come back!!!

Wow. What happened? I swear it wasn't that long ago that people would read and comment on my journal. Where didst thou go? Did I say a bad thing? Am I emitting an unpleasant smell? Am I not trannie enough? What can I do to restore my mediocre internet celebrity?

... anyway. Check this out. There is a website that can twenty three skadoo you a faux yearbook pic throughout the ages. It's kind of hilarious. Here's a picture of one I did that represents the style of those graduating high school in 2000 (I graduated in '98, but this one was the best for actually looking, you know, real):


Alright, maybe not really real. But not bad. Just think: that could have been me if I was born right and two years later. You'd totally do her, right? I mean you'd have to be super crazy beer goggle time, sure, but... doable? Maybe? Eh? A little? Un poquito bangability-o?

You should totally click on the picture which will magically wisk you away to the website in question. Make your own picture, post it, and feel as assinine as I do right now. It's.... fun?

whoopsy daisy

Here's a lesson I learned: sometimes when you put a lot of things on your face in an attempt to reverse the rapid aging process you, uh... well? Sometimes your face gets burned. BADLY. So much so that you won't leave the house because your face is red, peeling like crazy, and has all new wrinkles and scars you were kind of trying to avoid. Yeah... why did I do that? Not good. I was going to make a video that celebrated my suckering over 100 people in to subscribing to my videos but that's going to have to wait until I look less like your grandma spent way too much time in the tanning beds.

Meanwhile, since I could not sit around being vain, I got my politics on. I'd be very interested to see how you all are feeling post DNC. I have a lot to say but I don't want to write out a huge post only to discover I've put you all to sleep. For now I'll keep it simple:

Obama = good

McCain = bad

Clintonites = get over it

Biden = you're alright crusty, old, white dude

Palin = you are not Hillary Clinton, bitch

Actually, I'm patting myself on the back right now and saying "Kick ass summary, Lily. You sure are awesome." Yes, me. Yes, I am.

all the ladies in the house say wtfbbq!?

Oh, stupid marketing how, you know.... stupid you are. I mean I get how it's hard for society to give up on the whole blue is for boys and pink is for girls thing but there are days when the line just gets crossed in a way that is simultaneously extremely offensive and incredibly hilarious. You just never know what product might suddenly and inexplicably be geared toward the women folk. Oh, look, I brought a picture for show and tell:


Just take a minute to soak that image in. Do you see what I see? I mean am I delirious and loopy crazy hoo hoo insane-o? I can't be seeing what I'm seeing, can I? Are they for serious trying to sell me their sleeping pills by titling their product "Sleep Pretty in Pink" and making the box shaped like a pink purse with flowers on it?

Does this work for any of you? Can you think of a single woman on the face of the Earth who would look at the pretty sleeping pills and think "sold"? I don't know who the brain trust is who cooked up this scheme but, if they could see me now, they would most assuredly bear witness to my slowly and sarcastically clapping and saying something like "Oh, bravo, sir. Bra....vo."

thanks, man

Oh, poo. I was feeling alright today, United Water guy, until you came into my life and ruined the day. I mean, I get it, I'm no sweetly perfumed girlie girl but was it really necessary for your salutation to be "Thanks, man"? Was it? Me and my skinny jeans and my clearly visible breasts. Me and my long, curly hair and my cute glasses and my pouty lips. Man? Man!?

I'm so jealous of every other trans girl who visits this site. You all have your nice stories where, even when you aren't trying, people look at you and see a girl. Not me, though. Not once. It's always "Hey, dude" or "Yes, sir". What's it gonna take, huh? A gazillion dollars in plastic surgery? I don't have the money for that, you glorified plumber so, unless you're secretly a billionaire and looking to make a sizable donation to this pathetic looking tranny couldn't you have just lived in my little delusion for the two seconds it would have taken to call me miss or even ma'am? I would have taken ma'am. Ma'am would have been nice.

Totally unrelated: Am I the only one here who has seen Enchanted? Oh, my goodness.... so good! So, so good. And I'm not just saying that because the lead, Amy Addams, happened to appear in a single episode of Buffy, honest. I guess if you're all anti Disney princess you might not like it but, oh, I loved it! It's on tv like constantly so DVR it right away (or, if you don't have a tv, download it for I will accept no excuses). It's on again later tonight and I am totally watching it again. Hopefully the musical goodness of it all will wash the taste of being called a man out of my mouth.

