The Land Of San Diego

I love San Diego. It's such a refreshing place, especially for a resident of Utahrdia basking for months at a time in hail, snow, and slush.

Sunshine. Joggers. Beach. Waves. Surfers. Cruisers. Dog walking galore. A DOG BEACH. An actual downtown. Culture. On and on.

One night Jay, Baloo, Autumn and I stuffed ourselves silly with delicious Thai food prior to our plans to go dancing at a lesbian club. On our way we stumbled across an adorable little local CD store. I found a slew of CDs I remember owning way back in my junior high school days - the Cranberries, Salt n' Peppa, Crash Test Dummies. Nostalgia city!

And then all that Thai food hit me like a crashing wave slapping against rocks. BAM! I darted off to the guy working and asked him, the urgency in my face, "Do you have a restroom I could use?" He was a bit reluctant, mentioned that they didn't have public restrooms but then decided to let me use it. Whew!

The entrance to the employee's-only haven was hidden in the wall, behind a coat rack and a bunch of records. Once in, I noticed that it served as both a toilet, security camera station, AND office! Larger cities are excellent at utilizing small spaces, I've learned. What a knack.

As I sat, doing my bidness, I noticed about 6 porn tapes stacked on top of the television. I watched my friends mull about in the store via the 5 security camera angles. Once finished, I flushed. Hmm, nothing. I flushed again. Water started to fill up the bowl. CLOGGED (which, by the way, is a much more frequent occurrence since transitioning. I have no idea why). I didn't dare try again and searched for a plunger. Nada.

I exited and there stood my friend, Autumn, waiting to take her turn.

Oh Thai food.

And then she swiftly exited. Found me in the store, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked, "Did you know it was clogged?"

"Yes."

And, with that, she wandered out of the CD store on her broken foot with cane in hand to meander about the city in search of another bathroom. Wow.

Then Baloo used the restroom. And, afterwards, also tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "Mel, it's clogged to all hell. We need to leave. Now."

As I purchased my goods the guilt consumed me and I confessed to the guy, "I am so sorry, but I've clogged the crap out of your toilet - literally.", to which he replied by chuckling and saying, "Oh, don't worry, man. It happens to all of us! Besides, the morning person will have to deal with it."

Happens to all of us, he says? I suspect a male bonding moment over toilet clogging!

With the restroom situation in general, every time we went out my three travel companions would enter the womens restroom as a group, laughing and chatting. Meanwhile, I'd be in the dead silent, poo-permeating mens restroom as their giggles echoed through the walls.

Later, at the club, I felt so frickin' invisible. It's such a strange cultural shift. One perk, though, is that familiar mens restroom emptiness. No lines. Although, I heard there was a towel girl in the womens. Aw!

I did get noticed by one person at the lesbian club. The Lady Gaga drag queen performer, who loudly proclaimed, in reference to me, "I'd love to be plugged by that boy." Oh my. Cultural shifts indeed.

Picture time!

A boring pit stop on the way to Vegas. Next!

Being tortured in a Vegas elevator.

San Diego, at last!

Jay on the beach.

Jay pulling my spandy shorts up high while I try to get away. Maturity hurts.

Waiting to go whale watching! How riveting!

Our whale watching ship arrives, the "Lord Hornblower". Too easy.

Look what passes by!

And this! Gar!

And these little guys!

dolphins!!!!!!

whale blow holes! I was sea sick to all hell at this point, so I was glad we finally found them. 

and in the distance!

and then we ended up at beautiful La Jolla Cove. 

And then later, at the club of cultural shifting woe.

lady gaga going gaga.

The End.

What The FTM?!

Article in Next magazine:

It’s a cold Friday in March and I’m trudging out to Sugarland for a party. Original Plumbing, a quarterly magazine celebrating trans male culture, just published its second issue and the editors have flown in from San Francisco for an East Coast celebration. After warming up with a drink, I find myself jostling through a sea of flesh.

Read more >

Vision, Driving School, n' Campus Trannyism

My first day at work as a dazzling barista occurred the morning after the DMV from 9am-12:30pm (bit of a struggle for a tech-only-employment-history geek like myself; but I caught on quick enough!). Then, off yonder to a 1pm eye doctor appointment at the magical superstore land of Costco: members only!

