This afternoon, sometime after three o'clock, I was sitting at my desk feeling pretty good about the world. I'd just had a meeting with a couple of female colleagues at which we'd explored some really interesting stuff in the context of our work over some really nice coffee, and I had one of my more fun work projects back from my boss for a few tweaks. I was sitting there and I thought "Y'know what? You're not troubled at all by gender dysphoria right now!". And it's true, I wasn't, I had clarity of thought, momentarily I was in complete command of the task in front of me. And it all felt so silly for a moment, that I could lose control of myself to that extent.
If only I could hang on to the moment. I could have used that at five o'clock this morning when I was lying there awake having been dragged awake from a girl dream that got a little too upsetting, and trying not to wake my wife. I could use it now as well, sitting on the sofa with the laptop, alone in the flat while she's off at her gym class.
This is going to sound rather crazy, but I rather dread those rare moments of clarity like this afternoon's one. Because they sow momentary doubt, and doubt is dangerous. GD is a royal pain in the arse, but at least I know what it is. I certainly wouldn't have chosen my girl's brain had I been given the choice, but a moment considering what might be were I to not be so reveals something far worse, for then the only explanation would be insanity. At my most depressive a few years ago that's a destination I've been uncomfortably close to. At least the thought I have a normal brain, albeit one from the Other Side, is reassuring in that context.
On a completely separate note, I scored a couple of very small victories for the greater understanding of transgender issues in the last week. One of my employer's products featured something slightly misleading relating to us, and with the aid of my two colleagues to whom I'm out I was able to ensure that it was corrected. Pretty minor, but because the product reaches far and wide it's something I'd like to hope will help someone indirectly in the future.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
Sunday, 13 February 2011
A funny thing happened on the way to the loo yesterday
Yesterday afternoon found me at my local Tesco store, picking up some supplies. Needing a quick toilet break, I diverted myself in that direction.
The loos at this store are at the end of a short hallway. Facing you are two doors, ladies on the left, gents on the right. As I approached them a middle aged lady emerged from the left hand door, and politely held it open for me. I smiled apologetically and made my way into the gents. Blimey, I must be getting good at this girl thing, she could tell even though I had three days worth of stubble on my face in preparation for a really smooth shave for the support group meeting!
Poor thing, she was probably mortified at her unconscious mistake. It did make me laugh, but not at her. I would like to think that she would have been tolerant enough to have held the door open for me had I been presenting female.
The loos at this store are at the end of a short hallway. Facing you are two doors, ladies on the left, gents on the right. As I approached them a middle aged lady emerged from the left hand door, and politely held it open for me. I smiled apologetically and made my way into the gents. Blimey, I must be getting good at this girl thing, she could tell even though I had three days worth of stubble on my face in preparation for a really smooth shave for the support group meeting!
Poor thing, she was probably mortified at her unconscious mistake. It did make me laugh, but not at her. I would like to think that she would have been tolerant enough to have held the door open for me had I been presenting female.
Saturday, 12 February 2011
Dad
It was a Sunday morning in 1975 or early 1976. I was about five years old and I was sitting on my bedroom floor wearing one of my older sister's cast-off party dresses. I honestly can't remember what I was doing, probably just normal playing, whatever a five-year-old did back in the mid 1970s. My sisters were nowhere to be seen, probably out in the garden playing Cowboys and Indians in those far-off days when children playing at persecuting indigenous minorities with toy guns was considered acceptable fare. I wouldn't have been with them because at that point the age and gender differences between us were starting to become more marked and they were beginning to tolerate rather than include their younger brother. I guess my parents would have been outside too, or maybe my mother was downstairs. Either way I was alone and safe from interruption, free to be a little girl for a while.
I guess most junior cross-dressers will have a similar story to what happened next, my father came upstairs unexpectedly, it seemed I was required for some reason. Horror of horrors, there was no time to change so there I was, discovered in girl mode. Crap. Surprisingly the expected censure never materialised. I think he took it as my simply playing some kind of roleplay game, so he played along with it, delivered my summons and went back downstairs. My young age probably helped, I suspect had I been discovered as a fifteen-year-old the circumstances might have been a little different.
I quickly changed into my little boy clothes and went downstairs. Nothing was said, but for me everything had changed. I was convinced from then on that my parents Knew Everything and so started a lifetime of concealment and suppression that culminated in my becoming a suicidal thirty-something.