Seriously, the tiniest things send me into harrowing depression these days. I mean I've heard of being a moody bitch but this is just ridiculous!

The Tranny Racoon

Query: What other side effects can spiro have? I had to stop taking it a few months back because I was experiencing the dizziness coupled with numbness and tingling in my extremities. I went back on it recently and discovered that my ability to sleep went from abysmal to nonexistent. I stopped taking it again but I'm not sure if it's helping. Anyone ever heard of spiro making people stressed/depressed/unable to sleep?

Query the second: Anybody know a good cure for horrific insomnia? I can't sleep for more than an hour at a time and that is having some seriously bad consequences. On the vanity tip, I have aged about ten years in the last few weeks (my eyes are surrounded in wrinkles, bags, and the black circles look like black holes on my face). I really need to be able to sleep again. Really.

Overall update:

More familial nonsense is afoot. I had an emotional breakdown because of the not sleeping thing a few days ago. I told my mother that I was becoming concerned for my physical and mental well being and that, when I lay awake at five in the morning, it has not become uncommon for me to consider suicide (a word I loathe using because it screams 'high school drama' like none other). She turned it into an opportunity to remind me how great my life would have been if I wasn't "taking all those fucking pills", "ruining my life", and, just to finish off she exclaimed "you piss me off so much" before storming off and slamming the door in my face.

Can I ask all of you a question? When someone says that they think about killing themselves... is the correct response to yell at them and tell them that their problems are all their own fault? I feel like I must have missed a memo here. I mean I get that there's conflict which leads to frustration and strained relations but, I mean, what ever happened to being a shoulder to cry on? I seem to recall having supportive family and friends and now all I hear is this chant of "be a grown up, you made this bed now lie in it, we have no sympathy for you, you ruined the family/you aren't fun to hang out with anymore" and it's just deafening and there's no escape from it. I lay awake all night and stress about how my life is going nowhere and, when I do get a few minutes of sleep, I have nightmares about being alone and everyone hating me.

I'm slipping backwards. My get a job and move out plan has been scrapped in favor of trying to figure out how to sleep for more than an hour at a stretch. Sleeping shouldn't be this hard. Without sleep I can't do anything. I can't think straight, I can't move, I feel sick all the time, and I'm so miserable I just cry all day. What am I supposed to do? Where's the solution?

Bleak, bleak, bleak. I haven't bothered trying to look like a girl in weeks (I practically had a full on beard before I finally shaved). I stare at my breasts with the knowledge that they don't hurt anymore and that probably means they are done growing. A pair of double A's... swell. I look gaunt, hard, MANLY, and revolting. Years of hormones and my arm muscles are so huge I feel like I should be wearing a shirt that says "Gold's Gym" on the front.

Remember when I was happy at the beginning of this blog? Honestly, I think my inability to sleep is the reason everything else feels so awful. If anyone has any tricks they know of then please, please, PLEASE don't hesitate to share them. I'm beginning to think my sanity may be at stake.

sleep, no you're never gonna get it

I had a plan to write something very serious about stealth and why it's bad for the environment... or bad for fluffy bunnies... definitely bad for something BUT then I took powdery stuff my doctor gave me, put it in this drinky drink, and then dranky drank it. The powdery stuff is tryptophan and a whole mess of it too. You know what tryptophan is, right? It's the stuff that's in the thanksgiving turkey that makes you come over all sleepy satisfied. You see it raises your serotonin levels and mine have, well, I think I've been lacking some serotoniny goodness. That's the stuff that makes with the happy. It's why people take anti-depressants. I should probably take anti-depressants... but that's neither here nor there. The point is I am giggly. I'm not sleepy. Sleepy would be best but am I the sort of someone to turn away giggly? No siree bob. Not I, said the bear. I likes it! I gives it a hug. I smoosh you, sir giggles.

Hey! You! Yes, you. You should watch the Middleman cuz it's silly and I like it. Go torrent it right now. Well, not right now. I'm still talking. How rude... Do you think I should take anti-depressants? I dunno, hoss. I'm scared of them. My doctor said I looked "stressed" today which is doctor speak for "HO! You look like SHIT!". Then I was all "I did glance in a mirror on my way out the door, home slice. You don't have tell me I got kapowed! repeatedly by the ugly stick today." Then I went home. It's an eventful life, mine.

I have tinnitus. Did I mention that? It's the other reason I can't sleep. There's this loud ringing in both my ears and it's never ever going away. It's not the coolest surprise early birthday present I ever got and no one gave me the receipt so now I'm stuck with it because it's not really the sort of thing you regift, ya know?

