Why A Gender Shift Can Feel A Bit Like Doctor Who

Who?
Doctor Who?

Doctor Who being the science fantasy television program on BBC for the last 50 years. The main protagonist simply known as “The Doctor” to the viewers. He has many adventures with various companions while traveling through time and space. He appears human, and has a very strong affinity to nurturing and protecting the human race. However, he is not human. He is Gallifreyan-a Time Lord. Their biology causes them to regenerate after a number of years, typically spawned by a sustained injury.There has at least been speculation that these regenerations can involve a gender change, but usually is a completely different looking and acting(and dressing) character with most core parts of The Doctor’s characteristics. Some of his quirks really shift a lot more than you would think, but it keeps it all fresh in my opinion.
At times, I feel that I am not human..

So how does this entertain the idea that your “transition” is anything like that?
(I only know of my own experience and what few stories others have shared of their own journey.)

Myself-35 years as a boy/male (give or take), had many different careers/roles:
Soldier, teacher, husband, father, mechanic, carpenter, clerk, guitarist in metal band, singer, college student…these did have different expressions of hair, clothing, cars, houses, etc.
Granted I was petty repressed in avoiding being myself, but my core was pretty consistent. I am: a nurturer, teacher, lover, musician, caregiver, poet, artist-and will always beI’ll cleverly avoid a fight, but a true warrior knows when to fight!
I too, have had some pretty colorful companions not unlike the Doctor at times..family, lovers, friends, animals.

Transition-its not a destination. No matter what anyone suggests, because life itself is a journey and not a destination. (Get over it and embrace it.) So during the beginning of this phase there is of course the wigs in lieu of the hair in process of growing out. Wardrobe? Adolescent, edgy, vampish, sex bomb, blonde bombshell, college co-ed, the Audrey Hepburn, cyber-goth industrial girl, punk rocker, post-apocalypse dyke. For me, the biggest part of change was the hormones that let my brain that “always knew/felt that I was a girl” for this entire time, could at least not hate the body my mind was born into. That body quickly changed and perhaps parts of my mind as well…

My memories at times are something that are very clear and are relevant to my daily activities and problem solving. However, there are times that Who something happened to in my past feels very much like another person. Swiss cheese memory as referred to in science fiction…

Music? I was a bass player and keyboard player up until I started exploring my gender expression by going out dressed. Guitar soon came after this period.
Parenting? Some argue that you are always a parent, but the interaction with my own children was limited to only the time I expressed as a boy. I haven’t been a parent as a woman. Not even to a puppy at this writing.
Tattoos? Well, I got my first during my time “in-flux” of deciding whether going out on the weekends and hating who I was or wasn’t. My ink collection snowballed and really started with “my first girl tattoo” to my most current one.
Family? There is a lot less blood relatives around, much as the First Doctor saying goodbye to Susan, but my extended family is tremendous and still growing. They have a stronger bond with me than I could have ever imagined.
Other things I have picked up since transitioning: learning Italian, cello, guitar with a deeper focus, writing, oh and of course more allergies. I am sure that I have my share of quirks too.

I lost my singing voice for the price that I paid and I am looking to find it or whatever voice this body chooses to resonate.

The journey through time-and space, occasionally gives glimpses of times in your life where you were really proud of your accomplishments and who you were at that individual moment. I feel its important to reflect into those journeys for strength, knowledge, and wisdom. Who you were isn’t always Who you are at the moment. But we all seem to be a collective of all our incarnations (good/bad, boy/girl, love/hate).

If you do find yourself having problems with your collective, or even evolving… perhaps you should call the Doctor?

Lexikat

(Gender shift  = transition = life is a journey for everyone regardless of cis or transgender)

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Eris: Goddess (Guitar) of Chaos Has Arrived!

Finally, my wait is over!
My LTD GL-200 Kamikaze has arrived!

Due to the problems of extended “in-stock by” dates whizzing by since July 3rd, I was offered a free padded carrying case and cleaning kit for this situation. Then, when I was shipped a fleece lined drum case accidentally, I was given a gift card by Guitar Center. Luckily, my was quickly processed by the Emeryville Guitar Center staff as to have one arrive!!!

No matter how late or enthusiastic you are about finally receiving something, always open the box at the store!!!

GL-200K

Its a copy of ESP’s Kamikaze produced for George Lynch. Humbucker and single coil with no tone controls and a push-pull volume knob to switch between the coils.

