She Returns

Gee, that was a long time coming, wasn't it?

I managed to survive from February to July at the Good Samaritan House at Westgate. This is a Christian-run facility for homeless men. Yep, I put away my feminine things for a time and went undercover, as it were, into an all-male community. That was the longest five months of my life.

Early in April, I started working as a helper for my friend Rob Mulcahey at his business, R & S Floors. That has been an adventure, and not always the fun and exciting kind. It has brought me money, which has allowed me to move into a new place. Back before this situation arose, my therapist told me of Apalachee Center's Satellite Apartments. The rent is cheap, but one needs a source of income, which I didn't have at the time. As of the middle of July, this is no longer the case, and I happily reside there.

Because I work Monday to Friday, I spend most of those days in dude mode, but I have my weekends free to be myself. Those two days a week en femme are liberating, to say the least. I'd love to discuss all this with my therapist, but she has been on indefinite leave since just before I moved. I don't know when she'll return, and this has begun to worry me. It's been a little more than three years since my depression landed me in the hospital, and after all this time I am no closer to my goal (transition) than I was then. The situation has to move forward, or I'm going to have to find another place to support me.

Anyway, I'll post more (and in more detail soon).

Another Year

That wasn't supposed to happen.  I let six months elapse between blog posts, though I suppose that's somewhat appropriate, being that the last message was entitled "Six Months".  Ba-dum tish.  I wish I could say that I've been busy, but that's only partially true.  The truth is, I've been distracted, by all manner of things.  I wanted to post a few different times in the interim, but I could never get my thoughts organized quite to my satisfaction.  I was also having trouble trying to describe events without making the participants (myself included) sound like assholes.

I managed to go the whole year without a proper job.  Along the way I learned that my not getting hired was not due to my credit history, but a criminal charge I was completely unaware of.  Suffice to say, I now have a misdemeanor conviction for fraud, for which I am currently on probation.  I also have court costs and other fees to pay, but at least I'm not in jail.

In August, I narrowly escaped becoming homeless.  My therapist helped me apply for a berth in a reputable homeless shelter, but I needed someplace to crash until said berth opened up.  My friends Troy and River stepped up and let me stay in their spare bedroom for about a month.  Around the same time, River's dad entered the hospital.  He's 91, and suffers from a lot of things, but is hobbled by dementia.  I spent a night with him in the hospital, and we hit it off somewhat.  When he was released, he needed someone to stay with him 24/7, and I was asked to take on the job.  That gave me both a place to live and some income.

Having a base and spending money brought my femme self back out of the closet.  My housemate accepted me as a woman, and I've spent the last three months sliding back and forth between my personae.  I've presented myself as male when I needed to, as when I appeared in court, reported to my probation officer, etc, and have tried to spend the balance of my time en femme.  I've expanded my wardrobe, and made new friends and contacts.  I've met with a lot of acceptance, but also weathered a bit of ribbing and more recently, some nasty street harassment.  It's ironic.  In the last couple of weeks, a number of drivers or passengers have rolled alongside me to shout something, but they're going too fast or something, because I've not understood a word of it.  I hear the tones, and I know derogation when I hear it, but other than a muttered "faggot" and a lot of laughter, I haven't heard the substance of most of the slurs.  I guess my MP3 player is good for hearing protection after all.  ;)

Anyway, as I enter the new year, I find myself almost returned to my situation of a few months ago.  My aged companion has announced that he is ready (at long last) to enter assisted living, and when he goes, I will be back out on the street.  Maybe the shelter will still take me in.  I'm just not sure how I want to go.  When I first applied, I was looking at going into the male dorm.  All my feminine trappings were in storage, and I didn't know when I'd see them again.  I was willing to put up with that experience to keep a roof over my head.  After the freedom of this last season, I am not sure that I am willing to go without.  I don't think I am feminine enough to get a spot in the female dorms, but I don't know if I can put on the rough airs I might need to weather the male spaces, either.