I peddled across town and made it right in the knick of time, eyes all blood-shot from expresso shot testing (another cruel story entirely) and red-faced sweaty. I flashed my Costco membership to the feller up front to gain access, found the eye center, and checked in with the receptionist.

She handed me some paperwork which I filled out and, upon returning, she asked for my old ass Costco membership card which reads "Melanie" and not "Mel". Curious, she asked, "How do you pronounce your first name?" - in that moment, I didn't in the slightest feel like getting into the tranny thing and, like a reflex, pronounced it, "Mel-on-eye" - which, in Utah, one could get away with on the assumption that it's some obscure biblical name from uber LDS parents. "Oh, neat! Do you prefer Mel?", she asked. I nodded and, just like that, without second-guessing or hesitation, she completely accepted it, no questions asked and no drawn out conversation about gender while I recovered from my hectic bicycle ride.

It felt weird to be "stealth" in a way, in that moment, but... I also rationalized that a different pronunciation doesn't necessarily convey what gender I am. It's ridiculous but more gender ambiguous-sounding than the alternative; so more comfortable for me. And she's still making an assumption without my explicitly stating anything. Hmm!

After waiting for a few minutes the doctor called me in, tested my eyes, said something about how phobia of contacts-vs-glasses is more common in "us men" because we "don't apply makeup so close to our eyes frequently", and also discovered that I am not blind.

According to him, my eyes aren't perfect - but they aren't bad enough to not pass the basic DMV vision test. So he wrote me up a little note for the DMV, declared me near-sided enough for glasses, and sent me off with my prescription - which I took to the ladies out front after picking out a suitably handsome frame.

I told one of the employees my very-limited price bracket and she helped me keep everything under my mark, using masculine pronouns galore. And then came time to hand her my Costco membership card. Noticing "Melanie", she asked, "Is she with you?", to which I replied, "Oh, no. That's me. It's Mel-on-eye, actually. I prefer Mel.", embarrassed, she apologized, "I'm so sorry!", and then the conversation swiftly moved on, we got my glasses ordered, done and done.

Strange.

In other news, that driving school situation I've landed myself in is so.incredibly.boring it's awesome. I vaguely remember the old 60s-70s driving videos they used to show in Driver's Ed in high school. I assumed they'd have upgraded by now but - no, of course not. Those safety videos from the old'n days are here to stay! And, just as I remembered, they are spot on effective when it comes to putting almost everyone to sleep or compelled to secretly text, look up at the ceiling day dreaming, doodling...

Which then, even with mostly adult students (and some young kiddles, fast-tracking into their new cars ASAP), the instructor would blurt out from behind his desk, "I hear it but I don't see it! No texting during class!"

And, to boot, the class room is always insanely hot and stuffy; everything possible to make us all as tired and inattentive as possible.

As an example to illustrate the inattentive nature, after showing us one video from the early 90s (modern!!!!), the teacher asked the class, "So what was the big life-altering event that happened for Suzie before she got into that accident?"

Silence.

5 seconds roll by.

"Come on, what life-altering event happened?"

3 seconds.

A cough.

And finally I break the uncomfortable, awkward silence, "She was just accepted into the college of her choice."

"Correct! Now, why do you all think she got into that accident?"

Silence.

Unbearable, lingering silence.

I crack - again, "She didn't make good decisions."

"Exactly! What is THE MOST important thing when it comes to driving?"

Silence.

And again, I respond, "Making good decisions."

"Yes! The decisions you make while driving can save your life, kids. Really now. Every person who gets into an accident, they think, 'this could never happen to me. That's someone else.', and that's just not true. It could happen to you, too - if you make bad decisions!"

Uh huh.

In other news, my dad has a new nickname for me. It's "Whiskers". I like it. So fitting. "Hey Whiskers, want to go get lunch?", "Whiskers! Don't forget about that meeting tomorrow!"

On a political note, I went to my neighborhood's caucus meeting again! And I'm a state/county delegate again (i.e. representative of my little section o' neighborhood; i.e. "precinct") AND the chair - which, in time, I'll learn more about after I attend a ThinkPrecinct! training (which they didn't have last time around and I'm uber excited about).

