I know I just moved into a new place, but the situation I moved into has changed dramatically in the short time since I got here. Its clear that I need to find another place and fast. I have a steady income and 5 years history with my current job, but I don’t have a security deposit lying around and I need to come up with one ASAP.
Other things about me? I am a veteran of the military. I’m queer. I have never been arrested.
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Lexie’s moving fund
I got this LTD GL200 Kamikaze in 2013. I squandered a weeks worth of vacation time cashed out to buy her. Last year (2014) I started playing with the back of the pick, as it makes a different sound. January 2015 I installed a Seymour Duncan JB bridge pickup. All of these parts are really coming together. One thing connects another and all of them
are bringing the level of playing and expression to a higher level.
Other planned mods include a brass tremolo block, a Lil ’59 for the neck pickup, and a few effects pedals. Hopefully I can get lessons for sweep picking and or have a band situation finally materialize.
So I’ve decided to climb down off of my tree stump in the urban forest and write a bit about my age. How old do I feel versus How old do I look versus How old I am?
I’m 43 next month. I still get carded for alcohol, though I have been 21 twice at this point. Usually to some complimentary disbelief from the salesperson….
As I am a bit black mohawked and tattooed, I have decided to embrace my grey; however, the mohawk stays.
My peer friends closer to my age are what have really resonated with me, as the best way I could explain it. I wear a bra a lot less and rather enjoy the lack of restriction.
Being embraced as an equal by caring friends that basically are my family seems to effect me in very positive ways and have let barriers and walls fall, crumble, and even in time perhaps fade away.
Tits, Knockers, Bosoms, Titties, Hooters, Melons, Sweater Zepplins, Bozoombas (not sure of that spelling), Mammaries, etc.
They are one of the first validating developments in a trans girl’s journey. They seem to be the thing most easily recognized to mean “female” in terms of gender cues to the average person. You quickly learn what a pain in the ass they become in accommodating them into clothing. “Happiness is a well-fitting bra” rings true throughout it all more or less.
They seem to go through growth spurts. Up, up, up, then down, then up. If you are lucky you don’t have pain from simply “having them” there clinging to your ribcage. If you are not growing your own “boob garden” or passing the waiting stage, you can just buy them as they come in all sizes. I’m fortunate in that sense that they popped-up.
Its an unruly child, these breasts. “I need something that fits me NOW!” and that is just in bras. Finding shirts, jackets and such is another factor in which this breast owning entails.
Cover them up, or show them off?
Some breasts are big enough that they can be hard to remove attention to, or just simply clothe. Attention? Coverage?
I forgot to mention that, much like when girls hit puberty in adolescence, boys (men) will tend to notice them in a hot minute. That in itself leads to wanted, and unwanted attention. Lately with my mohawk, my boobs are “gender-fucking” the observer with contradicting gender cues.
I completely have left out what the biological purpose of breasts are for: TO NOURISH THE YOUNG! Its true, whether you have kids or not, their intended origin is to produce milk for the young, like other mammals. That is something miraculous in itself, I think so.
Trans men (FtMs) often bind their breasts to remove that gender expression. Having them removed is often an obstacle to masculine expression.
Where was I? Oh yes, what to accessorise your breasts with? Piercings? Tattoos? I am certain that I will be doing that in the next year. Why not? Does marking them up make them anything other than MINE? No. In fact, I will do what I want to their appearance as I own them. I own them to every leering and shifty-eyed man who gets confrontational. I own them to every conversation that people have a sudden attack of conscious to address my pronouns properly. I own them to the point where a sudden awkwardness befalls the person who didn’t know that “I come bearing tits!”
This has lead to a lot of my “I really don’t fucking care, but I will rock these bare and in public” situations. 2014 Folsom Street Faire this last weekend, Hard to deny that I had breasts when they are out through the crowds. This last summer during camping trip I did wear a sheer top on the last day. 2009 when they first came along, I used to “accessorize” them with electrical tape and no top during my “industrial adolescence”.
They seem like they hit a growth spurt more noticeably in the last 4 months. It shouldn’t be cancer, but that’s another worry for ones breasts.
Social interactions do put boobs into play “Those are hardly big enough to even call breasts!” are what a few evil people exclaim within my lifetime. I’ve removed them from interacting with me at all. The first time your parents see you wearing a bra, yeah I went through that moment in my late 30’s. “Those aren’t real!” “Are your breasts real?”
