2008 The Other Self who wasn't Femme

From a forum:

Hi All-- 
I was eighteen before I figured out one of the male codes about fighting.  It goes like this:  if you're willing to fight,  and demonstrate it at least once, then you often don't have to fight again.  Just the knowledge that you will if provoked is enough to make others think twice,  and usually things get settled in some other way. 

We have often discussed the problem of figuring out just who our femme selves are.  Are they separate people or personalities,  or are they part of who we are all the time?  The difference is more striking because our femme selves cross gender lines.  But I realized that most of my life,  I had an alternative personality who was male.  So I thought I'd write about that. 

To call him an alternative personality is to beg the question,  but I don't have any better term for it.  I became aware of "him" at around 17,  but it was only in brief flashes.  I had buried my anger throughout my boyhood.  When I finally let it surface at 18 or so,  it took on two versions.  One was just what I'd call "normal" anger,  which could lead to shouting and even fighting.  It could be disruptive and upsetting to others,  but it would soon blow over. 

But if I got angry enough,  a switch would flip in my head,  and a whole new set of responses would come out.  It was like being under the influence of a drug.  I would suddenly get very calm and calculating.  Whoever "I" was in that moment was capable of doing whatever needed to be done to maim or destroy an opponent. 

I had no control over this,  and I couldn't "will" it to happen.  In times of real danger,  it could be a help.  But it also came out in situations that were not appropriate for it.  I am thankful that I seldom acted behind this feeling,  because I was not able to regulate it.   One incident with a girlfriend showed me that.  It was fortunate that others  were there to intervene.  I did scare some people very badly at other times when this happened.

In my experience, we have a primal hard-wiring for estimating the strength and cunning of any opponent we face.  This sense can be very fine-tuned.  From watching the reactions of other men, I always had a sense of how much threat they thought I was to them.  I'm fairly tall, and coordinated.  I could see that I was evaluated as someone to keep an eye on.

When this other entity appeared, I saw that the threat potential went way up for my opponents.  In one instance, I heard myself taunting the other man, and his eyes went wide with fear.  He and I both knew that if he reacted to it, he would be exposing himself to danger beyond what he could handle.  His anger just "went away," and the situation resolved itself with no violence; that's all I remember now. 

By my forties,  this other self was not coming out very often.  I was living a more peaceful life in general,  and seldom got into confrontations that would bring out that much anger.  In my late forties, I sensed my femme self stirring around.  When I became the feminine part of myself,  I suddenly felt very vulnerable.  I no longer had access to that violent male side to protect me in times of emergency.  I had to figure out new ways of feeling safe,  because being Anita was a new way of being "me,"  and it didn't include those impulses that I had always counted on before. 

Is this a good thing?  A bad thing?  I really don't know.  I still carry a certain confidence with me when I'm out as a woman,  because I have those past experiences of knowing I could do whatever needed to be done.  Yet I'm not sure what form that would take now,  if I ran into real danger.  I have talked my way out of some harassments,  just as I've seen women do all my life.  My talking skills have improved dramatically,  because I see the need for them. 

It is also interesting to see that men evaluate my threat potential differently when I present as a woman.  Even though I'm still tall and still coordinated, I can sense that I'm more at risk.  I have no objective way of proving this;  it's strictly my primal sense at work.  I have to acknowledge it and be more careful.  I carry a pepper spray canister around, and I try to make sure I have companions when I'm out in dark or remote places.  

This is not something that I would have ever experienced any other way.  For me personally,  my femme self feels different enough that I can't say, "Oh, she's the same person as me, just different clothes."  And I could not say that about the extremely violent part of me,  either.  With him,  the change was instant,  so the difference was very clear.  I realize now that this earlier experience made it so that I was not so surprised when Anita showed up.

 
I still don't know if these are truly "other selves."  I can say that both of them have allowed me to tap into feelings and experiences that I had never encountered in my everyday way of being.

