So the performance at OUT/LOUD went really well, I think. At about the third song or so I had gained some acceptable level of confidence (the power of playing a harmonica and having people actually cheer for you) and the rest was basically a party. I was also very pleased to meet and hang out with Katz of Athens Boys Choir, whose song Fagette was instrumental in affirming my identity as a fem transman, and perhaps most importantly is hilarious and contains the line, "I'm a pansexual, got my hands on the manual, a smooth Jew, a bar mitzvah party animal."
After the show I went to Ben's Judith Butler-themed birthday party, though I mostly just hung out in the garage and drank champagne with the usual types, plus Samuel, arguably my favorite person to frequently sport a skirt and a full beard. Amusing passing anecdote: One of the OUT/LOUD volunteers, whom I've known as a party acquaintance since maybe September, or in any case before I started hormones, said to me, "It was funny, one of my friends said she thought you were a transman!" I did a total double take, and said, "I AM a trans man," to which the rest of the kids chuckled semi-awkwardly and she kind of blushed. I asked her, perhaps a little too forcefully, "What did you think I was?" She kind of shyly sputtered out, "I just thought you were really femme!" It's strange to me to be consistently read as a man, even by people who should, perhaps, "know better." Even though it's what I want (in a lot of ways it one of the main points of transitioning, to get others to see you as the right gender) it takes some getting used to.
I'd also like to look at the statement, "My friend thought you were a transman!" Does this strike anyone else as a strange thing to say to someone? There's some judgment in it: "My friend noticed that you're short and barrel-chested and have a relatively high voice, so she made this assumption about your medical history!" or, "My friend heard from someone that you're trans, but I've known you for a while and haven't picked up on it myself, and it would be such an outlandish thing if you were!" Would you say to someone, "I noticed the way you were limping, and I thought you might have actually had a disability!" or "I heard you were of Puerto Rican descent, how nuts is that?" (I know race/ability/gender aren't all the same thing, but for the sake of an example.) What if I'd been a butch woman? What if I had just been a very femme ordinary dude? Would I have been justified if I'd been insulted? "Looking like a tranny", most notably on the mtf side, is a pretty common insult, even among otherwise sensible people, and even among certain circles of trans people who are wanting, for whatever reason, to be stealth. So, not to pick on this specific person and what she said, but there's more to "I thought you were trans" than meets the eye, so to speak.
At the same time, I can't say I'm not a bit pleased that this girl didn't think I was trans. I guess I just kind of assume that everyone knows I'm trans at all times, at least within my social circle, that they refer to me as, "Yeah, Russell, you know, the trans one?", that I kind of have a sign around my neck about it. I know this happens to a degree, and I don't exactly have a problem with it: I'd rather it not be the main thing people know about me, but I don't not want people to know. But I just feel a little proud, I guess, of my friends for keeping it under their trucker caps to a degree.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Monday, May 17, 2010
"IUD, SIS, stay in school, cuz it's the best"
Sorry to be remiss about blogging. There have been all sorts of happenings and distractions that needn't be aired in as silly a blog as this.
I've had a few humorous passing/not anecdotes in the past couple weeks, but they're mostly slipping my mind at the moment. I got "Hello sir...ma'am?" on the phone at work, which I ignored.
There's been a whole bonanza (I really wanted to write "banana") of furor, at least by my Emily Dickinsonish standards, about the whole Pegasissy at OUT/LOUD thing. I can't say it's not strange having pictures of my face all over town, or having a stranger tell me how great I am when I'm standing in line for a hot dog at the fashion show (which did happen.)
These times are strange times, and I'd like to place at least some of the strangeness on hormones. I recently acquired an IUD, which I've started calling a DUI in front of acquaintances with whom I'm not in the mood to discuss my uterus. As in, "I got a DUI last Monday and I felt like garbage for the next two days, and I still feel a little shaken about it." Which I do.
After a relatively pleasant seven months of being able to forget entirely that I'm in possession of a uterus, I was reminded quite solidly of it last week. So there's that dysphoria, and the strange misplaced instinctual sadness at being rendered physically incapable (if temporarily) of making a baby--not that I want one in the least, but even when you're hitting snooze on your biological clock it still wakes you up before you drift back to sleep--plus the perennial, lonely "Why am I going through all of this when I'm only sharing my bed with the cat and a pile of books?" Of course, there are good reasons. Though the Mirena has low levels of levornorgestrel (=ladymones) and on the one hand sounds counter-intuitive for my purposes, it wards off endometriosis and certain types of cancer, and doubly ensures that I don't bleed, and generally keeps my baby bag not seen and not heard. Even if I'm not putting it to the test at the moment, it lasts for 5-7 years, and I'd rather know I'm all set in the not accidentally getting knocked up department than have to wait a month to set another appointment once anything does come up.
