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10 Easy Steps to No Bake Gender Transition

I did a few of these humorous little lists way, way back in the day, like a good month of two ago and then stopped. Many people hated these lists and called them “The trite little scribbling of a madwoman. A puerile attempt to apply troglodyte simplicity and banal humor to a serious and complex issue; far better burned or bum wiped then read.” I then came to my senses and decided to reject my own comment from the approval queue. Besides, I’ve been shoveling out a lot of the heavy stuff lately and I’m really all about having some lowbrow fun while sipping a Lowenbrau. But please, feel free to raise some indignant objections because everyone just loves a big prickly Pete.

1. Decide You Might Be Gay. It’s finally penetrated your brain that none of the dudes you are surrounded by knew how to walk in heels by age 10, and most have never even tried. Clearly, you are some kind of freak. The strong affinity towards femininity leads to only one conclusion. Gay men are kind of like women, so you must be gay. This can be a real conundrum if you are not at all attracted to guys; the tried and true hallmark of gay male culture. Something is not adding up. Either you are atypically gay, or something else all together. The answer eludes you as you practice ballet moves in your room in a pilfered tutu and stuffed bra.

2. Throw Away a Ton of Pretty Shit. There is no problem in the world that can’t be solved with a black Hefty bag stuffed in the bottom of the can on trash day. Well, at least if the garbage men aren’t curious, but as I was to find out later, they are. Now you are whole and complete in your male identity and could die right now without anyone ever knowing that perhaps you were just a little bit fancy. The feeling of heady satisfaction lasts for up to 15 minutes before deep, inconsolable regret begins to settle in. In reality, that pretty shit you tossed and will always miss universally consists of things that you really had no business wearing to begin with unless your preferred look is ‘skanky hooch 60 lbs past her last shopping trip’.

3. Admit the Jig is Up. Incredibly, joining the military, a biker gang, or rebuilding the engine on an AMC Gremlin failed to turn you into a man. If you are smart, you gained clarity of thought there. Chances are though, you got married and maybe had kids. At the very least you found yourself cohabiting with a vicious little terrier with severe gender misogyny. Regardless, now you have to figure out what to do and it’s not going to be pretty. If you opted for path A and checked out, I doubt you are reading this unless you got screwed yet again and sent to the wrong place where I hear this blog is proudly featured. Path B is where we really get started on this list.

4. Make Sure You Got This Right. I started by buying Jenny Boylan’s book and highlighting all the passages I thought were relevant to my life. Four highlighters later, it seemed a safe bet there was more than could be chalked up to coincidence. Some start with a support group and sit there feeling like a big bag of douche for showing up in dude mode surrounded by trans who just seem to have it all. Ha! You are still woefully ignorant at this stage, but it’s probably for the better. All roads lead to a therapist, because the AMA decided they were missing out on a goldmine by ignoring the least employable segment of the population. Once again, you will sit there feeling like a big bag of douche as they hammer you with questions to make sure you didn’t skip step 1 while dredging up everything you have ever been insanely embarrassed about. In the end, it all comes down to one little nugget; you are if you think you are. WTF?

5. Draft a Fricking Plan. Without a plan, there can be no attack, and without an attack, there can be no victory. I remember Booger saying that in some movie where he didn’t play Booger, but someone just like him. What a male way of thinking! It’s still not a bad idea, because this is starting to get complicated. Open a Word document, Excel spreadsheet, or fish out a lipstick smeared Arby’s napkin from under the seat and start writing some shit down. This will make you feel better and get the therapist off your back, but reality will in no way conform to this half-assed list.

6. Crap Your Pants. The “I yam what I yam” bit only worked on your diagnosis. If you want medical intervention, you have to start walking the walk. This means venturing out in public as your true self, or more specifically, doing something so terrifying that an adult diaper is required. “True self” at this point is a misnomer. What probably seemed like a kickin’ look down in the basement behind the furnace looks absolutely ridiculous in the light of day. If you are lucky, someone in your household will stop you before you head to the Galleria looking like a Sue Heck/ Krusty the Clown/ Genesee Street Hooker joint effort. If, however, they have a sense of humor or burning resentment, they will just say, “have a nice time!”. Eventually you will realize that a whole bottle of Schmear by Maybelline isn’t a single serving, and that the ass hugging leather micro-mini doesn’t help you blend as much as you thought.

7. Lay Off the Blush For a While. Nothing will make you wish you were gay faster than explaining to people you are transgender. Not only do you have to tell people, but you have to explain what it means to every one of them. Holy shit is this mortifying, tedious, and downright irritating at the exact same time and doesn’t seem to get easier per telling. In person is good, because most people won’t hate you to your face, though some will hate you to your ass as you walk away. Nothing makes you feel like a court mandated reporter of a sex crime conviction than making the rounds, especially since you can expect many of the same looks, even though you did nothing evil. Expect plenty of highly personal questions about your genitalia.