2008 A new emotional currency

I took my ex-girlfriend, Lynda, out to dinner, and afterward, we went out to hear some quiet music. Each time a new person comes into either of our lives, we need to process it in order to know where our friendship is going. One of her boyfriends was extremely jealous of me, for instance, so we didn't have a whole lot of contact during those years. She can clearly see the connection between myself and LeeAnne, and she likes LeeAnne. But she is somewhat puzzled by why I think that I'm able to have a relationship now, when for so many years I didn't feel able to support one. Anita previously wrote: Quote: I had retired from being in relationships with women, because I did not have the time and energy to do that in a way that worked for me. And that included trans women, I thought. It took a while to come up with an answer, but I did find one. "OK. It's like this. You've got to pay a price to be in a relationship--it takes time and energy, right? You put that into it, and you get something in return. "All my relationships with women have always been paid for in, let's say, 'dollars.' That's what the emotions and attention were valued in. And it was often a struggle to come up with enough dollars to make it work well. "But when I accepted my femme side, I all of the sudden had more emotions available to me. It's like the emotions and energy needed to be around transwomen were valued in 'Euros.'  And I had LOTS of Euros. I'd never known how to use them before, but they were there." I told Lynda that becoming Anita had saved my life. I would never have committed deliberate suicide, but I would have probably ended up having an "accident" on some dark, stormy road. I just wouldn't have cared enough anymore, and I would have subconsciously been looking for a way out. If I were still trying to be a traditional man, it would have become even more of an uphill struggle for me. Obviously, there are some women out there who thrive on relationships with TG or TS women. They see the value of Euros! (Hi, Ruth! Hello, Raven!) Lynda has never really wanted to know my femme self, but this analogy made her question me a little more. Then she was able to see for herself why many women find it hard to be with transgender women who used to be their husbands and boyfriends. She had to acknowledge that Euros weren't going to work for her, either.

2006 Grieving about the one who used to be

From a forum::
We were talking about workplace acceptance on another thread here, and I thought of another issue that affects the workplace.  I decided to address it in a separate thread. When someone transitions, their spouse goes through a kind of grieving period for the person they used to know.  The wife of one of my TG friends is still going through this, over a year after the surgery.  The man she used to know is not there anymore.  As my friend would point out, much of that man was an "act" that she created.  Still, it was an act that was lovable, and her wife did love the man.  There are similarities between that man and my friend Michelle, but they are not enough to be able to say that it's the same person.  The man, Michael, is "gone." This story has a happy ending; Michelle and her wife have stayed together.  But periodically, the wife does need to grieve about what was, and how it changed.  At first Michelle was alarmed at this, but she's learned that these periods don't signal that her wife has changed her mind. My middle sister has said this to me, too.  "I would miss my brother. He wouldn't be there anymore." Close friends who have transitioned, including my girlfriend, do not share this view, as far as I can see.  They are glad to see the former persona disappear.  Sometimes they acknowledge "his" role in getting them to where they are now.  But they express no regret about his passing. That is probably one big reason why I don't transition--I'm not ready to only be one person.  At least, that's how I experience it.  Both of my gender roles still have meaning for me. When someone transitions on the job, the co-workers suddenly face the loss of one person they knew, and the emergence of another.  People feel loss, grief, and anger when they lose a person to death, and in some ways, this is similar.  But it feels irrational to consider it that way, so co-workers have to try to ignore any of these feelings if they come up.  But I'm sure they do come up, and it contributes to making transition harder. They don't offer grief counseling when someone transitions, but maybe they should. David Letterman interviewed with Felicity Huffman, where he talked about a crew member that was MtoF. And the person transitioned at work, going from Howard to... Holly, maybe.  (The new name wasn't said). Letterman didn't seem comfortable with the subject of transgender that night, so I wasn't surprised when he said, "We liked Howard." It was said with no smile or attempt at humor. But in light of what I'm writing here, it's more understandable.  He might have been sad or angry at the change, and he had no control over it. Certainly the person who has to transition can't be responsible for other's grief, sadness, or fear.  And yet he or she has to allow that those feelings might be there, and will get in the way of new acceptance.  There's no acceptable way for a co-worker to express these feelings. so they just bottle them up. I have felt something like this grief myself at least three times, when I was around close friends.  I think that it has to do with letting go of parts of my old life, as I continue on into this new one.  It is not easy to say goodbye to aspects of the man that I was, but I've found that I can't hold on them if I don't feel them anymore.  I may never live fulltime, but it's still a transition, even so.

2005 A concert experience in San Francisco (long!)

The Ethel Merman Experience just headlined at the annual Halloween party in the Castro, which is San Francisco's biggest yearly event.  They shut off twelve blocks or so, and as many as 250,000 people show up.  I wanted to write about it, as it was a big event.  But it was also a very typical gig night, so I decided to write about what that's like, playing in a San Francisco band at the current time.. 

I had to go over to the city at around 1:00 PM, even though we weren't scheduled to play until 11:30 that night.  Mark, ("Ethel") and his partner Richard live five blocks from where the main stage is set up.  The band was supposed to gather together there, and that meant that I had to get into the neighborhood before they began shutting it down.  I had heard that happened as early as 4pm.  So I came over in plenty of time, had a late breakfast down on Market Street, and went over to the Eureka Valley library branch for the rest of the afternoon.  Like a parent, I had to babysit my guitar--it doesn't stay in either the car or the truck when I'm not there.  I carried it everywhere I went, and that made the library more attractive than say, shopping in Noe Valley. 

When I came out at around 5, it was still somewhat warm, and there was no wind. What a pleasant shock that was! Other than a two-week heat wave in September, SF is usually chilly as the evening sets in. 

