Why, hello there!
I'd love to give you an update on my life but, regrettably, there's not much of one to give. I am really hoping that at the beginning of next week I'll have something hopeful and happy to report. In the interim, however, I was wondering if you wonderful blog buddies might do me a solid? It's not a major solid, As solids go it's actually pretty... uh... loose? Yeah, no idea where I was going with that one.
Anyway! Every so often so as to make me feel like I have some creative juices running through my very visible veins (seriously, if I were a super hero I'd be See Thru Girl It's kind of gross) I participate in this competition. Under normal circumstances, you are given a week to write a fifteen page screenplay using a preselected genre and subject. On this occasion, however, you have 48 hours to pen a five page script where there's preselected genre, location, and random object that must be involved (I know what you're thinking and get your minds out of the gutter, you filthy beasts).
So.. yeah! I participated and I am looking for some feedback. I'm not going to provide any qualifiers about whether or not I like my own work. I'm looking for some straight up now tell me is it gonna be you and me forever, oh oh oh, Paula Abdul, kind of honesty. Think you can handle it? Sure you can, because you're awesome. Um, please? I will be super grateful to anyone who even thinks about reading it. Approval: I crave it.
Here's the deets:
Genre: Romance
Location: Psychiatrist's Office
Object: A Vending Machine
My scripty poo: Crisps
And now I must go and torment myself with political nonsense. Yee gads I can't wait for this election to be over. I'm outie 5000.
edit: it seems that mediafire is not a great server. If you want to read the script between now and when I find an alternate server, drop me an email or comment and I will email it to you. Sound fair?
double edit: it's working now. Go for it, internet homies!
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
bound
Oh jeez.
So, hey. Remember when I was talking about how badly I need a job like a zillion times on this blog? Right. Of course you do. Well there's two new wrinkles in that situation and I don't know what to do. In other words, I need insight. Let me give you a little back story.
I haven't worked in nearly a year. The last job I had I, uh, was not the nicest person in the world. I'm totally anti authority in a way you thought only a teenager could be. Also: you know how there's a process to transitioning at work? Yeah... I didn't bother with that. I just sort of started telling people a few at a time and then I just started presenting however the hell I wanted from day to day. Yup. I'm crazy. AND stupid. Just as a fun aside: my father also worked in the same office as me and had no idea what I was doing. My father is delusional and, to be fair, I am a bit duplicitous and sneaky.
Anyway. You already know what my year has consisted of. Between the lousy job market, the multitude of permanent physical conditions I've gained, and sheer laziness I haven't gotten any work. Finally, now that I've been feeling healthier, I stepped up my job search. It took one day to realize the new bump in the road: absolutely no one from my former company will give me a recommendation. I have zero professional recommendations I can get. NONE. ZILCH. It's a big problem. I was completely devil may care about the trans thing, basically said "Go fuck yourself if you don't like it" and now I'm paying the consequences. I haven't worked for too many other people in my life. I was a personal assistant but my boss lives in Florida now and I haven't talked to her in ages. Prior to that I worked for a bit of a scam telemarketing company and before that did a whole mess of retail. It's not exactly a shiny resume, is it?
It's not what you know, it's who you know. Except, I don't know anyone and everyone who knows me thinks I am a) an asshole and b) a crazy person. I can't say I blame them. It's not like those are not the first two descriptive adjectives that spring to mind when I think of myself. I do have friends though but, ah, then comes the next wrinkle.
A good friend of mine said she could get me some work as an assistant where she is working which would mean, gasp, a job in the fashion industry. I know, right? How cool. I would love to get into that but there's a problem. You see my friend has connections to the man who deals with the hiring. She has a big mouth (like me) and has talked about me on many occasions. When she asked about my getting this particular job he immediately got defensive. I don't want you to be surprised but he didn't want to stick his neck out for the tranny. I know. SO hard to believe.
I could get this job. It's not a lock but I have a shot. The problem is that I can't transition at this job. EVER. It would mean screwing over the guy who would be sticking his neck out for me based solely on my friend's recommendation and it would also cause problems for said friend.
I'm of two minds on the matter. The first mind says that the job market is a horror and that sacrifices have to be made. My other mind is screaming expletives because, frankly, this is bullshit. I mean it's the fashion industry. How did I stumble upon a conservative, Jewish fashion company? HOW!?!? There is no gayer institution than fashion. Bah.