Difference between ESP and LTDs? A couple thousand dollars. Decide for yourself and watch here.

The reverse headstock gives a similar tonal quality to Jimi Hendrix‘s flipped Fender Strat. (Its also how my cello was strung once I replaced its pegs, as I had seen others strung like that.)

Jimi Hendrix (like me) was also a soldier at Fort Campbell, Kentucky in the 101st Airborne Division…and like me, didn’t overstay!

Oh, how rude of me. I totally forgot to mention the Goddess of Chaos: Eris. She is known as the Greek goddess of strife and discord. (Latin is translated to Discorda) 
After my first guitar being Lucifer (Lucy for short) bringer of light as she was white; then replaced by the same model Ibanez RG350DX named Isis (Ice Ice baby), for the serpent goddess of the Mediterranean . My cello was named Lucien after Lucien Bonaparte, and not after the lycan character Lucien, from my favorite movie Underworld

The Dokken video for In My Dreams is a good place to see George (Lynch) playing the original ESP Kamikaze.

I picked it up tonight, though I wrote a lot of this blog the week prior. I sat on the floor after I gave it a “once over” before firing up the amp. Action in the Floyd Rose is a bit stiff, but should loosen up nicely. The strings are bright but new and need some breaking-in. The radius is nice and I think flatter than my RG350DX’s, The push-pull volume pick-up switch is different but changes the tone very nice to slip into a few Hendrix type licks or two during my familiarization. The fretboard is rosewood and seems to be laminated/sealed-very flat.
I don’t do a lot of chords across 6 strings, the levelness of the neck seems to leave plenty of room to bend the strings a bit. One feature I didn’t notice until inspecting it was the recessed 1/4″ phono cable jack. I got a 90 degree plug thinking it was at the edge, but the recessed plug means you can use regular guitar jacks with it.

What kind of picks to I like? The Steve Clayton Acetal Polymer Pick: Small Teardrop – Size: .63mm. They are small for my fingers to still grip the string but ride my thumb to get nice pinch harmonics. I used them with my previous guitars and loved them.

Its nice to have an ax again.

Lexikat

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Red-eared Slider of My Youth

Today at work, a random stuffed animal shows up. It’s a stuffed/varnished turtle. I enthusiastically ask to research but I already know what it is from my youth: a Red-eared Slider Water Turtle!

Because of growing up in the rural parts of this country, I caught lots of “critters”: snakes, frogs, toads, salamanders, lizards, tortoises, turtles, fish, tadpoles, crickets, grasshoppers, etc. I had been doing this since about age 3.

Its one of the few escapes I had, and I could avoid the yelling of my biological father. I’d sometimes do things with my other siblings, mostly my younger sister: climbing trees, building forts, picking black berries, picking flowers, running through the corn fields.

I haven’t seen my younger sister in more than 10 years. She lives in LA and has a car, so I hope she’d visit. It kills me sometimes that I hadn’t seen her in so long. Perhaps sometime before time weighs heavy we can visit each other?

The fruits and berries I picked were definitely “safe” as they were kinds I had helped my mother pick, but they were also safe according to our Collier Encyclopedia set. That encyclopedia set was the most useful thing about not having the internet invented yet. I could research any of the animals I caught. I avoided many poisonous snakes because of it. I had a library card since age 4 too!

In the city, there are squirrels and raccoons for wildlife. No frogs, no turtles, no salamanders (my favorite), no toads, no creeks with tadpoles to catch either. It seems that age has removed all feral life from my surroundings. How the hell did this happen?!?

This land is barren. For all the income I make, there isn’t “life” here. Am I that old? Can’t be.

My baby sister also had a pet slider. His bowl was on the table and when swatting house flies, one could offer the tribute to his hungry mouth. I think he wandered near the house after a rainfall.

My friend and I watch the show “Naked & Afraid” lately. So many skills that people lack, I possess. We talk about skills and knowledge. She compliments with enthusiasm and surprise when I share about the things learned in my youth and the military. Her and I could do this “in theory” because I happen to be a diabetic, there wouldn’t be days and days without eating. I would simply be dead.

She asks:  “How do you catch a snake?” I reply: “Throw some clothing on top of it or take a stick and pin its head.” We laugh too as the man on the island is afraid of snakes and caimans and the woman doesn’t mind doing most of the work. My vegetarian partner knows the value of food when you are living in the wild. I’d be tempted to eat it without cooking it given my potential hunger. We understand if you kill it, you eat it-its not raised in a hellish torture factory farm for consumers.

