time out and I don't want to forget anything, or do we always carry so many things?.... I have so many things to take! ... And I am only going to be gone for 3 to 5 days!
This is wonderful.... All the while that I am getting all my things ready I am thinking to myself, I can't believe it! I am going miles from home, with only one drab pair of pants and one drab shirt! Everything else will be nothing but pretty clothes! Soft, wonderful, pretty, girls clothes! I am about to faint! I think I am getting the vapors! ... giggle...
Wait... Just a sec. I have to take a little break here... I have to tell ya something. (11:34 P.M.) ...as I am building this little page, I am realizing that it is not going as planned! I am just too giddy or something... I know now that it is not a good night for page building. Let me just say that, I hope to take many pics of my time out and I plan on trying to document it the best I can on this page when I return... I hope you will look forward to it as I am.... I love ya all! The world is just so beautiful tonight.
Trish-Marie says,
"Tonight I must be the happiest girl on the face of the planet."
October 8th, 1999 ~ About 9 A.M. This is how the sky looks this morning as I am leaving my house... The weather is so warm and lovely.. I am just so happy. As I was to find out, the evenings were just as warm and lovely at my friend's house as this beautiful morning was.
I took this as I was passing Magic Mountain. I was soooooooo nervous! But also soooooo excited! I could hardly wait to get to my friend's house, change my clothes (I hope to be soooo pretty... I hope), and just start my life. Oh what a wonderful day. I could not stop thinking about all that my friend and I had talked about over the years, and now, finally, we were going to be together. 
Almost there! ...You can see how the gorgeous weather is holding out. Well, these are the only pics I have from my trip... I was much too excited and busy to take any at my friend's house. But this next time, my friend tells me that pictures will kinda be taken care of. So I hope to have some of my trip to the big city! Trish-Marie on the beautiful streets of the big city! Yay! See ya then!
!!! WARNING !!!
!!! Boring Alert !!!Tuesday, October 12, 1999..
Well, I am back. I am not the same. I am not as perky as I thought I would be. This is truly a good thing. I am drained. I had just a wonderful time. The best time a girl could possibly have. My first time out could not have been more positive or supportive or anything. But, I learned a few things about myself, that I did not know. These things, good things, have made it very hard for me to be simply "full of joy". On one hand, I should be, but on the other hand, because of the restrictions and "morals" put upon us by society, I am having a hard time being so.I discovered that Trish-Marie is so much a part of me in ways that I did not know, ways that I never could have imagined. I discovered that I was not her, she is me. I discovered that I love her. I don't just love being her, I love her. I love me. Weird. I just had no way of knowing these things until now.
So these restrictions and morals that have me putting her away, as they do a lot of you, is hurting far more, far more then it ever did before, because as I said, I found I love her, and to do this to her, me, is something that I have never dealt with before. Before this weekend, it was always her I was putting away. Now it is me. And it hurts.
I, Trish-Marie, am not the girl I thought I, she was. When I went out, the real Trish-Marie came out. I was taken by total surprise. Trish-Marie is not looking and will never look at herself the same again.
I realize that my communication skills leave a lot to be desired. I also know that even if I had marvelous communication skills, this is something that I feel so deeply, and is so emotionally intense for me, that I would still have a hard time helping you to understand how I feel.
So instead of this page being a celebration of pictures of me, my journey and fun thingies to say, it is a celebration of my new awareness. A celebration of melancholy. A celebration of self love. A celebration of Trish-Marie coming to know herself, a totally different celebration then I thought I would be having... It almost sounds as though I am just one unhappy girl now, but the bottom line is that Trish-Marie is still here, she is still craving a great life and she knows more about herself then ever before. I am more thankful then ever that my angel brought me together with the best girlfriend and person that ANY girl could ever have, my friend.
...and this is far from the end... This is only my beginning.....
Back to present day, August 6th 2004...
One of the thoughts that first comes to my mind as I read that, is I kind of make myself sick with all that cutesy giggle type stuff, all that stuff that I guess I thought was so "girlie". I cannot remember exactly what I was thinking but I do know that I was having fun (to a certain extent).
"(I hope to be soooo pretty... I hope)" Yeah, and how embarrassing is that??
"Golly gee wilikers, Trish. Isn't that the same kind of stuff that you rail at about other people? All that cutesy yootzy and fake girlie girl stuff?"
Hmmm... I think you have a.... Maybe I should lighten up a bit.
"Well, it does tend to make you look a little hypocritical, Trish."
Okay, point taken.Man, there are some bitter pills to swallow on this road. I will try to lighten up. I will try to lighten up a hair about cutesy yootzy writing but I will not lighten up about people claiming to be "transsexual" and/or women when they are all about nuthin but the thigh highs and the blow jobs.
"Anyway, Trish..."
Yes, anyway....The other thought that comes to my mind, is just how much the mood of my writing changed from when I left for my friend's house, to after I had come back. I do remember that. I have written here before of the two minute revelation I had had at my friend's house, the one that changed my life, and those words written in October of 1999 reflect very much for me the before and after of that first time out. Perhaps it is not as easily seen by others, but for me it is like night and day.