I walked over to Mark and Richard's, and we ate a quiet dinner.  Then friends and band supporters started showing up.  People were putting last minute touches on costumes, borrowing makeup from Ethel.  A young musician from another SF band was there--he was dressed in a complete Ghostbuster's outfit, including the plastic proton blaster on his back.  Ghostbusters?  He had been very young when that came out!.

His girlfriend was more contemporary, doing a great Madonna imitation, and I'm not sure which version of Madonna she was.  The torpedo breast covers were spectacular, and she had cut holes in the blazer she'd bought.  "The woman who sold me this blazer never pictured this," she said.  Three of the menfolk had dressed in drag, but they did it guy-fashion--plenty of beard shadow, hairy chests, and so on. 

This was all fun, but I was restless, and so was Mark.  We generally don't have this much time to kill before a gig.  We couldn't participate in the partying that was going on, so we were at loose ends.  At eight we both begin getting ready to put on makeup, and start the countdown. 

 It takes anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours for Mark and I to get makeup done, get into costume, and get set to go.  Of course I can do it in under an hour if I have to, but that's cutting a lot of corners.  There is a lot of detail that goes into this. On this particular night I was going to wear false eyelashes, which I generally don't do.  That little item adds ten minutes, right there.  And that's if it goes right.

But, hey, I had plenty of time, for once.  I often end up coming over to Mark's place to change.  We load our equipment into some club, and then it's a quick drive over to the apartment, and then back to the club.  The bass player and the drummer, Eddie and Steve, generally go out to eat during this time--all they have to worry about is setting up the instruments.  Mark and I have more to deal with. 

About ten, Eddie and Steve showed up, along with Eddie's partner, Noreen.  By this time Mark and I were almost finished with becoming Ethel and Anita.  Eddie had on a devil costume he'd made from scratch, complete with a pitchfork.  Steve had a thrift store dress on his arm--he decided he was going to do this show in drag himself.  Ethel found him an old curly black wig, and we put some clown-face makeup on him.  He put on white socks and some old black wing-tips, and he was ready to go.  Ethel had on a formal gown.  I was wearing a magenta-and-black striped can-can dancer outfit, a silver bolero jacket, and an enormous Rockette headdress.  My silver heels went into a case; no way was I going to walk up to the stage in them. 

I had thought we were going to take the back route to the stage, through relatively quiet streets, but everyone wanted to go out into the crowds.  At normal street fairs, this is a lot of fun.  People pull out their cameras and take pictures of Ethel and myself, and then take pictures of each other posing with us.  It's time-consuming, but it's great publicity. 

But this crowd was noticeably bigger, and it was elbow-to-elbow out there.  Going a block was heavy lifting, and we got separated into little groups, each one struggling to go forward.  There were gates across each main street, where everyone was checked for weapons and booze.  The cops did not like the suitcase where I keep all my electronics for the guitar and the amp.  I thought they'd give me a quick wave, but no, it was more serious than that.  They had the suitcase open, and were pawing through cords, effect pedals, and 9-volt batteries.  "I'm due on the main stage at 11," I said.  I wasn't expecting any resistance to this information.

"You're supposed to go through the gate at the back of the stage," said one officer.  Just then Steve came up to say, look, it's OK, this is a performer.  "Back off, buddy," said one cop, who actually restrained him.  They were all milling around like they didn't know quite what to do with this.  Richard had already gone through with my guitar--hadn't these guys ever seen guitar effects?  


They're little metal boxes, different colors, and sure, they could be great explosion timers.  Or they could hold a lot of Old Granddad or Johnny Walker Black Label, I suppose.  The police were trying to keep out contraband and troublesome items like the live chainsaw that one partier carried with him in 2002.  I didn't feel like my gig case warranted such concern

Then someone set me free--not sure how it happened, but suddenly I had my suitcase back, and we were through.  But now it was back into the mob again.  There were little pockets of free moving, but not many.  It was a little less intense once we got past one of the smaller stages, where they had a dj going. 

Finally we saw the main stage, up above the intersection of Castro and Market.  They had a gigantic screen behind the performers, and they were simulcasting the show onto the screen.  I begin to feel revved up.  Any nervousness had been worked out of me by having to be so aggressive down in the crowds. 

We were let into the fenced-off area behind stage, and immediately went into the tent back there.  I changed shoes, tuned the guitar, and got out my ski glove liners.  They have the tips of the fingers cut out, so I can keep my hands warm and still play.

The stage manager came back to let us know that we were back on the original schedule, where we'd have 40 minutes to play.  He was a very dynamic guy, and I liked him; I felt that the show was in good hands.  The drums and amps were already set up--they were rentals, so we didn't have to drag any equipment.  This is a mixed blessing.  It can be very tough to play through rented equipment, especially for a guitarist.  We'll get into that more.

