Life, Law, Gender

An Article - Part 3 of 3

Note: This is the final installment of the original article that I wrote a dozen years ago.

Out of Control

I had just spent from Thursday noon to Monday morning completely en femme.  I felt fantastic!  However, household chores needed to be done, including mowing the lawn. I certainly couldn’t do that in full makeup, wig and a dress.  I changed back to boy clothes (I left my toenails painted for two weeks) and did my household chores.  Afterward I discovered that I was tired.  I resolved not to dress that night and to simply stay home and watch television (a movie “Just one of the girls” was on).

Then, Stacy called.  She, her fiancée, and several other friends (including two CD wannabe’s) were planning a late night trek to a newly discovered gay bar that was featuring a female impersonator show that night.  Did I want to come along?  Well, sure.  It took me only an hour and a half to get ready - maybe I’m getting too practiced at this? Stacy and her fiancée stopped by to pick me up and we were off.  On the way down Stacy and I had one of our good talks.  She is a good friend; one in which I placed such confidence I let her re-finance my home mortgage.  We got to the bar and everyone kept wanting to buy me drinks.  I restrained myself so I had only had two when the emcee of the show approached me to see if I was planning to be in the show.  “No.”  Did I want to be? “No.”  Would I please?  “No.”  “Please?  We need you.”  “Well, OK, but I’ve never done it before, and I don’t have a clue as to what I’m doing.”

Stacy went out to my car to pick up a tape of a song I’ve fallen in love with: Whitney Houston’s “Run to You.”  Naturally, I did not have on stage (read “drag”) make-up, so I borrowed the makeshift dressing room to add a little emphasis to my eyes, lips and cheeks.  Going on stage in front of people is quite an interesting adventure.  Even though all you do is lip-sync the song, you do have to know the words in order to make it believable.  Also, you can’t simply stand in one place and move your lips.  Fortunately, I had this song memorized and it meant so much to me that I was able to do a fair job of acting out the emotions it holds for me.  I came in second place.  Of course, the selection process is slightly rigged.  They choose based on applause and since I had so many friends with me, it would have been impossible for me to come in any lower!  Still, it was a lot of fun and an experience I’m glad I tried.

I was oh-so-tired for work the next day (Tuesday).  I had just spent 4-½ days en femme with only a short break for yard work.  I didn’t dress at all Tuesday or Wednesday.  I just didn’t have the energy!  I went home, made myself dinner, watched a little TV and headed to bed early.  After all, the weekend was approaching and I needed to rest up.

My work began to suffer.  My thoughts were constantly on dressing and what I would do that evening, where I would go, who I would meet.  I logged onto the computer every day, just to be able to be with other cross dressers, if only electronically.  I found myself in stores more often, looking for new clothes, jewelry, make-up, and shoes.  I was clearly on a binge and I didn’t know how to stop.  I told myself I didn’t want to stop.  I did another show at a different bar.  I found that I liked being out amongst people and I enjoyed the caricature represented by the drag queens.  I avoided any heavy contact with them, because I sensed they were not a happy lot and I’d heard that many of them are into drugs, not a scene I have any interest in.  But, I also recognized that I was losing control of myself, and my grip on reality.  I knew I needed help; I was unable or unwilling to rein myself in.  And I was becoming unhappy; I felt something was missing.

I was smart enough to know that I missed my “real” life.  It is a life I’ve worked hard to have.  Yet, I was afraid of losing the “life” I’d found amongst my cross-dressing friends. I sank into a bit of depression as I contemplated the loss of one or the other.  My fondest dreams had them integrated, but my conscious mind could not work out the details. Even now, I’m not sure it can be wholly resolved.  I knew that whatever was to happen would begin as soon as my wife arrived home from her vacation.

Hiatus

Blogging may, or may not, resume in the near future.  I am, um, otherwise occupied and this has moved to the very bottom of my priority list.  I'm going to Florida in a few weeks, I'll probably blog then and sporadically until then.  Bye for now!

[UPDATE]: I am well; the reason for my break from blogging is a positive one, indeed. Incredibly, I am falling in love.  I wasn't sure that this could happen a third time in one person's life, but is seems to be.  Right now, the only real priority I have is spending time with her.  I won't say much -- as I've said, I've learned my lesson -- but I will say that she's a successful attorney, very attractive (she won't let me say pretty or beautiful, but that's what I think), is about 3 years younger, and lives within 30 minutes of me.  We have lots of fun together and have been practically inseparable since we met.  I think that's all I can safely say.  I'm not gone forever, just slowing down -- I will post the rest of my "Transition stories", in any event.

