Chilly. It's Chili.

Yo!
It's been a long time... 4 1/2 months, to be exact. I didn't have Internet in my apartment and I left my job where I used to spend most of my Wednesday nights killing time on someone else's Internet... And let's be honest: the only reason I've even remembered that I have a blog to write in is because I am reading the blog of a new friend. It's not because today, of all days, I have something to write about. But I figured that while I'm hear, I'll update anyone who wants to know on everything that's happened from August 5, 2009 until now.

I began classes at George Mason at the end of August. I am trying to finish my stupid Bachelor's degree, but having decided years ago that I hate the political science major and will chew of my own foot before I sit through another political science class, I switched my major to biology. My classes for the semester were Biology w/ Lab, Organic Chemistry I w/ Lab, and Iraqi Arabic (because I took Arabic before and didn't want to lose any of it... too late.) The classes were alright, but then in October I got promoted to the lead teaching assistant in the classroom I work in and my obligations to work increased. And I lost motivation to continue putting in the effort in classes that were way over my head and that I wouldn't end up doing anything with anyway. So, with the advice and help of a friend (who doesn't even go to the school, but it a lot better at solving problems than I am!) I applied for the Bachelor's of Individualized Study program and got accepted into that. Yay! So what does this mean? For one, a reevaluation of my transfer credits, which should bring me to over 100 transfer credits and mean that I will be graduating in 2-3 semesters! It also means that I get to create my major. The tentative title for what I want is Health and Nutrition for Developmentally Disabled Children. We'll see. I'll give more details about it next semester once I really shape up the plan for it.

What else? Hmmm... well, I came out (officially) at work. Maybe I wrote about this before? But my name change was official as of August 25th, so I did the process of changing my name over on all my legal/employment stuff. Now I have a driver's license that says M for gender and my new name, James Ethan, on it. :D yay!

Wow, another reason I don't write blogs: so hard to stay focused! Currently, I am making chili (yum!) taking online tests, trying to buy a game online (Diablo?) and talking on facebook, in addition to writing here. Oh, and occassionally (I know that's spelled wrong...) I have to stop and sing/dance to whatever song is on the radio. "Well I'm not paralyzed, But I seem to be struck by you, I want to make you move Because you're standing still. If your body matches what your eyes can do, You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you!"

Right now, I'm trapped in my apartment. We didn't have a blizzard, but we're drama queens when it comes to the weather in Northern Virginia. That people panic when it's simply cloudy out during the summer should indicate the state of driving when it's rainy/snowy/icy/windy/dark outside. We have notoriously bad drivers in the beltway area. :( I'm not one of them, but I have to share the road with them. I walked to the store today because I didn't feel like digging my car out of 30 cubic feet of snow, only to get stuck feet away from the parking spot. Having a rear-wheel drive sports car is just ASKING for trouble in the winter. It's a good thing I live walking distance to both the shopping center and to my work (and to the library, I guess, but it's always closed anyway.) Actually, there are two shopping centers within walking distance... one is about 1/3 mile away... the other is about a mile.

Hmmm... wow, I didn't realize that I really don't have anything going on in my life. No hobbies... friends all too far away to walk to... really the only things I care about in my life right now are work (have I mentioned I LOVE my job? Hehehe) and... well, that's about it. Work is the only thing that energizes me and makes me smile. So, I guess it's not really 'work', is it?

What's new on the transition front? Absolutely nothing. I had been on 50mg/week for a year with almost NO change. I have ZERO facial or body hair after 12 months. My voice has changed only minimally. I'm SO disappointed. I feel like the whole thing is a big joke and my endocrinologist one day is gonna be like, "Haha, just kidding. That wasn't *really* testosterone. That was just the cottonseed oil. Good one, right?" Anyway, I increased my dose to 75mg/week last week. And I'm going to a new doctor after Christmas. That's all I can do, I guess. I'm either called "she/her" or people assume I'm 14 years old. (Of course, given the choice, I'd choose the latter.)

I don't even want to think how long I've been working on writing this stupid post. I don't handle distractions well... or I handle them really well: I give attention to every little thing and get NOTHING finished! Oh well. I am going to try to do something productive. Plan for the evening: watch Yentil, make holiday cookies, and go to sleep. :)

Club Men

At least one good thing has come from me coming out to my friends about being trans: guys who were already buddy-buddy with me have given me an open invite into the boy’s club. This invitation is complete with crude, immature comments, rougher-than-necessary slaps on the back, farts (and their accompanying jokes), and the 100% awkwardness that comes with straddling the line of male-bonding and homosexual tendencies. Nice. It almost seems as if the behavior was somehow these male friends mocking their own maleness to make me feel comfortable, which is nice in a very strange sort of way. I think it’s also a reflection of how some are subconsciously forced to redefine their own maleness as they assess mine. Recently, I have learned many things, but the foremost lessons to learn is: there will always be someone who knows more about being a man than you. At least, he thinks he does. Almost everyday at work, one of the guys I work with comes up with some dumbass rule that I must learn, insisting that he will teach me how to be a proper guy. “You’re not supposed to remember birthdays. That’s just not what us guys do,” or “Guys don’t eat veggies. They eat steak!” or “No, really, guys are supposed to slap each other on the ass!” or my favorite, “What the hell are you doing?!? You’re not supposed to be braiding So-and-So’s hair! That’s not what guys DO!!!!” (I actually was French braiding my co-worker’s hair during down time… cause we were that bored. LOL.)

But going from girls to guys, the conversations I have with friends really hasn’t changed too much. The guys pick their body fat and pull clothes in different places, swearing off this food or that, promising to start this or that workout or diet… the concern with body image doesn’t change. Just the willingness to expose said vulnerability changes. Then there’s crushes. There’s still that same reluctance to reach out to members of the opposite sex (or same sex, depending on the individual) that people find attractive. Girl’s checking out guy, guy’s checking out girl, both are too afraid to say anything so nothing gets said. ARGH, people! Let’s see, what else… driving. Girls aren’t better or worse drivers. Of my dearest friends, I would say everyone either sucks or is decent in a very non-gendered sort of way. Girls’ overall hygiene tends to be better (or, some guys just need to change up their routines cause their present ones aren’t working! And what’s the deal with not shaving or having horrible haircuts?!? Guys, take pride in yourselves. You owe it to yourselves and the girl you hope to approach to look and smell nice!)

I’ve only had one guy ask me about surgery… and it wasn’t so much casual ‘asking’ as it was a CIA interrogation. I was expecting water boarding if I didn’t provide more detail! I let him connect many of the dots (since we were standing in the parking lot of a bar and I didn’t exactly have my PowerPoint slides to provide graphic support.) A couple of weeks later, we were at the mall and I kept complaining that I wanted to leave because I had to go to the bathroom (which I would have preferred to do in the privacy of my apartment, and not in a public bathroom.) But, it got to the point that once he left me to go, I felt stupid holding it anymore. I followed him in a few seconds later. We were the only two in the bathroom (thank God!) and he was already standing at the urinal when I walked in. To my complete surprise, he just kind of laughed at my reluctance to come inside, and proceeded to pee as I entered the stall to do the same. So how does that feel hanging out with a female-bodied dude who’s sitting down to pee in a stall next to where you, a male-bodied dude, are standing to pee? I don’t know, and I didn’t really ask. But as we both went to wash our hands, he probably noticed how surprised I was with how cool he was about it. He made some kind of joke like, “It’s really not a big deal. This isn’t Boys Don’t Cry, you know.” But I didn’t know. Sure, there are lots of douche bag men out there. But as far as I’m concerned, there are just as many uncool ladies out there too. So at least if I have good, open-minded (and open-hearted!) friends, I feel like I can pee in peace.

And with all it alienness, I’m happy to be a novice in Club Men.


Author’s side note: I was at the mall with my baby sister and our mom the other weekend. They were looking at shoes and I was alternating between trying to claw my own face off as a means to escape and suggesting different shoes, seeking that delicate balance that ‘real men’ apparently have when shoe shopping with their lady friends. As I felt more comfortable, I stopped caring what other people around me were thinking (only the true egotistical even think that others are even concerned with what they’re doing…) and I forgot the image I was trying to present. She held up a pair of high, pearl-colored heels and I was like, “Hey. I used to have a pair of shoes just like those. Remember?” and the lady standing only a couple of feet from us looked at me with the most innocent, confused (trying to be subtle) face, looked down at her own shoe in deep thought, and walked away. We cracked up laughing as soon as she left. “Yes, there are some things I need to be more mindful before mentioning.”