Waiting to go on is always a study in trying to be here/now, and not get caught up in living out ahead of the body.  The adrenaline was starting to charge through me, and I was prancing around with my guitar strapped on, doing mindless fingering exercises on the neck.  The MC was wrapping up after the last act; Richard had my suitcase in his hand, at the bottom of the long ramp up to the right side of the stage.  Ethel, Eddie and Steve were over at the left-hand ramp.   


Richard and I had the most work to do--I have a pedal board with all those little colored boxes on it, velcroed into place.  Each one has a job to do in shaping the sound of the guitar, or keeping it in tune.  They're all hooked in series, and I just have to plug them in.  But little glitches can occur, and Richard and I had to be on top of it.  Unlike a normal concert, the set-up time comes out of our playing time.  We don't get any sound checks at festivals like this one.  It's strictly plug-and-play!

So we moved up onto the stage, and the MCs were bantering away, filling in while we went to our places.  Richard and I got to work; pedal board out, cords in place, cord A in slot B.  Then I happened to look back to where the amp was set up, and stopped.  It was not the amp they'd told us they would have up there, no indeedy.  Oh, well!  I was ready for them.

Immediately I said, "Richard, we gotta go with the Pod.  Plug this in."  I handed him an AC adaptor cord.

"What?" said Richard.  "Pod?"  He turned to a stage hand and said, "Plug, please." 

The Pod is a wonderful little digital device.  It's about the size of an answering machine, and it will recreate the sound of 15 different amplifiers, all at the flick of a switch.  The amp they had gotten was a Fender--great amp, a classic.  For playing country rock or blues, it can't be beat.  But for harder rock or metal of all kinds, a Marshall or a Mesa Boogie amp is called for.  Even with these hi-gain amps, I still might have to put boosters in the line before them--that's what one of my pedals does.  But that pedal can only boost so much.  The Pod already has all the boosters on the chip, ready to go.  So in car terms, I can get into a Ford Escort, plug in the pod, and make the Escort a Cadillac or a BMV.

 I had to do some gymnastics to get the Pod into the series with the other pedals, but it went smoothly.  Meanwhile, I can hear the MCs starting to run out of material.  I put the last plug in, turned up the guitar volume, and strummed.  Nothing.  OK, where's the breakdown?  There's many points where the signal can get lost--which is it?  Then I noticed that the Pod switch wasn't on--I clicked it, and this time I heard  "Ka-THUNK-a"  bouncing off the buildings.  Hot dog!  It's live, and I could tell it was the right tone, just in that second's worth of sound.

I had just enough time to adjust my mic, as the MCs were glancing around.  I gave them a nod, and the main host started hyping up the audience , finishing with, "Ladies and Gentleman, the Ethel Merman Experience!"   Steve clicked his sticks, and I started the chicka-chicka string scraping that opens up U2's "Vertigo."


I just brush the strings lightly with my pick, while clamping down on them with the left hand.  That's loads of fun to do an intro like that--it gets the audience fired up anticipating when the guitar's going to come in for real.  Chicka-chicka, chick...then I opened it up, and Steve and Eddie came in behind me.  For a moment, I let the sound roar all around me, while I concentrated on getting the riff firmly lined up.  Then I started to move, making sure I played the slight variations that I'd come up with for that part. . 

After the initial firepower, the song goes back into chicka-chicka, and I looked around for the first time.  The crowd was enormous, filling all the streets at a five way intersection.  There was a barricade in front of the stage, which put them so far away that I really couldn't see anyone clearly.  People were packed on the sides of the stage area, too, which again had distant barriers.  The stage was a large one, so Eddie was way over there, and Ethel was a long way in front of all of us. 


A woman with a video camera appeared to my right (there were three cameras altogether), shooting images for the big screen behind us.  Our friends were very impressed by this video collage, and later described split-screens, solarization, and three-way shots all blended together.  I would have liked to have seen it!

The sound was just wonderful for me;  I was cruising in my Cadillac.  High-volume guitar magnifies whatever tone that's there at the beginning.  It has a lot to do with the interplay between the guitar and the amp/speakers combination..  If they're "talking" to each other, the volume reinforces the warmth and sustain of the sound.  The strings are like liquid under my fingers, and it's easy to play blazingly fast--the electronics are doing most of the work, and I'm just steering the force.

When they're NOT talking to each other, it can be hard work and torture.  There's no reinforcement at all, so the overall sound is hard and brittle.  I have to settle down and grind out every note, and I don't dance around much--I have to labor with the guitar.  The strings become very unforgiving, and every little mistake goes out for six blocks at high decibel levels.  