It came as a great shock to me last May when I had the Long Chat with my mother and found that they didn't have a clue. That Sunday morning which had been such a significant event for me had evidently slipped unnoticed into the ether and my bloke act helped my my physical appearance had evidently been of Oscar-winning proportions.
In all of this the one person with whom I have never discussed any of it is my father. He knows of course because my mother has talked to him about it, but me? Somehow I don't know where to start. I know he'd be embarrassed as hell, and I'm certain I would be too. I'm afraid I find talking to women a lot easier than I do talking to men, at least on anything other than "safe" bloke subjects.
I guess I don't *have* to talk to him if there is no need. An acquaintance recently had a deathbed reconciliation with her father, at least I am fortunate in my parents that there is no estrangement so I won't forever regret not having "that" chat.
I just feel some regret that I don't feel able to, that's all.
I guess most junior cross-dressers will have a similar story to what happened next, my father came upstairs unexpectedly, it seemed I was required for some reason. Horror of horrors, there was no time to change so there I was, discovered in girl mode. Crap. Surprisingly the expected censure never materialised. I think he took it as my simply playing some kind of roleplay game, so he played along with it, delivered my summons and went back downstairs. My young age probably helped, I suspect had I been discovered as a fifteen-year-old the circumstances might have been a little different.
I quickly changed into my little boy clothes and went downstairs. Nothing was said, but for me everything had changed. I was convinced from then on that my parents Knew Everything and so started a lifetime of concealment and suppression that culminated in my becoming a suicidal thirty-something.
It came as a great shock to me last May when I had the Long Chat with my mother and found that they didn't have a clue. That Sunday morning which had been such a significant event for me had evidently slipped unnoticed into the ether and my bloke act helped my my physical appearance had evidently been of Oscar-winning proportions.
In all of this the one person with whom I have never discussed any of it is my father. He knows of course because my mother has talked to him about it, but me? Somehow I don't know where to start. I know he'd be embarrassed as hell, and I'm certain I would be too. I'm afraid I find talking to women a lot easier than I do talking to men, at least on anything other than "safe" bloke subjects.
I guess I don't *have* to talk to him if there is no need. An acquaintance recently had a deathbed reconciliation with her father, at least I am fortunate in my parents that there is no estrangement so I won't forever regret not having "that" chat.
I just feel some regret that I don't feel able to, that's all.
Fake award scam
Those SEO spammers have obviously added this blog to their database, for this morning I received another variant on their scam. Seems I've been given an award, with a link to a CGI script that delivers a convincing looking blog award. As a token of my gratitude I am expected to link to them from my blog.
Sigh.
(Looks at calendar) No, I wasn't born yesterday.
It concerns me not only that these losers are still pushing these scams, but that businesses are being duped into paying for them. Let me make this abundantly clear, the search engines know all about these stunts, they can sport them a mile away. They have spent a lot of money hiring the brightest people on the planet to write very clever software to spot unexpected linking trends and send the linked sites spinning into oblivion.
If you are ever offered search engine promotion services by someone who claims to be able to offer speedy or guaranteed results, ask them their name. If it isn't Sergei Brin or Larry Page, founders of Google, it's simple. They are LYING. The best they can produce with these techniques is a short term gain on a few carefully chosen search terms. The only thing that works in that arena is hard work building an online profile, there are no quick fixes.
Yet again, no sale.
Sigh.
(Looks at calendar) No, I wasn't born yesterday.
It concerns me not only that these losers are still pushing these scams, but that businesses are being duped into paying for them. Let me make this abundantly clear, the search engines know all about these stunts, they can sport them a mile away. They have spent a lot of money hiring the brightest people on the planet to write very clever software to spot unexpected linking trends and send the linked sites spinning into oblivion.
If you are ever offered search engine promotion services by someone who claims to be able to offer speedy or guaranteed results, ask them their name. If it isn't Sergei Brin or Larry Page, founders of Google, it's simple. They are LYING. The best they can produce with these techniques is a short term gain on a few carefully chosen search terms. The only thing that works in that arena is hard work building an online profile, there are no quick fixes.
Yet again, no sale.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
Not for sale
My afternoon was enlivened today by an email popping up in my inbox offering to buy this blog.
Wow, I thought, I've joined Ariana Huffington, hold on a minute while I get the wheelbarrow for all that cash!
