Tapping The Vein

Krysta introduced me to Tapping The Vein back in 2000, and I was completely enthralled. The hard gutteral guitars, the synthetic melody backing them up, and always, always Heather Thompson's voice. She purrs, she screams, she sings, she emotes. And every time I hear it, I simply melt. Case in point, tonight when they performed Broken, where she grabs the words with a vocal bite, I simply shuddered with pleasure.

We went and saw them this evening. And it made me doubly happy, as it gave me a chance to dress up, which is always a good thing. Fishnets, a tight black skirt, all-black mary-janes., a black camisole and a nifty mesh Jacket that I picked up in Seattle last week. I felt good, I felt strong. And Krysta, in her All Black china-doll dress, made me feel even stronger.

We got to the club while the first band, Bravo, was still playing. And right next to the bar, was the table where the various bands were selling their wares (CD's, T-shirts, etc). Manning the Tapping the Vein table was Heather herself. Barely 5 feet tall, and skinny as all get out, she smiled when I recognized her. And I only mention her stature, because if you heard her voice, you would never believe it came out of her frame.

She asked me what my favorite song on their new album was, and I mentioned "Sugar Falls", the song mentioned above. She nodded and said that they hadn't preformed that song in three months.

"That's okay", I said, completely honest. There's not a bad song on the album. And they had a limited set planned, as they weren't headlining. So some songs would have to be cut, if they didn't play my fav, I would live.. Hell, I was happy just to be there.

Krysta and I took our place in the crowd, and watched two bands before TTV took the stage. They were okay, as there were aspects to like about both bands. But the fun really started when TTV took the stage.

They opened with "Falling In", and It was perfect. Her voice was right there, present, and already hitting the notes that make me quiver. The guitars drifted through me, the bass, made my body vibrate... It's been too long since I was at a concert.

They hit the highlights of their career as it stands so far, performing "Butterfly" and "Beautilful". They then Launched into "Hurricane", also a favorite of mine. I was in heaven, lost in the moment, allowing the music to pierce me.

And after "Hurricane" completed...The launched into 'Sugar Falls".

The night was complete. Yes, it was way too long since I had been to a concert. The evening was perfect.

...and of course

... I am to be laid off from my current job, along with the rest of the development team, on June 30th.

Trifling with Scars and Pain

(NOTE: This was initially going to be an e-mail to a specific person, but thought the content should be shared. My hope is that the person to whom this was initially intended for is not offended at this fact.)

First, I accept your apologies.... Both your public one and your private one. No harm, no foul as they say.

Second, I want you to know exactly where the line is on this, so you know that if you broach it, there will be repercussions.

I understand that all of us go through pain. And that all of us have varying levels of past experiences that hurt when thought or talked about. Although not found in everyone, some of us even have hardcore events happen to us that would make even Tennessee Williams or Dorothy Allison (to whom I've recently gotten a fond admiration for) go "Wow...that's fucked up".

I'll admit, I got mine. I keep the memories of them stored in a neat little ebony box in the recesses of my mind, and open them as rarely as possible. They're ugly, they're harsh, and they only provide me with questions to which there are no answers.

But they are still mine.

In my opinion, one of the most repugnant things about the TS/TG culture is this idea of victimhood that some tend to embrace. And they use their memories, these horrible experiences as if they were a ticket into some exclusive club. I allude to it in my piece, The Games that we play. It's this idea that when one person talks about some horrible experience in their life, there's this urge by other people to out do it in some sense. As if it makes them more valid in their transsexuality. I called this game-type behavior "Bad Luck Trump".

It's quite sickening to watch. And it has, admittedly, become a qualifier in how I react to those who play it. And as such, I don't readily offer my experiences to anyone.

A really close friend told me last night that she didn't think I was guarded as much as untouched. What I think she was trying to convey was that I do open up to many people, but only a select few get to come into the more dark regions. I do allow people in...it's healthy. But you need to have that special backstage pass to get through. And let me tell you, they are damn hard to get.

In Real Life, I rarely show aspects of what I personally have been through, for a variety of reasons. One is that some of them are no longer relevant. Others are so complicated and so fraught with pain and frustration, that it takes an extra effort to simply revisit them, and I neither have the time nor inclination to really sit down to figure them out.

But mostly I don't bring them up, because people won't get it. I have become so intimate, so knowledgeable about past events, that to have anyone examine them seems almost blasphemous. They know nothing of the smell of the rooms, the coldness of the damp field,or the brightness of the light. They can't recall the level of pain, nor the intensity of emotions. All they know (if I were to share them) is that the events, when told about, only bring up a rough abstract idea of what actually transpired.

That's not enough for them to pass judgment on my own interpretation of events.

You alluded to the "brotherhood of war" kind of thing, with your references to B-17's and Da Nang. That analogy doesn't work for me, beause that's a judgment. You're equating your experiences to mine. But you weren't there. You didn't hear the laughter, You didn't taste the dirt, you didn't have to walk x amount of miles in order to get help.

And truthfully? I know nothing of yours. I have no concept of what you must have gone through. I can imagine in the abstract that it must have been horrible. And I'm certainly not going to try to compare your experience to mine. What would be the point to that?

I'm glad you have taken ownership of your own issues. This is a good thing I believe. But don't think for one moment that because you know your own pain, that you now know mine.

You don't, because I don't even know all of mine.

But I do hope to someday understand what's in that ebony box. Sometime in the future, I fully expect to open them all up again, either by myself, or with some one, and just figure out what the hell happened.

Rough Day

Hell, the day hasn't even started yet, and it's already been difficult.

A friend is going in the hospital today, and I'm very concerned about her. Terribly concerned.

And another friend (friend..heh...what a massive understatement) wrote me something that pulled at my heartstrings, honored me, and showed me an incredible amount of passion and kindness. After reading it, it also has shown me exactly how much I miss her, and has easily demonstrated that the time recently spent together wasn't nearly enough...

It's going to be a long day.

UPDATE: Friend is home rom hosptial, and sounding tired but good. Phew.

Dinner and Pain

I hate looking at you. I hate your silence, your averting eyes, your fidgeting. I hate all of that, because it reminds me of how guilty I used to feel when I realized I couldn't be you. I hate that because it reminds me of the pain I took within myself when I understood why I was left out of the circle, why I was the last one picked, why I was the one who ended up reading in the corner of the schoolyard while everyone else played with their friends.