8.  Gain Weight. You finally got your hormone letter and waste no time getting some. After so many years of nasty ass testosterone, you are in no way prepared for experiencing the puberty cycle of a 12 year old girl. All of a sudden, all that girl talk about walking by a cupcake and gaining 12 pounds doesn’t seem like such a silly exaggeration anymore. Get acquainted with the salad menu real fast. This is all amplified by your upper body strength tanking along with extremely slow progress in your exercise regime. You also find why women need such huge closets. Having a range of 4 different sizes in there just may save you from wearing shorts in January.

9. Bring On the Pain. There may have been a time you had perverse pride in being able to grow a mountain man beard in less than a week or be mistaken for Chewbacca at the beach. That time is over, and it’s not going to take care of itself. You do have choices. Option 1 is to develop a $50 a week Gillette habit. This just sucks and won’t last long. Option 2 is to slap on lead goggles and experience intensely painful laser blasts to your face and body to eliminate up to 65% of dark colored hairs. Option 3 is to spend up to 200 hours having each one of nasty hairs electrocuted and plucked in a slightly less painful procedure. Option 4 is to join a circus. There are no two ways about it; this is going to suck.

10. Get Banned From Government Offices. You will want to avoid this, but it will be hard. Local, regional, and state governments found a way to save money by having inmates classified as criminally insane draft their name change process and requirements. The bureaucrat you find yourself explaining things to will hold this process so dear, that to suggest any alteration will be like you announced a hit on Santa. “Yeah, ya gotcher forms in triplicate, ID, social security card, and birth certificate, but I don’t see the note from yer mom or an Adelphia cable bill from 1998. Better luck next time, Nancy!” Don’t kick him, he knows not what he does. You can, however, smear a booger on the back of the form as you hand it to him and feel vindicated. In the end, you will no longer get weird looks handing over your ‘Ralph Belly’ drivers license and credit card, unless you are a nincompoop and went with ‘Kelly Belly’.

From this point on, it’s pretty much up to you. Once you log a year in the “real life test” to ensure at least 12 more months of sweet payments to your therapist, you can qualify for a bit of the old ‘snip-snip’. In the mean time you might get some other body work done on your face, breasts or ass, but I can’t speak to that until I decide to go that road. So there you have it, childhood to full time in just 10 steps so easy I’m shocked that everyone doesn’t do it.

10 Things Missed and Not Missed About Male Existance

I’ve come to notice that making lists of stuff is a pretty popular thing to do. I’ve put a couple on here so far, and the feedback is like ten times better than average, even though I’m really saying the same shit I normally do, except numerated. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I got a tiny bit psyched when my stats jump for a day or two, and thus encouraged, I hastily thought up some more crap to sling out there in digestible bulleted format. With no further ado, aside from the remainder of this sentence, unwieldy and suspected run on in its complexity, let talk about a five things missed and five things grateful for in transition.

1.  Miss: Out of Bed and Out the Door in 5 Minutes: Back in my Air Force days we liked to ride a perpetually late pretty boy for always having one foot out the door and one still in the makeup bag. Yeah, it wasn’t that clever of a crowd. I have to admit though, even though I never exactly felt like myself, it sure was nice to jump out of bed and run to the store with absolutely no preparation at all. Well, except shoes and such, but you understand. Technically yes, I can still do this, but it means being mistaken as being intentionally masculine, which is as comfortable as showing up there in footie pajamas. We can, but sure don’t want to.

2. Don’t Miss: Shaving the Face: OK, fine, I’m still some time away from being done with this completely, but after months of being blasted in the face with lasers, there is only a little left to work on. Before that, it was morning agony scraping a slightly dulled steel blade across my increasingly sensitive skin and still needing 2 pounds of military grade super foundation to cover the shadow. Ones sense of femininity is never strengthened by a soft rub against your own cheek and getting stubble burn. Ugh. When it’s all gone for good, my Gillette Fusion will be destroyed with biblical vengeance. A plague of locusts sounds about right.

3. Miss: Looking Like Shit: Yes, society has double standards. I was able to come into work every single day wearing the same pair of jeans and rotating out 3 or 4 remarkably similar plaid shirts and the same shoes. Deciding what to wear took less than a minute, because face it, no one noticed or cared. I could not shave for 3 days, skip the shower even though I ran, and sport the same coffee stain for weeks on end and it made no difference. Now as I agonize over what matches and if I already wore that bracelet this week, I can appreciate the freedom men have to look like shit and get away with it.

