So Little Time

For those that were worried, I have removed the Tina Collection from my car trunk. All has been salvaged. I went through the bags and found that 90 % of my swag is winter wear. This Saturday's meeting will see temps in the upper 70s F. I pulled some spring weight sweater sets out, and I'm beginning to suss out an appropriate outfit. Boy pants of some sort are a likely part of the getup, but if I wiggle just right, no one will know the difference.

Things have been very busy of late. I am currently reading blogs that are five days old, which is way out of character for me. I follow almost 90 blogs, and rarely fall more than two days behind. Sometimes I wonder about leaving comments on blogs that are days old. I usually proceed as I always would, and I know that any comment left on my blog is welcome, regardless of timing.

I haven't broached the whole "dressing off site" situation yet with Mrs. Leslie. Just thinking about it makes me queasy. My birthday is next week, so I'm considering making that a part of the give and take, though I don't want to make this out as a "special" thing, but rather the new norm. So, maybe the B-day won't enter into it. What I really need is adequate sleep. It's affecting my capacity to think clearly. You shoulda seen the typos I caught while proofreading this, like leaving out verbs.

Earlier in the week, Mrs. L asked if I was still shaving my legs. We were lying in bed at the time. I told her that it had been over three weeks. She started rubbing her foot up and down my leg, complaining that they were too smooth for that to be the case. I convinced her that the hair is indeed there, and getting substantially long. I should've explained that epilating gave me a very different hair removal experience this winter, but, of course, I didn't. My legs do feel rather smooth even with the hair. It is definitely softer hair, and I want to believe that it is sparser too. I won't be going back to shaving.

Maybe things will slow down after my meeting. Does anyone know where you can order extra hours for the day?

Trying to Set Things Right

Obvious thought #34: Being deceptive sucks. And that is the corner I keep painting myself further into.

Saturday night, I went to bed quite content. Sunday, I got up with the sensitivity turned up on all my personal buttons. I was snapping at everyone. After several hours of this, I chatted with my brother on the phone, and managed to calm down enough to think clearly. So, what was bothering me?

My next meeting is coming up Saturday. As always, I am eager to attend, and lots of prep awaits. That's all good. My kids are on Spring Break this week, so far less privacy and opportunity to go through my various rituals. I still have two bags of clothes in my trunk, from the Tina Collection, which I have no place to store or go through. It will be very hard to choose an outfit without resolving this. Plus, there is the deception that is weighing on my conscience.

My last three meetings, I have dressed at Lisa's apartment and driven en femme to the meeting site. Mrs. Leslie knows nothing of this. We have many new members in our support group, and there are several that require the limited changing facilities at the meeting site. I have another option, and I need to let the other girls change as I did for two years.

I went out to dinner with Mrs. L tonight, and I apologized for my abruptness earlier in the day. I told her that I was very stressed by money issues (tax time!) and the difficulties surrounding my next meeting. I told her about the clothes in my trunk, which required some explaining. It became very clear that she hasn't guessed that I'm changing off-site, and I couldn't make myself tell her. I think it unlikely that I'll be able to sneak off to Lisa's undetected forever, and I know that the sooner we discuss it, the less damage will need repairing. Now to find a time for that with the kids around all week. Lying is so much more complex than truth.

My new motto: Don't be like me!

Infiltrated

My wife spent much of today hunting down a phantom. Our broadband provider shut down our internet service because we had two spamming incidents originating from our computer over the weekend. I have little interest in increased penis length, for me or the rest of the world, so I plead innocent. We aren't sure if our wireless was hijacked by a neighbor, or if we acquired some nasty bot-net virus, or something else entirely.

Massive virus scans have ensued, and much fretting. Nothing like a computer crisis to inject some marital discord into an otherwise nice day. We'd just as soon keep our computer, as it's only about a year and a half old. Old enough to be obsolete, but still nicely functional, much like myself.

Alex Chilton: O My Soul

Just a few weeks ago, in a note to my pal Jenny, I shared the little regard I have for American rock music. I can list dozens of British, Canadian, and Australian artists that ring my bell, but I can count my indispensable American artists on two hands. Now I realize that I left one off my short list--Big Star.

Alex Chilton, the most prominent member of Big Star, died on St. Patrick's Day of a heart attack. He was 59. By most accounts, he was a difficult and unpleasant person, but musically he was pretty special. Big Star had a very short and star-crossed career, encumbered by the bankruptcy of their record company. Yet, for the dearth of sales and hits, they were hugely influential on bands like REM and Cheap Trick, indeed rivaling The Velvet Underground as an influence on the music to come.