Whatever happens in the near future, I will try to do better at updating this blog on a regular basis.

Why?

Why is it that big, seemingly momentous events always take place after my therapy sessions?  I suppose that it must be so that I don't do anything rash.  I have twelve days to think on things before I go back to see Cassandra.  The truth is that I don't deal very well with the here-and-now.  Decisions made in the heat of the moment always seem to backfire, and I'm not in a very good spot to deal with that sort of thing.  Rash actions always have unforseen repercussions, and I do not need anything more unforseen or worse, undesired.  Anyway, before I go back, I'm supposed to write something about my dreams for the future.  Ha!  I don't know that I do that anymore.

I used to have what I thought were visions.  I thought I could actually see some events in the future.  The problem was, it was only ever the most mundane of occurrences, and I only experienced the feeling of "deja vu" after the fact.  When I was in the seventh grade, I walked up the my history teacher's desk and caught a coffee cup that was teetering on the edge.  Boing!  There was that feeling, that twinge of otherness.  It didn't come again until I was twenty-one.  Riding up the escalator from the NY subway into the daylight of Manhattan.  Boing!  I can't say that I have felt that sort of cognitive dissonance at any time since.  What's the use of precognition if all one can see is humdrum everyday stuff?

Yes, I Am Alive

I really didn't mean to go another month without posting, but life has a way of interfering with plans.  The cable's off at home, so I've been getting by on public terminals (That's a Mass Effect 2 reference, if anyone cares).  My job search continues, so far without any positive results, but I am still hopeful.

My therapy was on hold for a few weeks because Cassandra was traveling, but we had a good session yesterday, and we're back on schedule for the next couple of months.  Remember that "chuffed" feeling I had a while ago?  When I arrived yesterday, the receptionist let her know by saying, "Jaye is here for her appointment".  It's nice to be known as myself.

Affirmation

Last Saturday, I was invited to a party held by my friends Troy and River.  They called it the "Post-Mayan Apocalypse Zombie Solstice Party".  What a name, eh?  I attended the party they held last year in my male guise.  As I have been trying to get out more in my femme persona, that's how I went this time around.

I wore a "Christmas" sweater which has languished in my closet since last year.  It's teal and it glitters.  I wore the sweater over a pair of purple skinny jeans, with my grey boots.  I've got one decent picture of myself from that night:

I did my nails specially for the night: one coat of Spoiled "I Don't Drink Cheap Wine" (sort of magenta) and a second coat of Spoiled "Ants in My Pants" (clear red with glitter).  I was pleased with the effect.

Where they live is not far off one of the major bus routes, so I knew I could get there using public transportation.  Halfway to my transfer point, the bus broke down.  A nice gentleman from Star Metro came out and picked me up along with another passenger in a van, and promised to deliver us to our destinations.  Through the whole experience, the transit guy spoke of me as "that woman, her and she" and addressed me as "Ma'am".  Not all of my encounters with government employees have been so polite, or so positive.  Can
I borrow a phrase from my British friends and say that I was chuffed, or is that too masculine?

The party was great.  Troy and River have lots of friends, and there was a lot of food and drink, and a bonfire and...  Yeah, it was great. I had a wonderful conversation with a woman there whose child is Ftm.  I got a few compliments on my outfit.  The food was incredible.  A good time was had by all.

Yesterday was my third therapy session.  By mutual agreement with her, I attended en femme.  It was COLD yesterday, so I dressed simply in a blue sweater, skinny jeans (not the purple ones) and my boots.  At the start of our session, she told me that I seemed the most like myself of all the times I had come to see her.  Our discussion was wide-ranging, covering many topics, and not just those related to being trans.  I did speak a bit about that, though.  We talked about music, and dancing.  She gave me a "homework" assignment: I am to dance for at least fifteen minutes every day.  Would that all of my past homework assignments were so easy.

