I don't consider myself a writer, but this story begged to be written. I've heard other writers have that feeling, that a story needed to be told. It was obsessive, almost a living thing. I felt more like a transcriptionist than a writer.
You can find it on Smashwords other booksellers like Banes & Noble.
Smashwords: Bobby the Aardvark
From the introduction to my story:
While this is a story about a little boy becoming an aardvark, it is not about a little boy becoming an aardvark.
Over the last several years, I have given a workshop about what it is like to be part of the transgender community. More specifically what it is like to be transsexual.
In my dealings with the straight and LGB communities I have found quite a similarity of opinions, impressions, and questions about what it feels like to be trans* and be in the trans community.
It inspired me to create a workshop called “Transgender 101 - Transgender Information for the Non-Trans Community.”
In the workshop I try to bypass the knee-jerk reaction many people have to words that have the letters S-E-X in them. Many people feel that being transsexual is somehow a clinical term for a sexual deviant. They have images of men in dresses prancing around on talk shows.
But in actuality, nothing could be further from the truth. Being transsexual is a lifelong quest to simply feel “normal”. Being transsexual has very little to do with sexuality, or sexual gratification, or genitalia.
In my workshop I try to convey that being transsexual is about not feeling normal, of how everything feels out of place. And while many say that they feel like they are “a man in a woman’s body” or vice versa, I relate it to feeling like you have your shoes on the wrong feet, but all over your body.
In my workshop I say “How would you feel if you woke up tomorrow and you were an aardvark? You looked like an aardvark, you smelled like an aardvark, and all the other aardvarks told you to just ‘aardvark up’ and get over it!” I used aardvark simply because it was a light-hearted reference devoid of any sexual connotations and, of course, it’s the first animal, and word, in the dictionary. Little did I know that I would be typing the word aardvark several hundred times in the creation of this story.
By using that imagery I attempt to convey that being trans* is like waking up in a completely alien environment. It is not about sex or sexual gratification. We don’t know how to be or how to act like the gender we were born, just like little Bobby has his problems trying to adjust to the aardvark world.
Also in the story I try to convey how humiliated we are made to feel because of our difference from mainstream society. And the way that society has often treated trans* people.
That then is the essence of this story. I have been this little boy. And I’ve spent quite a number of years in the world of “aardvarks”. And I too searched for a way home.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
A Civil Union in Illinois
In Illinois, tomorrow, June 1st will mark the enactment of S.B. 1716, the Illinois Religious Freedom protection and Civil Union Act ("Civil Union Act").
Our governor, Pat Quinn signed the legislation into law in December and it goes into effect on the beginning of Pride month in the US.
Tomorrow, I and my soon to be husband, June, will, hopefully, be one of the first people to be in line to get our license to have our relationship officially recognized with all the rights and responsibilities as those afforded opposite gender couples in our state.
June is my soul mate. She is, to use the wording from "Different for Girls", the lost sock. She is the other part of me. The part of me that was missing. We are in love. When I started my transition, I *knew* it was the right thing to do. I felt a meshing of gears in my head. I felt that my mind and body were finally together. So too, do I know that June and I are mated. We are meshed gears. Often finishing each others sentences. All of the things that I've heard that life loves are supposed to be.
We could, as many other have been required to, simply continue to live together in a common law arrangement, without benefit of official recognition of the life we share together. But we will not. There are other reasons for having our relationship solemnized.
First and foremost is the recognition that the two of us are in love and wish to have a life together as a married couple. We are in love, and for me to be her lawfully wedded wife is a thrill and a fulfillment of a life long dream.
Also what is available to us, and just as important, is that just like opposite sex couples, we will have hospital visitation rights, the ability to speak for our spouse if they cannot, funerary rights and survivor benefits, and the ability to file joint state income tax returns. And in those states that recognize civil union/same sex marriage, our union will be recognized there as well. And WHEN the federal gummint repeals DOMA (hopefully in our lifetime) we will be able to file joint federal income tax as well.
From what I have been able to gather, the expected turnout is going to be big. I don't know how many are actually going to be there for their license and how many will be there for the celebration of the fulfillment of an agonizingly long process in civil rights. The Cook County Clerks office is planning to have gifts and raffles for those first in line. Naturally, the media will be there as well. And I expect that our friends from the (small "c") christian Taliban, otherwise known as the Westboro Baptist church (if you can call it that) will make their presence known.
I'm writing this late at night because I am too very wired to sleep. I'll post my experience of the next few days at a later point. June and I are not taking an official honeymoon, but will be getting away for a few days.
We plan to have a retired judge solemnize our union. We are scheduled to have him perform the ceremony on Thursday, June 2nd. According to Illinois law we have to wait 24 hours after getting our licence to have the union solemnized.
I have a wedding gown all set for the occasion. My daughters will be my bridesmaids, and my son in law will be June's best man. And my brother has agreed to give away the blushing bride to be.
And as with opposite sex couple marriages, this union will also serve as a legal name change document. And since I have been through this process once before, I intend to change my name to that of my groom.
I post this and my further experiences in my life as a testimonial to others. To show that you can attain your life's desire if you but try.
-Sandy
Our governor, Pat Quinn signed the legislation into law in December and it goes into effect on the beginning of Pride month in the US.
Tomorrow, I and my soon to be husband, June, will, hopefully, be one of the first people to be in line to get our license to have our relationship officially recognized with all the rights and responsibilities as those afforded opposite gender couples in our state.
June is my soul mate. She is, to use the wording from "Different for Girls", the lost sock. She is the other part of me. The part of me that was missing. We are in love. When I started my transition, I *knew* it was the right thing to do. I felt a meshing of gears in my head. I felt that my mind and body were finally together. So too, do I know that June and I are mated. We are meshed gears. Often finishing each others sentences. All of the things that I've heard that life loves are supposed to be.
We could, as many other have been required to, simply continue to live together in a common law arrangement, without benefit of official recognition of the life we share together. But we will not. There are other reasons for having our relationship solemnized.
First and foremost is the recognition that the two of us are in love and wish to have a life together as a married couple. We are in love, and for me to be her lawfully wedded wife is a thrill and a fulfillment of a life long dream.
Also what is available to us, and just as important, is that just like opposite sex couples, we will have hospital visitation rights, the ability to speak for our spouse if they cannot, funerary rights and survivor benefits, and the ability to file joint state income tax returns. And in those states that recognize civil union/same sex marriage, our union will be recognized there as well. And WHEN the federal gummint repeals DOMA (hopefully in our lifetime) we will be able to file joint federal income tax as well.
From what I have been able to gather, the expected turnout is going to be big. I don't know how many are actually going to be there for their license and how many will be there for the celebration of the fulfillment of an agonizingly long process in civil rights. The Cook County Clerks office is planning to have gifts and raffles for those first in line. Naturally, the media will be there as well. And I expect that our friends from the (small "c") christian Taliban, otherwise known as the Westboro Baptist church (if you can call it that) will make their presence known.
I'm writing this late at night because I am too very wired to sleep. I'll post my experience of the next few days at a later point. June and I are not taking an official honeymoon, but will be getting away for a few days.
We plan to have a retired judge solemnize our union. We are scheduled to have him perform the ceremony on Thursday, June 2nd. According to Illinois law we have to wait 24 hours after getting our licence to have the union solemnized.
I have a wedding gown all set for the occasion. My daughters will be my bridesmaids, and my son in law will be June's best man. And my brother has agreed to give away the blushing bride to be.
And as with opposite sex couple marriages, this union will also serve as a legal name change document. And since I have been through this process once before, I intend to change my name to that of my groom.
I post this and my further experiences in my life as a testimonial to others. To show that you can attain your life's desire if you but try.
-Sandy
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Our Trip to Miami – Part Two (long-ish)
Post Op
The days following surgery were actually pretty monotonous. Exercise was very moderate. Mostly consisting of leg lifts walks around the condo. Occasionally we would go outside and walk. While the rain had passed, the temperature was still in the mid 50's so it was a bit chill.
I would minister to Maddie's needs, which mostly consisted of making sure she was well hydrated and checking her cath bag. When she was more mobile she took care of that task herself.
She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Well, pretty much, she had. This is major surgery, after all, and the body is extremely traumatized as a result. So after walking outside, for example, it would not be unusual for her to nap for an hour or more. But as the days went on, she did become stronger, but still had few reserves.
The plan was that she would see the doctor one last time on our day of departure and then we would head for the airport for the trip home.
Throwing a monkey wrench into our stay there was a job related crisis on Wednesday that I had to take care of. And while the issue was somewhat minor, I did spend most of the night fixing stuff. Oh the wonders of technology.
On Friday, we went to see the doctor one last time. The visit and trip to the doctor went very well. Doctor Reed examined Maddie and said that she was doing well and she should make a good recovery and have a very nice cosmetic appearance. He did say that she could come back in about three to six months for a revision if she wanted.
He then removed her packing and examined her vagina. He then brought out her new stents that she would be using to dilate. And then while she was watching in a mirror, he dilated her for the first time. Her initial depth was quite good, over five inches, and the insertion was painless.
There was still some blood seepage, from some of her stitches as well from her vagina. This is normal for this stage of recovery. He then gave her a peroxide/betadine/water douche and told her to douche about once a day for the first week or so and then trail off after that.
He then helped her clean up and after she got dressed, we adjourned to his office for a final review and questions. He had been quite clear in his instructions, both written and spoken.
He then filled out the forms from the State of Illinois which would allow Maddie to modify her birth certificate. The State of Illinois has a moderately difficult process to change your B/C but once you jump through those hoops, the B/C is amended and re-issued. However, the original B/C is sequestered, and the new B/C has no indication on it that it has been amended. And the original B/C can only be examined under a court order. So in this case it is a very good acceptance of trans people.
We then headed back to the Barbizon to finish packing and head back to the airport. The packing and loading was a bit depressing. Maddie was still in a daze from the whole process. Here she had, like many of us, yearned for years and years for this very moment, but now, in reflection, the trip and operation seemed to pass in an instant as we prepared to leave. Almost like a carnival ride that promises wonder and finishes all too soon.