It’s funny that the turtle came in the morning after this show. It’s funny too that so much of what I know about the wild, I learned from books by myself,

 as a child.

Lexikat

The Dividing Line of Feminism and Expression

I’m conscious, no doubt. Most of the world’s ration and reason anymore hurt my brain.

This doesn’t “interfere” with my daily existence as much as it enhances it. Its problematic at times because the world, and my world have many layers. I did live the first 35 years fooling others to believe I was a man (but never fooled myself).

Image

“Looking like I did, I always thought I was smart and not good looking. I had never felt this outside looked like my inner self-she stayed hidden for 8 more years after this photo.”

Picket fence, college, military…I had some typical as well as high-risk career choices that were considerably masculine. I spent time convincing myself more than other people and thus: being a male in all outward appearances and social roles- WERE simply a stage I went through before embracing my true self. But transitioning back east meant I was surrounded by an automobile to-and-from work, school, home. You don’t socially interact with anyone in a car, basically.

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“People would kill to have a body like mine, or just kill me?”
Statistically, trans people survive suicide and are faced with a higher homicide rate-rarely killed by women.

Expressing my female self isn’t without daily scrutiny from men and women alike: a man can be butt-ugly but as long as he is powerful/rich/physically strong he is pedestalled and embraced for doing what success was defined to mean; for the woman it means you are judged based on your hair/makeup/clothing/fashion sense and not other accolades.

Women rarely get left alone when it comes to the leering and judging eyes of the world. Sure, age sometimes brings relief, but then you are seen as someone’s “mother” rather than a successful mature woman. Shit, this goes to show that transitioning from male to female is not a CHOICE!! One might argue that transitioning from female to male would be a choice based on no longer being scrutinized on a daily basis of ones looks, but that is not the case. Transgender is not a choice for anyone.

Some feel that being born as I was and being attracted to women, wearing pants, etc. are considered appropriate.

So how much breasts/cleavage do you show to express what you feel you want to, and how much is caving to “what a woman should behave as?”

The pitfall of someone balancing expression: “I don’t feel like wearing makeup nor shaving my legs.” negatively traverses my female expression. You could say that I am hypersensitive to the expressions of gender, having lived/worked/dated/stared/objectified as both. 

Did I mention that I know what runs through a man’s brain? No? Well I didn’t. I will say that I know what CAN run through a man’s brain. I was also raised around the most misogynistic/pro rape men on the planet. I knew pretty early that I was neither “them” nor “a man.”

I will admit that I cling to a few things out of comfort due to the basic fact that I wasn’t born without a vagina, nor plentiful mammary glands (breasts).

Maybe I don’t want to go to a place further outside my own comfort zone.
Maybe I don’t want to leave the impression on you of what I look like without makeup because maybe you won’t invest getting to know me or you are the type of person who doesn’t get past anything.
Maybe I like some to show some sexy legs because I literally have bled for my transition. I shouldn’t have to justify anything in what I choose to express, but in living my life, I am just.

I think you can be a femme pro feminist, and even a transsexual feminist. I also think that it really shouldn’t matter what someone’s outsides look as quoted by me:

Associated Press November 2010

Associated Press November 2010

“This girl in front of me, whether she is wearing pants or a dress, shouldn’t make a difference.” Associated Press November 2010

Lexikat

Triste

It was January 2010. My best friend just got fired from the tallest building in the Queen City. It was a corner office at the top. (She is sometimes referred by me as “the other Scanlon” in conversation.)
I was employed with Old Navy. After Christmas, capitalist retail pigs traditionally slash hours after “The Season of Giving and Love & Peace” and Old Navy was no different.
The Gastonia Old Navy store I had just transferred to was closer than the 25 mile drive (one-way) to the previous location that in 2008, I had transferred to after fleeing the deeper south from being attacked by my brother for being transsexual-after which I was openly rejected by my family. (Its your fault he attacked you)

January’s schedule was posted! “4 hours this week and 10 hours next week? Really?”

Up until the 2012 EEOC ruling of “gender expression is a Gender based discrimination”, North Carolina (and most other states) could Legally discriminate trans or gender queer individuals OPENLY!
Old Navy (GAP Inc.) was a “diverse” company and had inclusive employment practices, for the most.

