Two tickets to paradise.

Sorry it's been so long - I've been in shock about this whole thing.

We live together. We are living together. After so long waiting and working for this, it's finally happened. I think I've waited so long to post about this because I was afraid it was a dream, or maybe something was going to fall through and I would have to move back home again. But here we are - buying groceries, watching TV, cuddling up on the couch, falling asleep in each other's arms and fuck if it is not the best thing that has ever happened to me (besides her accepting to be with me in the first place) then I don't know what is.

I don't think I could ever describe in words how happy I am, how happy it makes me to be living together. It's not something that can just be described, it's something that's felt. It's been a little over 2 months now and I don't think there has been a single day that I haven't woken up smiling knowing that she'd be there right next to me. I can't wait to go home after work everyday and see her, have dinner with her, watch TV with her.

I don't care if it sounds stupid, or mushy, or any of that crap - because I have never been this happy.

Who needs a house out in Hackensack?

So I see that the last time I posted was about an apartment.

This post is about an apartment too, but not a two bedroom to be shared with a mutual friend.

We were supposed to get a 2 bedroom apartment. One bedroom for a mutual friend, and one bedroom for me a Sarah. Well it turns out that our mutual friend was not ready to leave home. So despite the entire process of the application, background and credit checks, money to hold the apartment, it turns out that we didn't take the apartment......so we started all over again, this time just us two.

I almost cannot believe we'll be moving in next weekend. It's crazy to think that in a week we will be moving into our very own place, just the two of us. It's exciting, and I have the feeling she is a bit nervous. But a good kind of nervous, like a little kid about to jump into a pool even though they can see Daddy is right there to catch them - you know you'll be fine, but you still have to make the jump.

It's in a very Orthodox neighborhood, which is going to be interesting but we're used to driving out on the weekends anyway, and at least it's quiet. The building looks like shit from the outside, really it does, but the whole inside has been gutted and redone, repainted with moldings everywhere and it's actually really nice.

We've both already started packing this past week so there really isn't that much left. This is going to be amazing.

*                    *                   *

Thanksgiving was two days ago, and almost all of my family refuses to accept the fact of what I'm doing. Or they just go stoic about it and sweep it under the rug. Except for a few people, and definitely some more than the others. My uncle John has been calling me "A" as best he can, which is his way of trying, and has told me that whatever floats any one's boat is fine with him as long as you're a decent and nice person you're good with him. Aunt Laura and Chuck love me to death no matter what and have been the only ones really communicating with me about all of this, asking questions, making fun of my voice dropping and then hugging the shit out of me and I'm not sure she'll ever stop pinching my cheeks. And then there's cousin Mikey. Who at Nana's was deliberately saying "Aidan" out loud at almost everything, and then smiling wide. We were outside together for a minute away from everyone and he asked why he was the only one doing it, and seemed surprised that even my parents weren't following suit. I told him he was the only one who was actually calling me "Aidan" in the family and again he was surprised. It's nice to know that he really has my back, completely. He's not half-assing it like the rest of my family, he is in this. 

Believe me I know I have it better than most at this point with family tolerance, and I'm thankful that at least I'm still in my house and accepted by my family at all, but it's interesting to see who will conform and who will sweep it under the rug. I have hope for my generation. That us as well as our children will be more tolerant, and accepting - that we won't look at someone and judge them for what they look like, or if they have trouble hiding their tits but they're growing a beard, or a deep voice and shaved legs and arms, or even just floating in the middle ground of androgyny - which is pretty hot, to be honest. =P

Anyway, the point is, everything is going to be okay....eventually. 

I'm hoping time will heal most wounds, and all of us can get the hell on with our lives as a family like we're supposed to. I'm also hoping that this apartment and some space away from my immediate family will help us all move forward in this process without feeling smothered by one another. 

But, one can only hope, right?

This is the sound of settling...

We might have an apartment.

I'm trying really hard not to get my hopes up. Because something might not work out - credit check, whatever it may be - these things happen. But it's cozy, and in a good neighborhood, and fucking cute as shit. Can I say that? Does it make it more manly if I say "fucking" and add "as shit" on the end?

We went to Ikea on Sunday and looked at couches, and bed frames, and bookcases, and kitchens that we can't have but I'm not too upset because the kitchen really is a nice size... and we're going to need new sheets. I love new sheets.

