Breaking the Silence

Today I spoke at the Breaking the Silence conference at the University of Saskatchewan.  This is what I said:

Hello,

My name is Sarah Mathiason, and last year I was the president of the Saskatoon Roller Derby League.  Through my association with roller derby I'm known as Mega. Without a doubt, more people call me Mega than Sarah, and I'm kinda proud of that.  

I am here today because one of the themes of this conference is about 'removing homophobia from the locker room'. Since I am a transwoman roller derby player, it seemed to fit.  Unfortunately, I don't have any tips or hints about how to get past homophobia. None at all.  If you're an LGBT individual, I don't know if there is anything I can tell you that you don't already know.  Homophobia, and non-acceptance in general are tough to deal with.  It's sad actually, that a lot of us have such inner torment, that is unnecessarily caused by outside pressure.  I wasn't unhappy about being a transgirl, until I learned that it was "wrong".  I was still a kid when I learned that being trans was going to ruin my life and the lives of the ones I love.  A psychologist said that when I was 13, and I believed it.

I suppressed my feelings for a very long time.  I can't remember far enough to when my first trans-related feelings were, but I kept it a secret from everyone but my parents until I was 34 years old.  That is a 30-year secret.  That takes a toll.

Even when society began to ease up, I still had my early life lessons ingrained so deep in me, that I kept on suppressing my true self likely far longer than I needed to.   So as for tips about how any transwomen out there can deal with homophobia, I can't really say, because for most of my life, I hid from it.  

So instead, I'm going to talk about roller derby.  Actually, what I want to talk about today is probably best heard by your sports associations, by your coaches and captains and your teammates.   I told my league that I was coming here to gush about them, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.  I'm here to talk about my experiences in SRDL, and how I think roller derby as a whole has removed homophobia from the locker room by being a community.

I want to tell you a little bit about myself.  I am a 41 year old, male-to-female transsexual.  Growing up, I had a great family but I was a very reserved and introverted child.  I didn't really know how to be a boy, and society didn't seem willing to let me be me, so I coped by withdrawing.  This continued as I grew into adulthood. I rarely had more than 4 friends at one time.  At my lowest point, right before I transitioned I was so withdrawn and depressed, I was in danger of losing all my friends entirely, if not more.

Thankfully, that changed when I transitioned. I was 34 and I came out to a mostly positive and happy reception.   I lost a couple of friends during the process, but their negativity wasn't welcome anyway.   In general, I was a happy new woman, and my social circle swelled to 6. 

A few years later I became interested in roller derby.  I had just seen the movie Whip It… and something about it really spoke to me.  Before I looked into joining Saskatoon's league, I did some research into gender policies. Only one league, the Bay Area Derby Girls from San Francisco, had a policy published online.   It stated essentially what Easy Break* spoke of earlier.  We had to be "hormonally female" and be able to provide documentation if asked.  I set off to my first practice with that policy printed out and my last blood work results in my bag, just in case there was a problem.  I just want to mention that it's been over three years since that night, and there hasn't been a single problem yet. 

As I pulled up to the practice venue, my heart was pounding. 

I hadn't participated in sports since elementary school, so I was pretty nervous. 

On top of that, I was a transsexual, about to join an all-female sports league. My stomach was churning.

Worst of all was the nagging thought in the back of my mind reminding me that I had no fucking clue how to skate. 

I was a nervous wreck that first night, but I made it through, and I kept on showing up for practices and felt myself getting better, stronger, and more confident.  I was so concerned with improving my skills that I forgot to worry about any trans issues at all until one night, two months after I started, I was asked to play in a bout.

At the time our league had one team.  Oil City was coming in to play us and they wanted to bring two teams, so we were scrambling to fill a second roster.  When asked to play, I accepted the request immediately, and then immediately after that, anxiety began to rise up in me.  I had never asked what my league's policy was.  Dozens of "What ifs" played out in my head. 

"What if they actually have a policy against it?" 

"What if they don't let me play?"

"What if I have to argue and fight and risk losing my new friends in order to get my way?" 

