Stressed

I’ve been definitely slackin on the blogger tip.  My job is coming close to driving me insane.  I have spent the last week running around in a Chinese, or rather Japanese, fire drill.  Our team was slated to give a presentation this week, but due to poor communication, everyone was pressed for time to complete their ditty.  It was on, then off, then on again.  Then agenda changed by the hour it seemed.  I spent most of Sunday working on my segment of the presentation instead of writing a Flash Fiction Friday entry.  I spent a couple of days before mulling over what I was to present.  Finally it clicked in what and how I was going to present the material. I filled in the pictures today and completed it.  I told Mari and Helmut that I wanted to do a practice run through with them so that I wouldn’t be going in cold on Wednesday morning.  I ran out to go to therapy in Ffm for a couple of hours, and then came back to work.  I didn’t feel much like going through the presentation, but I forced myself to do it.  I needed to check my time, as I only have a half an hour and Jens suggested that I only shoot for fifteen minutes.  The Japanese asked lots of questions apparently during the presentations today, and thus foreshortened the presentations.  I forgot to ask if the presenters had asked them to hold their questions until the end.  Helmut timed me, and I finished in twenty minutes.  Jens dropped by as he was leaving and said he looked at my presentation and liked it.  Cool.

In getting ready for this week, I went through my closet to dig out my proper business attire.  All the clothes that I don’t want to wear anymore.  Dress slacks, dress shirt, and tie.  It all seems weird now somehow.  I haven’t worn this stuff in so long.  I tried it all on to make sure it would fit.  I don’t look so much a man anymore, even with the clothes that make the man.  I would much rather be wearing a close cut skirt suit.  Someday perhaps.  The outfit that I will be wearing tomorrow I actually made a couple of years ago.  The vest is lined with charmeuse satin.  Nice.  Did I mention that I love satin?  Satin, especially silk charmeuse, is my favorite fabric.  I developed my penchant for satin from my childhood security blanket.  It was powder blue of course, with blue satin edging.  As I was falling asleep I would rub it between my fingers.  I love how smooth it feels.  I don’t know why the touch of satin makes me feel good, but it does.  I think I will take a picture or two before I go to work and you can be the judge.  I was a little apprehensive about wearing a white shirt, as I am worried about my breasts, or rather aereoli would show through.  They’ve grown quite large recently.  I suppose I could wear two t-shirts if push comes to shove.

I’m really looking forward to Jen and Diane coming here at the end of this week.  It will be a much needed break.  We are going to Amsterdam for a couple of days.  I should really contact highmaintenancehussy for some tips on the A-Dam.  I’ve got to go to bed so I can be fit to meet the Japanese tomorrow, and be a man once again.  Blech!

FFFri VIII Revenge of the Clods

Hell bent for leather and ugly as a dirt clod had taken up camp right outside my window.  There his putrid frame lay in wait for my inevitable return to my loathsome job.  I hope to leave this mindless job someday after I have completed my double Ph.D. in physics, concentration on quantum mechanics and theoretical mathematics.  The latter is sort of like basket weaving.  For every big name concert that has come to Providence in the last years he has camped out beside my ÜberTicketFührer booth.  Always striving to be the very first to select from the solid gold of head banger heaven.  The coveted “dude! First row!  Whoooo!”

The worst of all was the concerts that went on sale in the dead of summer.  He would be in his tent still asleep when I arrived in the morning.  The dead soldiers on the sidewalk as reminders of hard nights spent on “the road”.  As I was setting up my booth I could see him brushing his teeth with whiskey as he sat on the curbstone above his bathroom sink, the gutter.  Always wearing the same thing; a wife beater, black leather vest, black leather pants, and black lumberjack boots.  I was glad I had a window in front of me and positive air pressure.  The stench on the third or fourth day would be unbearable if it were to waft in through the change dish opening.  I often wondered what it was about the concerts that would drive him and many others to risk life and personal hygiene for the front row.  I devised that it all comes down to bragging rights.

He and the other campers would brag about their past exploits on the road.  “Yeah dudeman, I got fourth row center for Queensryche and the Scorps back in 87’.” Or “that’s nothin’, I got second row for Priest and Maiden in 86’.”  “The Civic Centre was a-crawlin’ with bitches.”  The heavy metal “bitches” of the big hair, souixsie makeup, and spandex type.  Half shirt and hockey hair euphoria.  The stoners always came to my booth to ask me when the tickets go on sale; meanwhile a large concert bill is plastered on the wall next to my window large enough for the dead to see.  I would get all my required daily exercise just pointing to the side of my window.

