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.

Sunday, November 24, 2024

Reflections on retirement and the ADA

I’m in that picture and I don’t like it.

My way cool, super sexy Logitech keyboard has a loose key and it is driving me nuts. Like seriously. It’s the comma key. Used for… commas and playing the Sims. Do you know how much I write?!? To have a comma key that bounces all over the place makes me want to hulk smash the damn thing.

Logitech also doesn’t sell spare parts (supposedly. I haven’t looked too hard), so if I can’t find what I need, I’m buying a new keyboard… this pisses me off so badly, you have no idea. I have a much, much, much older Logitech keyboard that I absolutely love. Love it so much that I had one purchased for me at the day job. This new one felt more Mac-like and since I live in two worlds - I go both ways - this was a perfect bridge. That bridge is falling down.

Let’s see… what else is new?

My buttermilk pancakes are AMAZING. I used to buy pints of buttermilk, but I wasn’t using it up before it went bad. (And do you know hard it is to find a pint of buttermilk? Cooking for one sucks!) I ended up searching the web and ended up buying some buttermilk powder that was recommended by America’s Test Kitchen.

OK. Enough stalling.

We have an employee who is disabled per the ADA guidelines. This employee is replacing one that is retiring (retired now). We were planning on terminating their employment because they were doing so poorly during training, but their disability made itself known at work and we weren’t sure what to do. It’s not a potion where we could work around any attendance issues caused by this disability - it’s a department of one and usually very busy. The company I work for is deadline driven, so if there isn’t someone at that position, everyone else has to chip in to cover and it leads to a host of problems.

Lucky for them, I am both HR and an expert on the ADA. That’s what happens when you get fired in direct response for asking for a reasonable accommodation. And it was reasonable. The fact that they then decided to throw all kinds of performance issues at me - without a single discussion - and send me to their shrink… yeah. I had a very good case against them and still decided it wasn’t worth trying to sue.

Anyhoo. We’re not big enough to have to abide by the ADA, FL is an at-will state, and we have documented meetings where we actually have pointed out the performance issues and the continued absences. So termination it was, but we gave them two more weeks to prove themselves. They spent one of those weeks in the hospital, as a no-call, no show so we had another justifiable reason to term.

When they got back from the hospital, the owner pulled them in and had a chat. Then I got pulled in for the update… somehow during that discussion, I talked about the Cats and how I got fired. How I job hop because I either get fired for being bipolar or I quit when I can’t keep it under control. (I also find really shitty jobs and / or bosses which help trigger a manic cycle…) He point blank told me that he thought for sure I was going to tell him I was leaving when I told him about the divorce.

My dumb ass said yes, I am moving, but I don’t have a timeline yet. (Liar, liar, pants on fire…)

Dude, the look on his face - we’ve had someone retire, we’re probably going to fire their replacement, and someone else wants to go to part-time. There’s a rumor that someone is moving to Puerto Rico to live near family because they don’t feel safe in the States anymore. We’re twelve people - that’s a lot of loss in two months. For a place that never had any turnover. Of course, people age out and nobody really thought that Trump would win a second term…

I told him I wanted to stay on, remotely, and he looked so relieved. He offered to hire someone that could support me if I needed someone in Florida. I then continued to blab on and on about how he’s the best boss I’ve ever had and how hard it is to want to move home when I just found my forever job… but I need to move home. I can’t continue to live in FL.

So, then we had the retirement party.

Jesus motherfucking crispy Christ on a fucking cracker.

All my emotions came pouring out - we really are such a tightly knit family and it really sucks to leave that behind (even if I work remotely, I won’t be physically based in FL). I know I don’t belong here, but I belong there. Some of my friends think that I should leave now and not look back and the other half think that because I’m agonizing over this decision that I’m not ready to move home. That second half is wrong. SO. VERY. WRONG. I just can’t figure out the timing yet. I just can’t walk away from the best boss I’ve ever had.

I’m spending today working on the layout of my business website. I’ve been looking at some books I bought on WordPress, and the more I read the more I hate the idea of using it. I just can’t wrap my head around how it works. ExpressionEngine is so much easier and now that it’s on version 7, a little better on the back end, too.