I shouldn't post this but I'm going to anyway. Think of this as a glimpse into my subconscious and, turns out, my subconscious can on occasion be a bouncy castle of fun. Who knew? Whee!

ridiculous

So, hey...

I realize I've been extremely doom and gloom up in here which has probably led to either lots of worry or much with the rolling of eyes. Today was shaping up to be another all new low, full of moaning and crying and some third not good -ing thing. Let me tell you the stupid thing that happened that brought me out of it.

You all know I'm Buffy obsessed, right? I've made that pretty clear, haven't I, what with the fests and all? It shouldn't surprise you that I planned to comfort myself with watching of the show and eating of the cream that is iced then. Sure, you might scratch your head when I say I chose Season 4 of all things to indulge my craving but, hey, I haven't watched much of it other than the Faith two parter (love it!) in a really long time. Anyway, I hunkered down, pint in hand, and started right at the beginning with the crappy season opener and the roommate who listens to Cher's "Do you believe?" over and over again. Yeah... not the best of Buffy times but, you know, it's still Buffy getting her slay on and being my hero so it's all good in the Whedon hood.

Then I start getting really down. I'm in one of those "Why can't I be Buffy?" moods. It doesn't take a whole lot of extended thought to realize that what I really want is to be 5'1", 95 pounds, blonde, and be boinking the undead (the broody one, if you were wondering where my ship sailed*). So anyway, I start getting mopier than Willow right after Oz slept with Veruca, the skanky werewolf of doom and bad 90's music (kind of the same thing, no?) but there's something amiss. I'm watching Buffy be romanced and I'm wanting so badly to be her and then I realize that this is season 4... and that means I am wanting to be seduced by Riley. FUCKING. Finn. Oh, hells no!

That right there? Snapped me right out of my funk. I was pining for Mr. Potato Head (long story) and that was just, well, crazy. I could justify any of the other major Buffy beaus but him? No. No way. Nah-ah. Nix. Nein. Noooooooooooooo.....oooooooo. No.

And, just like that, the pendulum swung back towards happy and all it took was some serious Marc Blucas mockery. So when you think of me tonight, think of me as I am when there's Buffy afoot: full of glee and just a little glib when the corn fed Iowa boy is involved. Observe:


I'm the one on the right, just in case you got confused and thought I suddenly grew a pair of massive boobs. Alas, no boobs for me. And, you know what? Have another just so it seems like I occasionally have friends to hang out with.


See that? Not one, but two other people! it's almost as though *gasp* I have a social life. Almost... le sigh.




* if you are into the Spuffy... we're gonna have to have words.

the answer

I've been lost in thought for weeks, trying to sort out every little detail of my life and worrying about the lives of those around me. I lost a bunch of weight, moped around, and I found myself only flirting with the truth and never quite feeling the full warmth of its embrace. Who am I, after all, to know the face of truth when even the fibrous strands that hold my atoms together feel uncertain, as though they may, at any second, rip apart and scatter? My truth is that I am lost with no way of knowing which way is out. I shift my feet in the darkness hoping not to crash into something, fall into a ravine, or accidentally stalk into the cave of a beast, hungry for my tears and flesh.

My world used to be so bright, so full of people, anxious and energetic, wanting to share the spoils of whatever the world had to offer. I was part of so many beautiful somethings and someones. I felt full. There was just one tiny problem: my flesh did not conform to what my mind's eye knew it should. How can one reshape, transform, regenerate without losing all the beautiful somethings and someones? There's no choice in the end, not for the one whose shape shifts, only for the world around them. We change and the world also changes but not, I fear, always with us; and so it was with me that my world faded away so quickly that not even a single breath with which to plead it's company could pass my lips. All that light, all that beauty gone and I was left paralyzed and dumb mouthing only the word "why" between choked sobs.

Now everything is as shadows, no way to discern safety from danger. Even the kindest soul could be a monster in disguise yet I have been led to believe that it is I who is monstrous. I feel their stares like daggers, their laughter like hot fire, and their pity like ice in my veins. With nowhere left to hide I have only to wait until the throngs of angry people, of whom I once was numbered, finally grow weary of looking at my shameful form and tear me apart, piece by piece just slowly enough so that the agony will carry with me into oblivion.

