Saturday, April 26, 2025

strong desire to be treated as the other gender…

Why no. No, I don’t look butch when I leave the house. Not at all.

Here’s the thing: I have gotten a metric fuck ton of shit on Facebook recently because I’m LOUD about trans rights. In comments on news stories. In my Facebook DMs. I even had a friend threaten to not refer someone to my little bookkeeping business because I was “pro-mentally ill people”.

That last one? OMG.

Hey, fuckface (yes, you. I know you stalk my little blog. HI!!!!), I don’t know if you know anything about me even though we’ve been friendly for decades now… to be honest, despite the multiple visits here, I don’t think you’ve ever read a word I’ve ever posted.

If you did, you would know that I am pro-mentally ill people. BECAUSE I AM ONE, YOU DUMB FUCK.

Social anxiety? Check
Bipolar? Check
General Anxiety? Check
A touch of OCD? Check
Seasonal Affective Disorder? Well, more like annual, but there’s a cure for that and it’s called MAINE.
Gender dysphoria? Never diagnosed, but I know I have it. I’ve had more luck controlling that than the OCD, anxiety, or bipolar combined, though.

When I was younger, I couldn’t leave the house without a baseball cap. A practice my mother tried to literally beat out of me.

My dad used to call me “his son, [name]” in a joking fashion, but it felt right in a way my real name never has.

I used to live in men’s clothes - another habit that mother tried to beat out of me. Literally. I did so right up until my boobs got too big. (Hi again! I know you love my double Ds. You once wrote a very… interesting… poem about them one night when you were drunk off your face.) Anyways, my boobs don’t fit in men’s shirts any more unless I buy them a tad too big. Don’t even get me started on my breeder’s hips. Men’s pants are a thing of my past as well.

All the trappings of being born in a female body bother me. They always have, but I’ve learned to live with it because living my life as a man wasn’t a thing when I was at my lowest point. I know I talked about my fencing buddy, Phyl, before and how she transitioned after her wife died and her kids were grown.

I’ve been thinking about her a lot.

About how brave she was to transition so late in life. If I had the balls (HA!) to do it now that I’m fifty.

But it doesn’t matter because nobody cares about FTM trans people.

What they do care about is MTF, but not for the reasons you think they do. It’s not about bathrooms and it’s not about men genetically being better than women in sports. It goes deeper than that and to be honest, I’m not even sure they know why they need to force a gender binary.

May I remind you that Felon 47 was recorded saying he grabbed women by the pussy? YET HE WAS VOTED INTO OFFICE. TWICE.

I’d rather take my chances with the trans women than with a cis man.

Anyhoo… Did you know, they’re so worried about “perverted” men accosting girls / women in locker rooms, that they want to do gender checks? They are literally talking about checking female athletes for men’s genitalia.

Um, no.

I’m loving the backlash that’s coming out of the trans community, though. There are some trans men I follow that - if they didn’t announce they transitioned - I would never have guessed. Yet, our politicians think they belong in a women’s restroom. Because they have what I assume are grabbable pussies… I mean, who’s the real pervert here?

Seriously. What it is about conservatives / magats that make them so obsessed with penises? Peni?

Schlongs. Let’s go with schlongs.

It doesn’t end there, though.

This culture of fear about the different? It’s affecting cis women.

Read that again.

IT IS AFFECTING CIS WOMEN. THE VERY WOMEN THEY WANT TO ‘PROTECT’.

People are actually accosting cis women in bathrooms because they look masculine. That’s if they even get in in the first place.

There are videos and news stories. Blog posts. TikToks. Facebook posts. Instagram posts.

They’re out there if you care to look.

Now, despite hating my female body, when I was untreated for the bipolar, I was um… shall we say, unbothered by getting nekkid with men when I was manic. (Do you remember that night? I’m sure you do… since you were the recipient of a - and I quote -  “million dollar blow job”. Too bad you couldn’t afford it.) I’d regret it, sure, once the mania passed. But during those manic periods, I was too busy trying to get off, to make my body behave in ways it wasn’t built for.

I faked every. single. one.

EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

(Yup. You, too, asshole. Especially with you, whisky dick.)

Looking back, it’s easy to think I was a sex-repulsed asexual, even though that term wasn’t well known back then. Now, hindsight being 20/20 and all, I think I’m just repulsed by anything that focuses on what’s below my waist.

Any way… you want to know why I say the quiet things out loud? Why I’m spending money supporting trans rights groups?

Because I could be one of “them”.

Because I want to be one of “them”.

I’m just too damned scared.

Saturday, April 05, 2025

I know I have roots there even if I don’t know where the trees are.

Hail! to the victors valiant / Hail! to the conqu’ring heroes / Hail! Hail! to Michigan / I forgot the words / GO BLUE!

