Rambling Faggy Tranny,
Living in Utah.
My name is Dexter and I was assigned the gender "female" at birth. Since December of 2008, there's been a whole lotta social and physical transition going on up in here. Why? To help my brain and body physiologically connect. Importantly, my gender identity (genderqueer) hasn't changed and doubtfully ever will. Male, female, genderqueer, he, she, ze... whatev.
I'm currently a college student and a McNair Scholar majoring in Psychology. I intend to nab me a PhD!
Kiddle Era:
Can you count, suckers? I say, the future is ours... if you can count!
Transgender (Mis)Education
“Trans* people don’t want anything different than anyone else; we just want people to accept us for who we are. We can teach people how to be amazing allies and not just how to cover up deeply ingrained cissexist ideas by recognizing that our experience is not representative of all trans* experiences and by trading simplicity for accuracy and inclusivity. Personally, I think it’s worth the extra effort and strife.” — Ira Gray
A Just World & Gwen Araujo’s Murder
This semester has been crazy busy. So busy that I have a whole slew of gobblity gook I can’t wait to blog about. Oooooh has it accumulated.
At long last, my Spring Break has begun. So am I breaking it up in Portland at a vegan strip club? Am I off in a secluded cabin somewhere? Am I at a beach party trying to escape a prehistoric mutant piranha blood bath?! Well, close… but no cigar. I’m getting school stuff done.
Ugh. See, here’s the problem. My academically warped sense of reality compels me to see this “break” as an opportunity to get stuff done. For example, tomorrow I’ll be working on submitting my summer research idea for IRB approval - which is a board that exists to make sure research involving human participants is ethical or not. What fun.
My riveting research topic, by the way, is belief in a just world and attitudes toward hate crime based on gender expression. A little while back I came across something called the “just-world hypothesis”, which was developed by a feller named Lerner back in the 1960’s. A bit after Milgram had dabbled in his studies on human obedience to authority figures, Lerner wondered about what other factors contribute to people supporting cruel regimes or social norms that cause suffering. He noticed a tendency for observers to blame victims for their own suffering - like how his students would consistently blame the poor for their own plight, instead of structural factors that contribute to poverty.
Tranny is Just a Word
“People used to take offense with the words “queer” and “dyke,” both of which predates the words “trannie” and “tranny.” The word “dyke” is the shorten version of the word “bulldyke,” first seen in 1920 novels. “Queer” is much older, coming from the English language in the 16th century, meaning “strange, unusual,” or “out of alignment.” These words were used to denote LGBT people for a long time, yet they have been successfully reclaimed to neutralize their emotional affect. However, they are still heard during violent acts toward LGBT people.
Many trans people are reclaiming the words “trannie” and “tranny,” and they appear to be mostly the younger people in our community. They seem to understand the need to neutralize the affect that others have in wanting to offend us. Younger LGBT people also accept “queer” and “dyke” more than older LGBT people and may actually become the ones who will successfully neutralize the “F-word.”
For me, I refuse to allow anyone to take control of my emotions by allowing them to think that the word “trannie” will offend me.”
Albert Nobbs and U.S. Stereotypes
Let’s just be honest here; Albert Nobbs was a steaming pile of rectal sludge. It had an interesting enough premise, but it was just slopped together to achieve a faux impression of an in-depth film. Epic fail.
#SPOILERS AHEAD#
The plot is set in 19th century Ireland and involves a “woman passing as a man” who works as a waiter. Each evening he hides away his meager tips and wages and carefully records his growing fortune. All the while he fantasizes about the day he’ll take a wife and purchase a little tobacco shop. He stands around - a lot. He meets another “woman passing as a man” named Mr.Page and then spends the rest of the movie trying to court a way younger pregnant maid by buying her crap, laying in bed, and more standing around. Eventually he bops his head on a wall, lays down in bed - again - and looks a bit more pale. I think that meant he was dead. But it wasn’t all that different from when he was alive - so I’m not really sure.
The problem is that the whole story was just a pile of nonsensical clichés plus boring dialogue and two dimensional (almost one dimensional) characters. In the end, what could have been a cool and moving flick turned out to be tedious and dull replay of uninformed trans and lesbian stereotypes.
The worst part? Instead of maybe casting someone who was androgynous or maybe queer or, god forbid, actually trans to play the part - they cast a famous actress, slathered her in really creepy make-up, and had her stand around like an awkward shiny wax statue.
I literally felt nothing the entire film. The only thing that moved were my bowels - which fortunately allowed me to escape for a few minutes midway through it. The character was just so empty and creepy. I couldn’t make myself care if I tried.
And really, I tried. I paid $8.60 for this.
