Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

Uh, something unprecedented and exciting has occurred in the land of my facial hair. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but it did - last month I had developed what I’d argue passed as fo’ real real facial hair. It got to the point where, as I posted about prior, I could shampoo it, condition it, comb it, and trim it. Life was good. And then Halloween happened - where I had to shave it for my costume. Life was sad. But fun.

This is where the unprecedented and exciting took place:

After shaving, I looked noticeably different. My baby bare face was actually jarring to me. Now, this is unprecedented and exciting because this is the first time I’ve ever a.) grown facial hair and b.) shaved it and actually looked different because what I shaved was actually noticeable.

It’s taken me two days now to adjust to my baby bare faced self and I’m growing it back as.fast.as.I.can. I suspect that I’m going to turn into my dad who went 20+ years without shaving until doing so and horrifying everyone about a month ago. Which was also exciting and unprecedented seeing as that was the first time I’d experienced having more facial hair than my dad. Or brother. Boo-ya.

Even better - when I went back to school Monday with nothing but sparse stubble my peers were also jarred. Which, again, reaffirms how fo’ real real my facial hair had become! I received comments like, “You look so much younger!!!”, or, “Where’d your facial hair go???”, or, “All you preparing for No Shave November or what?”.

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When I started this transition shindig I absolutely couldn’t wait for the day I’d develop stubble and, even better, epic facial hair. But when it finally started to happen, I was disturbed by how brittle and wiry it was in comparison to hair elsewhere. I expected it to be coarse - but it was so… dry and unmanageable and grody-feeling. Especially on my chin.

With my brother and father as facial hair role models, neither of which really do much in the self-maintenance department, I had resolved that my fate rested in either the land of coarse torture brittle or lame-o baby butt bare.

I had no idea that a solution to this predicament existed - but it does. And it goes by the name of beard conditioner.

Beard frickin’ conditioner.

And little beard frickin’ combs.

Once I made said discovery I’ve been letting these face whiskers grow! Every morning and night I rub some of this Bluebeards crap in:

- and then use a li’l Kent beard comb. It’s kinda the most adorable thing ever:

Afterwards, any little stray whiskers are cut with scissors.

This system is so good. Bang! Facial hair obnoxiousness dead!

Whether I have enough whiskage in reality or not just doesn’t matter - when I look at myself in the mirror, my self-image tells me, “Be one with the teenage side burns.” And thus, earlier tonight, for the first time ever, I’ve attempted to “carve” a facial hair style. I shaved my chinny chin and left the fuzzy sides:

My fuzz is currently at 2 weeks of growth and I’m going to give it about 6-8 weeks to really gauge my progress. Fun!

In other news, starting tomorrow morning I’ll be injecting every week instead of every two weeks. I chose to inject every week because it is supposed to minimise the mood swings associated with the ups and down of having a lot of T in my system right after I inject, then not very much 2 weeks later when it’s time for my next shot. This has become a pretty significant issue lately (school, stress, moods!) - so this should help.

I actually, finally, fo’ real real (and not fo’ play play) have a 5 o’ clock shadow. I’m not quite sure when it appeared as, out of sheer laziness in the personal hygiene department throughout last semester, I didn’t shave much. But in a spontaneous fit of I’m-shaggy-and-can’t-take-it-anymore!!! hysteria I ran to the barber and forked over $15 to get all hair cut dappered out. At some point the barber inquired, “Are you growing a beard?”, to which I replied, “Not intentionally. I just kinda haven’t shaved.” Taking that as a green flag to buzz my face, next thing I knew my facial hair was gone - and stubble remained. 5 o’ clock shadow stubble! I can’t stop admiring it. 

In other news, this “Sex in the Brain” class I’m in has been interesting fun galore. Especially the part (so far) where we’ve learned about testosterone receptors in the amygdala, the part of the brain responsible for things like aggression and fear. Something I’ll be blogging about soon, but finally, after over 2 years of hormone therapy and despite my skepticism that this would ever happen, I’ve been.. for lack of a better description, roid-raging. More explanation later. Anyway, since I’d helped the same professor for this class put together a trans panel for another class last semester, she asked me to help put together a couple of panels for this class, too (she teaches two different sections of the same class) - one of which I’ll be in any way. 

It’ll be interesting, to walk into class on the last day and, instead of taking a seat with the class as I usually do, to sit down in front of the class with the two other panelists, “Oh hey chums! I’m a panelist today!”