It was you who pushed me out, made me feel alone, made me feel isolated. It was you who told me, showed me, taunted me with exactly what I would be missing. It was you who called me a freak, a fag, a queer. It was you who invited me back into your circle when I met your standards, only to kick me out again when I tried to be myself.

I remember the reasons for every beating I ever took. I was too smart, too happy, too small. I was a dyke's son, a fag, a sissy. I was a drunk. I was angry. I was alone. I was vulnerable. I was different.

I was honest.

I remember every punch, every scratch. I remember the 2 x 4 to the back of the legs, I remember the rock to the back of the head. I remember the belt buckle to the forehead, and the bat to the shin.

I remember the pain.

I remember wondering why people took so much interest in making me writhe with hurt, took humor out of my discomfort, laughed at my tears. Other kids were left invisible, why not me? Why the need to step on me? Why the urge to keep me down? Why the desire to keep showing me things that I can never have?

I look across the table at you, having finished my own dinner, and remember all of this. Your discomfort only serves to remind me how ignorant you really are of what you've done to me and people like me. You kicked us out. You made us feel small. You killed some of us. The rest of us learned to hide, to survive to grow strong. And now I am here, telling you who I am, because you deserve to know. Because if you want to play with fire, you have to know what makes up the fuse.

This is who I am.

Deal with it.

This is who I always was.

Deal with it.

You say you deal with pain. Bullshit. You're a rank amateur. You deal with sensation. Pain is what you feel when you try to stand up when every fiber of your being is telling you to stay down.

You say you're a sadist. Wrong. You're a provocateur. Sadism is attacking someone when they are their most vulnerable, and laughing while doing it.

You say you are open. Ha! Open means no boundaries, and my presence to you has obviously slammed you up against a wall.

Silence is often the loudest noise, and as I sit here, dragging my fork though the mashed potatoes, seeing you loudly struggle through what I told you, I realized I could never be you. That all my efforts to be you would simply be a waste of my time. I wanted to be normal, I wanted to be in the circle. But now, I see you dealing with whatever is making you uncomfortable, and I see that I have surpassed you.

I imagine myself lunging at you across the table, and then suddenly pulling back, performing a perfectly executed feint. I imagine you jumping with a start, your hand covering your heart as you gasp a breath of surprise. I see myself standing up from my chair, and tossing down two twenties for the dinner, and saying "Thanks, but no thanks". I imagine me walking out of the restaurant, leaving you and your discomfort to yourself.

Instead, I finish dinner, prompt you to talk about your cats. I listen to you natter inanely about Drag Queens. And I remain respectful throughout the rest of the dinner, while inside I cringe as your reaction pierces me. Just another on a long list. Your's is far from the first. Hell, it isn't even the most painful. Not even in the top ten.

And as I drive home, I think to myself how lucky I am that I was never inside the circle. That I was left outside, even if I was taunted and beaten. Because I see things now that you can never see. And the one thing I see clearly is that had I been allowed in that circle, I would have ended up just like you.

New Quotes

"Security is mostly superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing. - Helen Keller

---------------------------------------------------

Reality is something that you rise above
We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are
Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run
The fearful fall foul of fate as often as the reckless
You don't need money to be rich anyhow
Spending yourself is what it's all about
- Marillion (with a nod to Anais Nin)

However

*bounce bounce bounce*

I was planning on shutting the door to my apartment this weekend, and do nothing. I'm in dangerous need of "me" time. It's been far too long.

But Krysta IM's me this morning, informing me of the following link... Check out May 30th...

Tapping the Vein, playing only a mile from my place of current employment. Yeah, I think I'll shut the door AFTER the concert.

Coincidence or symmetry?...Regardless, it's still a beautiful thing.

How to flip someone off without raising a finger

I am back home...and more specifically, back at work. And my resentment level is pretty high. The only reason I am here is because , to paraphrase skylark "job bad, money good". No work..well, that's not true, I have one thing I need to do, but it's due on Friday and I can do it in my sleep...If I were to start now, I'd be done with it in 20 minutes.

So I resent being here, resent putting on the face of the willing employee, for a company that has no idea of what they want to do, and even less of how they can fit me into it. I resent having to sit here, and do nothing, when I would prefer to be somewhere else, someplace far away.

So I wear my resentment elsewhere...dark purple eye shadow, a little heavier line on the eyeliner...oh, and of course the pre-requisite black outfit. I have the headphones on, which is my signal that I am working in Visio. The music may be louder than need be, but I need it to permeate my inside, to touch me just enough to keep my soul awake. Because it's jobs like these that deaden the heart, the soul. Nothing like having a company try to put a price on your head in order to figure out if your worth keeping on staff or not.

Layers

It's been mentioned twice this weekend, in two different contexts by two different people...so yeah, I'll cop to it.

What you read here isn't how I am in real life.

Hard to believe, I know.

This isn't a front per se, as what I do show is a part of myself. No need to lie about my own life in order to make myself larger than life (although larger than life has been a running theme of late in various e-mail exchanges... maybe more on that later).

But what I show is a distraction, akin to the magician who uses one hand to distract the audience from the watching the other. It's hardly an uncommon defence mechanism, as I see other people use it. And much like magicians, since I know the craft, I know the secrets.

The question which deftly turns the focus of the conversation from one person to another...or changing the topic of conversation to something that's far more extravagent...the feints, the parries. Yeah.. I've seen them, used them, and know when it's happening.

It may be obvious why these are used. Fear, trust, an unwillingness to go into a conversation that is emotionally uncomfortable. There's no shame in doing this. It's what's required in order to maintain some semblance of sanity. And to be honest, with those with an untrained ear...they never even know when they are being guided away from a topic that may be bothersome. And when it's done well, it's damn near artistry.

Last night, I was told I wear heavy armor. I did not deny that...really, what would be the point? Especially as the person who made the observation is somewhat acquainted with the concept themselves. You can't kid a kidder as the saying goes.