My friends Ralph and Jay also went and became delegates. For Ralph and I, we essentially just showed up and scratched our bums to become delegates because only a few people from our precincts showed. However, poor Jay told a different story - this was her first time to a caucus meeting and because of the area she lives in there was a huge turnout. She actually had to give two speeches and her neighbors voted her in as one of their precinct's 5 delegates. Ouch.

Oooo, what else. I need to update more often so my posts aren't neverending-partially-nonsensical-rants. Earlier last week I met with an advisor at the college I'll be attending in regards to concerns about being trans on campus. Being trans AND in school will be new turf for me.

And she was super nice. To begin with, she told me about the LGBQT group on campus and even walked me to the area where they meet (and, whatdoyaknow, they were meeting just then!). She also agreed to help me make sure that my name shows up as "Mel" when registered for classes (so this is what my professors see).

She also showed me where the school health office and counselors were located, and also about the idea to make a map of all of the unisex bathrooms on campus (woo!). Exciting!

DMV

You'd think, by now, that the DMV would have a more efficient process for funneling people in and out.

Long, tedious and torturous story short, I peddled to the DMV earlier today to acquire a learners permit. At long last, as I mentioned before, after never having a drivers license (I like bicycling!) I've ended up finally desiring one now that there's a car share program in Salt Lake City. With this schnazzy program, there are cars parked in various spots around the city and members can reserve one, use their card to get into the car, "rent" it for a few hours or a day, and then park it where they picked it up. Awesome!

Ahem, moving on.

On my way to the DMV I considered stopping at a gas station to empty my bladder, but figured there would be a restroom somewhere obvious at the DMV that I could use (notice the foreshadowing).

I get to the DMV, lock my bicycle up, and immediately notice that there's a line extending out the door and into the parking lot. Off to a good start indeed!

The DMV torture machine commences. I stand in line.

Once we're in the building there are signs everywhere that say, "FILL OUT AN APPLICATION BEFORE GETTING IN LINE". Agh of course!

So I leave the line, get an application, fill it out, get back in line.

As I'm in line, I realize there are questions on the BACK of the page, also (ahhh!!!!). I didn't have a pen on me, so I left the line for a 2nd time, filled out the back, then got back in line.

There's ONE lady at a desk handling this massive line of people. And about 90% of them she sent away because they didn't have all of the required I.D. documentation, something like, "Two forms of this and your birth certificate and a social security something something passport..." yada yada.

At last my turn arrives. I give her my I.D., social security card, Passport, AND W-2 tax form. It's not enough! After ruffling through my pile o' proof, she tells me, "We also need two pieces of mail that have been sent to the address you're currently living at.", Why unholy DMV why!!!!

So I leave the line again, rummage through my bag and, Ah ha! Two pieces of mail from the college I was admitted to!

Then I get back into line. Finally I'm face-to-face with my old desk lady friend again. She then tells me that, technically, the mail needs to be from two separate locations, but, to do me a favor, she logged in and updated my address so everything matched. Yay! Time saver!

Then she turned to the photo-taking feller next to her, "Alright, his documents look good. Snap his picture---..", and then she loudly corrected herself, yelling over to him as I sat down for my photo, "Er, I mean, her picture."

I insta-noticed the entire line of people look over. I smiled. A bit uncomfortable, but, whatdoyado. Picture was snapped. Then I entered another room to wait for my number to be called.

After about 30 minutes of sitting there and as my bladder became increasingly unbearable, the guy behind me complained about how he'd been sitting there for two hours waiting for his number to be called.

I needed to pee, but I was in a bit of a dilemma I hadn't experienced before. I pass as dude, but that lady had loudly exclaimed the "SHE" correction in front of most of the people I was sitting amongst; and the bathroom was right there, in plain sight of everyone sitting. I wasn't sure if I could walk into the mens without a problem, or should use the womens. Both prospects were anxiety-inducing to all hell. So I sat. I held it in. I texted my friend, Jay, about my need to pee and she replied, "You know that a lot of trannies get bladder infections, don't you?"

Nooo! I held. I squirmed. The guy behind me whined. And, somehow, instead of 2 hours later my number was called after an hour!

I gathered up my junk and approached the table thinking, "Test number one will be vision. Easy. Test number two will be the written test. No problem. Learner permit, here I come!"

