you take the good, you take the bad...

being home in new york means a lot of things: the return of my generally embedded (inherited) old queens accent, frequent binge-drinking for binge-drinking's sake, pretending i'm going to make a lot of shitty art with spray paint and glitter, etc.
mostly, i guess i forgot to anticipate that most of my friends, except for my closest bro, either don't know about or don't really take my newfound faggy dudeness seriously. well, i guess the ones who know aren't necessarily not taking it seriously, but maybe don't realize how involved this change is for me. i understand that having known me for a really long time, it might be difficult and awkward to process my gender as something else, and i haven't exactly had the whole 'i'm-enforcing-new-pronouns' conversation, but it's mostly out of fear and insecurity, but, honestly, i haven't identified as a lesbian for a really long time, so i can't forgive those slips. the thing is, i don't know how most of my friends would take it. i guess the fact that i haven't had a gender crisis since birth, it means i'm not coming from a place of sincerity. i never really had that window, though. i was raised as a girl and ran with it. it was probably the only way my family would've been able to deal with highly involved madonna, bette midler, and barbra streisand obsessions anyway. let's face it: i'm mostly a walking faggot stereotype. aside from the fucking girls thing: an anomaly. i mean, i can't really say i've had a huge stake in being a girl, except for my stint as a radical lesbian separatist. it was handed to me, and maybe i indulged in it for a few years (kindergarten to third grade? minus forth, then fifth? lost it in sixth... then from seventh on, i was really just an amorphous blob of non-gendered sadness and angst).
i guess i won't breach the subject with some, especially my upright straight friends: just not worth it. it's just awkward being in a whole other environment where people i love sort of know what's up, really respects it and values that part of me, and then coming here, being around people i love and having that not be the case. god, but the she's are so hard coming from a friend. it hurts so bad, even though i know it's not intentional. and then, having my friends interacting with each other, and they're all using different pronouns-- "person a: what did she do? person b: he pulled my hair! person a: oh, she's feral!"-- it makes it all seem so outside of me. it's so strange to sit back and watch.
hmm, well, mostly, i feel like a lark. what a joke, folks! i'm trans now! am i allowed to say that, or what? and i feel like i'm embarking on this a little bit by myself. i'm going to start up on t when i get back to north carolina. i'm really scared. shots are scary. regular shots? scary. but, also of what it means in the longrun. i mean, i've established that when i come back home after the effects are realized, i'll just pretend the bodily differences are a result of new exercise methods, maybe my voice won't be so different, and i'll just shave if my face amasses anything at all. or, it's all the fucking hormones in all the food we eat, mom! duh!
and i guess my friends will just have to deal with it. maybe then they'll stop calling me a dyke. i guess i'm afraid of shutting out my whole past, or having it dissolve in front of me. what an endeavor. mostly, it'll probably be okay. no big deal. right?

twice the sir you ever were, or mistaken for a boy at two airports

got called sir twice en route to new york city. once in asheville by security guy, then in georgia by credit-card-pushing lady. thumbs up. brosemary says they must've been wondering where my mother was... like home alone 2.
already spending too much of my money. vibrators and a new coat-- but these are basic necessities, right? and i got a friend discount at babeland from someone who's more of a vague annoyance than anything else.
hot pomegranate cider with amber rum, eating tacos in sovereign bank for warmth after some martinis at the colombian hipster bar. discussions of encroaching dyke drama over pizza and more rum. people apparently still have faith in everlasting love, which is strange. i think bro-mo and me are the only ones who are skeptical.
by the second week of the new year, rosemary and i will have gotten buddy tattoos and you'll just have to wait to see them.
i saw my therapist on the street, but was too floored to know what to do, and by the time she passed it was too late. i mean, it's not all on me, if she recognized me first, she should've said something. i was in my head-- that's how i am on the street.
i have a whole box of yoohoo squeezeboxes at home, some chocolaty star cookies, and a bottle of cheap pink wine in the fridge. it's all good. whitecatscoutcat purring on my leg in the night.
paul baribeau provides the perfect soundtrack to my minor loneliness and wimpy beta-maleness.