There's been a metaphor that has been playing around in my head this morning, as I have been walking up and down spring street here in downtown Seattle. That of a sous chef, adept at the knife. Their talent allows them the ability to take an onion, and deftly remove each layer of the vegetable. Slowly, carefully...until all that remains is the true nature. And it's only when the inner core of the onion is reached that the tears begin to flow.

But you have to know exactly where to cut, and where to peel. If you don't...well. Well, that's sort of where the metaphor falls apart. Because in reality. If you can't get behind the armor of a person, if you can't adeptly remove their layers, you'll never get to know what's underneath.

Just some thoughts on this Monday morning...

Bullseye

It's frightening to hold back. Much of my time is spent putting on a brave face while the back of my head is boiling in a cauldron of anger, frustration or joy and bliss.

I have several friends who say they no longer strive to be happy. They say they "settle" for contentment.

What crap.

Greedy bitch that I am, I want it all. I WANT happiness. I WANT the ecstacy. But I know that in order to get it, I also have to endure the pain, the frustration. It's all about risk management and what your willing to put on the line in order to get what you want.

Easier said than done, I know.

Right now, I am on an upswing. A damn glorious one at that. Because I think that the measure of one's life is defined by moments. Single, solitary moments of time that collectively make what we define a life. The tricvk for myself, I have found, is to pick and choose which moments are important, and which are merely window dressing..

*warning- non Freudian gun metaphor ahead*

When playing online games such as Tribes, or Unreal, while other head for the rocket launcher and machine guns, my favorite weapon of choice is the sniper rifle. It's precision enthralls me. To sit back, and think about what you are aiming at, and to pull the trigger and see if you hit it is an interesting parallel to how I seem to approach my life.

Sure, sometimes when the trigger is pulled, it misses by a wide margin. Other times it hits, but doesn't make an impact. And there are times when it does hit what you want, and it has the desired effect.

There are the rare times, however, when you hit your target, and something unexpected occurs. Sometimes, for example, you reveal your position and others come after you. Or, sometimes the mere act of pulling the trigger initiates an entire sequence of events that one could never have predicted.

I think I just set off a sequence of events within myself. Certain realizations have been made, limits found, sudden answers to questions to questions long tossed aside. Things, as the cliche goes, have clicked.

But what happens next, I have no idea. But through careful planning and pure dumb luck, the next few months in DC should be very, very interesting.

Coast to Coast

I am currently sitting in an internet cafe in downtown Seattle...I couldn't stay away from writing, and I couldn't stay away from publishing.

The weekend has been a blast, and the people I have met here have been the best of hostesses.

As I've mentioned before, I love to travel. To explore areas never seen before, and see things without the false veneer painted on by local tourist boards, or television programs. To see, hear, smell, and taste the city as it actually is, rather than what it thinks it should be. And good cities have character. This is the difference between your New York Cityand San Francisco vs. your Indianapolis and Columbus.

Seattle very much belongs to the former group.

Sure, part of it is that it is a port city. It brings in it's tastes and values from throughout the world. But it also has levels of self depracation, which oddly only adds to it's character. Yes, they know grunge came from here, and that Seattle is percieved as second only to Silicon Valley in regard to its tech-saviness. But they also good naturedly admit that grunge actually died years before Nirvana and Pearl Jam made it big, and joke about the dot com meltdown.

Right now, it's about 65 degrees, cool, low humidty, and overcast. If I were to design paradise, this is the weather I would put in place.

Gone fishin'

Hey y'all... I'm taking a few days rest from thinkin', writin', and postin'. I'm off to do a bit of traveling and I'm leaving the laptop at home.

If you still feel the need to say "hullo", feel free to VText me, as I am still taking the cell phone.

Have a great holiday weekend!

Link Pimpin'

you know her from the comments... You loved her when she stalked her state rep... Ladies and Gents...Lolo now has her own blog...

She'll probably chastise me for this... but I love her too much to care...(Or is it that I love her too much to stop)...skylark has started her own blog as well. Mucho reading goodness. I think we have a full-on DC Posse online now.

Passion and Minutia

When I used to work at Cedar Point, there used to be a "Physics Day" every spring, where high school students would come in, and using the skills that they had been taught during the school year, they would figure out, mathematically, how the rides operated.

They would toss about terms such as Force, Weight, Velocity and take out their slide rules and calculators, and try to determine just how many negative g's they were experiencing as they hit the bottom of the initial hill of the Magnum.

Some took a great deal of pain to get the information perfect, so that they understood the nuances of each machine they rode. Most however, simply wanted to ride the rides, and really didn't give a rat's behind on how they worked. As long as they walked away physically unharmed, but it left their hearts racing a tad, they were satisfied.

Bill Hicks once opined that life was just a ride. And the more I live mine, the more I believe that to be true. It has its ups and downs, loops and straight-aways, and it can be a tad scary at times. But at the end of it, it's still just a ride.

There is more to it than that however. One thing that I have discovered is that we all design our own rides as well, some do it intentionally, but most do it without thinking. Some folks design simple little merry-go-rounds, where the path is constant, and only a little jostling. And if you time it just right, you can get the brass ring.

Others design haunted houses, where they can be terrified at every turn. And sometimes these houses have exits...most times they do not.

Me? I've always been partial to Roller Coasters. With the high hills and the speed that they create. I love loops and bumps and dips. I may grumble and moan when I'm painfully jarred from side to side, but make no mistake, I'm still enjoying it.

Why? Because I've been out there, with my slide rule, figuring out that if I reach this peak ("x"), the plummet will be this fast ("y"). Sometimes the ride with throw in an added bump or two. After all , I'm really not all that good with numbers. But that's okay...a little scare is good for you now and then. And sometimes I design the track to go in a certain direction, and stop designing it altogether, because sometimes it's fun just to see what will happen.

Some folks have passion for their jobs. Or to sports teams. Or to their family. Or to a certain type of music. They can tell you every nuance and every piece of trivia about their passion of choice. They east and breathe their passion reading every tidbit they can find on it, and think about it constantly.

My passion is my own roller coaster. I can tell you everything about where it's been. And I can tell you what is coming up in the near future. But for the moment, you'll have to pardon me, as I designed a pretty intense corkscrew turn up ahead, and I have to get ready for it. Because I have no idea on what's after it.

If Cats took over the world

Okay...random thought came to me this morning.