The day would finally arrive; you could cut the anticipation with a knife.  I would get to work early sometimes just to watch as the throngs gathered and reveled in their rockedness.  He would sit there in his lawn chair right in front of my window.  I felt like a court jester looking from behind him on his throne presiding over his faithful citizens with his scepter in hand, a GIQ of bud.  He bought as many of the best seats he could buy.  Afterwards it was time to break camp and harass the rest of the people on line.  I was glad the big concerts that people camp out for sell out quickly.

This is stupid.  I was uninspired to write this week   I shouldn’t have done it.  Blah!

happy sunday

I’m happy!, happy!, happy! this morning. I went to bed at a decent time and didn’t drink [much]. The sun is shining, I can’t hear any birds, just cars, but I know they are out there somewhere. My face is clearing up after the recent bout of acne. Today I plan on cleaning this abomination I call an apartment, writing my FFF#VIII entry (“Hell bent for leather and the dirt clod”), and possibly starting and finishing a sewing project. Fall is here and I haven’t any good clothes for cold weather. I like the idea of a new wardrobe, but it is going to be a daunting task. I can and will get it done somehow. I want to make a pullover sweater with this stretch fabric that resembles felted wool. There is some wool content, but it is limited to fine hairs on the surface to give it that felted look. It’s really soft and matches my eye color, sort of a grayish blue. I have the design in my head which means it only needs to be laid out on paper. I bought a piece of melamine yesterday to cover the opening in my industrial sewing table where the old Pfaff (big Bertha) usually resides. I bought a work surface extension made of acrylic for my newer Pfaff that I hope will prove useful. I’m dying to use my five thread Pfaff serger. This sweater project is perfect. I am lacking a stool to sit on while sewing. That I will buy this week somewhere. I set up the machine in the foyer of my apartment, as it is the only place that really made sense. I’m sure it will work out just fine. So, without further ado, I am off to it. Check ya later.

Mind the Cabbage Patch

Hair and there

Yesterday was an interesting day. I started at 7.00 am with me rolling out of bed after hitting snooze for an hour. I went to the kitchen to start making my breakfast and coffee, there I contemplated skipping the breakfast bit and just getting in the shower. I have wanted to go to the local dermatologist for a hair removal consultation for the past two weeks. I decided there was no time like now. I could get coffee and breakfast at work later. The doctors here mostly have hours like the dermatologist; Mo., Thurs, & Fri 7.00a to 11.00a and Tuesdays from 1.00p to 5.00p. These are what they call “spechstunden” or consultation hours, where you don’t need an appointment, you just show up and wait. In general I like the docs here better than in the states. Anyway, I got to his office at 7.40, as it is literally two blocks away from my apartment. I asked the receptionist if there was time to see the doctor before I had to be at work. She said it would only be a wait of about fifteen minutes. In receptionist speak that is usually only half the time you will wait. I usually double it. I did wait for fifteen minutes in the waiting room, and then another fifteen in the treatment room waiting for the doctor.

The doc came in finally, Dr. Schulz, and we began to speak about what I am after. I told him I was the person that wrote him the email earlier in the week. It reminded him immediately what I was there for. He looked at my face and asked what color the hair was, I replied red, brown and blonde. I told him I have the hope that the treatments will get rid of the remaining darker hair, and with luck some of the blonde as well. I also showed him my chest and what little hair is left. My chest hair was mostly black or brown, and consequently not much is left after the Light-sheer treatments. He asked me about the other treatments that I have had. He gave me some information about the treatments and the price list. My face and neck 150€, and my chest 50€. Those prices aren’t bad at all, and that’s per treatment. I will probably need about another 4 or 5 treatments to get rid of at least the darker hairs. He asked how I was with pain…I said maybe not so good now with the hormones. My last laser treatments were done with the machine as high as it could go, 40 J/cm^2. That hurt pretty good. He offered Emla to numb the area before for another 20€. I decided to try it without for the first time. I hope I don’t regret it. I used Emla when I was doing electrolysis, but it rarely worked very well and was about 28€ for a small tube. It’s difficult to use because you have to enclose it somehow with an occlusive dressing. I ended up using saran wrap which worked pretty well. I made an appointment for the 27th at 5.30p. As it turns out this was a mistake to make an appointment on that day. Read on and you will found out why. I’m glad I decided to go there today.