On Transfolk

Here's a link to a thoughtful, well-written piece from a writer I very much admire.  Please give it a read:

On Transfolk

Pretty is not something I often feel

Let me open this one with a link:
Pretty is not something I often feel

Heather Ryan writes from the perspective of the plus-sized woman, and I guess I know something about that life, being somewhat large myself.  It's not the same, but I think I understand something of how she feels.

I have not entered into any sort of a relationship since my marriage ended.  I've had one casual hookup, and kissed a couple of people, but I've not dated or gotten as far as being "involved" with anyone.  I'm not sure I know how anymore.  I miss certain elements of being in a relationship, but I just don't know if I'm capable anymore.

The woman I married knew what I was when we tied the knot.   I think she knew better than I did, yet she still tried to engineer it out of me.  "I don't need you to do that anymore" was a common refrain.  I know better now.  Anyone I was to become involved with now would have to know all, and accept me, and love me for things to work.  "Maybe I'm just 2 demanding," so the song goes, but I've become an all or nothing lover, and I don't want it any other way.

It's not like I haven't been attracted to anyone.  It's just that my feelings are seldom reciprocated.  There are always caveats.  Can't be in a relationship with anyone I work with.  A lot of women who like me are turned off by the gender identity stuff.  I mean, they're cool with me being the way I am; they just don't want to be with me that way.  Some men find me attractive, but either they like the male side of me and not the female, or they're turned off because I'm too far to the male side of the spectrum to be attractive to them.  Those guys who used to message me on Facebook were much the same.

I can definitely relate to not feeling pretty.  It's not that I see myself as ugly.  I like to think my inner beauty at least partly shines through to the outside.  It's this body that puts me off myself.  I've got great legs, and all the walking has certainly helped me there.  My lumpy torso, on the other hand...  It's frustrating.

During my one of my trips out in January, I bought a new bra from Victoria's Secret.  I remember being overjoyed that they had something I could wear.  I got one of their "Biofit Uplift" bras.  "Biofit Uplift" is fancy VS language for "push-up".  I've never worn a push-up bra before, at least not with real breast forms, and so I wasn't prepared for the "uplift" feature.  One of the last times I tried to go out, I had to keep changing my top because of the bra.  I could've gotten away with showing a bit of cleavage, except that my breasts don't look that realistic without fabric covering them.  I ended up changing both the bra and my top, so it ceased to be an issue, but it left me feeling depressed, and that led to me canceling the trip outright.

Last month I went out to Skeptics in the Pub.  Walking from the bus stop to the bar, I bumped into a pleasant-seeming fellow who walked with me a ways before turning home.  We had a nice chat, I thought, except that he seemed to want me to come home with him, and I was reluctant to run off with a complete stranger.  I do have some feminine instincts.  Leaving out the usual self-preservation stuff, I didn't go with him because I got a little of a "tranny chaser" vibe from him.  Maybe I read him wrong, but I don't want to be with somebody who just wants me for the novelty of sleeping with a girl who has something extra.  I did give him my phone number, but it's almost a month on, and I haven't heard from him.  I guess I sent him all the wrong signals, too.

Different Eyes, Different Vision

Here we are in a new year.  I'm going to try to write more often, and to stay on-topic.  That's as close to a New Year's resolution as you'll get from me.

I've written before about my experiments with feminine beauty enhancements.  I've gone on at length about my fingernails, culminating in last year's French manicure.  I've toed the line a few times with my eyebrows, though they don't generate the reaction they used to.  I guess waxing has become more common since I started.  Two weeks ago I decided to experiment with something a little more daring: eyelash extensions.

I thought they'd be something simple and subtle: a neat little look-enhancer that wouldn't be totally jarring with my normal day-to-day masculine appearance.  I've written here before about my mediocre experiences with mascara.  I decided to do the extensions almost on the spur of the moment.  I'd actually gone into the salon to ask about something else (leg waxing, if anyone cares) and was suffering from sticker shock over the cost.  I was determined to treat myself to something, though.  I flipped through the salon's brochure, and saw that they did eyelash extensions, and asked if they could do that instead.