Sadly for me though, the sender was not AOL. Instead it was a spam search engine optimisation company wishing to buy my little piece of the Internet for its well-written keyword-heavy content and for its meagre standing in the search engines. For this I would receive about three hundred dollars, and then I would sit back and watch my creation covered with spammy meaningless links to the spammers customers. My work destroyed, my readers abandoned, and the search engines temporarily polluted.
Not a chance.
What my spammer correspondent doesn't know is that in a past life I spent a lot of time helping one of his targets detect and beat the tactics he is attempting to employ. I regard search engine spammers as the low-lives of my industry and would rather do anything than enter into any form of business arrangement with one of them.
So it looks as if our little corner of the internet is being looked at by these people. If you get an "I want to buy your blog" email, just ignore it. Even if you did try to sell it it'd doubtful whether you'd see any cash, these people operate on the edges of what is legal so I'd not expect them to be trustworthy when it came to payment.
Wow, I thought, I've joined Ariana Huffington, hold on a minute while I get the wheelbarrow for all that cash!
Sadly for me though, the sender was not AOL. Instead it was a spam search engine optimisation company wishing to buy my little piece of the Internet for its well-written keyword-heavy content and for its meagre standing in the search engines. For this I would receive about three hundred dollars, and then I would sit back and watch my creation covered with spammy meaningless links to the spammers customers. My work destroyed, my readers abandoned, and the search engines temporarily polluted.
Not a chance.
What my spammer correspondent doesn't know is that in a past life I spent a lot of time helping one of his targets detect and beat the tactics he is attempting to employ. I regard search engine spammers as the low-lives of my industry and would rather do anything than enter into any form of business arrangement with one of them.
So it looks as if our little corner of the internet is being looked at by these people. If you get an "I want to buy your blog" email, just ignore it. Even if you did try to sell it it'd doubtful whether you'd see any cash, these people operate on the edges of what is legal so I'd not expect them to be trustworthy when it came to payment.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
A day out of the office
It does say on my job description that I am encouraged to attend conferences. But even at her most optimistic my boss couldn't find an angle to justify this one on work time.
Last autumn I participated in a research programme run by a grad student from the University of the West of England in Bristol. She was interviewing trans-people for her thesis on transgender issues, and since having supported my wife through her postgrad years I have a soft spot for those at that particular level of academic struggle and her approach to the whole issue was very sensitive and well thought out I was only too happy to oblige.
In a couple of months time the same department will be running a conference: "Trans-cending gender norms", and it was this that I was discussing with my boss. Depending on a few other factors I should be able to attend the event.
Now it might be said that someone in my slightly annoying position should see an occasion like this one as a rare chance to spend a day in the real world in girl mode. And I can't deny, that's a thought not without attraction. I can do it. But in this case I think the scruffy bloke is more appropriate. People expect a girl like me to be trans, discovering the same of a bloke like me is definitely one of those moments of widening perception.
Last autumn I participated in a research programme run by a grad student from the University of the West of England in Bristol. She was interviewing trans-people for her thesis on transgender issues, and since having supported my wife through her postgrad years I have a soft spot for those at that particular level of academic struggle and her approach to the whole issue was very sensitive and well thought out I was only too happy to oblige.
In a couple of months time the same department will be running a conference: "Trans-cending gender norms", and it was this that I was discussing with my boss. Depending on a few other factors I should be able to attend the event.
Now it might be said that someone in my slightly annoying position should see an occasion like this one as a rare chance to spend a day in the real world in girl mode. And I can't deny, that's a thought not without attraction. I can do it. But in this case I think the scruffy bloke is more appropriate. People expect a girl like me to be trans, discovering the same of a bloke like me is definitely one of those moments of widening perception.
Monday, 7 February 2011
In praise of a saw
From time to time we all have jobs to do that are part of something we enjoy, but not necessarily the part we'd choose as the defining moment of that activity. If you crossdress for example you probably don't rate the annoying task of hair removal as highly while it is in progress as you do the moment when it all comes together in the mirror.
If you've followed this blog at all you'll have gathered by now that as well as being an oversized t-girl I'm a cidermaker. Cidermakers live for the end of summer when apple trees are laden with fruit and the orchard is warm and green. We don't live for January and February when the going is muddy amid the apple trees and our feet are chilled to the bone. Yet the orchard is where you'll find us at this time of year, as our charges need pruning - removal of excess summer growth, diseased and dead wood - if they are to provide good yields of apples in the year to come.
