My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction November 1 - 10, 2001

Saturday, 10 November 2001 (madriiax) 8:35am But if I've learned anything over the last couple years, it's that nobody ever looks at the picture. Not that I care about such things, but for not working out much aside from the ritual morning crunches, my weight isn't increasing. Indeed, it's almost creeping down a little, tentatively stepping into the upper 160s. I'm sure I could I help it down if I started going to the gym again more regularly. Maybe this next week. Or not. 6:03pm As most geeks with cable in America know, FX has been showing Buffy the Vampire Slayer on weeknights. We've been taping them—just started on tape #7—and watching said tapes at every opportunity in a probably futile attempt to get caught up. We just about finished watching the second season, and among the net results is that Maddy wants to be Willow when she grows up. (Understandably so, though I still lean towards Drusilla.) When we first got together, she was actively disinterested in the show. She also refused to read the Harry Potter books, but gave them a try on my recommendation; she's now read more of them than I, and wants to see the movie. The words "corrupting influence" come to mind. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 9 November 2001 (sun ascension) 7:38am So I called and, for want of a better word, quit. To use hackneyed cliche (is there any other kind?), it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders. At the very least, I could breathe normally again, which is always a good thing. The net result is that I'm back in the same situation I was in before, but it doesn't seem quite so bad now. Though it's still pretty sucky. And this doesn't mean that I'll never be able to bring myself to work retail. I just wouldn't have been able to do it in that particular environment. I'd always disliked that particular store anyway; when I started at Le Video the only location was a smaller yet less somehow less cramped space a few doors down. When the new location opened I hated its claustrophobic feel and used what seniority I had to manage to only work in the original space. Well, the original space doesn't exist and I don't technically have any seniority. At least at a Borders or (gargh) Blockbuster there's a little breathing room. But that's all hypothetical for now. From Wednesday's Chronicle: Polling places around the Bay Area were difficult to discern among all the flag-draped homes and trees wrapped in red, white and blue ribbon yesterday. But behind the patriotic trappings of the neighborhoods, many voting areas were practically deserted save for precinct workers who nibbled on doughnuts and caught up on their cross-stitch. "I was hoping that everyone who had a flag out would come and vote," said Muriel Willey, an elections worker at Sequoia High School in Redwood City. "That didn't happen." And yet people such as Maddy and I, who don't wave the flag, went out and voted on Tuesday. Funny how that works. Of course, it was just a boring local election. I guess real patriots can't be bothered with that sort of thing. Speaking of apathy, I got nary a prolonged glance from any of the elections workers in spite of the fact that I'm still registered under my boy name yet was in girl mode (pretty much the only mode I have left, admittedly). I'd brought along my interim driver license and DMV receipt stating I'd re-registered to vote under the new name, but none of it was necessary. Maybe they were happy that somebody was even bothering to make an "international statement" (as the Examiner described the act of voting), or maybe they just didn't care what I looked like. The latter is more likely, and I don't mind; I suspect my greatest ally in getting my name changed across the board is employees who don't give enough of a damn to argue about it, the ones who operate on the same energy level as the Walgreen's employees who respond with a blank stare when I ask about the price difference between overnight and one-hour developing. It's all about using the annoying things to your advantage. 6:53pm My new, official driver license arrived. Yay. To celebrate, we pulled ourselves away from our day-long Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon (did I mention that Maddy has been home this week on chiropractor's orders because of back, neck and shoulder pain?) and went to our sushi place in Pacifica. Cutting loose and all. On Monday I begin the process of changing my name with the toughies—the bank, my credit card, tax board, etc. I don't expect too much trouble, particularly considering how (relatively) smoothly it's been so far. I should be very happy about this (Maddy's certainly happy enough for the both of us), but really, I'm not. I'm pleased to have gotten this far, but it doesn't feel like much of a victory, either. It feels kinda flat, and not just because I hate the picture on the license. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 8 November 2001 (cave of roses) 7:22am The interview didn't happen. Which isn't to say I didn't go in, because I did. It turns out that Stanley's in town after all (not checking and/or responding to his email for voicemail, but hanging around the store), and when he saw my resume he essentially wrote on it "Hire them!" So no interview was necessary, and I was in and out of the store in five minutes. Which was long enough for what had previously been a mild anxiety to kick into overdrive. I don't think I can do this. I really don't. I can't go back, not into that particular environment. Plus it would be working nights for just a couple dollars above minimum wage. And those kids behind the counter—I won't fit in, they won't like me, they'll think of me as a freak and weirdo, and not in the positive sense of those words. Add to that how cramped and crowded and noisy the place is and how difficult the Inner Sunset can be to navigate, and besides, we're not running that low on money, I still have the majority of my severance plus unemployment (if I worked full time at Le Video I'd be making $60 a week more than I am right now, which almost doesn't seem worth it), plus the family has decided not to exchange presents and I should be getting a decent tax refund next year and... I'm not committed to anything yet. The hiring manager said he had a few more people to interview, and that he'd probably hire two, one of which would almost certainly be me. I think I'm going to call this afternoon and say that I have some other opportunities ("that just came up," perhaps) I'm going to pursue, and that I'd appreciate it if they would at least keep my resume on file. Hopefully that won't seem too demanding, and having Stanley's blessing should help. He outed me in his note on my resume, saying that I worked there when I was "Mr. Connelly." Which is perfectly fair; it's not like it's something I could have hid, and the hiring manager didn't seem bothered by it at all. Which means the kids behind the counter might be cool with it too, admittedly. Still, to think I was once nervous about how the people in accounting would react to me, people whom (as Pike pointed out) really only care about doing their jobs. As it happens, I have an appointment this morning with the person who ran the employment workshop a couple weeks back. We'll be going over my resume, presumably. I'd been tempted to cancel, but after yesterday, I need all the help I can possibly get. Is winter here? 1:03pm My new social security card arrived. No driver license yet, so I'm going to wait until I have them both before I start dealing with my bank account and whatnot. Still, though. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 7 November 2001 (finite bees) 7:42am What happened was, Star Trek: The Motion Picture: The Director's Editioncame out on DVD yesterday. In spite of the fact that the movie sucks—everyone but me hates it, therefore it must be bad, kinda like Voyager—I've been looking forward to it. So I went to Amoeba in the Haight and used my a bit of my credit to buy it. (I also got The Phantom Menace, but used; I don't care to contribute to George Lucas's bottom line, but apparently I'm just fine fattenting Paramount's coffers. Go figure.) Using the credit made me feel less guilty about the frivolous purchase, you see, because this is exactly what it's for anyway. Next month, it'll be the Twin Peaks first season box set. Since I was out in the area (and felt like I should be doing something genuinely productive) I dropped off my resume at a few places in the Outer Sunset, such as the indie bookstores and Le Video. Stanley's on vacation, so I haven't been able to get in touch with him directly. Later that afternoon, I got a call from what I presume to be the hiring manager—Pandora's old job—asking to set up an interview. Don't wanna. But I hafta. I think. After all, nobody else is calling. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 6 November 2001 (angelic stations) 9:19pm Have you ever felt a sense of relief, yet wanted to scream this is not happening? Last | Top | Next

Monday, 5 November 2001 (enochian calling) 8:18am I have an appointment with my speech therapist this morning. I hadn't planned on going back for a while due to financial reasons, but she made a good offer: her, myself and other tranny client for a half-hour mini-group session, then the therapist will leave and let us practice on the Visi-Pitch machine by ourselves, gratis. Can't beat that with a stick, particularly if she divides the cost of the half-hour between the two of us. Even if she doesn't, it's still a good deal, considering I was never able to use her system by myself like she'd offered. The one time I was able to make it in, the microphone was nowhere to be found, meaning I couldn't do a damn thing. Well, that's not entirely true—I did put an icon on her desktop for the software. It's a DOS-based program, and the way she would normally bring it up would be start the computer, then shut it back down, enter DOS and use the command line. So I eliminated those middle steps. Seemed the least I could do, and actually made me feel useful. My big fear is that the therapist is going to be disappointed with me for not having made any progress on my voice. She's extremely kind and I doubt she'd be at all rude, but still, I feel like I've been slacking. (Hell, I don't have a new job yet, either. What the hell am I doing with my time?) Maybe I'm resting on my laurels, such as they are. Maybe