A journey to San Francisco to become no less than Me. (BLOG REBOOT: Former site of Hairy Legs.)

Posts tagged ‘costume’

Finally getting it chopped off.

My hair.  What did you think?

Anyway, I’ve been running a discussion over on the TransQueer Nation forums (which, if you don’t have an account, you need to register for because it is an absolute wealth of information, support, and fellow Tguys).  It was based on good haircuts for heavy guys, and after a lot of… well, what I considered to be slightly… off suggestions, I finally owned up to having something completely different in mind:

Well, I’ve taken all your suggestions under advisement, but I’m going to roll with my gut and get this classic cut:

I wanted something conservative, but not too short, and I think Ewan McGregor has enough of a round, innocent face to sort of mimic and give me an idea of what I might look like with this cut, especially after I get on T, but before I start growing facial hair. I know how fast my hair grows and it should be past my shoulders in about a year, which, if anything about my what my genetics tells me is true, should be about when my facial hair starts to darken and come in. I want to have long hair again once I have enough male gender cues to indicate that I’m a guy with long hair and not just a chick with long hair and some facial hair problems. 😉
Anyway, I did a little research and found a barber’s joint in San Fran that I really want to visit- I’ve read TONS of reviews and 98% of them gave 5 stars, and on top of that, I read a few by trans guys who said they felt welcomed there!
LET ME REPEAT THAT:
I’ve found a barber shop that’s friendly to trans guys.
Joe’s Barbershop

Apparently the rate is $25, which is pretty damn good for a safe experience with nice (and talented!) barbers. Spread the word; I know I’ll be crossposting this to my blog. I’m probably going to be down there getting the cut the morning of the 28th; I’ll be sure to post some before and after pics and my own review of the place.

Wish me luck!

So yes, I feel that making this find may be my biggest contribution to the trans community so far- at least, the trans community that lives in the Bay Area and wants their hair professionally cut by someone they don’t already have rapport with.  Wow, that’s actually kinda pitiful.  Oh well, we do what we can.

In other news, I’ve just told my dad tonight that I’d prefer to be called by Tommy.  After he realized the significance (a hint: “The dog was called Indiana!”), he actually said that he’d be proud to call me Tommy.  I told him I’d give him a lot of leeway and not get dramatic if he forgot to use the right name, because my friends who have known me less than 4 years now have trouble, and he’s been calling me by my birth name for 21 years in a row.  He seemed to really appreciate that.

In fact, he made a hell of an effort just this evening- he was talking to someone and said he was “proud to have K_____ as my daughter.  No, proud to have Tommy as my daughter.  As my CHILD.”  I couldn’t help but beam with pride at his obvious efforts.  He’s taking this more seriously than I ever could have hoped, and catching on real fast.

Finally, about that San Fran trip-

We’re going on the 27th and it’s going to be a rabble rousing, gut busting two-night affair of escaping the humdrum, pretend-to-fit-in existence of living in East Jesus Nowhere.  I plan on going in drag EVERYWHERE, the first night Sunday the 27th, we’re going to a techno club or something-whatever and that’s when I’m having my Severance Ball.  Then on Monday morning, I’m getting my hair cut, and I plan on going as masculine that day as possible, possibly even to the point of costume.  Not sure what we’re doing that night, but we’re leaving for home some time Tuesday afternoon and I’m sure we’ll find something to do.

So, if any of my fellow transguys live out the Bay Area and know a good joint to hang, hit me up and maybe we can meet up and have a drink or something.  Frankly, it would just be nice to know I’m not the only one that exists.

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Today, I’m hurting.

My gender dyphoria always ramps into hyperdrive when I hang with one of my best friends, a pretty hyper-gay guy.  I’ve spent the last two days with him.  

It’s been an intense period of gender extremes for me, since Halloween is one of those gender-free days where I can dress as a guy character and most people call me by who I’m dressed as rather than my given name; it’s like a little vacation where I can be anyone I want, as long as they’re not a girl, and that’s a vast improvement anyway.  I’d rather be seen as the most mediocre guy than the most attractive female as long as people get the pronouns right.  And dressed as the Graverobber from “REPO! The Genetic Opera”, I was pimpin’.  All the girls in my circle of friends were hanging off of me and treating me like a real man, for at least a couple of hours, and even if it was just a game to them, I didn’t care.  It made things right in my own little universe for a little while, and it was… nice.

That said, there’s nowhere that gender discrepancy is thrown into sharper relief than with a gay guy you’ve wanted to be with for years who will never be able to get past the gaping hole where you’re supposed to have a dick.  It’s funny.  A lot of people new to the trans scene don’t believe how much rejection trans people get from the gay community.  You’d think, of all people, that gays would understand what it’s like to not be accepted for who you are and what you can’t change, but as far as I’ve seen, they reject transmen with such discrimination that we’re better off looking for support among cisgendered people.  And forget it if you’re a gay transman.  Might as well just turn straight.  I haven’t yet met a gay guy who would even consider going out with someone who previously had a vagina.  It’s like just being around them would call into question their gayness or something.

My dysphoria is on the rampage today.  I’m unbelievable horny, with a side dish of angry that makes me want to rape something, sprinkled with the shame and inadequacy knowing I couldn’t without rigging a contraption that makes a mockery of what I don’t have.  I’m crawling out of my skin.  It feels like someone lined the inside of a mascot costume with superglue and put it on me while I was sleeping, and I can’t get it off.  This is a nightmare.

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