Over the years I have used many different tools for this task. A small chainsaw for the occasional big branch is fine, but most of the work involves fiddly little branches, wands of fibrous and flexible new growth that cling tenaciously to their mother branches and punish you by splittng into fibres if you detatch them carelessly. Sandvik bow saws are too unwieldy, secateurs are too small, lopping shears promise much but are never up to the leverage I can put through them and larger pruning saws never fit in the available space. You wouldn't think such an outwardly simple task would present such a problem, would you. So for me my most invaluable companion in the winter orchard is my little handheld folding Felco pruning saw.
Small enough to fit in my pocket, short enough to be used in confined space, sharp enough to cut through very large branches yet comfortable enough to use that I get no blisters on my hands from it, it means I can work my way through an orchard of trees in the time it used to take me to do one or two of them. Yesterday I filled the farm truck several times over with cut branches and aside from an unfortunate cut finger from when I became a little too enthusiastic in my sawing I'm none the worse for all that effort. (I came very close to crashing the truck into an apple tree, but that's another story.) That's how useful a single tool has become to me.
So now you've read it all. A t-girl blog in praise of an agricultural tool. I will have to disappoint you though if you are staying tuned for the accompanying review of a pickup truck, they don't do 'em in pink.
If you've followed this blog at all you'll have gathered by now that as well as being an oversized t-girl I'm a cidermaker. Cidermakers live for the end of summer when apple trees are laden with fruit and the orchard is warm and green. We don't live for January and February when the going is muddy amid the apple trees and our feet are chilled to the bone. Yet the orchard is where you'll find us at this time of year, as our charges need pruning - removal of excess summer growth, diseased and dead wood - if they are to provide good yields of apples in the year to come.
Over the years I have used many different tools for this task. A small chainsaw for the occasional big branch is fine, but most of the work involves fiddly little branches, wands of fibrous and flexible new growth that cling tenaciously to their mother branches and punish you by splittng into fibres if you detatch them carelessly. Sandvik bow saws are too unwieldy, secateurs are too small, lopping shears promise much but are never up to the leverage I can put through them and larger pruning saws never fit in the available space. You wouldn't think such an outwardly simple task would present such a problem, would you. So for me my most invaluable companion in the winter orchard is my little handheld folding Felco pruning saw.
Small enough to fit in my pocket, short enough to be used in confined space, sharp enough to cut through very large branches yet comfortable enough to use that I get no blisters on my hands from it, it means I can work my way through an orchard of trees in the time it used to take me to do one or two of them. Yesterday I filled the farm truck several times over with cut branches and aside from an unfortunate cut finger from when I became a little too enthusiastic in my sawing I'm none the worse for all that effort. (I came very close to crashing the truck into an apple tree, but that's another story.) That's how useful a single tool has become to me.
So now you've read it all. A t-girl blog in praise of an agricultural tool. I will have to disappoint you though if you are staying tuned for the accompanying review of a pickup truck, they don't do 'em in pink.
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Feminist overload
My colleague, someone I have a lot of time for both professionally and personally, nearly ruined it all this week. I stumbled upon an online bio of hers and found she described herself foremost as a feminist. Inwardly, I groaned. You see, I've met a lot of professed feminists over the years. And a significant proportion of them have annoyed the crap out of me.
It shouldn't be this way. I grew up in a family of successful women so I hold feminism to be self-evident. What has annoyed me is not the feminism, but so many of the people who profess it. I've met too many young women who have found in feminism a Cause, and since in the circles I move in they've never experienced any of the disadvantage through being female that their grandmothers might have, they've got a Cause with precious little within their sight to rebel against. So finding nothing left to fight in their daily lives they cast around and have a pop at any bloke unfortunate enough to hove into view. 'Cos y'never know, he just might be a misogynist, they all look the same y'know.
My annoyingly male hormonal wash predisposes me to find women attractive so I don't mind them making assumptions about that, but I kinda resent any other assumptions about my attitudes towards gender based only on my day-to-day appearance.
But then I find myself guilty of exactly the same sin with respect to my colleague. She's never annoyed me in that way, yet from one word in an online bio I found myself making all sorts of completely unfounded assumptions and associations about her.
Let he or she who is without sin cast the first stone...
It shouldn't be this way. I grew up in a family of successful women so I hold feminism to be self-evident. What has annoyed me is not the feminism, but so many of the people who profess it. I've met too many young women who have found in feminism a Cause, and since in the circles I move in they've never experienced any of the disadvantage through being female that their grandmothers might have, they've got a Cause with precious little within their sight to rebel against. So finding nothing left to fight in their daily lives they cast around and have a pop at any bloke unfortunate enough to hove into view. 'Cos y'never know, he just might be a misogynist, they all look the same y'know.