The woman behind the counter ruffles through my pile o' proof, and asks, "You know that your mail is supposed to come from two separate locations, right?" -- I tell her yes, and then she replies, "Well, it's obvious that this is official. These are school letters. You're fine.", and then the vision test.

I stick my head in the device. She asks me to read line one. It's all a blur. I ask, "Are those numbers or letters?" (bad sign). "Letters.", she replies. Seriously? And so I go for it, "O... O... N... Z.... R...?", she changes something on the knob, then asks again, "Okay, try it again.", ... it was even worse that time. Instead of guessing it, I tell her, "There's no way. It's all a blur."

FAIL.

I failed the DMV's basic vision test! I'm blind and had no idea! BLIND!

Learner permit here I come? Not so much. Glasses, on the other hand...

CNN: From Chastity To Chaz

Look who was interviewed on CNN last night:



I thought that Chaz handled himself phenomenally well. I can't imagine how uncomfortable it would be to talk about something so personal on a conservative news program being aired to millions of people.

I also noticed and appreciated how Chaz relayed his own experience gender-wise, like saying, "I wore exclusively male clothing...", but then re-directed the focus, explaining the agony of disconnect, "... lived a lot of my life in my head. It wasn't connected to my body.", and how he went on to ask how Anderson Cooper may feel if he were to wake up tomorrow in a woman's body.

I like this, because the gender component is something that is entirely separate from what's described as the "disconnect", the - in my own experience - physiological underpinning that's lacking the necessary mapping to fuse the mind and body. There are trans men who are hyper-feminine in their gender expression, for example; but transition to connect anatomically.

I know, for myself, that the gender component is definitely separate from the underlying refreshing sensation of finally, bit by bit, experiencing an anatomical connection and going through the puberty my brain is mapped for and has been struggling without all of these years.

The gender component feels more socialized,... like I'm aware that I prefer masculine pronouns, but I wonder how much of that has to do with growing up in a binary gendered world where, due to those physiological underpinnings, I anticipated a male puberty and related more to masculine pronouns. Irrelevant to the why, ... the preference is there, but I can't help but wonder if I grew up in a culture that had "other", if I would've preferred and related to entirely different pronouns altogether.

Er, blah blah side ranting yada yada. Moving on!

Yesterday I spent a lot of time on the campus of the college I will be attending this Fall (assuming all goes to plan - I'm betting it will!) meeting with various departments and getting a campus tour and so on n' so forth. In every.single.meeting masculine pronouns were used galore, despite the fact that my name is still Melanie legally and the paperwork is laying there in front of them.

In the admissions meeting, it was even more pronounced where the admissions lady brought out paperwork from the wrong Melanie. I alerted her to the fact that I'm a different "Melanie" altogether, and she found the right paperwork and returned, - and even confirmed, "Melanie Thomas, right?" - yep!

From her, I learned that, due to my high GPA, I qualify for their maximum tuition grant. And that's the minimum so far. I'll learn more once I actually receive my financial aid stuff next week. Woo!

After our appointment, she walked me around to show me some things (other resources!), and introduced me to everyone in masculine pronouns without a second thought. My being trans never came up once, and even with my feminine-to-all-hell first name, she didn't think to even check the gender mark on my application. I loved it.

And then she brought me to where the campus tour was beginning, and introduced me to them, also, "Hey everyone. This is Mel. He's planning to start this Fall...", ... oh this will be interesting.

Perverts, Driving, Acne, School, Madness!

One of my greatest concerns with transitioning?

Ending up in men-only spaces, like locker rooms and public restrooms.

Why?

Because dudes can be downright weird, bizarre, and creepy.

...way creepy.

Yesterday while freelance web designing at the library I took a stroll down to the men's restroom. Upon entering, the sinks are to the right, urinals line the wall on the left, and then there are two normal-sized stalls and then - against the back wall - one large, handicap stall (I'm doubting "handicap stall" is the most PC way to put it... but, I'm inept in this department in many, many ways so forgive if it isn't!).

Seeing as the handicap stall is the largest and, therefore, most luxurious and cozy when it comes to a poop-particle-permeated men's restroom, I darted right for it. The restroom was empty, minus one feller sitting in the stall directly next to the handicap stall.

