I'm going to get under the covers! Good night everyone!
Melissa XX
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Snowed In Again!
It snowed last night, and all day today!
It was only last week, that the last remnants of our pre-Christmas 13" snow storm, finally melted. Yes, my dears! It took that long! It's been very cold so far this winter, as my $304.00 December electric bill can attest to. I live on the north slope of a hill, so the sun's rays have a limited effect on melting snow, and warming of the house.
There was a brief respite last week, as temperatures soared into the lower to mid 60's!
Practically tropical! But it was not to last. It started to snow again today, in the wee hours of the morning, as another nor'easter riding up the east coast, collided with an Alberta Clipper, coming out of Canada. For those of you who don't know what an Alberta Clipper is, its a blast of cold arctic air, coming south out of northwestern Canada. That along with a nor'easter riding up the east coast, is always the absolute worst winter scenario, for the mid Atlantic region! The snowfall continued throughout the day, and into tonight. It finally stopped a few hours ago, and the result was another 10-11' of snow. Better than an ice storm for sure, but still a major pain in the you know what!
The pictures you are seeing, were taken from my back door, out onto my rear deck. Tomorrow I will have to grab the snow shovel you see resting against the deck railing, and dig myself out once again. My neighbor will no doubt be out with his tractor and plow tomorrow, clearing the road, and dragging even more gravel onto the grass, that I will have to run a lawnmower over, come spring. I better start looking for shin guards and body armor, not to mention a new lawn mower blade! I will have to see if my truck can pull itself through the 10 inches of snow out of my driveway, onto the road out front. The truck is a 4 four wheel drive, so it should be able to make it up the hill in 4 wheel low, as long as the tires can get the requisite traction.
Nothing much to do tonight, so I watched The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly on TV. Oddly enough for someone of my age, it was the very first time that I have ever watched that entire movie, from front to back. I know it must sound strange, since that movie was released in 1966, the year I graduated from high school, but its true! Now I know why it has been such a classic. While a little rough around the edges by today's standards, it is still an excellent western! No wonder it propelled Clint Eastwood into stardom, and Eli Wallach didn't do such a bad job either. Why did it take me so long to discover this cinematic work of art?
There has been a theme running throughout the trans-gender blogs recently, so I might as well throw my two cents worth in.
It seems that some of us don't realize, or at least have forgotten, that all of us are cross dressers, until we have had Genital Reconstruction Surgery. Only then can we separate ourselves from all of our other trans-sisters, and even then, only if we are totally selfish and heartless. Face it sisters. Like it or not, we were all born as boys! To turn our backs on those who for whatever reason cannot, or will not transition completely, is to turn our back on ourselves. As I have already replied to a couple of girls here, our rainbow needs all of its colors, if it is to survive. I love you all, regardless of what's between your legs, or where you will ultimately end up.
Melissa XX
It was only last week, that the last remnants of our pre-Christmas 13" snow storm, finally melted. Yes, my dears! It took that long! It's been very cold so far this winter, as my $304.00 December electric bill can attest to. I live on the north slope of a hill, so the sun's rays have a limited effect on melting snow, and warming of the house.
There was a brief respite last week, as temperatures soared into the lower to mid 60's!Practically tropical! But it was not to last. It started to snow again today, in the wee hours of the morning, as another nor'easter riding up the east coast, collided with an Alberta Clipper, coming out of Canada. For those of you who don't know what an Alberta Clipper is, its a blast of cold arctic air, coming south out of northwestern Canada. That along with a nor'easter riding up the east coast, is always the absolute worst winter scenario, for the mid Atlantic region! The snowfall continued throughout the day, and into tonight. It finally stopped a few hours ago, and the result was another 10-11' of snow. Better than an ice storm for sure, but still a major pain in the you know what!
The pictures you are seeing, were taken from my back door, out onto my rear deck. Tomorrow I will have to grab the snow shovel you see resting against the deck railing, and dig myself out once again. My neighbor will no doubt be out with his tractor and plow tomorrow, clearing the road, and dragging even more gravel onto the grass, that I will have to run a lawnmower over, come spring. I better start looking for shin guards and body armor, not to mention a new lawn mower blade! I will have to see if my truck can pull itself through the 10 inches of snow out of my driveway, onto the road out front. The truck is a 4 four wheel drive, so it should be able to make it up the hill in 4 wheel low, as long as the tires can get the requisite traction.Nothing much to do tonight, so I watched The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly on TV. Oddly enough for someone of my age, it was the very first time that I have ever watched that entire movie, from front to back. I know it must sound strange, since that movie was released in 1966, the year I graduated from high school, but its true! Now I know why it has been such a classic. While a little rough around the edges by today's standards, it is still an excellent western! No wonder it propelled Clint Eastwood into stardom, and Eli Wallach didn't do such a bad job either. Why did it take me so long to discover this cinematic work of art?
There has been a theme running throughout the trans-gender blogs recently, so I might as well throw my two cents worth in.
It seems that some of us don't realize, or at least have forgotten, that all of us are cross dressers, until we have had Genital Reconstruction Surgery. Only then can we separate ourselves from all of our other trans-sisters, and even then, only if we are totally selfish and heartless. Face it sisters. Like it or not, we were all born as boys! To turn our backs on those who for whatever reason cannot, or will not transition completely, is to turn our back on ourselves. As I have already replied to a couple of girls here, our rainbow needs all of its colors, if it is to survive. I love you all, regardless of what's between your legs, or where you will ultimately end up.
Melissa XX
Friday, January 29, 2010
Another Winter Storm Is On the Way
When we were hit before Christmas with a major snow storm, I wondered if it was a harbinger of what was yet to come. Heavy snows in early December are unusual for the Mid-Atlantic Piedmont. El Nino years tend to produce more snow, and yes dear readers, this is an El Nino year. The December storm brought 13" of the white stuff, some of which only finally departed a week ago.
Well, another major snow storm is on the way. The National Weather Service is calling for 8-12" in my area. Come Hell, ice, or deep snow, I am prepared. The larder is well stocked. The whirlpool tub is filled to the brim, in case the power goes out and my well pump is rendered useless. I have two kerosene heaters standing by, 20 gallons of kerosene, plenty of batteries, candles, several bottles of propane for my camp stove, and an untapped 3 liter box of wine (well...untapped until a few minutes ago). Whatever happens, I shall survive!
Today I drove into the western most edge of the Richmond metropolitan area, to get a few necessities. It is an area called Short Pump, and it's a very congested, major shopping area for people living in the western reaches of the Richmond area, north of the James River. Short Pump was long the brunt of jokes in Richmond, because of it's strange name. Decades ago, long before urban sprawl, when our family moved to Richmond, it was a mere crossroads at Pump Road and US 250. There was nothing there, but an old country store. I remember a friend and I riding our bicycles out there one summer, when I was just 13 years old. It was probably a good 10-12 miles from where we lived. It was stinking hot, and extremely and humid, a typical Virginia midsummer day. We stopped in the Short Pump country store to look for something cool to quench our thirsts. It was a very old country store with wooden plank floors, and it had an old Cocoa Cola cooler in the back, that was stocked with root beers, Cokes, orange, grape, & lemon-lime sodas, all soaking in icy cold water. The bottles were all held secure, by a mechanism of rows of metal bars, that only allowed you to remove one bottle at a time, after inserting the proper change in a coin slot. You had to reach down into the icy water to retrieve your drink, and depending on how far back the bottle was located, it could take the better part of a minute to grab the bottle and fish it through the metal bars to the opening, where you could pull it out. If the bottle was way in the back of the cooler, your hand would be nearly numb by the time you fished it out! Those were the best tasting, most refreshing sodas I ever drank, especially when paired with a warm hot dog, or toasted ham and cheese sandwich, which the store also sold.
Rehydrated, and our bellies sated with warm hot dogs, we took off and rode back down Pump Road toward home. Logging is a source of income for Virginia land owners, and once all of the hardwoods have been harvested, the acreage is usually replanted with pine seedlings, that reforest the area in another 30 year or so years. The Virginia country side is full of these pine forests, and on the way home we encountered one that was on fire. Naturally all of the fire trucks and firemen caught our attention and we dismounted out bicycles to investigate the conflagration. This was in the days before everyone was paranoid about liabilities and litigations, and to our immense joy, the firemen said they could use our help! They outfitted us with backpack water tanks, with hoses and pump handled nozzles attached, and into the smoldering forest we went, hosing down hot spots. Unless you are a 13 year old, you can't even imagine how important that made us feel! We refilled our tanks, and re-attacked the flames several times, but soon it was approaching supper time, and we had to bid our fellow firefighters goodbye, and race home, or face the wrath of angry parents. Of course my smokey smelling clothes were cause for immediate suspicion, upon arriving home. I'm still not sure my parents ever actually believed I spent the afternoon fighting a forest fire. They probably thought I had been up to no good with a book of matches!