I visualize the tone as a reservoir, and I'm standing somewhere below the dam.  A good tone uses the pressure of the reservoir, and my notes are like the water being released at the spillway.  You can sense the wall of pressure behind the water flow, as the gate opens and shuts.  


A bad tone is when I'm pumping water out of the reservoir--even if I've got a large pump, there's no feeling of power to it, and if I stop pumping, the sound dies.  When I hear another guitarist struggling with this problem, it's hard to concentrate on the music.  

Thanks to the Pod, the reservoir was full, and the audience was bound to appreciate it.  When the tone's not right, I know I'm letting them down.  When I come to hear a hard rock band doing Led Zeppelin, ZZ Top, and Mountain, I expect to hear that full tone, because the guitarists in those bands were masters at producing it.  I can make it work with less than optimal, but it's a disappointment, and "make-do" is not what I want to hear. 

We played many big rock anthems; "Whole Lotta Love," "Teen Spirit," "Shakin' All Over"--but the one I enjoyed the most was Van Halen's version of "You Really Got Me."  As with many of our cover songs, I begin the song all alone, with full-surge chords.  Then the whole band kicks in, and I'm riding the surf on top of it, still with chords.  But as soon as Ethel starts singing, "Girl, you really got me now..." I settle into playing single notes, on the thickest string. 


 It still sounds very full, because at that volume there's lots of harmonics and overtones that your ear picks up.  But it lets the vocals have center stage.  Then the intensity picks up again, and the guitar comes in full-chord again.  It's a fun game, creating drama between when I let the sound loose, and when I restrain it.  Even the solos need little breathing spaces, although they might be only seconds long.  I'm still working at mastering the silences between the notes!

It was nearing midnight, but we still had time for an encore.  We usually like doing a long medley of the Door's "Roadhouse Blues" mixed with the Standell's "Dirty Water," and it all starts with "Born to be Wild," the old Steppenwolf classic.  But tonight we just did "Born," and ended it like that.  In the movie, Ethel rode onstage on the back of a motorcycle to start this song, but we left out the bells and whistles on this night. 


 I used to rev up the '60 Pontiac when I was out on the 3-C and "Born to be Wild" would come on.  I still try to tap into that boy's enthusiasm when I'm up there playing that song, because the boy never imagined that he could really play that sound that he heard.  He WANTED to, but he thought that that was just an impractical dream.  He was already too old, not right for the part, and he had a commitment to play trumpet.

There is no point in speculating about what was the wrong or right direction to take, but in this reality, the boy took three years before he decided that he was going to go for it.  It's been a long journey from his moment of decision on a spring afternoon in 1971, to that midnight stage in 2005. 


 There have been many detours along the way that I would have rather not taken, but it's working at the moment, and that's where I live.  This band situation uses most of my best talents, and I never thought I'd still be in business featured as a lead guitarist at this late date.  I'm a good lead guitarist, not a great one, and around here there's no shortage of great ones. 


 But dramatic as they are, the leads are only one small part of it.  As the only guitarist, I have to duplicate what two or three guitarists did on record, and blend it all together so there's no seams.  Both Mark and Steve have praised me for my ability to do this at different times, and I appreciated that very much.  "That's a gift you have there," said Mark.  After a gig in June where we played with two other bands, Eddie was speculating on the different bands' strengths and weaknesses, and mentioned in passing, "Guitar--there's no contest, there."

There wasn't any contest this night, as all the other bands had already faded into the night.  We waved and blew kisses at the crowd, and then exited off the back of the stage and got ready to go back and unwind.  We did take the back route, but there were still plenty of people along the way.  


I posed with a Japanese family at one intersection, but most folks were intent on getting out of there.  We went back to the apartment and settled down for a few hours, talking and laughing about high and low points on the gig.  Most of it was smooth, but we had one new song where we briefly fell apart, going in different but interesting directions.  It was probably only ten seconds where the audience wondered, "Wha...," before we reined it in, but it made for some drama.   Sort of like being in bumper cars all of the sudden, and careening all over the place.


  It was fun, too, trying to figure out how to get out of the pickle in a graceful manner.  I ended up cutting the song short and going right into the next one, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief and followed me out of the maze.  Richard said it didn't sound bad, exactly, but it did get weird. 

At 3am, the Bay bridge was still backed up, so I headed out to the Bay bridge's little sister to the south, the San Mateo bridge.  The long way home, but as brother Ron says, my tires kept moving.  I was originally scheduled to set up a job at noon Tuesday, but I cancelled that on Monday morning.  I could see that it was foolish, and the contractor on the job didn't give me any flak--he's an old friend, and he knew what was going on. 

On Friday, November 11th,  I finished up the fall season by playing a benefit for Katrina victims and war veterans.  It was at a Unitarian church, and I was appearing with a Beatles sound-alike band called...the Beadles.  Country Joe MacDonald was the headliner, and there were eight other acts.