A while back, I had this crazy plan to fly in and out of Boston - go see my friends’ band in Albany-adjacent cities and then catch a Bruins game. A nice, low-key, all-me, 50th birthday long weekend.

Yeah. That did not go as planned.

It became fly into Albany, see the two BMS shows, go to Boston and watch them lose to BUFFALO (BUFFALO! ACK!), drive to Maine and buy a house.

Dude, I bought a fucking house.

It’s the third one I’ve owned outright and the fifth house I’ve bought. Buying a house doesn’t get any less stressful the fifth time around, let me tell you.

But, let’s start in Albany. Future me is going to wish I wrote this somewhere, so why not here? I share everything else important here. (This may be a long one. Strap in! (Strap on? Whatever works!))

I get to Albany to find out they’re charging me a $200 one way rental fee for the car. Not only that, they’ve decided me to give me a Hyundai Elantra. The Elantras are REALLY low to the ground. Like, really, really, low. Hated that car since the moment he gave me the keys. Grrr. Glad I didn’t get a nicer car - that fucking $200 would have made the car way too expensive and I was already pushing my budget.

(I bet this is the most expensive vacation I’ll ever take in my entire life. Altogther, I spent roughly $203,000.)

I have always had good luck with Super 8s in Upstate NY. I am sad to say that the original hotel in Cobleskill fucking sucked. It seems minor, but the room had a broken safe. (I had a laptop. I didn’t want to bring it to a bar in an unknown neighbourhood.) They tried to put me in a different room. Broken safe. Third room? So moldy, I couldn’t even walk in the door. I walked out of the hotel in full Karen mode. (Well, they must have thought that. I thought I was being nice about almost dying.  Mold has become something I’m super allergic to. So, yeah, no thanks. You can poison someone else.)

So, I went ALL THE FUCK THE WAY BACK TO THE AIRPORT and stayed at the Tru by Hilton. That was ah-mazing. I’m only staying at Trus from this point forward.

Black Mountain Symphony killed it during that first show. I sat back and let the songs roll over me. It felt like the first time I could breathe in ages. All the stress. POOF! Gone. So nice to be home, surrounded by friends, and the best music ever. Oh, it was amazing.

I left the Tru to stay a little family run hotel closer to BMS’ second show of the weekend. It was a nice room. Nothing too fancy. (The BMS show was great, as expected, and I bonded with Bill’s mom a bit. Love her!) The absolute worst part of the night was when I was woken up by something. The bed was shaking. Literally shaking. Like someone was fucking with the mattress. And then, once the bed stopped moving, it felt like something got on the bed with me. (It could have been Guinness or the ex for the way the bed sunk.) The room got cold and I could feel someone in the room with me. This started at about 3AM and lasted until 3:30. I barely moved a muscle except to breathe and cracked my eye to look at the time.

Turns out there is a cemetery across the street from the hotel.

I guess someone just wanted to say hi.

From there, it was Boston. Battery Wharf Hotel. Eh. It was hard to find and they had valet parking. (I hate valet parking!) The restaurant didn’t serve me the first morning and I had waited for over fifteen minutes, made contact with three different people and was not acknowledged once. Grrrr. It was just… eh. It poured all day Monday so I didn’t leave the room except to go to the Bruins game. It was so weird being back in the Garden. Everything changed from how you get into the arena vs where the trains are. Bruins stank it up, but UConn and BU had boys on Buffalo. It didn’t help that Sweeney traded Marchy and Coyle right at the fucking trade deadline. Bastard.

From Boston, I headed to Maine.

Fell in love with a house in Dover-Foxcroft. $230K, 1.25 acres, river front, a she shed that was livable. I also fell through the floorboards. Too much work for that sort of money.

Ate at Bob’s Clam Shack, spent a good hour staring at the Nubble Lighthouse, and spent the night in a hotel at Long Sands Beach. Nice to reconnect with my memories of my father, even if I didn’t make it to Ogunquit.

Made my home base in Bangor. Millinocket’s about an hour north, but I had some rewards points to use and I didn’t see any Hiltons up there. Spent the next two days looking at houses. FIFTEEN HOUSES.

It was toss up between the emotional choice and the smart choice. The emotional choice had a beautiful view of Mt. Kathadin, but needed a lot of work. They were asking almost $200K for it, and I really doubted it would appraise at $150K. I offered a fair amount and they countered at basically what they were asking. Yeah, that’s a no. The view is BEAUTIFUL and well worth $200K, but a house with dated appliances and asbestos shingles is not.

I ended up going with the smart choice. A little three bedroom ranch, in move in condition, with a garage and a basement I can finish.

We close on May 9th. Movers come May 21st.

Had Chinese for lunch and my fortune was perfect: Trust in the journey of self-discovery; you are evolving.