My sister's birthday is on Monday, and she has said she would like to go to the Olive Garden, so I hope everyone is in agreement and able to go. I can't tell you how much I love her. She may not be aware of it, but I have always felt so close to her. Some boys look up to an older brother while growing up, but I never had one, and even if I did, he would have to have really been something special to replace my older sister, in that respect. She was so unlike the rest of the family. She is very intelligent, has her own way of thinking, and isn't the least bit interested in kissing anyone's ass. Of course this caused her problems with my mother and father. I love my parents, but dad was a prude, and mom was a flaming neurotic! Both demanded conformity. My sister wasn't about have any of that, and she rebelled against it. She had so much more courage than me. Well....at least it seemed that way. She was almost five years older than me, so she was able to break free of our parent's control long before me. I remember once while in the 10th grade, I was getting ready for school one morning, when I passed by my mother on the way out the door.
"What do you have on?" she demanded to know, "You smell like a queer!"(Yes, my own mother actually said that to me!) It was only English Leather cologne, but to my mother, anything other than Old Spice, was totally inappropriate for a male. Remember, this was a woman who thought that shampoo was far too feminine a product for men to use, and that all males should wash their hair with a bar of soap instead! Imagine, your own mother, saying those words to you!
I was so insecure then. I tried to defend my choice of fragrance, but mom was in one of her moods, and started laying into me. My sister was upstairs listening to it all, and came down to defend me. I'll never forget it! Mom got right up in my sister's space, and started giving her a self righteous ration of crap! My sister looked her straight in the eyes, and slapped her right across the face! I couldn't believe it! Neither could my mother. She was such a bully, and wasn't used to being challenged.
My sister and I fought like cats and dogs when we were young. Reference the time when she chased me around the house with a butcher knife , but from that day on, I knew that she loved me, because she was willing to stick up for me, and I have loved her ever since!
I hope we do all get together and go to the Olive Garden on Monday, my mother included. I still love her, in spite of her past neurotic behavior. She just had her 89th birthday, and has been so much more mellow, since she went on Zoloft a few years ago. Thank God for psychotropic meds!
Before I sign off, I want to give a shout out to two genuine sweethearts, for their blogs this week, encouraging transgender and LGBT unity. A very big warm hug to the lovely Chrissie of Wales, and to the eminently sweet Shandy of Kentucky!
Tonight's blog has been brought to you, courtesy of Pink Floyd, who have been filling my auditory canals with the sweet vibrations of, Wish You Were Here, and The Wall....Is There Anybody Out There?
Melissa XX
Well, another major snow storm is on the way. The National Weather Service is calling for 8-12" in my area. Come Hell, ice, or deep snow, I am prepared. The larder is well stocked. The whirlpool tub is filled to the brim, in case the power goes out and my well pump is rendered useless. I have two kerosene heaters standing by, 20 gallons of kerosene, plenty of batteries, candles, several bottles of propane for my camp stove, and an untapped 3 liter box of wine (well...untapped until a few minutes ago). Whatever happens, I shall survive!
Today I drove into the western most edge of the Richmond metropolitan area, to get a few necessities. It is an area called Short Pump, and it's a very congested, major shopping area for people living in the western reaches of the Richmond area, north of the James River. Short Pump was long the brunt of jokes in Richmond, because of it's strange name. Decades ago, long before urban sprawl, when our family moved to Richmond, it was a mere crossroads at Pump Road and US 250. There was nothing there, but an old country store. I remember a friend and I riding our bicycles out there one summer, when I was just 13 years old. It was probably a good 10-12 miles from where we lived. It was stinking hot, and extremely and humid, a typical Virginia midsummer day. We stopped in the Short Pump country store to look for something cool to quench our thirsts. It was a very old country store with wooden plank floors, and it had an old Cocoa Cola cooler in the back, that was stocked with root beers, Cokes, orange, grape, & lemon-lime sodas, all soaking in icy cold water. The bottles were all held secure, by a mechanism of rows of metal bars, that only allowed you to remove one bottle at a time, after inserting the proper change in a coin slot. You had to reach down into the icy water to retrieve your drink, and depending on how far back the bottle was located, it could take the better part of a minute to grab the bottle and fish it through the metal bars to the opening, where you could pull it out. If the bottle was way in the back of the cooler, your hand would be nearly numb by the time you fished it out! Those were the best tasting, most refreshing sodas I ever drank, especially when paired with a warm hot dog, or toasted ham and cheese sandwich, which the store also sold.
Rehydrated, and our bellies sated with warm hot dogs, we took off and rode back down Pump Road toward home. Logging is a source of income for Virginia land owners, and once all of the hardwoods have been harvested, the acreage is usually replanted with pine seedlings, that reforest the area in another 30 year or so years. The Virginia country side is full of these pine forests, and on the way home we encountered one that was on fire. Naturally all of the fire trucks and firemen caught our attention and we dismounted out bicycles to investigate the conflagration. This was in the days before everyone was paranoid about liabilities and litigations, and to our immense joy, the firemen said they could use our help! They outfitted us with backpack water tanks, with hoses and pump handled nozzles attached, and into the smoldering forest we went, hosing down hot spots. Unless you are a 13 year old, you can't even imagine how important that made us feel! We refilled our tanks, and re-attacked the flames several times, but soon it was approaching supper time, and we had to bid our fellow firefighters goodbye, and race home, or face the wrath of angry parents. Of course my smokey smelling clothes were cause for immediate suspicion, upon arriving home. I'm still not sure my parents ever actually believed I spent the afternoon fighting a forest fire. They probably thought I had been up to no good with a book of matches!
My sister's birthday is on Monday, and she has said she would like to go to the Olive Garden, so I hope everyone is in agreement and able to go. I can't tell you how much I love her. She may not be aware of it, but I have always felt so close to her. Some boys look up to an older brother while growing up, but I never had one, and even if I did, he would have to have really been something special to replace my older sister, in that respect. She was so unlike the rest of the family. She is very intelligent, has her own way of thinking, and isn't the least bit interested in kissing anyone's ass. Of course this caused her problems with my mother and father. I love my parents, but dad was a prude, and mom was a flaming neurotic! Both demanded conformity. My sister wasn't about have any of that, and she rebelled against it. She had so much more courage than me. Well....at least it seemed that way. She was almost five years older than me, so she was able to break free of our parent's control long before me. I remember once while in the 10th grade, I was getting ready for school one morning, when I passed by my mother on the way out the door.
"What do you have on?" she demanded to know, "You smell like a queer!"(Yes, my own mother actually said that to me!) It was only English Leather cologne, but to my mother, anything other than Old Spice, was totally inappropriate for a male. Remember, this was a woman who thought that shampoo was far too feminine a product for men to use, and that all males should wash their hair with a bar of soap instead! Imagine, your own mother, saying those words to you!
I was so insecure then. I tried to defend my choice of fragrance, but mom was in one of her moods, and started laying into me. My sister was upstairs listening to it all, and came down to defend me. I'll never forget it! Mom got right up in my sister's space, and started giving her a self righteous ration of crap! My sister looked her straight in the eyes, and slapped her right across the face! I couldn't believe it! Neither could my mother. She was such a bully, and wasn't used to being challenged.
My sister and I fought like cats and dogs when we were young. Reference the time when she chased me around the house with a butcher knife , but from that day on, I knew that she loved me, because she was willing to stick up for me, and I have loved her ever since!
I hope we do all get together and go to the Olive Garden on Monday, my mother included. I still love her, in spite of her past neurotic behavior. She just had her 89th birthday, and has been so much more mellow, since she went on Zoloft a few years ago. Thank God for psychotropic meds!
Before I sign off, I want to give a shout out to two genuine sweethearts, for their blogs this week, encouraging transgender and LGBT unity. A very big warm hug to the lovely Chrissie of Wales, and to the eminently sweet Shandy of Kentucky!
Tonight's blog has been brought to you, courtesy of Pink Floyd, who have been filling my auditory canals with the sweet vibrations of, Wish You Were Here, and The Wall....Is There Anybody Out There?
