Happy Birthday?

So yesterday was my Birthday. I think we often make too much over these annual events, I mean, your mother did all of the work, why doesn't she get the day for her. You managed to show up. I suppose there is some work getting out of the womb, but hell you do not remember it. And that poses a question, if you do not remember suffering, then did you really suffer? Now I suppose that is true, meaning you did suffer at the time. But suffering seems to be more about reliving the event, and having scars from it. So I personally do not seem to be suffering from my birth. No in my case it seems to be life.

Now I sound like a whiner. I should be careful here. I had a bed to sleep in, a roof over my head, I sit here sipping a cappuchino that my little machine made for me. I am typing on my high powered PC with three (yes count them) LCD screens connected to my high speed fiber internet connection. Ooh a biscotti would be nice with the coffee, aw we are out of them. Yes I indeed have it rough.

I said all that so you know I am at least rooted and the stuff I am complaining about here (gee like being born with the wrong crotch) is probably second or third order. They are about how I feel. They are about what others think about me. About having needs that are beyond the basic Maslow ones. And so goes my birthday.

This post is going to be in two parts. Boy part and Girl part. I will tell when they switch. You see by the quirk of the calendar this is also a group night. And so I am going to spend at least part of my birthday as myself. Yes I know, no lectures, I am always myself, blah blah blah. But you know what I mean presenting in my preferred manner, ok.

Boy Mode

So let me start at 12:01, I mean I am pretty sure that is when the new day starts. I sat writing my intro to a new Gender Evolve site that my friend Jenna pointed me at. Suddenly there is my youngest son banging on my office door. Come quick!

I pop my head out, what is up? He says toilet overflowed! Now the look of panic should have told me something.

Now mind you I am in the basement, the toilet in question is on the first floor. Usually you expect a little water when that happens. I did not expect this. I open the door to the storage area which is below the toilet. And, it is raining. Literally, a shit storm. Fecal Rain (sung to purple rain). I am looking at it run down the shelves that have all kind of flotsam and jetsam of our married life. And I am struck by the irony of it. To condense the next two hours I will just make a list. Towels, yelling, moving things, yelling, wet dry shop vac, yelling, mopping, wringing, tossing, yelling, sorting, wiping, dehumidifier, fans, did I mention yelling.

Now I was upset. But not at the water. At the situation. You see, this was due to kids. Kids that had been told, pay attention as the crap low volume toilets we have do not do the job for the huge piles you guys deposit. And so the lecture has been, watch it go glub glub glub before you walk away. But no, instead I have shit water running down my face that I just had an electro clearing on that day. I hope I do not get an infection.

What bothered me was how I got upset. I yelled, for the first time in six months. "He" came out. He was pissed, typical family thing in my house. A house of the oblivious. Things break, nobody says anything until it is too late, or moot. This is not a male or female thing, it is a common sense thing. But not in my house. And I was more upset that I got "guylike" in my response to the situation. Arggghhh. I am trying to kill him off. He is killing me and I need him to go. And then I knew what I needed. I needed to be out of this house.

You see in my house the toilet does not overflow, the beds are made, the dishes are washed, the clothes are clean. You can eat off the floor. Unfortunately, I do not live there yet. And it made me question what was going on here. I mean, if I was not here, the toilet would still have overflowed. I would not have rushed to help, let alone get blowers and dehumidifiers and such. And so my second question was, what will they do without me? And I was bugged by this until it struck me. Not your problem Sharon. This is a choice made by others. Move on.

And so I did. I left the mess, now mind you I did what a contractor would do, get it set up and leave. No further cleaning, organizing, pitching etc. This is not my house, I am a tenant.

I finally crash after 2AM.

The next morn I got up and did my laundry. Now some of you will recall my midnight washing story. Well today, fuckit. I put my panties in with the rest of the load. If they are discovered they will have to get over it. And if there are questions then I guess it is time to come out. Last night I went to a ball game with son #1, I wore shorts and my faggy shoes. If he noticed I do not know (think shaved legs ladies). I just did not care. It is who I am.

And so today I picked out a cute outfit for group. White skirt tonight, why not. And packed it into my truck along with my other goodies. And this time I am not going to the hotel room or a friends house. I am going to get ready in the truck. I figure if I can manage that skill then I can go and come as me whenever I want and screw the rest of them. So thus ends part one here. I am thinking I need to go see a movie or something this afternoon as myself. My birthday treat to me. Up next.

Girl Mode

As promised, the second part of my day (mind you posted after sleeping 8 hours). Of course girl mode is kind of a misnomer, she is always with me, I am her, we are one. I had come to the conclusion that I needed to figure out how to get ready on the fly. As I have stated before in the blog, I cannot just get ready at home and walk out the front door. Well I suppose I could, but the neighbors, whom I waved to on my exit, might wonder who is the big broad driving my truck. I do not think they would immediately make the connection. Perhaps it would be my Sister (A ploy I am thinking of using soon).

Back to details, so I had loaded the truck with my "transformation bag" and outfit. Which for reference was a cute white skirt, above the knee, white tank, and a nice orange/yellow print shirt. Very summery. I do not have a pix, but fear not, summer is long and that outfit will get worn again. After running a few errands I found a remote commuter lot to park in for the transformation. Well the clothing part took less than 10 mins. So that was the good news. But if you are sitting in a parking lot and putting makeup on you pretty much need your hair. Especially if the goal is to look like a woman putting her face on. Normally I do face then hair. Between mirror issues, spilling makeup on me, twisting, turning and all I made it with a decent look. The drawback, it actually took longer than going to the hotel. Now I lie about that.