Also she felt useless. I kept reassuring her that because of her weakened condition, she really shouldn't be lifting all that much and should conserve her energy for the trip. She still did not understand how draining the impending flight would be. I jokingly told her to just sit back and think of herself as baggage.
Pat and I finished packing and pat straightened up the condo while I loaded. There wasn't any maid service for the condo, it was more of a sub-let and cleaning up after ourselves is considered a requirement. Also there is a security deposit on the rental and it is returned after check out providing things are ship-shape. But since it was a studio, it shined up quickly.
As fate would have it the nicest day of the whole trip was our last one. For the first time in the ten days that we were there the temperature was scheduled to get above 80 degrees and be sunny. Sigh.
The trip back to the airport was pleasant and while it was a bit confusing finding the place to return the rental car it was done fairly easily. What wasn't easy was trundling all our baggage, including Maddie
, to the check in and getting our boarding passes. Fortunately we managed to find a wheel chair quite close to the rental agency and then took a baggage cart for the rest of the bags. The rental place was a fairly long walk from the terminal and fortunately, a sky cap for Southwest came to us at the check in counter and took Maddie in tow so we could check in and get our bags taken care of.
Going through the TSA checkpoint was, as expected, a requisite pain in the posterior for me. Additionally since Maddie was ridding a wheel chair, she was also given a pat down. They also had to check her travel catheter bag that she had strapped to her leg. We have to accept these humiliations so that we can be safe. Yeah, right. Thankfully, the TSA agreed that neither of us were a threat but it still took about 15 minutes to get through the checkpoint. I will refrain from getting on my soapbox (again) about how we are considered guilty by our government and have exchanged liberty for a thin veil of supposed security.
Our sky cap stayed with us while we were patted down and helped push Maddie to the gate. I was very pleased by this and he was quite courteous and polite and made apologies for the rotten weather we had while we were there.
Once we got to the gate, we still had about an hour to wait before our flight left. I had called the house and let them know when we would be getting in. I also found out that I would be flying away from warm 80 degrees and sunny Miami weather into 9 degrees and snowy Chicago weather. Oh fun. We had brought out our heavy winter jackets and would bundle up at the other end.
Even riding as “baggage”, Maddie was already exhausted just getting to the airport. I could see her energy just draining from her face.
We finally boarded. Since Maddie was a “wheelie”, she got to get on first. Pat went with her to help her get settled. I stayed behind and boarded with the rest of the passenger. Though I too was starting to wind down and feel my batteries drain as well. I was glad to get on the plane. When I boarded I found out that Pat and Maddie had secured the front seats in the plane. That was nice since it gave Maddie more leg room and allowed her some more comfort. Also she would be very close to the lav should she need it (she did).
The flight back to Chi took about three and a half hours. And was uneventful and the only thing that gave us any diversion was the peanuts and crackers that were passed out. Flying Southwest is cheap but the first thing you notice besides the single class arrangement is the feeling of being on a cattle car.
Getting off when we landed was chilly and there was a sky cap to take Maddie to the baggage claim area.
This is where we had a bit of a problem. Apparently our sky cap thought that while one person was wheelchair bound the rest of the passengers would be Olympic sprinters. Pat has asthma and really can't run all that fast. And after repeatedly asking him to slow down, I had to stop him in his tracks, stand in front of the wheelchair, and bellow at him to slow the fnck down! Heads turned at my outrage. I told him hat we could not keep up with him and one of us could collapse and need an ambulance if he did not take it slower.
I later complained to his supervisor but other than receiving a cursory apology, I really don't know if he was reprimanded or at least got an explanation about the needs of the passengers in his charge.
Also waiting for the bags was a monumental pain. It must have taken about 45 minutes for the plane to be off loaded and our bags put on the carousel.
Then we trundled out into the cold Chicago winter to wait for our pick up. I was very worried about Maddie waiting out in the cold like that. She could have easily gotten pneumonia just in the shot time in the cold. I sometimes think that waiting for the car to pick you up is actually the longest part of a flight. Christa was the one to come and pick us up and while it only took about ten minutes for her to show up, it felt like hours out in the cold.
In short order we got the car loaded up and we were out of there. Maddie lives a short distance from Midway and we were able to get her to her house in short order.
Pat, Christa, and I, escorted our charge back into her house and the waiting arms of her mother. She was almost tearful to see her come back. Maddie kissed and hugged all of us and let her mom help her up the stairs to bed. I knew that she would sleep very well now that she was in her own bed. And that was something I was yearning for right about then myself. I was road weary and strung out. Pat and I needed to be home and asleep soon.
Christa filled us in on the things going on at the house while we were gone. Fortunately nothing “interesting” occurred.
Follow Up
The next day I stopped in to see how Maddie was doing. She had rested comfortably, but was sleeping in a room in the basement. Her dogs were jumping on her when she came home and she couldn't get the rest that she needed.
Maddie asked me to help her with her first “solo” dilation and follow up. So I showed her how to use the lube and a hand mirror and how to insert the dilator safely. Then I helped her douche. While she was initially confused with all the things she had to do, she got the idea pretty quickly and was committed to keeping up with her dilation regimen.
I've talked to her several times since then and she is doing fine. She is regaining her strength with each passing day and is extremely pleased with the outcome. She is happy that she had it done and has no regrets. She thinks the world of Dr Reed and how he helped her.
She has not decided whether or not to have the follow up labiaplasty. She wants to see how she looks as she heals.
But if she does, and decides to go back to Dr Reed, hopefully the weather will co-operate!
-Sandy
The days following surgery were actually pretty monotonous. Exercise was very moderate. Mostly consisting of leg lifts walks around the condo. Occasionally we would go outside and walk. While the rain had passed, the temperature was still in the mid 50's so it was a bit chill.
I would minister to Maddie's needs, which mostly consisted of making sure she was well hydrated and checking her cath bag. When she was more mobile she took care of that task herself.
She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Well, pretty much, she had. This is major surgery, after all, and the body is extremely traumatized as a result. So after walking outside, for example, it would not be unusual for her to nap for an hour or more. But as the days went on, she did become stronger, but still had few reserves.
The plan was that she would see the doctor one last time on our day of departure and then we would head for the airport for the trip home.
Throwing a monkey wrench into our stay there was a job related crisis on Wednesday that I had to take care of. And while the issue was somewhat minor, I did spend most of the night fixing stuff. Oh the wonders of technology.
On Friday, we went to see the doctor one last time. The visit and trip to the doctor went very well. Doctor Reed examined Maddie and said that she was doing well and she should make a good recovery and have a very nice cosmetic appearance. He did say that she could come back in about three to six months for a revision if she wanted.
He then removed her packing and examined her vagina. He then brought out her new stents that she would be using to dilate. And then while she was watching in a mirror, he dilated her for the first time. Her initial depth was quite good, over five inches, and the insertion was painless.
There was still some blood seepage, from some of her stitches as well from her vagina. This is normal for this stage of recovery. He then gave her a peroxide/betadine/water douche and told her to douche about once a day for the first week or so and then trail off after that.
He then helped her clean up and after she got dressed, we adjourned to his office for a final review and questions. He had been quite clear in his instructions, both written and spoken.
He then filled out the forms from the State of Illinois which would allow Maddie to modify her birth certificate. The State of Illinois has a moderately difficult process to change your B/C but once you jump through those hoops, the B/C is amended and re-issued. However, the original B/C is sequestered, and the new B/C has no indication on it that it has been amended. And the original B/C can only be examined under a court order. So in this case it is a very good acceptance of trans people.
We then headed back to the Barbizon to finish packing and head back to the airport. The packing and loading was a bit depressing. Maddie was still in a daze from the whole process. Here she had, like many of us, yearned for years and years for this very moment, but now, in reflection, the trip and operation seemed to pass in an instant as we prepared to leave. Almost like a carnival ride that promises wonder and finishes all too soon.
Also she felt useless. I kept reassuring her that because of her weakened condition, she really shouldn't be lifting all that much and should conserve her energy for the trip. She still did not understand how draining the impending flight would be. I jokingly told her to just sit back and think of herself as baggage.
Pat and I finished packing and pat straightened up the condo while I loaded. There wasn't any maid service for the condo, it was more of a sub-let and cleaning up after ourselves is considered a requirement. Also there is a security deposit on the rental and it is returned after check out providing things are ship-shape. But since it was a studio, it shined up quickly.
As fate would have it the nicest day of the whole trip was our last one. For the first time in the ten days that we were there the temperature was scheduled to get above 80 degrees and be sunny. Sigh.
The trip back to the airport was pleasant and while it was a bit confusing finding the place to return the rental car it was done fairly easily. What wasn't easy was trundling all our baggage, including Maddie
, to the check in and getting our boarding passes. Fortunately we managed to find a wheel chair quite close to the rental agency and then took a baggage cart for the rest of the bags. The rental place was a fairly long walk from the terminal and fortunately, a sky cap for Southwest came to us at the check in counter and took Maddie in tow so we could check in and get our bags taken care of.Going through the TSA checkpoint was, as expected, a requisite pain in the posterior for me. Additionally since Maddie was ridding a wheel chair, she was also given a pat down. They also had to check her travel catheter bag that she had strapped to her leg. We have to accept these humiliations so that we can be safe. Yeah, right. Thankfully, the TSA agreed that neither of us were a threat but it still took about 15 minutes to get through the checkpoint. I will refrain from getting on my soapbox (again) about how we are considered guilty by our government and have exchanged liberty for a thin veil of supposed security.
Our sky cap stayed with us while we were patted down and helped push Maddie to the gate. I was very pleased by this and he was quite courteous and polite and made apologies for the rotten weather we had while we were there.
Once we got to the gate, we still had about an hour to wait before our flight left. I had called the house and let them know when we would be getting in. I also found out that I would be flying away from warm 80 degrees and sunny Miami weather into 9 degrees and snowy Chicago weather. Oh fun. We had brought out our heavy winter jackets and would bundle up at the other end.