Melissa XX
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Laundry Night
Hello, my name is Melissa, and I am a procrastinator.
Is there such a thing as procrastinator's anonymous? I need help! I finally had to do laundry tonight. I ran out of clean underwear and pajamas! Faced with the prospect of sleeping in the nude, and going au naturel tomorrow, I decided it was time to get on the stick, and attend to the piles of dirty clothes filling the corners of my bedroom. Did I mention that I was also a sloven? ☺ Yeah, I hate doing laundry, and house work. I guess it stems from all the years I had to get up at 4:30 AM, drive 52 miles to work, spend 9 1/2 to 10 hours on the job, then drive the 52 miles home, stopping along the way to pick up groceries, and run other necessary errands. By the time I got home, chores around the house were the last thing I wanted to do. I mean, you do have to have some time to yourself....right? The trouble is, when I retired, I so reveled in my new found freedom, that I continued to neglect the chores around the house! I became like Alfonso Bedoya in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre "Chores? I don't have to do any stinking chores!"
So anyway, I got 3/4 of the dirty clothes washed tonight, and at least now I will have clean pj's to sleep in, and clean undies for the next couple of weeks. Tomorrow I shall attack the remaining pile. Some more pajamas, a few more pairs of panties, a pair of corduroys and a couple of camisoles.
There is some truly beautiful music being played on my NPR (national Public Radio) station right now. It's 12:53 am as I right these words, and it seems the best classical music of all is played late at night. During the day they play way too much chamber music, baroque, and instrumental solos for my taste. My taste in music follows my taste in food, and everything else sensual. I love body and texture. I love the rich sounds of a full symphony orchestra, and chorus.
I also love grand opera, and Saturday afternoons are a special treat, as NPR broadcasts, Live From The Met. There are some great ones coming up in the next few months, including Puccini's La Bohemme, and Tosca, Verdi's Aida, and La Traviata. How wonderful would it would have been, to have been a kid, growing up in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or Queens, with a parent who had season tickets to the Met, and took you to their Saturday afternoon performances? Can you imagine the joy of seeing singers like Luciano Pavarotti (the only male singer whoever brought tears to my eyes), Marilyn Horne, Plácido Domingo, Beverly Sills, José Carreras, or Renée Fleming, in person........live on stage?! But then, not everyone is in to opera. Perhaps this is more your cup of tea? Yeah, I think its pretty cool too!
Melissa XX
Is there such a thing as procrastinator's anonymous? I need help! I finally had to do laundry tonight. I ran out of clean underwear and pajamas! Faced with the prospect of sleeping in the nude, and going au naturel tomorrow, I decided it was time to get on the stick, and attend to the piles of dirty clothes filling the corners of my bedroom. Did I mention that I was also a sloven? ☺ Yeah, I hate doing laundry, and house work. I guess it stems from all the years I had to get up at 4:30 AM, drive 52 miles to work, spend 9 1/2 to 10 hours on the job, then drive the 52 miles home, stopping along the way to pick up groceries, and run other necessary errands. By the time I got home, chores around the house were the last thing I wanted to do. I mean, you do have to have some time to yourself....right? The trouble is, when I retired, I so reveled in my new found freedom, that I continued to neglect the chores around the house! I became like Alfonso Bedoya in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre "Chores? I don't have to do any stinking chores!"
So anyway, I got 3/4 of the dirty clothes washed tonight, and at least now I will have clean pj's to sleep in, and clean undies for the next couple of weeks. Tomorrow I shall attack the remaining pile. Some more pajamas, a few more pairs of panties, a pair of corduroys and a couple of camisoles.
There is some truly beautiful music being played on my NPR (national Public Radio) station right now. It's 12:53 am as I right these words, and it seems the best classical music of all is played late at night. During the day they play way too much chamber music, baroque, and instrumental solos for my taste. My taste in music follows my taste in food, and everything else sensual. I love body and texture. I love the rich sounds of a full symphony orchestra, and chorus.
I also love grand opera, and Saturday afternoons are a special treat, as NPR broadcasts, Live From The Met. There are some great ones coming up in the next few months, including Puccini's La Bohemme, and Tosca, Verdi's Aida, and La Traviata. How wonderful would it would have been, to have been a kid, growing up in Brooklyn, Manhattan, or Queens, with a parent who had season tickets to the Met, and took you to their Saturday afternoon performances? Can you imagine the joy of seeing singers like Luciano Pavarotti (the only male singer whoever brought tears to my eyes), Marilyn Horne, Plácido Domingo, Beverly Sills, José Carreras, or Renée Fleming, in person........live on stage?! But then, not everyone is in to opera. Perhaps this is more your cup of tea? Yeah, I think its pretty cool too!
Melissa XX
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
I Have A Bone To Pick With The National Biscuit Company!
When you buy a box of crackers, is this what you expect to see? Like any health conscious person, I try to get a few healthy snacks a day. Mainly apples, bananas, or various other fruits, and whole grains. Triscuits are a particular favorite of mine, because of their shredded whole wheat goodness. I usually have six or seven a day, either slathered in peanut butter, or topped with a small slice of low fat cheese, and a slice of olive, or whatever. When I buy a box a crackers, I expect to get a box full of crackers, not a box of pieces & parts. Lately, up to half the contents of the boxes of Triscuits I have bought, look like the the picture above. Still edible, but worthless for making canapés, or hors d'oeuvres! OK...........I don't really make canapés, and a peanut butter cracker isn't exactly the classic definition of an hors d'oeuvre, but I think you get my drift. You would think that the National Biscuit Company, a company dear to the heart of nearly every child, who ever grew up eating their Shredded Wheat cereals for breakfast, would have more pride and better quality control, than what is evidenced in the picture above. I'd dial their 1-800 number, and give them a piece of my mind, but my experience with these customer service numbers in the past is, all they do is ask for your address and then mail you a certificate for another box of broken crackers! Waste of time! Oh well..........a piece of cracker, anyone?Melissa XX
Sunday, January 24, 2010
On a Happier Note
I love high heeled loafers, and recently rediscovered a pair of black, 3 inch, stacked heeled loafers, that I bought from Payless several years ago, and had completely forgotten about. This weekend, I epiliated everything....well... nearly everything (blush), and put on a fresh pair of Nononsense "Rich Pecan" pantyhose, an über cool, light coffee colored hose, a black 3/4 sleeve, pointelle sweater, and a short denim skirt.
At this point you, may be asking how did I look? Well......if you...ahem........ discount the extra pounds that I put on over the holidays, I would say, totally bitchin'! :-)
Melissa XX
At this point you, may be asking how did I look? Well......if you...ahem........ discount the extra pounds that I put on over the holidays, I would say, totally bitchin'! :-)
Melissa XX
Saturday, January 23, 2010
A Day Late And Dollar Short
I'm sorry, but this is not going to be a happy story.
Several times now, I have heard a respected member of my trans-gender support group, mention that the company I spent 37 years working for, now includes trans-gender medical costs, including GRS, in their employee's health insurance coverage. Each time I heard her say that, it felt like I was being kicked in the teeth, by a horse!
Every day for 37 years, I cross dressed as a male, went to work, and faked it all day long! Never once during those 37 years, did I ever hear that my company supported TG transition in the workplace, let alone that they were willing to pay for it! Sometime after the turn of the century, I do recall the company coming out with an official policy of acceptance of Lesbians, Gays and Bi-sexuals, but never once did I ever hear the word, Trans-gender mentioned. I thought, "Well, that's certainly great for the lesbians and gays, but what about me?" I worked with and for, some of the most trans-phobic men you would ever want to meet. Without a very public commitment to trans-gender employees, fully and openly supported by local management, how could I ever dare to come out?
I never saw the slightest inkling of such support. In fact even though I never presented as a female, I was harassed. Apparently my co-workers thought I was gay. They loved to tell jokes about gays whenever I was around, and several times they even left the local BGLAD number on my pager (at the time, BGLAD strictly referred to Bi, Gay, Lesbian, and Associates at DuPont. There was no mention of Transgender then). So you can imagine the shock of hearing those words from my support group sister. And yet, she was right. I just looked it up here . Now I don't know when the official corporate policy of supporting trans-gender employees came out. The link provided is from a survey in 2004, when I was still working, but I certainly wasn't aware of it at the time. Knowing that the company fully supported me, would pay for my transition, and that local management was supportive of that policy, would have gone a long way towards giving me the confidence I needed to overcome the trans-phobic environment I worked in every day.