If the Beatles were the sound of American rock 'n' roll run through a British filter, then Big Star was the Beatles heard through an American filter. Chilton is sometimes credited with creating power pop, though he denied even knowing what power pop means.

My brother and I have a long running quest for the perfect power pop song. Big Star's "September Gurls" is in the conversation, along with several other songs from their first two albums. Wonderfully melodic and rife with hooks, it is pop for the thinking person.

I have used my iPod as my exclusive music conduit for the last 15 months. Last weekend, I realized that I hadn't heard Big Star during that period, and loaded #1 Record/Radio City onto my iPod. Talk about timing...

2nd Blogiversary

Grab a party hat, get a piece of cake on your way in, pin a tail on a jackass (me, if you like). Two years ago today, I started this enterprise. The first year was on the late and unlamented Yahoo 360, where I was very comfortable and nearly invisible. Any given blog was read by maybe 20 people, with 2 or 3 comments from regulars. As 360 was in its death throes, Lori paid me a huge compliment by encouraging me to move my blog to T-Central.

After the move, I was out of my comfort zone. I was concerned that I was more T-Peripheral than T-Central. It seemed that everyone here was all about transition, something that didn't appear to be in my future. Lori sent me over to Calie's blog, and I made my first new friend. I learned to fight my shy nature, and reach out to bloggers that I admired or felt a commonality with. Much comradery ensued.

I started writing at the height of my dysphoria and depth of my depression. I was not in a good way then, and some posts were rather intense. I think the cliche is true: Pain produces the best art. At least that's how it worked for me. Yes, I am dropping false modesty here. I am proud of 90% of the material in my blog. It isn't great art by any means, but it's the best I've ever done by a wide stretch.

I thought this would be a good opportunity to look back at some of my favorite posts. I know there are some of you who have waded through the entirety of this blog, and, well, bless your hearts. You have a pass to the back room, with soft incandescent lighting and an open bar. The rest of you are invited to partake of the best of OoMM.

My favorite piece is a letter that I wrote to my wife but never delivered, featured in Whose Day Is It Anyway? Then there was the time that I underestimated her, revealing that I had a blog, and arrogantly thinking she wouldn't find it. That fall from grace is in Worlds Collide.

I like to think that I'm funny, and a few entries have even reflected that. The Motherlode, and my very first post, If you're too hirsute, you can't wear her suit, are prime examples. My best effort at early history is in Languid and Bittersweet.

I'm proud of the bulk of the writing here, and would recommend more but for pitying the poor tired reader. Frankly, after more than 200 entries, I don't readily remember some of it. I never for a minute thought I had this in me. I detested writing in school, and did my best to avoid it after. Then it forced its way out of my mind.

Thank you all for your interest and friendship and support.

Dream Motifs in Flux

I awoke this morning after about four hours of sleep, then tossed the remainder of the morning. This gave me lots of time to think, sadly. I had a little epiphany, which didn't help at all with sleeping, but I thought I'd share my thoughts.

For all of my adult life, I have dreamed of crossdressing. In my teens, these were wet dreams. Well into my thirties, they were still very exciting. The theme and setting might change, but the narrative still ran through a crossdressing scene. I would find a cache of feminine attire and furtively slip into it. Hosiery predominated. An element of danger usually played into it also, in the form of the threat of being caught. Sometimes I was, sometimes not. The actual act of dressing, though, was always there.

I realized this morning that my dreams have changed substantially.

I've been underdressing pretty constantly now for about three years. Wearing pantyhose daily has relieved me of the burden of having to dream it. It's my reality, and it's a normal part of my day. With the fear and excitement of that gone, my dreams have moved on to other things.

Framkly, I remember imagery from dreams sometimes, but rarely whole dreams anymore. I no longer get dressed in my dreams. I just am dressed in them, living my life, sorting out my conflicts. I am not a woman in dream life, but nearly always dressed as one.

A rare dream is one where I seem to be living full-time as a woman, and I'm being treated normally and respectfully by my family and the world. Nothing much happens, maybe a meal and conversation in a restaurant, but I wake with a strong feeling of contentment, a sense that this is what my ideal life would look and feel like. Nothing special, but comfortable in my skin and my clothing, in a world that believes nothing is amiss.

A Rare Blog Adornment

As pretty as I felt Saturday, I almost wound up without any documentation of it. Luckily, I joined a snapshot of my pal Sylvia, and she was kind enough to share it with me. She's a shy girl, so I cropped her out of it.