Getting the extensions was certainly a new experience.  It's been a long time since I let anyone do anything that close to my eyes, and obeying the instructions to "Look that way" while the stylist leaned into my eye with a gigantic pair of tweezers was tough.  I survived, though.  The lashes I got were the shortest they offer, and they're still dramatically thicker than my natural lashes.  They were annoying at first, as I had trouble adjusting to the extra weight on my eyelids.  I probably unwitting batted them at lots of people at first, without meaning to.  I've grown used to them, though.  I like the look, but I'm not sure I want to pony up $25 every three weeks to maintain them.

Did anyone notice them?  They certainly did.  At least the women did.  The compliments have fairly streamed in, from ladies who thought they were my natural lashes to more observant people who wanted to know where I'd got them done.  From gentlemen, nothing.  I don't know if men are just less observant, or more circumspect.  I doubt it's the latter, though.  Men have always been quick to point out my manicures, and usually in a derogatory manner.  Maybe they don't want to admit to looking that close.

Tomorrow night's another Skeptics in the Pub event, and I managed to get the night off.  I am dressing up this time, so I'll get the full effect of how the lashes look with makeup.  I'll let you know how things go.

Going to the Mall

Yesterday I found out that Victoria's Secret are having a sale this week. Among the featured items, selected styles of panties are 5 for $25. It's not a bad deal, for Vicky's. I found out about this because my sixteen year-old niece told me. She told me because she wanted someone to take her, and it looks like I might be the one to have earned the honor of escorting her. Once the trip was agreed upon, I asked if anyone (specifically her parents) objected to her being taken out by her aunt Jaye. There were no objections, so it looks like I'm going shopping tonight. I might even buy myself a little something. I've been a good girl lately. Mostly.

Back to Work

I've been back to work for about three weeks now. I got my first full paycheck from the new company yesterday. Florida doesn't take a state tax out of people's payroll, so it was a nice check. Today I'm off, so I think I'll treat myself to a haircut and maybe a manicure. It's nice to be employed again, but work is only a slim buffer against depression.

I've gotten into this weird rut where I feel melancholy at home, but happy at work. Maybe it's the music. Every hotel I've worked in has had it's own special mix, but this place has the most eclectic selection of all of them. It's a mixture of some current pop, classical jazz and a lot of ambient dance stuff. Right now they're playing John Mayer, but during this shift I've heard DJ Shadow, Zero 7, Lusine, Yeasayer, Thievery Corporation and a slew of other electronic artists. In between all the downtempo club stuff I get snatches of hard bop that wouldn't sound out of place in a Yoko Kanno-scored anime. It's all so mellow; it's almost impossible to feel down about anything wrapped up in the sounds of this place. Maybe I need to buy an MP3 player and download some of this stuff, so I can carry it around with me. Maybe.

On a positive note, I forgot to take my studs out last night before I came in. I started to take them out, but the Front Office Manager told me they looked professional, so I could leave them in. After the flap at my last job, this was a tremendous relief. Small victories, right?

Weird, but Okay

Last Friday evening I was detailed to baby-sit my nieces while everyone was out of the house. Actually, there wasn't much sitting involved, as the children are mostly self-sufficient. Sarah, who is 14, is usually competent to look after the rest, who are 10 and 11. Mostly I was asked to keep an ear out in case they got rambunctious or needed help with dinner.

I went out into the garage to rummage through boxes from the move. I've got most of my clothes in the house, and some of my jewelry, but I've misplaced the box containing my stud earrings. After a short, frustrating search, I was called back into the kitchen to help Sarah with dinner. She asked me what I was looking for, and I told her I was looking for my earrings. She gave me that look. Then she looked down at my feet (I got a pedicure last week) and pronounced that all I needed was a dress, heels and a tiara, and I could be a princess. She was joking.