My current feelings regarding this extremely tardy disclosure? Quite frankly, I'm pissed!(that's angry here in the US, not drunk) Extremely pissed, in fact! I'm also extremely hurt! In the mid eighties I visited a very kind psychiatrist at Richmond's Tucker Pavilion, a local mental health facility, because I had just read the writer, Jan Morris's book, Conundrum, about her transition from male to female, and I couldn't stop crying! Her life, while unique in its particular circumstances, was nearly a carbon copy of mine in substance! So much so, that eerily I felt like I was reading my own biography! I searched every bookstore in town for her story, but ultimately had to go to the state library to find a copy of it. Whoever has checked that book out since, has seen my tear stains on its pages, and probably added their own as well.
Sitting in my psychiatrists office, with tears streaming down my face, I told him of how I read Morris's biography, and how it paralleled my own life. I saw him several times. God love him, because he was very sympathetic. He agreed with me that I was transsexual, but he didn't specialize in trans-gender care, and knew no one in the Richmond area at the time who did. All he could do was give me the address of Duke University Hospital, who he thought was still doing experimental trans-gender surgery. I was just discovering myself after a couple of decades of being locked up in a very dark closet. I wasn't on hormones, hadn't lived a real life experience, and was not even considering putting myself under the knife at the time. This was back in the mid eighties, and incidentally, when I went back to work, the clerk for our section innocently mentioned something sympathetic, about my trip to Tucker's. I was shocked to know that she knew I visited a mental health facility, and for a while was very paranoid that my secrete had been revealed. Subsequently, I found out that she was responsible for coding my disability pay, and learned that I had been treated for depression. I don't think she ever knew what the diagnosis was, but I was left to wonder.
In the 37 years that I worked at DuPont's largest manufacturing facility in the entire world, we averaged 3,000 employees on that site. Not once did I ever hear of a single transsexual working there! I did subsequently learn of a girl who transitioned after taking an early retirement, and and financed it with money she made later as a real estate agent. I have nothing but contempt for my former employer now, especially their local management, for not making it perfectly clear to all employees, that trans-gender care was covered, and that all trans-gender employees would be fully supported in the workplace! So much for corporate policy, when local management is not held accountable for disseminating, and enforcing it!
For years I languished in purgatory, thinking that my dreams could never be fulfilled in this life. Now at 61, I wonder how many years of my life were deliberately wasted, by local redneck managers, who just couldn't stomach the idea of employees transitioning from one gender to another on the job. I held a semi-management position for the last seventeen years I worked there, and I can testify to the willful resistance of recalcitrant local managers, to comply with corporate policy directives, that they didn't like, and corporate HQ's cowardly reluctance to to make them tow the line.
Melissa (Doing a slow burn, but not for you, my lovelies! XX)
Several times now, I have heard a respected member of my trans-gender support group, mention that the company I spent 37 years working for, now includes trans-gender medical costs, including GRS, in their employee's health insurance coverage. Each time I heard her say that, it felt like I was being kicked in the teeth, by a horse!
Every day for 37 years, I cross dressed as a male, went to work, and faked it all day long! Never once during those 37 years, did I ever hear that my company supported TG transition in the workplace, let alone that they were willing to pay for it! Sometime after the turn of the century, I do recall the company coming out with an official policy of acceptance of Lesbians, Gays and Bi-sexuals, but never once did I ever hear the word, Trans-gender mentioned. I thought, "Well, that's certainly great for the lesbians and gays, but what about me?" I worked with and for, some of the most trans-phobic men you would ever want to meet. Without a very public commitment to trans-gender employees, fully and openly supported by local management, how could I ever dare to come out?
I never saw the slightest inkling of such support. In fact even though I never presented as a female, I was harassed. Apparently my co-workers thought I was gay. They loved to tell jokes about gays whenever I was around, and several times they even left the local BGLAD number on my pager (at the time, BGLAD strictly referred to Bi, Gay, Lesbian, and Associates at DuPont. There was no mention of Transgender then). So you can imagine the shock of hearing those words from my support group sister. And yet, she was right. I just looked it up here . Now I don't know when the official corporate policy of supporting trans-gender employees came out. The link provided is from a survey in 2004, when I was still working, but I certainly wasn't aware of it at the time. Knowing that the company fully supported me, would pay for my transition, and that local management was supportive of that policy, would have gone a long way towards giving me the confidence I needed to overcome the trans-phobic environment I worked in every day.
My current feelings regarding this extremely tardy disclosure? Quite frankly, I'm pissed!(that's angry here in the US, not drunk) Extremely pissed, in fact! I'm also extremely hurt! In the mid eighties I visited a very kind psychiatrist at Richmond's Tucker Pavilion, a local mental health facility, because I had just read the writer, Jan Morris's book, Conundrum, about her transition from male to female, and I couldn't stop crying! Her life, while unique in its particular circumstances, was nearly a carbon copy of mine in substance! So much so, that eerily I felt like I was reading my own biography! I searched every bookstore in town for her story, but ultimately had to go to the state library to find a copy of it. Whoever has checked that book out since, has seen my tear stains on its pages, and probably added their own as well.
Sitting in my psychiatrists office, with tears streaming down my face, I told him of how I read Morris's biography, and how it paralleled my own life. I saw him several times. God love him, because he was very sympathetic. He agreed with me that I was transsexual, but he didn't specialize in trans-gender care, and knew no one in the Richmond area at the time who did. All he could do was give me the address of Duke University Hospital, who he thought was still doing experimental trans-gender surgery. I was just discovering myself after a couple of decades of being locked up in a very dark closet. I wasn't on hormones, hadn't lived a real life experience, and was not even considering putting myself under the knife at the time. This was back in the mid eighties, and incidentally, when I went back to work, the clerk for our section innocently mentioned something sympathetic, about my trip to Tucker's. I was shocked to know that she knew I visited a mental health facility, and for a while was very paranoid that my secrete had been revealed. Subsequently, I found out that she was responsible for coding my disability pay, and learned that I had been treated for depression. I don't think she ever knew what the diagnosis was, but I was left to wonder.
In the 37 years that I worked at DuPont's largest manufacturing facility in the entire world, we averaged 3,000 employees on that site. Not once did I ever hear of a single transsexual working there! I did subsequently learn of a girl who transitioned after taking an early retirement, and and financed it with money she made later as a real estate agent. I have nothing but contempt for my former employer now, especially their local management, for not making it perfectly clear to all employees, that trans-gender care was covered, and that all trans-gender employees would be fully supported in the workplace! So much for corporate policy, when local management is not held accountable for disseminating, and enforcing it!
For years I languished in purgatory, thinking that my dreams could never be fulfilled in this life. Now at 61, I wonder how many years of my life were deliberately wasted, by local redneck managers, who just couldn't stomach the idea of employees transitioning from one gender to another on the job. I held a semi-management position for the last seventeen years I worked there, and I can testify to the willful resistance of recalcitrant local managers, to comply with corporate policy directives, that they didn't like, and corporate HQ's cowardly reluctance to to make them tow the line.
Melissa (Doing a slow burn, but not for you, my lovelies! XX)
Friday, January 22, 2010
24 Hours Later & All Is Well
Well...my dish water aperitif apparently caused me no harm last night, although I won't be recommending it to anyone, anytime soon. It took most of the night to get the taste of liquid anti-bacterial detergent out of my mouth. It really wasn't all that bad though. Actually, I was a little disappointed. I had fully expected to spend the evening belching bubbles, or have an upset stomach at the very least, but it never happened. No bubbles, no abdominal distress, and no green apple quick step the next morning. All that panic for nothing! What a waste of my precious angst!
Melissa XX
Melissa XX
Want To Hear What Saturn's Rings Sound Like?
This is so cool! And by the way, if you have never looked at Jupiter or Saturn through a decent home telescope, you don't know what you are missing! Little pinpoints of light by the naked eye, are transformed into bright planets sitting out there in the black void, with their little star like moons flanking them!
Melissa XX
Melissa XX
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Hmmmm........Sudsy!
