Ignore That Little Voice...

...at your own peril.

My social anxiety is largely a non-factor online, especially as my space here became well-defined, fairly popular, and largely respected. I am confident in these waters. Yesterday, I ran smack into old feelings.

My primary email is on Yahoo. I decided a few days ago to try out their new mail beta version. It's a bit more versatile with a sleeker layout. After a few days, though, I was suddenly without the usual indicator of my friends' presence online. I don't chat much, but I do like to see that I have friends engaged in parallel play. And when I want to chat, they are right there. Without that graphic, I felt like one of my senses had been shut off.

Well, if Yahoo Chat is not going to be available to me, I had better get serious about Yahoo Messenger. I set about importing my contacts, a simple task. I checked off a few that I had no current relationship with. This left another twenty or so, some of which I may never chat with, but I am accustomed to seeing them in my sidebar. I hesitated. Each of these people were going to get a request from me, an opportunity for rejection. Maybe I should remove a few more names, folks that are fairly peripheral to my life. Nah, let 'er rip.

Within ten seconds, I had a rejection. This is from someone that I greatly admire, though we haven't corresponded more than a couple times. Okay, maybe she didn't recognize the user id, maybe she gets these requests all the time and rejects them out of hand.

I went off to take a shower. When I returned, I had a note from someone local, asking who I was and why I wanted to chat with her. Specifically, the absence of a profile photo was of great concern to her. Well, I have sat and spoken with her at meetings at least twice this past winter, lengthy personal conversations. My heart sunk. Was this going to me the norm? I went off to work, but this bothered me all evening. I felt stupid. I had overreached socially, crossed lines of demarcation unknowingly. This had disaster written all over it.

As usual, I was overthinking things, doubting myself and my place in the community. When I got home, I wrote an explanation and apology to my acquaintance. I hope she responds and understands.

As for the rest, there are still a few outstanding requests, but it seems that everyone else has simply clicked the Accept box and gone on with their lives. Maybe it's time for me to click the Accept box and get on with life.

Wildly Out of Date

Hmmm, I'm not writing much, am I?

Not much new on the gender front. I broke out the shorts last weekend for the first time. Almost immediately, the missus whispered to me, wondering if I should be revealing my bare legs. I proceeded to show her the six weeks of growth which is quite visible on my legs (especially to me!). She said that she hadn't realized. Within five minutes, I was feeling so self-conscious that I changed into long pants. She then said that it was okay, and I didn't need to do that, but the mental ship had sailed for me.

She was actually apologetic about it at bedtime, that night and the next. She sensed that I had my feelings hurt to some degree, and she was right. If I'm going to have to grow this hair for her, she should at least notice it. It seems that she had been sensing the smoothness of my half-calf(tm) epilating. We talked some about my bald shins, bald since my teen years with no outside help. She accepted that this phenomenon must have been what she mistook for bare legs. Her apology was welcome and helpful.

On a very different front, I have been battling the urge to send a nastygram to my boy's private school. He was having a lot of trouble learning the European countries. We bought an up-to-date atlas, and found a good website that would quiz him. We worked on it for several weeks. So, he took his test last Monday, and we learned some surprising information. It seems that their materials are a bit antiquated, yet being presented as current. Yes, he was expected to know about Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia and East Germany and the Soviet Union!

Some of you already know my intense interest in geography and history. To say that I was appalled would be understating it. If they had been studying the Cold War, this could have been presented as historical geography, but it has no more relevance to the present day than Prussia or the Austro-Hungarian Empire, especially to a twelve-year-old.

My boy would have had a much easier time memorizing the Europe of 1987, as it had about twenty fewer nations to identify. I am sorely tempted to ask for a month's tuition to be refunded. We have spent an enormous amount of money on this school over the last dozen or so years. My middle child also corroborated the story, as we learned that she had used the same materials when she was in the sixth grade. Grrrrr! The school has lost a lot of credibility with me, needless to say.

After a week of ruminating, the sarcasm has diminished. I feel that I can now write a fairly civil email to the teacher, expressing disappointment instead of outrage. I think that it does need to be said, and I need to insist that they invest some of their dollars in some modern geographic materials. I mean, really!

Swapping Stories and Clothes

Apparently, it's been awhile since I wrote anything. Oops, life happens.