This is not meant to diminish expectations, but I was not pleased with the hue of my foundation. I was very brown, and I'm unsure what happened. I used a cream foundation, then set it with a mineral powder. Both of these have looked fine standing alone, but this was the first time that I had combined them. The powder is actually supposed to be used as the foundation, and I guess that's where the screwup was. Live and learn...

On the plus side, I managed to stand up straight for this pic. The one from Novembers' restaurant trip very nearly didn't get posted, as I looked like I'd just finished ringing the bells at Notre Dame. I can't expect people to be comfortable telling me not to slouch, but I'm hopeful that I can train my friends to preface a photo with, "Are you proud of your breasts?" Then, I'll throw my shoulders back and flaunt what God didn't give me.

Secret Smile

Tonight, I relax. I've been wearing a little Mona Lisa smile for several hours. New warm memories keep occurring to me. I'll recount:

Tina had five boxes and bins of clothes to look through. I think I took fully a fifth of it. There are some pieces that I'll probably never wear outside, and I'm guessing that some won't fit when I get around to trying them on. I took mostly tops and sweaters. In fact, I decided to use one piece over my cream shell, and it looked much prettier than what I had planned to wear. Tina is the greatest. This act alone would've made my night, but the hits just kept on coming.

I dressed at Lisa's after putting my swag away in my car. I knew that a lot of new people were coming to the meeting, and my Transformational Explorium would likely be otherwise occupied. Dressing off site and arriving as Leslie is wonderfully fulfilling. I feel like a real person when boy-me doesn't have to be seen on the way in.

Dinner was nice. I sat with Sylvia, and we had a lovely conversation. I have missed talking to her these last months, but we had more to catch up on that way, I suppose. This was the first fully social meeting we've had for six or eight months, and I think everyone welcomed it. No business discussed! A very large turnout to say goodbye to Samantha and Keith.

It was sad to have the evening end, but I got enough Leslie time to satisfy me for a while. I had to untransform on site, and I shared a lot of hugs in boy mode as I left. That's okay, they see the real me no matter what I'm wearing.

Making a List, Checking It Twice

Brass tacks now. I made a long list of things to accomplish in advance of Saturday's meeting. I'm getting very pumped about it, sleeping very poorly last night. My brain was racing, trying to maintain a mental to-do list. I can't afford to miss beauty sleep just now, so I wrote it all down today to allow my mind to rest.

Today, I picked up my package from Newport-News. The pink skirt was a little too large, and not at all to my liking. I will be sending it back. The cocoa denim pencil skirt, however, more than made up for it. Quite tight around the waist, just the way I like it. It's nice to wear clothes that improve your posture, making you stand up straighter. I picked out a blouse to go over my cream colored shell, so I have an outfit chosen. That's a big one crossed off the list.

I worked on my wig for about forty minutes. I'm not sure if synthetic hair gets split ends, but the evidence here says yes. The tangles stayed no matter how long I combed. My wig had more knots than a Boy Scout camp. I think it's passable now, but it will require special attention soon. My inattention to its needs is starting to show.

After I finish typing here, I am going to paint my toenails. I haven't had them polished in about eight months. Living large, huh?

Living in the Golden Age

Good fortune abounds.

• Mrs. Leslie continues her unprecedented run of genderosity. A few day ago, she handed me the new Avon catalog, asking if I'd like to look at it. Sure, I said. The way it was said made me think that she might consider ordering something for me if I wanted. I would be unable to do that for myself, as her rep is a co-worker of hers. The lipsticks look intriguing, but I'll pass this time. Nice offer, though.
• She told me today that she intends to take the kids to a movie while I'm at my meeting Saturday, her method of getting them out of my way during any last minute preparations on the road to becoming Leslie. Very sweet and thoughtful, or maybe she fancies Johnny Depp in a big hat.
• Some of you may have noticed the comment from Tina on the previous post. She is going to give me first crack at the clothing she is unloading. How cool is that? I hope to be able to go see her before the meeting at Lisa's apartment, where I have transformed before my last two meetings. I intend to run this plan by Mrs. L, rather than sneak around behind her back. I believe she will allow it to happen. A real test, though, yes? Anyway, I say it a lot, but not near enough: I have some great friends.
• I will be picking up the package at my therapist's office on the way to work Wednesday. I would've gotten it today, but we had a classic "failure to communicate" situation. I intend to make one of my two new skirts the centerpiece of Saturday's outfit. Do I seem excited? I am.

Life is good.