OK… I should probably get going. That code’s not going to write itself. *sigh*

Saturday, October 12, 2024

Not again…

I aspire to this level of greatness

Can I tell you something?

I don’t have to buy two of everything any more!!!!

Want to see Matt Nathanson? Want to fly home and go to a Bruins game? Want to sit FIRST FUCKING CLASS?

When you are budgeting-obsessed and you realise that your budget is still built for two, and a mortgage, and a car loan… holy shit.

Once I revamped my budget to truly express my financial situation… wow.

For example, I’m going to Detroit to run the Freep International Half Marathon (traveling alone because someone didn’t want to go to Detroit.*ahem*). The airline offered me an upgrade to first class. It was just expensive enough that if I had to pay for two seat upgrades, there’d be no way. HOWEVER, since I only needed to purchase one? (Garçon, fetch me my Grey Poupon!)

Or, how about my trip home? I decided to take a little bit of my fuck you money and go home for my birthday. I have a very broad definition of home, so I’m flying in and out of Boston, going to Albany for two days, headed to Maine for two days, and watching a Bruins game. (We’ll talk about the B’s game in a moment.) When I decided I was going to get my live hockey on, I scoured the nosebleed seats trying to find a decent view at a price I was willing to pay - for two tickets. I only need to buy one, so I dropped what I would have spent on two completely shitty seats on one really nice one.

Or, I love Matt Nathanson, right? I would have had to buy two VIP packages to at least one show. (He’s playing in Fort Lauderdale and Orlando.) I bought two VIP packages any way - one for FTL and one for Orlando.

I FUCKING LOVE BEING COMPLETELY SELFISH.

Or, am I just enjoying the single life? I’ve spent so long trying to afford to keep us both happy with material possessions and experiences… I mean, I got a new car, he had to get a new car. Matching Mini Coopers, matching Jettas, matching Subarus (twice). It gets old. Vacations - needing to buy two plane tickets, having to plan a trip that makes sense and doesn’t have us ping-ponging all over New England for five days. (What? I can do what I want. He’s not the boss of me anymore.)

I’m really loving the freedom of it all.

That’s all.

So. About that Bruins game.

I’ve been avoiding the things that make me homesick for seven years. I’ve been avoiding all things hockey for six (to the best of my ability, of course).

Now that I know I’m heading home?

I’m embracing everything again.

Having an exit strategy is so freeing.

Where was I?

Boston. Hockey.

Focus.

I have decided that this is the year I go full-bore back into my hockey obsession.

Bruins? Of course.

College hockey? Oh, definitely.

UMaine season tickets are something I’m considering now that I’ve kind of zeroed in on a geographical area, and of course, I can’t forget my Huskies. UConn, not Northeastern.

Going to a hockey game is vastly different from watching one on TV. Duh.

And it is a pleasure that has been in lock-step with the worst pain of my life for so long.

Well, I’m ripping off the fucking band-aid.

I don’t have cable anymore, so I can watch whatever I want whenever I want and I don’t have to worry about stumbling on the Cats games / coverage / etc.

God bless ESPN+.

Now, if only those greedy fuckers at NESN would un-geo-lock their programming.

I will pay you fuckers for a year of Boston sports coverage.

Gladly.

Um… hi!

Tell me you’re in a manic cycle without telling me you’re in a manic cycle?

Yeah… it might be time to step away from the computer.

OK. I love you! Bye-bye!

Saturday, October 21, 2023

If the words won’t come, make the characters.

the secret to a successful nanowrimo is porn. lots of it.

As I’ve said before, I’ve never been the type of person who creates an outline and a plot.

I’ve been plotting like a madwoman. Pages and pages of plot bunnies. It’s insane.

Who knew writing a hockey au would actually be enjoyable?

We all know my history with hockey and how the last experience absolutely fucking broke me. (Still broken after all these years, thanks. Vegas put a nice band-aid on my boo-boo, though.)

So… it’s been weird to actually dig into things like the NHL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement and the Rule Book.

To remember things I thought I’d forgotten.