So I sit. My secondary business begins to ensue. And my phone begins to vibrate. I take it out of my pocket, see who's calling, select "ignore" with the intention to call them back once done and, in my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of something amiss coming from beneath the stall to my left, near to the floor.

I see the bottom of a head, darting up quickly.

What the hell?!

I was completely stunned. And stuck, wishing that I could just stop what I'd started, pull my knickers up, and run off.

Low and behold, things weren't that easy. I was trapped, in mid-bidness-process, and I continued to watch where I thought I'd seen the top of a head darting up swiftly. And, about 15 seconds later and for a second time, I see the top of a head begin to emerge and swiiiish, disappear.

At this point I felt a great deal of adrenaline. I thought, given the location and what was going on that this guy was probably mentally ill, or a pervert or just - something way, way wrong with him. I wasn't sure what to do, what to say, how to react. It was just me and this weirdo in the basement bathroom.

And then, I started to see the top of a head slowly creeping down towards the floor. Slowly, slowly... and then: upside-down eye-contact.

Just like this! Except for the fact that his head didn't come out -as- far: just enough to make quick eye contact. And I wasn't holding a plate of food: I was holding a phone. And the toilet I sat on was quite a bit further away from the stall door, making me feel even more exposed. Aside from those three flaws, the image above is a spot on portrayel, to a -T-!

It was quick. He darted back up again.

At this point I finished, pulled my knickers up, and as I left the restroom I noticed that he was sitting with his pants UP, on the toilet, with his stall door open about 3 inches. I decided not to wash my hands and just left.

HOW BIZARRE? Upon reflection, I should have found and reported it to the library security - but I was caught off-guard and leaving; and by the time it dawned on me what I shoulda coulda, I was long gone.

Damnit. Not, at all, adjusted to the world of close-proximity creep dudes.

Quite a learning curve indeed...

Hormone Acne Crap: In other news, I received my acne.org goodies and have been following good ol' Dan's brutal benzoyl-peroxide-lovin'-flesh-scolding regimen. And I've discovered that my tender face flesh is extremely sensitive to the stuff. I'm supposed to work up to two full pumps of 2.5% benzoyl peroxide per application, but I can only get away with 3/4th of a pump, BARELY, and maybe only once a day instead of twice. Otherwise my skin gets red and itchy and flaky. It was so bad in San Diego that I thought I had a sun burn and my friend, Baloo, alerted me to the existence of a magical elixir called Aloe Vera that I ended up slathering all over my not-charred-but-irritated flesh.

And upon returning to Utah, I reduced the amount I've been using (down to 3/4th pump a day) and have been caking on the moisturizer which has helped quite a bit. And I bring some moisturizer with me on the go, in the event somewhere is dry and gross flaky.

But, aside from the tender flesh learning curve, things are MUCH clearer and I'll adapt eventually.

Yay hormone acne! Wee!

Etc.: What else... in a quick nutshell, I'm working on getting my first ever driver's license - finally, at the ripe ol' age of 27. Seeing as I've spent my entire adult life bicycling, I've never been interested in acquiring one. But now that Salt Lake City has this nifty U Care Share shindig going on, I'm suddenly interested in having one.

And, on another compressed side note, I went in for a job interview at a coffee shop earlier today. Upon arrival, instead of being interviewed I was told to get behind the counter to begin training and that I was hired on the spot. Swell! So, as of this morning, I have my first.ever non-computer job as a barista at a coffee shop. It's sheer social madness!

I'm going to continue to freelance, but decided it would also be good to take advantage of the opportunity to experience a job that's in the realm of human-to-human interaction. I've only ever worked on computers, so something as simple as the cash register or figuring out how to put a drink together are monumental, education uphill tasks.

One more side note, I'm very excited to be returning to school. I received an acceptance letter last week from the college I wanted uber mostest. Today Jay and I perused campus and I met with a financial aid advisor. And Thursday I meet with an academic advisor specific to a major in neuropsychology (wooo!) and also getting a campus tour. So.very.giddy.

p.s. and soon I will photo & viddy document, which I've neglected big time. And will also post San Diego pictures.