I find myself literally daydreaming like a 14 year old with a new crush. Sitting at work thinking about what to put on the walls, and what stuff am I going to keep and what should I give away? Realistically my room is not going anywhere. My 8'x10' cell-sized space that I've called a bedroom my whole life will not be disappearing as soon as I leave. I can move stuff slowly, over time... right? I don't want to get rid of everything. I like my stupid stuff. My water canteen that I've never even really used, my pictures on my walls, my toy Shelby's up on my shelf and the pink fuzzy dice that I don't have a car to put in anymore... I love my stuff.

Some stuff can go, but it's going to be weird to leave home. As much as I've wanted to leave, now it's strange to realize that it's really going to happen...

Wish me luck.

"Too late two choices to stay or to leave..."

I know it has been almost a month, but between work and Disney and Renaissance Faires, I haven't been on my computer too often. So here I am, to say that I'm proud of myself.

Before I even start I want to make perfectly clear that not all men are like this. I, in fact, have not met every single man and cannot speak for anyone but myself. I hate generalizing, and I would never do it. But some men - some men that I have come in contact with - are EXACTLY like this. So please do not take offense if you are a man who is not like this, because I clearly am not talking about you. You're great, and funny, and outgoing and understanding. But not all men are like you. Some of them, are like this....

This weekend we went to visit a friend's childhood home in MA, where her family is still living. We drove up Friday night and went to King Richard's Faire on Saturday. It was a nice site, a lot more 'rustic' than the NY Faire, which was fun. What was not so fun, was knowing that no matter how hard I try, I'm not passing as much as I hope to. 

BUT! There is hope. I used the men's room like a champ. They're all just whipping 'em out and takin' a piss, and I stroll in, duck into a stall, do my thing, step out and wash my hands quick before walking out the wrong door and stumbling my way through the guys outside waiting for their chance to probably pee all over the seat. Like they do. But I kept my head low, and didn't get the shit kicked out of me. Which is always, and I mean always, a win.

It's not just that men's rooms are intimidating, it's that the men inside the men's rooms are intimidating. I can go pee in an empty men's room. That's fine. It's when you watch a group of drunk guys go in that you think to yourself, how drunk are they and how obnoxious/violent/loud are they going to be? So now you have to worry about being able to pee standing up, with other guys in there (talk about pee jitters), and you also have to worry about what will be the reaction they'll have if your shirt is hanging the wrong way and you don't pass  as a dude as well as you hoped you would. 

It's scary to think that just the way your shirt hangs, or the design on it, can make or break you in the men's room. Out in public is different. People can stare all they want in public. Fuck 'em. Who cares? But the men's room, as I have confirmed in my travels what I knew to be true all along, is a sacred place. A place where a man can literally whip out his dick and piss next to a complete stranger without even batting an eye. A place where a man can be a man! And talk about the blow job he got last night, or that chick on the end of the bar definitely wants him (even though she's just looking for a free drink), or how he and a bunch of the guys are going off-roading next weekend with a 30 rack for each of them and man they are 'going to be sooo hammered'.... not a place for females. 

Not a place for anyone but men. And when they catch you it can be humiliating, or awkward, and uncomfortable. And some men will just ignore you. They'll probably go and tell everyone they know about it, or maybe you'll walk out to a while bunch of people watching you and waiting for you to see what you look like and yep that's definitely a chick - but they won't call you out in the act.

However some men will harass you, like call you 'freak' or ask 'what the fuck are you doing in here?' and then when you go into the stall they'll turn the lights off and leave, so you wait for an extra two minutes to let your eyes adjust to keep from walking into the sink and then do it anyway....like a fucking idiot. Which is always fun. 

So now, every time I go into a men's room and succeed, I'm proud. Even if it's at work, and no one else is in there for the entire time that I am, I'm proud of myself.

Pride seems to be coming to me more often than it used to. 

And it's getting much easier to accept it.

It's about damn time. 

"She’s called Gillian Lynne, have you heard of her? Some have."

Kids know what they want, when they want it. Some things might seem a bit outlandish - candy, anything they can get their hands on at the checkout counter (even if they don't know what it is), and that toy that spins while you drip paint into it and creates exactly what you figured, a piece of paper covered with swirled paint (but if you do too much it's just a lot of colored paint on paper without much design at all) - but overall, they know.