I had a few glasses to wash this evening, so rather than fill the sink, I just squeezed a drop or two of anti bacterial dish washing liquid into each one, and then proceeded to wash them individually. In the middle of this process, I remembered that I hadn't taken my daily glass of Metamucil (ground psyllium seed), so I stopped and got the jar of Metamucil out of the cupboard, and grabbed a glass. I put a rounded teaspoon of Metamucil in the glass, and filled it with about 10 ounces of water, and stirred it up. It's orange flavored, but a bit thick, so the best way to drink it is to turn the glass up, and just pour it down the hatch. About 3/4 of the way through, I realized that it didn't taste quite right. "This tastes kind of soapy", I thought. Then it struck me! I had grabbed one of the glasses I just put detergent in! My next thought was, "I just drank eight ounces of soapy water, this can't be good!" I grabbed the bottle of liquid detergent, and read the label on the back. I saw where it contained about 20 different chemicals, with names I can't even pronounce, and then this:
Warning
For external use only
-------------------------
Keep out of reach of children. If swallowed, get medical help, or contact a poison control center immediately.
I live forty five miles out of town! How was I going to medical help immediately? Panic set in! I ran to the bathroom and tried to induce vomiting, by sticking my finger down my throat. When I was young and drank too much, I often used to do that, and then drink a big glass of water before going to bed. It never failed to induce vomiting, but this time nothing happened. "Maybe I'm not sticking my finger down deep enough" I thought, so deeper I went, probing my throat until I could fee the remnants of my long gone tonsils. Still, nothing! Now I really began to panic! What kind of horrible death was I going to suffer? How could I have been such a fool, as to pour this hemlock down my own throat?
I ran to the computer, and looked up the number for the poison control center in Richmond. After a couple of misdirected Google searches, I found it, and dialed the number. A guy answered and ask how he could help me. "I think I accidentally swallowed some dish washing detergent, while drinking some Metamucil", I said. I told him how I was washing some glasses and inadvertently used a glass I had put detergent in. "How much detergent was in it?" he asked, and I said just a drop or two, and he asked, "How much water did you drink with the Metamucil?" "About eight ounces" I said. Then I told him I tried to induce vomiting, but he said "You don't want to do that. You already gave yourself the antidote. With detergent all we recommend doing is diluting it." "Don't worry" he said, "you haven't poisoned yourself. My name is Ben, if you start to feel nauseated, call me back." Relieved, I thanked him and hung up the phone.
That was about 3 hours ago. Supper tonight had a slight soapy flavor, and there has been a lingering taste of detergent on my tongue, but other than that, everything seems be fine. I'm waiting to see what my morning trip to the toilet is going to be like. I've never given myself an enema, by mouth before!
Melissa (strangely feeling all clean inside)
Warning
For external use only
-------------------------
Keep out of reach of children. If swallowed, get medical help, or contact a poison control center immediately.
I live forty five miles out of town! How was I going to medical help immediately? Panic set in! I ran to the bathroom and tried to induce vomiting, by sticking my finger down my throat. When I was young and drank too much, I often used to do that, and then drink a big glass of water before going to bed. It never failed to induce vomiting, but this time nothing happened. "Maybe I'm not sticking my finger down deep enough" I thought, so deeper I went, probing my throat until I could fee the remnants of my long gone tonsils. Still, nothing! Now I really began to panic! What kind of horrible death was I going to suffer? How could I have been such a fool, as to pour this hemlock down my own throat?
I ran to the computer, and looked up the number for the poison control center in Richmond. After a couple of misdirected Google searches, I found it, and dialed the number. A guy answered and ask how he could help me. "I think I accidentally swallowed some dish washing detergent, while drinking some Metamucil", I said. I told him how I was washing some glasses and inadvertently used a glass I had put detergent in. "How much detergent was in it?" he asked, and I said just a drop or two, and he asked, "How much water did you drink with the Metamucil?" "About eight ounces" I said. Then I told him I tried to induce vomiting, but he said "You don't want to do that. You already gave yourself the antidote. With detergent all we recommend doing is diluting it." "Don't worry" he said, "you haven't poisoned yourself. My name is Ben, if you start to feel nauseated, call me back." Relieved, I thanked him and hung up the phone.
That was about 3 hours ago. Supper tonight had a slight soapy flavor, and there has been a lingering taste of detergent on my tongue, but other than that, everything seems be fine. I'm waiting to see what my morning trip to the toilet is going to be like. I've never given myself an enema, by mouth before!
Melissa (strangely feeling all clean inside)
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Haven't Been Feeling Much Like A Girl Lately
But not like much of a man either. Feeling like a man, is pretty much out of the question for me anymore. That's one of the hazards of not being on HRT. My natural testosterone levels are normally quite low, and have been for a very long time, but my estrogen levels apparently fluctuate, and with that fluctuation comes an ebb and flow of my feminine feelings. I don't know what causes these ebbs and flows, but I hate them. When my natural estrogen levels are up, I love myself and feel great, but when they are low, I'm a miserable self loathing wretch. Last summer they must have been at peak level, because I was very happy and felt very confident about who I was and where I was going. This continued through the fall, and up through Christmas, but after the holidays, the bottom seemed to drop out, and for the passed month I have felt like I've been living in an emotional limbo. It's a miserable place to be. Neither here, nor there! It doesn't sit well with my soul, which is very feminine and empathic, but the last few days I have had inklings of a returning of empathy, and along with it, a renewed sense of feminine self. It may have been the heartbreak of watching the inexcusable suffering of the Haitian people after their tragic earthquake. It may be some of the responses to your blogs, like Dana, and the wonderful empathy she has shown for her transgendered 16 year old daughter, or sweet Calie's emotional response to it or, Fiona, and the abject rejection of her, by her absolutely horrible father. It may be my absolute joy over Nicky's hilarious description of her first pee, after having her catheter removed two weeks after her Gender Reassignment Surgery. Who knows? It may just be my love and concern for all of you, and all of the stories of your lives. Whether it's hormonal or simply a recognition of kindred emotional spirits, I hope I continue on this track. I miss the strong emotional connection. I don't want to lose it!
Melissa XX
Melissa XX
What Makes Someone Shoot and Kill Eight People?
I was just watching the 10:00 O'clock news, and a Virginia State Policeman was holding a press conference. He was answering reporter's questions, about a suspect shooting and killing eight people in Appomattox, the city where Gen. Robert E. Lee surrendered to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant to end the US Civil War. The Virginia State Police seem to have the guy surrounded, after he shot at one of their helicopters.
What possesses someone to murder eight people? I have lived a life of gender identity dysphoria. I have never felt like I fit in. My own mother was both physically and emotionally abusive to me. I was bullied by classmates, and neighborhood thugs, and suffered consent harassment on the job, by macho rednecks, who couldn't handle the fact that I wasn't one of them. I have had every reason to despise many of the people around me, yet I have never wanted to kill any of them. What kind of hell does some poor soul have to go through, to want to murder those around him? I can't even fathom it.
What possesses someone to murder eight people? I have lived a life of gender identity dysphoria. I have never felt like I fit in. My own mother was both physically and emotionally abusive to me. I was bullied by classmates, and neighborhood thugs, and suffered consent harassment on the job, by macho rednecks, who couldn't handle the fact that I wasn't one of them. I have had every reason to despise many of the people around me, yet I have never wanted to kill any of them. What kind of hell does some poor soul have to go through, to want to murder those around him? I can't even fathom it.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Haiti
Tonight my heart is breaking. As the news from Port-au-Prince slowly filters in, we are learning more and more of the absolute horror that the people of that stricken city are suffering. I thought that the devastation wrought by the Indonesian Tsunami, and the destruction of New Orleans by hurricane Katrina were bad, but this is worst I have ever seen. Tens of thousands of people buried under rubble, and tens of thousands more, without food, water, shelter, or sanitary facilities. Countless men, women and children with severe injuries, and no medical facilities to treat them. I finally broke down and cried a few minutes ago, when I saw a young woman, who had a bandage over her left eye. Catie Couric from NBC news asked her what her injuries were, and she said that she was paralyzed from the waist down. The tears just started to pour.
Aid from all over the world is pouring in, but it's not getting to those who need it, because of the chaotic situation on the ground. In the mean time, people are suffering, starving, and dying. Haiti has suffered so long from poverty, violence and corruption, and now this? God love them!
If you are looking for somewhere to send a donation, here is a link to UNICEF
Melissa
Aid from all over the world is pouring in, but it's not getting to those who need it, because of the chaotic situation on the ground. In the mean time, people are suffering, starving, and dying. Haiti has suffered so long from poverty, violence and corruption, and now this? God love them!
