House of Ill Repair

 It may be years until the day

My dreams will match up with my pay.

                                    "Mushaboom"

                                    Feist

 

I have a feeling that I've used this quote before in the 300+ posts that preceded. As they say,. those that don't know their blog history are doomed to repeat it.

We have lived in this home for nearly 30 years, and it is starting to catch up to us. Routine maintenance has never been a strength -- home, auto, personal, or otherwise. Why do today what can be put off till tomorrow? Most aspects of the house predate us, all the way to 1978 when built. This year, we are splurging on new windows finally, our old ones almosr dry-rotted in places. Had a plumbing issue where a drain pipe cracked under the slab, and was leaking into the downstairs when we used water in the kitchen. The pipe had to be bypassed and rerouted, tearing out a big hunk of wall. The missus is talking about replacing all the toilets as well. When it drains, it pours.

Speaking of drains, my personal temple has had better days. Recurring bladder stones have resulted in procedures twice before, and now a more comprehensive look at the the causation is in order. No pain ever involved in the issue, but flow and voiding are a constant reminder that I am aging. Fatigue and forgetting why I went into a room also serve that function. Too much info, I know.  Sorry. 

My home away from home, the support group, has endured a major hiccup. Covid didn't help, but it was coming anyway. Attendance was consistently around 30 per meeting for the previous year, with many more young people. Along with the greater diversity and energy came more strong emotions and political views. In May, my successor as president was completely burned out from herding all these cats, and resigned without a replacement. I know that the job involves pleasing most everyone, and there is just no way to achieve that. Our parent organization took over the leadership, and finally found a member willing to take on some responsibilityas the face of the group. TransKentucky still exists in Zoom meetings, and might come out of the pandemic as a going concern, but it will look very different when IRL meetings can start up again. I doubt that I will return, but never say never. 

I could get into the house that is my country, battered for four years by a tiny man in a big suit. But the rule of threes precludes me from beating this metaphor any longer, so I will stop there.

Mouse Hunt

Still shaking off the rust:

If you have delved at all into the first four or five years of posts here (and why haven't you?!), you know that my wife's reaction to my sartorial quirkiness has ranged from tolerant to I-wish-I-could-afford-to-get-outta-this-marriage. More recently, she has come to understand that it is not going away, but neither is it a threat.

One indicator is the laundry. I have done the bulk of our laundry for several years, in order to include my underwear in the wash without making her think about my proclivities. Very recently, she has begun grabbing my underwear from its special hamper to wash with everyone else's stuff. No toxic words, no drama, just clean underwear. Nice.

Last weekend, we heard a late night thump in the kitchen. We found one of our cats with a little gray mouse in his mouth. Not dead. The cat kept putting the mouse down, batting and chasing it, then carrying it for a spell. He would not come to us, nor could we entice him to take it outside. 

Instead, my wife screamed as the cat ran to our bedroom and promptly lost the mouse. The next half-hour played out like the 1997 comic masterpiece(?), Mousehunt. We reached under the bed and dressers, armed with small plastic storage boxes, hoping to corner the little bugger. We came close several times. The mouse ran over my bare foot at one point.

We had to pull stuff out from under the dressers and bed in our frantic search. From under my chest of drawers, my wife pulled out a waist cincher and a copy of My Husband Betty. In the past, this could have been the catalyst for some unpleasantness. The new dynamic prevailed, though, and she merely handed the stuff to me without a word or even an eye roll. Not an outward eye roll, anyway. Maybe internal.

And I wasn't terribly embarrassed either. I would have broken an arm diving past her to conceal my stash not so long ago. Now it's just a sidenote during a suburban safari. Be vewwy quiet...I'm hunting mouses.

Oh, the mouse has not been found. Pray for us.

Return of the Mojo

I was reading through some of my recent posts, "recent" only in the geologic sense of the word. I realized that I had left a plot thread dangling. At least one, though I only noticed this particular arc. Plus, it gave me an opportunity to create a post before I missed an entire calendar year!