An Article - Part 2

Part 1 - The Journey, Recent History, The Voyage Begins - is here.

The Atlanta Trip

Although I knew we were heading for Atlanta the next day, I couldn’t resist going out.  It seems I had so much “going out” built up in me that I just had to get some of it released. Naturally, I headed over to BJ’s (a popular womyn’s bar).  There was nothing particularly unusual about the evening except that the bar was kind of slow and it afforded me the chance to sit and talk at length with, and get to know Rose, one of the bartenders. One of the ladies in the bar bought me a drink and asked me to join her, but it was getting late and I *am* happily married. I headed for home about 2 in the morning, stopping in to see John at his store before heading for bed.

John was scheduled to show up at my house around 7 when he would transform into Sarah and we would begin our journey to Atlanta and the Sigma Epsilon meeting.  I set my alarm for 6:30 and began my own packing and transformation.  I took more time packing than I expected so I was happy when John didn’t arrive until almost 8.  By the time we were both ready and out the door, it was well past 9.  It certainly appeared that we wouldn’t have much chance of arriving there by 4 as we had hoped.

As it turns out, the trip was uneventful.  It took us a solid 9 hours as the hotel is all the way on the north end of Atlanta and I refused to drive faster than the speed limit. I am not yet ready for my first “encounter” with a traffic cop!  Sarah had worked all night the previous night, so she slept most of the way, waking up just for gas, food and necessary stops.  We arrived just past 6, and had some difficulty getting a room, but good fortune smiled upon us and we were able to get a room with 2 double beds and we made everyone only slightly late for dinner as I insisted on changing clothes after the long drive.

We went to a very nice Russian restaurant for dinner.  We had two carloads of people, about 9 in all.  The valet seemed just a bit surprised when we all arrived, but he maintained his composure and treated us very nicely.  The dinner was nice, although I wound up sitting at the smokers’ table!  The only consternation came about when (what else?) we needed to use the restroom.  As it turned out, they had two, neither designated by sex so it became a non-issue.  One of the ladies at dinner with us that evening was Linda Peacock, the outgoing president of SigEp.  I’m not certain, but I believe she is the first genetic woman to head a chapter of Tri-Ess.  She is also on the board of directors for Tri-Ess and one of the driving forces for the SPICE conventions.  Although her husband is a cross- dresser, and I am certainly envious of his spouse’s obvious acceptance, I am sure he is pleased that she has relinquished at least some duties this year.  I am continually amazed at some of the truly remarkable people that become involved in our “community” or “para-culture.”  While there are those who would bury it, hide it, or be shamed by it (and those for whom there is no other choice), there are also people like Linda who work hard to see that the world at large knows we are ok and that we each also know that we are ok.

Back at the hotel, I headed for bed.  Sarah headed for the bar to watch the game and chat with the other ladies, but I was in serious need of sleep.  The next day we had breakfast in the hotel dining room and after eating, the cashier commented on what nice nails I had.  I knew Amelia would be proud!  We had our meeting that morning and the number of new members surprised me.  Counting Sarah and myself there were at least 10 people that had attended fewer than 3 meetings.  They have a large and growing group in Atlanta.  I think it is one of the oldest Tri-Ess chapters in the country.  It was originally established as the chapter for the southeast United States and was based in Tennessee, I believe.  In any event, they still have members from all over the Southeast and some that drive long distances to attend.  Sarah and I, of course, had driven up from Tampa, but there were original members from as far away as Chattanooga, TN that try and make every meeting.

Following the meeting (which was held concurrently with the spouses’ meeting) we broke up to allow each of us to do our own thing.  Several of us wanted to go to the infamous “Perimeter Mall.”  I got a run in my nylons on the way to the mall so the first thing I needed to do was replace them.  I bought a replacement pair at J.C. Penney and used the fitting room to change.  I also picked up a couple of “cocktail rings” from their costume jewelry selection.  Although I have a weakness for jewelry, it is one of the few areas I have managed a little restraint.  This weekend was no time for restraint!

Michigan Womyn's Music Festival

For the past 30 years, the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival (MWMF)has held its festival in northern, rural Michigan.  Women come from all over the country to attend.  It is a celebration of womanhood and solidarity.  No men are allowed.  The women camp out, listen to music, dance, sing around the campfire and generally just enjoy each other's company for one week a year.  The festival attracts something like 6-7 thousand women each year.