A friend of mine asked for this link today, and mentioned that her "...son is 4, yes very young, but he only likes girl things. Plays dress up in princess dresses, plays with dolls and will get very upset if people try to get him to play with boy toys. Granted he is young, it doesn't bother me in the least bit! When you're little though, I think people feel 'tomboys' are more acceptable, and not the other way around. My husband and I will love and accept him regardless!"

This brought to mind a story I heard through Sir Ken Robinson in his TED Talk from 2006. It truly is one of my two favorite TED videos, the other being Clifford Stoll on everything. (links will follow) The story is about Gillian Lynne, the choreographer of Cats and Phantom of the Opera. As a child in the 1930's, she was doing terribly in school. She was fidgety, couldn't concentrate, and her parents were convinced that she had a learning disorder. Today she's probably be diagnosed with ADHD. Well they went to a specialist, and after awhile hearing about the problems that Gillian was having in school, he and her mother left the room - but as the doctor walked, he turned on the radio and then closed the door, and as soon as the door closed Gillian was up and dancing around the room. He turned to her mother and said, “Mrs. Lynne, Gillian isn’t sick; she’s a dancer. Take her to a dance school.” And as the saying goes, the rest is history. 

Now, I know this isn't the same exact situation - but kids know what they want. 

If your four year old son wants to play with (what are labeled as) girl's toys, and play dress up, and dance around the house in a tutu saying he's a ballerina and just wants a sensible pair of heels, let him. If he turns out to be transgendered, or super fabulous and gayer than Richard Simmons singing a duet with Elton John in a bath house, or just a straight man who knows his way around Nordstrom, it's going to be okay. 

Kids may not remember exactly what happened in every situation, but they will never forget how something made them feel. And if a parent makes their kid feel unwelcome, or unloved, or like there's something wrong with them, kids will not forget that. They will always remember how they felt when their parents told them to go make some friends that are girls, or be more 'ladylike' - when the kid was just doing what felt natural and right. 

Let them be a kid. 

But more importantly - let them be themselves. Whoever that may be. 

TED Talks

Sir Ken Robinson - (click here to watch) 

Clifford Stoll - (COMPLETELY UNRELATED but click here to watch that one)

Seeing is believing

So there's a new guy at work named John, and I'm training him. Apparently everyone in our department feels like it's time to move onto bigger and better things, and they're leaving. So they brought in John.

He's a smart guy. IT degree, trained and served with the ARMY, picking up things quickly, etc. So could I really fool him? Could I really be passing?

We're talking about working out, and I mention that I want to bulk up and get more muscle. He says it's really not too hard with the right diet, exercise, and attitude to keep with it. Then he mentions that he did steroids for a time, and that really helped him out. "I bet it did" - I reply, and keep working. Without even missing a beat he comes out with, "well you're still young, you got plenty of that natural testosterone still. When you hit like 35, that shit starts to tank. Be ready for that."

I almost died right then and there. I tried to ignore the fact that I could feel the heat crawling up my chest, over my ears, and onto my face. It was a good thing he was behind me and I could just keep staring at my computer screen and nod as if to say, "oh yes I will keep that in mind, thank you good sir please do not notice how my face is for some reason turning the color of a sun-burnt Irishman".

I turn and shoot a look to James that may have looked something like, 'DID HE JUST FUCKING SAY THAT?! I WIN. WE HAVE TO TALK LATER" and yet not a sound came from my mouth. Luckily he just nodded back to me, fully understanding, and trying not to let his body shake too much from laughing silently.

There are two possibilities.

One - He has no fucking idea that I have DD's under this binder shirt and my dick is ordered off of the internet. I'm passing and he has no idea.

Two (much more likely) - He knows exactly what is going on, and is being the nicest and most understanding person I have met so far that is not one of my closest friends. He knows what I'm doing, more than likely has known a few trans-men, and knows how to make us feel better than we've felt for a long time (or ever for that matter).



Either way, it's fucking awesome. Sláinte, John. I won't tell if you won't.

It's a boy Mrs. Walker it's a boy.

Today I changed my Facebook name. It may seem stupid to some people, or pointless. But honestly, it's a great support system for me. I can't always see my friends, and it's nice to know that even if I don't see them or talk to them all the time - that they're there to support me. I like to know that they're still rooting for me.