If you are looking for somewhere to send a donation, here is a link to UNICEF
Melissa
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I Spent The Afternoon w/Susan's Fingers In My Mouth
Sensuously nibbling? Unfortunately no.........but a pleasurable experience, nevertheless. Susan is my very affable dental hygienist. I really like her. I always have. Every six months, I look forward to lying in her chair, and listening to her stomach growl, as she gently probes my mandibles, and fills me in on what's been happening with her family.
I knew that my dentist liked to keep his office cold, so I made sure to wear a thick undershirt, corduroy pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a sweater. To say his office was cold, would be an understatement. The place was like a meat locker! Although clad in knee socks, and multiple layers of cotton, and acrylic fibers, I was still feeling the chill. I mentioned to Susan, that it was always cold in their office. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she said, "Tell me about it! I'm wearing long underwear, warm socks, long pants, a turtleneck, and a sweater and I'm still freezing!" " HE'S always hot", she said," so he likes to keep it cold! The rest of us compensate, by wearing warm clothes." I said, "Well........he can't really take his clothes off while he is working, so I guess it's a good compromise. "
Susan is sweetheart! She and her husband own a popular deli, in a favorite older shopping district, in one of Richmond's hippest neighborhoods. He runs the deli; one of the few here in central Va., where you can actually get an authentic New Jersey style submarine sandwich, made with Italian bread that is crunchy on the outside, and chewy on the inside! She cleans teeth, for an established Richmond inner city dental practice. She has two kids; a girl and a boy. Her daughter plays a harp! Yes, you heard that right! A harp! She was even invited to study at the Julliard School, in Manhattan! Isn't that just the coolest?! I have loved the harp, ever since I first saw Harpo Marx, in the old Marx Brothers films.
I've known her for years, and always ask for a late day appointment with her. The problem is, because of her family obligations, she has had to move her hours back, forgoing lunch, and leaving earlier. Since I have retired, I've become somewhat of a slug, and like to sleep late. Even after getting up, it takes several hours to completely wake up. Then I have to get my exercise, and eat lunch. With an hour's drive into town, 2:30 PM is the earliest that I can see her. Fortunately that is her last scheduled appointment for the day, before she has to leave to pick her daughter up from school.
"Your teeth look great!" , she said, "So do your gums!" That was the good news! Apparently my regular flossing, brushing, and fluoride rinsing has been doing the trick! The sad news, is that I have broken a porcelain crown, and will need to have it replaced. They are working up an estimate with my insurance company now, and will get back with me to schedule another appointment to replace it. I hope this time is the last. I had that crown put on two years ago, and a year later it came off while flossing. I had it replaced, and two months later I bit down on something hard, and it broke. I had it repaired, then two weeks later, I bit down on something hard, and it broke again! It was a pure porcelain crown, with no metal backing. I loved it, because it looked so natural, but its location put too much bite stress on the tooth. On the recommendation of Susan, my dentist is going to replace it with a combination metal and porcelain crown. See how smart girls are!? She knew instinctively that the porcelain crown needed a metal underpinning, yet my dentist, who had been practicing for 25-30 years, put two non-reinforced porcelain crowns on that tooth, only to see them both broken. Fortunately thanks to Susan, it shall now be replaced by a proper oral prosthesis.
Tomorrow, I shall be making my way to the county dump once again. Because of heavy snows and extra cold temperatures, I haven't been there since before Christmas. I have lots of cardboard and bagged garbage for the Gods of recycling. They should be exceedingly pleased with my offerings!
Melissa XX
I knew that my dentist liked to keep his office cold, so I made sure to wear a thick undershirt, corduroy pants, a long sleeved shirt, and a sweater. To say his office was cold, would be an understatement. The place was like a meat locker! Although clad in knee socks, and multiple layers of cotton, and acrylic fibers, I was still feeling the chill. I mentioned to Susan, that it was always cold in their office. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she said, "Tell me about it! I'm wearing long underwear, warm socks, long pants, a turtleneck, and a sweater and I'm still freezing!" " HE'S always hot", she said," so he likes to keep it cold! The rest of us compensate, by wearing warm clothes." I said, "Well........he can't really take his clothes off while he is working, so I guess it's a good compromise. "
Susan is sweetheart! She and her husband own a popular deli, in a favorite older shopping district, in one of Richmond's hippest neighborhoods. He runs the deli; one of the few here in central Va., where you can actually get an authentic New Jersey style submarine sandwich, made with Italian bread that is crunchy on the outside, and chewy on the inside! She cleans teeth, for an established Richmond inner city dental practice. She has two kids; a girl and a boy. Her daughter plays a harp! Yes, you heard that right! A harp! She was even invited to study at the Julliard School, in Manhattan! Isn't that just the coolest?! I have loved the harp, ever since I first saw Harpo Marx, in the old Marx Brothers films.
I've known her for years, and always ask for a late day appointment with her. The problem is, because of her family obligations, she has had to move her hours back, forgoing lunch, and leaving earlier. Since I have retired, I've become somewhat of a slug, and like to sleep late. Even after getting up, it takes several hours to completely wake up. Then I have to get my exercise, and eat lunch. With an hour's drive into town, 2:30 PM is the earliest that I can see her. Fortunately that is her last scheduled appointment for the day, before she has to leave to pick her daughter up from school.
"Your teeth look great!" , she said, "So do your gums!" That was the good news! Apparently my regular flossing, brushing, and fluoride rinsing has been doing the trick! The sad news, is that I have broken a porcelain crown, and will need to have it replaced. They are working up an estimate with my insurance company now, and will get back with me to schedule another appointment to replace it. I hope this time is the last. I had that crown put on two years ago, and a year later it came off while flossing. I had it replaced, and two months later I bit down on something hard, and it broke. I had it repaired, then two weeks later, I bit down on something hard, and it broke again! It was a pure porcelain crown, with no metal backing. I loved it, because it looked so natural, but its location put too much bite stress on the tooth. On the recommendation of Susan, my dentist is going to replace it with a combination metal and porcelain crown. See how smart girls are!? She knew instinctively that the porcelain crown needed a metal underpinning, yet my dentist, who had been practicing for 25-30 years, put two non-reinforced porcelain crowns on that tooth, only to see them both broken. Fortunately thanks to Susan, it shall now be replaced by a proper oral prosthesis.
Tomorrow, I shall be making my way to the county dump once again. Because of heavy snows and extra cold temperatures, I haven't been there since before Christmas. I have lots of cardboard and bagged garbage for the Gods of recycling. They should be exceedingly pleased with my offerings!
Melissa XX
Monday, January 11, 2010
I'm Sorry That I Had To Block You
I blocked a follower for the first time today. This truly pains me. I didn't like having to do that and I apologize to them for it, but I don't want this blog to become associated with sexual fetishes. This person is a cross dresser, but looking at their picture and profile, it was clear that they were primarily interested in a particular sexual fetish. That's fine and I have nothing against that at all if that's what they like, but that's not what this blog is all about. This blog is simply about the every day aspects of being transgendered, and trying to find acceptance for myself and others like me. If this person would like to create an alternate profile, with a new profile picture that does not depict their particular fetish, and has no links to other fetish blogs and fetish websites, then I will gladly welcome them back.
Once again, I apologize to you. This has nothing to do with the fact that you are a cross dresser, only that I don't want my blog associated with fetishes. I would have dealt with this in a personal email, but your profile had no email address.
Melissa XX
Once again, I apologize to you. This has nothing to do with the fact that you are a cross dresser, only that I don't want my blog associated with fetishes. I would have dealt with this in a personal email, but your profile had no email address.
Melissa XX
Friday, January 8, 2010
Damn It! I'm Getting Fat Again!
All the while I was growing up, I was a thin little kid. I never even considered the possibility of getting fat. Then when I became a teenager, I grew a full foot in three years. By the time I graduated from high school, I looked like Washington Irving's, Icabad Crane. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock, perched upon his spindle neck, to tell which way the wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. --- Washington Irving
I spent two weeks in the hospital when I was fifteen years old, and in my medical records, I was described by the attending physician, as an emaciated white male. I would eat everything I could get my hands on, but it made no difference. No amount of extra calories would put extra pounds on my bony frame.
Oh, how I long for those days! All of that changed when I entered my twenties. Suddenly all of the calories I had been used to eating, began to pack on the pounds. Its been a constant "battle of the bulge" ever since. The only thing that keeps the pound off now is near daily, vigorous, sweat producing exercise. An hour a day of hard pedaling on my Trek mountain bike, mounted in a magnetic resistance stand, at least five days a week seems to do the trick, but lately I have been slacking off. Over the last couple of months, I've let that slip to just three days, and sometimes only two days a week. That just isn't enough. A couple of months go, I was very comfortable wearing size 18 jeans, and I was working my way down to a size 16. Just a week ago, a size 20 was a comfortable fit! That will never do! So for the last week it's been back to the daily routine again.