Womyn of every age, color, shape, style and attitude gather each year to enjoy a womon-loving cultural extravaganza of our own creation. This year's version includes over 40 performances, hundreds of workshops, a film festival, a crafts fair, and fitness and dance classes. The program will celebrate the artists who have fueled the Festival culture from our beginnings in 1976 and bring together all of the artists who contribute to the Festival's musical heartbeat in the new millennium. The Festival is held on 650 acres of lush Michigan woodlands where you can hike in for the deep woods experience or settle in a busy fireside neighborhood.

But, as with most things, not everyone is happy with the Festival.  For the past dozen years or so the policy of MWMF has been to allow only "womyn born womyn" on its property.  The organizers, who own this property, argue correctly that they have the absolute right to restrict access to whomever they please. This space, they argue, is for women who have spent their lives experiencing the brunt of the patriarchy. This space, for one short week a year, provides them with an escape from the patriarchy and the experience of a supportive, woman-affirming space. Nevertheless, a closer look at that wording obviously translates to: No trannies allowed.  In protest of this policy a group of trans-people, and in later years, other supporters such as the Boston Lesbian Avengers, have attended an organized protest of this policy in a small campground down the road from the entrance to MWMF, called Camp Trans:

In 1991, a woman was asked to leave the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival after her transsexual status became known to festival workers. The festival began for the first time to enforce a policy of allowing only "womyn-born womyn" to attend. The first official Camp Trans was held in 1993, when several transsexual womyn and their allies began camping and holding demonstrations outside the gate.  Camp Trans returned in 1994 with the support of transgender activists Riki Ann Wilchins and Les Feinberg, and again in 1999 with many members of the Boston and Chicago Lesbian Avengers. The events of 1999 drew much attention and controversy, culminating in heated tensions as a small group of transgender activists were admitted into the festival to dialogue with organizers and to negotiate a short-lived compromise allowing only post-operative transgender womyn on the festival land.

Goodbye, Scotty

When I was a kid, I used to be glued to the television and loved Star Trek.  There were no controversies then about which Star Trek captain was the best, there was no acronym wars TOS, TNG, DS9, Ent, etc.  There was only one Star Trek.  Years later, with the show in re-runs the girls' mom and I knew every episode by heart, we could see a single screen shot and tell you the name of the episode and the dialog.  It was pretty pathetic, really.  We were definitely Trekkers.

Today, James Doohan -- Scotty -- passed away due to Alzheimer's disease and pneumonia. His ashes, like those of creator Gene Roddenberry, will be shot into orbit.

Dating redux

I have in the past posted a couple of wholly inappropriate entries about my dating life and was appropriately spanked for them.  So I shall not repeat that mistake.  Suffice it to say that I've not been posting lately because I have not had much to say, first, and that I have had the pleasure of meeting or speaking to a couple of very interesting, fun women and that has occupied some of my time.  'Nuff said.

Get off my bridge!

When Heidi first asked to hear sea stories, I doubt that she had stories of my idiocy in mind.  Nevertheless, this is what you get.  Hey, I was only days past my 17th birthday when I joined, I *was* an idiot, what do you expect?

When I enlisted my step-dad gave me two pieces of excellent advice -- and I've tried to live my life by them: 1) Always ask for what you want; they won't just give it to you and 2) Work with your mind and not with your hands.  It turns out that that second piece of advice, while important, may have been moot.  When I took the pre-enlistment exam that the recruiter gave me, he told me that I had the lowest mechanical aptitude score that he had ever seen.  So, he sent me to Signalman "A" school after boot camp (I did pretty well in that school, actually; I graduated 1st in my class).  There was only one problem.  Because I came in first in my class I had a higher priority in my selection of duty stations and I volunteered for both Vietnam and submarines (so, naturally, they sent me to the Grayback, the only submarine permanently deployed in southeast Asia at that  time).  Well, guess what?  Submarines don't have signalman!  So, without any schooling whatsoever, they made me a Quartermaster.

An Article - Part 1

This is 3 part article (and each part is fairly long, I fear) that I wrote a long time ago for publication in the local support group's newsletter, Butterflies.  I, again, remind the reader that these early writings are written from the perspective of a beginning cross-dresser who pushed all thoughts of transsexualism aside.  Indeed, at about this time a friend made a comment that while I protested that I was "nothing but an average cross-dresser" she wouldn't be surprised one day to learn that my transmission had slipped a gear into transsexualism.  I scoffed.

I wrote this at the request of the group, in an attempt to share with people another life story. It post dates some of the later letters (I wrote this around October/November, 1993).