I'm feeling like I'm passing just enough as it is that I'm not putting enough effort into strengthening my weaknesses. Like, I think I got hit on Saturday night. This guy started talking to me, seemingly determined to learn my life story. What makes me think he was flirting rather than just being inquisitive to the point of intrusive was when he asked if I had a boyfriend not two minutes after I made a very pointed reference to having a girlfriend. He then rephrased the question a couple different ways, no doubt to make absolutely sure that I was in fact a lesbian, and had been for as long as I'd felt any kind of attraction at all. The thing is, I don't think he read me. He seemed intrigued by the fact that I'm 6'1" (he was 6'4"), wear black lipstick and grew up in Fresno—"Where are you from originally?" is as common a question in the Bay Area as "How's your screenplay coming along?" is in Los Angeles—and kept returning to those points over and over, but if he suspected that I wasn't genetic, he didn't so much as hint at it, and it wouldn't have been the least personal question he'd asked. He also seemed like the type who would let me know that he knew just so he could score points by assuring me he's cool with it. But it didn't happen, so there's no telling. (In retrospect, I missed a perfect opportunity to help him make up his mind, if in fact he had been wondering. He had to say my name a couple times before getting the pronounciation correct, like everyone else does. Shortly thereafter I made an in-context joke about forgiving my parents for giving birth to me; I should have added that I hadn't yet forgiven them for giving him such a difficult name. Alas.) I suppose I'll get brought down to Earth the next time I'm called "sir." 5:11pm It went well. I spoke with the other client, Terri, for a while before the session began and got we to know each other a bit. (Turns out she's from Minnesota. See what I mean? You can't not talk about it.) The therapist hadn't told either of us beforehand the name of the other person, and Terri was a little surprised that it turned out to be someone she'd never heard of, given the compactness of the local tranny community. Guess I haven't gotten around much yet. Anyway, her and I will be getting together at the office the next Wednesday mornings to practice with each other on the Visi-Pitch. We both certainly need the practice, and there's a lot to be said for doing it with someone who understand how difficult it can be. The San Francisco Examiner has been exhorting people to vote, because if they don't, the terrorists will win! What the fuck? I haven't missed an election in years, and I certainly think more people should vote, but I that's just absurd. Um, yeah, Osama really gives a fuck about the turnout for local elections. Kinda like the notion that putting flags everywhere is supposed to send a message, it makes terrorists sound like the demons in Jack Chick comics that get all grumpy whenever someone starts talking about Jesus. Last | Top | Next

Sunday, 4 November 2001 (ascension) 8:58am Attempting to alleviate some of the depression by actually going out and enjoying myself, I went to KFJC's Listener Appreciation Party last night. I'm very fond of the station, and it seemed like something to do. Besides, it was held in a bowling alley in Cupertino, which intrigued me all the more. Inasmuch as I go out on Saturday nights at all, that's not the kind of place where I tend to end up. I spent most of the time standing around watching people bowl. Not the most thrilling thing in the world, but not something I've done in a long time, either. I also kept on eye on how people reacted to me, if at all. Even for an ostensibly private KFJC event (a private event which absolutely could attend), it was still a bowling alley on a Saturday night, and what could be more all-American? The place even calls itself a "Family Fun Center," for Pete's sake. In any event, I seemed to pass just fine. Of course, there are some people who can't help but give a 6'1" goth girl a second glance, and I don't blame them. (I'm guilty of it myself.) Besides, if I'd really wanted to go stealth, I wouldn't have been in full battle gear, complete with black lipstick, short pleated skirt, stripeys and boots. But nobody was staring, doing the nudge-'n-point, anything like that. Which isn't to say I got left completely alone. One person asked where I got the stripeys and boots, and at least two others asked if I worked for the station. I took that as a compliment. (Though not as high a compliment as when Maddy was asked if she was a trapeze artist for Circus Circus.) And it got my mind moving in a dangerous direction: isn't the first step in becoming a lion tamer owning a hat from Harrod's that says say "lion timer" in neon lights? 5:53pm We used a different sticky rice recipe, and it came out much better. Frozen (well, thawed) imitation crab from the Asian market tastes much better than the "fresh" stuff from Safeway. No surprise there. I even managed to make four rolls without any major catastrophes during the rolling process. Of course, if I were to mention to my mother that we've been making our own sushi, she'd probably fret that we're going to get trichinosis or the like from eating raw fish. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 3 November 2001 (the angelic conversation) 6:53am The sticky rice was a little too sticky, but still, it wasn't bad for the first time out of the gate. I certainly have higher hopes for Maddy to find the right balance for the rice than I do for my rolling skills to improve. We then settled in to watch a recently purchased copy of Sex, Death & Eyeliner, the documentary on goth culture which was partially shot in the Bay Area in early '99. According to Lee they'd wanted to interview me—the curiosity factor of the tranny goth, I suppose, something the local press knows very well—but I'd just gotten zapped so I declined. Wisely, I think, as I surely would have regretted it, in spite of the fact that the film never got anything resembling real distribution. Watching it hit me squarely in my nostalgia, though. Lee getting a tongue-piercing at Area 51 in San Rafael, Dana (before we'd met) waxing philosophical on childhood visits to graveyards and more recent S&M adventures, and Terminal...um, well, being Terminal. Summer (mit Velvet) even makes a very super-brief appearance, not saying a word—either the interview never happened, or it got cut—but at least getting referenced in the credits. It was how things were practically at the moment I was discovering it all, at the time that many felt it was dying anyway. (Typical of my timing, sort of like how products tend to go off the market when I start using them.) But it worked for me, since it helped me deal with the depression of the breakup with The Ex. Now I'm in the midst of a different kind of depression, with Maddy at my side, and I'm not sure what's out there. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 2 November 2001 (let me down gently) 10:06am Yesterday was one of those dangerous days in which the munchies hit early on (shortly after I returned from the gym) and never quite let up. It didn't help that I was home all day long; there's just something about being here that makes me hungry. My will is strong enough that I can usually take a few grabs at whatever's around then leave it alone. Unless it's something of the vegetable persuasion, anyway. In any event, it all adds up, and my stomach is not happy with me. I should know better than to stay at home. At least today I'm joining Maddy, Pike, Aleister and Patti for lunch. Sounds counterproductive, but isn't. We saw Dana and Costanza last night for the last time before their move. It was a bit more emotional than when we last saw barefoot and Rox, probably because them we'll be seeing over the holidays, not to mention they're remaining in this time zone. No telling with Dana and Costanza. (Not to mention they're just more emotional people overall.) They offered us some leftover ice cream to take home. Normally I would have declined, but I decided to jump into the dieter's trap of figuring that I'd blown the day anyway, so I might as well end it in style. We finished it when we got home. It was good, but I was again reminded of why I don't eat that sort of thing anymore. The experience doesn't do anything for me, and comfort eating just doesn't deliver. Heck, I even took my first puff of grass in a couple months. That wasn't really worth it, either, though I made sure it wasn't enough to set my brain off. The fallacy in the above paragraph is the notion that I'm dieting. I don't think I am, at least not in the classic sense. I'm not talking myself out of the steak and having the salad instead—I don't want the steak, and in general most sugary/sweet/fatty things don't appeal all that much to me anymore. It's not dieting as a verb, but a change to my diet as a noun. If you follow what I mean. We're going to attempt to make sushi this weekend. I'm genuinely excited about it. As a result of the panicmongering of the governor and the FBI, Maddy's mother has practially pleaded with us to "be careful" and stay as far away from the bridges as possible. Because, you know, she worries soooo much about us, and says she wishes we lived closer. Um, yeah. I don't have the stats in front of me, but I suspect we'd be at greater risk of getting killed by a tornado out there than we are of getting killed by terrorists here. But, as she says, it's a mother's job to care. Funny, haven't heard a peep out of my mom about it. Must mean she doesn't care. Then again, she doesn't insist on impromptu blood tests, either, so I guess her priorities are all out of whack. (It's genetic!) Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 1 November 2001 (last horse on the sand) 6:46am Former employers is fine, but can they really ask about what I was paid previously? Oh, man. I have a bad feeling that this is where being a former dot-commer is really going to bite me on the ass. In spite of the fact that I don't have a cell phone, drive an SUV or go to Starbucks, I'm sure I'll still be seen as one of the types that destroyed San Francisco. And I don't doubt that a lot of them did fuck things up royally, but I don't believe I played an active role in it. (Yeah, I'm sure I'm the only one saying that.) Maybe I can fib and say I haven't worked since Le Video. Would a four-year gap in my work history look suspicious? Last | Top | Next