I went to my support group meeting tonight, and was able to squeeze back onto the size 18's again, albeit with a bit of a muffin top, hidden of course by a burgundy corduroy tunic. If I couldn't get into the 18's, I was contemplating not going, because I wanted to wear my brown 15" boots, with my pant legs tucked in, and the size 20 jeans were just too baggy in the leg to to look good.
So.....you are probably asking yourself, what is the relevance of a video of Freddie Mercury, singing Radio Ga Ga? Well...........I can't ride my bike for an hour and stare at the wall, so I watch videos as I pedal! I've already gone through the entire 13 CD set of The World At War twice, and the 4 CD set of Victory at Sea twice, not to mention Bob Dylan's 2 CD set of, Don't Look Back, and Bruce Springsteen's 3 CD set of, Born To Run. I needed some new video inspiration, and I found a great one; the 4 CD set of Bob Geldof's 1985 Live Aid. What a golden age of rock'n'roll the late seventies and early eighties were, and Live Aid showcased some of the best: Brian Ferry, U2, Sting, Dire Straights, Phil Collins, David Bowie, The Pretenders, The Who, Elton John & Kiki Dee, George Michael, Madonna, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, Paul McCartney, REO Speedwagon, Crosby Stills and Nash, Eric Clapton, Duran Duran, Pattie LaBelle, Hall & Oats, Eddie Kendricks, Mick Jagger, Ron Wood, Keith Richards, Tina Turner, Bob Dylan, and INXS, just to name a few. But..........the king of them all was Freddie Mercury, and the Live Aid Video shows why he was loved by so many, and will always be missed. God love you Freddie! Great pedaling music, by the way!
I mentioned that I went to my January support group meeting tonight. I've been looking forward to it, but before I went, I wanted to make sure that everything was in proper order with my truck. You all know what a worrywart I am, especially when it comes to driving nearly a hundred miles round trip, on a lonely interstate highway at night. I knew that I needed new wiper blades, and my state inspection was due at the end of the month, so yesterday I drove the two miles down the road to the local auto repair shop. This is the same garage that I went to a couple of weeks ago, to get my oil changed, and have my questionable tire checked out.
When you take a vehicle in for a state inspection here, the very first thing they do is, take a blade and scrape the old inspection sticker off of the windshield. It doesn't make any difference that the sticker may be good until the end of the month. Once the inspection begins, the old sticker must be removed. I knew I needed wiper blades to pass the inspection, but I didn't have time to wait a half a day for them to be delivered if they didn't have them, so I asked the man behind the counter if he had wiper blades to fit my truck? He said he did, so I told him I need an inspection too, and asked if he had time to do it? There was already an adorable young woman sitting on a stool in front of the counter, and he said that she had already been waiting an hour to get her's inspected, so I told him to just put the wiper blades on, and I would bring it back next week for the inspection.
I made my way through the miasma of cigarette smoke that enveloped his waiting room, to his collections of mostly car magazines, and found a wonderful magazine, called Southern Living. I grabbed it and took a seat, in what must have been a fifty year old office desk chair. Choking on the ever enveloping side stream of his constantly burning cigarettes, I began thumbing through the pages, feasting my eyes on stories and pictures of beautiful old and new southern American homes, their furnishings, and the lives of their inhabitants. What a queer he must have thought I was! All those macho car magazines, and there I was, totally engrossed in beautiful displays of interior design! If he did think so, he never let on. Shortly after his mechanic located my wiper blades, he told me they just finished the the car of the girl who was before me, and they could get to my inspection in short order. I was in full boy mode, so feigning my best good ole' boy response, I looked up under the brim of my cap and smiled. "You guys are alright!", I said. Yeah, I know! But after sixty one years, I know just how to talk to these types.
As I thumbed through the magazine and waited for my truck to be inspected, I couldn't help but hear the conversations of the guy behind the counter, and the mechanics who occasionally came in to talk to him. "Did you see the guy getting his tongue pierced, on that show last night?" one guy said, "Then another one had his tongue split like a snake!" The guy behind the counter responded with a comment about getting someone a European purse, referring to an American TV commercial, in which a guy has a shoulder bag, and a store clerk says "Nice purse.", whereupon his wife says, "It's a European shoulder bag. It was a gift." This is such a typical kind of conversation for these types of males. I will never understand why their masculinity is so tied up in denigrating those, they think are strange, or less masculine than themselves.
Tonight at my support group meeting, several post-op members detailed the expenses involved in their transitions. The bottom line was that you will need upwards of $70,000 to $80,000 dollars to transition from male to female, and a lot more to transition from female to male, since that is a far more complicated procedure. It's all very depressing, and clearly explains why 80% of transsexuals never fully transition.
During the meeting, I noticed a diminutive and adorable young female, sitting across the room from me, albeit dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt and ace cap. Turns out, that he was a new female to male member. Just goes to show that looks mean nothing! God love him, as well as the girls who look like guys!
God love all of you too!
Melissa XXOO
P.S.
As I was leaving our meeting tonight, for the first time I felt an unusual emotional connection to the group, On the way out, I was confronted by Teresa, a mid sixties post-op woman, who is a bulwark of our organization. I truly respect her! I was buttoning up my hooded black Pea Coat in front of her, and noticed that I was awkwardly connecting the buttons up with the wrong button holes! Completely embarrassed, I acknowledged that I was doing it all wrong, and explained that I usual did it in front of a mirror. Very graciously, she gave me instructions to start at the bottom, and work my way up to the top! I completed the task per her instructions, then subsequently gave her a warm hug!
Also our president, who initially had me so intimidated with her assertive presence, came up to me as I was sitting with my legs crossed, grabbed the zipper on my boot, pulled it down a notch or two, then returning it to its original position with a smile, said, "Nice boots!" You have no idea how happy that made me!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Mothers, Lobsters & Buffoons
My mother's birthday is on New Years Day. We usually take her out for dinner on that day, but this year we waited until yesterday. I'm all for doing the same in the future. Everybody in town likes to go out to eat on New Years Day, and that always means waiting in line for a table, in a very crowded and noisy restaurant. Mom's taste in food is not exactly what you would call epicurean. Her favorite place to dine out is Red Lobster, or Red Slobster, as my sister calls it, so yesterday I met mom and my sister, and my brother-in-law and his daughter at Red Lobster for a seafood dinner. I don't know if was because it was a Monday evening, or because most people were partied out from the holidays, but when I got there, the place was nearly empty. It was a welcome relief from the raucous crowd we usually encounter there. My mother and sister had yet to arrive, so my brother-in-law and my niece were having a beer at the bar, while waiting for them to show up. True to form, they straggled in fifteen to 20 minutes after the appointed rendezvous time. Fortunately because the place was so empty, we were promptly ushered to our table.
Our waiter was one of those clowns, that didn't know the difference between attentive service, and intruding on the privacy of the a party he was serving. I'm sure he just thought he was being friendly, but for the entire evening he subjected us to his impertinent presence, consisting mainly of unwelcome comments, and a very lame sense of humor. Is it possible that waiters are trained to be obnoxious? We seem to encounter this type more and more. Someone made the mistake of telling him that it was mom's birthday, so when he brought her desert, he made sure to stick a candle in it, and bring several other servers with him to lead us all in an embarrassing rendition of The Birthday Song. As everyone sheepishly sang in a different key, I looked over at my brother-in-law. He was staring down at the table, singing the familiar chorus in a monotone, with his face buried in his hands! By this time of course, more patrons had arrived, so we were surrounded by a lovely little audience to witness our shame.
I don't know if you have ever eaten at Red Lobster or not, but the seasonings that they love to use in copious quantities, are garlic, butter and salt. Lots and lots of salt! I had dinner of Shrimp fettuccine Alfredo, Shrimp Scampi, and fried butterfly shrimp, with broccoli, and a garden salad with Ranch dressing. The fettuccine Alfredo and the Scampi were so salty, I actually couldn't finish them. Every time I have eaten one of their seafood platters, I've left with a taste and feeling in my mouth, that I have just eaten a large tub of salty buttered movie theater popcorn. They do have some yummy deserts though, but they are way to large and rich for just one person, especially after a full meal dripping in butter. We ordered one desert, consisting of a large slice of apple caramel crumb cake, accompanied by two large scoops of vanilla ice cream, and four spoons. Mom dug in first, and when she had had enough, my sister, my niece and I each had a go at it. My niece stopped after just a few bites. Four or five bites was enough for me, and we left the rest for my sister, who appeared more than happy to clean the plate.