Even riding as “baggage”, Maddie was already exhausted just getting to the airport. I could see her energy just draining from her face.
We finally boarded. Since Maddie was a “wheelie”, she got to get on first. Pat went with her to help her get settled. I stayed behind and boarded with the rest of the passenger. Though I too was starting to wind down and feel my batteries drain as well. I was glad to get on the plane. When I boarded I found out that Pat and Maddie had secured the front seats in the plane. That was nice since it gave Maddie more leg room and allowed her some more comfort. Also she would be very close to the lav should she need it (she did).
The flight back to Chi took about three and a half hours. And was uneventful and the only thing that gave us any diversion was the peanuts and crackers that were passed out. Flying Southwest is cheap but the first thing you notice besides the single class arrangement is the feeling of being on a cattle car.
Getting off when we landed was chilly and there was a sky cap to take Maddie to the baggage claim area.
This is where we had a bit of a problem. Apparently our sky cap thought that while one person was wheelchair bound the rest of the passengers would be Olympic sprinters. Pat has asthma and really can't run all that fast. And after repeatedly asking him to slow down, I had to stop him in his tracks, stand in front of the wheelchair, and bellow at him to slow the fnck down! Heads turned at my outrage. I told him hat we could not keep up with him and one of us could collapse and need an ambulance if he did not take it slower.
I later complained to his supervisor but other than receiving a cursory apology, I really don't know if he was reprimanded or at least got an explanation about the needs of the passengers in his charge.
Also waiting for the bags was a monumental pain. It must have taken about 45 minutes for the plane to be off loaded and our bags put on the carousel.
Then we trundled out into the cold Chicago winter to wait for our pick up. I was very worried about Maddie waiting out in the cold like that. She could have easily gotten pneumonia just in the shot time in the cold. I sometimes think that waiting for the car to pick you up is actually the longest part of a flight. Christa was the one to come and pick us up and while it only took about ten minutes for her to show up, it felt like hours out in the cold.
In short order we got the car loaded up and we were out of there. Maddie lives a short distance from Midway and we were able to get her to her house in short order.
Pat, Christa, and I, escorted our charge back into her house and the waiting arms of her mother. She was almost tearful to see her come back. Maddie kissed and hugged all of us and let her mom help her up the stairs to bed. I knew that she would sleep very well now that she was in her own bed. And that was something I was yearning for right about then myself. I was road weary and strung out. Pat and I needed to be home and asleep soon.
Christa filled us in on the things going on at the house while we were gone. Fortunately nothing “interesting” occurred.
Follow Up
The next day I stopped in to see how Maddie was doing. She had rested comfortably, but was sleeping in a room in the basement. Her dogs were jumping on her when she came home and she couldn't get the rest that she needed.
Maddie asked me to help her with her first “solo” dilation and follow up. So I showed her how to use the lube and a hand mirror and how to insert the dilator safely. Then I helped her douche. While she was initially confused with all the things she had to do, she got the idea pretty quickly and was committed to keeping up with her dilation regimen.
I've talked to her several times since then and she is doing fine. She is regaining her strength with each passing day and is extremely pleased with the outcome. She is happy that she had it done and has no regrets. She thinks the world of Dr Reed and how he helped her.
She has not decided whether or not to have the follow up labiaplasty. She wants to see how she looks as she heals.
But if she does, and decides to go back to Dr Reed, hopefully the weather will co-operate!
-Sandy
Our Trip to Miami - Part One (Long)
Maddie's First Flight
After months of preparations and years of yearning, Maddie (know to Susan's as Maddie71) finally reached her date for trip to Miami for her SRS with Doctor Harold Reed.
Maddie had never flown before and was very anxious about getting on a plane. In many ways she was more worried about flying than she was about her surgery.
We arrived at Midway airport well in advance of our departure. I always set off the alarms because of my surgical implant and knew that I would be patted down by our nice friends at the TSA.
I had not flown out of Midway since well before 9/11. They had made quite a number of renovations in the intervening years. Because of these changes I ended up going through the TSA “love pats” not once, but twice. I missed where we were supposed to check our baggage and tried to take all the bags through the checkpoint. The agents said that the check in was on the other side of the checkpoint and we had to go back and check the baggage, then come back through the checkpoint. That was an episode I don't relish repeating.
Fortunately that was the only real hiccup in our pre-flight. We boarded our plane and Maddie was so excited that she was almost vibrating. She kept saying; “Is this really happening? Pinch me!”
As we accelerated for take off she became a bit white knuckled and as we lifted off she had a smile frozen on her face. Then as we ascended to our cruising altitude and leveled off, she became much more relaxed and said it was no worse than riding in a car.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. We got our bags at the Ft. Lauderdale airport and got our rental car and headed into Miami to get our condo. When we picked up our rental car, we were given a selection of various full sized cars. I was originally thinking that we would get some kind of mainstream car. While there were a bunch of beige regular cars, one of the cars that we could select was a bright red Dodge Charger. Well! Guess what Sandy picked! There is something about women and fast, red cars. At least for me...
South Beach
The condo was located in the South Beach area and if you watch the opening scene on the “The Birdcage”, you'll see where we were. The condo is called the Barbizon. It is in an upscale area, just a couple of blocks from the beach. It is an interesting mix of Gay, Hispanic, and Jewish. All the people are very friendly and open.
The weather, however was only somewhat better than what we left in Chicago. It was overcast, rainy, and chilly. Though, the temperature at 55 degrees was higher than we left, it wasn't what I was expecting.
The condo was very nice and well appointed. We settled in and had a nice dinner at one of the local restaurants. And Maddie, well all of us, fell in lust with our waiter... *sigh*
Maddie's Presurgical Consultantation and a wonderful surprise!
The next day was the day before surgery and the occasion for the final pre-surgical consultation, the liquid only diet, and the unenviable pre-surgical bowel cleansing.
Maddie did not have an exact time for her pre-surgical consult. We arranged to show up at his office right when it opened. We arrived just after 9:00. As we arrived, there was already a young woman in the waiting room. She was talking with a person in scrubs. We could not help but listen in. Apparently she was there for a procedure as well, though initially we could not be sure of what procedure she was going to have. The person she was talking to was the anesthesiologist, and he was asking her about her family history and reaction to general anesthesia.
From her conversation, it became obvious that she was there for the same reason that Maddie was there. After the anesthesiologist completed his interview, the conversation became more general and the two of them were just chatting. It was a small waiting room and soon Maddie and I were made part of the conversation.
As we chatted about our experiences in our transition the young woman turned to me and said that I looked familiar. She asked if I posted at a place called “Susan's”? I said yes, I was Sandy. Her face lit up and she said that she was known here as Princess Jasmine!
She has not posted here lately because of her busy life. I asked if I could post about her experience as well, and she said yes. Though she does ask for her continued anonymity for personal reasons.
What a happy coincidence! We chatted while she waited to be taken back for her procedure. Soon the doctor came out and apologized to Maddie for not being able to see her right then, but he had to prepare for Jasmine's procedure. He asked us to come back later in the afternoon after he finished and he would be ready to talk to her. Then Jasmine and the doctor headed back to surgery. Jasmine was just “beaming”!
While Maddie was a little disappointed about not being able to see the doctor right then she was still very excited to be so close to her procedure as well and being able to talk to another person going through her process too.
Maddie spent the day in anxious anticipation. While the weather had not really improved, it did little to dim her mood.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to Dr Reed's office. After a bit of a wait, the doctor made his appearance. He had finished up with Jasmine and then came for Maddie. I accompanied her as her caregiver.
Dr Reed is a dynamo of a man. And extremely talented in more than one way. To give you an idea of his artistry is not only the results of his surgery, but the pictures that adorn virtually every wall in his clinic. The pictures are of various styles and replicas of several well known paintings and artists. What is astounding is that all these pictures were painted by the doctor himself. They are all remarkably rendered and quite beautiful.
The doctor himself is extremely personable, upbeat, confident, and quite self assured. He is also one who wastes no ones time and does not like having his time wasted. He is to the point and and very efficient.
In the pre-surgical interview, he reviewed every item with Maddie went over all the test results again and verified that he was satisfied that Maddie was absolutely healthy enough for surgery and also have a good outcome from her surgery.
He gave her a complete physical and discussed with her what the operation would consist of and what to expect following the surgery both in the short and long term.
One of the reasons that the doctor can keep his prices lower than most other surgeons is that he has his own surgical suite in his clinic so he does not have the overhead costs of working in a hospital setting. The suite is completely certified and state of the art. His staff has worked with him for a while and are competent and respectful and supportive of the trans clients that come to the clinic. The doctor is also a urologist so he sees a mix of trans and non-trans patients.
Following the consult, we asked if we could peek in on Jasmine. He said she was doing fine and resting comfortably. We went back to the recovery area and found Jasmine. She was sleeping lightly and awoke when we approached. She was all smiles and said that she was in little pain. We chatted for a few minutes and then left. All his patients spend their first night in the surgery center following their procedures.
After saying goodnight to the doctor, we headed back to the condo for Maddie to do her pre-surgical bowel prep. As others have noted, bowel prep is not a lot of fun, nor does it need a lot of explanation. She was on a liquid only diet for the rest of the day and went NPO at midnight.
The day of surgery
Maddie spent most of the night up and down from the remains of the bowel prep and excitement of her impending life changing event.
Maddie and I got up early and headed out to the clinic. Pat stayed behind to hold down the fort at the condo. The traffic was light and we made good time to the office.
Maddie was taken back as we got in and we were shown to the changing room. She used the restroom for the last time with outdoor plumbing. Back in the changing room she put on her surgical gown and put her street clothes in a locker.
We hugged and kissed goodbye and she was shown to the surgical suite. And I left her in the good doctors hands.
For the patient, the day of surgery is one where everything revolves around you. You recline on the gurney and everyone else hustles and bustles. Then there is the push of the first anesthetic, then a drowsy feeling, and perhaps actually feeling like you are drifting off to sleep, sometimes not even that, then in the next instant, the doctor or nurse is talking to you trying to wake you up and it's all over. To the patient's point of view, it happens instantly.