My annoyingly male hormonal wash predisposes me to find women attractive so I don't mind them making assumptions about that, but I kinda resent any other assumptions about my attitudes towards gender based only on my day-to-day appearance.
But then I find myself guilty of exactly the same sin with respect to my colleague. She's never annoyed me in that way, yet from one word in an online bio I found myself making all sorts of completely unfounded assumptions and associations about her.
Let he or she who is without sin cast the first stone...
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Go into the salon a bloke, come out slightly less of a bloke
Last month I lamented that while on a visit to my hairdresser I was not presented with the chance to talk to her about growing out my hair into a more gender-neutral style.
Yesterday I had the Long Chat with her and her colleague. I had my hair cut on Saturday so I had already talked about growing it out, but since she had other customers in the salon back then I needed to tell her why so that she could manage its growth. On Saturday she tidied it at the edges but left the main growth intact, it seems next time she'll thin the ends of the longer growth, something that will make growing the layers out more easy.
So my wife and I went down the road in our lunch hour and had the Long Chat. And it went perfectly. There were the inevitable questions but they were both understanding and seemed to be relishing the prospect of creating a dual-purpose hairstyle.
The next eighteen months will see me sporting a succession of annoying hairstyles as it grows out enough volume. At least under the care of an expert hairdresser I should avoid their also being embarrassing hairstyles.
Yesterday I had the Long Chat with her and her colleague. I had my hair cut on Saturday so I had already talked about growing it out, but since she had other customers in the salon back then I needed to tell her why so that she could manage its growth. On Saturday she tidied it at the edges but left the main growth intact, it seems next time she'll thin the ends of the longer growth, something that will make growing the layers out more easy.
So my wife and I went down the road in our lunch hour and had the Long Chat. And it went perfectly. There were the inevitable questions but they were both understanding and seemed to be relishing the prospect of creating a dual-purpose hairstyle.
The next eighteen months will see me sporting a succession of annoying hairstyles as it grows out enough volume. At least under the care of an expert hairdresser I should avoid their also being embarrassing hairstyles.
Sunday, 30 January 2011
One more lap
My day today was spent in the winter sun and cold fresh air of my parents orchard, pruning apple trees. Pruning being a restful occupation I had plenty of time to think. Last night my wife and I attended a restaurant outing of about forty t-girls, a friendly and boisterous gathering that left me as always a bit down this morning, having been my normal oversized scruffy bloke for the occasion.
Give or take a couple of days, it's a year since I had the Long Chat with my doctor. I think I'm in a significantly better condition than I was then and I've come a long way, but I have also remained stuck firmly in the same place. Winter has arrived and with it has come my sleep problems, girl fog and all its accompanying joys. Medication controls it this time, but at the cost of leaving me significantly below par. Only ten posts so far this month, if that doesn't indicate a lowered brain capacity I don't know what does!
So when I finally reach the GIC it'll be about eighteen months since that chat last year. I'm told that's about average so I've got little to complain about, but I can't shake the worry that they'll have little to offer me. When I last saw my psychiatrist I addressed that to him and he reminded me that while it may be true, at least I'll be seeing the experts, people with the most experience in the matter.
This time next year when I've completed another lap of this circuit as the 25000 metre long distance runner I'll no doubt have watched a few more of the sprinters break the tapes and leave the stadium.
I'll still be running.
Give or take a couple of days, it's a year since I had the Long Chat with my doctor. I think I'm in a significantly better condition than I was then and I've come a long way, but I have also remained stuck firmly in the same place. Winter has arrived and with it has come my sleep problems, girl fog and all its accompanying joys. Medication controls it this time, but at the cost of leaving me significantly below par. Only ten posts so far this month, if that doesn't indicate a lowered brain capacity I don't know what does!
So when I finally reach the GIC it'll be about eighteen months since that chat last year. I'm told that's about average so I've got little to complain about, but I can't shake the worry that they'll have little to offer me. When I last saw my psychiatrist I addressed that to him and he reminded me that while it may be true, at least I'll be seeing the experts, people with the most experience in the matter.
This time next year when I've completed another lap of this circuit as the 25000 metre long distance runner I'll no doubt have watched a few more of the sprinters break the tapes and leave the stadium.
I'll still be running.
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