Or should I save them the trouble? Is there no other safety but in death? Or will the light return as a soldier from a far off war in need of my bosom and my tender kisses? Do I dare to dream that there is something beyond this seemingly endless agony, this emptiness? How far can hope carry my heavy burden before even it leaves me?

muse-ik

So... the videos are gettin' a little sparse up in here, huh? Well, that's what zero self worth and an unhealthy self image will do, I suppose. But, hey. Can't very well leave you hangin', now can I? So, other than anger, what's happening?

The answer is, as usual, not much. The one piece of good news is that I was approved for extended unemployment which will help me to not die while I continue looking for work. The other thing is that I'm trying to be ever so slightly more creative again. I can't remember if I ever mentioned it in the past but I did used to play the guitar and write songs once upon a time ago. Last night I dug out the trusty acoustic in hopes that the muse might strike. So far I've got an opening chord progression and about two lines of lyrics. Not much, I know, but it's more than I've done in many, many years.

In an effort to push myself forward I'm going to share an old song that I wrote after quietly watching Lake Michigan with a few friends at night on a late autumn evening. I don't know why, but I absolutely love that body of water. I live nowhere near it but I'd travel the 700 miles just to sit at it's shores for an hour or two. The song is about the lake, death, and renewal. It also sucks, I can't sing, and I'm fairly certain a cheap casio was involved. Consider this a special blog only gem. I don't really want to subject myself to the abject mockery that posting this on you tube would bring. So, here you go.




be gentle...

wag of the finger, tip of the hat

A recent curiosity turned into outrage over the absolutely vile behavior of some women on a particular forum that shall go nameless. It was bad enough that a fellow transwoman was being accused of being an impostor but, upon further examination, it seems that much of this entire site is dedicated to bashing on one's own kind. I had thought that the absolute humiliation we all experience would breed, you know, humility. Apparently though, some of our sisters in stealth seem to think that their shit doesn't stink.

Since when does anyone inside or outside of this community have the right to dictate how a transsexual woman should behave, what she should look like, think like, or be in any sense of the word? Since when did the word "success" become inexorably linked with something so arbitrary as passing? Some of us can't pass! Does that preclude us from the ability to be successful? I'm real sorry that I didn't come to terms with my identity until I was nearly thirty. I'm sorry I don't have a favorable bone structure or body type for transition. Even if I had thirty grand lying around I don't even know if I would opt for blowing all that money on FFS because, crazy me, I think there might be more to life than having a pretty face. I don't have a light sing songy voice and when I wear heels I have a tendency to fall flat on my ass. So what?

What really gets me though is that it's not simply the denial that one can be successful without being some charm school ninny, it's that the very right to be considered transsexual gets called into question. I saw someone referred to as a "glorified, full time crossdresser". Why? It was because her face was "manly". "Why didn't she get FFS?" so many wondered? Maybe it's because she feels confident when she looks in the mirror. Just because you think someone is all dude all the time doesn't mean they aren't perfectly happy with themselves.

This is why, even if I had a penny to my name, I'd be hard pressed to have much in the way of surgery. I'd like to not have a giant, pointy adam's apple and I'd like a shiny new vagingo. That's it. No muss, no fuss. Sure, anyone taking even a cursory glance at me would recommend breast augmentation, FFS, and who knows what else. The thing is, those surgeries wouldn't make me feel any better. My pain comes from the inside, from being abandoned by friends and family, from the years of denial and shame. Surgery won't make that go away. I hate looking in the mirror and seeing a man stare back at me. It frustrates me that I get dirty looks, stares, and stifled laughter as I walk down the street or take the subway. What really hurts though is the damage already done. Even if I were gorgeous I would still be miserable because I hate myself. I blame myself for the unhappiness of others. I see myself as a failure not because I don't pass but because I'm too weak to try and make anything from myself by even taking one step out the front door.

If, one shiny day, I live in my own place, have full time work, am a full time girl, and lead a happy existence; only then will I consider additional surgeries. If I do it then I won't be doing it so I can feel normal or successful but simply because it's what I want and not what others expect of me. It's a scary world out there full of hardships and complications, the last thing we as a community should be doing is insulting each other and making up arbitrary rules for how to be a real transsexual. There are no rules. You are who you are and no one can take that away from you but yourself.

On a personal note: thanks to all of you in the blogosphere and on You Tube for being so kind. I'm so sorry if you wrote me and I haven't responded. I'm terribly depressed and unsure of how to take the next important steps in my life. I'm still here though for each and every one of you. You'll never receive anything but love and compassion here, no judgments.