A skate blade to the back, the severed pinky, the slapshot to the nuts (the player was NOT wearing a cup… but that’s a story for another day.), the singing on the bus, Cooperstown, the dentist fixing a broken nose, the Stanley Cup, the octopus… that fucking mascot.

Reading all these stupid hockey romances has reminded me what it’s like to be part of the team, not part of the back office.

And THAT is where my love of the sport truly lives.

In the camaraderie of the players. Not the knowledge of how to write the Salary Cap journal entries.

I almost watched a Bruins game the other night.

Almost.

But before I could change the channel, I had a panic attack and decided it was safer to watch Simmers on YouTube.

I’ll get back to being able to watch the games and probably sooner rather than later.

But in the meantime, I’ve noticed some other things that are changing.

- The hubby took care of Guinness, not me. And G wasn’t a cuddle pup. He was sort of detached, aloof. I take care of the kittens and they are not like that at all. Sophie is still ridiculously skittish, but holy shit. When she wants love, she will NOT be denied. I need Sophie lovin’ more than I would have thought possible. Finn’s, too, although he’s grown way more independent.

- I’ve been listening to Bowie and the Stones. A LOT. I’ve struggled with their music in the past because they remind me of people who ripped me apart and then stomped on the pieces. Somehow, I’ve managed to get past that. Although, I do not recommend singing Star Star at work because it is very NSFW... whoops.

OH! Fun fact: R.E.M.‘s “Star Me Kitten” is named Star Me Kitten because of “Star Star”. Another fun fact: It is one of the very few R.E.M. songs that uses the word fuck.

- I’ve also been listening to a playlist I call BLG. BLG are the initials of the one, the only, Soulmate Boy and it’s all music I associate with him. Some of it is great for running and, I don’t know, kind of… comforting? Yeah, that’s the word I keep coming back to.

- I’m becoming less afraid to go places on my own. This became a HUGE issue after moving to Florida and then having the whole pandemic thing happen. I certainly don’t have the kind of life I had in New England, and I fucking miss it, but I’m trying to make a life here. Finally.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

And for something completely unrelated, I finally got my two breathing tests done AND scored a follow-up with the pulmonologist before Wine and Dine. (I couldn’t get an appointment with the doc until DECEMBER. I lucked out when there was a cancellation for next week.)

I failed. Miserably.

So, exercise-induced asthma is real and not in my head.

That actually makes me feel better.

I have an inhaler, but it’s not working for me. The therapist who did the test thinks I’ll respond better to steroids, but didn’t go into more details. Google’s not telling me much, so I’m excited to have the follow up so soon. Nothing new on race day… except asthma meds. Should be an interesting weekend.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

I also saw Антитіла on Wednesday.

So. Fucking. AMAZING.

It was everything I wanted and more. I had chills and tears. The first and only time I ever got emotional at a concert was Paul Simon, so that should tell you something.

I really hope I get to see them again.

KALUSH is up next and then, in February, it’s SKOFKA… who I only know because of the collabs with KALUSH.

I’m trying to see as many Ukrainian shows as possible so, even if I’m lukewarm on the artist, I’ll go.

I get to support Ukrainians and experience live music. It’s a win-win, even though I hate the fact that they’re on tour fundraising for shit like first aid supplies.

And on that note, I need to go research some more hockey things. November 1st is coming way too fast.

Sunday, August 06, 2023

I guess I’m doing something right

I hit ‘maybe running isn’t for me’ at the same time normal runners are hitting ‘I’m ready for this’

Still working through reading some of the short stories and discarded longer works I’m unearthing as part of the LONGEST CLEANING / REORGANIZING PROJECT IN THE HISTORY OF THE FUCKING WORLD.

I found two writing assignments graded by very different teachers, written at very different points in my life.

I think this is a good thing:
I credit (extra) you for this story! I find it hard “grading” a story!

Did you mean KC to be selfish? I got that impression. When she confesses to Jeff and tells the truth, her response turned me off.  He didn’t deserve it! And her shortness at the end to the teacher - nasty -

Did you intend to create a nasty, selfish, young girl?

The situation seems to be overblown. Much ado about nothing -

Was this intended to create a mountain out of a molehill???