"What if I get kicked from the league?"

It weighed heavily on my mind, but I'm a habitual procrastinator, so I waited until about a day before the roster was to be submitted before I spoke to Bonehawk, the president of the league.  I said, "I just want you to know, I'm transgendered.  I hope that doesn't cause you any problems." 

She replied "I know.   I read your blog."  It turns out she had read it weeks earlier, so all that anxiety was for nothing.  Bonehawk added something that I won't soon forget: "Roller derby is for women of all shapes and sizes, from all walks of life.  You qualify.  You're welcome to play with us any day."

After that talk, my anxiety faded.  When I started with the league, I tried to keep my gender situation stealthy, but that's just not me.  Bonehawk's comments made me feel free to just be me - and once I felt free, I started to make some seriously good friends.  Eventually the particulars of my gender situation became known to the entire league, and beyond.  It didn't bother me one bit, nor did it bother anyone else. 

Time went on, and  I didn't think I could have been happier with the league.  Then I got a call from my surgeon.  It was time to go in for my orchiectomy, which if you are not familiar it means "ball chop". I was laying in a hospital bed, feeling a bit sad because the rest of my team was in Calgary without me.  Then the messages started coming in, wishing me well and congratulating me on the surgery, saying they wished I was there, but understood the importance of that operation.  The feeling of inclusion and acceptance really struck me.  I'd heard the phrase "roller derby community" before, but suddenly I felt it.  I wasn't the self-imposed outcast I used to be. I had friends, I had support, I was loved, and I was important.

Over the years, roller derby has brought me a lot of experiences.  I've felt what it was like to be part of a team.  I have competed, travelled, won and lost.  I have appeared in televised games, been interviewed by reporters,  and once had a section of fans cheering my name in unison.  I've had some great times.  I sometimes wonder what that scared little closeted transkid I used to be would have thought if she knew her future self would someday be elected president of a women's sports league.  After everything I experienced though, none compare to the fact that I found a group of people I can call my own.  We lean on each other, we help each other out. I found a second family.  I truly believe the most important thing about derby is being part of the roller derby community. 

There is just something about our community.  Bonehawk hinted at it when we spoke years ago, but I didn't really hear it because I was too focused on myself.  I know now what she was talking about.  She was saying that no matter who you are, what your background is, religious beliefs, what you do for work, or what you do in the bedroom, there is a place for you - but not because we're just so open-minded, and not because we think we have a superior attitude than the rest of society, nothing like that.  This might seem circular, but there is a place for everyone in our community simply because we decided there should be,  and its our sense of community that prevents us from ever changing that decision. 

Thanks for letting me share this with you.

* Easy Break Oven, a transwoman from the Oil City Derby Girls presented earlier, and spoke about the WFTDA gender policy hormonal requirements.

Give Her a Tip

On July Friday the 13^th my derby wife had her 30^th birthday party.  She called it the "Pants-off Dance-off".  No pants allowed.  I wore a skirt.  Most people wore shorts.  Some misunderstood entirely and showed up in their underwear.  As it turned out the title “Pants-off Dance-off” was likely named for the entertainment. 

Gin’s husband is in a band, so when we were told there was going to be entertainment we expected live music.  We were wrong.  We were herded into the basement, but the band was not there.  We patiently waited in the semi-dark a while, chatting and joking, when suddenly a blonde woman shouted “who wants to see some tits?”  Everyone looked at her like who is this weirdo? and so she had to shout “Serious, who wants to see some tits??” then she started dancing and the clothes started to come off.  Not meaning to sound lewd, it was really entertaining to watch.

A second dancer came out.  A brunette.  She was entertaining in a different way.  The blonde woman was very athletic and strong and I appreciated the muscles under her skin. The brunette woman was fascinating because of just how well she knew how to… be a stripper.  She looked like she was having the best night of her life with her favorite people in the world. I couldn't take my eyes off her if I wanted to.

