Know Yr Rights

After I complained about a long afternoon in heels, I was told in a round-about-get-over-it way, that, "dear, welcome to womanhood, you're going to have to get used to it". I shot back a quick look of displeasure with the comment that made her retract it quickly. Though it was said with nothing but good intent, there's something unfair and off base with the comment that is probably more to blame by biases inherent to society than anything else.

The underlying problem is, when have I earned the right to complain? Have I not heard countless cis-females complain of prolonged time in heels, or carry an extra-pair of flats in their bag to change into later? Must only genetic-born females have the right to complain? The fact is that I enjoy wearing heels. They are empowering in their own way, despite the oppressive history of heels in the first place. I know I feel more inclined to throw a punch and kick butt and take names in a strong pair of heels than I ever did in any article of men's clothing. If that's not empowering, I don't know what is. And to top it off, I look damn good in them.

How many years must I present as female to earn the right to complain? Have I needed to wear heels in earnest for a number of years before I obtain that right? A larger problem is that: at which point do you begin considering my femaleness? Was it when I came out? When I first cross-dressed? When I began hormones? Or, have I been female all along? Because, honey, I've been wearing heels since before your were born. That may be an exaggeration, but I would wager that it is likely that I, being a little older than she is, most likely tried on my mother's heels before she ever tried on a pair.

I would go so far as to say that this is pretty common for all boys, because as children our gender compass is set close to neutral. We are simply not aware of the impressive force of society's binary system on our bodies, and there are no gender lines as kids that we cannot cross, despite our being bombarded with pinks and blues from the day we were born. It is only through years of conditioning and reinforcement do we submit for fear of ridicule, exclusion, or punishment. As we get older the stakes get higher the longer we decide not to submit to the gender binary, and slowly we are broken down into societal groups of men and women, with a men vs. women (or, mars vs. venus) attitude. Boys, as children, can be just as inclined to play house and with dolls, experiment with their mother's closet or make up, as they are inclined to play with a baseball bat and glove or shaving their face with their father's razor. It doesn't mean that all of those boys who participated in those activities as children are cross-dressers, transgendered, or gay in any way, it is just a natural form of human expression.

But after a long day hiking through an urban jungle that can be difficult for any cisgirl, transgirl, or man alike to navigate, can I not sit down, have a drink with a friend and complain with my sisters while I kick my feet up? Can I not say at the end of the day, that I would like to retire early, kick off my shoes, read a book, and take a bath?

Like countless others, I'm just looking for some commiseration from the human condition.

I vow

I vow next time I will introduce myself. If we are going to do this dance every month you might as well know my name. Every time I walk into the pharmacy to pick up my hormones, the same 3 people are working. I have been on hormones for over two months now, and each time I get my prescription filled I have this exchange,

"Have you been told the effect of estradiol before?"

Yes ma'm I have been told the risks and effects. I come here almost 2x a month, I've been asked this question a few times by now. It's okay, I know growing boobs is dangerous work. She handed me my prescription today, like every other time she does,

"Here you go sir" but with a corrective "oh, I guess I shouldn't call you that."

Next time, I vow, and as god is my witness, to answer with my sweetest southern belle impression, a "you can call me Addison" ending with the sly-est of smiles. Maybe even a wink. Would a curtsy be too much? Or just the cherry on top? I vow not to let the system get me down. After-all, if we are going to do this dance every month you might as well know my name.

I will read poetry to the stars

This song makes me feel like I'm in a John Hughes movie, it even has a spoken word part. Dramatic. Dark and lo-fi shoegaze, perfect for summer nights. "Kim & Jessie" is also a great one from the same album, Saturdays = Youth but I really like "Teen Angst" and "Lower Your Eyelids to Die with the Sun" from their other albums.

Summer Mix

Theres something to be said for Pinkerton, but Weezer's blue album is perfect on a sunny day. I spent a summer listening to this album, falling in love with a girl, sitting in parks and in her cool bedroom when it was too hot. "Surf Wax America" is an obvious choice for a summer song but there is too many great ones on this album. "Buddy Holly", and "Undone" are great, and a personal favorite in "My Name Is Jonas".

An Adorable Mess of Fur and Energy

and her name is Dharma. Dharma Kitty. Dizzy.

She looks like Howie Mandell, and one day I will come home and she will have 26 briefcases waiting for me and she will make me a deal for 1,000,000 kitty bucks or some cat nip and jingle-jangle toy.

Lower Dens

Listen up boys, this is going to be the hit of the summer.



I will listen to this all summer night with my windows down and I will be nostalgic for everything that never was. It is warm, and hazy, and it tickles the back of my neck like a summer breeze.

Sounds like Beach House to me.

Distance and Misogyny

I received a letter from my mom the other day. She had been to a therapist and wanted to diagnose me. There's food left uneaten on the stove. It's been three days, and the bed is more inviting than living.

"I can't see it"

It would be easier if there wasn't 2,300 miles between us, a sea of land and mountains, gold and grass. I tell her there were warning signs, and I figure she can't see them anymore, they've been buried under years of dirt in her mind, some I've buried from myself, and some that could never see, never fathom. Coming out to your parent's isn't the hardest thing - it just the jump off the cliff - it's the time and silence after that deafens everything around you. It would be easier to see if you were here. I don't know if she will ever see me as her daughter, but a son always in soul.

Dad is gone for the week, and her therapist told her that absent fathers and strong mothers are what cause people to be gay. Mothers are not fit to raise boys. My identity must be attached to hers. Male influence is what the boys need. Misogyny by any other name. But what about the others?

-- What others?

The others. The ones who grew up with only mothers. The ones who aren't...

-- ...freaks?

The ones who grew up with mothers, found a girl, and married and lived happily ever-after.

"I'm worried about what your future relationships will be like."

They'll be fine, I say, I can worry about that myself. How about an, "are you happy?"

"I'm loving work though"