dissed

I got totally dissed at work yesterday. My company was hosting an open house for our customers and launched many new products over the past two days. One of the products was the machine I was the lead mechanical engineer on, and the original concept was mine. If one were to have read my posts from the last year and a half or so, you would know just how much of me that I lost fighting my way through that project. Yesterday was the german speaking day and they planned the unveiling of the machine at 4.30p. My entire former department was there, I invited myself since no one else did. The group manager that I had so many problems with in the last part of the project gave a speech about the new machine, and at the end of his drivel he thanked the team members by name. He mentioned everyone except me. That was a total diss! Some of my colleagues turned and looked at me with a questioning look on their faces. I started to get pissed so I left and went for a smoke. Helmi was trying to calm me down. He even mentioned the temp that is a total kiss ass and a terrible engineer. The costs in the end are less than the market leader’s. I would say that is an accomplishment that I share a large part of the credit for, and I wasn’t even acknowledged.

I spoke with my boss afterwards about what just happened. he told me that the gm. that just fucked me over ruined my name with upper management. He told them that I blocked all attempts to save costs in my design. He told them that I couldn’t make deadlines. He said I am not capable of managing a project on my own. He played judge and jury over one small portion of my 12 year career. I have no choice now but to leave. I am getting totally fucked, with sand mixed in. I gave up a lot of my free time to make that machine happen and to have it ready for the open house. I want badly to make an appointment with the president to present my side of the story. It won’t do any good though, so I’m not even going to bother.

I prepared and gave a presentation to VW in kassel on Wednesday. I stayed up until 12.30 the night before to put the presentation together. I had made snapshots of the machines to put on the slides before I left work. I got all of it organized and the pictures placed. It ended up being 27 slides long. I planned my hair washing f0or the day before so I could save some time that morning. I woke up looking all pasty with little bags under my eyes, blah. I got ready fairly quickly, in under an hour. I wore my favorite H&M skirt suit with a lavender blouse. I left with time to spare because I had to carry a beamer, a laptop, and the project binder. The laptop and binder weighed a ton. I was lucky I was on the platform having a smoke and a coffee before boarding because the conductor had the train leave five minutes EARLY! I’m usually the type of person that has to run to catch her trains. If I would have been a few minutes later and still on time, I would have missed that train through no fault of my own. I made the ICE in Ffm and searched for the project manager. He was sitting in the car where I had my seat reserved. I sat at a table and worked on my presentation the whole ride. It was exactly enough time. I was glad that there was a long cab ride to the facility. The facility smells like gear lube oil inside. Most of their xmissions are manufactured in kassel.

We were joined by the R&D department manager for most of the day. The presentation went fairly smoothly, and I was able to answer most of their questions. They asked for an electronic copy of the presentation, which I gladly gave them. My project manager told me beforehand that the presentation would be a stress session because the customer wasn’t convinced that one of the machines will work. I assume that their concern was expressed to the dept manager and that’s why he took part in the presentation, to make his mind up for himself. He asked a few questions and that was it. Either my PM was exaggerating or I was able to convince them that it will work. I felt good that it went so smoothly. I am getting really good at putting together presentations in short order. Pictures help a lot. People like colorful things. The pm gave me complements to my boss for my being well prepared and convincing before the customer. I was complemented one minute and kicked in the teeth the next.

I did get to see K from the UK yesterday though. He stuck his head up over the partition at my desk and said my name . I turned to see who it was and he instantly brought a smile to my face. I miss him. We worked together the first summer I spent here in DA. We went out and drank many a beer together that summer. I only get to see him every so often, so it is always a treat. He and his new bride invited me to come to the UK before I transitioned on the job. I wasn’t sure if the offer still stood, but he was one of the few who wrote me after reading the letter that I sent to all of my English speaking colleagues. He was standing by my side at the launch when I got dissed. I saw him on my way home and we chatted for about a half hour outside the canteen where apparently there was a buffet for all those who were involved with the two days of events. H came down the steps and saw me talking to K, so she came over. She told me that the asshole realized as soon as his speech was over that he had forgotten to mention my name, and that he felt embarrassed and would apologize to me today. I didn’t get an apology today. A few people told me that they told him that they didn’t think it was right that he didn’t say my name too.

It was good at leas to see K again. This was the first time he has seen me live since I made the switch. He asked me again when I was coming to visit. I told him that I had thought about coming to visit, but I wasn’t sure if the offer still stood. He told me that he wasn’t sure either, and that he wanted to see me in person again before making the offer again. At least he was honest. He commented that he found me to be more outgoing and generally happier than in the past. That made me feel good. He said the ideal time would be to come in August. I clicked with his wife when I met her in the states. We sat on the couch at her sister’s house and talked for a while. She’s cool, and he’s cool too. I definitely want to plan a trip there in August.

I bought some new sneaks online through ebay. I scored some really fly pink and white adidas gazelles. I always wanted to get a pair back in the late 80’s when I was into hip hop. Most of the white hip hoppers preferred the red or the blue ones. It took 20 years (that’s scary that I can say that) but I will finally get my gazelles. I also bought a pair of chocolate brown suede retro adidas track sneakers. I have a black suede pair of them already. Adidas is about the only producer that makes a women’s size over 41. Their 42 2/3 size fits me perfect. I only had two pairs of sneakers, with both being black and white.

I went to see my endo on Monday morning. I asked him if there was anything he could do hormonally to foster more breast growth. He suggested that I apply an estrogen gel once a day in addition to my regular shots. He told me that my estrogen level after one month on a higher dose was 274. Beforehand it was only 41. I experienced a growth spurt that was prompted by the higher dose, but it didn’t continue for very long. I am anxious to see if the gel will help also with my moodiness. My moodiness has been mostly caused by all the shit that I have been dealing with lately. I am getting so fed up with everything. I feel like fighting instead of flying these days.

hope less

I will be another year older at the end of the week. I realized today after my therapy session that I will more than likely be sitting here on my next birthday still without surgery. My therapist insists on waiting to write my evaluation for surgery until after the next block of hours are approved. In a nutshell: he took four months to submit request for more hours, his request was outright denied by the lunatic evaluator (six weeks), he wrote an appeal (six weeks), the uber evaluator is now down to questioning nomenclature, sends letter to my therapist (four weeks), Therapist writes letter to evaluator (today). 16+6+6+4=32 weeks. For 8 months my therapist has been bungling his way in a lame attempt at getting more hours.

8 fucking months! I think he is stalling so that I will give up on my health insurance and pay through the nose to have him write the paper. That is the point that I am at right now, I am almost ready to just take the hit and pay for it, just to get it over with. Waiting for my health insurance to make up their mind is killing me. The latest letter doesn’t question my transsexuality at all, in fact it doesn’t even recognize the fact that throughout my course of treatment including before and after surgery, I am required to be in therapy. It’s the law, actually. I feel like I am dealing with total incompetence. I know more about the law than the doctors who are supposed to administer according to it. That fact gives me so much hope. The letter also read that they were suggesting that I don’t need therapy at all, and fifteen minutes a month with my doctor would be sufficient. That actually would be sufficient. The only times I have become unstable in the recent past is when I have gone to visit him, and continually get bad news.