If Cats ever evolved into a bipedal evil race of cat creatures, with opposable thumbs and a strong urge to conquer the planet.. I could defeat them without firing a shot.

Give them all hairbrushes. I have YET to see a cat that hates them.

Matrix - Reloaded

Ernie.. of Little.Yellow.Different fame.. sums up The Matrix:Reloaded quite nicely

When it all comes down to it though, the movie is just people in fabulous outfits beating each other up.

I, personally, cannot stress the word fabulous enough.

*sigh....Trinity*

Too Much Stuff!!

Seriously.. I need a personal assistant. I'm running out of free time at the moemnt, and need someone to juggle it for me. And since I recently noted that I also needed a maid (post lost in sever crash), I'm thinking they could now pull double duties.

Last night, I had a wonderful dinner with Meredith and her partner A. It was a great meal, with good conversation. And considering tyhe sheer amount of hours that Meredith is now working, she is quickly becoming one of my heroes. I oculd never do what she does...well... not without imploding at some point.

Tonight...I'm off to meet one of the people I (ahem) met on Friday. I owe skylark big time for taking a rain check on tonight. In looking at my calendar, I see that my next open day is...

(*flipping through appointment book*)

...May 29th I think.

Another Death

This time in New Haven CT.

AOL

I was laid off by America Onine in September of 2001 (before 9/11). I was let go along with 1700 other employees throughout the country. There was something hinky about my being let go, due to the fact that:
a) They had just hired someone on my team in late June.
b) My preformance reviews were adequate, if not good (keep in mind, I was in the midst of transitioning, and had several other things on my mind aside from work).
c) My Manager had no idea I was being let go. No one told her.

When I started looking for work again after SRS in March of 2002, in toyed with the idea of applying for work at AOL, just to see what would happen. I contacted the HR person who had helped me with my transitional plans. She told me outright that AOL never re-hires those who have been laid off.

Since that time, that moratorium against hiring laid off workers has been lifted.

On Friday, I told the headhunters to proceed with looking into the AOL job they had mentioned to me. I had also found out over the weekend that I would not be the first person to be a contractor for AOL who had once worked there and had been laid off. There is precedence for this happening before.

The question now is, what happens if the headhunters find out that I cannot be hired back there, even if only in a contracted status. That would seem to indicate that I am on some sort of "Do not re-hire" list. The question, if that comes to pass, is who put me there and why.

This could be very interesting.

Is there anything more exciting than...

...pouring over the classified ads on a sunday Morning?

How about:

Great Mood

There are times when things are just ...well...perfect. A great evening the night before, a sleep that would have pleased even the dourest of people, Mozart this morning on the CD player, a long bath and a book finished. Later today? Krysta is taking me to see the Matrix. *deamy sigh*

And it seems as if I am the antithesis of Cinderella, for that when the clock struck midnight, the ball had just started. ;-)

Life...is good.

Bailey and Lawrence: To what end?

(NOTE 1: There are many, many sites already dealing with the ugliness that Michael Bailey and his book "The Man who would be Queen" has created, including Lynn Conway and Andrea James. If unfamiliar with these issues, please read those sites before reading this post.

I can't do that with this topic. Fuck that. I don't play nice. And I always take a gun to a knife fight.)

Pt. 1

Back in 1998, Anne Lawrence posted to her website her essay on Autogynephilia. In it, she revisits Ray Blanchard's theory that a fair population within the transexual community transition due to "the propensity to be sexually aroused by the thought or image of oneself as a woman." AG itself was labeled under that paraphilic heading, under the same categories as fetishism, sadism and bestiality.

As the standard with most sexologists today, she provided nothing more than anecdotal evidence to the table (using an anonymous survey method), and her lack of any scientific methodolgy was readily apparent. Not noted in her essay was the fact that most true paraphilia's (fetishism, etc) are often treated with estrogen in order to lessen the sexual impulses, and yet when most MtF transsexuals are treated with estrogen in order to transition, the desire to transition only increases instead of lessens, even when the typical male sexual responses diminish. Oddly, she never addresses that issue.

Another telling issue in applying the "paraphilia" label to transexualism, is that "true" paraphilia is an equal opportunity issue. "Paraphilia" occurs in both men and women. Anne provided not one word of Autophalliphilia. But of course, why would she? Blanchard never brought it up either.

Instead, she provided quotes of people who may or may not have been talking about the eroticism of transitioning, including one quote from an ex-girlfriend of hers. This was her essay which she presented to the world at large.

The initial essay had mixed results within the transexual community, both for and against. Meanwhile, Anne was able to convey the essay into a pretty nice career, allowing her to travel the globe, and convey her efforts into other projects, inlcuding being voted to the board of the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association.

Her essay, which had no scientific basis, and essentially was an anecdotal rewording of Blanchard's biased researched 20 years earlier, had allowed her to become an advocate for all transexuals.

Pt. 2

But the years went by, and her main site grew in popularity, as people sent her their first hand experiences in transitioning. It is one of the major sites today which acts as a central repository for first hand transitional experience. As such, her reputation has increased within the community (oddly based mostly off of other people's work), even if people disagreed with her on AG. She did provide an important service.

But she also faced some problems of her own. She became critical of several surgeons who provided gender reassignment surgery. But the threat of legal actions on the doctor's part quickly made her either retract said critiques, or remove all references to the surgeons. This made her less effective and her quickness to retract any critical statements made her less effective in her sites initial goal.

Fast forward to 2003.

Michael Bailey releases a book entitled "The Man Who Would Be Queen: The Science of Gender-Bending and Transsexualism". The book is, by all accounts, slipshod in its approach, and much like Anne's initial essay, entirely anecdotal. For his research subjects, he cruises gay bars frequented by sex workers (p. 141), blantantly ignoring the concept of economic class structure.

He places transsexuals into two classes, "homosexual transsexuals" who are "extremely effeminate gay men" (p. 146) and a second group he entitles "Autogynephilic" (p. 164) to which he infers are not as attractive as homosexual transsexuals (p. 180). And anyone who disagree's with the Autogynephilic label?

There is one more reason why many autogynephilesprovide misleading information about themselves that is different from outright lying. It has to do with obsession. Something about autogynephilia creates a need not only to enact a feminine self, but also to actually believe in her.(p.175)

In short, autogynephiles believe themselves to be women because they have deluded themselves.