And I was scared. I could not believe that I was doing what I was doing, going where I as going, all alone. And I really did struggle with whether or not I should just turn around, drive home and forget about all of this. It was a looooong drive. Until this time I had taken my son with me every place that I went, from the supermarket to hiking to gun shows to just everything. I was feeling guilty about doing this behind his back and I was feeling so alone. But deep down inside, I knew that if I turned around and went home, if I didn't do this, I would never forgive myself. I knew that if I had not gone through with it this time, I would just have to try again.
As I have come to find out, the fact that I cried all the way home from my first time out, and off and on for days afterward is not totally uncommon. Apparently lot's of folks have a hard time going back to presenting as male (or female, depending on the case) after they have been out for the first time. Man oh man it was painful... and good, but painful, but good. It was like "Jeez, I cannot let this go. I finally have this and I cannot let it go."
And I didn't, and here I am, and I still thank God for my friend. She's the one.
And by the way, I do like girlie girl stuff, and pink, and bows and ribbons and all that stuff. I am just a little more modest about it now. *giggle*
My back and neck are still bothering me (from being rear ended on the freeway on June 30th). The "glorified aspirin" that the Trailer Doctor gave me have helped a bit with mobility. I am supposed to take them three times daily, but as they have to be taken with a meal and I only eat usually one time a day, I only take em once or twice. That gives me plenty of time to find out how I feel without them and I am still very sore. That is where Accident City is at for now.
On Wednesday the 30th of July I reached three hundred hours and forty five minutes of electrolysis. Holee crap. I am glad I didn't know before I started.
"Know what, Trish?"
Know how long this was going to take.
"Well some have suggested that perhaps you are not getting the best electrolysis that you could, Trish. I mean, 300 hours... C'mon."
What can I say, I go with what I can.I had a lot of hair. I had areas that were totally heavy with hair, and now? With nine days since my last session? In those areas not hair one can be found, week after week. I know it is working. Sure, I am not happy with how long it is taking. I am full time. I have made commitments and to have a beard come back on me now would be deadly. Scary. But it is working. My electrolysis person is a huge part of my small transition team and I love her. She rocks and she is good at what she does.
I have not shaved my face since Wednesday May 4th, my last day at Jury Duty. That is three months and one week ago. Sure, I have gone to electrolysis every eight to ten days during that time, but I have not shaved and I have not been addressed as "sir" to my face one time with makeup or without. So this is good.
I am not happy with my appearance and I never will be. I need all the help that I can get and electrolysis is a big part of that.
As I had touched upon in my last entry, two weeks ago today I attended a stage play with my Mom and some friends of ours. It was great. There was myself, my Mom...
"Duh, Trish. You just said that..
...and four other ladies. The play was a one set/two act comedy about gangsters who wish to invest in a stage play written by the suitor of a daughter of one of them. But anyway, it was fun and this is the kind of fun stuff that I want to do when I get my life going again (IE: when I get a job).
I am enjoying my post-op sexuality extremely el mucho gusta. For my non-Spanish speaking friends, that means, "Damn I like this." It seems that many physical movements I make during the time that I am feeling... "amorous" are, how shall I put it, dangiddy ding dong darn pleasant. I am not sure why this is, but I am sold, babee. I also have this desire now, and it is getting stronger as time goes by to be "filled". The thought of dilating is exciting to me. When I actually dilate it is not quite that good, it really pretty much sucks most the time but the thought of being "filled" gets my juices flowing. I am not going to embellish on this right now, however much I want to.
The surgery that I had is called Vaginoplasty. The follow up surgery to that is Labiaplasty. Labiaplasty is mostly for cosmetic reasons. It is performed to create the labia minora and a hood on the clitoris. This is not a mandatory procedure and many find that they can live just fine without it. It runs approximately one sixth the cost of Vaginoplasty. And now my reason for writing the last two paragraphs: Just as with the original procedure, Vaginoplasty, sexual response is not guaranteed after Labiaplasty is performed.
Skaaaah-RUE that.
My libido is great and for the very first time in my life I am loving it like there is no tomorrow and I will be damned at this point if I would risk losing my sexual response. My sexuality is Rock and Roll City now. I have weighed my options and I would not chance losing it via Labiaplasty or anything else. Perhaps I will change my mind in the future, but I am just not seein it.
If you had gone your whole life feeling that your sexuality and the results of that sexuality were anywhere from slightly off the mark, to downright fucked up and you had been given the chance to turn what was once only slightly pleasurable at best and guilt ridden and disgusting to you at worst into something that takes your breath away, I think you would feel the same way.
And yes, at times my sexuality and it's "getting there's" and it's wonderful "non-ejaculating, undulate inducing, shiver sending, brain melting, goes on and on and on" results absolutley take my breath away.
"Wow Trish."
You bet.This is day 315 without cigarettes. Ten months and nine days. I suppose when I reach a year without cigarettes (or when I start smoking again) I will end this stupid count.
I have therapy for the first time in eight weeks this coming Monday, thank goodness. I am needing it.
My son is unexpectedly coming to stay with me for two or more days starting tomorrow. Cool.
On this endless ocean, finally lovers know no shame.
Turning and returning, to some secret place inside.
Watching in slow motion, as you turn around and say...
Take my breath away.
Berlin