The Journey

My voyage of gender discovery has been somewhat intense, as I know many of you are aware.  I have written several articles regarding isolated incidents that occurred during that voyage.  Some have concerned themselves with my inner conflict regarding telling my spouse, but most have been about public excursions while en femme: shopping, my trip to the Be All in Chicago, “First Friday” clubbing, etc.  In this article, I should like to combine both perspectives as the events are so intertwined.  Paula’s recent article in Butterflies reminded me again of how important it is that we share with each other our journeys so that we may each learn.  This article will certainly be longer than most and I hereby give permission to edit, condense, or separate into multiple publication as required.

Recent History

After my very recent discovery of the joy that cross-dressing can bring (9 months), I found myself becoming more and more caught up in what some have called the “pink fog.”  I entertained all the usual thoughts: How can I do this more often?  Do I want to do this full-time?  Is there something wrong with me?  I began to think about dressing to the detriment of my male life and my job.  I became somewhat obsessed with perfecting the presentation.  I wanted to PASS!!!  However, I was somewhat constrained in searching for answers in that my dearest friend and confidant, my spouse, was unaware of all that was going on.  I found the time that I could dress was severely restricted, sometimes to only once per month.

I found myself doing the one thing that is a sure-fire recipe for disaster in any marriage.  I began to lie to her.  I violated her trust in me.  This began to gnaw at me like nothing else. I HAD to tell her what was happening to me.  Now, I’m not sure that telling your spouse is a MUST for everyone.  We are all unique and in unique situations, but for me, it was an imperative.  For a while, I believed that I could “spare her” by not telling.  I, alone, could and would bear this “burden.”  However, I realized that wasn’t the case; I NEEDED her help and understanding.  To attempt to bear it alone was a typical macho reaction, which is not a response I’ve ever been very comfortable with.

I believed, however, that I needed a baseline of understanding of my own.  I set myself an objective to tell her within 6 months from the time I started.  I thought that wouldn’t be so long of a time that she would think I had hidden anything from her and, at the same time, it would be long enough for me to discover some basic truths about myself, gender dsyphoria, others like me, etc.

A dearth of resources

Some time ago I reported on the Provost's TBLG task force and its report.  One of the activities that came out of that report was the formation of three follow-up subcommittees charged with implementing specific recommendations within the report: Subcommittee for Name Changes, Subcommittee on Healthcare, and the Subcommittee on Education, Orientation and Visibility.  None of these, obviously, deal with the Report's first recommendation of amending the by-laws.  We're still working on that one.

As I was reading the drafts of these reports (some much better than others -- the Healthcare report, for example, was superficial, condescending and completely without substance) I noticed at the end of one of the reports a list of "Michigan Transgender Websites".  On that short list was my blog.

Huh?  My blog?  As a Michigan Transgender resource?  No. It's not.  If you come here looking for guidance on navigating the transgender waterways in Michigan you will be sorely disappointed.  For now, go to Transgender Michigan's web-site. However, it did make me realize that there really is a dearth of information.  So, beginning immediately, I am going to work on getting the TransForUM web-site more robust and useful.  I find it actually sad that my blog should make it onto this official report, making it seem as if there are more resources than there are.  And, why wasn't Lynn's site listed?  It is MUCH more useful.

Good Luck, Discovery!

As the Space Shuttle Discovery prepares for its launch today how can we not help but think back on the disaster that ended the lives of the last shuttle crew, Columbia, to travel to space?  I even - vividly - recall the first space shuttle disaster when Challenger blew up just after take-off, killing all 7 crew members.  This was back in the early days of "routine" space flight and we had all just stopped watching every take-off.  But, despite being at work, we were glued to the television for hours after the explosion.  There were even reports of parachutes that gave us false hope that some of the crew had survived.

So, today, after many modifications and safety enhancements, the space program begins anew.  And, for the first time, a woman, Eileen Collins, is in command.  Godspeed, Discovery.  We'll be watching and evisioning a safe mission and return.

[UPDATE]  Mission scrubbed.  Next time.

Am I crazy?

My fall class schedule has changed somewhat since the last time I posted it. It now looks like this:

Class	Credit	Instructor	Days	Hours
Comparative Human Rights Law	3	McCrudden	MTWR	8-10
Jurisdiction and Choice of Law	4	Reimann	MTWR	10:10 – 11:05
Bankruptcy	4	Pottow	MTW	1:10 – 2:25
Family Law	3	Kochen	TWR	2:35 – 3:30
Anatomy of a Deal	2	Adelman	M	3:40 – 5:40
Total Credits	16

Is 16 hours crazy -- especially given my penchant for getting involved in other things?  I think it may be.  But, I'm going to give it a go.  I may end up having to take one of the classes pass/fail, we'll see.