I got to work and bought the breakfast of champions in the canteen, a salami and buttered brotchen, a pretzel, an OJ and large Vittel water. And I am worried about cholesterol?! While riding across the campus to my building, I passed Volker going the other way. I then remembered that he had invited everyone to breakfast today to celebrate his quitting. I realized this after having already bought something to eat. I got to my office and there was Heike. I was so glad to see her and told her so. That made my day. She said everything was going okay with Clemens’ chemo so far, excellent! We began to talk about me and how the disclosure went with Jens, my supervisor. I filled her in on my progress since the last time I saw her three weeks ago. She told me that she finds all the things I am doing for myself very interesting, or interessant. She’s so inspiring and loves to laugh. I went down to Volker’s going away party to find leberkäse sandwiches. Even better for my cholesterol. After chowing, I went upstairs to have a quick smoke before the all day in hell meeting was to start. I got to the meeting a little late, oops. We took all day to develop an agenda for the two day marathon presentation that we are to make on the 27th and 28th of this month to our new owners, Horiba. I didn’t think that I would end up presenting anything, as I was the lowest ranking person in the room. They chose me to present the electro-mechanical and machine performance portion of the presentation. Cool! I have wanted to do a presentation for a long time, but have rarely had the opportunity. I have an advantage over most of my counterparts; I am a native English speaker. The real new official company language will be English. I also want to get to meet the people who will be making decisions from our new owners. I don’t want to get lost in the shuffle should they decide to dissolve our product group. On the other hand, if they find our presentation unappealing, that may carry a stigma to it and therefore me also by association.

All that angst aside, I have a half an hour segment of the presentation. I go on from 2.00p to 2:30p. I want to put together an interesting little ditty with lots of colorful pictures. I want to shine and therefore be remembered by the Horibans. I have sat through many a painful presentation that were ill prepared and obviously not rehearsed. I often wondered how these people manage to sell anything. Here’s my chance to put my money where my mouth is. That’s a really stupid cliché. Anyway I want to do a good job. We all have a week to develop our segments to be turned in to the organizer on, or before, Friday 8a. We shall see.

Doc Wang, aka Jim-Bim, came to visit me in my office. I wanted to go speak with him in the last couple of days. He caught up with me first. We discussed me coming to work in his group should anything happen with my present loser group. He said that I would provide ideal support for him, since he must do a lot of the higher level calcs himself simply because he lacks the competence in his group for anyone else to do it. I have the experience and skills that he is looking for. I would gladly come in a heart beat. The problem is this: I was brought here specifically to work on this development project which was supposed to be our solution for a profitable future. They surely won’t let me ditch it now for a different product line. We agreed that I need to wait till the bitter end before making my move. He also told me something interesting. One of product groups was moved to Detroit completely and has a current order for a Chinese customer. The Chinese customer said they wouldn’t go to the states for meetings, but they would come to Germany. This may be an opportunity for me get in on the action, if the project is designed here. Hopefully the Detroit office won’t have enough capacity to do it. I think I have found my parachute.

I started writing this last night after I got home from work. I had called Mari to see if we were still on for a couple of beers. She said she would call back later after she finished some stuff at home. I had time to write a bit, but not enough as she called before I was finished. I rode my bike to their house in the cold, damp fall air. We walked to the bar named Pilhun. There weren’t too many people there as it was still pretty early. The Pilhun is one of those dive bars with bizarre pictures and objects nailed to the smoke stained walls. You can tell the relative age of the objects by how yellow and dusty they are. It’s sort of like pub archeology. Gives new meaning to carbon dating. Before too long, most of Mari and Christi’s circle of friends had shown up. Mari kept telling me that I shouldn’t think about moving back to the states. We talked a bit about the people around us at work and they have changed for the worst. She assured me that there are definitely options for me within the company, and that I should not let it upset me, but it’s hard not to. It’s just hard to let go and move on. Ten years of the same shit over and over again. It really wears you down after a while. I reassured her that I wasn’t going to go back anytime soon, because if I did, I wouldn’t be going back to Detroit, but to Massachusetts. Going back this soon would not be worth all the time and money spent to come back here. I would have to start from null if I went back now. No health insurance, no job, mooching off Jen and Diane. So here I will sit for a while.

Frankfurt V

I left work early today to go visit doc Santen, my endocrinologist in Ffm. I took the train as usual and actually left work with enough time to spare to lock my bike, buy a ticket, and have half a smoke. In the waiting room magazine pile was the new issue of Deutsche Vogue and it was a thick one. Lots of good stuff. I think I’ll pick it up this weekend. Doc S called me out of the waiting room saying my name really loud, or so it seemed. Maybe it was the “Herr” part that seemed a little too loud. I did tell him to use herr till such time as frau would be appropriate. The whole damned formal names and pronouns thing really gets to me. The doc gave me some good news; my genetic risk factor for embolisms is a non-issue. He also sent my cholesterol test to a lab in München that is supposed to be more exacting, whatever that means. Anyway my stats look like this with some history. (a year ago my total cholesterol was 316)

8. Jun.05
Total cholesterol = 197 (up to 200 allowed)
Estrogen = 56+ (11-41 normal male)
Testosterone = 8.1- (13.6-101 normal male)