I had my monthly support meeting Saturday evening, very much the highlight of my month, the one day when I am fully Lesliefied. As you can see, I wore a too-tight red sweater, a stretchy black skirt that I bought for myself at Macy's for seven bucks, semi-opaque tights to hide my leg hair, and one of my newer pairs of shoes. The outfit was a little over the top for me, I thought, but the reaction was complimentary from my audience. (Click for a larger experience. Almost actual size!))

The plan for the meeting was to have our first ever TransKentucky clothing swap. I've mentioned a desire to do this several times in the past, and we finally scheduled it. What we did not anticipate was that the Kentucky Wildcats would be playing in the Final Four during our meeting. Naturally, our event was poorly attended. I unloaded some culottes (just not my style, nor flattering), and I picked up a pink sweater and a couple other things. Mostly, I had wanted to give away three pairs of heels that don't fit me. The only girl with feet of that size did not want to be any taller than she is now, so heels were out. Back into the closet. Given the poor attendance, Syl and I decided that we would try it again soon, and hope for more people.

As it turned out, the swap was not the biggest thing going on at our meeting. A young lady (GG) attended, in the hopes of talking to some of us for a thesis she's writing. We wound up just going around the room and telling her our stories. It was really nice to share with someone that has no background on the difficult lives we lead. She asked terrific questions, and got an earful. I spoke with her afterward, and gave her my email. I think there will be some followup, and I love to share my story.

Perhaps the greatest adrenaline rush of the night came when I looked out the door of the center, and saw perhaps thirty police cars in the lot across the street. Visions of Stonewall went through my mind for a moment, but I quickly decided that they were using the lot as a staging area, anticipating some riotous action in the event of a Kentucky victory. No victory, though, and no riots. Just as well, I suppose.

Bending the Rules

Something I did last summer, and have begun again this year, is a bit of a departure from the "agreement."

I am continuing to do some epilating! I started doing the backs of my hands and the area between the second and third knuckles a couple months ago. I found this very satisfying. I have long, thin hands, that look fairly feminine when denuded. I don't see any reason to stop that. In addition, I am epilating the top of my Hobbit feet, my ankles, and about halfway to my knees. I believe that at Starbuck's this is called a half-calf.

Truly, this exercise is minimalist. It is for my gratification only, as it will make no difference in what I might wear in the heat of summer. Maybe it's a little bit of rebellion against the empire, as well.

I'm feeling a bit better after unburdening myself on the blog last night. Thanks for the kind comments about the blog, and the support with my marital issues. Y'all are the best.

Blogiversary and Lethargy

Today marks three years of sharing my anxieties and successes here in Blogistan. The last year is surely the weakest content-wise, and I shan't offer up any links for incredible reading. I will say that if you haven't read anything from the 2008 or 2009 archives, just pick something and see how well I wrote when I was inspired. Night and day, people.

I've been trying to get motivated to write for a few days now. I am having an all-encompassing sadness shrouding everything. I fall into depression briefly each day, but it isn't sticking at this point, thankfully. My leg hair is becoming quite visible to me, and looking at it makes me wanna curl up in the fetal position, so I'm trying not to look at it. Gonna be a long summer...

I have been thinking about something that Renee once wrote on her Transsexual Ferox blog. I don't know if the thought originated with her, but that's where I got it. She wrote that one person cannot be both your shelter and your storm. I have come to realize (and probably the last to see it) that Mrs. Leslie cannot be my primary source of comfort at the same time that she is my antagonist. This isn't working. Truly, the same can be said for her. My gender issues grate on her. Maybe she has stopped coming to me for comfort now, which would explain the emotional distance that I continue to experience. Me, I just want her to hold me at the moment, and make me feel like I can get through this stuff.

She knows that I will go back to the epilation well again all too soon for her, so perhaps the distance will be maintained. If so, I may find myself epilating sooner than she expects.

So, there's my happy blogiversary post. A joyous occasion, no?

Glammed Gams

Really, really nice meeting on Saturday. Much like the January meeting, we had a short bit of business, then a round table discussion. This one centered on issues of identity and becoming comfortable with one's self, and how that is Job One, before you go looking for a relationship.