And, as is par, he provides nothing but anecdotal quotes with no references.

And Anne Lawrences response to this how? Well, it's right on the blurb she provided for the book...

"This is a wonderful book on an important subject."

-- Anne Lawrence, M.D., Ph.D., sexual medicine and transgender medicine practitioner

Or her unattributed quote of the book on Amazon..

“If you want comfortable homilies, read Mildred Brown or Randi Ettner. If you want the truth, read Bailey.”

Pt. 3

There are three possible reasons why she might respond to this drivel this way...

Essay Found

Major thanks to D Kitty for pointing me to Google's cache to pull the essay from.

*Phew*

That was the only posting I was truly concerned about.

Data Loss

My server crashed last night, and I lost several recent entries, including the Anne Lawrence post. If anyone, by chance, has a copy, could you e-mail it to me at caitlin@road-less-traveled.com?

Thanks!

Saturday Afternoon thoughts

Insomnia

Was awaken by an animal's death knell in the field of trees behind the apartment complex. Most likely a birds nest being attacked by the local feral cats. Spooky sound.

Still angry and upset about last night, and have this overall feeling of disbelief. Still replaying the moment when I realized what they did over and over in my mind. Horror and shock a common feeling.

Many thanks to Seanachie and Krysta for coming over in my hour of need. Krysta, for shouting down the evil plumber, Seanachie for cleaning up the clutter that was/is my apartment to make me feel better.

I don't get this at all. However, the cats are barely traumatized by this, and have showered me with purrs all evening/night. Probably a lesson in there somewhere.

F#$@CKING BASTARDS

The plumbers came back today...

...and they dry walled both Roxanne and Mouse into the crawl space between my apartment and my neighbor's.

Re-read that and tell me how horrible that is.

I want to rip their eyes out. I want to seal them in a crawl space so thin that they can't turn around. I want them to bleed out from an ebola virus. I want their intestines to turn into a viscous pudding.

The cats are now out and safe, after getting the apartment complex director, animal control, and the police involved.

The Police officer who showed up was indredulous at the story. He offered sympathy and understanding, but not much else. He told me the reality of the situation...There's what we know that happened, and what we can prove. Right now, there's precious little I can prove, as I wasn't here when it happened, and they can claim the cats entered the wall out of their own curiousity. It's frustrating to hear, but he's right.

But I know what happened....and I want them to pay for what they did.

I talk with the apartment manager to discuss legalities after the animail control officer fills me in on Virginia Statutes.

Unbelievable...

Which famous feline are you?

From w3bgrl...and yeah, I shoulda guessed this...

You're the Pink Panther. Suave and sophisticated,
you enjoy your superiority and your natural
grace. Though to some, this attitude makes you
appear arrogant, most people are attracted by
it rather than turned off. You especially enjoy
being in the social spotlight. It just doesn't
get any better than this.


Which famous feline are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I Love Fridays

Not for the normal reasons (end of the work week, etc). But because it's when the sheer amount of Cait-love comes into action.

It normally starts around lunch or so.. I'll get an IM..."Cait, you got plans for the night"?

If I feel like going out, I always accept the first offer.

Throughout the afternoon, I'll get two or more IM's from different folks, asking the same thing,

*hugs self and smiles*

It's good to be wanted.

QA Freak for hire

I officially began looking for a new job...again...today. The re-org is not going well, as one department has no idea what the other is doing, and the ISO certification looks as if it's going to lapse due to said re-org.

Time to stop ignoring the writing on the wall, as it doesn't appear as if it will go away.

UPDATE: I'm still in a good mood, btw

The Plumbers

My apartment has been invaded. And not in a good way.

A few weeks ago, the leasing company let us tenants know that there was going to be major plumbing overhall in our building. Including replacing major pipes and hot water heaters, etc.

They've been in my home since Monday. On Monday, I came home and found the home (that I just cleaned) in major disrepair. They had made holes in the ceiling and they had made holes in the walls. They knocked over delicate items in the bedroom, and the through every sundry that I had on the bathroom counter, on my bed.

But worst of all, they freaked out the cats. Roxanne wasn't so bad, but Mouse was traumatized. So much so, that she had forced herself under the couch (which only has an inch between the floor and the bottom of the couch). When I first came home, I couldn't find her and thought they had accidentally let her out. It was only after panicking and sitting in the chaise that I heard her dimunitive voice muffled by the couch.

The next day, I stayed out late, and didn't get home until 11pm. Mouse was missing again, but this time I heard her right away. She was shut in the laundry alcove, as the had shut the doors on her. She was trapped behind the washer as well.

*sigh*

Today, plasterers are in my house, replacing the holes that these morons have created. My apartment is a wreck. If they are still there at five, there's gonna be hell to pay.

The things we bitch about

Oh it'd be easy to say I was having a bad day. But I'm not going to. I'm forcing myself to be in a good mood. The week has been far too exciting for me to br dragged down by the failures of technology, people's expectations, or my own behavior!

So I left the window down in the Mini and it rained....feh! Who cares?

So I have had to answer phone calls all day...Thbbbt! Don't care...

So what if my e-mail server is acting funky.. (thumbs nose at fates)! Take a hike!

I am still in a grand mood.... you know why? Because May 15th, 16th, and 17th are going to be kick ass days.

So go ahead all of you...pick a fight with me. You'll get nothing but a smile.

You Technology Gods and Godesses out there? Go ahead and screw with me....It's no biggie.

Family Drama? Hit the road, jack!

I hereby state that I am going to be in a great mood until...hmmm...I'm thinking early July.

I am a marketer's nightmare

Okay... the ultimate label..

A left-leaning, pseudo-intellectual MtF, kink-loving, anglophilic, female epicurean moral individualist...who likes women.

A left-leaning, techno-diva* pseudo-intellectual MtF, kink-loving, anglophilic, female epicurean moral individualistic, DVC swillin'** butterball***...who likes women.

Phew.... There. Case closed. Did I miss anything?