Not so for those who wait. Maddie was taken in to the surgical suite and the prep takes about 30-40 minutes, then the actual SRS surgery can take anywhere from 4-5 hours, then there is about 1-2 hours of recovery. So for those who wait, it is an agonizingly long time to find out how someone is doing.
I spent the afternoon with Pat in a kind of mindless wander. In one respect, I knew she was fine, but on the other hand, this IS major surgery. It is not simple, and not to be taken lightly. So in that respect, there is always the worry that occupies the back of ones mind; “What if...”
Maddie's mom too, was on tenterhooks. I called her as Maddie went into surgery so she could begin her “momworry”. I called her a couple of times during the afternoon to let her know that there really wasn't anything to know. It is a frustrating time for all but the guest of honor.
The intention was that Pat and I would meet her as she awoke. So about 4:00 in the afternoon, we headed to the office. When we got there we found out that it would be at least another hour before she went into recovery. She was doing fine, but it would take a little longer.
I was going to stay with Maddie in recovery for some time and Pat was going to go back to the condo. So Pat recorded a video for Maddie on my camera while we were in the waiting room. Then I took her back to the condo.
I called Maddie's mom to let her know the status and that everything was going according to plan, but taking longer than expected.
By time I got back to the office, Maddie was in recovery and resting comfortably. I went to see her and she was sleeping as I approached. She had a smile on her face as she slept. She roused and smiled and held my hand.
I asked how she was feeling and she said she was feeling fine. She was a bit sore but, overall was feeling alright and elated at having finally achieved this life long dream.
I then presented her with cards from her mother who had given them to me to present to her when she awoke. One was a get well after surgery card. The other was a birthday card for her daughter. Both of them were very touching and loving cards.
I called Maddie's mom and handed the phone to Maddie. She and Maddie had a chance to talk and assure her mom that she was fine and that the operation went well and that she was doing fine. Maddie thanked her for her for her cards.
My intention was to stay with her overnight if they would let me. The doctor has an overnight nurse stay with her in any case, but I just wanted to give her support if needed. I then found out that the doctor himself also stays with his patients overnight as well. I was pleasantly surprised by this. It made me feel very confident that she would have the best support possible.
The doctor assured Maddie and myself that she came through the surgery well and would make a good recovery. He was all smiles with her and kept telling her what a good patient she was.
I stayed with her for a couple of hours while she rested, then headed back to the condo. Maddie would be discharged to a local bed & breakfast that is close to the doctor's office for the first three days following surgery. The doctor would look in on her each day and change her dressings and make sure she is recovering properly. Then we would leave there to return to the condo. The originally intention was that we would spend the entire time at the condo because it was quite reasonable. I would have ensured that Maddie was returned to the doctors office for her checkups. However the doctor insisted that she spend at least the first three days at the local place.
The Baltic
The place we stayed is called the Baltic Hotel. It is a small hotel with few amenities. The hotel manager, Christina, however is a warm and gracious lady who sees many of the doctors patients. She is impressed by the people who come through there from the doctors procedures who fight and preserve to attain their life's strongest desire.
Jasmine and her friend was also at the Baltic and we had occasion to visit with them. Jasmine came through her procedure with flying colors and was bouncing back well. Her friend, Elizabeth had a second stage labiaplasty as well. They were upbeat and happy.
Jasmine had a male friend who was unaware of her past, though he was wanting to be more than a friend to her. Their relationship had been developing and Jasmine was quite infatuated with him. But she could not bring herself to tell him about her past. The day following her surgery, however, Jasmine could not hide any longer and sent her friend an email disclosing everything. She did not want to lose his friendship, but could no longer hide her past from him.
Jasmine is a gorgeous young woman and has a wonderful outlook on life. She deserves to have a happy relationship.
Very soon after sending her email, her friend called and said that he did not want to be her friend any longer... HE WANTS TO BE HER BOYFRIEND! Jasmine was overjoyed by this. We are so happy for her and we hope that she has a loving and fulfilling relationship. So often we come to the precipice, stare into the abyss and live, but then we have to face a life alone, with no soul mate or life partner to share the rewards of a life born anew. So when one of us actually finds happiness, it is uplifting.
The days spent at the Baltic went otherwise uneventfully. Several times a day, I would walk Maddie up and down the hallway and occasionally outside. Our stay in Miami was anticipated to be warm and sunny. Unfortunately, it was nothing of the sort. While much warmer than Chicago, it was hardly warm, sunny, or dry. Apparently our cold weather accompanied us to the southern climes. My anticipation of getting a tan, or at least some color did not really pan out. Ah well, I really did not think of this as a vacation for me as being a caregiver is time consuming. However I was hoping to be able to keep the widows open without having to put a sweater on!!!
As I mentioned, the Baltic is a small hotel, and the rooms are not very big.
“How small was it?”
“It was so small that the mice were hunchbacked!”
“It was so small that you had to go outside to change your mind!”
But considering that the reason a person is there is to recover from their procedure, then there is no real need for much more. But if you do come to the Baltic, bring your own movies or entertainment, the TV options are only the regular broadcast channels, but there is a DVD player. There is an internet connection available so you can keep in touch with the outside world.
For those who are looking for a higher class, and higher priced, accommodation, there is Daddio's. Also near the doctor's office. Apparently, the doctor has arrangements wiith both establishments for reduced rates for his patients.
One additional thing I can tell you about being in Miami, is that if you drive, bring your own parking space! There is little public parking. There is parking on the street and in most places the parking uses the new style of parking vending machines. But finding a parking space can be a real problem as the street parking gets picked up quickly. So finding a parking place can be a bit of a challenge.
Back at The Barbizon
Bringing Maddie back to the condo from the Baltic was a group effort and a portent of the return trip. I recall my surgery and I was extremely weak and the trip home was exhausting. Also sitting for hours on the plane will be very uncomfortable, donut or no donut.
We got Maddie bedded down in the condo and made sure she was comfortable. She had been discharged with a catheter and vaginal packing in place. The plan was to remove the packing just prior to our departure, but she would be traveling with the catheter back home.
Oh joy...
***End of Part One***
After months of preparations and years of yearning, Maddie (know to Susan's as Maddie71) finally reached her date for trip to Miami for her SRS with Doctor Harold Reed.
Maddie had never flown before and was very anxious about getting on a plane. In many ways she was more worried about flying than she was about her surgery.
We arrived at Midway airport well in advance of our departure. I always set off the alarms because of my surgical implant and knew that I would be patted down by our nice friends at the TSA.
I had not flown out of Midway since well before 9/11. They had made quite a number of renovations in the intervening years. Because of these changes I ended up going through the TSA “love pats” not once, but twice. I missed where we were supposed to check our baggage and tried to take all the bags through the checkpoint. The agents said that the check in was on the other side of the checkpoint and we had to go back and check the baggage, then come back through the checkpoint. That was an episode I don't relish repeating.
Fortunately that was the only real hiccup in our pre-flight. We boarded our plane and Maddie was so excited that she was almost vibrating. She kept saying; “Is this really happening? Pinch me!”
As we accelerated for take off she became a bit white knuckled and as we lifted off she had a smile frozen on her face. Then as we ascended to our cruising altitude and leveled off, she became much more relaxed and said it was no worse than riding in a car.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. We got our bags at the Ft. Lauderdale airport and got our rental car and headed into Miami to get our condo. When we picked up our rental car, we were given a selection of various full sized cars. I was originally thinking that we would get some kind of mainstream car. While there were a bunch of beige regular cars, one of the cars that we could select was a bright red Dodge Charger. Well! Guess what Sandy picked! There is something about women and fast, red cars. At least for me...
South Beach
The condo was located in the South Beach area and if you watch the opening scene on the “The Birdcage”, you'll see where we were. The condo is called the Barbizon. It is in an upscale area, just a couple of blocks from the beach. It is an interesting mix of Gay, Hispanic, and Jewish. All the people are very friendly and open.
The weather, however was only somewhat better than what we left in Chicago. It was overcast, rainy, and chilly. Though, the temperature at 55 degrees was higher than we left, it wasn't what I was expecting.
The condo was very nice and well appointed. We settled in and had a nice dinner at one of the local restaurants. And Maddie, well all of us, fell in lust with our waiter... *sigh*
Maddie's Presurgical Consultantation and a wonderful surprise!
The next day was the day before surgery and the occasion for the final pre-surgical consultation, the liquid only diet, and the unenviable pre-surgical bowel cleansing.
Maddie did not have an exact time for her pre-surgical consult. We arranged to show up at his office right when it opened. We arrived just after 9:00. As we arrived, there was already a young woman in the waiting room. She was talking with a person in scrubs. We could not help but listen in. Apparently she was there for a procedure as well, though initially we could not be sure of what procedure she was going to have. The person she was talking to was the anesthesiologist, and he was asking her about her family history and reaction to general anesthesia.
From her conversation, it became obvious that she was there for the same reason that Maddie was there. After the anesthesiologist completed his interview, the conversation became more general and the two of them were just chatting. It was a small waiting room and soon Maddie and I were made part of the conversation.
As we chatted about our experiences in our transition the young woman turned to me and said that I looked familiar. She asked if I posted at a place called “Susan's”? I said yes, I was Sandy. Her face lit up and she said that she was known here as Princess Jasmine!
She has not posted here lately because of her busy life. I asked if I could post about her experience as well, and she said yes. Though she does ask for her continued anonymity for personal reasons.
What a happy coincidence! We chatted while she waited to be taken back for her procedure. Soon the doctor came out and apologized to Maddie for not being able to see her right then, but he had to prepare for Jasmine's procedure. He asked us to come back later in the afternoon after he finished and he would be ready to talk to her. Then Jasmine and the doctor headed back to surgery. Jasmine was just “beaming”!
While Maddie was a little disappointed about not being able to see the doctor right then she was still very excited to be so close to her procedure as well and being able to talk to another person going through her process too.