So far everything is going smoothly when it comes the hormones, but I think I'm going to start taking them once a week instead of once every two weeks. Believe it or not I can actually feel the difference after two weeks of taking it. I'm hoping that every week will be better than every two weeks. Still haven't really talked to Mom or Dad about it since our last chat, and Dad keeps asking me if I'm sick or losing my voice because it keeps cracking. And I'm really trying not to laugh.

Really.

Public Service Announcement

There are going to be times in life when you doubt yourself. I'm not talking about 'what kind of haircut should I get' or 'what outfit should I wear tonight', I'm talking real doubt. Like 'should I quit my awful job if I don't have anything else lined up', or 'should I move my whole family to a new state' (or even country), or those people who leave someone they thought they wanted to spend the rest of their life with at the altar.

Or - 'can I really make it through this transition'.


These are life-changing decisions here, people. But that doesn't mean that we should lose our shit over it. You have to know that as hard as it's going to get, it will be worth it. It gets better. We can't let people stop us, or even slow us down. The hardest things in life are the ones we work for, and some things are going to be even harder than others. I thought growing up alone was going to be hard, now I'm completely changing my life. And no matter what anyone thinks, or says, or does - I'm going to fucking do this.

I have enough people in my life who love me and support me, losing a few isn't going to be the end of the world.

It may be harder if they're family, but they're still just eggs.

And I want a fucking omelette.

"And you know what, you're gonna be miserable anyway, so it doesn't matter."

So Saturday night there was a graduation party for my cousin, Pat. And the more the night went on, the more I was getting more pissed about hearing people say "good girl" or "hey girlie" or call me "Aileen". I was fed up, and sick of it, and when I got home I posted a status on facebook that essentially was 'coming out' for me. Sortof a, hey everybody I'm calling it official now - if you're not cool with it then unfriend me and that's fine, no hard feelings - kindof thing.

I didn't tell my parents at the time for 2 reasons, and neither will be probably what you're thinking.

1. It was literally almost 1am, and everyone was sleeping. 

2. It's none of my parent's business what I post on Facebook, and honestly if they want to check they can because Mom and I are friends. (Dad can't work the computer-or even really technology- at all, let alone social networking.) I can post or not post whatever I want on Facebook. I wasn't hurting anyone, I wasn't bullying, I wasn't talking shit about anything - I was posting information, about myself, that is factual.

Sunday evening I get a text from Sarah saying that her mother is freaking out, yelling at her, about my facebook status that she heard about through the grape vine. I'm not even going to get into how mad that made me. Sarah had no idea I was even posting it, do not yell at her for something that I did. You want to be mad, be mad at me, not her. Anyway, it made me think that maybe I should tell Mom, just as a courtesy to let her know what was going on and what I did. But again, by this time, it was late and everyone was in bed. 

So this morning, I send her a text message. Let me make something clear here - I do not see text messaging as a way of 'backing out' or any less form of communication than talking when it comes to informing someone of something like, I posted on facebook about me being trans, but not about Sarah and my relationship yet. So just assume that everyone now knows about me. That is not any different than me telling you in person. Break ups, coming out to your parents, long deep conversations-not made for texting. But this? This was NOTHING LIKE THAT. Needless to say, I get no answer from her, and my day goes on. 

She picks me up from work, which was great because I had already had a rough day, and the whole ride home is silence. I know she's pissed now, but honestly I was going to wait for her to start. 

We make it all the way home, into the kitchen, and then it starts.... (my favorite lines are in white, please excuse any typos in advance)

        *                             *                               * 

me: Thanks for picking me up

her: thanks for the FUCKING text message. what was that?

me: I wanted to let you know. I didn't want to call you I was at work

her: And that's what I rate? a fucking text message? that's it? I'm your mother.

me: I was at work.

her: when did you post it?

me: Saturday night after the party. 

her: I was home all day with you yesterday. A fucking text message? you have got to be kidding me. You know what? you are incredibly selfish and self centered. You know what? no. Fuck you. The whole thing, Aileen, okay? The whole thing.

me: What whole thing?