 Our band had two women on guitars, girl-me playing bass, and a drummer and a guest keyboard player.  We went over well; we were playing five original songs that my friend Lauren had written as "exercises" in copying Lennon and McCartney.  Very catchy songs,  and it's a shame there's no real market for them

  

Country Joe inspired me with his ability to get up there with just himself and his acoustic guitar, and be entertaining.  For now, though, I'll stick with my electronics.

2006 Some observations about Halloween and 'disguise'

I was recruited to play bass at a Unitarian church service on Halloween morning, and I was going to be playing alongside two fulltime women.  So I was dressed as Anita the Red Cross nurse at 8:30 in the morning, going to get my coffee at the local chain, Peet's.

I was expecting people to be amused--it's Halloween, right?  But they weren't.  At least three people looked at me, and then immediately looked away, as you do when someone is making a social blunder.  It didn't bother me, but I was certainly puzzled. I don't get that reaction when I'm out as a woman on a normal day, and I wouldn't have gotten that reaction the night before, party Saturday, when everyone's dressed.  But I guess it made people uneasy to see someone in costume that early in the morning--it didn't seem appropriate to them.

It showed me once again, how narrow our allowance of other identities really is. We allow very small windows for people to be someone else.  Then we slam them, hard.

I've said it before: a crossdresser breaks two social rules, not just one.  We go out as women, but we also go out ‘disguised.’  (In other people’s opinion—not mine.)  Even before terrorism, it was not cool to ever go out in the U.S. in a disguise, of any kind. I can't go out dressed as a "someone else" of my own gender, either. I can't put on a fireman's outfit, or a doctor's surgical gown, or a military uniform. Oh, I could, but if I were challenged, the consequences would probably be severe. As a society, we believe that anyone pretending to be someone else has to be doing so for criminal purposes. We don't trust adult play.

But as part-time gals, our "disguise" is so outrageous that we get away with breaking this rule. The person living in two genders does have to put up with more talk about being deceptive; people have a hard time understanding why anyone would want to live this way.  I get the feeling that they understand the fulltime transitioned woman better than they do me.  She was born in the wrong body, and she becomes a woman to correct the mistake.  That can make sense to the general public, if they think about it.  But what’s my reason for being a version of a woman?  

Later in the day, of course, people did smile and nod.

The more years I spend doing this, the more I suspect that 99.9% of the guys dressed as women at Halloween are my sisters!  I just don't see the exaggerated soccer ball breasts and mop-head wigs that the non-CD guy is supposed to wear, to show that he's only doing it in fun.  I seldom see any guys dressed as women at all!  It's not a "costume" that the regular guy wants to deal with. 

I still had my nurse's outfit on, and I did make a nice-looking nurse, I think.  A little boy, about 6-7, came up, and said, "You're a man, aren't you?"  He said it in a kind of wonder.

I smiled and said, "Yes, I'm a man."

He then said like he was thinking out loud, "But you're pretending to be a girl."

"That's right. I'm a nurse, just today."

His sister said, "You look like a baby doctor."

"Maybe I'm a baby nurse."

The little boy and I exchanged a few more words about going out trick or treating.  Then he smiled a little and waved good-bye, and he went back to his mother.  I felt like he now knows that some day he might be able to do what I'm doing.  I trust that it gave him some hope, too.

And the service went well, by the way.  I did my first-ever vocal of "Don't Fear the Reaper," by Blue Oyster Cult.  With songs like that at service, the Unitarians are certainly not the traditional church of my childhood, and they're transgender friendly to boot.  Quite a package. I don't see myself as part of organized religion anytime soon, but it's great to know people like the Unitarians.