I'm sending my resume along. What else can I do? I'm painted into a corner. I guess what I'm really asking is: How am I supposed to go back to being a man full time again? I make a lot of jokes about what a good looking mister I make (and, fair play, I am the hotness) but this is killing me. My hair started falling out again. I'm all angular and hard looking. Dude, this sucks. I was all soft and girly for a little while there.
It's either be a dude with a job or be a homeless tranny. These are the choices I get in my life. Fuck this world. Fuck it hard, fuck it bloody, and fuck it till it's dead then fuck it's corpse a while longer. Sorry, did I say that last part out loud? Not very lady like at all of me...
So, hey. Remember when I was talking about how badly I need a job like a zillion times on this blog? Right. Of course you do. Well there's two new wrinkles in that situation and I don't know what to do. In other words, I need insight. Let me give you a little back story.
I haven't worked in nearly a year. The last job I had I, uh, was not the nicest person in the world. I'm totally anti authority in a way you thought only a teenager could be. Also: you know how there's a process to transitioning at work? Yeah... I didn't bother with that. I just sort of started telling people a few at a time and then I just started presenting however the hell I wanted from day to day. Yup. I'm crazy. AND stupid. Just as a fun aside: my father also worked in the same office as me and had no idea what I was doing. My father is delusional and, to be fair, I am a bit duplicitous and sneaky.
Anyway. You already know what my year has consisted of. Between the lousy job market, the multitude of permanent physical conditions I've gained, and sheer laziness I haven't gotten any work. Finally, now that I've been feeling healthier, I stepped up my job search. It took one day to realize the new bump in the road: absolutely no one from my former company will give me a recommendation. I have zero professional recommendations I can get. NONE. ZILCH. It's a big problem. I was completely devil may care about the trans thing, basically said "Go fuck yourself if you don't like it" and now I'm paying the consequences. I haven't worked for too many other people in my life. I was a personal assistant but my boss lives in Florida now and I haven't talked to her in ages. Prior to that I worked for a bit of a scam telemarketing company and before that did a whole mess of retail. It's not exactly a shiny resume, is it?
It's not what you know, it's who you know. Except, I don't know anyone and everyone who knows me thinks I am a) an asshole and b) a crazy person. I can't say I blame them. It's not like those are not the first two descriptive adjectives that spring to mind when I think of myself. I do have friends though but, ah, then comes the next wrinkle.
A good friend of mine said she could get me some work as an assistant where she is working which would mean, gasp, a job in the fashion industry. I know, right? How cool. I would love to get into that but there's a problem. You see my friend has connections to the man who deals with the hiring. She has a big mouth (like me) and has talked about me on many occasions. When she asked about my getting this particular job he immediately got defensive. I don't want you to be surprised but he didn't want to stick his neck out for the tranny. I know. SO hard to believe.
I could get this job. It's not a lock but I have a shot. The problem is that I can't transition at this job. EVER. It would mean screwing over the guy who would be sticking his neck out for me based solely on my friend's recommendation and it would also cause problems for said friend.
I'm of two minds on the matter. The first mind says that the job market is a horror and that sacrifices have to be made. My other mind is screaming expletives because, frankly, this is bullshit. I mean it's the fashion industry. How did I stumble upon a conservative, Jewish fashion company? HOW!?!? There is no gayer institution than fashion. Bah.
I'm sending my resume along. What else can I do? I'm painted into a corner. I guess what I'm really asking is: How am I supposed to go back to being a man full time again? I make a lot of jokes about what a good looking mister I make (and, fair play, I am the hotness) but this is killing me. My hair started falling out again. I'm all angular and hard looking. Dude, this sucks. I was all soft and girly for a little while there.
It's either be a dude with a job or be a homeless tranny. These are the choices I get in my life. Fuck this world. Fuck it hard, fuck it bloody, and fuck it till it's dead then fuck it's corpse a while longer. Sorry, did I say that last part out loud? Not very lady like at all of me...
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
quel dommage
I appreciate any of you who have been sticking around. I realize it's not happy or fun or sexy watching a tranny return to her former masculine roots. I'm sure some of you have cast me aside either because you no longer find me attractive or because the idea of returning to your former gender is too scary to hazard even a moment's imagining. Things are what they are, however, and so I must press onward down a path that is not always of my own choosing.
In a way I realize I could very well continue taking hormones and blockers as I once did and ignore the doctors. It's my body I'm listening to though and it's telling me in no uncertain terms that it desperately wants to be healthy and that the fastest way to health is by forgoing any unnecessary stress. It's no secret that the pills I took put great strain on me physically. It's also no secret that living in a house of judgment has had probably as much physical detriment as it does mental. Oh yeah, I have no money and the economy is collapsing. What's a girl trapped in the body of a very sexy man to do?
