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Wednesday, 31 January 2007 (balancing the books) 4:25pm it's the dynamic duo! So said the nurse at Kaiser when she saw Vash and I this morning. We were there to get my second and final estrogen injection from the nurse, since at midnight tonight my membership goes away. The odds are seriously against me finding a trans-friendly endocrinologist in the my new insurance in the next two weeks (believe you me, I've looked), let alone having an appointment with them Wednesday after next, so I'm pretty much flying solo from this point. I can handle it. Flying solo is what I do. After we did a test run on the oft-abused small rubber ball, I injected myself, and I'm confident I can do it again. If junkies and speed freaks can do it while fucked up, then I can do it sober. And with a bit more accuracy. Thankfully, I have enough gear to deal with it for a while, plenty of syringes and needles and such for the next few months. She put in an order for me at the pharmacy for a year's worth of supplies, but not only would it take a few days for them to arrive, it would cost a few hundred bucks. Um, no. I'd rather catch as catch can, and with any luck whatsoever, my new insurance will cover them. Now I just need to a find a trans-competent endocrinologist within the Unicare PPO system. As I say, I'm looking, but it's never as simple as looking. Which stands to reason. No part of this, either transitioning or the thing called life, has been easy. Why expect it to start now? This is not me complaining. It's just me acknowledging reality.
come over here pony, i wanna climb up one time on you There's no telling if it'll happen, but I'm strongly considering going to Bondage A Go Go tonight. It would be the first time since my twenty-sixth birthday, back in the futuristic days of 1999 when dinosaurs drove flying cars. I didn't go for the first half of the decade because Maddy didn't like me going to clubs. (Her dislike of clubs shifted to open mics when my own priorities changed due to neglect and ambition.) I haven't gone for these past two years of independence, the epoch of the lone wolf, because I'm still getting my inertia back. Besides, there wasn't much to draw me there, and I'm seldom in a clubbing mood. Now, however, I have an agenda. A purpose. Things in mind.
But not expectations. Never expectations.
The trick is to maintain the faith, to keep trying in spite of the odds and evidence.
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Tuesday, 30 January 2007 (no neutral ground) 3:51pm The guy from the Chronicle was supposed to be at The Dark Room between four and five yesterday, so I erred on the side of caution, leaving work a few minutes early and catching a cab. The original plan had been to meet Zuki in Oakland around five, so, naturally, the guy didn't arrive until nearly six. The actual interview was quick; Jim did most of the talking, but at least I looked better than I had on Sunday night. Zuki picked me up at the MacArthur BART station around seven. We went to dinner, then back to her place to talk and watch an original Star Trek episode, chosen the box underneath her desk containing every episode. I known anyone so into Trek (original series) since myself at twelve years old. Afterwards, she took me back to BART. It was decided that we'll just be friends, which is never a bad thing.
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Monday, 29 January 2007 (friend to the martyr) 1:32pm After breakfast with Vash at the Sea Biscuit on Sunday morning, she dropped me off at my car, which had been parked in a meterless space on Franklin since before the Cotillion on Saturday. I spent most of the day at Jezebel's Starbucks, writing this week's Medialoper article. When Jezebel got off work, we went to The Dark Room for Bad Movie Night. I wasn't hosting, but the movie was The Matrix Reloaded, so it sounded like fun. (Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking, either.) Good thing, too, since there were photographers from the Chronicle present, taking pictures and footage for a big article about Bad Movie Night later this week. Jim and I were briefly interviewed afterwards, and I'm going back again after work today so he and I can do a video interview. Hopefully a few more regular pictures will be taken, since my hair looked like hell yesterday (I washed it in the morning but didn't put it up), and was sans makeup. Just figures that the one (1) day I get lazy about my appearance is the day cameras are pointed at me. Hell, nobody even took my picture at the Cotillion, and I was trying that night. Anyway, after hitting The Dark Room this afternoon, I'm heading to Oakland to have dinner with Zuki.
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Sunday, 28 January 2007 (bitter just like them) 11:39am Though fun overall, the Cotillion last night was a technically...rough. The music I provided for my entrance and exit (Hole's "Reasons to be Beautiful") wasn't used, I didn't get the mic stand I was promised, and since the decision had been made not to do a soundcheck with me even though I got to rehearsal at half past noon, Vash says the levels were fux0red and my introductory comments were largely lost. But I was there, I read, and I got a swell writeup in the program: [Special thanks to Sherilyn Connelly] for her commitment to opening our minds. Sherilyn has performed at the past two Cotillions and continues hosting her own open mics in the city. She has long been recognized as a provocative performer in her spoken word pieces and continues to be a bright spot in San Francisco's talented performance community.Quite touching. So it's all good. Went to lunch with Maddy since I was in her neighborhood, saw Oscar and Mina for the first time in months, and even got some writing done. After the show, Vash and I went around the corner to Divas (elegance!), then back to the Black Light District to crash. I'm guessing Vash's Friday night was as late as mine. Washed my hair this morning for the first time in two weeks. I'd say the experiment was a success.