I told her I was only missing the tiara.

I broke down and gave her the CliffsNotes version. She asked a couple of questions, which I answered, then she told me I was "weird, but okay."

It's a little thing, but I'll take my acceptance wherever I can find it. Small steps, right?

Not the Only One

http://www.bilerico.com/2009/12/my_last_post_at_bilerico.php#more

See, I think I'm onto something here. I've been reading a lot of other people's blogs the last few days, and nearly everywhere I look, I see other people talking about the same things. I've read of others not feeling the community. I've read of people trying to push "others" out of "their" boxes. "You're not like me." "Stop trying to include yourself in my group because you're muddying the issue."

What can we do to fix this? Can it be fixed? Should we even try?

Another Year

Last night my friends and I marked the eleventh Transgender Day of Remembrance. We marched down Brambleton Avenue in Norfolk from Scope down to the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial (an obelisk), carrying the signs we made Wednesday. My friend Tracy and a lady named Vega read off the names of the fallen, then we walked back to Scope and adjourned to TACT for refreshments.

There weren't any ugly incidents while we were out. There was an old homeless man we encountered on the way back. I think he wanted to get to know some of us better, but he eventually went on his way. I did get a couple of nice complements on my outfit. I wore my purple sweater from Dots with a grey plaid skirt and purple tights, with a pair of black l.e.i. boots I scored at a thrift store in Churchland last year.

I got lost a couple of times heading to TACT. For some reason, I thought it might be reasonably close to where we marched. It was way, way down Granby Street, almost in Ocean View. I got there just in time for a quick snack and a sit-down with Julian and LLLLL before they kicked us out. I went home and changed for work. Nate had cooked while I was out: barbecue chicken and rice. And he baked brownies! I had one before I came to work, and it was incredible.

Halloween Epilogue

I wasn't able to get online at all yesterday after I left work, and I only had a few minutes to check my email at home, so this post comes twenty-four hours late, so I've had time for a little more analysis than I might've posted in a raw recap.

Friday wiped me out. Between sitting up all morning waiting to get paid, then running around all afternoon paying bills and stuff, then getting too little sleep before going back to work, I was exhausted. I had my Halloween costume assembled, but I had to put a few finishing touches on myself. I'd made a half-hearted effort to shave my legs Friday night, but my heart wasn't in it, so I resolved to wear black tights with my costume.

Getting ready Saturday evening, I remembered that I had a pair of black-and-white striped thigh-highs that I picked up at Hot Topic a couple of years ago. I think they're meant to stay up on their own, but I wore a garter belt anyway, just because. I had trouble fastening the rear set of tabs, so I enlisted Nate in hooking me up. I told him he could scratch an item off his bucket list. The expression on his face was priceless.

I ditched the "Eris" makeup in favor of something I thought was Halloweeny, a Revlon palette of smoky greys and green. The polish I bought turned out to be more of metallic onyx, but it worked with my outfit, and it matched the tone of my star earrings almost perfectly.

By the time I was ready to go, Nate had our neighbors all psyched up to see me in costume, so I strolled across the street for a photo op before rolling out. Because I forgot to bring along my camera, the only photos of me from this excursion were taken by other people. A few of them have appeared on Facebook and elsewhere, so I'll try to find one or two to post here for everyone's edification and entertainment.

The party at Mike & Mark's was great. I am not a party person, in the usual sense. I like to meet and hang out with people, and maybe have a drink or two, but that's all. That's the main reason why I don't spend a lot of times in bars. That, and I can only put up with so much cigarette smoke. This party was different, somehow. I only knew a couple of the people there, but the others I met were very friendly. There was dance music playing on Sirius. There was a big cooler outside filled with beer and wine coolers, and the fixings for assorted mixed drinks in the kitchen. There was food - I've seen wedding receptions that had smaller spreads.