2004 I gathered up my courage...

I was facilitating the TG support group Friday night, and then had dinner with 3 other trans women at the restaurant across the street. We all part ways, but I'm still "dressed up and ready to go." I don't want to pack it in, just yet. A lot of times I stop at the Claremont, the big resort hotel up on the hill on my way home. But it's too late for the lounge pianist there now. So I go through the Grand Lake district this time. I'm headed for the Alley, a piano bar. It's crowded, and I can't even get near the piano. It doesn't feel good to me, either. I walk out, and I know that down the street's a bar called Smitty's. I never cared much for it as a guy, and probably haven't been there in ten years. I notice that I really DON'T want to go there. I've been in at least two regular bars in Oakland, and nothing happened, but the thought of this one has me spooked, somehow. I'm considering calling it a night, a little disappointed, but not going to take chances, either. Then I get an intuition that I need to do this--that this fear is not about safety concerns, it's more about getting outside my comfort zone. I didn't want to walk the half block, though. I felt self-conscious, so I parked my van right in front of Smitty's. Sat there a minute, got my breath, and went in. I was nicely dressed, but a little on the flashy side with silver 2" heels. I had on a pink silk long-sleeved shirt, open, and a purple slight v-neck blouse. The skirt was just below the knees; a nice floral print on it. I had my  hair combed down over my shoulders. There were men and women, black, white, and Asian. The place was crowded--not a stool open. There was a cramped pool table and a shuffleboard, so every bit of floor space was taken up with the games. No one smirked or whispered that I saw, but they were definitely watching as I walked to the center of the bar to order. I got my drink, and then I wondered where to stand.  I've got an umbrella, a purse, and this drink, and I'm a tall woman standing there sipping away. Every bit of floor space is in somebody's way. I REALLY had to remember to stand tall. I felt I looked nice, but it wasn't doing me any good at the moment. They weren't going to open up to me right away, and I wasn't going to let them know that I was feeling foolish. Right then an attractive black woman at the bar turned around and asked me how the night was going, and we traded some info on bars in the area. Then she introduced me to her friend Holly, who was also attractive. Talking to them made me feel at ease almost instantly, as I could crowd in with them at the bar. Even when they went back to their conversation, I'd broken the ice. I finished the first drink, and it was decision time. Point was made; I'd come in. I didn't have to prove anything more to myself. But just then a stool opened up, and I sat down and ordered a second drink. The owner was an Asian woman in her 60s--she was friendly. The guy bartender warmed up as the night went on; I could see he wasn't sure how he was supposed to treat me. Holly kept popping up beside me--she was getting drunk, was mumbling, and it was hard to understand her. I liked her around, though, and I liked looking at our reflections in the mirror. She was blonde, while my hair looked brown in that light. (hide that gray!) I started in on coffee for a third drink. A group of four rowdy guys stood behind me, and one saw the coffee. "Oh, I was going to buy you a drink, but you're set." I don't know where he was coming from on that one. It wasn't like I was passing, but he seemed sincere. In my experience, guys will usually ignore us if they're with friends. If it's one on one, they'll talk and ask questions. But his friends were right there; gutsy guy. They went on talking and laughing, and I felt like they were showing off a little. Some of it was pretty funny, and I'd turn around and smile. Maybe it was the drinks, but I felt pretty, and after awhile everyone forgot I was there--I was just another girl at the bar. I said thank-you to the bartender and left. I doubt I'll go back there; it seemed like the kind of bar where having a TG woman come in bothers them more than it intrigues them, and there's other Oakland bars besides that one. I did feel good that I pushed myself a little, and I do feel like a missionary. Gotta change the world, one bar at a time.