28. Jun.05
Total cholesterol = 228 (110-220)
Triglyceride = 232 (50-150)

2. Aug.05
Total cholesterol = 230 (120-240)
Triglyceride = 142 (50-200)
LDL = 165 (60-190)
HDL = 42 (35-75)

My Cholesterol level in the last few months has been quite static. I will found out on Tuesday what the levels are, as I gave up some blood two weeks ago. My hormone levels as of the second of august did not change from the last tests in Detroit. Estrogen was around 110 and Testosterone was about 6. I don’t understand why in early june my Estrogen level was 56. Before and after it was the same. I didn’t think it fluctuated that much. The last test in Detroit could have been a false reading. I was taking tablets back then and could have had a rush of estrogen if I had taken a tablet close to the time the blood was drawn. Anyway, the doc said that things are looking good and that I should come to see him in another three months. I explained to him that I’m starting to get some acne and that I had some movement down below. He said that there was something else I could take for the testosterone called Androcur. Apparently it is some pretty powerful stuff, but I declined as he recommended that I stick with the regimen that I am on now. I am now hormonally female. Yay!

I also noticed that the gender pronouns work both ways here. Sometimes its good, sometimes bad. Today it was good. Check out these two different appointment reminders.



Frau

I hope that my Cholesterol level is ok when I go to my house doctor. If it’s not, she will ask me to start taking lipitor again. I would rather not but if she deems it prudent then I will conform. She was kinda pissed when I told her a month ago that I stopped taking it at the end of June. I don’t want to piss her off. She’s such a nice doctor.

While I was waiting for Helmut last night behind my building, I started to feel really sad again. The ride started ok but I started to cry before long. Helmut was trying to cheer me up, but I was so upset I couldn’t even speak. By the time we got to chemi’s house I had collected myself. I met chemi’s wife kristal (sp) who is a very nice woman. We sat out on their terrace and partook in many tender vittles and drink. I had some Pünkster bier and some Grappa. Oh, did I mention Matthias was also there? We all sat around bullshitting until 1.30 am, and I was in bed at 2.30 am. Scheiße! The night cheered me up and there weren’t any tears before I went to bed. I haven’t had a difficult day like that in a few weeks. I have been doing better with the drinking. The last week I stayed home mostly and drank lots of water. I can’t say this too loud or they’ll come and get me. I haven’t had any bier in the fridge in three weeks. I was hung over a bit today, mostly tired having only slept five hours. Speaking of sleep…I think I’m gonna get me some shuteye...zzzzzzzz

Ima Idiot

Today was a terrible day at work.  Helmut is coming to get me to go to Bickenbach for a barbecue at Chemi’s house.  I used to work with Chemi before he was laid off by our company.  I am upset.  I don’t feel much like going to a barbecue.  I feel like crying.  I have basically ruined my life by moving here.  I’ve lost lots of money, time, and my sense of security.  I sat in a meeting this morning with my business unit manager and the worldwide president to discuss a presentation to our new Japanese owners.  I am in a redundant product group and they are trying to convince the Japanese that they should continue with us instead of the existing group.  The existing group is the market leader for our product line.  Why would they decide on us, fourth or at best third on the market?  I see little hope in my future at the company.  I am so stupid.  Why did I do this to myself?!  Helmut warned me not to do it.  Jan warned me not to do it.  In fact he told me I would be stupid to go back.  They were both right.  I’ve got to go.

walk good

I began writing this in a reply to a new friend and fellow blogger, sweet trini. In writing it I first thought the email would become to unwieldly, but also realized I hit on something. Thanks for mentioning the topic.

I feel bad for intersexed people. At least I can make the conscious choice of gender myself. The doctors and parents that made the choice of their infant's gender should be held accountable. All because society has deemed that upon birth the happy parents need to announce the sex of the child immediately, as the world is always either black or white. Never gray. I have come to the opinion that the infant should be allowed to grow into their inherent gender before any hormones or surgery is performed. I have developed a keen sense for spotting gender conditioning. To oversimplify, Pink for girls and blue for boys. It now makes me sick. I sometimes wonder if I hadn't endured a gender-sex conditioned upbringing if things would be different now. If I had been allowed the freedom to live somewhere in the middle, maybe I wouldn't feel the need to go completely to the other extreme. I guess I could still be somewhere in the middle, in the societal "gray" zone. I guess that's really all I'll ever be, and always have been. Something to ponder...

Frankfurt IV

I’m sitting here blogging listening to the Carpenters. A strange obsession it is. I developed this obsession about a decade ago when I was working construction. I was a welder and a mechanic believe it or not. When I would work with the other mechanic, Scotty “cueball” Smith, in the garage, we had to compromise on the radio station. I wanted to listen to rock or hip-hop and he the dreaded country music. The compromise we could both live with was soft rock. Soft rock, I know, but consider if you will the alternative. The soft rock station played the Carpenters every three songs, or so it seemed. That is how I how I developed this disturbing obsession. I actually bought a three CD box set of their music. I love Karen’s voice. (and Julie Andrews-scary but true)

I’m such a slacker…I didn’t write anything last week. Except for FLASH FICTION FRIDAY #7. Writing for fun and prizes! Well, maybe just fun. Kpo you may want to get in on this, check out purgatorian if you haven’t already.