I think I was the only trans person there, though I wasn't the only one in a female costume. There were three fellows from the Hampton Roads Men's Chorus, dressed as the Golden Girls (they had a female friend dressed as Rose to fill out the set). Towards the end a carload of friends showed up dressed as assorted dead people, including a guy dressed as Jackie Kennedy on November 22 (a pink Chanel suit covered in blood) and another dressed as Anna Nicole Smith (wearing stripper shoes that looked impossible to walk in).

Towards the end of the party, I was talking to a woman dressed as a fairy. I think she was a little drunk. She asked me what I was dressed as. I asked, "The hat doesn't give it away?" She told me she loved my costume, but I should ditch the witch hat and tell people I was a hooker. OH NO SHE DIDN'T!!!

I tried to explain how demeaning that was, both to me and to women in general. I told her about the people I have known who turned to sex work because they couldn't find regular employment. I told her telling folks I was a prostitute could get me arrested. She would not be dissuaded. I broke off the conversation and found someone else to talk to.

The picture above shows me, Tiffany and her girlfriend Danni.

A Long Weekend

I mentioned a couple of days ago that I was going to be off this weekend, Saturday and Sunday. Well, I discovered last night that this has been extended. Due to scheduling difficulties with my relief, I've been given Monday and Tuesday as well. That's a four-day weekend! If I had known of it a little sooner, I could've made plans for something more involved than what I was already looking towards, like a road trip or something.

Did I mention I'm going to be all alone this weekend? Yeah. Nate's getting on a train in a couple of hours and running down to Florida for Nick's seventh birthday. He's going with Eddie, our nice neighbor who watched the boys over the summer when Nate was working and I was sleeping. They won't be back until sometime Tuesday evening. What am I going to do with myself?

I'm going to try to get in a little shopping this morning after I pay a couple of bills, then off to bed. My "vacation" doesn't start till tomorrow. After work tomorrow, I'll crash for a bit, then off to Movie Night in Virginia Beach. No idea what the movie will be, but it'll be nice to hang out with friends.

Sunday's the air show. The weather is predicted to be crappy again, but both the Blue Angels and Snowbirds say they can work with ceilings as low as 1000 feet, and most of the rest of the performers won't notice the lack of altitude. Sunday night, if I'm not completely wiped, I might check out the Hershee. They have karaoke on Sundays. What? Don't look at me like that.

Monday and Tuesday, though. What am I gonna do? On the one hand, I've got two extra days to be myself 24/7, so no running about in drab unless I want to. I can even paint my nails if I want! Take that, Boss!

I'm Out!

Please forgive me for not being around the last couple of days. I was anticipating having my DSL connected a couple of days ago, but it was not to be. Before I went off Tuesday morning, I sat down with my manager and let her know what I want to do, as far as transitioning on the job. I gave her the Cliff's Notes version of my life. I talked a little about wanting to transition, but told her that I wasn't planning on doing it tomorrow, or even next week. I just wanted her to know what was going on with me. I explained that under current law, there isn't any protection for trans workers, and that she could fire me then and there, if she wanted. She told me she wouldn't do that. Personally, she doesn't care how I dress, so long as I do my job well. She told me that she would talk to corporate and get back to me.

Unable to Be Myself

I haven't been out en femme since the Eye of the Beholder show May 15th. The last couple of times I've been off, I've hoped to get a little "me time" out of doors, but it just hasn't happened. I'm closing in on the end of another nine-day stretch at work, and I'm going to be off this Saturday and Sunday, so I'm really looking forward to the weekend. I'm already planning to attend an event with the Gender Expression Movement (formerly known as New Life Transgender Outreach) Sunday, and I'm waiting with bated breath.

To exacerbate the situation, one of my coworkers has been peppering me with questions about being trans. Since my "coming out", she's been doing a little research, trying to understand what I'm going through. It's nice to be able to talk about stuff openly, but I wish I could work dressed the way I prefer.