Sometimes There's Pain in Play

Oh geez, so where do I begin. :)

I guess I'll start with last Friday, July 10th. I took the day off from work, 1. because I needed a day off from work, and 2. so that I could prepare for the upcoming camping trip that weekend. I had the whole day to myself, but someone (who shall remain nameless! lol) texted me at 7 that morning... and I couldn't go back to sleep. That's alright because I decided that having gotten paid and not having any particular obligations, that that would be a perfect day to do things for myself. I started by driving to the Prince William County circuit courthouse and beginning the paperwork process for my legal name change. Yay! Yes, my first and middle name will legally be James Ethan (of course, I still go by Ethan) in only a few weeks. After that I got my sister and we saw Bruno on it's opening day. Not as fabulous as it could have been (I guess that's what happens when straight men play gay guys...) but it was entertaining... (in that hopelessly mindless, highly sexual sort of way.) I guess the only disappointment is, with that much money, intelligence, and talent at his disposal, Sacha Baron Cohen should be winning Academy Awards... not making shit like Borat and Bruno. Oh well. After the movies I donated blood (for the first time in five years I wasn't turned away for being too anemic. Yay!) dropped my sister back home, got a haircut (which made me look so suddenly, surprisingly male that I actually shocked myself when I looked in the mirror! Bonus points!) Then more errands, picked up Richael at the metro, even more errands, and finally sleep somewhere around 11.

Now, here's where it gets exciting. After the 5 1/2 hour drive to BF, West Virginia (yes, the drive was exactly twice as long as I had been mentally preparing for...) we arrived at the camp in time for lunch. I actually won't mention the name of the campout retreat in this blog, but let's just say that I (I can't speak for my travel partner!) was WAY out of my league. First of all, clothing was optional... and most people opted for naked, or at least topless. Next, most of the people attending were trans (of course, not so uncomfortable to me) and I can admit now that I actually felt kind of disturbed by the paradoxically male faces and voices and the very large, feminine breasts the bodies tended to boast. I'll return to this in a second. So, we're in the middle of the woods and I'm sure I put on enough bug spread to cause short-term memory loss in the people around me (much less, the insects and small animals.) We brought with us (or so one of the camp organizers accused us!) rain storms that would last the afternoon and into the night. And the night, once we had exhausted ourselves from the drive, the workshops, the campfire sharing, and just the generally long day, was accutely interrupted throughout by the very loud shouts of various people achieving orgasms in the surrounding tents. (In fact, I woke up Sunday morning after very little actual sleep, fighting a scowl, and told Richael that I was likely to kill something if I heard one more orgasm!!!)

There are actually two things I want to talk about regarding the camp experience: the first is the nature of the campout, BDSM. Bondage and Discipline, Sado-Masochism is a community, mostly within the queer community (I think!) that defines the relationship between two (or more!) sexual partners. "Pain," is a big word, as is, "Play." Pain is usually inflicted, consentually, by the top (the dominate partner) on the bottom (the submissive, receiving one.) It can take the form of suspension, flogging, using needles or other sharp instruments, etc. (I'm not the creative or knowledgeable...yet!) Play generally refers to the scenario the two partners have created in which to play their roles. Think of the "bad student who must be punished," or the "mutinous sailor who has just been adjudicated," or something like that. A lot of planning goes into each play date in which the partners decide on their roles, how far to take it, safe words (which the receiving partner is in too much pain or at risk of serious injury), how to take care of the bottom afterward, etc. I gathered most of this information just in conversation and in the two workshops we attended the 24 hours we were there. I still have billions of questions... there's a time and a place in which they'll be answered, I'm sure. The most fascinating part of the 'pain' experience is that it was something I could identify with! I stayed very conservatively dressed (well, t-shirt, shorts, and flip-flops) the entire time, I abstained from any sexual activities or drinking alcohol, but I admit that I was immensely curious about the ways in which pain could be inflicted on me with my consent. At one of the workshops, we discussed what drives us to seek pain... the mediator offered, from hir own readings, that pain inflicted in the top half of the body was much more emotional based, stemmin from love, belongingness, etc., while pain inflicted in the lower half was more sexually stimulating. Maybe it has to do with chakras. Anyway, the point of pain, some said, was to replace a different kind of pain (translate emotional pain into physical one,) to have an erotic experience, or to get that adrenaline/endorphin rush. Maybe it's not so shocking, but I'm dying to learn more about the pain and pleasure bit.

The last part I wanted to talk about was the impact the physical presence the other campers had on me. I feel kind of guilty expressing my feelings, but wise people read this blog and always have good input. I felt extremely comfortable probably being the ONLY virgin there. Having not had any sexual experience of any kind (okay, I'll be fair, having never had intercourse... Richael, did I answer your question?) I felt really childish. Then there was the 'boob issue.' I told Richael that it occurred to me: if I had given a million dollars to the other campers, and they were in perfect health, many of them would still not have surgery to remove their breasts. (Some would, but I have a feeling that a lot wouldn't.) That confuses me a lot because I am struggling to understand the male identification in still, largely, female bodies. For me, I HAD to have top surgery, or risk going absolutely insane. the dysphoria just grew in me exponentially... and I guess I just can't relate to the peace of mind that some people have about their bodies. Essentially, their comfort with their bodies (displayed by the fact that their bodies were still visibly quite female, or that even if they were overweight they were displaying it proudly) made me extremely uncomfortable about my own body, and guilty about my discomfort. It seemed like the more naked they were, the more I wanted to cover up. I wish I could have stayed and learned more about the event and the people, but I don't think, psychologically, I could have lasted another hour. :( I felt uncomfortable about the sexual openness of everyone, that their sexuality was on display (physically, among other ways) where I couldn't even imagine sitting closer than 6 inches to someone I was genuinely interested in talking to. Maybe the worst part of the camp wasn't the long drive or lack of sleep, but how I couldn't convince myself to feel included and once I'd discovered my insecurities, I realized that I had only scratched the surface and had no idea how to constructively deal with them.

I realized I kind of ranted in this blog... maybe it was just more important to get out what I wanted to say than to actually say anything. Everything's a learning experience. But honestly, I can't wait to go to the campout next year because yes, in spite of all my discomfort, I'll be going back for a longer stay next time.

How do Multivitamins See Trannies?

If you've listened to the radio at all in the past month, you might have heard the Centrum One commercials... they go something like this: "Some things are made for women. [insert stereotypically female interests such a shoes and department store sales.] Now there's Centrum One-a-Day for Women... blah blah blah to support women's health..." They have a mirror commercial for men. And seeing as, but insert burgers, sports, and prostates. Same thing. I needed to buy a multivitamin this weekend, and actually was thinking about what I would need to look for in an appropriate multivitamin.

Being on testosterone, I no longer lose blood every month, so instead ofthe iron-enhanced prenatal vitamins I'd get previously to combat my chronic anemia, I would now need iron-free vitamins. I could stand much higher doses of vitamin A to help clear up my testosterone abused skin since pregnancy really isn't an issue for me anymore. Optimally, we would find multivitamins that would match the needs of our sexed bodies... these vitamins, on injestion, would say something like, "Ah ha! I am inside the male body, and when I disintegrate into my elemental parts, I will vitalize this male body as I see fit." Or something like that. Same thing for women. (I'm certain whenever I take a multi-vitamin, it looks around and says something like, 'WTF?!?') It occurred to me, I don't need a multi-vitamin that supports breast or prostate health, seeing as I have neither. I have ovaries, sure, but they don't do much anymore. So do I need a multi-vitamin for men or women? Are they really THAT different? (The answer is, yes, they are.) What do other health-conscious trannies think about this. When will Centrum create Centrum One for FTMs and Centrum One for MTFs, and break each of those down into pre-operative, post-operative, and pre-/presently on HRT? Oh... questions, questions.

(BTW, I found a good vegetarian --vegan?-- multivitamin for men at Whole Foods that I've been on for a few days now. It makes my piss fluorescent green. But if that's the worst that happens, at least I know that my urine can be bottled and used to guide aircraft during low-visibility, night landings...)

I'm. Coming. Out.