Both my therapist and psychiatrist said they would write the documents I need to apply for surgery. I just apparently have to piss away more of my life waiting for them to get it done. I made an appointment with my psychiatrist for the middle of July to get him moving again. That I have accepted I will have to pay for. I should probably just pay and get it finished. Then I will stop going to therapy altogether. I do get something out of the therapy, but what little I do get is not worth all the hassle. It’s all bullshit anyway. I have helped myself more than therapy ever has. Fuck it! I guess I will be poor for a couple of months.

The ongoing disappointments have really started to mess with my head. I was in the bathroom at Konstablewache sitting in the stall peeing thinking about how I could get things moving. The thought ran across my mind of injuring my genitals so they would have no choice but to perform the surgery. That thought scared me. I haven’t had thoughts like that in years. I think one could say that I am already mutilating myself and the surgery will be the last straw. I have taken hormones to mutate my body, and I do electrolysis to remove my hair.

I also fantasized about dropping out of society. Sell everything and go live in a squat somewhere. Maybe a’dam. I want so badly to break free from the chains that I bind myself with. I stick to a dead end job so that I have national health insurance that is more expensive than in the states, so I can visit a lame therapist who is supposed to approve me for surgery so that the insurance will pay for it. Paying for it myself is not a viable option because I don’t have that kind of money. I had that money back in 2004, but I bought a house instead of a neo vagina. If I was smarter, I would have saved all that money and just rented, because it was imminent that my ex would eventually leave me anyway. What’s done is done. Now I am poor, and still without my neo vagina. The surgery isn’t so important that I will finally have what I want; but more so it represents a new beginning to my life. I will be able to move on without having to worry so much about treatment. I could move to somewhere else in Europe or go back home and start over again with nothing. The point is I will be able to do that, whereas I am holding myself back to get through without going into debt.

Then I thought about being a non-op and just moving on anyway. That option would probably require castration if I am to continue living the female gender role. I can’t take the massive dose of hormones I am on forever. Eventually, somehow, the twins have to go away. I feel like the challenge is to swim through a cesspool to get the prize at the other end. I am wondering if all that shit is really worth the prize. My life won’t be any different after as it is now, depressing. I feel waves of sadness running through my body, and warm tears running down my cheek. It’s time for sleep.

maimed

I went to the Pillhuhn on Friday night to meet M&C for bier and small talk. I ended up talking to this guy that was sitting behind me while M was on the chlo. He thought he was clever in that he ‘clocked’ me, as if that is any great feat. He started off by asking me what I do for a living, when I replied with the truth he was quite surprised. I asked him if he thought I was a prostitute, he said no. I wasn’t buying it. In the course of some rude small talk aimed at getting me to do something with him, he kept mentioning that he had a wife. As if that was supposed to mean something to me. About all that means is that he is yet another closeted, married, gay or bi guy that can only justify sleeping with men if they look like women. I am not a man anymore, so I am automatically excluded. He just didn’t get it. He kept telling me the next time we see each other there, he will get me to do something with him. I will never be that drunk.

Most people notice me but leave me alone. Some others feel somehow compelled to bother me. Honest curiosity is fine, I don’t mind that. But certain people can’t make the connection with me being a MTF, born male desire to be female, and the pronouns. Mistakes are fine too. But don’t sit there and contrarily insist that I am a man, and therefore refer to me in the male. That is just insulting and I don’t know why I took that shit. I have been trying to really let go of the idea of switching genders, and living with being both or better yet, neither. The pronouns are still difficult though. A feminine flavored eunuch of sorts. I try not to waste my breath on people like that, but he caught me when I had a bit to drink. Walking the talk is difficult at times.

I think I am starting to feel the sting of the truth that Dr. F at the now defunct sexual institute once told me. I am not clever enough to link a previous post, so you’ll have to use the search this blog function for “Frankfurt Ia”. That post from almost two years ago is a foreshadowing of the events I am now living. I’m doomed to a lonely life, unless I can somehow learn to like men. Oh well, lonely is not so bad. For now I will just keep pining away for that special person, and being hopeless.

I have realized that the nurse that gave me my last injections put the double shot of estrogen down my leg nerve bundle. She must have stabbed right into it. Sometimes it burns if it goes in between my muscles, but that goes away in a matter of minutes. When I press on the injection site with my finger, I get a shooting pain down my thigh. I hope it isn’t permanent, and it heals soon.

Sonic Youth wasn’t any great shakes, unfortunately. Maybe because I haven’t bought their new cd yet. They started the set with Candle, and Lee did two songs “Joanie” and another familiar one I can’t name. Kim sang a couple too, new ones I didn’t recognize. The acoustics were good but it wasn’t loud enough. I heard other people say it too. It didn’t help that I was still not feeling totally recovered from the hangover.

I had my annual review today. I spoke with my boss for two and half hours. He used the same review that my last boss gave me last year. No raise, bummer. I have had three different bosses within the last year. I shouldn’t have signed it. If I fought it and demanded a real review, I know I can’t count on my last boss for an honest review. That would be a futile effort anyway. I hinted strongly at the fact that I have gone more than five years without a significant raise, and that expressing my career desires with even the president gets me nowhere fast., and that if things don’t change I will start looking. He told me not to give up hope and that he would give me a good review next year and a raise. I told him that’s swell and all, but I don’t think I can hold out that long. He apparently told all of this to our dept head, who said nothing to me afterwards. My boss told me he told him, and that if I am unhappy to talk to the dept head. I feel that if they are really interested in halting the staff erosion, they should be making sure I don’t want to leave. I have said all I am going to say. It’s their turn. I don’t think they get it, and I doubt they never will. It will be too late for them should I submit my resignation.

I have been a moody bitch lately. I have been seething anger. I have been trying to channel the anger into something useful, like creating sinister art nouveau designs. And trying not to kill or maim (with love)

ahoy matey!

I am an aunt once again! My sister J. and her partner D. had a bouncing baby girl. All are well thankfully. Congratulations! I want pictures!