I have shared previously my frustrations in taking on the presidency of my local support group, TransKentucky. There was no one else to take over when the previous leader burned out and left quite suddenly. I quickly learned why she burned out. I also learned that group leadership is not one of my strengths. I am pro level at long, awkward silences. The meetings soon were attended by only six to eight folks a month, including newbies that usually did not return.

The nadir of my time in the hot seat was the Pride Festival in June 2017. As a closeted transperson, I had to delegate responsibilities to others for this very public event. A proverbial train wreck was the result. We had a tent and a table, with no signage, no literature, and a few very despondent volunteers to answer the occasional inquiry, like "Who are you all?" Not the group's best moment, nor mine. The buck stopped with me, and I readily owned the mess. 

See? Happy.

I eventually served for 18 months as the big cheese. The numbers at the meetings began to pick up, and I was able to add a couple of leaders into my circle of one. Both were very capable and much more charismatic, as well as being unafraid to be the public face of the group. As Pride was nearing again, I made an abrupt decision to hand over the reins to Rylie. It was very sudden. She slept on it and agreed to do it. My spontaneity cost us the other moderator, though. I guess she was offended to have been passed over, but she never said so, and she never returned.

So now I am Rylie's girl Friday, much more content to be in a supporting role. As a bonus, I have been able to skip meetings when I want. I just wrapped up a four month absence from the monthly meetings. This last week I found myself really wanting to go, so I buckled down and did the necessary prep. 

It was great. I had been missed by many, and I was energized in the discussion and the social time afterward. I sought out a sad fellow sitting alone while everyone mingled. I kept watching him across the room, and seeing myself as I was my first 40-plus years, paralyzed by social anxiety and unable to initiate a conversation. I spent about 15 minutes talking with him, avoiding the small talk that I knew I always hated. Maybe I was a little invasive and direct, but he opened up some. I am much better suited to the one-on-one stuff. 

I just thought I should dispel the notion that I might still be president of my group. Nope, and much happier playing second fiddle. I now joke that my time was a caretaker administration, or an interregnum between real leaders. I kept most of the balls in the air, enough to get us into a new period of growth for TransKentucky. For me, growth through adversity.

Things a Phlebotomist Might Say*

"Which arm is best for you?"
"Roll up your sleeve."
"You may feel a little prick."

Nope.

"Why do you shave your arm hair?"

Keep in mind that I live my life as male full time. I had my annual physical recently, and the last part was having some blood drawn. A young woman entered the room, introduced herself, and swabbed the crook of my arm with alcohol. As she wiped, she asked without looking up, "Why do you shave your arms?"

For a couple of very long seconds, I rolled the question around in my head. Is there some medical issue I don't know about? Can I dare utter the truth?

Trying to buy a little time, I blithely asked, "What?"

She repeats the question. What kind of lie might work? I could use my old fave, which is a partial truth, that I really hate my body hair. But that is a symptom of something bigger, yes?

My voice might've cracked a little, but I said, "I'm transgender."

She turned to me and smiled. "Oh, cool! Do you, like, wear makeup? What's your name?"

"Leslie."

"Nice! Are you transitioning?"

"No, that's not gonna happen. I'm president of a local support group, though."

"Outstanding!"

So, I have now outed myself to a stranger in real life. Did not think that was in me, and it was a very uplifting event. I wish I had thought to show her some pics, just to have my ego stroked further.


*If you are too young or foreign to get the reference, this is a typical clue in the bonus round of The $25,000 Pyramid. This clip features the recently deceased Harry Anderson of Night Court fame.

Indulge Me

As a rule, I hate anniversary posts. I have stopped following bloggers who gave me five paragraphs about the seventeenth anniversary of first wearing lipstick.  So today I am being a bit hypocritical, making an exception to my own rule, but I promise there is more content than just a look back.