I had a job interview that I had to cancel. I was so excited when I got this seemingly random call shortly after posting my resume to hotjobs. Shortly afterward though I realized, thankfully, that the offer was too good to be true. A quick bit of research uncovered some very shady business practices and so, with heavy heart, I realized this was no opportunity at all.
I bought a new suit for interviews. I can tell you that was very depressing but, let's face it, no one's hiring this hot tranny mess unless she stuff herself into a suit and plays male for a while. I have a renewed vigor though. Surprisingly part of said vigor stemmed from finding the perfect suit. It's a shame, really. For all my protestations, I know men's fashion. Maybe some day I will find a man to dress... and then promptly undress.
Anyway! I'm on a job hunting spree. If anyone in the New York area has some leads on anything let me know. I'm interested in switching to editorial or copyright work but I'm not against personal assistant or secretarial shenanigans to fill the time. I just want to do something I won't despise and wont' stress me out to the point of hospitalization.
The order of things is:
1) get job
2) move out
3) get back to the whole 'being a girl' thing.
It sucks that it's got to be in that order but, really, do you see an alternative? Seriously, if you do then please share it with me. Until then I'll just be taking pictures of myself in a new suit in my bathroom. Like so:
In a way I realize I could very well continue taking hormones and blockers as I once did and ignore the doctors. It's my body I'm listening to though and it's telling me in no uncertain terms that it desperately wants to be healthy and that the fastest way to health is by forgoing any unnecessary stress. It's no secret that the pills I took put great strain on me physically. It's also no secret that living in a house of judgment has had probably as much physical detriment as it does mental. Oh yeah, I have no money and the economy is collapsing. What's a girl trapped in the body of a very sexy man to do?
I had a job interview that I had to cancel. I was so excited when I got this seemingly random call shortly after posting my resume to hotjobs. Shortly afterward though I realized, thankfully, that the offer was too good to be true. A quick bit of research uncovered some very shady business practices and so, with heavy heart, I realized this was no opportunity at all.
I bought a new suit for interviews. I can tell you that was very depressing but, let's face it, no one's hiring this hot tranny mess unless she stuff herself into a suit and plays male for a while. I have a renewed vigor though. Surprisingly part of said vigor stemmed from finding the perfect suit. It's a shame, really. For all my protestations, I know men's fashion. Maybe some day I will find a man to dress... and then promptly undress.
Anyway! I'm on a job hunting spree. If anyone in the New York area has some leads on anything let me know. I'm interested in switching to editorial or copyright work but I'm not against personal assistant or secretarial shenanigans to fill the time. I just want to do something I won't despise and wont' stress me out to the point of hospitalization.
The order of things is:
1) get job
2) move out
3) get back to the whole 'being a girl' thing.
It sucks that it's got to be in that order but, really, do you see an alternative? Seriously, if you do then please share it with me. Until then I'll just be taking pictures of myself in a new suit in my bathroom. Like so:
Sunday, October 12, 2008
croney hermit, the continuing adventures
Not much to say about this video other than, you know, I'm awesome and great. I do want to take this time to say, baxter, if you're still reading this, feel free to bring it political style anytime you like to my blog. I'm officially wearing my grown up pants so I think I can handle your "humor".
I guess that's it. There were other things I'd planned to mention in this video but I ran out of time since I blabber too much about absolutely nothing. Just to pique your interests, the next video will involve my musical tastes both past and present, continued hormone updates, and more sock puppetry. Exciting, huh? Maybe? Little bit?
Saturday, October 4, 2008
one time at band camp
Take a trip with me, won't you? All we need are a Delorean, a flux capacitor, some stolen Plutonium, and maybe a Huey Lewis tune in our hearts. It's almost exactly a year ago, All Hallow's Eve, and a girl I dated (I know, right? How things change) is having her annual bash. Hey, I dated her for a reason and that reason is that she is unbelievably awesome and throws probably the best Halloween parties in the history of the universe.... ever. Like a predictable trollop, I arrive as a scantily clad red riding hood (see picture below YOU'RE WELCOME). My friends are cooloer than me (mario and princess peach, undead steve irwin and the stingray that killed him). Our hostess is Bloody Mary and the whole house is bathed in red light, covered in blood, and otherwise terrifying. Seriously, she actually destroyed her own apartment for the party because, apparently, she had been planning to redecorate anyway. I thought is was tremendously awesome. Plus, there's lots of booze. Moving on...