And now for something completely different:

I remembered the name of the club in Boston with the dungeon. It was called Quest. I only went there once in 93 or 94, and I was with Donna at the time. I’ve been on a psychobilly kick for a few days now since I made the mariner’s star. Here’s a shot of it:

I have been listening to mostly punk rock lately as an outlet for my frustration of my lack of companionship. I should try not to place too much importance on codependence. It’s just difficult after being alone for so long. I’m sick of it. The psychobilly music reminded me of s&m, I wrote something about my fear of it in a previous post. Then I realized tonight on the way to electrolysis that I am somewhat masochistic in that I have paid for close to four years of ritual pain sessions. I guess what separates me from a true masochist is that I don’t like pain. Feeling no pain is certainly better. I think my pain threshold has been steadily decreasing. She cleared everything in 88 minutes today. The last time was 117 minutes. Things got extra excruciating around my lips, I even had the pleasure of hearing some of them sizzle. Those usually make me shudder uncontrollably. I can’t believe I am almost finished. I should be completely finished by October. Nobody should have to go through that much pain. The health insurance should cover novacane or some other pain management treatment, anything better than emla. It’s inhumane. I think my skin has built up a tolerance to emla. Just about every one is in varying degrees painful. My razor’s days are numbered. I plan on throwing it off my balcony to the tracks below and let the tram run it over. I feel like the life has been sucked out of me tonight, so I’m gonna hit the sack

blowout

Lat night I spontaneously decided to go to the Villa to see a garage/trash punk show. I was searching the internet for psychobilly graphics and info and ran across the wreckingpit. I checked their concert listings and viola! The first two shows for germany were right here in my little home away from home, and the doors were opening as I was reading it. I had intended on working some more on a sweat jacket I have been designing. I made a mariner’s star out of black and red thick felt that will be placed in the center back. I guess I can work on it tonight.

The first band was Kamikatze, a chick band from Sweden. They rocked! They were all trashy 80’s punk. I don’t think I have to worry about whether I look punk rock or not, as I was dressed very similar to the Katzen. Chick rock is the best. The crowd was small, only about 40 people max, and most to look at them, their appearance would never lead you to think they were punks. The second band was the Boston Chinks. They rocked too, and would end up being my favorite. And then Jay Reatard played. They rocked, but the chinks were better. Jay was made up of several members of the chinks, but they had a little bit different sound. I brought ear plugs but didn’t use them, silly me. My ears are still fucked up seven hours later. I really need to mind the decibels next time. I couldn’t help smiling watching the people in the front row going nuts. One girl was dancing and every so often falling into the people to the side of her. If there were more people, they probably would have been slamming. Punk rock shows are the only place where you can fall or run into people while dancing and it actually adds to the experience. The crowd was relatively sedate, but then again it was only a Tuesday night.

A Tuesday night. It was nice to get out and I found the music was quite good at relieving some stress and frustration. I think there might have been some aggression mixed in there too. Some guy wearing a black flag T kept looking at me kind funny like. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. The Kamikatze are the kind of girls I would like to date, I’ve decided. Being into punk in some way is a trait that I think is important in a partner. What fun would it be if she wasn’t?

I got my injections yesterday and on my left side I think she didn’t go in deep enough. The estradiol felt like someone put a hot poker in between my muscles, searing me from the inside out. I can still feel it. I felt nice afterward, and the crampiness from the past couple of days is gone. Cramps suck!

not sure...but

I want to take some time and write about my observations and thoughts on my experiences of the past several weeks specifically and also some general stuff. I’m glad I feel like writing again, for a time there I had no ambition to do anything. Then I turned all my ambition toward sewing, and thankfully so.

Right now I am experiencing a particularly bothersome skin problem. I’m not sure what causes it. I have had similar breakouts before, but never knowing for sure of the cause. I have patches of what would seem to be eczema all over my thighs, torso, neck, ear, scalp, and the corner of my jaw. I was worried at first it might be shingles, but that usually only affects one major nerve bundle, and therefore only one side of the body. I have patches on both sides. The weather has been quite humid, and sweating can be painful. Uncle J used to get something similar when he came in contact with petroleum, which was a show stopper for him because he was an engineer on tanker ships. I have never had it as bad as him, if that is what I am experiencing. I have been wondering if it could be a reaction from the fabric dyes or sizing, as I have been sewing a lot. I considered obtaining a pair of cotton gloves for sewing, because my fingers break out when I work with a lot of indigo dyed fabrics. I also wonder if it could be from the sizing on the viscose jerseys, because some of the tops I made I didn’t have time to wash before wearing the first time. My skin doc gave me a salve that is like Vaseline which seems to help, and I think that steroids would be a last resort. I am tempted to put some cortisone on it, but again the steroid factor scares me. I hope it goes away soon.

On to more interesting things other than my skin rebellion. My own skin doesn’t want me, blah.

Through my latest experiences in the GLBTIQ community (yes it has all those letters now), I have gathered more observances from the transman side of things, to sort of balance out my experiences within the trans community as a whole. This observation may seem a bit mundane, but it has a deeper affect on my situation that I am just beginning to realize. I could be dead wrong on this, but I am open to discussion. I should probably get some statistics but here goes; the majority of the transwomen I know of were more heterosexually oriented before transition, and from what most of I have read and seen of the transmen, they came from more lesbian backgrounds. I realize these are gross over simplifications, I also think it could depend on the types of live experiences I have been exposed to. Again these are just assumptions based on personal experience and by no means an attempt to put everyone in neat little boxes.

I am partly jealous of the transmen because they are well accepted and allied within the lesbian community, and I as a transqueerchick am not. I realize it has to do with my past and present male-ness, and lesbians by definition prefer women exclusively. I also realize that my acceptance wouldn’t be any better even after surgery, because after all no one can tell either way if I have been fixed when I am clothed, and I never leave the house unclothed. I think the limitation of tolerance only as rule is probably due to political correct-ness, and nothing more than a token. Or it could be that I really am the only transqueerchick ballsy enough to go to such events and it catches them off guard, like the times in the past when I was the only white face in the crowd. There have been many times in my life where I have been the only exception. I’m not sure what this means, other than indicating a lonely existence. I guess I have a bad habit or the bad luck of always trying to fit in where I don’t usually belong.

I don’t feel and never have, a connection to the gay male community. Most of the gay men I have been exposed to were ones that like shemales and were not in any way out. I can’t ever really remember being attracted to a man, other than maybe Johnny Depp, if I make it with a man it has to be him. My ex used to fear that I was gay, or would eventually decide I was gay and leave her. The irony is that in the context of my life today, I am gay, just not in the way she feared. But either way it means rejection for one of us; one way I would leave her for a man, the other way I would still want her but she wouldn’t be interested in me anymore. Even though I had some homosexual experiences as a male, I never felt anything other than sexual gratification from it. It also made me feel guilty and dirty afterwards. I had felt that I betrayed myself and let myself be used by a creepy guy.

I am glad that I have persevered and pushed myself to go to lesbian events to get some cultural experience. I guess I could look at it this way, the events that would have more value would be ones that don’t involve any dancing, but rather purely cultural, like the reading that I went to the other night called “Damen in Doppelpack” (double pack of women). The focus there was on the reading, and it didn’t matter if I was there or not. One of the authors thought it did matter that I was there, and that is what she penned with her signing my copy of mein lesbisches auge 4 (my lesbian eye #4). Sometimes I feel as though I am going out of bounds, but what I am I supposed to do? Thankfully I haven’t had any run-ins with hardcore second wavers, and if anyone has had a problem with me has kept it to themselves. I am also aware of the intolerance some lesbians have toward trans people in general of either gender identity.