* Mary's clause
** skylark's clause
*** Mizzy's clause

(wondering if that fits on a placard of some sort)

Update: Apparently I did miss a few things... And therein lies the real lesson in labels. Hold on' let me add somethin here to make a point

Disclaimer: I reserve the right to change any of the above self labels that I have administered to myself without fear of reprisals and without question. If anyone wishes to question any said changes in my own self identification has a choice between a long drawn out discussion with charts and graphs, or a repeated flicking of the schnozz with my fingers. If neither choice is desirable, feel free to believe that I know what's best for myself, and that you don't.

The real issues in labels is not whether they exist or not, or how or why we put our hats on them and claim them as our own. The real issue is the fact that I should be able to claim any label I wish, and have my actions defend my claims. I, as an individual, have the right to be whom ever and whatever I desire. Any objection to said claims are simply white noise.

ta DA!

Leo at your service!

Okay.. some of us take astrology somewhat seriously, others as a lark, others claim it's a scam. I'm not syaing where I fall in that spectrum, (although the fact that I posted this, probably give you a good idea).

I love my sign and what it represents... I'm a Leo (withy Leo rising, natch), and it essentially means that I love to be the center of attention. As my friends say....It's all about ME!!

I've been having a fair amount of leonine days of late. Great communications online (both IM's and e-mails....*whispy sigh*), and in Real Life (hanging with friends...and yesterday.. mucho flirting with folks, mostly being flirted with, although I think I gave as good as I got).

*dreamy sigh*

It's good to be a Leo and have the attentive sunshine of others warming me!

*purrrr*

Label rant

Wow, such an overwhelming response to yesterday's post, and I don't know where to start.

Yes, yes, yes... in a perfect world, labels should be unnecessary. But skylark wrote an essay similar to this subject that I had to agree with. Let me quote a key part...

one of my characteristics is that i behave categorically. people are wired to recognize and classify things, in order that we might respond to them. one of the basic differences between us and all other classificatory organisms (which could well be all - think heliotropism) is our extraordinary flexibility with regard to pattern-seeking and behavior.

Labeling is something that we, as humans, simply do. Even when we state that we don't label, we are then labeling ourselves as people who don't label.

Skylark then goes on to add...

so in one sense certainly i am just me. but i am also one who almost by definition employs categories, and of course am subject to those of others. the way i see myself, the ways i am seen, my *perception of being seen* loop and twine and interact endlessly.

And therein lies the conflict. What if the label I employ upon myself runs contrary to the label that I am subjected to by others. And if that contrariness leads to conflict? What are the options?

Running and hiding is no good, as it lends itself to implied acceptance of the contrary label.

Fighting is no good, as a) it runs contrary to my own behavior and b) It typically only furthers the entrenchment of the person giving the contrary label's position.

And Ignoring it...yeah, I suppose that's best. There are inherent risks involved as you have to suffer whatever indignities hurled at you. And you know that you'll never change their mind. But over the long haul, it's still whats best. You maintain your dignity, and at the end of it all, you get to say cool things like "I was always me"

Hmmmm. Look like I'm still processing all this.. more possibly later.

Sex and Fear and Admissions

Okay... admission time. Gather 'round and take a load off. 'Cause what I'm about to say is a little difficult.

I'm afraid to be all I can be.

There, I said it, and I feel only nominally better about myself.

What, you need more clarification? You don't understand what I mean?

Well, it boils down to labels...how we chose to define ourselves.

No,wait, not just how we define ourselves, but actually be who we are... The distinction there is small but important.

I am transsexual. That one I have no problem with. I have the medical bills to prove it.

And a woman. No problem with that one either. If I didn't , then the whole 'transsexual' label would be needless (see above).

No, what I'm having problems with is the whole "gay/straight/bi" thing. In reading Hanne Blank's article yesterday, it occured to me just how seperated I felt from any sexual subculture (save one, which I'll get to in a minute).

Sure, sure, the answer should be easy, right? I prefer to be in the company of other women. Thus, the "lesbian" label should fit quite nicely.

But it doesn't.

Oh sure, it fits better than the "straight" label. Men and I, well, let's just say that there's a fair amount of things we have to work through before they can cross the threshold. The "straight" label doesnt fit me at all.

So why the discomfort at the "lesbian" label?

Let me give the answer in the form of a hypothetical situation. It's a poor debate tactic, I know. But it illustrates a point.

Say there's a fairly large social group, in which people get together and discuss a specific interest. This group is so large, that it has several sub-groups. They have a group for the twenty somethings, a group for those involved in politics, another for those over the age of 55.

And there's one for women only.

Say that the women's subgroup is in a state of dissarry. Meetings aren't being held, mailing lists aren't being attended to. So it starts to fall apart.

I, being a woman, step in. Apply a certain amount of work and energy, and turn the group around. And the all woman's group starts to take off and become popular. Especially amongst the lesbians who participate in the larger group.

What do you think would happen if and when they discovered my transsexual status?

Oh sure, in a perfect world, they would see me for the person I am, and if they didn't , then someone would be there to defend me and my work.

But the world isn't perfect. The reality is that there are some out there who would look upon me as, at best, an aberration, and at worst, an enemy and a danger to feminist causes.

They might see any effort to get the sub-group up and running as "Typical Male behavior".

Am I overreacting? Possibly. But those reactions are certainly within the realm of probability. But still, I admit their unlikelyhood.

The real issue is that it's difficult to lay claim to a label, if you know that there is a chance that someone may call on you to defend that claim. And it's not even the fact that I may have to defend the claim, but the fact that no one else has to.

Part of me would love to be so bold and stand up proud and say "Dammit, I'm a LESBIAN! Slings and arrows be damned! "

But another part of me... the part that wants peace and quiet....just wants to sit in the desk in the far corner of the room, and meekly state "Yeah.. Umm...I'm a lesbian".

And hope no one notices.

Learning to Love the Rain

Doing a bit of i-net scouring, I came across Hanne Blank, and a talk she gave once called Learning to Love the Rain...It's a must read.

Choice bit:

...What on earth would a sexuality liberated of consensus identity be? What would it look like? How would you describe it?

Well, try this on for size: my sexual identity is “sovereign.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I hear you cry.