How the alienation grows. I met with my financial advisor last week to pick investment options and insurances. I had wanted to buy a long term disability policy should anything happen where I wouldn’t be able to work anymore. My advisor informed me that none of the companies would offer me this insurance because I am taking hormones. She also told me that even if I stopped, I would have to wait five years after stopping to be able to be insured again. What I found most disturbing was the fact that if I continue to take hormones, which conceivably could be for the rest of my life, they would never offer me insurance because of it. I don’t get it. This is probably the cheapest of all insurance you can buy. This scares me. This is one of the most important insurances to me. I’ve already over the past years paid these people lots of money. This seems very unfair. It reeks of discrimination. I cannot let this lie.

I had a psychotherapy session today with doc Kogan in Ffm. I told him I had a blog and he was fascinated. I was the first person he had met that had a blog. He was fascinated with the concept of blogging and wanted to know more about it. It was if blogging held some mystical powers. I explained how it has been quite therapeutic for me to be able to have an outlet for my thoughts and feelings. I have realized that since I have been blogging, I have been able to sort things out a bit. It forces me to rationalize and put into words thoughts and feelings that would ordinarily be sucked into the black hole that is my mind. Never to see the light of day again. Good thing because I was reaching critical mass. Blogging has become a form of psychotherapy for me.

I also told him about flash fiction Friday. Again fascinated. He needs to get out more. I told him about being a child during summer vacation writing short stories during rainy days. He was excited to learn that I like to write and do other creative things. Today didn’t feel very much like therapy, but I was able to talk about myself which has become a favorite pastime for me. Partly because I don’t get the opportunity to let people “in” very often. Today I didn’t really feel that I needed therapy. When he asked me what I wanted to talk about today, the only thing I had was my job insecurity. But that too is not such a big problem anymore. Last week was a very bad week at work except for Wednesday when I drove a BMW 320i to and from Püttlingen in Saarland with Doris. Everyone at work last week was off their game, the uncertain future of our group and the company in general. The last years have begun to weigh heavily on all of us. Today was better. I almost thought that I wouldn’t have anything to talk to doc Kogan about. I’m maintaining a somewhat even keel lately since my levels have balanced out. Oh that progesterone.

I’m glad I found flash fiction Fridays. It’s fun. The fellow writers are a pretty interesting bunch. I owe it all to highmaintenancehussy at Recreational Use, thanks. She is an expat that lives in the Netherlands. We all read each others’ work and leave clever comments. I hope that they are not too disturbed by what they find when they come to my blog and read my stories. If they’ve noticed, they haven’t said anything, except for a positive reinforcement by Melody ;) Maybe I should stop being so self-conscious. I like knowing that I can do things without the fear of being ostracized because of the influence my gender issues have had on my life. Thanks jj and the rest of the participants for being such cool people. It’s interesting to read what the others come up with from their individual imaginations. This week was a Victorian theme, at least for those of us who stuck to the script. I wrote a story from the servantry point of view, another from the aristocracy point of view, and another from somewhere in between. I like exercising my imagination.

Walk good.

I don’t know why I just wrote that, maybe it is to test to see if someone reads this.

I went to the Ffm Stammtich last week on Tuesday. I kept my hair up all day at work and brushed it out when I got home. I put it up and took a shower without washing it. I like my hair, sometimes. I got dressed and ready to go actually looking like I might make the early train. I started to become really anxious about my appearance. I am becoming more opposed to having to wear prosthetics to tip the scales of perception. I like just being me. All in due time, I suppose. I went to Ffm just the same. I made the train with time to spare. I got to , get this, “Fräggels” just after nine. I sat near Rita, the vespa mechanikerin. She’s really cool but I don’t seem to fit in with the rest of them. There’s a girl named Clara that has a website that I visited once but I haven’t actually spoken with her yet. She might be interesting. I have partially given up on going to Ffm on Tuesdays. I can sit home and not talk to anybody, why get all gussied up and to Ffm?

Besides, I should be designing and sewing. I attempted to make a curtain for my kitchen window. I wanted to apply an art nouveau stylized rose 20 inches square on a white background. The fabrics absolutely suck to work with. They don’t press edges well. I interfaced the rose pieces and tried to press the edges to finish them. It didn’t really work out too well. I was thinking of finishing the edges on the serger, but I have some sharp turns I need to make. Not too easy on a serger. Maybe I should seek out some different fabric. Something that lends itself to appliqué, but is also UV insensitive. I want to use red which is the quickest fading color in direct sunlight. I will search on. Maybe ask the ladies at Karstadt. Fall is here and I haven’t a thing to wear. I really must get busy making things.