Both Feminism and Patriarchy reinforce the binary gender dichotomy. It is clear that trans people are eating away at the foundations of both philosophies. The feminist literature that I have read offers a fairly accurate analysis of patriarchal exploits of women and children. The solutions offered are mostly going in the right direction, but with major flaws as they apply to today’s society. I also realize the texts were being written as I was just coming into this world.

I find that if people take the time to talk to me they for the most part tend to like me. Kinda like “oh, it is even able to speak too?” I like being nice to other people, and it makes me feel especially good if I am able to make them smile. Everyone has to do what they have to do, so why not try to help each other out once in a while? Little things that take little effort, but can really cheer someone up for a few seconds at least.

Since I have switched gender roles I have been exposed to, for lack of a better term, the sisterhood of women. It’s hard to describe exactly what it feels like, but it is very comforting. My experience reminds me of the SNL skit where Eddie Murphy turns himself into a white man and gets everything he wants for free because he is white, exposing him to a world he could never know because he was really a black man. That skit is the best. I draw the parallel that me being born a male was like Eddie Murphy being born black, whereas the white world to him is the female world to me. What I am trying to describe is that the basic connection between women is so much more pronounced than it is with men. If connection between men even exists. I guess it would stand to reason that women don’t have the inhibitions that men have about showing emotion as being a symptom of homosexuality.

My experiences that lead me to this epiphany were very comforting. Small talk and conversation with other women completely changed. The conversations became much more personal and had an air of comradery. It helped me feel accepted and included. Touching each other is not a big deal either. Like in a crowded Saarein, everybody’s arms, legs, backs, etc. were touching and no one cared. It makes me feel good inside. Or like my sisters sitting with me really close or laying down with their legs over my lap. It’s nice to be able to show affection to those you care about without it being confused with homosexuality. The company of men stands in stark contrast to the company of women, and I have come to like the differences very much. So much that I will never give up on my path. I also realize it is not all as perfect as I make it out to be, but I try to see everything through my rose colored glasses ya know.

Even women strangers have shown the “we have to stick together” attitude. A specific example was when the woman on the train on the return from a’dam offered me help getting my suitcase down from the top rack. She didn’t really offer, she just kinda did it without questioning. Maybe she assumed that I didn’t get it up there myself, which I had to struggle to do. It’s like we give each other preferential treatment over men. Most of the time it is really subtle, and therefore it goes mostly unnoticed by the oblivious men, present party included, and in the past of course. I hope I am not letting the cat out of the bag with this, but no one has told me to keep it to myself so I am going to talk about it. Coming to feel sisterly love is the best and most unexpected outcome of my transition. It gives me a strong sense of basic belonging, one that I never knew living as a male.

If women were to stage a rebellion to take the world back from the hands of men, we could succeed. I think that the fact that there is such a seemingly inherent natural bond between women could be the deciding factor. Like the adhesive that keeps us together to help us succeed. Men would surely end up fighting amongst themselves, opening them up for defeat. It stands to reason that women aren’t exempt from backstabbing either, but I think that banding together would be simpler than between men. If victory were dependent on the strength or even existence of a basic bond, then women would prevail. I am not sure where I am going with all this bullshit, I just hope I can understand it someday. I contend that if the world were in the hands of women it would be a much cleaner, more compassionate place to be in. If and when the revolution comes, I am ready.

I am reminded of the night in Saarein back in January. I was sitting at the bar talking to T as the bar became steadily full. T introduced me to many people as they came to get drinks. She was funny, She told me bluntly that some of the seemingly bi women would “want you to fuck them.” I knew what she meant, and I told her I don’t do that anymore. That was a wild night.

Is it ok to have an infatuation with rocka/psycho/hellbillies, without actually being one? My ex introduced me to the latter’s music. It can get pretty violent, in sort of a bdsm sort of way. The lyric “shut me up with a leather mask” from bondage a go-go comes to mind. That shit scares me. I know it is all about letting go and trusting, but I fear the really shady stuff that could happen when one finds themselves in a compromising position. I suppose that is probably part of the thrill. I remember a three or four floored gay club in Boston, don’t recall the name, but in the cellar they had what they called the dungeon. It was decorated in chrome and black leather with lots of restraint devices neatly arranged for your very own dose of personal anguish. Bondage just isn’t my bag.

When it all comes down to it, there is no substitute for punk rock. KPo is punk rock. Mari is punk rock. Hank is punk rock. I am punk rock in the disguise of a tart. Slamming, or whatever it’s called today, is so invigorating. I had the chance to do it with Hank at the party in a’dam for a couple of songs. The chaos that erupts is great. It is in some ways a release of aggression that everyone needs every once in a while. It’s fun to watch too, if you’re not into contact sports. I am listening to DK Police Truck right now, so you know where my mind is at. I just got all crazy to too drunk to fuck. That felt nice, who says I don’t exercise?

I am glad that I am placing more importance on my private life instead of my work. I have become so unmotivated partly because of the situation with brand A. I think this summer will be quite a wild ride, at least I hope so.

queer (un)eventful

I am trying not to get discouraged. I went to a boring lesbian party last night in Ffm. It was boring for me because no one even gave me a second look, and if they did it was a look of contempt. Well, not really, that’s just me being pissy. I am convinced I am not going to meet any new friends, much less a partner, at the lesbian parties. I am going to generalize and say that the partygoers are either not open-minded enough, or it is taboo for any of them to have an interest in a transqueerchick♀♀. As one could easily guess, I was the only transwoman there. This is going to be a long and lonely road that I am on. That’s why I am trying not to get discouraged. I have tried the online dating thing and was honest about my status in my profile. That is definitely not going to work either.

I felt that the parties that I went to in a’dam had more open-minded people, and in such an environment I was able to talk to more people easily. The problem is, I am not able to get to a’dam all that often, and parties like that in DE are few and far between. I stress the far part, as most of the seemingly good genderqueer parties are in either Köln or berlin. The next party that I have found is in Köln on 30.06.2007 and is called “Ausnahme” which means exception in german. I am looking forward to it very much.

I have also realized that I find most lesbians at least visually unattractive. I’m not knocking them, everyone has the right to be themselves, but that is just how I feel. I am a very visually oriented person. I can’t remember names, but I could probably tell you what they were wearing when I met them, for example. I remember faces better, so I tend to write names down before I forget. I guess I am honing my likes and dislikes relative to my attraction to other gay women. I should treat my experiences so far as learning about my newly classified sexuality.

I have a fortune from a fortune cookie that reads “Don’t expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational!” Lucky Numbers 2,47,4,22,38,6 I think that will be the case with me if and when I find love again. I think the best thing for me to do is to skip the lesbian stuff and hit the genderqueer events, and just keep a queer eye open for that special person. I assume s/he will be a punk rock boyish girl with a definite personal style.

