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. :)
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
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.”
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.”
Saturday, July 18, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
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...)
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...)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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!"
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!"
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