So tomorrow is my big “benefit party” to get the rest of the mula I need for my top surgery (scheduled August 11th!) which will be at a local club in downtown Salt Lake City called The Metro. I’m excited for it - and also really, really overwhelmed by and grateful for how insanely supportive everyone has been. I’m not listing names because, that’ll just get ridiculous real fast - but thank you to everyone who helped organize this … everyone who has agreed to perform, my friend who found the venue in the first place, and my friend at The Metro who allowed use of the venue (and booked DJ Lucky Date that night and helped organize!), to everyone who has spent days and hours gathering raffle prizes, helping to promote… and in-advance thanks for my friends who will be helping a bunch during tomorrow night and everyone attending - … just, whoa.

You’re all really appreciated.  I’m moved beyond words - and also excited to have, ya know, a good excuse for a really fun dancy dance tranimal party with a bunch of my adorable friends and awesome people!

I can’t wait to run amok topless. And to date again. And to go to the gym. And bicycle without binding. And to feel the HUGE self-esteem boost. And, and and. 

I’ve been told a million + 1 times, “Facial hair isn’t as fun as you’d think…” by many-a-cisgender-dude; and now I’m beginning to understand. The thicker my stubble becomes, the less fun shaving is. Even with shaving cream, as the blade rolls along my skin it snags on every hair now instead of just smoothly gliding along like it used to. There’s this snaggy scrrrrrrraping feeling that leaves me feeling absolutely amazed when I’m finished that it hasn’t left behind a landfill of bloody follicle tears.

A couple of times now I’ve tried to patiently let my facial scruff situation grow out to see how it goes and what it looks like, but it’s like trying to go from bald to growing one’s hair out. I go NUTS trying to grow my hair out - especially during the whole “puff stage” where I feel like a walking, talking 5’11” Q-Tip, and then crumble and cut it all off again.

This same shindig is happening in facial hair land. While I love it and the more there is the more uber-handsome I am, it just … bothers me to have it there all itchy and straw-feeling. Yet, it’s equally bothersome to scrrrrrape it off. Wah. Not to mention that little bits of substances get stuck on my scruffy chin. Just the other day while volunteering food caught there was pointed out to me. I’ve found lint on my face, too. Lovely.

On an inspiring note, in the land of pubertal development I’d approximate myself at, oh, being around the male puberty 15-year-old-guessing-‘ish mark. I troll this Teen Beards Forum for comparative inspiration.

Currently I’m enjoying one week of blissful Spring Break. Instead of traveling off yonder to a warm beach somewhere. I’ve spent most of my time as a cowboy fighting zombies on the Xbox 360 game Red Dead Redemption: Undead Nightmare - and wouldn’t spend my Spring Break any other way!

I’ve also spent a bit of time laying around like a schlub watching mind-numbing crap like Blue Mountain State, reading comics, getting my social fix, sweaty dancing, walking the cats, cycling around, and … now that it’s Wednesday, finally becoming anxiety-ridden about my take-home midterm and studying for the two midterms I have once break is over.

In other news, Tranadu was a lot of fun. There wasn’t a single group rehearsal for it, so when I finally got out on stage I was entirely overwhelmed by the lights, the on-stage dancers, the roller derby girls skating around with a beach ball, and the audience. Despite rehearsing in my bedroom, the mirror, and my noggin repeatedly - the second I got out there and began, I literally forgot every.single.line.

Fortunately due to rehearsing like crazy, I was at least able to move my mouth to the rhythm of some rehearsed subconscious imprint wired into my brain while hoping I wouldn’t throw up right then and there.

Then again, it was called Tranadu: A Musical on Ice - and, given there was no ice, it could’ve given us all something to slip and slide around on.

My parents attended and loved it. In fact, that night my mom changed her Facebook status to the following: “Tranadu On Ice was great! At least the first part, excluding the real movie. Starring my son, the famous Dexter. ♥” So.embarrassing.yet.adorable. A bundle of friends also showed up who were willing to pay $15 to watch me suffer on a stage for 5 minutes. Supportive? Sure! Thanks everyone!

Almost 2 Years on Testosterone Cypionate (0.7 mL every 2 weeks)

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My poor ol’ blog has experienced a bit of a dry spell this past month. My ghetto laptop of yesteryear imploded, but now a nifty little Samsung N310 netbook is in my possession!

Exciting things are afoot that I fully intend to babble on about, but in the meantime, let’s get this photo documentation nonsense out of the way. What must be done - must be done.

1 Year 9 Months on Testosterone Cypionate (0.7 mL every 2 weeks)
(Click on images for larger so-detailed-it-hurts versions)

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