I have been looking for other types of events such as drum and bass parties. There is a gay club in Mannheim called MS Connexions that I went to a few years ago for DnB parties, that is still around a still doing the parties. Their next one is on my birthday, Friday the 22, called D&B Summer Camp. There is a party tonight in Mainz-Kastel at Reduit called Time 4 TriFire Roll:out. The party is on a container ship floating in the Rheinufer. It sounds like fun, so I might go. Taking the train would be the cheapest way to get there, but the first train home runs at 4.30a. I will be stuck if the party turns out to be a dud. The admission is only 3€ and they claim very relaxed drink prices. Sounds like a winner for a slowly going broke techhead. Plus I haven’t been to a real DnB party in a while. The description of the sound is jazzy raga dub-tech-step. Sounds good. I don’t have anyone to impress so I can allow myself to get all sweaty from dancing the night away and not care. It’s all about the music. The DJanes that were playing last night played too much of a mix to be coherent. They did play one semi-DnB song, but that was it.

I wish I could be in Rotterdam tonight, as there is a party with Technical Itch at the waterfront. It seems that waterfront club has some interesting events. I wish I could go. I am still listening to tech itch stuff that I have from almost ten years ago. I think the Mainz party is probably a good alternative.

I have several events coming up this month that I am sure I will enjoy, like Sonic Youth, Blonde Redhead, and The Sea and Cake. TSaC are playing coincidentally at the Brotfabrik in Ffm, the same place I was at last night. Next weekend the sonic yuts are on deck. I have seen them three times in thpast few years. The first time was at the phoenix center in Pontiac, the second in Köln @ e-werk, and the third in Saint Brieuc @ art rock with Mari. They are always great, even if the crowd sometimes isn’t.

I can only assume that I will meet semi-interested or at least curious women in places that I wouldn’t expect it. Case in point, last December on the vineyard at the wharf with Rach and Troy. There I met Laura-Lee, whom I never expected to meet at a bar such as that. I guess in the end it is only logical that I carry on doing the things that I like, but always trying new places/things out here and there, I am bound to meet someone someday that has similar likes as me

I began to get depressed and slightly upset last night on the way home, but it quickly faded. I went with the assumption that it would turn out to be exactly as it did, so it is no big loss. I hope that my presence there last night challenged some of the women there to think about transwomen, good or bad. Am I the only transqueerchick in the whole of Rhein-Main area? I really hope not. I feel most of the time I am merely tolerated in lesbian circles, and not really ever embraced. It seems that their open-mindedness ends after the door, whereas they are open-minded enough to let me in and tolerate me, but not quite enough to seriously consider even talking to me. I suppose I could try to be more forward, but when I am the exception and not the rule, I am at an instant disadvantage. I wonder if presenting myself not so femme would help, but I am not going to change myself to fit in, even though I am doing just that with my gender in society. I am not so convinced that fitting in is really where it’s at either, and the reality is I will never fit in again just by virtue of being trans. But whatever, I have made certain choices in my life that have certain consequences and accepting the consequences is becoming easier on some fronts.

I miss talking with my ex, I wish she would call or write or something, anything. I can only assume that she and/or her family decided to cut contact with me. I have no choice but to accept it. One rationalization that I came up with is that it has become too difficult emotionally to deal with the person who I am. This saddens me, but there is little I can do about it so I am trying to move on. I have found that the hardest ones to lose are not the ones that immediately go away, but rather the ones that stick around for a while and then split. I guess that I also did the same thing; Christopher stuck around for a while and then split to become Christine. Maybe it’s only fair, but it still hurts. I thought we had a bond strong enough to carry at least our friendship through.

I wish I had someone to get advice from on my lack of a love life. But I think my situation is a perhaps too seldom an occurrence to really find any good advice. Maybe I should start another blog as a forum for my lame search for a companion. Maybe some other transqueerchicks out there are going through the same things I am and are also looking for advice. I sometimes feel I am trying to navigate uncharted waters. I could and should look at this as an adventure with lots of low points with very few highs. That just makes the high points all that much more special, and a reason to persevere.

I will get around to writing my thoughts on my recent trip to a’dam soon, promise. Not that anyone even reads my drivel.

I’m from Sherman Oaks, just a wheel with spokes…KG-SY

xxx files II

I am on the road to recovery after spending a week in A’dam. Transgender people really know how to party, trust me. I attended the 4th bi-annual Netherlands Transgender Film Festival from May 22-28. The atmosphere at the film festival was as one put it to me, like a family reunion. I had never been in a group with such a large trans presence before. The crowd was mixed, some straights(?), mostly gender queer, with lots of transmen. The film program was good, and the films I saw were great. The parties were even better.

I was such a sewing maniac, that on the morning that I was to travel, I started putting together the black and red swirl dress. I was hoping to get it finished quickly so I could take it with me. It’s still not finished. I suffered a severe packing time loss, and as usual, I cut it really close with the train. I made it though. I bought a pair of shoes from camper online and they were delivered also that morning. They are black flats with white polka dots, they are twins! and they are hot. I wore them with black tube jeans and the Pillhuhn T. I felt really good to be finally wearing the jeans and tops that I made. The train ride was relatively uneventful, compared to the last time.

I arrived at centraal station and then took a tram to the hotel. I checked in and then chatted with David at the front desk. He’s so nice. For some reason it seems that people in general there like to chat, probably because there are so many people coming from all over with their own unique story to tell. I went to eat some dinner at café de Klos. Inside the café is like being inside the belly of an old wooden ship. They have paintings of battles and harbors that were painted with window grating like as if you were in the captain’s quarters looking out the stern windows. Cheesy, I know, but the place has style and draws mostly a Dutch crowd. I had a filet steak with a garlic butter baked potato and a raw salad and baguette slices. One of the bartenders looked a bit rockabilly. I find rockabillies, male and female (it was binary at this point), visually stimulating. They look like they were transported to the present right out of the fifties, with pompadours and bangs. I wrote J an sms while I was waiting for my food.

After dinner, I went to my favorite coffee shop, de dampkring. T wasn’t working that night, so I didn’t stay long. I went to Saarein II for a beer, and it was very quiet there. I got a beer and went upstairs to sit at a table. There was a group of women sitting at the round table; all of them were speaking Dutch. I wrote a bit in my journal and read some more feminist lit. A handsome transman came in and sat at the table next to mine, with his back towards me. He appeared to be not so happy, almost angry even. I wonder if it is a defense system of transmen, because I have noticed this through coming in contact with more and more of them. He stayed for a little while and then hit the bricks. That wouldn’t be the last I would see of him. I chatted with the bartender for a minute, turns out she is from Texas, and I still can’t remember her name. I went back to the hotel to get some shuteye.

I got up in time to eat some b-fast, and then went to the theater, DeBalie, to try to buy my tickets for the week. The box office wasn’t open, apparently they were on lunch. I decided to go uptown to find a bike to rent. I looked all around central station and only found mac bike, they only have bikes that are bright red and scream tourist. I was getting a bit frustrated because I forgot to bring the city guide with me, and all the tourism offices were packed with people. I remembered there was one on Damrak, so walked down toward the dam. Eventually I found it, Holland bike rental. I rented a decent single speed bike, and rode back down to the theater. If one finds themselves in a’dam, and doesn’t rent a bike, you have only yourself to blame. Riding a bike in a’dam bestows a certain power to it’s rider. Pedestrians have the right of way over cars and bikes, but if they are walking or standing in the bike path they are fair game. First comes the bell, then yelling, and then the cursing starts. The bike paths remind me of when we were kids drawing streets with chalk on the pavement to either ride bikes or skateboards through.