Not my first wig

Ten years ago, January 19th, 2008, I saw Leslie for the first time. Merely a concept previously, I finally put all the pieces together. The cherry, literally on top, was my first wig. It made a world of difference, as crossdressing man at last resembled, albeit crudely, a sort of woman. It was enough. I pushed down the urge to cry, and just stared at myself for long minutes.

This only just occurred to me, but leading up to that magic moment, I had suffered for months with a terrible depression. I was working my way out of it by starting counseling and joining TransKentucky. This period ten years later has also featured depression, the worst it has been in at least five or six years. Not as long lived, and largely cleared up now, it does seem to be signaling a need to take a step forward on the Leslie front.

Say yes to the dress!

For someone that dresses only three hours a month, I think my fashion sense and makeup skills have made a real leap this last year. I have some idea what looks good on me now. After being on the skirt+top train for years, I have recently transferred to the Dress Express.

Part of my recovery from the blues was making a hefty investment in clothes. In particular, $80 spent at ThredUp. I love this company. Gently used clothing, or even new with tags, for a deep discount. Yeah, they're secondhand, but that doesn't bother me. Anyway, I got 12 items for that sum: 2 tops, 5 skirts, 4 dresses, and a pair of heels.

All but one item fit, a little black dress that just could not make it around my rib cage. To show how far I have come with my wife, I suggested that she try it on, as I thought it might work for her. She tried it on without it being weird at all. It didn't fit her either, so I passed it on ro one of my minions at TransKentucky. The point being that I was able to be open about clothing, and she was able to hear it. And there was no shouting, no awkward pauses, no stinkeye.

That, my friends, is progress that I thought would never arrive.

Publish or Perish

Looks like the twits on the board have backed me into a corner. I will have to post an update. It's bad enough that they call me Chairman Wow behind my back, but they keeping holding the promise of a golden parachute over my head. Dance, puppet, dance. At least they don't call me Chairman Yow. Or worse, Chairman Ciao. I prefer Madame Chairperson, truth be known.

Anyway, it has been a rough year to date. My wife's father had been struggling with lung cancer for the better part of a year, and finally succumbed a couple weeks ago. The stress of the last three months has finally relented. I think anyone who has watched these slow fades will understand that the sadness is greatly tempered by a sense of relief at the end. Things are largely back to our version of normal now.

The support group is carrying on, of course. Meeting attendance continues to be disappointing, but we will have a new website up in the next few days (fingers crossed), plus the Facebook group is being relaunched as well. I am lucky to have some very enthusiastic members with the talent to address these things. I have the willingness, but little to no knowledge of how to make them happen. Once the website is up, I hope to be able to assist with adding to the resource page, an area that has been sorely lacking.

The nerves I had about leading a meeting have faded rapidly. I don't really give it a thought now. I am more comfortable being me fully, and engaging others. I was always the sidekick before, throwing in a quick quip, the same as in my male life. As Leslie, I am carrying the conversation more, drawing out shy newbies to share with the group, or even one on one. I am embracing the leader role.

I am still unsure how I am going to do the public part of the job. We will have a booth at Lexington's Pride Festival in June, and there are LGBT events at the university too. I cannot do them. I am not a public figure or figurehead. I need to expand my team to include folks who are ready to be the face of the group. I am merely the brains!

Well, I hope this satisfies the board. Until the next arm twisting, see ya.

Announcement

Greetings,

Your friends/corporate masters at LeslieCo would like to apologize for the continuing absence of Dear Leader.

It has been a hectic year to this point. Even when present here on company grounds, her mind was frequently elsewhere. Heading a corporate enterprise like this is quite taxing, except in America, where corporations pay little to no tax. Sorry, off subject.

Our namesake has been occupied with the nurturing of her TransKentucky support group. A new website will be launched soon, and a Facebook group will be back online as well. She did not do this herself, rather found others to do this for her. Ah, leadership.

She has informed the board that she has intentions of writing a genuine blog post in the coming days. Good intentions, road to hell, etc. We'll see. Maybe when she finally takes a break from playing Fallout 3.

Yours in third person,
LeslieCo