Blog, Sweet Blog

Well, it’s not like I’m getting a lot of work done.  I got home at about 8 last night after driving most of the day and falling asleep on the couch minutes after walking in the door was the best I could manage.  I still have the sleep/vaca hangover and it’s been hard to get back into my work routine.  So I might as well blog.

Let’s start at the beginning…so, I had the worst time trying to get out of town.  I had scheduled electrolysis for my last day in town, a.k.a. Thursday.  I left work early to run some errands before the appointment.  I needed to refill my monthly prescriptions, but didn’t have any refills left.  I also wanted to change my name with both my doctor’s office and pharmacy.  Well, that turned out to be a 1.5 hour ordeal.  I had also planned to get my oil changed before electrolysis.  It had been a while since my last oil change and I had a long road trip ahead of me.  Long story short, I didn’t get my oil changed and was 15 minutes late to electrolysis.

The revised, post-electrolysis plan was to pack that night and get an oil change first thing in the morning (around 8 am).  Somehow, I kind of just fell asleep during packing my clothes and didn’t leave the house until after 10 am…I even unpacked at one point! I got my oil changed (at my new favorite, because they were so nice and fast,  oil change place) and was on the road by 11.  So, really bad start and I was beginning to doubt if I should go at all what with all the bad omens.

After leaving town, things improved considerably…right up until I got a fucking $175 speeding ticket in godforsaken Nebraska for going 91 mph in a 75 mph zone! Thankfully, I had slowed from a little over 100 (I even hit 120 once).

So, I hate cops.  Really.  I realize that police are a necessary evil and that such a statement is juvenile and that I should probably just be nicer and grow up and vote and pay taxes, but still.  And the one that stopped me didn’t do anything to make me feel better about the police.  He had all kinds of crazy crap to say, “Do you know why I stopped you?  Were you using cruise control?  Didn’t your little radar detector go off?  What do you do for a living?  You seem surprised that you’re getting a ticket.” and on and on.  I’m not opposed to speeding tickets, but the thing that kills me about cops is that they always want to play amateur detective and moralist with you.  I’m an adult.  I own a fast car with superior handling.  I am a skilled driver and I don’t drive recklessly.  If I have an accident in the middle of nowhere/Nebraska, I’m only going to hurt myself.  Just give me the ticket and let me get on with my life.  The cop that stopped me was one of at least 30 that I saw that day in Nebraska.  I never saw or heard from one state patrol car in Iowa.  The fact is, Nebraska is strapped for cash and they used the holiday weekend to raise money on the backs of nicer people that live in sexier states.

The drive was kind of nice.  I usually burn a lot of worry calories over-analyzing my presentation and voice.  I barely thought about any of that while driving, getting gas, or stopping for bathroom breaks…which was a nice vacation in and of itself.

Anyway, billions and billions of incident-free hours later, I pulled into Dad’s driveway.    He opened up the garage for me and let out a quick chuckle of disbelief.  He said something about how I wasn’t joking around and then gave me a big hug and said that I looked nice…Awwwww 🙂 !  I followed him inside and we got down to watching some TV and talking about nothing important.  I took a long while for my stepmother to come down and I was kind of worried about her reaction.  We’ve never been close and have had disagreements in the past.  She greeted and hugged me warmly and we never had a problem.  She said I looked just like my sister, which I’ve heard before, but is hard for me to see.  After that, we all went upstairs for some drinking and more talking.  I don’t think we talked about anything too serious that night, but it was nice to just hang out with them.

The next morning, we went to the farmer’s market downtown.  I took a long time to get ready (thankfully my stepmother took a little bit longer).  I asked my stepmother’s advice on makeup (Should I wear foundation?  Can you see my mustache?  Does this lip gloss make me look like a woman who sells herself, cheaply?) and what I should wear.  We finally got down to the market and walked around for a while before breakfast.  I was pretty nervous at this point and I was sure everyone was looking at me.  They might have been, but it wasn’t in a mean way.  Regardless, it’s hard to move past that feeling.  Someone might look at you because you’re just odd looking, or a tall woman, or because they like what you’re wearing.  It doesn’t always have to mean that they figured out that you’re trans.  Still though, I felt like I was sticking out and I think this is hard for non-trans people to understand.  Then again, it’s telling that my parents were not embarrassed to be seen with me and had a hard time understanding my discomfort.  Apparently,  I was able to cobble together some self-confidence and faith in my presentation and their behavior reflected that.  That’s a good lesson for all of us, little kittens.  Smiling, good posture, easy laughter, and lots of inappropriate winking are excellent substitutes for actual self-confidence.  Amway, I think a lot of us are,  initially at least, thinking about “sticking out” a lot of the time…and it sucks.  I think it gets better, but I doubt it ever goes away entirely.

It was kind of cold and rainy that morning, so we ducked inside a coffee shop for warm drinks and a respite from the rain.  I kind of felt like things were going too well and that we were being a bit too best-behavior-y, so I said…

Me: You know, you guys can ask me anything you want.  Honestly.  I have nothing to hide from you.

Dad: Is that your real hair?

Stepmom: Has transition been hard?

Me: Um, maybe we can save some of your questions for a time when we’re not sitting in the middle of  a crowded  coffee shop.

Dad bought some nice vegetables and cheese at the market.  He had planned on making steaks and I got the idea to make a summerific tomato, cucumber, and red onion salad.  I wanted to find some heirloom tomatoes for the salad but I had a hard time explaining them to my Dad.

Me: Oooh, we should get some heirloom tomatoes for the salad.

Dad:  What kind of tomatoes?

Me: Heirloom.

Dad: Never heard of ’em.

Me:  Oh, they’re really good.

Dad: Hair room?

Me: No Dad, heir-loom…like passed down from your grandparents.

Dad:  Oh, right!  Nope, still nothing.  What do they taste like?

Me:  Well, you know, tomatoe-y.  They’re just different, older varieties.

Dad: *blank stare*

Me:  Would you just buy these for me?

So, lovely hairroom tomatoes in hand, we took our leave of the market.  Dad and Stepmom drove me on a little tour around the downtown.  I lived there for a couple of years before joining the Army and it’s grown up a lot since.   For instance, downtown used to be a graveyard after 5 pm and now they have lofts and nightlife.  I had a brief moving back fantasy, but, thankfully,  I remembered that I hate Iowa’s weather and lack of culture and jobs.  Still though, living in the same city as your family can be nice.  Why don’t we all just move to Portland?

OMG, this is out-of-control long, so I’m going to wrap it up for now.  Tune in next time for fun with pronouns, shocking confessions, stepmother/stepdaughter bonding, boutique hotels, Home Alone XVI:  We Forgot the Cat!, me and my tarot, and the closest we’re going to get to a Disaster Area concert.