Without this Job, I was toast. It is really cold in Charlotte during January. I cannot move into my Camaro. Sure my friend would be getting a fat separation termination check but that wasn’t going to help my situation.
Amanda Scanlon was the friend whom after my first living situation of Zoe Vette’s all-girl band forgot my rent payments and she was 3 months behind on the mortgage; and Diana, the 58 year old quietly peaceful landlady who attempted suicide in front of me and so I moved into my Camaro again…Amanda was there to say move in, “its a big empty house with plenty of room.”

Amanda always fought with her parents about money, although the mortgage for the 3-story, 4-bedroom townhouse was always paid on time. They always wanted my rent money On Top of the mortgage for a dwelling occupied previously by only Amanda.
That January, I had an interview with the local Taco Bell as a manager. Through the interview, even as they looked oddly at me, I really was over-qualified for the job-with the exception of being a “black-listed” transsexual…well, they didn’t call back.
It was near the end of January and I put Sheila my Red 1986 Camaro RS on Craigslist…for sale.
Sheila was my first “girl car” I owned. Not a truck nor van, she was the thing that made me smile. It was my fantasy car from High School come to life, as I was a deeply closeted teenager and from dirt poor family, who’s father dealt coke and openly cheated on my mother-did I mention that he was a real Jack Daniels pistol-waving drunk?
$1000 cash for Sheila on January 30th. But, I slipped and fell on the ice making that sale (which physically hurt longer than a year).
I tearfully handed Amanda the cash and said: “What happens after this point, I’m willing to accept.” I owed rent and could walk or bicycle to work from Mount Holly.
My blood money tribute to her parents did not get dealt out quickly. Some bullshit her father said about how “people like her will be happier in San Francisco. Blah blah blah” Obviously he too didn’t know the damn difference between a transsexual lesbian and a drag queen gay man.

I researched anything EVERYTHING available to veterans and girls like me that would be available once I had arrived.
I had a social worker on the phone from the VA and had communication with various LGBT Center program coordinators too.

Amanda had bought my plane ticket for $100 one-way” and so I had to start sorting the few remnants of my life into even smaller boxes once again.
You see, its lifeboat survival principles: you can only afford less room. Photos, clothes, books to the trash. Things that might be sold. A lot of stored things (Amanda would dispose of later out of some crazy bored fit with her new psycho boyfriend). My first electric Guitar “Lucifer” and amp were to be stored and returned later. Lies…

All this packing time and preparations did not stop my recently adopted 15 year-old black and tan minature Dachshund Pumpernickel...
When Donna (my 2nd mother) was in the hospital for being attacked by a student, they needed someone to take the collection of Amanda’s aged dogs and to care for them (feed and clean-up after), as they don’t always hit the mark and were really old. “Bring the babies here.” I replied.

Pumpernickel was the cloudy-cataract-eyed one who picked me. (Coco and Jenny couldn’t be bothered by me.)
“Pumpy” was a puppy in youthful play, in spite of her poor vision and foul breath. I loved her and she seemed to love me back.

You see, this tiny little dog had infinite patience during this activity. She would just look at me “waiting patiently.” No time for runs at the park, days in the sun, no chasing squirrels…Lexi had to prepare for the crossing that lay ahead.

4am Eastern Standard Time on February 23, 2010, I kissed Pumpernickel good-bye for the last time as she died quietly in her sleep on the 25th, not but just 2 days after my departure.

I was hastily dropped at the curb by Amanda and given a hug so light that a hand shake would have been a warmer gesture. Amanda then proceeded to give back the necklace that I had given to her in friendship.
The sterling amythest heart pendant necklace was purchased at Zales of Wilmington, NC, as a gift to my girl within in my last days there before departing to see my birth family. This necklace had also survived being on me while I was choked and punched by the bastard who “wanted his brother back.” He was beating me to try to accomplish this…I had left from there for Charlotte.

“No, you keep it.” (confused) “I enjoyed the times we had as sisters, friends and acting stupid silly. You’ll see me again. You promised to make the crossing and to greet me in San Francisco with my dog and my guitar…”
Noon Pacific Standard Time, my flight had arrived at SFO-International Airport with just a carry-on of basics: pills, makeup, clothes-and nothing else.
The subway ride into the city is expensive and I was only given $100 of the $1000 from her, less the ticket price. Conserve money to eat.
“If I get off at 16th Street station, I can quickly walk to 3rd Street VA to meet the social worker.” or so I thought.
16th Street station is in the heart of The Mission. Its pouring so much rain, my umbrella fails as I walk past cat-calls and solicitations.
“Damn these blocks are so long!” I felt as I my walking progress had barely made a dent in the distance during the gale-force downpour. Very tired from walking in the flood, I arrive at the 3rd Street VA and speak to Mr. Stephen Something, social worker.
I was sent to 5th & Bryant shelter. It is full of smelly harassing men. I am registered and now have to wait.
NO SLEEPING!” They yell at the group. Some time past midnight (PST no less), I’m informed that they found a bed for me at some place in the Tenderloin. “Go and present my information at the desk?”
I catch the 27 Bryant bus.
After I get processed into a bed, I lay heartbroken to sleep at 1:30 am Pacific Standard Time. I had been awake since forever…