Well, I lie. I didn’t feel anything until Albert Nobbs explained why he had become Albert Nobbs. He had been abandoned as a child and then gang raped. Afterwards, he saw a job opening for a waiter, found a suit, and got the job. And, by golly, he’s just been Albert Nobbs ever since! Oh, and now he is attracted to women, too. Why, we all know there aren’t really queer or trans people - just cisgender women who have horribly traumatic negative experiences with men!
Seriously, I’m so tired of seeing movies where someone becomes a lesbian or decides to spend their entire life living 24/7 as a dude because they were victims of childhood trauma - usually rape. 
What’s with the United States and this bullshit stereotype? Just a few weeks ago I went out to see the U.S. remake of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.
In the Swedish version, the main character, Lisbeth Salandar, wakes up at some point with a girl in her bed. We, the audience, have no idea if this is a one-night-stand, a long-term girlfriend, a fuck buddy… or what. What we do know is that she sleeps with chicks. She’s bad ass, independent, dominates the shit out of Mikael Blomkvist, and is all hawt sexually fluid. Then, later in the film, gets raped.
In the U.S. version, different story. There’s absolutely no indication throughout the film that she’s attracted to women - until after she gets raped. Immediately afterwards she goes to a club, finds a girl, and has a one-night-stand with her. The next morning Mikael shows up with food and tells her to get rid of “the girl”, which she does. When Mikael touches her, she flinches and warns him not to touch her. Since, she, of course, now fears men and therefore, sleeps with women. Why U.S.? Whhhyyy???
Noomi Rapace - Swedish Lisbeth. Hawt. Independent. Bad azz.
Rooney Mara - U.S. Lisbeth. Is it crack, the onset of female alopecia, or heroine? I haven’t quite pegged it.
Oh, and here’s Janet McTeer playing Mr.Page in Albert Nobbs. And this is with special fx make-up. How convincing! I never saw those Double-D’s coming!
Aside from the barely redeeming factor of Mr.Page and his wife (although, I was probably just bored and desperate), Albert Nobbs is a an obnoxious mass of offensive stereotypes that isn’t memorable enough to even be forgettable. Next.
Gobama!
The Internal Revenue Service (IRS) has affirmed that transgender people can deduct their hormone therapy and sex reassignment surgery expenses.
Trans Guys Disclose
There are some things about ourselves we don’t immediately reveal to other people. Meet Billy, Danny and Atari - three guys who you may be surprised to find out were born biologically female. Story produced by Monique Schafter and Ali Russell for Hungry Beast.
(Source: oscar-a-non-y-mous)
When I lay there in my pantaloons
… pondering deeply about such things like what position I’d prefer to be in if I ended up in The Human Centipede, when I will go buy more wet food for Evilbunny (my cat) and a bleach pen for the white Hanes© shirts I wear every day, getting mula for school books, and whatnot - eventually the realisation of how seriously lucky I am in the tranny department comes creeping in.
Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~. It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could bind and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva!
But, the idea of hormones sounded almost as awful. Losing my androgyny and looking like a boring ol’ greasy cisgender dude? Eff no. Heading down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude? Uh, no. Increasing my testosterone levels that are associated with shaving years off one’s life, increasing cancer risk, liver damage, increased cholesterol, acne, etc.? No, no, and no.
Led by the child who simply knew
The twin boys were identical in every way but one. Wyatt was a girl to the core, and now lives as one.
Self-Injection Phase
For almost three years now I’ve been self-injecting. The very first time my hand quivered and I literally couldn’t do it - but every injection since then? No problem. It had become such a menial automaton task that when I switched from bi-weekly injection to every week it wasn’t no thang.
But then, something happened. About a month ago.
I don’t know what the hell it was, but when I went to self-inject, I just … couldn’t do it. This was a little over a month ago. I remember feeling extremely frustrated and confused over the whole ordeal and eventually cracked and had a friend help me.
I figured that this was just a one-time anomalous incident. But no! Ever since, every Thursday, I can’t self-inject. I couldn’t even look until last week.
What the hell?
Seriously.
So this morning I wake up, determined to self-inject. I get the needle ready, cleanse the injection site with an alcohol wipe, go for the plunge and… nothing. Couldn’t do it. I felt closer this time, but still froze up. So my dad woked, poked, and it was a done deal.
But I’m so frustrated. Why would I be able to self-inject with absolutely no problem for almost three years and then bang! start freezing up? It’s bizarre to me. By next week, hopefully, this little phase will be over with. Maybe it’s just school stress or not enough strawberries in my diet or who knows the hell what. Somethun.
Go Buck Angels! I’m totally gonna make some.