So, I've been coming out at work though a long, intensive, very hesitant process. Initially I told the two people I was closest to. Then I didn't say anything to anyone for a while. I told my supervisor on Monday. The conversation pretty much had the tone of me explaining that I would be switching from Exxon to Shell gas from now on... As I told my friend, my supervisor just kind of nodded... it seemed like she was thinking, "Why the fuck are you telling me? I don't care what kind of gas you use!" Fortunately, she also told me to make sure I didn't allow people to harass me in any way because I felt too intimidated to do anything about it. I love my supervisor. :) Anyway, my final plan was just having the two people I told initially spread it for me. It's not that I'm lazy... seriously, as outgoing and happy as I am a work, I was deathly shy for the first two weeks and probably spoke a total of 3 words in that time... I really don't like being the center of attention (contrary to popular belief) and I don't like to disappoint people or have them dislike me... particularly for petty shit. Hopefully after this initial 'excitment', people will just call me Ethan, and we can move on from there. Even more hopefully, there won't be any excitement, can just finally be myself around them and no one will notice. We'll see.

Do Black Men Eat Bananas?

This past weekend, I moved from my parents' house in the heart of suburban Northern VA to my decently sized apartment the next city over. But where I was one of a handful of minorities in my old neighborhood, people of color tend to dominate my new dwelling space (mostly Hispanic... which means I will have to dig up some Spanish from my 8th grade memory..."Hola, Jose!" There are a lot of hot guys in my neighborhood. I digress...) Em... oh yes. So, I don't know if it has to do with going from seeing very few men of color to suddenly seeing them everywhere, but I've recently rediscovered my racial self-consciousness. Wait, maybe that's not the phrase...but I've become very aware of my color and the gender I am presenting and comparing myself to those around me.

In typical day, I ask myself, "Do grown black men often babysit autistic white boys?" "Do grown black men put their hands on their hips when they pump gas?" "Why am I the only black man in the produce section of the supermarket? Do black men eat bananas? Why are those women staring at me?" That last question could actually be attributed by the fact that an increasing number of women of reproductive age have been looking at me, trying to guess my gender. I'm sorry, but I have no sperm, ladies. Nor a particular desire to procreate... with you... Hmmm. They could also be looking at the fact that I'm the only black male handling bananas. (They could ALSO be curious to know why I have not 3 or 4 bananas, but 10-12 bananas in my basket. Because I'm a vegan, and that's how I roll...)

I have often lamented how my dad and I were NEVER close, and how now more than ever I need him to teach me the Way of the Black Man. It seems, though, that more often than not each must find his own way. And I suppose that I could get hung up on separating negative stereotypes from positive stereotypes... but in the end stereotypes are stereotypes, and I gotta do my thing. (Okay! I gotta do my THANG! Geez...) For serious, it's not a bad thing to be a black man who eats healthy, who tries his best to support those with special needs (regardless of race or gender!) in his community, who doesn't drink or do drugs, who spends more time in academia than prison, and who DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT WHAT PEOPLE THINK ABOUT THEM.

I mean for real. It's time to get crunk, G.

A NEW Miss Theresa!

One of my jobs involves babysitting a high-functioning 10 year old autistic child. He's really awesome and constantly surprises and amuses me with the observations, connections, and conclusions he makes in his daily life. For instance, back in the winter his mom had his bathroom (along with a few other rooms in the house) remodeled. With the walls painted, a new bathtub, vanity, and tiled floor, he insisted on smiling and saying, "it's a NEW bathroom!" (One of the lightbulbs in the room was out--it wasn't screwed in all the way-- so when I screwed it all the way, he was laughing hysterically about having "a NEW lightbulb!" He also woke me up at 3 in the morning with his giggles when I spent the night because he was so excited about this concept of 'new'.) He also has a really great memory and ability to discern difference. If I change the pizza sauce on his pizza even slightly, he will notice, get pissed, and of course, not eat it. (And 10 years from now he will be able to tell me the exact date that I fucked up his pizza sauce! LOL.)

So what does this have to do with me? This past weekend I spent the night while his mom was out of town. Sunday morning we woke up, had breakfast and such, and got ready to go to Barnes and Noble when he suddenly turned to me, very excited, and said (pointing to my face,) "It's a NEW Miss Theresa!" Haha, so he had finally noticed that there was a very distinct difference from the person whom he met back in August when I first started working with him, and now. Fortunately, of the things he does obsess over, my physiological change isn't one of them. One good thing about working with him (for me, not for him) is that he mixes up "I" and "you" all the time, so he just uses names to differentiate who he's talking about... which is great when he's at the store and begins talking about "Miss Theresa" (in 3rd person) and I can just pretend that she's someone who's not there.... (and not me.)

The problem is, observant little child isn't the only one... and as my facial hair (read: sparse sideburns) is growing in, I will be forced to come out sooner or later. It's much easier to explain to children than adults, "Really, I'm the same person. I'm just a NEW me!"

2 Minutes in Hell is Better than 1 Minute in Hell (Part One)

So, today I did something.  ::pause for shock and awe effect to fade::

Yes, I did something that I am loathe to do.  As far as personal maintenance tasks are concerned, flossing, clipping my toenails, tweezing my eyebrows, and facial glycolic peels are all preferred to what I did this morning.  This morning, May 25th, 2009, I went for a run.  ::pauses another moment to allow readers to catch their breath::

In my blog, I talk about a lot of random ass, seemingly unrelated things, but I would argue that there is at least one common theme: navigating this cesspool of emotions and experiences called life.  I've done at least one book review, mused on experiences I've had directly related to my trans identity, explored experiences related to my black identity, and I've talked about wizards and cupcakes.  I rarely touch on politics, largely because it was my ill-chosen major for 4 years and have tried to distance myself from anything containing the words, "diplomatic efforts, aid, 'solution', agreements, conflict, and arms," (well, not 'arms' like biceps, but 'arms' like weapons... yeah.)

So continuing with the wreck that is my train of thoughts, I wanted to talk about fitness for the summer; namely, how any fat body can become healthier and more fit.  ::waits for laughter to subside:: Yes, ladies, gentlemen, and undecided/gender avoidant, I do actually know something about living a healthy, fit lifestyle.  And despite my financial situation, I'm willing to give you advice FOR FREE in my four part series.

Part One: Cardio

Part Two: Strength

Part Three: Food

Part Four: Energy

Don't worry, each of these posts will be relatively short.  'Relative', of course, being the operative word... So yes.  Running.  I'm not a runner.  I've never been a runner, and in all likelihood, you will probably never find my ass trudging through the Marine Corps Marathon.  But of all forms of cardio, running is consistently my favorite.  (Swimming and cycling are close second.)  Running does a couple of things: 1) it builds your leg muscles, the largest muscles in your body and therefore greater engines for fat burning, 2) it gives you a few minutes to clear your mind, like meditating, but also gives you a rush of endorphins to help stave off depression, and 3) cardiovascular strengthening helps prevent heart-related illness down the road.  Yay!  (Of course, you have to keep it up.)

But everyone thinks, "I'm too fat," or "I'm too slow," or "I have too many ___ problems."  First of all, we need to separate excuses from reasons before beginning to run.  When I say this, my greatest intent is not to suggest Beginning an Exercise Routine.  I simply mean beginning to run, like incorporating flossing into your teeth brushing routine.  There are amputees who run WAYYYYYY faster than many of us will ever be able to.  They didn't use their lack of legs as an 'excuse' not to run.  (That said, if you, reader, have a serious medical condition, I am not at all advocating that that's not a reason to abstain.  Capice?  Please take care of yourself.  I will suggest further options for you later in this blog.)

Running is not hard.  In fact, our ancestors learned to run before they swam, cycled, played tennis, etc.  It's merely a matter of putting on some seasonally appropriate clothing (a stupid t-shirt from a work fundraiser will do) and some athletic shoes (no, you don't need air jordans to make you run faster and better.)  Also, you don't need an expensive gym membership or even access to costly gym equipment (treadmill).  Gravity withstanding, the GROUND (read: Earth, pavement, sidewalk, grass, turf, track, etc.) is your optimal place to run.  Your legs are forced to do all the work, instead of a treadmill which moves the surface along for you.  So let's go over our materials checklist:

-ground.  Hills optional.

-athletic shoes. Stillettos are not preferred, though some ladies do a great job running in heels.

-socks. Always a great thing to wear with shoes.  Holiday decorations/days of week optional.