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Saturday, 27 January 2007 (sick in his soul) 10:12am Last night's Queer Open Mic went well, though I don't get the impression it was like the super-attended blockbuster of the last one. Maddy was there, her first time since before I started co-hosting. Afterwards I walked with her, Cindy and some others to the Mint, then to Church and Market. They went into Sparky's, I grabbed a burrito at Azteca, then headed to the Power Exchange. None of my usual friends were there, but I made a new one.
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Friday, 26 January 2007 (so empty here without you) 9:40am Never let it be said that I don't love Vash enough to walk over a mile with a large pink pony under one arm, even when I'm carrying my heavy laptop bag over the other shoulder. 10:12am It was from the Goodwill at 19th and Mission where I bought the pony to the Luv a Java Cafe at 26th and Dolores, where Vash met me for Elizabeth's open mic. The show was a tad underattended, but fun. Vash and Elizabeth sat on the pony as they read, though I decided to stand. The pony was sturdy enough, but I've broken enough seats in my day, ad hoc and otherwise. Afterward, Vash and I drove to Oakland, ate at Spices! III (mmm, pork intenstines sauteed with garlic and basil) (if you're going to eat flesh, you might as well go all the way), then crashed at Wonderland.
I am going to read at the Cotillion tomorrow night. In keeping with the theme of "elegance" (and also to see how it reacts pre-squidification), I haven't washed my hair since at least Saturday before last. Rinsed it once or twice since then, but mostly I've been letting it before, occasionally taking it down and brushing it before putting it back up in the split-level pigtails. It's remarkably non-greasy, all things considered, and really is much easier to work with this way. Haven't properly washed my face for a few days, either. (Ew!) Today's makeup gets put over the ghost of the old. Elegance, as I say.
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Thursday, 25 January 2007 (damaged provider modules) 7:06am Vash and I went to the Erotic Reading Circle last night at the newly relocated Center for Sex and Culture. As always, Jen Collins and Carol Queen liking my work is seriously encouraging. Though I kept it together pretty well while we were there, I was not in the headspace last night. Had myself a little sob when we got home, in fact. I find myself wondering if it has something to do with the hormone injection last Thursday. Though I expected to go slightly insane for those first few days as it spiked, I felt fine. Maybe I'm starting to feel it now as the level continues to drop; it's about halfway through its incline, and my next one is on Wednesday. (I confirmed with both the doctor and the nurse that I can come in on Wednesday, which will be my last Kaiser day. After that I'm on my own, at least until I find a new doctor.) Could be this will be a regular occurence. Guess I'll find out. However it works out, I know I can handle it. We stopped at Divas for a while before the writing group, since when we're near Polk and Post with time to kill, that's where we end up. Like last time, there were about a half-dozen boys and no girls except the bartender. I can't remember the last time I was there that the girls outnumber the boys, though I haven't been by on a weekend night for a while. According to a posted sign, Divas now has free wifi. That's damned good to know. I like the idea of writing there. Admittedly, it does seem a little strange to bust out my laptop and go to work, but they wouldn't have wifi otherwise, would they?
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Wednesday, 24 January 2007 (the last day on earth) sometime after midnight sometimes i wish it could be just the two of us. but i know it can't.
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Tuesday, 23 January 2007 (way down on shinbone alley) 6:32pm Spent an all-too-rare evening at home last night, not doing much in particular. Briefly considered trying my luck at Java Beach or the Canvas, but the energy level just wasn't there. Not that staying home is a stress-free endeavor these days, given the very loud wildlife upstairs. They'll probably grow up to cure cancer or something, but I hate having young, rambunctious children upstairs. It makes me not want to be at home, which is really sad. Gonna try my luck again tonight. Jezebel is coming over, probably to watch more Battlestar Galactica. Wednesday night, Vash and I are going to the Erotic Reading Circle. I'm still not sure what I'm going to read yet. Thursday night, I'm featuring at Elizabeth Latty's open mic. Friday night is the Queer Open Mic, likely to be followed by my first visit to the Power Exchange in a few weeks. Saturday night, I'm probably reading at the Transgender San Francisco Cotillion for a record-breaking third year in a row. Or not. It's still up in the air. If I haven't heard back by Saturday morning, I'll have to assume not. My feelings are mixed, I must admit, but it's a big audience and exposure is always a good thing. The theme of the evening is "Puttin' on the Ritz: A Return to Elegance." (They're bringing sexy back!) What I wore for the Black Mass should work nicely. Sadly, having Sister Dora onstage pissing into a basin is not an option.