But right now I think I am going to bed.

September 11, 2001

Never forget…

Flash Fiction Friday VII

If only I had been able to retrieve the sprite before that awful man came calling on Miss Abigail.  She has me place her sprite figurine in the vestibule window as a signal that she is receiving gentleman callers.  I honestly do not understand what she sees in that despicable man, Gerald Carson Esq.  Oh how it pains me to even lay gaze upon him.  Him, with his corselet strung ever so high for Miss Abigail, it’s a wonder he can even breathe.  Furthermore, I still cannot fathom this obsession with the arsenic that Miss Abigail has acquired.  Apparently she feels more attractive looking waif and half dead, and the fainting spells are absolutely dreadful.  I feel a mother to that foolish child and wish she wouldn’t place so much importance on vanity.

Oh that dreadful man!  Every time he comes calling on Miss Abigail it’s always the same.  As Jeebs is taking his coat, Mr. Carson purposely steps on his foot and sneers at him like a rabid hound.  I anxiously await the day that Jeebs finally musters up the courage to stand his ground without fear of consequence.  Miss Abigail then sachets down the staircase like the Queen Victoria herself, always sure to flash a bit of ankle in the first few treads.  This whole exchange drives one to vomit.  They would usually retire to the sitting room for some tea, accompanied with two or three fainting spells with Mr. Carson attending her hand.  Then he would suggest the garden as a place for her to catch her breath and warm her frigid hand in the sunlight.

Once in the garden, Miss Abigail would amazingly begin to feel so much better.  I would bring them cold lemonade during the hot spells which Mr. Carson would proceed to spike with whiskey when she wasn’t looking.  After a couple of glasses they would decide to play crocket on the quadrangle, beyond the spying eye of her father.  I do not think he much approves of that man either.  By this time, Miss Abigail would be thoroughly tipsy, and her game severely lacking in skill.  Mr. Carson would then propose to help her improve her game by standing beside her with his arm around her waist, helping her swing the mallet.  Just then another fainting spell would come to pass, bringing them both to the emerald turf.

He would patiently attend her until she was brought back to apparent consciousness, caressing her ivory cheek the entire time.  Waking to the security of Mr. Carson holding her would bring on a fit of passion which was stoked by their petting and then eventually kissing.  Miss Abigail’s father, after not hearing a sound out of them for some time, would walk out on the veranda and start to whistle.  This was his way of subtly indicating that whatever they are up to it is time to stop.  They stammer to their feet and brush themselves off, whisking away their carelessness of youth.  The stroll back to house was met with the piercing stare of her father whistling his morbid tune.  Mr. Carson would greet her father as if nothing had happened, not noticing his shirt tail fluttering in the breeze.

Later in the evening I would help Miss Abigail out of her corset, as she would usually be too drunk to do it herself.  She always asks my confirmation of Mr. Carson’s character.  I always tell her “Mr. Carson is a wonderful man, a breath of fresh air one might say.”  The whole time gritting my teeth.

Late Post

This is a post I started on the 5th about the week of 29-aug to 2-sep-2005. I finally finished it today.

I was a very busy person last week, and therefore did not publish the events. Monday night after work I spoke with KPo for an hour and a half on the phone. I hadn’t spoken with her for six weeks. Too long. Her father had called me the day before to chat. I hadn’t spoken with him since they dropped me off at the airport to come here. It was good to speak with them again, and I should make a point to call more often. In speaking with KPo for so long, I ended up being late to meet Mari, Christi, Helmut and the guys from Co. Scholle for dinner at La Bodega. They had only eaten a bunch of tapas and were finishing when I got there. The restaurant was closing at around midnight and some of us still wanted another beer. We decided to go around the corner to Cluster, a tiny little bar with great atmosphere. I had drank just about a full bottle of rijoha at the Spanish place and then proceeded to have three or four beers at Cluster. Big mistake. I was relatively blotto on the walk home. I went to bed at 2:45 am.

The next day I felt like I was going to or rather wanted to die. I have to try to stick to my guns when I start drinking one thing, to not mix it. My stomach was sour the whole day. Tuesday night I planned with Jens to go to his house for a small barbecue and disclosure about me and my situation. I felt a bit awkward at first because the dynamic between Jens and his wife Beate is not quite what I am used to. After dinner we chatted for a while and then they turned the attention to me. I hadn’t given any clues to them as to what I had to say. Heike had however spoken with Jens and told him to make sure he is sitting down when I tell him. I prefer to refer to my telling people about my transition as “disclosure” rather than “coming out”, as the latter is normally associated with homosexuality. I do relate with homosexuality on certain levels, but its all about perceptions to me.