-t-shirt. Or a sweatshirt if it's sub-zero temperatures outside.

-shorts. Or sweatpants, see above.

-portable media device. Nice luxury, but optional.  Nature also sounds good.

-running partner.  Best asset you'll ever have, provided they're not excessively negative.

Like Ratatouille's "Anyone Can Cook," I will argue that "Anyone Can Run."  I even got my mom, after 3 back surgeries--resulting in a fused spine, 3 Caesarian sections, and 2 knee surgeries to run a couple of meters last summer!

When you get ready to run, your routine should look something like this:

Warm up--jog/cycle/do jumping jacks to get your heart rate up and your blood moving

Stretch--stretch lightly but thoroughly

Run--enjoy a mini-vacation from your day

Cool down--walk a few minutes until your heart rate returns to normal

Stretch again-- you should be a little more pliable now that your muscles are warmer

Shower--enjoy a relaxing, eco-friendly shower

Start/End your day!

Hit me up if you have any questions.  I purposely didn't include anything about timing, intervals, etc.  If you wanna be a competitive runner, I'm not the person to go to for that.  But if you want to just feel better in your daily life, maybe drop a few pounds, and have more energy, then my info should suffice.

Awww, I love you people.  And non-people.  I love you too.  :)

Call me Ishmael. Or Ethan, if you like. Just not....

At work, we have to pick our kids up from their buses outside and escort them to their classrooms everyday.  So on Friday afterschool, I went to pick up one of the kids for the afterschool program.  His aid was yelling something I couldn't hear over the bus engine, but I assumed she was saying 'bye' to the student so I told the student to say 'bye' to her on the bus.  That's when the bus driver said that the aid was actually talking to me.  

Me?  What did she want with me?  So I walk a little closer to the bus, still keeping an eye on my student so he didn't run away and looked at the aid.  Her voice was shrilly and old (she reminded me of someone's 80 year old southern granny.  I felt the urge to respond with a "yes ma'am," when she poke.)  "What's your name?" she shouted.  She sounded a bit like a witch, like she could do something to me by merely knowing my name.  Or maybe I read too many wizard books... 

Anyway, a range of responses went through my head.  I had no idea how she was perceiving me, so I didn't know how to answer.  Should I give her my legal (female) name? My soon-to-be-legal male name? My androgynous I-couldn't-decide-for-a-long-time name?  I went with the first option since that's how I'm known at work.  (I could just see telling her 'Ethan' and having that come back to haunt me shortly thereafter.)  So, I told her, "Theresa,"  which was actually NOT the better decision.

"Theresa?" she shouts.  It wasn't the sun making my cheeks burn.  "Theresa?!?" she shouts again a bit louder and with a hint more incredulity.  "That's a girl's name.  What, they got BOYS named Theresa now?!?" The aid was confused, but I couldn't see much more emotion beyond that... mostly because I was trying to think my way out of the situation.  The bus driver looked at me sympathetically and smiled.

"Oh... uh..." I pretended not to have heard what she said.  "Yeah!  So I hope you both have a GREAT long weekend.  Enjoy the weather!"  I smiled and took the kid inside as fast as I could.  One of the best things about working with the kids is that only a few of them talk, most of them have no idea about social gender roles/expectations, and NONE of them care what I look like or who I call myself... so long as I treat them respectfully, make them laugh, and give them candy when they ask for it.  

I'm trying to figure out, which comes first: legal name change, or unintentionally being outed at work?  LOL.

Wizards, Grains, and Attitude

Have you heard of the Dresden Files? It's a series of fictional (duh) books about a wizard named Harry Dresden who assists the Chicago Police Department in fighting crime--of the supernatural variety. Anyway, lately I've had a borderline unhealthy fascination with the books (I just finished book four) so much so that even when I'm exhausted from working late, I've stayed up til one or so in the morning trying to leard what happens next? No, I wouldn't give the books any award or anything, but they are excellent escapist fiction with humor, adventure, and evil faeries. Here's a link cause I encourage SOMEONE to check out the books: http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Storm-Front/Jim-Butcher/e/9780451457813/?itm=9



Grains. So, as soon as we're told whole grains are better than bleached, enriched flour, we learn that gluten-free is better than wheat/oats/barley/other glutinous grains. And now we're finding that NO GRAINS are better than some or any grains for a host of reasons. Let's talk agricultural. Simply put, acre for acre, fresh fruits and vegetables yield far more food than grains. Grains nowadays are stripped of whatever nutritional value they might have had, and in their very protein structures have substances that cause humans to unknowingly become addicted to them. (This particularly applies to glutinous grains, seen here: http://www.habitguide.com/blog/gluten) But whole grains have lots of fiber, you argue. Indeed. But it's not the good fiber. Think of swallowing bark. It has lots of fiber, but no matter how soft it may feel in your mouth, going down your very sensitive esophagus it's creating millions of tiny cuts on the membrane, which causes the body to react by producing a fine layer of mucous to protect it. And really, if you have bad allergies like I do, do you really need your body creating MORE mucous? Eck! Alternative to grains? Lots of bananas (for calories) and lettuce/celery/similar veggies for fiber. How am I doing with this? Well, this is day 3 for me. Indeed I did the raw food thing off and on for a bit, and yes I am trying to slowly transition back to that. But for a carbo addict like myself, breaking free of the addiction to grains is step one. Sure, it all sounds wacky... until you look at it from a bio-nutritionist standpoint and not a comercial view.



We have a new supervisor at work. Now, the supervisors at my job have specialized jobs and levels of leadership. We have a behaviorist, an occupational therapist, and a woman who's kind of in charge of everything admin and in the classroom. Then each classroom has a teacher and below that are 6-8 teacher assistants (yours truly.) Anyway, the new behaviorist is a piece of work. I say she's new, but she's actually been here for several months (maybe since December?) Anyway, it doesn't matter when she got here because instead of being the modest, wise observant person who took the time to get to know each student and their protocol and the teachers/TAs, she just jumps in and start telling everyone that they're doing everything wrong, and it's been like that since. Whatever the situation is, she just jumps in, acts like she knows everything, treats the teachers (well, my teacher) and the TAs like we're dumb pieces of shit, and THEN, as if her dominion over the staff isn't enough, starts telling the parents that they're fucked up for not allowing their children edible reinforcers (read: candy) at school. Honestly, that's their fucken perogative. And if she can't teach the kids without bribing them with sugar, then she's not so perfect, is she? The worst part about her arrogance is that she has succeeded in making everyone feel afraid of her. NO ONE will tell her, "Hey, you know what? I had that under control. It's nice of you to want to help, but I'd appreciate it if you ASKED me next time since that's MY student right now." Or, "Maybe you could stop being such a condescending little prick and respect that you have people under you before they stop working for you altogether," (not quit their jobs, but you know, stop being cooperative.) Its like in the military... it's like she's an officer that treats us, the enlisted, as these people far inferior to herself. The number of times I have had to stare her down because she was wanting something to control and not able to have it is ridiculous. I liked being humble and submissive. I was able to just follow directions without (well, mostly without) asking why... the military would love me. And then SHE came and started acting like a prick and changing things in her "I'm the GOD of ABA" (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Applied_behavior_analysis) manner of leadership. I'm gonna put dishwashing liquid in her coffee or something...

Reiki, Cupcakes, Rain

To anyone who read this post before, know that I deleted it and am reposting a completely different take on my weekend.  Honestly, a post entitled, "Reiki, Cupcakes, Rain" should have a much more positive focus than the one I had previously left you with.  So here's take two!

The extent of my recent social activities has rarely strayed beyond watching Disney movies and giving 10 year olds piggy back rides.  (Why are they called that, by the way?  I've never seen someone ride a pig... I guess you could... I won't speculate on what farmer's kids do with their spare time.)  Anyway, Saturday was amazing for three particular reasons.  First, it was my best friend Richael's birthday.  Happy B-Day!  She turned 24.  Yay!  (For some reason, every time I catch up to her, she has another birthday and is older than I again.)  So, birthdays are always special to celebrate with someone.  I told her that I couldn't make it to her party (which, originally wasn't a lie) so I hung out with her earlier in the day before I had to go to work.  Hanging out with Richael is always fun because she's smart, funny, and always has some new insight about life that I hadn't previously discovered or been exposed to.  (Maybe I should have named this post "I love Richael!" It's not too late to change it, I guess... LOL)  Anyway, this all led to factor number two: Reiki.  Because I don't think I can explain it particularly well, I will solicit the help of wikipedia in providing us with a working definition.