Maddie spent the day in anxious anticipation. While the weather had not really improved, it did little to dim her mood.
Late in the afternoon, we returned to Dr Reed's office. After a bit of a wait, the doctor made his appearance. He had finished up with Jasmine and then came for Maddie. I accompanied her as her caregiver.
Dr Reed is a dynamo of a man. And extremely talented in more than one way. To give you an idea of his artistry is not only the results of his surgery, but the pictures that adorn virtually every wall in his clinic. The pictures are of various styles and replicas of several well known paintings and artists. What is astounding is that all these pictures were painted by the doctor himself. They are all remarkably rendered and quite beautiful.
The doctor himself is extremely personable, upbeat, confident, and quite self assured. He is also one who wastes no ones time and does not like having his time wasted. He is to the point and and very efficient.
In the pre-surgical interview, he reviewed every item with Maddie went over all the test results again and verified that he was satisfied that Maddie was absolutely healthy enough for surgery and also have a good outcome from her surgery.
He gave her a complete physical and discussed with her what the operation would consist of and what to expect following the surgery both in the short and long term.
One of the reasons that the doctor can keep his prices lower than most other surgeons is that he has his own surgical suite in his clinic so he does not have the overhead costs of working in a hospital setting. The suite is completely certified and state of the art. His staff has worked with him for a while and are competent and respectful and supportive of the trans clients that come to the clinic. The doctor is also a urologist so he sees a mix of trans and non-trans patients.
Following the consult, we asked if we could peek in on Jasmine. He said she was doing fine and resting comfortably. We went back to the recovery area and found Jasmine. She was sleeping lightly and awoke when we approached. She was all smiles and said that she was in little pain. We chatted for a few minutes and then left. All his patients spend their first night in the surgery center following their procedures.
After saying goodnight to the doctor, we headed back to the condo for Maddie to do her pre-surgical bowel prep. As others have noted, bowel prep is not a lot of fun, nor does it need a lot of explanation. She was on a liquid only diet for the rest of the day and went NPO at midnight.
The day of surgery
Maddie spent most of the night up and down from the remains of the bowel prep and excitement of her impending life changing event.
Maddie and I got up early and headed out to the clinic. Pat stayed behind to hold down the fort at the condo. The traffic was light and we made good time to the office.
Maddie was taken back as we got in and we were shown to the changing room. She used the restroom for the last time with outdoor plumbing. Back in the changing room she put on her surgical gown and put her street clothes in a locker.
We hugged and kissed goodbye and she was shown to the surgical suite. And I left her in the good doctors hands.
For the patient, the day of surgery is one where everything revolves around you. You recline on the gurney and everyone else hustles and bustles. Then there is the push of the first anesthetic, then a drowsy feeling, and perhaps actually feeling like you are drifting off to sleep, sometimes not even that, then in the next instant, the doctor or nurse is talking to you trying to wake you up and it's all over. To the patient's point of view, it happens instantly.
Not so for those who wait. Maddie was taken in to the surgical suite and the prep takes about 30-40 minutes, then the actual SRS surgery can take anywhere from 4-5 hours, then there is about 1-2 hours of recovery. So for those who wait, it is an agonizingly long time to find out how someone is doing.
I spent the afternoon with Pat in a kind of mindless wander. In one respect, I knew she was fine, but on the other hand, this IS major surgery. It is not simple, and not to be taken lightly. So in that respect, there is always the worry that occupies the back of ones mind; “What if...”
Maddie's mom too, was on tenterhooks. I called her as Maddie went into surgery so she could begin her “momworry”. I called her a couple of times during the afternoon to let her know that there really wasn't anything to know. It is a frustrating time for all but the guest of honor.
The intention was that Pat and I would meet her as she awoke. So about 4:00 in the afternoon, we headed to the office. When we got there we found out that it would be at least another hour before she went into recovery. She was doing fine, but it would take a little longer.
I was going to stay with Maddie in recovery for some time and Pat was going to go back to the condo. So Pat recorded a video for Maddie on my camera while we were in the waiting room. Then I took her back to the condo.
I called Maddie's mom to let her know the status and that everything was going according to plan, but taking longer than expected.
By time I got back to the office, Maddie was in recovery and resting comfortably. I went to see her and she was sleeping as I approached. She had a smile on her face as she slept. She roused and smiled and held my hand.
I asked how she was feeling and she said she was feeling fine. She was a bit sore but, overall was feeling alright and elated at having finally achieved this life long dream.
I then presented her with cards from her mother who had given them to me to present to her when she awoke. One was a get well after surgery card. The other was a birthday card for her daughter. Both of them were very touching and loving cards.
I called Maddie's mom and handed the phone to Maddie. She and Maddie had a chance to talk and assure her mom that she was fine and that the operation went well and that she was doing fine. Maddie thanked her for her for her cards.
My intention was to stay with her overnight if they would let me. The doctor has an overnight nurse stay with her in any case, but I just wanted to give her support if needed. I then found out that the doctor himself also stays with his patients overnight as well. I was pleasantly surprised by this. It made me feel very confident that she would have the best support possible.
The doctor assured Maddie and myself that she came through the surgery well and would make a good recovery. He was all smiles with her and kept telling her what a good patient she was.
I stayed with her for a couple of hours while she rested, then headed back to the condo. Maddie would be discharged to a local bed & breakfast that is close to the doctor's office for the first three days following surgery. The doctor would look in on her each day and change her dressings and make sure she is recovering properly. Then we would leave there to return to the condo. The originally intention was that we would spend the entire time at the condo because it was quite reasonable. I would have ensured that Maddie was returned to the doctors office for her checkups. However the doctor insisted that she spend at least the first three days at the local place.
The Baltic
The place we stayed is called the Baltic Hotel. It is a small hotel with few amenities. The hotel manager, Christina, however is a warm and gracious lady who sees many of the doctors patients. She is impressed by the people who come through there from the doctors procedures who fight and preserve to attain their life's strongest desire.
Jasmine and her friend was also at the Baltic and we had occasion to visit with them. Jasmine came through her procedure with flying colors and was bouncing back well. Her friend, Elizabeth had a second stage labiaplasty as well. They were upbeat and happy.
Jasmine had a male friend who was unaware of her past, though he was wanting to be more than a friend to her. Their relationship had been developing and Jasmine was quite infatuated with him. But she could not bring herself to tell him about her past. The day following her surgery, however, Jasmine could not hide any longer and sent her friend an email disclosing everything. She did not want to lose his friendship, but could no longer hide her past from him.
Jasmine is a gorgeous young woman and has a wonderful outlook on life. She deserves to have a happy relationship.
Very soon after sending her email, her friend called and said that he did not want to be her friend any longer... HE WANTS TO BE HER BOYFRIEND! Jasmine was overjoyed by this. We are so happy for her and we hope that she has a loving and fulfilling relationship. So often we come to the precipice, stare into the abyss and live, but then we have to face a life alone, with no soul mate or life partner to share the rewards of a life born anew. So when one of us actually finds happiness, it is uplifting.
The days spent at the Baltic went otherwise uneventfully. Several times a day, I would walk Maddie up and down the hallway and occasionally outside. Our stay in Miami was anticipated to be warm and sunny. Unfortunately, it was nothing of the sort. While much warmer than Chicago, it was hardly warm, sunny, or dry. Apparently our cold weather accompanied us to the southern climes. My anticipation of getting a tan, or at least some color did not really pan out. Ah well, I really did not think of this as a vacation for me as being a caregiver is time consuming. However I was hoping to be able to keep the widows open without having to put a sweater on!!!
As I mentioned, the Baltic is a small hotel, and the rooms are not very big.
“How small was it?”
“It was so small that the mice were hunchbacked!”
“It was so small that you had to go outside to change your mind!”
But considering that the reason a person is there is to recover from their procedure, then there is no real need for much more. But if you do come to the Baltic, bring your own movies or entertainment, the TV options are only the regular broadcast channels, but there is a DVD player. There is an internet connection available so you can keep in touch with the outside world.
For those who are looking for a higher class, and higher priced, accommodation, there is Daddio's. Also near the doctor's office. Apparently, the doctor has arrangements wiith both establishments for reduced rates for his patients.
One additional thing I can tell you about being in Miami, is that if you drive, bring your own parking space! There is little public parking. There is parking on the street and in most places the parking uses the new style of parking vending machines. But finding a parking space can be a real problem as the street parking gets picked up quickly. So finding a parking place can be a bit of a challenge.
Back at The Barbizon
Bringing Maddie back to the condo from the Baltic was a group effort and a portent of the return trip. I recall my surgery and I was extremely weak and the trip home was exhausting. Also sitting for hours on the plane will be very uncomfortable, donut or no donut.
We got Maddie bedded down in the condo and made sure she was comfortable. She had been discharged with a catheter and vaginal packing in place. The plan was to remove the packing just prior to our departure, but she would be traveling with the catheter back home.
Oh joy...
***End of Part One***
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Transgender Day of Remembrance 2010
Transgender Day of Remembrance 2010
I cannot fathom the depth of depravity that causes one human being to kill another in such a brutal way. Of particular note is a 16 MONTH OLD INFANT!
I am sitting at my keyboard and I have finished crying for now. I will attend the memorial service here in Chicago, and I encourage everyone to participate in remembrance events in your area as well.
I have compiled this list from the Transgender Remembrance website:
http://www.transgenderdor.org/?page_id=4
I have just posted the cause of death and not the names, because in some cases no identification could be made.
And this is not a complete list, of course. In many cases, violent death is not reported as a transgender related death.
Nor does it include the incredibly longer list of those who have been assaulted, but lived.
Nor does it show any female to male assaults and murders, such as being "raped straight".
Nor does it show the casual acceptance of discrimination and hate toward the trans community.
Cause of Death: Burned to death
Cause of Death:Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Blunt force trauma to the head.
Cause of Death: Shot in the chest and the forehead
Cause of Death: Wong had stab wounds in the right side of the stomach and left side of the chest plus bruises in the right hand.