The female version of the uniform isn't all that different from the male. There's a scarf instead of a necktie (and the scarf is optional). The striped blouse is prettier than the male equivalent. Other than that, it's just a shirt and pants. I'd be able to wear a little makeup (okay, a lot), though, and prettier earrings. And yes, I'd wear much less sensible shoes.

I used to frustrate the members of my support group in Charlotte. Almost without fail, they'd show up to our Saturday meetings in dresses or dressy skirt outfits. Most of the time, I wore jeans with a seasonally-appropriate top. I dressed for the weather and the time of day. I dressed mostly to draw less attention to myself. A woman of any sort draws attention to herself if she steps out on a Saturday afternoon in a skirt. People wonder who she is, and where she's going. I save my dresses for special occasions. I like to think that my dressing is more like that of a GG. I like skirts, but most of the time, you'll find me in jeans. That's just me.

One other tidbit that's stoked my sense of frustration is the reappearance of Jen, the transwoman who visited the hotel back in April. She's back in the States on government business, and has her evenings free for fun and games. As I arrived at work tonight, she was returning from dinner out with a friend. She came back down to the desk to visit with me a bit. She's seeing a doctor now, and seems a lot more comfortable in her skin than when I saw her last. She had some new clothes she wanted to show me, including some jean shorts that were really SHORT. She wore them with fishnets and a leopard-print top. She went on to tell me that her therapist told her that transwomen go through stages similar to a GG's growing up. She's in her teenager phase. I told her I could tell. We laughed.

It looks like I might have a little extra money to spend on myself this week, after I pay some bills. I haven't decided, but I'm either going to get my nails done at the salon, or buy myself some new hair. It's been two months since my last manicure/pedicure, and my eyebrows are positively bushy. My favorite wig is looking a little ragged, and no shampooing will restore it to its former glory. What do you all think?

Vermont Program Helps Students Explore Gender Identity

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090607/ap_on_re_us/us_gender_identity

Ganked from Yahoo, obviously.

Where were programs like this when I was growing up?

Now That That's Out of the Way

My boss is always very nicely dressed. She wears suits most of the time, with either pants or a skirt, and skyscraper heels. She was wearing pinstriped trousers this morning. She's been chatting with a fellow she met via eHarmony, and he called to say he was coming by the hotel to see her. Then she started to fret about her outfit, that she wasn't dressed to meet someone. She said she was glad she wasn't wearing her "hoochie mama" suit, with a pencil skirt. Without thinking, I said, "I used to own a pencil skirt."

She looked at me with a slightly raised eyebrow, and asked if I'm a crossdresser. I told her, "No, I'm trans." All she said was, "Oh, okay."

She asked if I had any pictures of myself. I didn't, and the only site I can access from work that has any of mine on it is here. so I pulled up my profile. Now she knows me as Jaye, and she's cool about it. *Gasp!*

Now I just need to talk to her about coming out/transitioning at work.

Knights, Out?

Back in March, I wrote a little about a story I'd seen about Knights Out, an LGBT support group for serving military officers. A First Lieutenant Dan Cho appeared on the show to announce his membership in the group, in anticipation of the repeal of the military's "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy regarding sexual orientation.

Well, Obama hasn't repealed DADT, and there's no sign that he's planning to do so, and the Army are in the process of dismissing Lt. Cho and a Second Lieutenant Sandy Tsao. The Air Force are axing Lieutenant Colonel Victor Fehrenbach, a decorated 18-year veteran F-15 jock. All of these are talented, well-trained officers. I can't find the story at the moment (maybe someone will help me), but I saw a piece in the NY Times last week that indicated that the military have so lowered their recruiting standards that all of the major criminal gangs in the US now have significant toeholds in the armed forces: Crips, Bloods, Aryan Nation, MS-13, etc. The Armed Forces are willing to recruit trash, while they toss out their best and brightest? WTF?!?