"Reiki is described by adherents as a holistic therapy which brings about healing on physical, mental, emotional and spiritual levels.^[36] The belief is that the energy will flow through the practitioner's hands whenever the hands are placed on, or held near a potential recipient."

Okay, I'm not sure that is actually better than I would have described it, but it'll do.  Essentially, the Reiki practitioner places his or her hands in strategic energy centers throughout the recipient's body with the aim of jumpstarting a more peaceful energy flow throughout the body.  Richael described the energy disruptions as vibrations that would ease turbulent energy flow.  I could liken this to one of two things: 1) Think of a tight, sore spot on your body that using vibrations and massages, eases the tension and allows blood to flow more easily to and from the spot. 2) Despite what TV says, you don't actually use defibrilators on people who's hearts have stopped, only on people who have heart attacks because the electrical activity in the heart is irregularly flowing.  The defibrilator sends a pulse through the heart that jumpstarts the electrical current and causes it to flow more normally.  I would liken either of these two cases to what happens with Reiki.  But I could be wrong.  Anyway, despite it being Richael's birthday, she offered to do a short Reiki session with me because I told her I'd been having problems sleeping lately.  (Eeep!  I told you she's an awesome friend!) She told me she'd been training in it before, but I never bothered to look it up for an actual explanation.  I didn't really entirely understand it when she explained it to me Saturday either.  But I trust(ed) her so I said, 'sure'.  The session was amazing.  It was also a little unnerving and completely disorienting.  I wish I could explain more to you, but it's one of those things that is best experienced on one's own.  I will say a couple of things to consider.  First, as with any connection with one's spiritual energy, there has to be a level of mindfulness present.  Both the practitioner and the recipient should be aware of what is happening and work together to create a meaningful session.  No, skeptics probably won't experience something great.  Second, intentions are good, but connections are better.  Maybe I felt the session to be so meaningful because it was being performed by one of my oldest friends--a person I completely trusted.  A side note on this, we both noticed that the 'revulsion' (for lack of a better term) we experienced during physical contact before was greatly diminished by transitioning.  Wow... that was an oddly passive sentence.  Let me rephrase that.  Since transitioning, I think we both feel that physical contact is much less revolting.  LOL.  Okay, R maybe you can throw some insight here?  I guess it really speaks to the importance of a body and spirit that is in tune with one another.  Finally, be prepared for some serious disorientation.  Maybe it was just me, but when I 'awoke', I couldn't figure out what planet I was on.  It was like I had literally slipped to another room, even though I was still awake.  I've never been hypnotized before, so I imagine it might be something like that.  I dunno.

So that was Reiki.  While I was doing Reiki, the cupcakes I had made earlier in the morning were cooling in the refrigerator.  (NEVER put frosting on warm cupcakes!)  The cupcakes were strawberry-vanilla flavored, to bring as an offering to my best friend when I surprised her by showing up at her party later in the evening.  :D  Okay, Richael, I'm going to brag a bit.  While they might not have been world-class cupcakes, I still thought they were awesome!  LOL.  I hope you liked them too.   Cupcaking is meaningful because it requires much understanding of chemistry in combining the ingredients, much patience in waiting for them to cook in the oven, much balance to keep from walking heavily on the floor near the oven (causing them to fall) and much love and positive intention to make them your absolute best.  Nothing but the best for my Richael.  :)

Okay, since you twisted my arm, here's a picture of the cupcakes.  ::silence::  Of COURSE I took pictures of my first quasi-culinary success!  LOL.  

You can check out more pics of the cupcake and from the party on my facebook (but you'll have to add me as a friend first.)  Hok, so that's it for cupcaking.  The rain?  Well, what can I say.  It's been raining a ton lately, which is okay cause I'm not ready for 90 degree weather... but at the same time it's just warm enough that mold is growing like crazy.  And I'm allergic to mold.  So, the very sick progression of suffering goes like this: 

Rain->mold->allergies->sinuses->Ethan is grumpy->everyone else suffers.

Oh well.  Hehe, so that's the end of my post.  Hopefully it was marginally better than the last one. Talk to you later.  Lots of love.

The World of the Avatar

A couple of weeks ago I downloaded this program called IMVU.  Who knows where I found it... I just came across it, downloaded it, and had to figure out the whole thing from scratch.  (God help me if I ever read the directions for something.)  Anyway, this particular program allows you to create an avatar, and go into whatever weird ass chat room you can imagine.  (And as you might imagine, I tend to frequent the supernatural LGBT rooms... there are a such thing as "vampire kisses".)  Oh, and thanks to computer generated images of ourselves, EVERYONE is gorgeous.  How do I describe it?  The computer geek by day becomes the charming, suave gentleman in the evening.  Donned in the latest fashions and the wittiest lines, boys sit in his lap (yes, the avatars can actually be arranged in a number of exciting positions!) and whisper flirtatiously in the chat room.  Demure lesbians become dominatrix goddesses, complete with leather surrounding their cleavage and tall boots high up their thighs.  Even underpaid trannys "pass" 100%, with the Adam's apples vanished from the ladies, and masectomy scars erased from the men--completely transformed into princes and princesses of their domains.  

And what is most fascinating is that no matter how beautiful (read: aesthetically pleasing, sexually enticing, etc.) the avatar may appear in contrast to the user's real self, the avatar still is, in essence, the user.  The personality has developed an audacity that no longer has a reason to hide and nothing to hide behind when speaking with others. In the real world, the price for being yourself is extremely expensive (fiscally, emotionally, career-wise, etc.)  but dressing up for the evening and going into a dimly light night club to seduce and be seduced by other avatars: priceless.  I feel like the avatars are our 'Tyler Durdan's: the semi-physical manifestations of our subconsciousness.  I suppose they're really only bad when someone gets hurt. And then again, how badly can a computer-generated image feel rejection?  

Do I feel like a complete loser that the greatest extent of my social interaction is through my 4 inch tall projection of myself?  Eh... sure.  LOL.  It's Friday night, I just got paid (a lot, since I've been working over time a lot lately), I'm 23 (so I can get into bars and clubs) and I'm single.  So why am I not dressed up and out at some trendy queer establishment downtown?  Well, because really: why spend money, gas, and time driving downtown only to feel incredibly self-conscious around the hypermasculine (and the hyper-queeny) gay men I find myself surrounded by, feeling as if I'm constantly being sized-up and judged, and incapable of having fun for fearing constant rejection?  I can't imagine why not...  Anyway, I will concede that while I am a natural casanova in a world dependent on my own creative assemblage of body features and dressing and on my writing (I'm much more charming in the cyberworld?) I can't make up for the lack of social life in the real world.  LOL. Maybe someday I won't have to work two jobs to pay bills.  I'll have time to work out and money to buy awesome clothes.  Until that day comes, I'll let mini-me do all the work...

I just found this pic of me...

So, I was digging around my computer and I found this picture of me (on the left) and I compared it to the picture of me taken a day ago (on the right.)  What I've found is that the picture of me on the left is much cuter, more charming, and is *ominous music playing* wearing make up?!?  The picture on the right looks like the dude who raped and murdered the girl on the left.  WTF?  

401 days.

In the past 401 days, I have learned one thing about life: "no one gives you anything, you have to take it."

Yes, this was one of the opening lines of The Departed, but like any line in any movie, it's easy to dismiss as merely poetic and largely inapplicable to one's own life.  But no, Jack Nicholson was on to something here.

In my previous life, let's just say, life before 401 days ago, I had more issues than Vogue and more problems than the math SATs.  I hated school, I hated my life, I was absolutely miserable, and I couldn't figure out why.  Or I could, but I just didn't want to acknowledge it.  It seemed that if I wasn't battling this demon or that, it was my issues with food, my latest skin regime, my trying to acquire the mindset of those around me (and always failing), or my trying to gain inner peace while secretly wanting to destroy every cell in my body.  So, if I'm doing all this, how in the hell was I supposed to be able to look out at the world around me, see the much bigger problems that faced humanity, and shape myself into a creature that would work to benefit all?  It was increasingly hard for me to give a damn about starving kids in Africa if I was counting my own calories.