You see I did not have to drive to the hotel, and check in, and lug stuff in. Instead I would shuttle around the vehicle bag, seat, trunk, bag, seat. Basically I need to hone the process and sequence. And yes some of that was first time kinds of things. But it took me 90 mins to be ready to pull out of the lot. Too long. I need to work up a quick makeup routine that makes me look ok. This has bugged me for some time. But without some FFS, I need the paint on the barn to get to the right place. Time to do research again.

I drove away happy with the look. I had noted as I was walking around the truck packing my things up in the back how comfy and cool the skirt was. Seriously, if you asked me what I would want to wear on a hot day. The answer is skirt. Anyhow off I went, to a local mall. I figured not enough time for a movie, but time enough to shop. So the mall I went to is on the other side of Balmer (That is Baltimore for you who are not local).

First I need gas, so pump up. Un-eventful. Then to mall. I have to pee. So ladies room is first order. As I am looking at the sign for where it is inside the mall I look for my fav store, Coldwater Creek. The map says, hmm, here, hey wait, that is where I am right now. Now I am a redhead by wig, brunette by nature, but this was a blond moment as I looked up and to the left and there was the store right in front of me. Duh. Ok off to the ladies room.

It is of course off the food court. I walk, no stares as far as I can tell. I go in, it is a busy one. Two months ago I would have walked back out. Today I am just a woman who has to pee. I find a stall, go in do biz, washup, touch up (hey it is the ladies room!) and go on my way.

So Coldwater Creek is having 60% off sale. And of course that is me. So in I go. And the experience is similar to the one I had in Chicago. I pick out some cute outfits on the sale side, and of course a few that are not. I almost have decided that this is an addiction. It is not like I need the outfits, I mean I am not FT, but I shop like I am. And then it struck me as I was in the dressing room looking in the mirror at me. She is stylish, but not over the top, kind of cute, sort of, but mostly. She is happy. And I do not mean goofy happy. I mean, pleased with who she is happy. And so buying the clothes is a symbol of that and not wanting it to end. And so, between the mix and match, I got like 8 new outfits. And I guess I decided, I need them as I need to start thinking in earnest about a date to be FT.

At checkout I am having a pleasant dialog about the clothes with the clerk. I again purchased a couple of their long flowy crinkly skirts. She says to me, you are lucky. I go, hows that? She says, you are tall and can wear these skirts and they will look good on you. I am flattered but tell her, tall can be a problem. She says yes sure, but not in her store. She asks me how tall, I joke and say 5-12. We both laugh. She says she has niece who is 6ft, and how she has similar problems with clothes. And I am kind of taken back, I am just a tall woman in her eyes. It is wonderful.

Fresh from there I went to group via my friend Jennie's house. Jennie is an interesting person, she is a septuagenarian who decided to transition only in the last few years. And I applaud her for having the courage to do so so late in her travels among us. She is a dear, I call her my Aunt Jennie actually. She was kind to me in my early days at group. She is wise, and funny, and talented. We share some passions, wood, music and others. And so I am her sometimes chariot and she is my sometimes innkeeper. It is a good relationship I am lucky to know her. And after what she calls a "cuppa" we trundle off to group.

My friend Elaine, who at the previous group, along with Jenna, had conspired for a group cake and card, hands me a personal card. In the meeting Jenna yet again wishes me a Happy Birthday. It is, my gift is this new circle of friends.

There is a lot of conversation about how disappointing the turnout was from our community at the local pride event. That the table was bare, there was no banner, hand outs, etc etc. I asked, what is your purpose in being there? The noise seemed to be about adding members, or maybe getting the word out, or maybe education. I posed it, what is your goal? There was not consensus.

And that is indicative of why the turnout was low. It is not that there is not passion, it is that there is not consensus, and there likely will never be. Our group membership is fluid, transient, non-committal. There are no dues, no requirements for entry, no officers, all are welcome. It is not too big, everybody gets a turn, not too small, there is plenty to talk about. And frankly it works. And I have been to other groups where it does not work, or not nearly so well. And so my take was, and I said this in so many words, If this is working, and it is for me, before you go and decide to change it you might ask me my opinion on that first.

We adjourn to our usual haunt for dinner, I of course take Jennie back home first, these long nights are hard on her and I can see her fade in the meeting. I love her and want to make sure she is home safe and sound. It is not a labor of any sort for me, I enjoy serving my friends. I get back and we sit and eat and chat. We talk about things from the meeting. Our writings, such as the one you are reading now, of our plans, our futures, our relationships. All is done in the form of women (or so I imagine) we commiserate, nobody tries to solve the other person's problems. It is a discussion of feelings. It is nice. It is right.

We break up after a few hours and I realize my birthday is over now. I drive back to my commuter lot to undo what took me more than an hour to do. I am sad, and wish I could just go home, take off my face, and put a nightie on and climb in to bed. Alas, I have to "man up", well that is pushing it these days, I "girl down", he he. And so the undo, goes well, wig hair (the kind under the wig) is a problem, I will need to remember a ball cap next time.

I come back to the house where I keep my stuff (cannot call it home anymore). It is 2AM, people/kids are up. No kidding. I could toss a dozen barbs in here, in fact I wrote them and then deleted it. Things about my wife and kids. Stuff that is long standing. Stuff that will change soon in some way. And so, I made my birthday wish at that point. Yes I know cake is needed for the magic to work, but it is ok. My wish was for this to be over. And that I be able to help my kids and for me to get on with living life. Let's see if that happens.