Cause of Death: Many wounds and defensive bruises.
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed 17 times
Cause of Death:Stabbed and left in roadside dump
Cause of Death: Strangled
Cause of Death: dismembered and mutilated
Cause of Death: Beheaded
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Shot in the back of the head
Cause of Death: Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Raped and shot 3 times
Cause of Death: Strangled with an electrical cord
Cause of Death:Shot in the chest
Cause of Death: Punched repeatedly and grabbed by the neck
Date of Death: August 1, 2010
Roy was 16 Months old.
Note: 20 year old Pedro Jones told police he had struck the infant several times with a closed fist. Jones said he was “trying to make him act like a boy instead of a little girl.”
Cause of Death: shot
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death shot
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death Drowned in her apartment
Cause of Death unreported by police
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned
We cannot forget. We can never forget. And if a time comes that this list has no entries, we will still remember.
I am sitting at my keyboard and I have finished crying for now. I will attend the memorial service here in Chicago, and I encourage everyone to participate in remembrance events in your area as well.
I have compiled this list from the Transgender Remembrance website:
http://www.transgenderdor.org/?page_id=4
I have just posted the cause of death and not the names, because in some cases no identification could be made.
And this is not a complete list, of course. In many cases, violent death is not reported as a transgender related death.
Nor does it include the incredibly longer list of those who have been assaulted, but lived.
Nor does it show any female to male assaults and murders, such as being "raped straight".
Nor does it show the casual acceptance of discrimination and hate toward the trans community.
Cause of Death: Burned to death
Cause of Death:Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Blunt force trauma to the head.
Cause of Death: Shot in the chest and the forehead
Cause of Death: Wong had stab wounds in the right side of the stomach and left side of the chest plus bruises in the right hand.
Cause of Death: Many wounds and defensive bruises.
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed 17 times
Cause of Death:Stabbed and left in roadside dump
Cause of Death: Strangled
Cause of Death: dismembered and mutilated
Cause of Death: Beheaded
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Shot in the back of the head
Cause of Death: Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Raped and shot 3 times
Cause of Death: Strangled with an electrical cord
Cause of Death:Shot in the chest
Cause of Death: Punched repeatedly and grabbed by the neck
Date of Death: August 1, 2010
Roy was 16 Months old.
Note: 20 year old Pedro Jones told police he had struck the infant several times with a closed fist. Jones said he was “trying to make him act like a boy instead of a little girl.”
Cause of Death: shot
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death shot
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death Drowned in her apartment
Cause of Death unreported by police
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned
We cannot forget. We can never forget. And if a time comes that this list has no entries, we will still remember.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Christa
Christa
I have a daughter. Her name is Christa. We met a couple of years ago as I was finishing up my electrolysis appointments. I have not spoken of her to you before because I did not have her specific permission to write about her, though I have referred to her on occasion, and, to my mind, there was not anything out of the ordinary to talk about. In many ways she is simply your twenty something young woman. Struggling to make her way in the world like most of the rest of us.
She has allowed me to speak about this in hopes that her experience could be of some use to others. It is her way of paying it forward.
Christa was presented to me as an electrology student where I was getting my face cleared. It was the policy of the electrologist to offer students to her regular clients in exchange for a break in the hourly price. Just as an aside, Christa is the best electrologist I have ever met, and I'm not saying that as motherly pride. She really is that good.
And from our first moments together, we were simpatico. Our appointments were gab fests, girl talk, laughing until we cried, and motherly advice all rolled into one. And all the while she would be pulling hairs out of my face without missing a beat. I told you she was good!
A couple of months into our sessions, through happenstance and accident she was in an immediate, desperate need of housing. Since we got along so well, I offered to put her up in my house until such time as she could find a place of her own. She slept on the couch, much to the annoyance of the cats who usually slept there. They came to accepted her as simply part of the furniture and slept on top of her, much to the annoyance of her sinuses.
She got along wonderfully with everyone in the family, and she and my oldest granddaughter became best buds.
After looking for apartments for a couple of weeks, she confessed to me that moving out and being alone frightened her, but she would do it if she had to.
With a smile, I confessed that our house would be much less joyfully chaotic if she moved out, but I would bear it if I had to as well.
We smiled, hugged and started making plans for her full moving in. We reorganized my office/spare bedroom and moved her bed and most crucial items in there. She put the rest of her stuff in storage.
She had immigrated from a far off land called Cincinnati, Ohio, USA. Home of Skyline chili, and world famous as the location for a sit-com “WKRP in Cincinnati”. ( Best line from the show: “As God as my witness, I swear I though turkeys could fly...”)
She is a transwoman and while completely transitioned, was pre-surgical when we met. And also while a very smart person, was not completely aware of all the issues in her new life.
Early on in my transition, I longed to be a mentor, to pay forward the debt that I owe for my smooth transition from male to female. To make the transition for someone else easier. To help illuminate the path that they must walk.
I got everything I wished for, and more. I became more than a mentor, I became a Mom.
I am Christa's Mom-away-from-Mom. We share everything, except clothes. She is a size 0, where as I am like She-Hulk. I hate her... but in a good way.
And she has a wonderful natal mother back in her far off land. Christa's mom and I exchange letters regularly and have met on a few occasions. Her mom is a warm and witty person who definitely sees the glass as half-full. She feels that her newly minted daughter is in a safe and loving place and loves Christa without reservation. In our letters I try to keep her up to date on how her daughter is doing and explain the things in Christa's life that drove her to this point and how it affects her, and how her mom can come to terms with the changes that are occurring. Her mom in turn, gives me information and stories from Christa's childhood and insight into their family dynamic. In other words, much to her chagrin, Christa cannot pull the wool over either of her mom's eyes.
Christa and I talk about everything. Clothes, life, surgery, and boys. A lot about boys. She is one of the straightest women I have ever met.
And while with me I have watched her grow into her new life and in many ways mature from a teenage girl into a young, and beautiful, woman. It's something that we all must go through in our transition and she has graduated with honors.
I was her support person following her FFS/BA. I tended her while she recovered from her physically traumatic experience.
Her mom, who is a registered nurse, felt that Christa could not have been taken care of any better even if she were in the hospital with her mom by Christa's side.
Christa and my family have spent a great deal of time together. She is charming, warm and friendly, and completely trustworthy. I love her as dearly as I do my other daughters.
Last night, though, I had to do something that I thought I would never have to do. Something I thought that I, as a newly minted female myself, would never be able to do. We had a mother-daughter chat.
Unfortunately, not the one were mom talks about her pre-pubescent girls maturing body and prepares her for some of the changes that are about to occur and the things she needs to start carrying in her purse. Obviously, no need.
Nor was it about how to dress nice without looking trashy. We've already had that one.
It was about boys. More specifically, about men and how women have to develop a sixth sense about them, and situations, and always keeping a route of escape.
Christa is a natural beauty. Small framed and light skinned, with an infectious smile and a lilting manner of speech that is disarming. And her FFS/BA has accentuated her positive features and has given her a confidence that she previously lacked. Think of Deborah Ann Woll, the actress who plays the character Jessica on “True Blood”. The characters' speech, mannerisms and overall body image is very similar to Christa's. Without the fangs, of course.
But her strengths have also proven to be her weakness. In her transition period, she has rarely been read. And while she has had some very nasty encounters and physical violence done to her, she has not had to developed the thick skin that some of us less statuesque women have had to grow.
The other evening, I came downstairs and found her lying on the rec room couch staring at the tube, not really watching it.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing” she says. I pull up a hassock and sit next to her.
“You say that just like a girl.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” Her tone of voice says that she really does want to talk about it, but it hurts too much.
I know my daughters well enough to know when I should pry a little bit and when I should just drop it.
“I'm going outside for a cigarette, do you want one?”
“No.” Oh dear, this was serious!
“Well, how about you come outside anyway and you can sit with me.”
“Alright...” Her voice trails off in a tone that tells me she would rather come outside with me than be badgered anymore.
We go outside and sit on the stoop. Night has fallen, I light two cigarettes and hand her one.
“So what's going on?”
She had gone out earlier to one of the bars that Pat and I frequent. Pat brought me there to help introduce me back into the “straight” life, but this time as a woman.
It is a red necked kind of bar, a little sleazy, a little rough, but Pat has been going there for years and everyone know her and she is friends with just about everyone. It's a little bit of a biker bar and it is not unusual to see two or three hawgs parked out front. And the bikers may be boisterous but usually well behaved.
I was terrified the first time I went. I never hung out with that kind of clientele in my previous life because I was always fearful of getting into some kind of alpha male confrontation.
Pat introduced me to all her friends there and I soon lost my hesitations going there. By now most of the regulars there know about me but accept me because Pat and I are partners. It is sometimes a hoot to watch some newcomer as Pat and I kiss at the bar. They really get a charge out of the “lezzy” action. Some of the regulars have asked inappropriate questions, and some have hit on me. It is flattering in one respect, but I am a “4-drink girl”* to most of these guys, so I don't let it go to my head.
* 4-drink girl – A girl who only looks good after four or more strong drinks.
Pat and I started taking Christa to the bar soon after she moved in as part of her integration into society. Both Christa and I had visited gay bars during our transitions and the acceptance there, of course, is no problem, but going out into the straight world is something quite different.
Christa loves to go to this bar, or did, because they have a pool table and she is a natural to be chatted up for a game of pool and suds. She dresses down a bit (read skanky) because she likes to show off a little.
I sometimes feel that we have thrown her into the deep end of the pool by introducing her to such a rough crowd, but we keep an eye on her and everyone plays nice. One of the bartenders is friends with her and she will throw anyone out who trash talks Christa.
But usually we go as a group. I don't go there alone, because I have a family history of alcoholism and try to never drink alone. So it is usually the two or three of us that go.
Christa, in her previous life, really had no problem going into these types of bars because she was, and still is a biker. She has a Harley which she takes loving care of and is an excellent rider. She has been riding motorcycles since she was sixteen and has been a member of several clubs. She feels comfortable in the presence of bikers, feeling that there is a biker brotherhood that she belongs to. She has been to Sturgis and Daytona, as female, and kind of enjoys that rough and tumble crowd.