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Monday, 22 January 2007 (drowning for days) 4:41pm This week's Medialoper article is up. As with all of them thus far I did the graphics myself, but I'm especially proud of this one. It's nice to put those Photoshop classes which NakedSword paid for to good use. Meanwhile, someone claiming to be Anshe Chung has responded, but I'm not buying it.
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Sunday, 21 January 2007 (informal at the latter) 9:59am Vash and I had planned on going running around Lake Merritt this morning, but it was very cold—New York in Thanksgiving cold, Vash described it—so we did not. 1:10pm Saturday, December 23, 2006. Fucking holidays. All I wanted was a place to sit and write. With wifi. Preferably free wifi. And an outlet nearby so I could plug in my laptop, which, for everything I loved about it, had a decidedly anemic battery. But, nooooo. At two in the afternoon the wireless cafes in my general area were closed due to the holdiay, or especially busy due to overflow business thanks to the aforementioned closures. Fucking Christ. Considering how much the celebration of his birth annoys me, you'd think I'd be happier around his death, but no such luck. The only thing Easter has going for it is it's mostly ignored. Next on my list was the super-hip array on Valencia, the various Muddies and the place with the faux-Communist decorum. I'd never had much luck with them before, however, and I feel so square in them, I might as well extend into the fourth dimension and be a tesseract. Jezebel suggested a cafe around the corner from her apartment, and while I didn't want to go quite that far at first, I figured I'd give it a try. I had everything I needed for the evening, so it wasn't like I'd need to go home first. As luck would have it, I found not only a place to park fairly close by, but a seat inside near an outlet and everything. Their food selection was kinda lousy, and at one point a very large group of straight people with their straight little children came in and stunk up the joint, but otherwise, it was good. The guy behind the counter seemed intrigued by me, asking about my soma fm shirt, as well as for suggestions about goth clubs. The former I was more than happy to talk about, and I had nothing to say on the latter, though I'm always happy to be parsed as goth. The shiny pants helped, I'm sure. I pounded out a Medialoper article until around eight, then walked to Jezebel's apartment. She was still getting ready to go, but that was okay, since it was always nice to watch her put herself together. Her ensemble for the evening was a pink Sexy Squad baby tee, a schoolgirl skirt, and maryjanes. Though it was a look I admired greatly, schoolgirl skirts were tricky for me. Even when I was at my skinniest, most of them tended to be too small for my ample waist, and when they did fit, they were very...short on my long legs. Which was supposed to be a good thing, I was told that from all directions, but I couldn't get past a certain self-consciousness about it, that all it was doing was emphasizing how (real) girls aren't usually six feet tall, and even when they are, they aren't shaped like me. Plus, maryjanes which fit my large feet were only manufactured as a specialty fetish item, and thus prohibitively expensive. Clocking in at five feet five inches, with all of her proportions right, Jezebel simply looked like the damned hot girl she was. After a remarkably good calzone dinner, we drove to the Power Exchange. Though street cleaning was at four I parked across the street. Jezebel had to be at work at a quarter past eight in the morning, so it wasn't going to be an especially late night. As usual, we stopped at Aaron's station to chat. He teased me for not wearing my Sexy Squad shirt, since he was wearing the male equivalent (Sex Squad, what a difference a sometimes-a-vowel makes), saying: it took me an entire month to make it! Of course, the actual labor probably took more like five minutes; the month was to do so and then remember to bring it to work. Which was all fine and good, I hadn't minded waiting. The stupid part was, now, I did kinda regret not wearing it. I felt left out. Nobody's fault but mine. Aaron talked about how he almost never had sex while on the job, or even while there off the clock, how working there has made him rather desensitized to sex. Jezebel said: i know how that is. i love sucking dick and i love jorm, but i'm extremely desensitized to sex. Pulling me close, she added: how much actual pleasure i get depends on how i feel about the person i'm with. Awww. By virtue of being the best place in the to see people coming and going—Aaron would frequently stop men and ask to see the stamps on their wrist—it was also the best place to be seen. If, you know, you wanted to be seen. Which Jezebel and I generally did, or we wouldn't be at a place like that. If we were exhibitionists, we were also tactile exhibitionists, our hands often wandering to the other. Before long we were making out, and had somehow displaced Aaron, Jezebel sitting on his stool. Across from the stool was a long couch, usually occupied by a few towelboys, watching us closely. Par for this particular course. They were eventually replaced by two Asian girls. We tried to put on an extra-special show for them, hoping to lure them over. No such luck. Jezebel and I eventually went downstairs, and— butch! Such were the first words out of Rhonda's mouth when she saw me. It gave me a start—I didn't like the word "butch." I mean, it's fine for other people, but I didn't like the idea of coming across as butch. It suggested "masculine" to me, and I didn't like to think of myself as masculine. Felt like missing the point. I didn't transition just so I could be masculine. On the