So what happened 401 days ago?  I got kicked out of my college.  No, it wasn't for anything behavior related... essentially, while I was busy trying not to kill myself, I had let my grades and others measures of success fall by the wayside.  I also had several differences of opinion than those in higher positions of power.  I won't go into details... but it was a poisonous relationship from the beginning that I only miraculously kept going for 4 1/2 years.  

Four hundred and one days ago, I realized that I was free for the first time in my life.  I would never allow myself to be influenced by the wishes my parents projected onto me and I would never allow a superficial world dictate who I was.  But before I could do any of this, I had to figure out why I was still miserable and making everyone around me feel the same.  So I came out to my family as being transsexual.  I continued to see the therapist I had begun seeing in college and I sought out top surgery options.  Thirty-six days after being kicked out of school, I was with my best friend having top surgery in Timonium, MD.  How do I explain the experience?  I was only mildly nervous before I went in... I guess of all the spiders, plane crashes, poisonous milipedes, rapists, and murders out there, I never bothered to consider surgery as something I should be afraid of.  The last thing I heard before I went to sleep was, "I'm going to give you a little something to help you relax," from the anasthesiologist... to which I replied, "I thought you were just gonna give me a LITTLE someth---" *Out.*  I dreamt of a giant party on a beautiful beach in Mexico surrounded by the operating staff and family and friends.  As I was regaining consciousness, I was so elated that before I opened my eyes, I was offering to buy the surgeon, anasthesiologist, and the nurses Coronas and margaritas!  LOL.  

Recovery was amazing.  In the history of that particular surgery, I think I hold the record for the fastest recovery time.  And there are a couple of reasons for this.  The minor reasons: 

1) I've never smoked. 

2) I hadn't had a drink in weeks. 

3) I wasn't on testosterone at the time. 

4) I'm stubborn. 

5) I am a vegan (vegetarian at the time).  

But I'm sure it was the major reasons that matter: 

1) I had an incredibly supportive best friend who drove me to and from there, who waited 2 hours in the waiting room for me, who made sure I had everything I needed to eat and drink, who let me stay at her apartment for the week since my parents would have created too much stress, and who gave me a chanting device to listen to sort of as a lullaby when I was tired and had to drug myself back to sleep.  I heart you, R!  

2) It was spring, and while the weather was still cold, R took me on walks to get fresh air while she attempted to fish in the nearby lake.  The calm, coolness of the park was incredibly refreshing... she didn't encourage me to stay in bed and 'rest' all week cause she knew how restless I am.

3) Because I had absolutely no regrets before or after, I felt no guilt, and because my mind knew that this was as my body should be, it healed itself accordingly.

Today I celebrate my one year anniversary, post-op. :)

Now, between surgery and now, I had to do a few things.  I was living at home, which both of my parents didn't particularly like (well, my dad didn't/doesn't) which meant that I couldn't ask either of them for anything.  Not even support after surgery.  So, for the next couple of weeks I contently sat at home and used the pain pills which I didn't need during recovery (yeah, recovery was THAT quick and painless!) Then I got a job, then two more after the first job ended.  I would never ask them for money, and if I wanted to get my degree, I'd pay for it myself.  Unfortunately, after surgery and having my own money, I still wasn't happy.  

In November I began hormones.  Now, I'm kind of ambivalent about my experience so far.  Today also marks me being on testosterone for 20 weeks.  In that time, I have grown minimal body hair (get a magnifying glass, you'll see it!) and my voice has really, barely changed.  I look incredibly androgynous, and not in a 'good' way (more of in a "I can't decide if that's a boy or a girl, so I'm just going to call 'it' a girl..." sort of way).  Oh, and my face is breaking out like it's job and  I've gained weight cause being on T is like perpetually having the munchies.  So all in all, I'd give it two thumbs down.  Maybe this November, one year later, my feelings will be different.

So, I think my recap of the past year has been pretty extensive (read: word, long-winded) but I did want to end on one personal observation.  In my past life, I never really did anything about things that bothered me or things I wanted to improve on because I felt like they were things that would never change.  Beginning transitioning, I realize just how much I control everything in my life.  I have just finished and mailed 3 of my 4 college transfer applications, I have finally seen a dermatologist about my skin and gotten on a very expensive (though I guess effective?) plan, and now that the weather's getting warmer, I guess I'll start running and shedding this newly acquired flab (in addition to the old, latent flab...) 

Geez, and who would have thought that all it took for me to be independent and to make things happen was for me to finally just be myself?

Christine, the Psychic (Part Two)

Ah.  Today was a nice Saturday.  After fighting my way through nearly 2 hours of Cherry Blossom festival traffic, I made it for the better part of a Buddhist book club meeting.  I think that a lot of our discussion revolved around self-protection, an interesting topic that I'll probably explore later in the week because it'll require more insight and understanding than memory skills.  No, today's post is actually about much later in the day when I met with Christine, the psychic.

I met with Christine a year ago Thursday (the 2nd) and posted a blog about the reading on my myspace (will maybe repost it over here if I remember.)  Anyway, meeting with her today, she just initially began very flustered.  She was like, "This is very strange.  I am getting very strange [vibes] from you... and I don't understand them."  I told her that we had met exactly a year ago, which surprised her a little, but she kept trying to place me.  "What's your name?" Ethan. "Was that your name a year ago?" No. "Hmmm."  I grinned.  I was really amused because I didn't know how much I should tell her and how much I should let her figure out.  Then she's like, "That smile.  Your smile haunts me. I've seen that smile before." Hehe.  Then we got started with the tarot reading.  I cut the cards and she shuffled them three times afterward.  The first, she said, was for my body.  It was healthy and strong.  The second was for my mind, very sluggish and reflective of heavy stagnant energy.  The third was for my spirit, which she was was very strong and clear.  Interesting.  But she was still very confused about what was throwing her off so much about me.  She said, "This first card in the center will tell me everything I need to know."  And she turned over the page of pentagrams.  She seemed a little shocked, and mumbled to herself for a bit, turning over a card on either side.  Things seemed to be making more sense to her (cause so far I was a page with swords on either side) and the fourth card she turned over, at the top, was the queen of swords.  Then she said, "I get it now.  The last time I read your cards, the queen was in the center.  Now the page has replaced her. This means the move from female to male."  (It really doesn't take a psychic to figure that out... but still.)

The first question she asked me once the cards were down was, "Why did you stop writing?"  I used to write short stories and essays and stuff all the time to entertain my friends.  I guess I stopped because I lost whatever was inspiring me. Anyway. So then we talked about what I was doing work wise.  I told her that I had been working with children since last summer.  And she said that I had a lot of healing that had to be done, and working with children would facilitate the healing process.  She said that the last 4 1/2 to 5 years of my life had been horrible, that I had been in a lot of stressful and degrading situations, but I was out of that now, probably because of my decision to transition last year.  (What I hadn't told her was that the last 5 years of my life had been hell, but I was only able to transition once I had left the situation.)  When I kept telling her about work, I mentioned that I wasn't out at work, so I was still 'female' as far as they were concerned... but I didn't really finish the thought.  She said immediately that the most probably cause for my stagnant energy was that I wasn't being able to fully transition (in my mind) to male, even though my body was on hormones and I already 'felt' like Ethan.  Until I could live as male, that stagnation would continue.  But she also kept searching for other possible sources.

She told me that I needed to stop worrying about love.  That I was in huge disconnect with my heart wanting to love and my mind telling me not to.  She said that I would meet my soulmate either in the middle or at the end of November (yay!) and that this person would be a bit taller than myself (5'10 or slightly taller), lighter skin, and very toned.  She said that this was the person who I was waiting for, who would treat me well.  She said I had recently been interested in someone who didn't appreciate me or return my interest, which was true.  Anyway, until I met this person, this was the year that I was supposed to be absolutely selfish and not worry about what others think. 

She asked me where I was living and I told her that I was living at home.  She said that I had to move out--and that I would in 2 months.  Eeep!  I knew I was going to move out this summer, but I was thinking more toward the end than the beginning.  And it's kind of contingent on where I'll be going to school in the fall.  She said that I'll be coming into having a lot of money at the end of the year (FAFSA?) so hopefully things will be taken care of and I'll be able to return to school and move out of the house.  