The hostess introduces me to her new boyfriend who is dressed up all army boy and, well, me like. But hey, that's her guy, and I seriously doubt he'll be into the gangly trannie anyway. He's nice though and already three sheets to the wind. He offers me a shot. And another. Then another. We talk, we laugh, but I excuse myself to go hang out with the homies I came with.
He comes looking for me because he wants me to drink more with him. Alright, why not? This can't possibly be going anywher, right? Right?!?! A few more shots are thrown back I should mention now that, even prior to my horrible deathly illness, I never was much of a drinker. So now I am beyond the pale, laughing hysterically, and drunk out of my mind. Recognizing the potential ills of this situation, I secret my way to our host's bedroom where it's agreed by all that perhaps I should rest my eyes for a bit and let the booze run it's course with as little movement from me as possible lest I make a mess on the floor.
He comes looking for me AGAIN because we need to keep drinking according to him. I tell him I can't posibly drink again and he leaves, dejected. Finally, I drift into blissful unconscious land.
I wake when people come in to smoke weed. I don't mind. I used to do my share of that too (don't tell mom!) although I'm always confused when people in their forties still do this stuff because I feel way too old for it now. Oh, well. You know me. I don't judge anyone unless they are republican ( I know, shame on me). Anyhoozle, so they do their thing and leave. I get a contact buzz but doze back off to sleep like Little Nemo... who is dressed up like slutty little red riding hood.
... some time later I start to come to. Feeling extremely groggy, I wonder at first what has roused me. All the lights in the bedroom are out and, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I slowly begin to become aware of something. What is it? It's this strange sensation coming from behind me. A quietly turn my head to discover my ex's boyfriend is FONDLING MY ASS AND TOUCHING HIMSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Clearly, I am having a very strange dream, yeah?
...Nah! It's for real. So I'm just staring at him, dumbfounded, because it's the dumbest thing I can imagine. Finally, he realizes I am wide awake. After a moment, he freaks out and runs out of the bedroom just in time for his girlfriend, my ex, to come walking in. "What the hell just happened?!" she asks. "I think your boyfriend was groping me in my sleep", I say still in total disbelief. Then, because I'm convinced I actually am still sleeping, I pass back out.
Two hours later I finally wake up of my own volition so I actually feel, you know, conscious. I walk out toward the toilet and run into my ex. "I don't suppose that was a dream, was it?" I ask. "Nope!" she replies, a mix of emotions on her face.
There's a coda to this story and that coda involves some punishment. My poor ex, who is a lovely woman, has experienced something that is, let's face it, kind of traumatic. A man whom she used to have sex with has become a woman who her current boyfriend unexpectedly lusted after, albeit in an inebriated state. If I were her, my head would be all owie. I mean I'm me and my head was all owie so there you go. So the punishment! I had to drive a friend home (relax, I was completely sober at this point). So I did what anyone would do, I instructed said friend to go to the car, grab my bag full of BOY CLOTHES from the trunk, and bring them to me. Baggy jeans? Check. Baggy, plaid, 90's style button up? Double check? The makeup, came off, the hair got tied back, and that's when we said our farewells. He looked HORRIFIED. I walked up to him, gruffed up my voice and pitched it as low as posible and said "Thanks, dude. I'll see you around." I smiled real big, and we left.
Best night of my life, people. I know that sounds dodgy but, seriously, for all the wrong that could have happened, it was the funniest thing ever. Even the bad stuff was good. It was the first time I actually felt like a legit girl to the world outside. Up until that moment I was just a boy in a dress as far as all those other people were concerned. But when that drunken dude made the moves well.... my ex definitely saw me as something she'd never expected me to be: a threat. And that's... well... that's AWESOME. Ha! I mean HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAA. It felt sooooo good to make a girl feel jealous. Go ahead and think I'm a bitch, I don't care. Hoo! Magnificent.
She stayed with him. He insisted that it was all just a joke. A joke, huh? Insert insulting comment about his penis here. I've seen him a few times since and he looks equally uncomfortable every time. He's such an ass. Imagine: had he played his cards right and not acted like a complete douche, he probably could've had both me and his girlfriend that night. Oh, well...
THE END.
The hostess introduces me to her new boyfriend who is dressed up all army boy and, well, me like. But hey, that's her guy, and I seriously doubt he'll be into the gangly trannie anyway. He's nice though and already three sheets to the wind. He offers me a shot. And another. Then another. We talk, we laugh, but I excuse myself to go hang out with the homies I came with.