The disclosure started off as I have been accustomed to. I usually start off with the question “do you know what gender dysphoria is?” The response to this initial question helps me gauge how to continue with either basic explanations or cutting to the chase. Coincidently, Beate was specialized in Gynecology and had worked at a clinic that treated many a trans frau. She even collaborated on a publication on the subject. So she was keenly aware of what I am up to. This fact helped to ease the situation, as Jens had only a basic understanding of gender dysphoria. Jens was mostly silent through the rest of the night, only asking a few questions. He did tell me that he is happy for me that I I know who I am and what I need to do to be myself. I think he was a little shocked, but also trying to understand. The next day at work was just like any other day. Another one down and many more to go. I’m thankful that this disclosure went well.

Wednesday I stayed home and went through my household and financial records looking for my Social Security and pension plan statements. I was supposed to send them to my financial advisor a couple of days ago. I have seriously started to think about investing and retirement. I have money sitting around that should be earning me more money. I am also buying lots of insurance. Like Litigation, accident, personal, and long term disability. I don’t like to take chances, and therefore want to be fully insured against possible physical and financial catastrophies.

Thursday I went to the Bayrischer Biergarten after work. Fredi had invited me as Meck, Anja, Walter, and Andreas were also coming. While I was on my way from the bike park to find them, I ran into the former president of my company, Manfred. I have been seeing him relatively often around town. When I found the table, Walter asked me if that was in fact Manfred. I told them it was. I had a couple of Hefes and then something to eat. Walter offered to buy a round and came back with the total wrong beers. He brought back two helles and a duenkel, but they weren’t hefeweizen. The duenkel was for me which are normally really sugar-y, and I don’t do well with sugar-y beers. I drank it to not waste good beer and went and got some of the right stuff. I stayed until the place closed with Walter and Anja. Walter kept trying to convince me to come work for the competition, which is where he works. I rode home with a pretty good buzz going.

Friday I felt like I wanted to or was going to die all over again. I really need to take it easy on my liver. My stomach has been getting really sour lately after drinking, not a pleasant feeling especially if I have to work. I finished the day out and planned on going home to relax and drink lots of water. I think it was the red herring, the duenkel bier, that did me in honestly.

So that was the missing week in review.

Take me out back

And shoot me. I had such a good time last night, but I am really paying for it today. It all started innocently enough. I got a late start as usual to get ready for the N.I. stammtich. I debated on whether or not I was going to wash my hair, put on makeup, and wear my prosthetics. All of which I ended up doing anyway. I have become so lazy when it comes to such things. I made it to the stammtich at about 10:15. Not many people were there this time. The usual people were there however; Petra, Rita, Linda, etc. Chloe was there already, with Jane and Katie (Ernie) showing shortly after I did. We all chatted for a while and then it was time to go as the restaurant was closing.

Chloe had invited me per email to go to Ffm with her after the stammtich to a party that was supposed to be an informal protest against the business hours regulations in the city. Her friends Alvero and Jesus were supposed to DJ on one of the floors. I was undecided whether or not to go after such a hard week. Chloe had spoken with her friends on her cell just before it was time to go. She mentioned that there were three spaces at the party. One was Techno and House, the second Drum and bass, and the third 80’s, goth, and electro. The third belonged to Jesus and Alvero. The prospect of a drum and bass party wet the palate, I was in.

The space ended up being in a roller skating sport association hall right on the Main river. It took a bit of doing, but we found it. On the way from the car to the party, we met Jesus and Alvero walking the opposite way to get their CDs. I asked Jesus about the crowd and whether or not we were cool, to which he replied, “you two are way more interesting than all of those boring people”. That set me at total ease. I like Jesus, he’s really cool He has such an honestly optimistic and laid back attitude. .

The place was packed with all the Ffm kool kids. We checked out the first room, House, not so hot. The next room was drum and bass. Ah, the sight of frenzied two-step. We proceeded to go upstairs to see if Jesus and Alvero were there yet. They were finishing setting up when we got up there. I wanted to leave my handbag up there behind the turntables so that I could go back down to do some two-stepping. It took me a few minutes to get loosened up enough to start moving. This is the first time in many years that I had been to such a party as me, Chrissy.

I had chosen the correct outfit, even not knowing that I would be going to such a party. After working up to a sufficient perspiration level, my prosthetics began to slide around. I decided they were hindering me so went upstairs and got rid of them. I felt like I was in one of those picture puzzles where you have to compare the two pictures to find the differences.. My footwear was not the best choice however. I had worn my sneaker mary janes mostly for comfort reasons, but as it turns out they were not the best shoes for two stepping. Not enough support or cushion. Imagine doing a three-hour session of high impact aerobics almost non-stop. My feet and ankles were alright for a while, but it started to become painful after a couple of hours. I didn’t want to stop. It felt so good. We stayed until 4 am. I got a beer for the walk to the car. I had only two beers and few ciggys the whole time. I was limping a little on the way back to the car. Kudos to Chloe for inviting me.