We asked the waiter to divide the bill into two separate checks, so that my sister and I could pay for our mother's meal. He returned a few minutes later with two leather binders in the pocket of his apron, containing the two bills. After pulling them out of his apron, grinning and doing an impromptu juggling act with them (I did tell you he was a clown, didn't I?), he placed one before my brother-in-law, and the other before my sister. I asked my sister how much our bill was, so I could split the cost of it with her, but sweetheart that she is, she refused to allow me to pay anything! She said that I had paid for hers before, so she wanted to pay for mine this time. I thanked her, and told her that was very nice of her. Suddenly my mother chimed in, "You can leave the tip!" I looked at her with a grin and said, "Oh no mom, she said she's paying for it!" The poor old woman has never known when to mind her own business!
Our waiter was one of those clowns, that didn't know the difference between attentive service, and intruding on the privacy of the a party he was serving. I'm sure he just thought he was being friendly, but for the entire evening he subjected us to his impertinent presence, consisting mainly of unwelcome comments, and a very lame sense of humor. Is it possible that waiters are trained to be obnoxious? We seem to encounter this type more and more. Someone made the mistake of telling him that it was mom's birthday, so when he brought her desert, he made sure to stick a candle in it, and bring several other servers with him to lead us all in an embarrassing rendition of The Birthday Song. As everyone sheepishly sang in a different key, I looked over at my brother-in-law. He was staring down at the table, singing the familiar chorus in a monotone, with his face buried in his hands! By this time of course, more patrons had arrived, so we were surrounded by a lovely little audience to witness our shame.
I don't know if you have ever eaten at Red Lobster or not, but the seasonings that they love to use in copious quantities, are garlic, butter and salt. Lots and lots of salt! I had dinner of Shrimp fettuccine Alfredo, Shrimp Scampi, and fried butterfly shrimp, with broccoli, and a garden salad with Ranch dressing. The fettuccine Alfredo and the Scampi were so salty, I actually couldn't finish them. Every time I have eaten one of their seafood platters, I've left with a taste and feeling in my mouth, that I have just eaten a large tub of salty buttered movie theater popcorn. They do have some yummy deserts though, but they are way to large and rich for just one person, especially after a full meal dripping in butter. We ordered one desert, consisting of a large slice of apple caramel crumb cake, accompanied by two large scoops of vanilla ice cream, and four spoons. Mom dug in first, and when she had had enough, my sister, my niece and I each had a go at it. My niece stopped after just a few bites. Four or five bites was enough for me, and we left the rest for my sister, who appeared more than happy to clean the plate.
We asked the waiter to divide the bill into two separate checks, so that my sister and I could pay for our mother's meal. He returned a few minutes later with two leather binders in the pocket of his apron, containing the two bills. After pulling them out of his apron, grinning and doing an impromptu juggling act with them (I did tell you he was a clown, didn't I?), he placed one before my brother-in-law, and the other before my sister. I asked my sister how much our bill was, so I could split the cost of it with her, but sweetheart that she is, she refused to allow me to pay anything! She said that I had paid for hers before, so she wanted to pay for mine this time. I thanked her, and told her that was very nice of her. Suddenly my mother chimed in, "You can leave the tip!" I looked at her with a grin and said, "Oh no mom, she said she's paying for it!" The poor old woman has never known when to mind her own business!
Sunday, January 3, 2010
The Walk Of Shame Set
Well........it's been a very long time since I did the walk of shame, and admittedly way back then I did it as a guy, so maybe that doesn't count, but I had to laugh my ass off, when I saw this on-line catalog ad. Honestly, it's for real!
Melissa XX
Melissa XX
Saturday, January 2, 2010
All Snug In My Burrow
This time of year, I feel somewhat like rodent in my burrow. From time to time, I'll stick my head out of my hole to survey the surrounding scene, then quickly dart back to the warmth and solitude of my figurative underground home. I just emerged from my burrow to stand on the rear deck in the moonlight, and take in the winter nightscape. Looking out across the frozen pond in the light of the one day old blue moon, Christmas lights were still illuminating some of my neighbor's houses. Some will continue on, burning their electric candles in their windows, until Ash Wednesday, when the beginning of Lent will usher in a period of abstinence and self sacrifice, culminating in Easter and the joyous return of Spring and self-indulgence!
But right now? Brrrrrrr! Winter is in full swing, and it's a mere 23∘F out there right now, and it's supposed to drop to a frosty 16∘by morning. I love the feel of cool air on my legs, clad only in a thin layer of nylon, but 9∘below freeing is a bit too much! Back into my burrow!
The Burrow isn't all that bad. Although admittedly a hovel, thanks mainly to my shameless procrastination and sloth, it is warm, and there is a comfortable chair waiting for me in front of the I- Mac, TV and radio. It's Saturday night, and as I type this blog entry, I have the TV turned on and tuned to a move channel with the sound turned off, and National Public Radio playing on the stereo. My interpretation of multitasking!
Saturday night on NPR is departure from their normal classical fair. It begins at 6:00PM with Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion, a couple of hours of live theater, traditional American Folk, Country, Blues, and humor. Next comes a local show, created by a fellow named Page Wilson. Broadcasting from the Chickahominy Swamp in Hanover County Va., Wilson presents a show that consists of what he likes to call "real American mongrel music", basically it's just folk, country, and delta blues.
That's followed by another NPR show for the next two hours, called Mountain Stage, a collage of folk, county, blues, and low keyed country, jazz and blues inspired rock.
The evening culminates with a show of alternative, and progressive classic electric rock called The Electric Croude. (Yep! that's how it's spelled!) Billed as, "a broad sonic spread of progressive, folk, jazz and more", The Electric Croude, at just an hour long, is way too short, especially for a night owl, like me.
This is turning out to be a particularly long cold winter. It looks like I will be spending a fair amount of time in my burrow, so it is incumbent upon all of you, to help keep me entertained with your most interesting confessions! You haven't let me down in the past, so I'm counting on you girls to keep dishing it up! But don't worry, I'll be happy to continue doing the same for you!
Happy New Year everyone!
Love,
Melissa XX
But right now? Brrrrrrr! Winter is in full swing, and it's a mere 23∘F out there right now, and it's supposed to drop to a frosty 16∘by morning. I love the feel of cool air on my legs, clad only in a thin layer of nylon, but 9∘below freeing is a bit too much! Back into my burrow!
The Burrow isn't all that bad. Although admittedly a hovel, thanks mainly to my shameless procrastination and sloth, it is warm, and there is a comfortable chair waiting for me in front of the I- Mac, TV and radio. It's Saturday night, and as I type this blog entry, I have the TV turned on and tuned to a move channel with the sound turned off, and National Public Radio playing on the stereo. My interpretation of multitasking!
Saturday night on NPR is departure from their normal classical fair. It begins at 6:00PM with Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion, a couple of hours of live theater, traditional American Folk, Country, Blues, and humor. Next comes a local show, created by a fellow named Page Wilson. Broadcasting from the Chickahominy Swamp in Hanover County Va., Wilson presents a show that consists of what he likes to call "real American mongrel music", basically it's just folk, country, and delta blues.
That's followed by another NPR show for the next two hours, called Mountain Stage, a collage of folk, county, blues, and low keyed country, jazz and blues inspired rock.
The evening culminates with a show of alternative, and progressive classic electric rock called The Electric Croude. (Yep! that's how it's spelled!) Billed as, "a broad sonic spread of progressive, folk, jazz and more", The Electric Croude, at just an hour long, is way too short, especially for a night owl, like me.
This is turning out to be a particularly long cold winter. It looks like I will be spending a fair amount of time in my burrow, so it is incumbent upon all of you, to help keep me entertained with your most interesting confessions! You haven't let me down in the past, so I'm counting on you girls to keep dishing it up! But don't worry, I'll be happy to continue doing the same for you!
Happy New Year everyone!
Love,
Melissa XX
Friday, January 1, 2010
A 2009 Tribute To Those Who Made Us Laugh & Cry In The Movies.
TCM does a really beautiful tribute to the year's fallen stars. It's really worth watching. If you haven't seen it, you can go here t see it.
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