The box office was still closed. I ate lunch around the corner at the blaue Hollander, which was traditional Dutch fare. The waitress was listening to the soundtrack from grease, and singing with it here and there. After lunch, the box office still wasn’t open, so I took a ride over to waterlooplein and walked around the flea market. There were some silver vendors there, but nothing really struck my fancy. One woman had some good stuff, but her abrasive and bitchy attitude drove me away. I rode by another silver store on the way back to my hotel, where I bought a bunch of amber jewelry. I’m not convinced that amber goes well with my complexion. I went back to the theater afterwards and bought my tickets for the week. They had a five ticket deal for 25 euro, and then I bought two additional. I went back to the hotel to unload my goodies and get ready for the evening. I stopped in the dampkring for a tea and T was working. We chatted a bit and then I headed to the theater.

I got to the theater a half hour before the opening performance. I enjoyed a coffee outside on the sidewalk tables. I spoke briefly with Eliza about tickets for the hormonotron party on Friday. They didn’t have them yet, so I just went into the performance. Kam Wai gave an introduction. I was just sitting there marveling at the crowd with a big smile on my face. It felt so good to be surrounded by my brethren; male, female, intersex, genderqueer, fags, dykes, trans, etc. rae spoon went on first, although I don’t usually go for prairie music, hir shit was tight and very relaxing. Then came lynnee breedlove exploded on stage with punk rock and queer stuffed animals. Her show was funny, but I am not sure if the Europeans really get her. She had lots of gender related anecdotes and also pissed in a bucket onstage, with the help of a pee standing up gadget for persons with a vagina. The show was a fun opening for the film fest. I bought a ticket for the party Friday after the show let out. I went for a beer at Saarein where I met P/Buck(sp) the bartender, and then to dampkring to see if T was still on. She was, but it was close to closing so I went back to the hotel to sleep. She wasn’t being as warm as she had been back in January and March.

I got up rather late, got some breakfast, and then took care of some grooming issues. I went for a bike ride to a piercing and tattoo shop to see if they had the type of nose studs I usually wear. They didn’t have a very good selection, so I didn’t get anything. It was getting close to dinnertime so I called Rakang Thai to reserve a table for me for six o’clock. I rode around a bit longer to kill some time before going to eat. When I arrived I was met with a friendly greeting and was told that they were having problems with the gas, so it would take a bit longer to get my dish. I don’t remember exactly what I ordered, but it was fried duck with yard long beans and almonds. It was just the right spiciness; I can always tell if it is hot enough by how much sweat runs down in front of my ears. Hot food gives me a rush, somewhat similar, but not quite like an orgasm. Whereas I am going on four years without sex, eating red and green chillis have become my substitute. One of the waiters was very ambiguous; s/he could be either handsome or pretty depending on the outfit. I ordered a double espresso and a grappa for desert. They gave me a refill on the grappa as compensation for the long wait for the food. They were all being very nice that evening.

I rode over to the theater just in time for the film about the Indian Hijras, “between the lines: India’s third gender. It was a very gritty full length documentary about the lives and culture of the Hijras. Their communities are made up of intersexed persons and eunuchs mostly. It was interesting to learn about these people, and the two main characters in the film were there to field questions afterwards. The Hijra that was there was called Laxmi; she was really a neat person, a bit of a ham too. I went to the bar to get a drink in between shows and struck up a conversation with one of the bartenders. He asked me about the film and I told him a little about the Hijras. He was fascinated. I think I am getting better at projecting my openness, and therefore I am able to enjoy nice little chit-chats with the straights. The next movie was “paper dolls”, and it was a documentary about a group of transwomen from the philipines that moved to Israel to get away from the oppression. They all cared for elderly orthodox Jewish men as their job, and also performed a drag cabaret at a tel aviv nightclub on the weekends. Most of them ended up moving to the UK because they were eventually pushed out of Israel. I stayed for a couple of beers at the bar afterward, and then headed out to Saarein. As I was passing prinsengracht, I passed one of the bartenders from dampkring going the other way. We made eye contact and exchanged smiles, and then we both turned to look back at each other and smiled again. That was kinda nice, but we both kept going in opposite directions. I hung out at Saarein for a few beers.

On Friday I decided to check out the Albert Cuyp Market in the southeast part of the city. Before I left the hotel I was speaking with peter at the reception when a beautiful rockabilly woman came in to meet a friend who was staying there. I didn’t put two and two together with her, but she was cool to look at. There were so many fabric stores at the market, I became slightly over stimulated. There were so many fabrics I wanted to buy, and the prices were decent, but I decided I would wait and think about it. I bought two wide hip belts, one red which matched the top I was wearing perfectly, and a black one in the same style. I wore the red one right away. The market was closing and I needed to get some dinner before the next events at the fest. I found Balti House a couple of blocks from the market and sat down for dinner. I ordered the Lamb tikka balti, which again the goodness being a factor of how much I was sweating. It almost feels like a cold sweat when a fever breaks. J had left a message on my mailbox telling me that she would be at Lelebelle at around nine, if I wanted to meet her. I called her back and agreed to meet her at rembrandtplein at nine. I went to the theater for the panel discussion on worldwide (trans)gender rights. I only was able to stay long enough for all of the panelists to give their introductory speeches. The most notable for me were Kate Bornstein, and Stephen Whittle.

I left to go meet J when there was break in the action onstage. J and I went into lellebel for a drink (I don’t really care for that place) which was packed with people. I wondered why none of them had any apparent interest in the film fest, being transwomen or transvestites. We decided to go to a quieter café near my hotel. We talked for a couple of hours which was really nice. Although we don’t know each other very well, I feel like I am talking with an old friend. She is having some health problems that I hope will pass. She took a taxi home and I went back to the hotel to put on my sneakers and grab my jacket. I rode up to the pakhuis wilhelmina for the hormonotron party (i can't seem to ge tthe link to work so just go to www.submagazine.nl/homonotron/ for pics to see if you can find my ass). They had little lockers to stow one’s stuff and it only took one euro coins. I had a two which I changed inside and then came back out to close my locker. A cute rockabilly person was also trying to deal with the lockers and asked me if I had a euro. I handed the second one over to hir, then we went in and s/he bought me a beer and we began chatting. S/he introduced hirself as D (insert feminine German name), and told me s/he was from Berlin. S/he looked like a rockabilly boy with tits, and I was instantly intrigued what s/he would want to do with me. S/he told me s/he thinks I am sweet. We chatted for a while until the punk rock on stage started. S/he grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd to the front where everyone began thrashing about, and I was loving it being right in the middle of it all with hir. That finished and we went back to the open space behind us.