Well, for one thing, being sovereign means that I have absolute power to determine the boundaries of my own sexual self, without question or appeal, at all times. It means I have not only the right, but the obligation, to defend my boundaries — boundaries are not pre-existing natural features like mountain ranges or oceans, they are lines we draw in the sand. (When you travel from Canada to the USA, nothing about the land itself changes; it isn’t like the way it goes from black and white to color in The Wizard of Oz. The border is there because we say it’s there.) It means that I may choose to form allegiances and alliances with other sovereign entities based on their willingness to enter into a contract of mutual support of one another’s sovereignty. It means that I may characterize my sovereignty in whatever manner seems most appropriate, using any and all of the words and names that seem to fit: bisexual, pansexual, queer, kinky, polyamorous, femme, right-handed, female, feminist, whatever. It means that while I may, from time to time, share an umbrella with an ally, I also undertake the responsibility for opening my own...or not. Because to me, part of being sovereign means learning to love the rain.

I think I'm in LOVE!

Sex Experiences?

Just as a quick question. Why is it that you don't see any writings on sex from MtF folk? I'm not talking your sex-pr0n sites with their "she-males" and "chicks w/ dicks" erotica. Nor by folks who are only fantasizing about transsexuals.

But true accounts of sexuality brought forth by those who have had HRT, been through the identity struggle, and have had SRS. Who now live and breathe in their right gender and work and play and ...*gasp* have sex?

Where are their writings and experiences?

Am I not looking in the right places? Are there areas of the internet that I haven't scoured yet? (It's quite possible)

I know we talk about it... but only with the closest of friends. It's rare that you see any frank talk about sexuality beyond the "Oh, he (or she) is so cute! I would love to sleep with them".

Oh, and we talk about orgasms. But only in the most clinical of senses.

("You had surgery? Are you orgamsic?")

Or is it that we (as a community) is afraid to talk about their sexuality, for fear that they may be percieved as a fraud, or not really a woman?

Hmmm.. Color me curious (yellow).

Slow work

Work is slow... so slow that I'm thinkin' of takin' up whittlin', while the co-workers play their jaw harps and mouth organs. 'Scuse me whilst I spit some chaw.

*Spt-TAW*

*shakes head* Sorry... got caught up in a stereotype there for a minute.

Gwen Smith Strikes back (@ Micheal Alvear)

From ExpressGayNews

Sometimes the Joke Is Really on You
Guest Column
Gwendolyn Ann Smith
Alvear's 'Limp-Wristed' Apology Doesn't Impress Us

A little bit ago, a little girlyboy by the name of Michael Alvear minced out of the salon to lisp a few things about the transgendered. Well, I'm sure he just about dropped his Crisco when he got a pile of hate mail sent his way. I'll bet the next time he's out flouncing the streets, he'll be watching his backside -- and not for all the usual reasons.

I just don't know what it is with these screaming queens, yelling about their rights and everything, but feeling oh-so-threatened when transgendered people come along asking for their own rights and respect. All of a sudden the claws come out, and it's cat fight city. You would think that someone tried to steal Michael Alvear's copy of Funny Girl the way he came after transgendered people, but what a simpering queer he looked to be when he trotted out his limp (wristed) apology.

Was the above offensive? You bet. Nevertheless, you are not allowed to be offended. I was, after all, only joking.

This is the argument that Michael Alvear gave in response to a column he recently penned, in which he paid little more than lip service to respect for transgendered people, particularly Patrick Califia.

In his first piece, titled "She said, He said," he talks about how "annoyed" he is with having to refer to transgendered people by a preferred pronoun, using Patrick Califia's latest book, Speaking Sex to Power, The Politics of Queer Sex (Cleis Press, 2003) as the jumping off point for a 700-work diatribe against giving respect to transgendered people.

On one hand, he does have a point to make about mandating something that should simply be a matter of respect. Unfortunately, he defeats his own argument by not affording the same respect he states that transgendered people are allowed.

What he fails to get is that making fun of transgendered people -- as he did with Patrick Califia's own gender evolution -- does not demonstrate this respect or understanding that he wants to speak to. It is as if this was written under duress, that he was somehow coerced to say something nice -- in this case, something about using the right pronouns for transgendered folks?but all the resentment over being forced into such a position comes through.

Of course, in his follow-up article, titled "Crossing the Ts," he lets us in on the truth. It was all a joke, and if one can't or won't "get it," then they just don't have a sense of humor. Perhaps he feels the best offense for his offense -- is no offense.

I'm all for a good joke, and make 'em all the time. While I may not have the most erudite wit, I do enjoy the occasional chortle or even a grand guffaw at times. The problem isn't that I lack a sense of humor, no, it is that Alvear failed to be funny.

He asks his readers -- particularly those who are transgendered -- if it is okay for a straight to make fun of gays without being homophobic, or if a white can make fun of blacks without being labeled a racist. The answer is obvious: yes. Nevertheless, not every joke that a straight might make at the expense of gays is going to be something other than homophobic, and not every joke made by a white at the expense of a blacks is going to be something other than racist.

I take you back to my first paragraph. Can one laugh at jokes about limp-wristed simpering queens when they are made by a straight person? Perhaps, but one also knows that there is a line where one can go from funny to offensive, and that line can be very thin.

Perhaps Alvear has forgotten that not everyone is going to take his little jest in quite the same way. He may even lack much of an understanding of transgendered people, and this is manifesting itself in these things he thinks are downright laugh riots?but he shouldn't take so much offense when others don't laugh with him.

If anything, the lady Alvear doth protest too much. If he wishes to write to offend, then do it. Just don't come crying about people not getting your jokes afterward.

Gwen Smith is a transgender activist, a writer and a web designer, though not necessarily in that order. She can be found on the web in Gay.com's "Transgender Gazebo," and in the recently revamped www.GwenSmith.com .

Krysta's Day

Yesterday I spent all day with my friend Krysta, and it was much crunchy goodness.

Krysta, who I don't think I've mentioned all that often here, is the one person who keeps me young. She ties me to various aspects of my own youth,and we connect on many levels. She has far more black in her wardrobe than I, and a boot collection which makes me very envious. In the past several years, she has turned me on to Covenant, Tapping the Vein, and VnV Nation. Yesterday, she told me about Evanescence. Like I said...much crunchy goodness.