her: Everything. all of it. the whole-the whole way you're handling this is selfish and self-centered and you're like fuck everybody else. You have NO compassion. You have no compassion for anybody. you have no sensibilities towards anybody else's feelings. You don't really give a shit. Everybody's supposed to be considerate of you, and accepting of you but you have NO compassion for anyone. You're rude about it, you're insensitive. You're-

me: How was I rude?

her: No. And you know what, you're gonna be miserable anyway, so it doesn't matter.

me: And why is that?

her: Because you're never happy. you're never happy with whatever is here for you, whatever you have, you have never been. You have always been a grass is greener person, you're always looking at the other side, wanting what's over there. Or wanting what you can't have, or wanting the friends that you can't be friends with, or the people who don't want to hang around with you-

me: What makes you say that? I don't know where you're getting all of this. I really don't. 'cause I am happy.

her: No. You're not gonna be happy. If you this this is gonna make you happy-

me: I am happy. I'm not saying "I'm gonna be", I am. 

her: So then that's all that matters. Fuck everybody else, fuck everybody else-

me: I'm already happier than I was. I'm not gonna stop doing what makes me happy.

her: and that's all that matters, is that you're happy. and FUCK everyone else.....you said "I don't give a shit what anybody else says or thinks".

me: When did I say that?

her: you posted it on FB ages ago.... "those that matter don't mind and those that mind don't matter." SO I guess I don't matter.

me: Dr. Suess? I'm quoting Dr. Suess. 

her: And why are you quoting Dr. suess?

me: because there are gonna be people that aren't happy with the way that I live. There are gonna be people everywhere I'm not saying the people I know. I'm saying people I don't know. There are parts of society that are never going to accept what's going on and that's-they don't matter. People who think that gays shouldn't get married. I'm not gonna have them matter in my life, I'm not gonna lose sleep over them. That's what I mean by that quote that's how I take that quote. I'm not gonna let someone else who I've never met, affect me. 

her: Really? because It really comes off more like fuck you all. 

me: No-

her:  I think you are making the biggest mistake you have ever made. Biggest mistake ever. And I think you're gonna regret it.

me: I don't understand why it's a mistake. Wh-why is this considered a mistake?

her: Because I think you're not being true to yourself.

me: I think you have no idea what you're talking about.

her: Fine, I have no idea what I'm talking about. Then we won't talk about it.

       *                            *                               *

I want to be able to look back on this - years from now, when I'm happy and have a family and friends that love me, and know that I proved my mother wrong. For years I have been trying to be something that I'm not - for her, for everyone. Now it's my turn. And I'm finally learning who I really am. 

If she's not happy with that and can't come to terms with that, then it's going to be her loss, and she'll have to live with it - without me.

Hard truths and hard days

Maybe, just maybe, sometimes honesty isn't the best policy. Maybe I just want to be able to lie to myself and say that it's going to be fine, and one day I'll fit in. It seems more and more like that day isn't going to come. And I'm going to be stuck between sexes, and worlds, forever. I know that I'm not going to be seen as "one of the guys" for a long time yet, but that doesn't mean that I want attention drawn to the fact that yes, I still have tits. And yes, I'm still a female in the name of science.

I'm open about what I'm doing to my body. I would rather teach someone about myself than have them wonder in solitude, and judge, and be ignorant. Because even if they're ignorant towards me, maybe I can teach them something for the next trans person they meet. That doesn't mean that jokes about me still being a girl are going to be funny every single time. I can handle ballbusting, but it's starting to actually bother me. Questions I can handle, but some of the jokes just aren't funny. 

I really want to be part of the guys, I do. And being told that it's not really going to happen, is true, but discouraging. And it hurt. He pretty much said "well did you really expect to (be part of the guys)?" and damnit, yes. I do expect that. It's not fair that every day I wake up and I'm reminded that my body doesn't match, but to have it rubbed in by people is just starting to break me down. The anger is fading, now I'm just feeling tired. And defeated. 

*                    *                    *

In other news, Sarah told her parents Sunday night that we're in a relationship. Which is exciting, and apparently went well. So that's great. I'm happy that her dad didn't lose his shit. I mean, I didn't really expect him to, but the word is that his reaction was much better than anticipated. I'm really just glad that it's finally out there and we can talk about it like adults. I hope. Her mom is in emotion overload, which is fine and understandable, but suggested maybe we talk Saturday morning over coffee. I hope we do, it would be nice. 

Fuck this shit can get exhausting.