So that was 3 years ago today.

Lexikat

Why you shouldn’t vote for Romney

As a Veteran, I ask you not to vote for Mitt Romney because President Obama has made many improvements to the VA Health Care and Jobs for Vets system-especially the ones physically disfigured by George Bush’s war.

As a woman, I ask you not to vote for Mitt Romney, because the de-evolution of a basic fundamental understanding that women are not chattel property, our bodies are our own to make decisions with, we fought for the right to vote and deserve to keep everything-including Roe vs. Wade, that has come to pass, and science explains the forces of biology in a woman’s body, not some invisible person like Rumplestiltskin. Sex education and contraceptives lower abortion rate, not making abortions harder to come by.

As a transgendered person, EEOC ruling and lifting restrictions on federal jobs to include gender identity/expression came about with a “fertile for change” political atmosphere provided by endorsements and support from President Obama. Don’t vote Romney.

As a lesbian/bisexual, I’d like to think that there would be an option to sharing ALL of the constitutional rights granted to “church going” married couples as me and my potential long-term partner. If you are too busy thinking about what goes on in other peoples’ bedrooms then you should consider why your divorce rate is so high? You want to protect “traditional marriage” then please Outlaw traditional divorce. Period.
Don’t vote Romney.

As a registered voter, I do not believe Mitt Romney has been clear on what his economic plan actually is. He has driven the whole election to be a “Jesus issue” by playing on “voter fear” rather than his own merit.

As a sane individual, I hope you don’t vote for some smug bastard and his misogynistic snot-nosed, smart-ass running mate. Face it, Paul Ryan is Steve Stifler from American Pie series of movies.

Lexikat

I have a past, but my past does not have me

There are so many things I have experienced. Relations, relatives, relativity….Proclivity, propensity, propulsion…

Sure you could read my old blogs, but the recent retraining at the “job” has really caused a shift.

(not a paradigm shift. I’m not a fan of that phrase)

A lot of things hit at once. One that I will just label “work issue to resolve”, another “marrying a foreigner”, also a “delete OK Cupid”, and the last I would just label “girl on my mind”.

I am supposed to elaborate now that I introduced the subjects. I will elaborate on are “marrying a foreigner” for starters.

An acquaintance of mine seriously took a remark I made at her work to mean that it is something that can be accomplished easy. You know, fool the government. It works for cisgendered people with tons of money, but not girls like me. For someone I do not know that well to offer up a couple of selling points, I think they miss the boat that, a 2-year detour for me to end up with an Italian passport that reads MALE is not how I want to live. I’ll swim to Italy as a determined lady thank-you kindly.

Deleting OK Cupid…

A momentary lapse of reason would explain why I signed on to a website for dating in the first place. Sure I am single, but no need to get upset that “stranger A” didn’t validate me because I am still single. LOL. I’d rather bump into someone who is kind of taken to my charms at the places I go to: galleries, farmers markets, industrial dance scene, symphony, steak houses, coffee houses. If she kind of digs me and is smart and cute, it would be stupid for me to be sitting by her and using the OK Cupid app for smart phone in a bar. Now wouldn’t it? I really would rather be single and focused outward than pre-occupied that answering question on a website introduces people into our lives by friends and such.

So just to wrap up the fact that the other 2 are not worth going into detail on here…I can say this much: The resolve of items has given me clarity. I accomplished a lot when I was living a lie. That in itself was an identity that I feel has really taken a while to come to terms with. There is no ex alive that I will get back together with, even for the sex. They are exes for a very damn good reason.

Speaking of sex and relations:

I am really new at all of this. The chance to start over with no frame of reference is daunting. I suppose I am wrapping up with a vague notion that if a “girl” was open minded to someone who is new at all of this, then be patient a little.

And my lips taste like nectar……….

 Lexikat