That night, she rode her bike up to that bar, alone.
Outside the bar, there were three other bikes parked there. She walked in wearing her skin tight leather chaps and a tight leather vest with her Harley logo emblazoned on the back.
She said that as she was drinking her beer, one of the bikers, a short thin man who Christa towered over in her high heeled leather boots, came up to her and started chatting her up.
(From her description, I recognized this fellow as someone who chatted Pat and I up the previous week and tried his best to stick his tongue down my throat. Later, as I smoked a cigarette outside, he came out and asked when I had done my transformation. I told him I had always been a woman and there was nothing to transform. I knew he had read me, but if this dork couldn't get his terms right, I wasn't about to educate him.)
He he was hitting on Christa pretty hard, probably like he came on to me. After a while he started getting texts from his two other buddies of “Dude Looks Like a Lady!” (I hate that song and think Aerosmith should be rename “Cheap Trick”).
The skinny one shows Christa the text and she tells him that she is appalled that he would think that.
Things start going downhill when the bikers start calling her names. Bad names. Her bartender friend isn't there that night and no one else in the bar comes to her defense. She started to worry for her safety and puts on her helmet and leaves the bar. The catcalls and insults get intense as she leaves.
As she is pulling out she noticed that one of the bikers has come out and tries to follow her. She couldn't tell which one it was, but she didn't really care to be caught by him.
That is when Christa and her baby became one. She has taken very good care of her bike and has personally added many performance options. She gunned the throttle and that clowns headlight faded into the distance. Her Sportster is no match for any but the most high performance bikes.
She rode around for a while using her skills as a rider and expert mechanic to put a lot of rode between her and that knuckle dragger.
She came home later after riding her adrenaline rush off.
“Honey, I'm so sorry that happened to you! I'm glad that you are safe.”
“I feel so betrayed”
“What? Why?”
“I'm not completely innocent, but I have always been comfortable with bikers, I always felt like I was one of them, that we had a bond. If a biker is stranded by the side of the rode, just about any biker will stop to help. It's that code that holds them together.”
I told her, “But you have to think about what you were doing. You were a single woman in a rough bar with a bunch of half drunk homophobic bikers and you got read. Are you surprised by how they reacted? Guys think with their gonads first and their brains second, you know that. And when that guy was hitting on you got told, he probably was feeling like his manhood had been tromped on and he felt he had to retaliate to regain his balls. It's a good thing you got out of there when you did, you could have been beaten up or killed!”
“Yeah, but they were fellow bikers! I thought I knew them. We have a code!”
“The “code” stops where the penis begins! Listen girl, every November there is a ceremony to honor the memory of the trans people who have been killed that year. It's too damn long as it is, and I don't want to be the one that reads your name on that list! Dammit girl! You have to be careful out there! It's goddamned dangerous! You have to watch yourself every moment! Have you ever heard of Angie Zapata?”
“You're a woman now and every woman has to watch every guy evey time. We are physically weaker so we have to watch out for ourselves. Watch every man in the room, pick out the ones who are looking from the ones who are imagining you as a conquest. Keep a special eye on the droolers. And always keep a path to the door. You have a target on your back now. You have to think like that, really. The vast majority of guys aren't neanderthals but enough are to put your life at risk.
“And as trans woman we are doubly at risk. It's bad enough to get mugged or raped, but then to have some homophobe read you, you have another risk.” I was so terrified for her after the fact that I was having a hard time not yelling or crying.
“It shouldn't be that way, Sandy. I just let my guard down.”
“No, life shouldn't be that way, but it is. And you can never really let your guard down. This is the life we signed up for when we transitioned. This is how our lives will be from now on. There will always be those who fear and hate us.”
I lean over to hug her, but she pulls away. “No, please, I'm still to frightened and angry. Not now.”
“Ok, honey, whenever you are ready, I always have hugs.” She goes in to finish looking at the movie she wasn't watching.
“Good night, hon. Please be careful, ok?”
“Ok, mom”
-Sandy
She has allowed me to speak about this in hopes that her experience could be of some use to others. It is her way of paying it forward.
Christa was presented to me as an electrology student where I was getting my face cleared. It was the policy of the electrologist to offer students to her regular clients in exchange for a break in the hourly price. Just as an aside, Christa is the best electrologist I have ever met, and I'm not saying that as motherly pride. She really is that good.
And from our first moments together, we were simpatico. Our appointments were gab fests, girl talk, laughing until we cried, and motherly advice all rolled into one. And all the while she would be pulling hairs out of my face without missing a beat. I told you she was good!
A couple of months into our sessions, through happenstance and accident she was in an immediate, desperate need of housing. Since we got along so well, I offered to put her up in my house until such time as she could find a place of her own. She slept on the couch, much to the annoyance of the cats who usually slept there. They came to accepted her as simply part of the furniture and slept on top of her, much to the annoyance of her sinuses.
She got along wonderfully with everyone in the family, and she and my oldest granddaughter became best buds.
After looking for apartments for a couple of weeks, she confessed to me that moving out and being alone frightened her, but she would do it if she had to.
With a smile, I confessed that our house would be much less joyfully chaotic if she moved out, but I would bear it if I had to as well.
We smiled, hugged and started making plans for her full moving in. We reorganized my office/spare bedroom and moved her bed and most crucial items in there. She put the rest of her stuff in storage.
She had immigrated from a far off land called Cincinnati, Ohio, USA. Home of Skyline chili, and world famous as the location for a sit-com “WKRP in Cincinnati”. ( Best line from the show: “As God as my witness, I swear I though turkeys could fly...”)
She is a transwoman and while completely transitioned, was pre-surgical when we met. And also while a very smart person, was not completely aware of all the issues in her new life.
Early on in my transition, I longed to be a mentor, to pay forward the debt that I owe for my smooth transition from male to female. To make the transition for someone else easier. To help illuminate the path that they must walk.
I got everything I wished for, and more. I became more than a mentor, I became a Mom.
I am Christa's Mom-away-from-Mom. We share everything, except clothes. She is a size 0, where as I am like She-Hulk. I hate her... but in a good way.
And she has a wonderful natal mother back in her far off land. Christa's mom and I exchange letters regularly and have met on a few occasions. Her mom is a warm and witty person who definitely sees the glass as half-full. She feels that her newly minted daughter is in a safe and loving place and loves Christa without reservation. In our letters I try to keep her up to date on how her daughter is doing and explain the things in Christa's life that drove her to this point and how it affects her, and how her mom can come to terms with the changes that are occurring. Her mom in turn, gives me information and stories from Christa's childhood and insight into their family dynamic. In other words, much to her chagrin, Christa cannot pull the wool over either of her mom's eyes.
Christa and I talk about everything. Clothes, life, surgery, and boys. A lot about boys. She is one of the straightest women I have ever met.
And while with me I have watched her grow into her new life and in many ways mature from a teenage girl into a young, and beautiful, woman. It's something that we all must go through in our transition and she has graduated with honors.
I was her support person following her FFS/BA. I tended her while she recovered from her physically traumatic experience.
Her mom, who is a registered nurse, felt that Christa could not have been taken care of any better even if she were in the hospital with her mom by Christa's side.
Christa and my family have spent a great deal of time together. She is charming, warm and friendly, and completely trustworthy. I love her as dearly as I do my other daughters.
Last night, though, I had to do something that I thought I would never have to do. Something I thought that I, as a newly minted female myself, would never be able to do. We had a mother-daughter chat.
Unfortunately, not the one were mom talks about her pre-pubescent girls maturing body and prepares her for some of the changes that are about to occur and the things she needs to start carrying in her purse. Obviously, no need.
Nor was it about how to dress nice without looking trashy. We've already had that one.
It was about boys. More specifically, about men and how women have to develop a sixth sense about them, and situations, and always keeping a route of escape.
Christa is a natural beauty. Small framed and light skinned, with an infectious smile and a lilting manner of speech that is disarming. And her FFS/BA has accentuated her positive features and has given her a confidence that she previously lacked. Think of Deborah Ann Woll, the actress who plays the character Jessica on “True Blood”. The characters' speech, mannerisms and overall body image is very similar to Christa's. Without the fangs, of course.
But her strengths have also proven to be her weakness. In her transition period, she has rarely been read. And while she has had some very nasty encounters and physical violence done to her, she has not had to developed the thick skin that some of us less statuesque women have had to grow.
The other evening, I came downstairs and found her lying on the rec room couch staring at the tube, not really watching it.
“What's wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing” she says. I pull up a hassock and sit next to her.
“You say that just like a girl.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” Her tone of voice says that she really does want to talk about it, but it hurts too much.
I know my daughters well enough to know when I should pry a little bit and when I should just drop it.
“I'm going outside for a cigarette, do you want one?”
“No.” Oh dear, this was serious!
“Well, how about you come outside anyway and you can sit with me.”
“Alright...” Her voice trails off in a tone that tells me she would rather come outside with me than be badgered anymore.
We go outside and sit on the stoop. Night has fallen, I light two cigarettes and hand her one.
“So what's going on?”
She had gone out earlier to one of the bars that Pat and I frequent. Pat brought me there to help introduce me back into the “straight” life, but this time as a woman.
It is a red necked kind of bar, a little sleazy, a little rough, but Pat has been going there for years and everyone know her and she is friends with just about everyone. It's a little bit of a biker bar and it is not unusual to see two or three hawgs parked out front. And the bikers may be boisterous but usually well behaved.
I was terrified the first time I went. I never hung out with that kind of clientele in my previous life because I was always fearful of getting into some kind of alpha male confrontation.
Pat introduced me to all her friends there and I soon lost my hesitations going there. By now most of the regulars there know about me but accept me because Pat and I are partners. It is sometimes a hoot to watch some newcomer as Pat and I kiss at the bar. They really get a charge out of the “lezzy” action. Some of the regulars have asked inappropriate questions, and some have hit on me. It is flattering in one respect, but I am a “4-drink girl”* to most of these guys, so I don't let it go to my head.