She returned to the thing about me writing and insisted that I start keeipng a diary every night in which I write about my reaction to situations, being as non-judgemental as possible, and keep it up for three months reviewing it three times a week.  She said that I had a lot of creativity in my mind and drive to write in my spirit, but once it got translated into actual writing, it didn't turn out so well because there was a disconnect there, probably because I got so bored of the actual task of writing so quickly.  Journaling, she thinks, will improve my writing skills and apparently I'm supposed to publish a book.  (That's funny, too, cause I actually do have a story I've been working on for forever now...)

What else?  She asked me if I had any questions for her, and I told her that I had very graphic, violent dreams often throughout my life (and by often, I mean several times a month) in which I would be mutilated or whatever by a group of people (usually 4-6 men with guns, knives, whatever.)  In my dreams I was also protecting some small child and sacrificing myself for them.  She said that the thing about the children was because I was meant to adopt a boy and a girl (most psychics I've spoken to have said that I was meant to have at least a boy, and probably both a boy and a girl, so I'm taking that to be true.) The violence, she said, was residual memories from my most previous life which was ended prematurely (and very violently) by a group of a few men.  She said that I was about 24 years old when this happened and so sometime after I turn 24 years old in this life, I will cease having that residual energy and the nightmares will stop.  We'll see.  She said that the reason I was having these nightmares was because my third-eye was very sharply focused and aware... so I asked wouldn't it be a bad thing if I no longer had any insight or vision into my past lives?  And she said that we need to focus on our present lives and such.  I mean, it makes sense.  I guess I always just thought that no matter how brutal my dreams where that there was a message I was supposed to get that, somehow, I never got.

One interesting thing that happened was she wanted to leave the room to get a cigarette, she said something, ending with calling me "Josh."  I was a little confused, but kind of brushed it off as her just not remembering my name.  Later we talked about it, and despite me telling her that my name is Ethan, and even telling her my birthname, she kept attaching "Josh" to me.  Who knows, maybe that was my name in my previous life, or maybe that's the name of my 'soulmate' (because, wouldn't it make sense if a psychic also knew about one's soulmate if they're able to read a person's soul?)  Oh well.  Maybe we'll have some insight into this later.  

Hmmm... I'm trying to think.  Reading wise, she really didn't tell me too much more.  We talked a little bit about the actual transition process, and she asked me how long I had to be on hormones before I could have 'the surgery' (meaning bottom surgery, I guess, since I had spoken to her last spring about having top surgery and actually had it April 9th.)  I told her that I had already done the therapy part and was one hormones, and had the top surgery.  At this point, my only obstacle to bottom surgery was money.  She said that the money that I would be getting at the end of the year would be so much that I would be able to have bottom surgery early next year!!!!!  That kind of blew me away.  I was really preparing to not be able to do it for YEARS (like, maybe for my 30th birthday or something.)  Eeep.  I'm trying not to get too excited, but she said that me transitioning is a MUST.  She said that she had had another trans person who consulted with her in the past whom she helped guide through his transition.  That made me feel a lot better because, even though she definitely struck me as an open-minded person, actually being able to understand a transperson psychically was extra reassuring.

So yeah.  Long post, I think that's all.  I guess I just like keeping track of these meetings because I like to see how things change.  For instance, she completely did not recognize me, even though I came in with the same person I visited her last year with.  She didn't detect any stagnation last year (which I was living as solely female) that she did this year.  Though she did see much more growth and calm, overall, as I was coming into myself.  Of course, she also said that I would live to be in my 80s in excellent health (I say of course because she's not the first person to say that to me.)  And that's it.  I guess I can add more as I remember (as I've kind of been doing here.)  But let's wait until next April to see what else changes.  She asked if I wanted her to do a chakra reading for me.  As exciting as the idea is, I really can't afford it right now.  Maybe if I really do get this money she's talking about... oh well.  Until next time.

Good morning, friend!

So, lately I've gotten back into the habit of going to Starbucks everydaybefore work. Aside from the ethical (and fiscal) quandary I find myself in with regards to spending $4.52 on a triple tall soy latte, and the physiological effects their pseudo-separation of soy and regular milk practices have on my immune system (I am allergic to milk), there are many reasons for me not to go. But there are a couple of reasons I defy instinct and inclination and leave my house 10 minutes earlier to ensure my fix while still getting to work by 0800. (Among those reasons are: I'm easily addicted to caffeine, I love the taste of espresso and lattes, I'm too lazy to make breakfast, and... I want to.) But the number one reason why I return is the constant amusement I get with people who only see me for about 10 minutes intermittently throughout the week as they try to guess my gender. I can safely say that, after 3 weeks of going regularly, none of the baristas have figured out whether I'm a boy or a girl.

What does one do when they can't tell if their customer is a boy or a girl? I'll tell you. They do a couple of things. 1) They will say "Sir (or ma'am), can I get a drink started for you?" to every customer in front of or behind their ambiguous customer; but when they get to the customer in question, they will simply wait until that customer makes eye-contact, then ask what they want. 2) They will stare at the customer and decide they can't make up their minds, then wait until that customer tells the cashier his/her order, then wait for the cashier to relay the order. 3) They alternate their pronoun usage according to the day of the week: Monday=sir, Tuesday=ma'am, etc.

I'm glad I waited to write this post because this morning, one of the baristas I see semi-regularly surprised me with a very warm, amiable alternative. After the barista asked me my order (see situation # 1) I got up to the cashier, who smiled cheerfully and said, "Good morning, friend!" It felt as if she genuinely wanted to make me feel welcome without making either of us feel awkward per gender pronoun usage. I was extremely grateful for her kindness and wish not only that others act similarly, but that I could have thought of the best way to show my appreciation. Tipping seemed a little superficial, and I didn't want to draw attention by saying something like, "Thank you for not making me choose a gender this early in the morning," so I did the best thing I could do: I made eye-contact with her and smiled back, returning the greeting.

Thank you, Starbucks cashier, for your compassion. :-)

Beware, White Girls, Beware

So, I did make it out of bed today. A few more times than yestereday--a good sign. I went to the store since there was no food in the house (canned tomato sauce, week old chicken, and various cheeses, not withstanding...) I pulled into the space and hopped out the car in one swift movement. I try not to stay still for too long (or make any sudden movements) because I am incredibly self-conscious about how I am perceived by those around me. And having practiced 'invisibility' for years now, I'm pretty good at maneuvering in public, arousing little attention.

I had locked the doors remotely... maybe I was walking fast, but I was in my own world, not really paying attention to anything around me until I was acutely aware of eyes on me. They were cautious, curious eyes. Funny how you can feel people's emotions without even seeing their expressions. I turned around briefly to catch a glimpse of the girl. Emily. I knew this girl's name because, unlike many, I have an unfortunate tendency to remember people's first and last names and some little trivial fact about them. Like the fact that I knew it was her SUV parked next to my car because of the breast cancer awareness stickers on the back. Her mom had breast cancer when we were younger--I'm not sure if she passed away, but I think she did. Anyway, so yes. I knew this girl from elementary school. And if someone told her my full birth name, she'd probably search ever brain cell wondering why it sounded familiar to her. She, of course, would forget that over the years we were in several of the same classes.

Well, cautious, curious, Emily was now walking slowly to open up the space between me and her, and without turning around, I knew that she wasn't taking her eyes off of me. I knew the look. The expression. I've experienced the look increasingly over the past few months. It was the exact look that sheltered, suburban white girls give 'mysterious' men of color who drive sports cars. We are all, of course, sexual predators; and white girls learned to lock the doors immediately when they got to their cars, or to begin mercilessly flirting with the hopes that this one might be the boy to piss off Daddy. Emily was of the former group.

The first time this happened to me, I felt indignant, sad, hurt, slightly embarassed, then finally a glimmer of hope. As least I was being perceived as a black male (NOT female). That means I'd get all that came with such recognition. Unfortunately, what these white girls (and no, I'm OBVIOUSLY not speaking for every white girl in the world, just the ones I grew up with...) fail to realize is that they are a much greater threat to us that we are to them. If their male significant others weren't out to lynch us for being black, we were definitely going to be targeted for being trans. Oh yes. Let us never forget that, as a transman, we can still be raped and tortured and humiliated like any other female-bodied person.

Maybe I should have titled this post, "Beware, Black Transmen, Beware."

Book Review: Lilith's Brood

There are a couple reasons for two posts today. The first is that I wanted to talk to someone. The second is that I am sick in bed and not exactly wanting to interact, physically, with anyone. The third is that while sick in bed, I finished an incredible book that I have been reading for the past couple of weeks. The book, Lilith's Brood by Octavia Butler, is actually three books combined into one; Dawn, Adulthood Rites, and Imago. I guess the best way to talk about the story is to break it down into each of the smaller books.