Shots & Nasal Spray

San Diego was so.refreshing and much needed! My next post will be a long ol' rant all about our frolicking aboot and adventures and male bonding and purdiness galore; pictures to boot.

In the meantime, earlier today my friend Jay and I went in to a local Rite-Aid for our h1n1 and flu vaccinations - FINALLY. I've been lazy and negligent about it all flu season, but I've also been diligently phobic of my fellow diseased humans and all over hand washing and hand sanitizer. But after spending a good deal of time with a clearly flu-ridden friend of mine, I was compelled to finally prioritize vaccination and dragged my poor friend, Jay, down with me.

I called ahead of time and was told by the pharmacist when an ideal time to come would be, and also that the snow storm raging outside made walking in a swift option! Yay!

Jay is insured and I'm not, but we both ended up paying the same amount since, for some reason (they always think of something, don't they?), her insurance refused to pay it.

And then came the paperwork. Like all medical paperwork, it included a section up at the top for gender - with two options: O male O female. I circled "female", even though I'm now being read 100% of the time as male in public. Since my legal gender/sex aren't all that relevant to my actual gender identity, and also because I figure it's a good learning experience for the pharmacist (and the student pharmacist standing by her side) to be exposed to the "other" in the world - circling "female" seemed the most appropriate.

Also in the paperwork was a section asking about allergies, pregnancy, so on and so forth - and one portion asked about medications; including "steroids". I checked "yes" on this section and wrote, Testosterone Cypionate. Admittedly, I was a little uncomfortable. Being read as male, circling female, and writing that I'm on testosterone cypionate is a clear, blatant recipe for "THIS PERSON IS TRANSGENDER" - but, despite fearing the unknown (this whole transition shindig is new to me socially. Things are changing swiftly!), I stook to my out n' proud oh-so-charming guns.

When I brought the paperwork to the pharmacist, she scanned it and stopped at the testosterone cypionate. Using "sir" and masculine pronouns galore, she explained to me that testosterone was fine and wouldn't be a problem in regards to either vaccination.

Then I sat down as Jay finished her paperwork. Instead of marking "male" or "female", he instead wrote a box saying "GQ" and circled it. When she turned it in I overheard the pharmacist chuckle and comment on the "GQ", something along the lines of GQ Magazine. Which Jay, being the activist that she is, used as a platform to talk briefly about genderqueer and transgender with the pharmacist, who replied along the lines of ,"Oh, yes, it is important to be sensitive to intersex and different gender identities... but I'm more concerned with sex and common variations with that...", something something. It was cute.

And, at last, as I was whining of dehydration and Jay was whimpering about needing to pee, the pharmacist emerged with her kit o' vaccination goods and sat down next to us. And, of course, she wanted to inject in my deltoid and, conveniently, the sleeves of my button-up shirt wouldn't roll up high enough. Without hesitation, while sitting outside of the pharmacy at Rite-Aid with shoppers galore, the pharmacist asked me, "Want to just remove your shirt for a moment?"

Whoa! What? I replied, "Oh, um, I'd rather not..."

"Oh, shy? That's okay! Let's head into the back, in the employee's only area."

Not "shy", per se...

So Jay, her, and I head into the back where employees are milling about off and on. The pharmacist had some semi-private drapes setup. To expose my deltoid, I unbuttoned two of my top buttons and exposed my shoulder. Noticing my discomfort, the pharmacist asked, "Modest, are we?". And, figuring I should just come out with it, I replied, "Well, see, I haven't had top surgery yet."

Her brow furrowed as she connected the dots, and then I saw the flickering turn into a fully lit bulb, "Oh! Oh yes, of course." She then gave me my shot and h1n1 nasal spray.

Afterwards, as Jay was getting her shot/spray, I wandered around a bit looking for the mens restroom and Jay said, "The mens is right around the corner.", which the pharmacist had no problem with and didn't act awkward about.

After writing us up 'We Got Vaccinated!' cards and as we both were leaving, the pharmacist exclaimed, "It was very great meeting you two!", and added, "Good luck, Mel!"... which I suspect was in reference to my trannydom. Cuuuute!

Oh, and now that I'm vaccinated, I don't have to wash my hands anymore like every other guy who uses mens restrooms!

... or not. I'll keep washing them. Fine, fine.