First, we went to see X-men 2, and we both drooled over Wolverine, Mystique, and their leather uniforms. We sat their,fanning ourselves during many of the scenes, and on one occaision, we were even hushed. We giggled like school girls, and had a great time. It was good PG-13 mindless blockbuster porn. As Matrix Reloaded will be. (Carrie-Anne Moss... Yumm)

After the movie, we had a great Sushi dinner at Aobe, where they had some tuna, and to die for Unagi. *dreamy sigh*

We sat around and talked about family and jobs, and hockey. She then introduced me to their Banana Tempora , the taste of which forced me to squeal "Krysta, I LOVE you!". The clientele turned and chuckled, and we both sat back and laughed hard.

Off to the mall, where we did some consumer therapy, and we both walked away with items we were looking for.

It was a GREAT day, and we need to do it more often.

Krysta, I LOVE you!!! ;-)

Yay! More Quizzes!

From Mizzy!...Just how big of a geek am I??

(Again, not a big surprise.. it was the annotated Shakespeare reference that upped the points for me I think)

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

Dante's Hell

If I were to die, what level of hell would I end up at?

(and really, it comes as no big shock)

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Seventh Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Drool, drool

A Hedwig Tribute album? With Bob Mould? And Cyndi Lauper singing Midnight Radio?

Sleater-Kinney? TMBG? Rufus Wainwright singing Origin of Love?

I am SO there.

How dysfunctional?

(This entry turned out a tad more sinister than initially thought out. But no sympathy please.. I'm fine)

There is literally no work to do here today. I always get a bit antsy when this happens beacuse I have no problem embracing my inner slacker, yet I still feel guilty that they're paying me for this. It's going to be like this for a while tho', until the re-org shakes out.

So I get to sit here, and think ,oh.. and read e-mail. My inbox has been very active this morning...and that's a good thing!

But mostly I've been thinking. And mostly of the past, due to a variety of events, including previously mentioned family BS.

Dysfunctional is often a term that's abused and tossed around lightly in some regard. I've come to the conclusion that most everyone has issues with their parents on some level, so one has to have some perspective on their dysfunctional status.

My family, however, is a black comedy in the making. I have no problem acknowledging that...

The issue, as I see it, is that we're all black sheep. Every member of the family has some aspect of themself, that in other families would put them on the outs. We're all black sheep who desperately want to be white sheep.

There's dad, who accidentally killed his father in 1960, unknowingly married a lesbian, and when they were divorced he got custody of his children, and responded to that by getting a job that would garauntee that the children would be left to their own devices for at least half a year.To compensate for his self-percieved failure of his marriage, he falls in love with a self-loathing, hypochondriac whose claim to fame was that she has a masters degree in philisophy, a school board president, and a propensity for criminally stalking people she dislikes.

Then there's the step-mother, who's not only a hypochondriac and stalker (not only of my father when they'er arguing, but various members of the local school board when they vote against her), but also a jew who is anti-semitic. Fun abounds on Christmas! Even more fun abounds as the police stop by the house looking for my father when she accuses him of rape ...for the eighth time! (They're still married today, btw)

Then there's the mother - Former head of the local chapter of NOW and closeted lesbian, and currently living in a polyamorous relationship in East Hell, MO. Oh the irony when she and her transsexual daughter share tales of the BDSM clubs they have seen in their life. Theres a family scene you won't see on "7th Heaven"! She also the first in the family to have had a local drug dealer to put a contract out on her life!

My question is this...Just how fucked up is this? When I read Running with Scissors last fall, there were chapters I could relate to, especially the undercurrent of not being able to see how fabulously weird this life is, until taken out of context. On a scale of 1-10 (with 10 being REALLY fucked up), how fucked up is this?

Maybe the secret to life is having the ability to see the differences in your life, and instead of trying to hide it, you embrace it. When you realize your a black sheep, don't lament that fact! Embrace your black-sheepness!

Baaaa-baaa!

Santorum Watch

You reap what you sow you self-righteous bigot. (LOGIN: thecatat PW: waldenpond)

Four parents of gay children had a fiery private exchange tonight with Senator Rick Santorum of Pennsylvania. The meeting did not go well, and Mr. Santorum, who has infuriated gays by likening homosexuality to incest and bigamy, left in a hurry, tripping over a chair, the parents said.

I so love Amazon

I get such a thrill out of ordering stuff over the internet. When the box comes, the postman, or the UPS guy leaves it on my doorstep, it's like my very own Christmas day.

I hurriedly open the box, and fawn over the item within. I pretend the item came from someone else, and I say outloud "Oh, you shouldn't have!"

*dreamy sigh*

Books that come from Amazon always take precedent over books that I buy in real life (and I have the bookstore curse,by the way...You know the curse.. where you HAVE to buy something when you enter a bookstore, even though you already have 50 books piled in your house that you haven't yet read.. I swear I'll get to them someday)/

Yesterday was just such a day. Books from Amazon makes even a bad day just a little better.

(and I'm already 20% of the way through the book)

Link Pimpin'

I haven't done this recently, so let's go visit some sites...

Mizzy, over at Pure, unadulterated, Psychobabble provides insights and hardcore opinions about everything from polyamory to the annoyance of work (something of which I can relate). The site is now a daily read for me.

Astrid I haven't spoken with yet, but her wriiting is pure and honest. And her artwork? It's killer.

Heather's site is fairly well known. She gets down and dirty with herself and comes out smelling like a rose Chicklets. And the fact she wears a versatile fashion corset in some of the photos on her page doesn't hurt either. (at least it looks like a versatile fashions corset).

And don't forget Anne. She's left some awfully nice comment's on this site, and I wanted to give her some love in return. Thanks Anne!

Finally, there's The Web Gal. I've actually met her once in Real Life, tho' I know she doesn't remember. Let's just say it involved a location in Falls Church and a Third Friday in the month. It was a while ago.

Small Victories

I officially signed off on the delivered software at 11am EST. The development lifecycle that I wrote and implemented...works. The software development manager was astonished at the amount of issues discovered, and admitted that the process worked better than he thought it would.

Not only did it work, bub. But if we're audited, we'll pass. Couldn't promise that before, could you?

HA!

I celebrated the victory by having a spinach and egg foccacia sandwich. Food tastes so much better when you're proven right.

Get Fuzzy!

Who know that my influence would spread to the funny pages!

Check it!

(thanks lolo!)