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.