* 4-drink girl – A girl who only looks good after four or more strong drinks.
Pat and I started taking Christa to the bar soon after she moved in as part of her integration into society. Both Christa and I had visited gay bars during our transitions and the acceptance there, of course, is no problem, but going out into the straight world is something quite different.
Christa loves to go to this bar, or did, because they have a pool table and she is a natural to be chatted up for a game of pool and suds. She dresses down a bit (read skanky) because she likes to show off a little.
I sometimes feel that we have thrown her into the deep end of the pool by introducing her to such a rough crowd, but we keep an eye on her and everyone plays nice. One of the bartenders is friends with her and she will throw anyone out who trash talks Christa.
But usually we go as a group. I don't go there alone, because I have a family history of alcoholism and try to never drink alone. So it is usually the two or three of us that go.
Christa, in her previous life, really had no problem going into these types of bars because she was, and still is a biker. She has a Harley which she takes loving care of and is an excellent rider. She has been riding motorcycles since she was sixteen and has been a member of several clubs. She feels comfortable in the presence of bikers, feeling that there is a biker brotherhood that she belongs to. She has been to Sturgis and Daytona, as female, and kind of enjoys that rough and tumble crowd.
That night, she rode her bike up to that bar, alone.
Outside the bar, there were three other bikes parked there. She walked in wearing her skin tight leather chaps and a tight leather vest with her Harley logo emblazoned on the back.
She said that as she was drinking her beer, one of the bikers, a short thin man who Christa towered over in her high heeled leather boots, came up to her and started chatting her up.
(From her description, I recognized this fellow as someone who chatted Pat and I up the previous week and tried his best to stick his tongue down my throat. Later, as I smoked a cigarette outside, he came out and asked when I had done my transformation. I told him I had always been a woman and there was nothing to transform. I knew he had read me, but if this dork couldn't get his terms right, I wasn't about to educate him.)
He he was hitting on Christa pretty hard, probably like he came on to me. After a while he started getting texts from his two other buddies of “Dude Looks Like a Lady!” (I hate that song and think Aerosmith should be rename “Cheap Trick”).
The skinny one shows Christa the text and she tells him that she is appalled that he would think that.
Things start going downhill when the bikers start calling her names. Bad names. Her bartender friend isn't there that night and no one else in the bar comes to her defense. She started to worry for her safety and puts on her helmet and leaves the bar. The catcalls and insults get intense as she leaves.
As she is pulling out she noticed that one of the bikers has come out and tries to follow her. She couldn't tell which one it was, but she didn't really care to be caught by him.
That is when Christa and her baby became one. She has taken very good care of her bike and has personally added many performance options. She gunned the throttle and that clowns headlight faded into the distance. Her Sportster is no match for any but the most high performance bikes.
She rode around for a while using her skills as a rider and expert mechanic to put a lot of rode between her and that knuckle dragger.
She came home later after riding her adrenaline rush off.
“Honey, I'm so sorry that happened to you! I'm glad that you are safe.”
“I feel so betrayed”
“What? Why?”
“I'm not completely innocent, but I have always been comfortable with bikers, I always felt like I was one of them, that we had a bond. If a biker is stranded by the side of the rode, just about any biker will stop to help. It's that code that holds them together.”
I told her, “But you have to think about what you were doing. You were a single woman in a rough bar with a bunch of half drunk homophobic bikers and you got read. Are you surprised by how they reacted? Guys think with their gonads first and their brains second, you know that. And when that guy was hitting on you got told, he probably was feeling like his manhood had been tromped on and he felt he had to retaliate to regain his balls. It's a good thing you got out of there when you did, you could have been beaten up or killed!”
“Yeah, but they were fellow bikers! I thought I knew them. We have a code!”
“The “code” stops where the penis begins! Listen girl, every November there is a ceremony to honor the memory of the trans people who have been killed that year. It's too damn long as it is, and I don't want to be the one that reads your name on that list! Dammit girl! You have to be careful out there! It's goddamned dangerous! You have to watch yourself every moment! Have you ever heard of Angie Zapata?”
“You're a woman now and every woman has to watch every guy evey time. We are physically weaker so we have to watch out for ourselves. Watch every man in the room, pick out the ones who are looking from the ones who are imagining you as a conquest. Keep a special eye on the droolers. And always keep a path to the door. You have a target on your back now. You have to think like that, really. The vast majority of guys aren't neanderthals but enough are to put your life at risk.
“And as trans woman we are doubly at risk. It's bad enough to get mugged or raped, but then to have some homophobe read you, you have another risk.” I was so terrified for her after the fact that I was having a hard time not yelling or crying.
“It shouldn't be that way, Sandy. I just let my guard down.”
“No, life shouldn't be that way, but it is. And you can never really let your guard down. This is the life we signed up for when we transitioned. This is how our lives will be from now on. There will always be those who fear and hate us.”
I lean over to hug her, but she pulls away. “No, please, I'm still to frightened and angry. Not now.”
“Ok, honey, whenever you are ready, I always have hugs.” She goes in to finish looking at the movie she wasn't watching.
“Good night, hon. Please be careful, ok?”
“Ok, mom”
-Sandy
Thursday, August 19, 2010
My purse hates me.
My purse hates me.
I have a love/hate relationship with my purse.
My purse loves to fool with me and I hate the way it treats me.
I feel a purse should be a girls faithful companion, her familiar. It should hold all that she needs and hand it to her exactly when she needs it. To my mind, nothing depicts a woman as being a ditz as seeing her digging around in her purse looking for her car keys. It makes her seem like she is too scatterbrained to remember which part of the purse she left them. I mean how hard is that!? Some bag that is less than a half of a cubic foot in volume and you can't pick out this big ring of jangling metal?
Yet, so often that is me. My purse slammed on the hood of my car, with me pulling out everything trying to find my keys. And me getting all PMSy at some guy trying to be helpful as he puts his hand against the window of my car trying to see if I left my keys in the ignition (again). I swear that my purse (read daemon from hell) tries to embarrass me.
I like purses with a lot of compartments. I like to put my cell phone and train ticket in one place so I can always find it. I want my makeup to be in another compartment so I can do what I need to do and go on.
Keys, sunglasses, same thing. Put them in, and hand them to me when I want them. Is that so hard?
My purse is nothing special, rather nondescript I don't really go in for (and can't afford) a designer purse. The whole idea of taking the initials of the maker and turning them into a pattern on the purse just to show off how affluent you are seems so ostentatious. No, my purse is a simple brown tone affair with three zipper pockets and compartments inside. It seemed like the perfect companion when I got it.
The trouble started early on. I would put my car keys in the outer zipper pocket and when I would go to take them out they would be in the other pocket.
Or it would play hide and seek with me. I would be rummaging around in there looking for my sunglasses and they would be no where to be found. I would look in all the compartments and not find them. I knew full well that they were in there and then they would be no where to be found two hours later when I go looking for them. Fortunately I keep a spare pair in the glove compartment. Then when I get home I put the spare back in the glove compartment and I peek in the purse and there are my regular sunglasses sitting on top.
Grrrr!
And that whole thing of handing you exactly what you need just when you need it Uh-uh! One time when I wanted my lipstick, it handed me a head gasket for a 1952 Buick. Where the hell it got that I'll never know!
Another time it handed me a tesseract.
That thing is cursed! Or at least has a demented sense of humor. I swear I can almost hear it giggling to itself in the night as it concocts its devious plans for my next embarrassment.
I think it was made by Rod Serling.
I'd get rid of it, if I could. But I don't want to make it mad.
It might come back.
-Sandy
My purse loves to fool with me and I hate the way it treats me.
I feel a purse should be a girls faithful companion, her familiar. It should hold all that she needs and hand it to her exactly when she needs it. To my mind, nothing depicts a woman as being a ditz as seeing her digging around in her purse looking for her car keys. It makes her seem like she is too scatterbrained to remember which part of the purse she left them. I mean how hard is that!? Some bag that is less than a half of a cubic foot in volume and you can't pick out this big ring of jangling metal?
Yet, so often that is me. My purse slammed on the hood of my car, with me pulling out everything trying to find my keys. And me getting all PMSy at some guy trying to be helpful as he puts his hand against the window of my car trying to see if I left my keys in the ignition (again). I swear that my purse (read daemon from hell) tries to embarrass me.
I like purses with a lot of compartments. I like to put my cell phone and train ticket in one place so I can always find it. I want my makeup to be in another compartment so I can do what I need to do and go on.
Keys, sunglasses, same thing. Put them in, and hand them to me when I want them. Is that so hard?
My purse is nothing special, rather nondescript I don't really go in for (and can't afford) a designer purse. The whole idea of taking the initials of the maker and turning them into a pattern on the purse just to show off how affluent you are seems so ostentatious. No, my purse is a simple brown tone affair with three zipper pockets and compartments inside. It seemed like the perfect companion when I got it.
The trouble started early on. I would put my car keys in the outer zipper pocket and when I would go to take them out they would be in the other pocket.
Or it would play hide and seek with me. I would be rummaging around in there looking for my sunglasses and they would be no where to be found. I would look in all the compartments and not find them. I knew full well that they were in there and then they would be no where to be found two hours later when I go looking for them. Fortunately I keep a spare pair in the glove compartment. Then when I get home I put the spare back in the glove compartment and I peek in the purse and there are my regular sunglasses sitting on top.
Grrrr!
And that whole thing of handing you exactly what you need just when you need it Uh-uh! One time when I wanted my lipstick, it handed me a head gasket for a 1952 Buick. Where the hell it got that I'll never know!
Another time it handed me a tesseract.
That thing is cursed! Or at least has a demented sense of humor. I swear I can almost hear it giggling to itself in the night as it concocts its devious plans for my next embarrassment.
I think it was made by Rod Serling.
I'd get rid of it, if I could. But I don't want to make it mad.
It might come back.
-Sandy
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