Dawn. Humanity has just experienced its final war, the war to end all wars... and life on Earth. An alien species, the Oankali, manage to rescue a handful of survivors from the nuclear holocaust (incidentally, people tending to be in the southern hemisphere at the time) and sustain their life through suspended animation on a ship just outside the moon's orbit around the earth. The Oankali are known as 'traders', that is, through 'trading' some of their DNA with the DNA of an alien species, they produce offspring containing the best qualities of both. So obviously, the plan is to trade with humans. They choose the reluctant leader, Lilith, to awaken other humans, explain to them the nature of their rescue, and to train the humans to survive in the post-apocalyptic, newly revived earth. (New earth is somewhere in the Amazon. Humans are encouraged to live peaceful, raw vegan lifestyles. Yay!) Of course, there's a catch. While the Oankali corrected any genetic mutations and predispositions to disease--making the humans stronger and more resilient-- they also induced sterility among the humans. The only way for the Humans to procreate is by joining with the Oankali.

Adulthood Rites. The union between the Oankali and Humans of Lilith's family has produced the first Human-born male construct, Akin. Seen as a threat to both species, Human males would have the intense perceptions of the Oankali and the empathy for Human intelligence/hierarchical design known as the Human Contradiction. As an infant, Akin is kidnapped by Human resistors of the Oankali to be sold to a couple who chose the Oankali-induced sterility over interspecies procreation. He is separated from what would become his closest sibling (born a few months later) forcing a biochemical estrangement of the two. Living his most impressionable years away from his closest sibling an among human resistors, he understands their cause and wants to help. Years later, after his returning to his village, he is sent to the Oankali space ship with his estranged sibling in hopes of finding an ooloi (the 'third' Oankali gender that made procreation between the species possible, and who served as a medicine practitioner) who might help repair their relationship. While away, Akin also studies under an Oankali sage (of the 'old' kind) who did not participate in the previous DNA trade that produced the present Oankali race. If these Oankali could be exempt from the trade, then Humans who also did not want to participate should be given their own space (and their fertility) to recreate their own civilization, Akin argued to the Oankali. They just had to find a place to do it, and Human resistors willing to colonize the new space.

Imago. The Human-Oankali trade on Earth has produced its first Human-born ooloi construct--a creation believed to be so dangerous that Oankali consensus held that it must immediately be returned to the ship permanently. Or endure exile on earth. The Oankali believed that the new ooloi would have shape-shifting capabilities that would frighten and cause the Human resistors to react violently in response and it would not have the ability to control genetic modifications it induced in the plant and animal life it experienced. The family chose temporary exile until the new ooloi, Jodahs, could prove itself to not be a threat. Its same-sex parent, Nikanj (ooloi of Lilith's mating) trains and nurtures it through its first metamorphosis. Afterward, Jodahs experiences an incredible urge to find a mate and while wandering through the woods during his exile, finds two ideal Humans with a surprising secret. All the while, his closest sibling also reveals itself to be ooloi. In order for both ooloi siblings to survive, they must find mates, evade violent, armed Human resistors, and create an existence on earth for the new ooloi constructs.

End of synopsis. Alright, so I've actually never written a book review before. And it's pretty difficult to toe the line of summarizing the story while not giving too much away such that no one will want to read the book. Anyway, I really enjoyed it and definitely had dreams in which I was part of the new Human-Oankali society. If you read the book, I think you'll understand my fascination with the trade (I'm not particularly attached to my species anyway, which is not a bad thing) but also with the ooloi and what they could do for us if they were real. I love how the story was so much about the phenomenon of life itself, and I want to end this with the last few lines of the book, lines which I felt totally best summed up the tone.

"I chose a spot near the river. There I prepared the seed to go into the ground. I gave it a thick, nutritious coating, then brought it out of my body through my right sensory hand. I planted it deep in the rich soil of the riverbank. Secondsafter I had expelled it, I felt it begin the tiny positioning movements of independent life." -Lilith's Brood: Imago by Octavia Butler

when things fall into place

As I was going to bed last night, I realized something.  I realized that I was finally, perceptably, different.  Different than I was before.  With over a million cells in our body dying and changing and being replaced everyday, it's surprising that we never realize that we ARE in fact different from the day before.  We've had different experiences, been exposed to different chemicals and energies, our own bodies have metabolized and produced different substances... we can't help but NOT be different.  But how long does it take for us to realize the change?  How long after we give up working out do we notice that we're getting 'soft' (for lack of a better explanation.)  How long after we stop poisoning ourselves (with drugs, cigarettes, alcohol...) can we notice how much cleaner our bodies feel?  How long after beginning testosterone did I start to feel like I wasn't a series of minute changes, but a new person altogether?  127 days.

For many of us to notice any change in our bodies, we must be cognizant of how we change in our responses to our environments.  But recognizing the initial problem with myself--my extreme, uncorrected dysphoria toward my body--was only minimally reflected in my day-to-day experiences.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised, then, that I was not out among friends or at work or doing anything in the community that prompted me to notice the change.  It was a mere 24 hours after taking my most recent testosterone shot that the chemicals were high in my blood (and I was fighting off an intense anger I had only felt once before since beginning hormones) that I happen to look in the mirror.  For a second, I didn't realize who this person was looking back at me.  I was washing my hands, and when I looked up, I was met by an expression full of anger, hurt, some insecurity, a lot of curiosity... and something else.  I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but another 24 hours later, I am beginning to think it was the look of someone suffering from their own self-imposed exile.  The face and the eyes looked like someone who desperately wanted a companion on his island, but could not bring himself to leave the island looking for that person.  The expression was an contradictory mix of loneliness and a general rejection of intimacy.  The person in the mirror seemed to hate himself for not knowing how to feel.

And while I washed my hands, I was definitely still that 'person', an 'it' by social standards as people referred to me using both male and female pronouns interchangeably... the person in the mirror was undeniably male.  And full of the male conflict.

X-Men Powers

So, a few days ago my co-workers and I were talking about some of the amazing things we'd hear about people doing... like amazing hidden talents such as having an eidetic memory (photo-memory) or being able to do super crazy math problems in your head.  And one guy, who's about 25, said, "I wonder what my amazing thing is.  I mean, I'd like to know what my X-Men power is.  I don't think I have one."  Of course, whenever he says something, serious or not, he sounds hilarious.  So we all giggled, but inwardly, we're all asking the same question.

I guess being able to do something special makes us feel more special? More important? More deserving of attention? I don't know what it is, but this guy and I have a few things in common: we grew up in the same suburban, Northern Virginia county; fairly affluent parents, complete with a semi-estranged relationship with our fathers; had to take time off from college and are now trying to finish... maybe it's those things that give us some sense of security (a safety net?) and a slight sense of failure.  Okay, I'm not going to speak for him, but there's definitely some contradiction here, and I, for one, would like to escape the conditional safety net of my parents (they will support me as long as they can tell me who and what I am) while at the same time making them proud.  Hmmm.

And so, the solution is x-men powers.  The ability to do something do amazing that people are willing to overlook any faults/flaws.  Maybe I'm thinking too much into this.  Or maybe it's personal consolation because if we can find one truly awesome thing about ourselves, maybe we can stop thinking about all the petty crap in our lives.  

My first time

Hehe, okay, so you won't be the first to hear this: this is my first time. That's because it's not 'technically' my first time... but it's also not NOT my first time either. What do I mean? Well, I've had made weblog posts before, but on an official 'blog' site, this is my first. Hmmm. Nrrrh.

So, this blog is going to be the one where I write like I don't care who reads it (cause I don't) and I'm going to be brutally honest. It's sorta like my private blog that the world can read. That means I'll be talking about icky self-esteem issues, my sad-ass attempt at a love life, my well-intentioned musings about Buddhist teachings, my very slow and pathetic transition from female-to-male, and some naive observations and interpretations of the world around me.

Anyway, to everyone: welcome. This is my written medium for sharing my life. My life in video can be found at www.youtube.com/XXEthanXY and in pictures at http://ethanisalive.deviantart.com Feel free to hit me up with questions because I would rather have extremely personal or what you might consider 'embarassing' questions than for people to be ignorant. So that's me. Cheers!