Then the kingz of berlin went onstage and again s/he grabbed my hand and led me up to front of the stage. S/he knows the whole group that came to perform and visit the film fest. The Kingz had to be the best drag king show I have ever seen. The rockabilly girl that I saw at my hotel the day before was half naked onstage in one of the acts. She is so hot, and her name is wendy delorme. D introduced me to several of the kingz who were all really cool. I danced a lot with D and I told hir about the Buttkraaker cabaret that was to take place the following night. S/he said s/he would be there too. As the club was closing, D introduced me to Wendy and Lynee, I told Wendy that I thinks she is hot, and Lynee that s/he rocks. D left to go to hir friend’s house, and I went to the bathroom. I was a bit bewildered as to how I felt about what just happened. I was totally enamored with this person even though s/he is not exactly the type of person I thought I could be attracted to. I think I am developing a thing for boyish females.

When I went outside to free my bike for the ride home, W and L were trying to figure out how to get back to their lodging. They asked me about a specific street that I didn’t know. I asked w if she could find her way from my hotel since she had been there earlier. She said yes and I offered that they could ride with me until things became familiar. It was about 5 am at this point. I rode side by side with w chit-chatting the whole way. I asked her about D and if she could tell me anything about hir. She said s/he goes by the nickname hank, and that s/he is a good person. S/he had helped her when she was depressed and they are good friends. It came time to part ways, and I said goodbye and wished them a nice trip home. W gave me a hug and a three kiss-kiss and she was on her way. She is so nice and sincere; it was very nice to meet her. I got back to my hotel and there I began to try to sort out how I felt about what happened at the party. I just became more confused, so I decided to go to bed hoping that things would be clearer after sleeping the alcohol off.

I woke up Saturday just in time to catch the end of b-fast with a killer hangover. I was only motivated to get showered and dressed so that I could go and buy some aspirin. I felt like butt all day long, however short the day actually was. I went to dampkring to try to take the edge off, and there I met the bartenders M and D. M offered me some melon chunks which were very tasty. I spoke with D for a minute and then I got ready to go. I went to the toilet to pee and wash my hands. D was just coming out of the toilet as I was coming in. We chatted for a few minutes, and in those few precious minutes she told me she was prego, she didn’t know how to ride a bike, and something else I won’t mention here, but it is very personal. I congratulated her for being prego and wished her the best. She said people like her and me have to be and are strong and tough to make it in this world. I felt an instant connection with her, and was pleasantly surprised that she shared such personal things with me. That made me feel good. I hope I am able to see her again someday and also maybe her baby too.

I got to the theater to see Transparent at 4p. Transparent was a documentary about transmen who had bore children and then transitioned into living as men, and in most cases continued raising their children. I began to get upset when they showed a segment with an otherwise normal looking man’s man telling his story and then cut to a home movie clip of him as a little girl with thick blonde hair and big blue eyes wearing a pink dress. They showed this as he was still talking, and it reminded me of pictures of myself at that age. I felt as though I was about to start crying uncontrollably, so I tried to keep myself together as best I could. All I could hear were sniffles in the theater, so apparently I wasn’t the only one who was haunted by this film. J wrote me an sms and I called her back. She told me she was trying to reserve a ticket for the film Shabnam Mosi, but was having no luck getting through. I offered to get a ticket for her and we were to meet just before the start in the salon. I saw the bartender from the other night and he gave me a piece of paper with the name of a movie written on it, and he recommended that I see them (more on this some other time). I went back to the hotel to chill out before meeting J and the next film.

I met J in the foyer and we went into the film together. The film was a Bollywood film about a famous Hijra. The film was very campy and sensationalized. I was glad to have seen the documentary film on Thurs about the Hijras, because it presented a real-life glimpse into the Hijra culture. The film Shabnam Mosi was a little too make believe, but I enjoyed just the same. J did too. That was the first bollywood film for both of us. Afterwards we sat at a table in the café for a drink. I had a ticket for the next event, which was a collection of trans short films. I said goodbye to J and went into the theater. The shorts were really good. I came out of the theater into the café, where J was still where I had left her. She had struck up a conversation with the people that were sitting at the table when we parted earlier. I met them too and we discussed some of the movies and our feelings about them, and they bought me a glass of rose. I walked J to the trams and then we parted.

I headed up to chequepoint to catch the buttkraaker cabaret. I was let in through a rolling door into a narrow entrance with sort of a box office booth built into it. I paid the damage and went upstairs to be greeted by lots of the partygoers from the night before. The show was totally raw and very campy, and was a lot of queer fun. Between sets, the crowd thinned a bit to reveal that hank was sitting across the room. I went over to hir and we began talking about the show. S/he bought me a beer and I asked hir if s/he knew the rockabilly boy-girl that I had met in January when we were both stranded in Arnheim and Utrecht. S/he said s/he knew hir but that s/he did too much drugs, and s/he doesn’t run with that crowd. It’s funny how small Europe is, I have met people on separate occasions that know each other, strange but nevertheless interesting. We danced to electro for a while and then I decided I was going to go to the hotel. When we said goodbye, I could feel some tension, and I wanted to tell hir how I felt, but being that I wasn’t quite sure myself, I left it at that.

As I was getting ready to leave I remembered that ::NuNswithGuNs::, G for short, does the visuals for the buttkraaker. I asked Eliza what she looked like so I could find her, and I did. I introduced myself to her and she got a bit embarrassed about what she commented on my blog back in January. She got me a drink and we chatted for a little while. She is so cute; she is pleasantly plump with short black hair with big dark brown eyes. She was so sweet too, like an adorable little doll that I wanted to put in my bag and take home with me. As I was talking to her, I noticed hank making out with a rockabilly girl across the room. I was wondering if that could have been me, had I said more at our parting. It didn’t really bother me, because I was too unsure of my feelings and inaction seemed to be the best way to deal with it. I said goodbye to G and made a rainy bike ride back to the hotel.

I didn’t get up in time for b-fast on Sunday, bummer. I felt somehow better than I did the day before upon waking. I got dressed and went to return the bike. I stopped at mickeyD’s for a quick bite to eat and then took a tram to leidseplein. As I was walking into the foyer at DeBalie, I was greeted by giuliana who was on her way out. She asked me for my email and said she had to go to work, bummer. J came to us just as we were saying goodbye. I met J as she was going into the other theater and told her I would meet her afterwards. The first film was called Queens at Heart, which was basically interview footage with transwomen from the late 1960’s. They were all dressed very mod fabulous. It was interesting to hear the stereotypically inaccurate descriptions of them and their behavior. They were presented as homosexual men who wanted a sex change so they could sleep with men. I enjoyed it very much. Then the second segment was about an elderly transwoman who was contacted by her teenage girlfriend forty years later. The teenage girlfriend had no idea that she had transitioned, but accepted it and they became close again instantly. The transwoman in the story had been the subject of a transition documentary by the same filmmaker back in the early nineties. So this film was like a follow up on her life. It was an interesting and sweet story.