He comes looking for me because he wants me to drink more with him. Alright, why not? This can't possibly be going anywher, right? Right?!?! A few more shots are thrown back I should mention now that, even prior to my horrible deathly illness, I never was much of a drinker. So now I am beyond the pale, laughing hysterically, and drunk out of my mind. Recognizing the potential ills of this situation, I secret my way to our host's bedroom where it's agreed by all that perhaps I should rest my eyes for a bit and let the booze run it's course with as little movement from me as possible lest I make a mess on the floor.
He comes looking for me AGAIN because we need to keep drinking according to him. I tell him I can't posibly drink again and he leaves, dejected. Finally, I drift into blissful unconscious land.
I wake when people come in to smoke weed. I don't mind. I used to do my share of that too (don't tell mom!) although I'm always confused when people in their forties still do this stuff because I feel way too old for it now. Oh, well. You know me. I don't judge anyone unless they are republican ( I know, shame on me). Anyhoozle, so they do their thing and leave. I get a contact buzz but doze back off to sleep like Little Nemo... who is dressed up like slutty little red riding hood.
... some time later I start to come to. Feeling extremely groggy, I wonder at first what has roused me. All the lights in the bedroom are out and, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I slowly begin to become aware of something. What is it? It's this strange sensation coming from behind me. A quietly turn my head to discover my ex's boyfriend is FONDLING MY ASS AND TOUCHING HIMSELF!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Clearly, I am having a very strange dream, yeah?
...Nah! It's for real. So I'm just staring at him, dumbfounded, because it's the dumbest thing I can imagine. Finally, he realizes I am wide awake. After a moment, he freaks out and runs out of the bedroom just in time for his girlfriend, my ex, to come walking in. "What the hell just happened?!" she asks. "I think your boyfriend was groping me in my sleep", I say still in total disbelief. Then, because I'm convinced I actually am still sleeping, I pass back out.
Two hours later I finally wake up of my own volition so I actually feel, you know, conscious. I walk out toward the toilet and run into my ex. "I don't suppose that was a dream, was it?" I ask. "Nope!" she replies, a mix of emotions on her face.
There's a coda to this story and that coda involves some punishment. My poor ex, who is a lovely woman, has experienced something that is, let's face it, kind of traumatic. A man whom she used to have sex with has become a woman who her current boyfriend unexpectedly lusted after, albeit in an inebriated state. If I were her, my head would be all owie. I mean I'm me and my head was all owie so there you go. So the punishment! I had to drive a friend home (relax, I was completely sober at this point). So I did what anyone would do, I instructed said friend to go to the car, grab my bag full of BOY CLOTHES from the trunk, and bring them to me. Baggy jeans? Check. Baggy, plaid, 90's style button up? Double check? The makeup, came off, the hair got tied back, and that's when we said our farewells. He looked HORRIFIED. I walked up to him, gruffed up my voice and pitched it as low as posible and said "Thanks, dude. I'll see you around." I smiled real big, and we left.
Best night of my life, people. I know that sounds dodgy but, seriously, for all the wrong that could have happened, it was the funniest thing ever. Even the bad stuff was good. It was the first time I actually felt like a legit girl to the world outside. Up until that moment I was just a boy in a dress as far as all those other people were concerned. But when that drunken dude made the moves well.... my ex definitely saw me as something she'd never expected me to be: a threat. And that's... well... that's AWESOME. Ha! I mean HA HA HA HA HA HAAAAAAA. It felt sooooo good to make a girl feel jealous. Go ahead and think I'm a bitch, I don't care. Hoo! Magnificent.
She stayed with him. He insisted that it was all just a joke. A joke, huh? Insert insulting comment about his penis here. I've seen him a few times since and he looks equally uncomfortable every time. He's such an ass. Imagine: had he played his cards right and not acted like a complete douche, he probably could've had both me and his girlfriend that night. Oh, well...
THE END.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
no exit
I wish I had better news. Instead of getting better I'm getting more sick and no one knows why. The only thing I was told definitively is that, effective immediately, my hormone therapy is over which means my transition is over. I hope it won't be forever but, for now, I have no choice. I'm too sick to work and I'm too manly to pass without tons of drugs. So here I am; trapped with a willfully ignorant family and a prisoner in my own body. I'm a full time hermit now. Maybe I should start watching The Price is Right, Wheel of Fortune (the whitest show in whitey town), Jeopardy, and Matlock. I hear that's what people do while they wait for death. Unless one of you would be good enough to kill me? I'll give you a bright, shiny nickel...
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