We had one newbie, and two that were there for the second time, more than a year removed from their first visit. Having fresh voices and hungry ears at the table seem to be the key to a frank, respectful conversation. There were great, sincere questions asked by the new and old guard, and thoughtful answers in response.

The thing about me is that I am not advancing in my transition, as so many others are. I am constantly greeting new faces and saying goodbye to the older ones. I'm pedaling a stationary bike, while others come and go. Okay, that's not entirely accurate. My presentation is becoming easier and more natural. That's hardly advancement on the transition front, but it is progress. I am more at home as Leslie, slipping out of my male mannerisms quickly. I like that. I pack more quality time into my meetings that way. Little time is wasted unmaling myself.

I was very pleased with my presentation this time, and thank heaven Sylvia brought her camera. I meant to bring mine and forgot it in my headlong rush for the door. The makeup is getting easier for me, and more polished at the same time. It helps that my hands no longer shake when applying my makeup. I'm no longer dealing with a huge adrenaline surge while I'm dressing, so the hand is much steadier.

I want to share a closeup of my shoes. I adore these. From Payless, of course, made by Dexter (the shoe company, not the crusading serial killer with a heart of gold). They are a little narrow for me, so they squish my toes, but I am working hard to stretch them out with my feet. Note that there is a bit of a platform on these shoes. I missed that detail when I ordered them. Gawd knows I don't need an extra half inch of height added, but there ya go. I can live with it.

I wanted to post the leg shot, additionally, because they won't look like this again for a long while. I did my final epilation of the season last Thursday, and the hair is already making a comeback. I typically epilate twice a week, so the hair I see on my legs right now wouldn't bug me normally. It would be gone in another day or two. Today, I look and recognize that it will only get longer. I'm hoping to be able to wear a skirt with black opaque tights next month, but it will be slacks or jeans after that. My epilator is going into hibernation for the summer.

The mental impact of this is just beginning to hit me now, as the joy from the meeting wanes. Nothing serious yet, but I'm expecting the worst. For now, I'll just try to savor the memory of Saturday.

I'm Just Sayin'...

I don't like to rush my writing, but it's late, and I'm prepping for Saturday's meeting, but I do want to say some things. We'll see how it goes...

Thanks to all for the comments on the previous post. I asked for an intervention, and most of you took it to heart. Excellent! I truly need to get some tough love. If you all could come around and slap the back of my head in conjunction with your advice next time, I might make some progress. But watch out for hugs, I have very long arms.

I am tempering my depression lately by buying stuff online. Moments ago, I ordered more underwear from Soma. Five panties and a camisole, right at thirty bucks. I just got underwear from them in January. How much is enough? Am I going to keep shoveling shoes and lingerie into the hole in my heart? It does make me feel better to have pretty things, but that's an incredibly superficial thing to say. I'm not proud.

I have purchased three pairs of shoes from Payless so far this year. I have crossed that boundary that Petra wrote about recently. She said that after one reaches ten pairs of heels, one loses all sense of limits. It sounded true when I read it, and I promptly proved it to myself. I now look once or twice a week to see if anything grabs my fancy. Self-control be damned.

True story: When I picked up my recent order at Payless, an older lady was running the place by herself. She started by telling me where the men's shoes were when I entered. I told her that I was there to pick up my order. I told her the name and she went to the back. Normally, the clerk removes the shoes from the shipping box, inspects the shoes for damage, and packs the shoe boxes in a bag for easy carrying. This woman handed me the open, but unprocessed, box. She told me, "You can try those on to see if they fit, er, oh, those are women's shoes. Do want to check to make sure that's what she ordered?" It was hard to tell, but I believe that she had no clue that the shoes were for me. The younger clerks have had no such illusions, but have been very professional, and I never felt embarrassed. This encounter was very strange for me, and probably for her, once she thought about it for a time. I confirmed that the shoes were the correct order, and I clumsily carried the bulky box out under my arm. Ah, well, that won't stop me from ordering again.

I will have more to write after my meeting, and with luck, I'll have a pic or two. I'm chuffed about the outfit that I have assembled to go with my new favorite heels. I have acquired some good concealer that I have been wearing in daily boy life this week under my eyes. I have also done the most radical shaping of my eyebrows ever. It still passes muster in guy world, I think, but it's quite dramatic by my meager standards. I hope it all comes together well on Saturday.