I got home and went to bed at 6 am. I saw the twilight of the coming day. I haven’t seen that in quite a long time. I woke up at 1:30 in the afternoon, hardly able to walk. I really overdid it last night. I feel like I sprained both of my ankles. This body isn’t 20 years old anymore and I need to get that through my head. But somehow I am able to do two step in my apartment on the carpet with bare feet and not have a problem. Maybe it’s the cushion factor. Despite all this pain, it was worth it.

I participated in something called Flash Fiction Friday. Go to Purgatorian to check out the particulars. My work of fiction was based on my initial idea after having read the starting line. I used to like creative writing back when I was in school. My childhood friends and I used to sit around the kitchen table when it was raining during our summer vacation and pick a topic and all write about it. We would then read our stories aloud and make fun of each other. I have this growing need to do more creative things with my off time, instead of blogging all the time…

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY

FLASH FICTION FRIDAY #6

The most embarrassing thing in my life happened to me today at work.  Today was to be one of the biggest days of my career.  I was to lead our team in contract negotiations with the Japanese from Horishimoto Corp.  I decided that the occasion warranted the use of the “lucky lavender”, my lucky bra, my lavender lace confection of perfection.  It was deemed lucky because I was wearing it when I met James.  God I love that man, he’s such a saint to put up with all my bullshit.  I only pull out the lucky lavender when absolutely necessary.  I had abused its powers so much in the past and as a result, it became somewhat tattered. I had fixed it several times over the past ten years.  I never used to be so superstitious.

My team consisted of Tom, Steve, Dieter, and Peter, all perfectly competent to close this deal, except for Steve apparently, whom I delegated to arrange a conference room.  He chose conference room number 4, which any idiot knows the number four is bad luck or a death wish to the Japanese.  I was luckily able to catch this in our pre-briefing and quickly corrected it.  We gathered our presentation materials and headed off to the conference room number 1.  As we were walking up the stairs, my left lavender strap let loose, shit!  The others looked back with apocalyptic horror in their eyes.  Steve made a comment, “I have said from the beginning that it is a foolish mistake to have a woman as the chief negotiator on Asian contracts.  Now you see what happens, wardrobe malfunctions!”  I asked him to take a chill-pill and to stop being such a chauvinist pig.  I ran back to my office to find my industrial strength safety pins, with which my A.A. Janelle put me back together.  Lucky lavender don’t fail me now.

We walked in the conference room to find five, well dressed Japanese men patiently waiting.  Their chief negotiator, Mr.Yimo, introduced his team: Mr. Sushi, Mr. Toyo, Mr. Kyoto, and an older gentleman referred to as only “Sarto”.  Sarto was short in stature with cappuccino brown eyes and a friendly smile and disposition.  The others seemed to be wrapped a little too tight.  I began with outlining the agenda for the day, and the rest played out like clockwork until it was time for my summary of our presentation.  I was at the beamer screen explaining a growth chart when I started to feel a little off-kilter.  The safety pins were losing their tenuous grip ever so slowly.  My anxiety was growing in opposite proportions to my sinking breast.  Everyone at the table became fixated on my falling breast like they were watching a tennis match.  When it finally let loose, they all got whiplash their heads flung back so fast.  Everyone in the room was mortified, present party included, except for Sarto.  He began to quietly chuckle as the tension in the room reached critical mass.  Mr.Yimo glared at him and said something very sternly in Japanese to him which immediately shut him up.  I continued as if nothing happened, wanting all the time to jump out the window.  My lucky lavender had let me down, literally.

Our negotiations stalled, with Sarto’s chuckles every couple of minutes being met with glares from Mr.Yimo.  The Japanese asked for a couple of minutes to speak amongst themselves in Japanese.  Their exchange became quite heated with most of the energy between Mr.Yimo and Sarto.  They came back to the table and announced that they could not agree amongst themselves and therefore wanted to discontinue our discussions and they left.  I lop-sided-ly returned to my office after having my first cigarette in ten years to find Sarto waiting for me.  He explained that he actually was the Mr. Horishimoto and that Mr.Yimo is his nephew which he is grooming to take over the business.  He said he would often attend meetings incognito with his nephew, the whole time antagonizing him.  It was his strategy to make him a stronger leader.  He said that he would accept our presented contract proposal without changes.  He felt that my calm, cool leadership in the face of adversity was something to be admired and felt confident that we will work equally successful together.  He chuckled a little, but now somehow it felt comforting.  Lucky lavender comes through once again!