I met J in the café afterwards and she introduced me to C. C is a transman that kind of made me nervous. He kept looking at J like she was a piece of meat, which made me feel uneasy. We met the same people from the night before in the café. J and I were trying to decide where to eat when the others invited us to go eat sushi with them. I wanted to spend some more time alone with J and I am not quite ready to eat Japanese food again, so we said thanks but no thanks. We walked around the block looking for a little café that J knew of, but wasn’t exactly sure if it was still there. We eventually found it, Café de Koe (café the cow) it is called. It is a tiny place that looks like it has been there forever and is a well kept local secret. The food was wonderful and the service attentive. And it took just enough time to eat and get back to the theater for the closing.

The closing was with kate bornstein, doing readings from her books and short stories. She imitated her mom in a thick new york jew accent, “my son the lesbian.” It was interesting to learn about her life through her short stories. I like her a lot. She gave out “get out of hell free” cards to everyone at the end. I could have spoken with her afterwards, or over the course of the past days, but I felt somehow intimidated and a little embarrassed that I didn’t know much about her. I hope to see her again someday. J and I enjoyed the show very much. Kam Wai made a short speech at the end. He is truly an extraordinary person; he is the main organizer of the Netherlands Transgender Film Festival. He deserves a big hug and a kiss and much gratitude from all of us guests. J and I went and sat down in the café with our new friends and C was there also. We chatted for a couple of drinks and then said our goodbyes to the new friends.

I walked J to the tram and waited with her until hers came. I was sad to have to say goodbye, but alas we parted. I walked over to Saarein for a quiet farewell beer. I sat downstairs watching some dykes playing pool when Tinas came to buy some cigs from the machine next to where I was sitting. Tinas “the penis” asked me what I was doing all alone and said I should come upstairs and join the rest of the people. I asked if there was room for me, and he told me I only needed to wiggle my ass in. So I did. Tinas introduced me to L and M and H. We all discussed the film fest and how good it was and felt, and lots of other things too. They made me feel really at home. Eliza came by and did a short interview with me about the festival. I ended up chatting with her for a while too. Saarein was past their normal closing time by two hours. Tinas and M and H and L all convinced me to go to de trut with them before it closes. I learned how to ride as a “backer” which is just one of the skills that amsterdammers possess. A backer is when you ride on the back rack of a bike while someone else pedals. The secret is to let the driver get a rolling start as the rider runs along with them and then sits down. As one can imagine after a few beers this is not so easy. I got the hang of it though, we didn’t even crash luckily.

We made it to de trut, but they were already closed to newcomers and only Tinas got in because he works there. Blah! The club is a queer nightclub set in a squat. Their door policy is strictly homosexuals only, and sometimes if they are not sure about you, they ask that you somehow prove that you are queer. How you prove that is up to you, but it must be convincing. I was told that they frown on any semblance of heterosexual behavior, and you just might get thrown out if you don’t heed the warnings. It sounds like an interesting place; I am disappointed that we didn’t get in. We decided to go over to reality near rembrandtplein for a last beer of the night/morning(?). They were playing dancehall reggae at the little dive bar. M and L left as H and I both got another beer.

I spoke with H for a while, a would be, on the fence mtf. S/he was a bit strange. Part of the ride over I rode with hir. I asked where s/he was from, s/he replied from the UK, but really s/he was originally from Pluto. Heh? I let that little irregularity go, hoping it was just a little joke, but still feeling like s/he was serious. s/he was. S/he later told me that s/he has psychotic episodes, and all became clear. I spoke with hir about being unsure about gender and that it is ok to feel that way and that with time it would probably become clear. In the back of my mind I was thinking it was perhaps just a new psychosis, because s/he hadn’t had the contra gender feelings for very long. I have met people before that suddenly woke up one day and decided they were trans, without ever having any such feelings in the past. And some were relatively far along in life too. I find that intriguing to not be tormented as I was for so many years with these feelings. I tried to stress the need to take things slowly, with the hope that this person would seek help from a mental health professional before acting on any of these feelings. This experience made me realize why there is so much psychological scrutiny of Trans people. We finished our discussion on the walk back to my hotel. We said goodbye and I went in to get a little sleep.

I woke up in time for b-fast, they served ham and eggs. I got showered and dressed and packed before going down to breakfast. After breakfast I went to get some water and a little treat before I had to leave. I took a taxi to central station and made the train with time to spare. I was alone in a cabin for the first leg of the ride. Eventually a heavy set black woman sat opposite me from about the half way point until the end in Ffm. She offered to help me to get my suitcase down from the overhead rack. That was really sweet of her. That’s women sticking together. I will write about that theme after this novel of a post.

I left Amsterdam tired, confused, and over stimulated. I realized though that I feel most comfortable around other gender queer people like and unlike myself. I had such a good time and met so many new people that I didn’t want to leave, but I had a feeling it would eventually kill me if I stayed there too long. That was the most fun I have had in a long time. I hope to have a similar if not even better experience again someday. I am left wondering when will be my next trip to utopia.

getting to the next XXX...

Before I get into the latest A’dam debauchery (it will be lengthy one), I want to write a little bit about my designing and sewing.

In the weeks leading up to the trip I was a sewing maniac. I managed to make a new wardrobe for the trip. I made:
Black hip hugger cropped jeans with red topstitching and a red felt ‘chick’ C on the ass pocket (see previous post for pic)
Black hip hugger tube jeans with a black leather chick C on the ass pocket
Blue hip hugger boot-cut jeans with a blue chick C on the ass pocket
Olive green hip hugger boot cut corduroys
Converted a black Pillhuhn T-shirt into a slim T
Brown and white polka dot viscose jersey 40’s neckline top
Black and white polka dot viscose jersey V neck top
Black/red/beige/white floral print viscose jersey ¾ sleeve top
Black/white/red floral print viscose jersey mini-dress (see previous post for pic)
Started a black and red sporty mini-dress with mandarin collar of polyester

I also managed to make a pair of corduroy trousers to wear with the blazer that I tailored last fall. I wore the ensemble to visit VW for a meeting in Kassel. I am so glad that I had the ambition to make things because it makes me feel good to be able to wear things that I myself made. I have a perfect little production line set up. I use my newer Pfaff for normal seam sewing, the old Singer for topstitching, and the Pfaff coverlock for serging the seam allowances. I have them all set up so that I don’t skip a beat when putting together a pair of jeans. I used all stretch denims, which I think I will probably have to machine dry every other washing because they tend to stretch out and stay that way. I want to make some more tops and also some skirts for summer too.

Yay! Tickets are purchased for Sonic Youth on the 16th in Wiesbaden, Blonde Redhead in Heidelberg on the 23rd, and I might go to see The Sea and Cake at the Brotfabrik in Ffm on the 26th. I am so happy that I am finally going to see BR in concert, live even. Toll!