other hand, I know wasn't the femmiest thing on two legs, either. It was difficult for purely practical reasons; if I'd been five or six inches shorter... This was, I realized, the first time she or anyone else there (except Jezebel) had seen me in anything remotely pant-like. I usually wore long skirts in and out of the Power Exchange for both warmth and convenience. While I liked how I looked in the pants and shirt, black and shiny and tres industrogoth, it wasn't what I'd intended to wear for the duration of the time. I'd brought along my more conventional slip and stockings. I started taking off my boots, Jezebel, Rhonda and Hal almost in unison asked me what I was doing. When I told them, they were equally unanimous in their belief that I should stick with what I was already wearing. To hell with it. It was less work to keep my current clothes on than to change them, and what's more, there was no way I could compete with Jezebel in schoolgirl mode, the sexiest girl in the joint by a country mile. Besides, I figured, there are worse things to be than a butch in shiny black pants. And just because the b-word could be applied didn't mean I wasn't a girl, right? Right. Maybe Jezebel and I were like Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly in Bound. There are far, far worse things than to invoke than Gina in that movie, so it was all good. Such was the depth of my capacity for self-delusion that I allowed myself to believe the comparison held water. My fashion crisis solved (or at least rationalized away), Hal asked if I was going to ride the cross tonight. i replied: no time like the present I knew full well that if I didn't right then and there, I might not that night. I hadn't played with him at all since I'd met Jezebel, which, while not entirely a coincidence, wasn't part of any grand plan, either. I owed him nothing, but he was a sweet guy and I didn't want him to feel neglected, either. So, I played with him for a while. After all, it was still fun. While I was on the cross, Jezebel went off in search of the Twins. She reported back that she'd found them, and that they pawed her before she sucked three out of the four nearby cocks. (The fate of the fourth cock is uncertain.) As usual, I wasn't in the right place at the right time. Zuki didn't show up. I wasn't especially surprised, but I'd been hoping she might all the same. She'd either be the kind of person who would show up every chance she got (like myself), or once in a blue moon (like Vash). Evidence suggested the latter, which is fine. Jezebel and I hadn't done any hitting for while. I wanted to let my recent bruises fade before starting new ones, and now that my skin was back to its usual pallor, I found I was in no particular rush for more. Thankfully, we'd since found that the exchange of pain wasn't the only way we clicked. Presently, Jezebel took my hand and lead me into the Blue Room, where we laid down on the bed and started making out. Push the little daisies and watch them come up: men lined the wall and stood in the doorway watching, as will always happen. Jezebel asked: do you want to show them what a good little cocksucker you're becoming? I'd blown her a few times at home, and with her instruction my technique had been improving (or developing, rather, since it hadn't really existed before) but never elsewhere. I glanced over at the audience and replied: are you sure you're comfortable outing yourself? If my radar can be trusted, Jezebel is one of the few trannies who regularly passes at the Power Exchange. Along with her genetics and sense of style and surgical enhancements, part of her stealthiness was due to Little Jezebel was always kept safely tucked away. Sure, the occasional man pawing her would feel a bulge if he travelled far enough, but the word hasn't seemed to make it onto the grapevine. After all, she was good enough at what she did that those who did know could convince themselves otherwise if need be. Jezebel said: i'm feeling ambivalent about it. Fair enough, and it was her idea, so if it was okay by her it was okay by me. She stood up and pushed me to my knees. Tried to, anyway; at first I remained sitting on the edge of the bed, not quite realizing what she was intending. I've always been a bit slow on the uptake. I lifted her skirt and started to pull down her double-layer panties, the red ruffly ones on top and more classic satiny underneath, the cumulative effect intended to help hide potential bulge. There was a murmur in the crowd when Little Jezebel appeared. One person said: it's always halloween here. She was being rougher than usual, a firmer hand gripping my pigtailed hair, guiding my head. I gagged a few times, her pushing me in close, me pulling away so I could breathe, her pushing me back in just as I'd gotten air. Clearly, I still had a lot to learn. I was aware that a few from the crowd had moved inside the room, and one of them asked Jezebel something painfully banal like: she's sucking you good, huh? Ever polite in the face of poorly-timed idiocy, Jezebel agreed that yes, I was sucking her off good. Angling herself up and guiding me in below, she said: lick my balls. That was something we hadn't done before, but it was pretty easy to figure out. She didn't come, but that was never the point. I knew to close my eyes if she did, though. I'd learned that one the hard way.
Around two in the morning we decided to call it a night, but first tracked down the Twins. The Main Twin always had her usual enthusiastic energy about her, saying i like the two of you. you're fun and cool. I replied: the four of us should be fun and cool together sometime. As we walked away, Jezebel commented on how bold I am. If that was what passed as bold for me, then I really had a lot to learn.
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