But it's still jarring to have to think about these things, and to have that tiny extra boost of lady hormones in my system. I've been doing that thing I hate where I have really strong, devastating emotions that I know aren't especially useful or reasonable, but there's nothing I can do to make them disperse in a timely way. But perhaps this is less about being a trans man and more about being a human being. Let me quote Blink-182 when I say, "Well I guess this is growing up."
I know this is getting long, but I need to do a little meta-blogging: I'd like to address how personal this blog can be, and justify it a bit. The reason I'm doing this, besides to amuse my friends and bolster my cult of personality, is to rep and describe my trans experience, or rather a trans experience. We all know that there's a disproportionate number of images like this and this of trans people, and not enough like this. Even kind understanding open types who want to see trans people as something not strange and off-putting may not know where to turn. I don't like to spend every moment Being a Transsexual, and this blog is a way to do my part in educating the masses in a pleasantly compartmentalized way. Which is another reason for the over-sharing. By describing my shots and my uterus and my physical changes and hormonal roller coaster in depth, I'm hoping that the curious details of transitioning will all become common (at least within this small readership) knowledge, and you, dear reader, won't be tempted to ask an unsuspecting trans person how big their clitoris is, or how long they've felt this way, or whether they like to be penetrated, next time you meet such a person at a dinner party. Because, frankly, unless you would feel comfortable having similar questions asked of you, you probably shouldn't be tossing them around. Just throwing that out there.
I've had a few humorous passing/not anecdotes in the past couple weeks, but they're mostly slipping my mind at the moment. I got "Hello sir...ma'am?" on the phone at work, which I ignored.
There's been a whole bonanza (I really wanted to write "banana") of furor, at least by my Emily Dickinsonish standards, about the whole Pegasissy at OUT/LOUD thing. I can't say it's not strange having pictures of my face all over town, or having a stranger tell me how great I am when I'm standing in line for a hot dog at the fashion show (which did happen.)
These times are strange times, and I'd like to place at least some of the strangeness on hormones. I recently acquired an IUD, which I've started calling a DUI in front of acquaintances with whom I'm not in the mood to discuss my uterus. As in, "I got a DUI last Monday and I felt like garbage for the next two days, and I still feel a little shaken about it." Which I do.
After a relatively pleasant seven months of being able to forget entirely that I'm in possession of a uterus, I was reminded quite solidly of it last week. So there's that dysphoria, and the strange misplaced instinctual sadness at being rendered physically incapable (if temporarily) of making a baby--not that I want one in the least, but even when you're hitting snooze on your biological clock it still wakes you up before you drift back to sleep--plus the perennial, lonely "Why am I going through all of this when I'm only sharing my bed with the cat and a pile of books?" Of course, there are good reasons. Though the Mirena has low levels of levornorgestrel (=ladymones) and on the one hand sounds counter-intuitive for my purposes, it wards off endometriosis and certain types of cancer, and doubly ensures that I don't bleed, and generally keeps my baby bag not seen and not heard. Even if I'm not putting it to the test at the moment, it lasts for 5-7 years, and I'd rather know I'm all set in the not accidentally getting knocked up department than have to wait a month to set another appointment once anything does come up.
But it's still jarring to have to think about these things, and to have that tiny extra boost of lady hormones in my system. I've been doing that thing I hate where I have really strong, devastating emotions that I know aren't especially useful or reasonable, but there's nothing I can do to make them disperse in a timely way. But perhaps this is less about being a trans man and more about being a human being. Let me quote Blink-182 when I say, "Well I guess this is growing up."
I know this is getting long, but I need to do a little meta-blogging: I'd like to address how personal this blog can be, and justify it a bit. The reason I'm doing this, besides to amuse my friends and bolster my cult of personality, is to rep and describe my trans experience, or rather a trans experience. We all know that there's a disproportionate number of images like this and this of trans people, and not enough like this. Even kind understanding open types who want to see trans people as something not strange and off-putting may not know where to turn. I don't like to spend every moment Being a Transsexual, and this blog is a way to do my part in educating the masses in a pleasantly compartmentalized way. Which is another reason for the over-sharing. By describing my shots and my uterus and my physical changes and hormonal roller coaster in depth, I'm hoping that the curious details of transitioning will all become common (at least within this small readership) knowledge, and you, dear reader, won't be tempted to ask an unsuspecting trans person how big their clitoris is, or how long they've felt this way, or whether they like to be penetrated, next time you meet such a person at a dinner party. Because, frankly, unless you would feel comfortable having similar questions asked of you, you probably shouldn't be tossing them around. Just throwing that out there.
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