Lots of questions!

I’m not sure about answer!

I am fucking DYING at the ‘he didn’t deserve it’! Like, fuck, dude, you got into that shit.

Isn’t that the whole point of being a writer? To make people feel things?

And, no, I didn’t mean KC to be so nasty, but it was written in 1990.

My dad and I had moved out of the house I grew up in and were living in an apartment. 1990 to 1992 could be called my ‘angsty’ period, at a minimum.

So, if KC was a Mary Sue (let’s be serious: she totally fucking was), it’s a pretty good indication of just how fucked up I was at that point.

On the flip side, on a junior high school writing assignment, I got this:
Wendell -

This is exceptionally good! It’s subtle and sensitive - I’m impressed! (A+)

Junior high was a very different world compared to high school. I can’t say Junior High was perfect - there were a shit ton of problems at home. I’m pretty sure that this is when the depression started showing its face to the world,too. I started going days without sleeping and I was never happy. NEVER. I faked it well enough, but looking at that young girl… knowing what she was up against and what her future would hold. God, I just want to put her somewhere safe and protect her.

Story #1 was supposed to be a little bit of a meet-cute, boy meets girl thing. Of course, obviously, it didn’t go well.

Story #2 was about a girl who had grown apart from the popular girls she had been friends with and reconnected with a less popular, forgotten friend.

I never lived story #1, but what person doesn’t want the opportunity to hang out with their crush? Fuck, I couldn’t write the romantic scenes for shit. (And now I write porn. Who needs romance when you have a dick? (Or a sex toy. My porn is equal opportunity.))

Sorry. Not porn. Erotica.

Speaking of Mary Sues, my little het fic is definitely including bits of my past.

The bad ones.

Write what you know, right?

Fuck.

I almost wrote Right what you know, write?

Englishing good is hard work.

But, anyway, that one is a meet-cute, boy meets girl thing. About a girl who loses all her friends.

Stickin’ to what I know.

Obviously.

- - - - - - - - -

I gave up on watching horror movies while I play The Sims. I’ve seen all the ones I’m interested in on Tubi, and none of the other streaming services have anything that I haven’t seen. (Give me a good found-footage haunted house/paranormal TV show movie any day.)

So, I decided to watch Bio-Dome.

BIO-FUCKING-DOME.

Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking, either.

But there’s a song in there that is on the Threesome soundtrack. (Also a Stephen Baldwin film where he’s a complete idiot.)

I LOVED Threesome.

So, last night, I found an external blu-ray disc player, attached it to the Mac, and had a completely enjoyable trip down memory lane. And those don’t happen very often around these parts.

You can’t buy the soundtrack, though.

You also can’t buy the soundtrack for “Pump Up the Volume” which will probably make an appearance today.

I was able to find all the PUtV songs on iTunes, which was great, but it would have been SO MUCH EASIER to just buy the soundtrack. (Licensing, smishening.)

Unfortunately, a chunk of songs from Threesome’s soundtrack are near impossible to find. I still have some options I need to look at, but I’m not holding out hope that I’ll find digital copies.

I do, however, have an old school tape deck and a Mac it connects to.

I see myself dusting off both and doing some digitizing myself.

Worst case, I hook the old Mac up again and use it as an oversized iPod.

- - - - - - - - - -

I decided to do Dopey virtually this year. That way, I can go at my own pace and not worry about the asthma, or blisters, or whatever else will raise its ugly face.

I am doing Wine and Dine in Orlando, though. Yesterday, I decided to get serious about my training. I had been on a streak, then G died, and.. I lost my treadmill buddy. It’s been hard to get on the treadmill and not having him laying in the doorway, protecting me.

I walked the first and last miles of a 5K. That second mile? I did walk / run intervals - I’ve always played with them in the past, but… eh.

Last night? Last night was my best mile since 2019.

Completely sustainable over a mile.

I’m going to hop on the treadmill again tonight, I think, and try again. Maybe I’ll nudge up the running speed. Maybe I’ll set my Garmin to measure laps. (Which is a pain in the ass, but whatever.)

Don’t know.

But I’m kind of excited to see what happens.