Anyhow, Totally Titty Tuesday is more than one day of the week.
So that time of year has come and gone in San Francisco once again. I’ll admit that this was the first Trans March I had walked in since moving here 4 years ago. It also was the first time someone has put themselves out in the public “officially” showing support of me.
(I’ve not had the fortune to have had a family member do such a thing, as I was pretty much shunned by blood and attacked, sometimes verbally, by the other.)
She, my girlfriend, stood (or rather sat in a wheelchair) with an intricately detailed sign. It was something that really showed the love and outpouring of support she has been willing to put into me.
When she first showed it to me, it took a few moments for barriers to crumble down to the point of happy tears.
“Why has anyone ever taken this much investment into me?” was really apparent. Her outpouring and support does show in her pride in me, being who that I am, is something that doesn’t change.
The Trans March is a protest march; it is for the open visibility of gender variant people, as well as a time to voice change, acceptance, support, and pride within this fraction of the queer community. There were a lot of people displaying support for Chelsea Manning among the march. Hand in hand were a few people displaying “proud parent of a trangendered child” signs and shirts. It was a really beautiful thing.
As we had planned to also do the Dyke March on the following day, exhaustion on both our behalves kept us from attending. (2+ mile parade route plus to and from the subway stations as well)
As for the “pride” of Pride, it hit me on a more personal level than I could have imagined before.
I s’pose my ability to study (and study the refinements of grammar) of 4 languages simultaneously is one of the skills of my rapid-fire sequence brain. Having studied Spanish in college and still using it almost daily, Its helpful to strengthen basics. The Italian that came to be a language that I could also think in needs refining into something other than speaking the local tongue. German is new and I love it. French is the language of my girlfriend and so its always something I can find a better way to share experiences with her. How does one work on a little bit here and a little bit there? A website and app called Duolingo. Its fun that you can also connect to other friends and monitor each others’ progress.
Too, I am an artist. Expression comes naturally as breathing. Some expression is productive; at other times its emotive. Poetry, song, chords, scales, lyrics, and even a few drawings scrawled across pages or margins can flow like a river. This river swells to near-floodlike conditions, torrents and currents flow in rapid succession. There have been droughts, where the flow would just qualify being called a “flow”.
Some of my best attributes do make conversing with other “humans” difficult. Communication is clear, but gets impeded by differing communication style.
I need to learn to listen?
This is where I say an analogy to cars/driving:
In racing, a governor is often an item that restricts the flow of fuel & air into an engine thereby limiting the production of power to the rear wheels, also known as SPEED.
Sounds good for cars, for people not so much.
Finding a happy medium of properly expressing thoughts & ideas without “restricting” content or sincerity and honesty is the tricky part, or slippery slope.
I’m really racking my brain for opportunities. Therapists that could really do some progress on this “skill of mine” would be few and far between, but not completely ruled out. A group of friends that hung out with to chat about deeper shit (listening to my rant and developing criticism and/or evaluation because or indifference to it) would be cool.
Car reference: A group of friends to pop a beer and wrench on an old Camaro and talk about each other’s lives would be a nice format.
As with anything, the cost of drinking and playing pool, therapy, buying a Camaro and parts and the place to rent garage space…..
all becomes a factor.
In finding a solution, I must try.
Then I must continue to try.
I’ll have to continue to try with the many setbacks that will inevitably occur from “the process”.
Life isn’t easy, once you get past the big parts, you cannot fall into the pitfall of small obstacle quagmire of progress.
I was recently challenged by the “counsel” of my girlfriend.
The challenge: Since we know what you want to avoid, tell me what you enjoyed about all of your last relationships/partnerships.
If there is hurt, then it takes more effort.
Pain is generally easy to avoid, but in making that my focus there is much that I would no longer be open to.
Hiding from being my true self,
Trying to satiate myself without doing any work,
Being the object of affection,
Being a girl in a lesbian relationship,
Being sexually active after a period of inactivity,
Trying to be a parent…
A lot of my relationships had no depth. They were simply validating on some level
I joke about my skills that only seem to improve as I practice my craft and such, but there is more to life than simply showing up and doing the same thing everyday. The process of simply finding someone who has substance in harmony with my own is the ideal goal.
Never pick the prettiest, nor the smartest, nor the sexiest, nor the richest, nor the most available.
Find someone you can connect the positive points upon.
Be you-the true you.
Be happy with yourself and your life.
Nobody will complete you, but they might compliment you.