4. Don’t Miss: Being Called “Sir”: Aside from giving my inner woman the heebie-jeebies, the term make me feel uncomfortably old and distinguished. Given that I feel about as old and distinguished as Ernie from Sesame Street, and certainly never looked any better, being called ‘sir’ was about on par with ‘your lordship’. At least with the latter I would have known they were joking and been able to laugh at the hilarity of it. I could also never quite believe I was the individual being addressed and instead would look wildly about for my old drill sergeant, sneaking up to bust my ass yet again. Yes, ma’am is better, if only by a short and curly.

5. Miss: Public Urination: No, no, that was never me whizzing on the side of your Jeep Cherokee in the Micky Rats parking lot, although there was a certain freedom in having that option. In dude mode, however, it was nice to be able to walk into any men’s room and relieve myself without any forethought or worry. Now that the row of splattered urinals is forever barred to me, I use the ladies, but with just a tiny smidgen of trepidation. Now, even hopping on one foot, I have to decide to either risk getting hollered at or risk adding yet another hilarious tale of my own humiliation to my formidable repertoire after failing to make it home in time. The good news is that I save up to 35 cents downgrading from the 4 gallon large Diet Coke at the movies to the wimpy 12 ounce cup.

6. Don’t Miss: Shopping Dude Style: Granted I finally got over myself some time ago, it was never really all that comfortable, and I certainly felt weird trying stuff on. Anyone marginally female knows size 14 means a whole range of things, only one of which stands a chance of looking good. I also felt compelled to shop in the male way, making bee lines for specific items and getting out as quickly as possible, all while making a half-assed pretention that I was buying for someone else. Now shopping is fun, I can take my time, and end up leaving the store without asking for a bogus gift receipt because I have exactly what I wanted. Probably a good thing I have no aspirations to amass a fortune in liquid cash.

7. Miss: The Old Wallet: There is a certain efficiency in carrying everything essential in a small folding container that was nearly impossible to forget somewhere, freed up the hands, and went with absolutely any outfit because it didn’t make many appearances anyway. In large crowds it was easily transferrable to the front pocket to thwart even the sneakiest of pick pockets. Unless you were George Costanza, it didn’t weigh much, yet still yielded occasional surprises like that free apple pie you won from McDonald’s Monopoly. The one I retired lasted 10 years, multiple washes, looked like something the dog threw up, and worked just fine.

8. Don’t Miss: Life Without a Purse: I know what I just said, and the wallet rocked for a lot of reasons, but nothing beats a purse for having what you need, whatever the occasion. Yes, I have to schlep it around and not leave it under the table when I leave the restaurant, but it’s oh so handy to have all my stuff. I’m never without a book, foldable flats when my new shoes shred my instep, sunglasses, makeup, every retail reward card ever issued, a snack, plus all the other shit that used to take up my pockets. Look, guys love to make fun of this, but all female clothing is designed to both hide faults and accentuate features, and a bulky ass wallet is the last thing we need to throw off the whole look, especially in the caboose. Also, I’m totally prepared if I ever have a yen to take up shoplifting.

9. Miss: Eating Like a Horse: Before the onset of hormone therapy, I was able to scarf down a giant steak and sausage hoagie with cheese and mayo, along with a  large fries and not gain an ounce unless I did this every night, which of course I did. That was no problem because achieving a 5 pound a week weight loss didn’t take much effort. Now the rules have changed. Not only does food, especially chocolate, taste extra delicious, but merely smelling it makes me pack on weight like a sumo at the Old Country Buffet. On top of that, I can no longer actually eat specifically like a horse with big harrumphing bites and streams of stuff going down onto my shirt without looking like I’m on loan from Dogpatch. In guyland, that was just called enjoying a meal.

10. Don’t Miss: Male Interaction: Not a big stretch to say I always kind of sucked at this. The easy casual way men interact with each other, with the ball busting and other banter never came very easy to me. I’d either have to try to fake it, or remained fairly silent. I was good one on one, because it’s one of the few forums in which men tend to feel comfortable being real with each other. More was usually a free for all I could not keep up with. Talking with women came easy, but I was often pegged as being “different” which made things awkward for completely different reasons. Now though? Oh, sooo much better!

Bonus! Miss: Upper Body Strength: I had this list done yesterday morning, but after spending 6 and a half hours trying to put together a damn trampoline for my son, and struggling with backbreaking tasks like lifting cardboard boxes, screwing things together, and pulling springs, I decided I so, so, so miss my old upper body strength. Not that I was the type to kiss my biceps and welcome people to “the gun show” or anything, but still, it was nice to be able to carry in groceries in less than 5 trips.

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