2003 The second chapter in this life

Like many of us here, I started CDing at 12.  The hormones had kicked in, but there was no way to have much contact with real girls, except talk.  So I created a "fantasy girl" for myself.  I borrowed from my mother, of course, and I found things from my three sisters in storage.  But there were never shoes, wigs, or makeup.  I never imagined going out, and I didn't feel much like a girl. It was a game of sorts. As I started to date, the CDing receded.  This does not seem to happen as we get older; dating and marriage don't make CDing go away.  But it was true for me as a teen. When I went off to college, I burned all my bridges.  Dorm life was just too intimate for CDing--I didn't want the clothes around, and there was little guarantee of privacy.  (I had three roommates for one year!) For the next 31 years or so, I hardly ever CDed.  I now realize how ususual that was, and I have no answers as to why it happened.  If an SO reads this and wonders why her husband can't just stop like I did, I'd have to say that my experience is NOT typical.  When CDing came back, it was like a tidal wave. Not that it went away completely.  I never bought any clothes, because that would have been like an alcoholic bringing home a six-pack "just in case company comes over." There was definitely temptation when I had lived with girlfriends over the years.  What I did was to take those feelings and redirect them toward the girlfriend. I now see how much of my attraction to women was wanting to be them in some way, but I didn't recognize it then.  I put all my longing to act female into my attraction for the GF.  While this might seem like the healthy thing to do, I'm not so sure it is.  I think that some of the obsessions that come up in relationships (jealousy, possession, and so on) have a lot to do with a man trying to get ALL his needs for female expression met by being with a woman.  More on that later. In my early forties, I began a relationship with a woman who I'd known for years.  We'd both always been with other people during that time, but suddenly we were both single.  She was everything I'd ever wanted in a woman, and for the next three years we had a wonderful time.  I finally had no excuses about "if only.."  I got my dreams, and this was a valuable thing.  I could see what worked about the dreams, and I could also see what was never going to work. I had told her from the beginning that I would probably not live with anyone again, until I was retired.  She was OK with this for a long time, but finally insisted that she needed to do this or else.  After a few months of considering it, I knew that I couldn't, and we split up. It seemed sad at the time, but I had finally accepted my limitations.  I knew I couldn't run my business, have a music career, AND have a committed relationship, and do them all well.  Two major areas of life, maybe.  Three major areas, and I became a stressful guy.  I kept trying all those years to "have it all," and I saw that for me, it was never going to be realistic. So what's this got to do with my CDing? For two years after I left my girlfriend, I didn't date.  I had an alcoholic friend who was unemployed, homeless, and in bad health.  He was living with me, and I had to get him out on his own.  Long story, and that took a year.  Meanwhile, I helped form an original band that took off like a rocket.  For the year after my friend left, this kept me riveted.  I didn't think about much else but the band. The band blew up, and I was suddenly on my own; no GF, no homeless friend, and no band family to be with.  That's when I began to feel Anita stirring.  I "discovered" her by doing some bodywork--I opened up a part of me that felt definitely female.  From then on, the feeling began to grow. Some people have compared it to a drumbeat, that keeps getting louder and louder. I'd agree with that, and it's not a pleasant experience It really scared me, but I had to explore it.  It was not going away.  What bothered me that most was that I begin to see that it was a package deal--not only was I going to be dressing as a woman, but I was going to go out in public as one, too. I can't explain why this was so extreme--you would have thought I could have dressed in private again, gotten comfortable with that, and then maybe thought about going out.  I didn't know anything about crossdressing, either.  I knew the jokes about it, and I'd seen maybe one drag show, but it had never occurred to me that men actually went out in public as women.  This was before I learned how to use the Internet.  For all I knew, I'd be the only guy out there doing this.  But I could see that nothing would be resolved until I did. I did have enough presence of mind to run to a support group I found.  After about three meetings, I saw that I wasn't looking to take hormones, or live full-time, and that was a relief to me.  I thought about therapy, but I knew that was just a stalling tactic. I could see what I had to do. About this time I tried another stalling tactic.  I put an ad out that specified that I was looking for a woman who was also dealing with career-vs.-relationship issues.  I got great responses, and settled on a Berkeley doctor who was very attractive and lively, and about my age.  We met and hit it off, and arranged to meet the following week. That's when Anita really came to the fore.  I could see that I was trying to use a new relationship to distract me from having to follow through on the other "new" relationship. I had to call the woman and tell her that it wasn't going to work for me.  She was disappointed, but we did spend some time as friends. Even if I was going out, I had to figure out whether to tell friends and family.  Once again, I couldn't see doing it slowly.  I knew how much energy it was going to take to keep it a secret, and that helped make the decision.  At almost 50, I needed all the energy I could get! So I hit on the idea of performing as a drag queen, as a way of coming out.  I'd always been a performer, and this would be a new act.  I begin to talk about it in a light-hearted way, the way you might say, "Oh, I'm going to take up rock climbing! I want some new challenges." I don't think anyone was fooled into thinking that this was just a new act, but we could all leave the topic at that if we wanted.  This was nice, as people didn't feel obliged to ask more questions if they weren't comfortable.  They could just smile and say, "That's, uh... interesting." I was prepared to pay a high price for this, but to my surprise, it was not as bad as I'd feared. I didn't lose any family or friends.  ( However, they do NOT want to be around my femme self; for the most part. I can understand that, and most of the time it doesn't bother me. ) I wish that I could use this experience to say, "Oh, come out! It's OK, people accept you!" But I'm realistic; for most of us, it's not that easy.  I'm in a good position to do this, as I'm self-employed, and have no wife and no children.  I'm past the point in life where I have to worry about climbing the corporate ladder. People also give me slack because I'm a performer.  This gives me a "reason" to CD, and people are always happier when they can see a logical use for something as mystifying as CDing is. A few more things, here.  I had no idea how I would look as a woman.  I'd never considered it; I always assumed that I would look terrible and stupid.  I look something like guitarist Keith Richards as a guy, and Keith's sharp features don't make you think of the adorable women you've known. So in going out, I had no idea what to expect.  Did people laugh at you on every block? Did they point and stare?  The TG women at the support group didn't talk about this, and I had not asked.  I'd never had any experience with buying clothes. But I was motivated, and I did most of it in one day!  And that night, I saw Anita in the mirror for the first time.  I was amazed.  At least she looked good to ME.  Later I was relieved to find that she looked good to others, too.  But I had no assurance that this would happen at the beginning. I'm much happier around women now, because I no longer need them to meet all my needs for femaleness.  A lot of my obsessions about women had to do with needing them to carry all the female qualities, so that I wouldn't have to express much of them myself. It's considered ‘normal’ to be obsessed about women, and jealous and possessive.  But I can now see where some of that behavior came from in me. I found out that by going out and being the best version of a woman that I can, I get the satisfaction of giving that "gift" to men.  I got the inner message that I was going to become my own "woman" for awhile.  And that's what it's been for me.  By giving out my ideals about being a woman, I get the benefits of them myself.