Back into the fray

Tonight is a crowded night!  This afternoon, from 4-6, we had a "FareWelcome" party at the Office of Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender Affairs to welcome the two new staff members just hired and to say farewell to a staff member who is moving out of state.  I am excited about the new additions; they are vibrant, intelligent, and committed people.  But, I am also greatly saddened at the loss of Molly.  She has become a great friend and I will miss her terribly.

While there, I also got to visit with Jay and thank him personally for the lovely post he wrote about me.  This man is just such a delightful person.

Tonight - beginning in mere minutes I have a meeting of the Wolverine Coalition for Human Rights, the group we formed to work on getting the Regents to amend the bylaws.

And, following that meeting I have a meeting of a local transgender support group that I belong to. 

It will be a late night, but it feels good to become active in the community again.

Klutz!

The trip to BlissFest was fabulous!  And, I say this despite the destruction of my glasses, the blisters on each thumb, the sunburn on my nose, and the dunking in Lake Michigan I took while trying my hand at kayaking!    

The water was so beautiful!  This is the first time that I've ever gone "swimming" in a fresh water lake (learning to scuba dive in an abandoned mining pit in Colorado notwithstanding).  Of course, compared to Florida waters, this was damn chilly (about 68 degrees, they said) but after being out in the sun and paddling around for a while, it was a welcome relief. Swimming with a paddle in your hand and a life vest on is an interesting challenge, however (as is getting back into the kayak!).

I also picked up a new favorite artist in the person of Catie Curtis.  This is not to say that she replaces my other favorite artists (like Jimmy), just that she's now added to the mix.  She has some awesome songs (I especially love the queer-themed songs (such as Honest World, but I like the others also).

And, just to top off the trip, I stopped in a jewelry store and bought myself a pair of earrings!  What a great couple of days!

[UPDATE: Shelley, the earrings are made of opal and 18k gold.  BTW, your comment was number 1000 since I changed to Typepad (on post number 400). :)  ]

Quote

In Uniqueness there is no competition and no comparison.

- Louise Hay

Birthed in a storage locker

[Note: This is the second installment in my transition stories category.  These early stories are about a time when I first came out as transgendered and I identified exclusively as a cross-dresser.  Each of these next several entries were written about the time that I began cross-dressing as an adult.  I will add comments inside brackets where I find it relevant or I will delete text where I find it necessary and appropriate (and bracket the deletions); otherwise these are as they were written then.  When I first started cross dressing, I rented a storage locker (5x5x10) where I kept all my stuff (make-up, clothing, etc.).  This is a letter I wrote to my wife at the time (January 1993).]

My Dearest Love,

I am writing this letter to you in the event that something happens to me before I have a chance to discuss this with you in person.  If you are reading this, I am surely dead or seriously injured - for I intend you to not see this unless you somehow find my “cache”.

You are obviously reading this through the discovery of my rented storage facility.  That means you’ve discovered Denise.  I have meant to tell you of her for a long time.  She is as much a part of me as any trait or characteristic I have.  Part of what makes me who I am is Denise.  More than anything in the world, I beg your understanding and, more than that, your forgiveness for not sharing this with you earlier.  You cannot know how much I wanted to.

I will not try here to explain what compelled me to cross-dress.  I truly have no idea.  I did seek the advice of a psychiatrist at one time (to the tune of $250 for an hour session!).  She told me the “condition” was curable and related to my relationship with my mother (Mothers are always to blame! HaHa!).  She wanted $6,000 - $7,000 for therapy sessions to “cure” me (over a 6-7 month period, minimum). [I later saw this same psychiatrist as part of my transition and reminded her of this; she flatly denied it ever took place - she claims she never said it was curable nor that it was related to my relationship with my mother.  I must have just made that up.  Yeah, right.  Personally, I think she just changed her tune as she, herself, learned more about transgenderism.] Since I clearly could not afford that, and, like you, I have an innate distaste for them and their profession, I looked elsewhere for answers.  I did much reading, and those books, for the vast majority, argued that the condition is not curable.  Furthermore, frankly, I didn’t want it cured.  I enjoyed being Denise.  I hurt no one.  I will leave it to you, if you desire, to read about it.  I wish you simply to know that the “condition” - to me - is harmless and is not caused by anyone external to me - especially you.  It is a desire in me that I have had for a very long time.  Remember, I told you about my dressing up in my Mother’s clothes when I was young?