Brunette brought out a chair, pulled Gin onto it, and started giving her a lap dance.  Gin was laughing and having a good time. I envied that. I was thinking about how uncomfortable I would be in that same position.  As if Gin could read my mind, she said something to the woman on her lap and in unison they both looked directly at me.  My heart sunk. Seconds later, the two of them took me by the arms.  Before I knew it, I was sitting on that chair with a fully naked woman writhing all over me.  Sensing my discomfort she put her arms around my neck, pulled herself close and whispered in my ear, "don’t feel weird, just love it."  Despite the advice, that moment was probably the most awkward I had felt in a long time… until about 30 seconds later when something far far far more awkward happened.

The dancer was doing her thing when suddenly she arched her back across my lap.  I raised my hands to support her.  I don't think I was supposed to touch her but she just really didn't feel stable. I like to promote stability in the naked women whose weight is on me so I put my right hand under her shoulder blades and my left hand under her ass.  She obviously accepted that offer of support because I felt her weight come down on both hands.  Then without warning she raised her right leg straight up in the air. 

With her right leg up like that, her butt cheek completely changed shape and position. I no longer felt any weight on the fingers of my left hand.  Without thinking, I allowed them to curl up for a better grip.  I swear, dear reader, that I had no idea my pinky finger was so close to her vagina.  

When I curled up my fingers I was shocked to discover that I had just made intimate contact with her lady-area.  When I say intimate, I mean penetration.  Pinky-in-the-pink.  I was told that the look on my face at that moment was "priceless".  The people watching all gasped and pointed and laughed. I felt more "horrified" than priceless as I sat there at the focal point of a group of on-lookers;  naked woman on my lap,  damp fingertip.  

Twice in my life I've had a group of people cheering my name in unison.  Once was during the "Mindfox vs Ladykillers" game, and the other was Friday, July 13th 2012, shortly after I put my finger in a stripper. 

~~~

The entertainment stayed at the party after they finished performing.  They (put on clothes and) hung out, drank and mingled with us.  I brought the brunette dancer a Palm Bay - "Official drink of the SRDL" - and I sincerely apologized for the poke.  She said that it was hilarious and I shouldn't worry about it (and that I had beautiful eyes).  Bella von Bastard walked over and said "You know Mega, you should probably give her a tip." Then she held up her hand, fingers curled in except her littlest finger, "I mean like money, not your fingertip again."

Epidemic

On Friday I was making kisses noises at Buddies. He considers this a prelude to an attack so he was frowning, his crest was slicked back, and his beak was open and ready to strike. Just before he lunged at my face, he rapid-fire sneezed three times. Bird snot speckled my face but my puckered-up lips bore the brunt of it. Now today I have a cold. 

It sucks, but it is looking like I am patient-zero for the bird flu. Sorry about the epidemic guys.

Random Act

I was sitting at my computer trying to determine what Chinese food to order when through the blinds I noticed something colourful outside the window, moving towards my back door.

I got up and went to the back door. When I arrived I saw a kid standing there.  He was about 11 or 12.  Short brown hair, green shirt.  Oh, and he was holding 5 helium-filled balloons.

He knocked. I opened the door.  He didn't say anything, and neither did I.  We just looked at each other for a few seconds.  Then he held out the hand that was holding the balloons.  I took them from him.

The kid turned around and walked slowly down the driveway.  He didn't look back. He made a left at the sidewalk and disappeared out of view.

I looked at the balloons.  Two blue, a pink, green and a yellow.  The yellow one has Mickey Mouse on it.  All five were tied to a piece of paper that said "COURTESY OF A RANDOM ACT OF KINDNESS"

My Derby Wife

What does the term “derby wife” mean to you? Do you have a derby wife? Tell me about her. 

A 'derby wife' is something that I thought was silly when I joined derby.  I didn't think I would ever have one and I didn't even want one.  Then I met Gin.

Gin helps me train, she motivates me, she helps me learn, she helps me get off my ass and get to practice... but our relationship is much deeper than just workout buddies.  There are real emotions between us.   I respect her deeply.  I see parallels between her life experiences and my own.  We trust each other fully.  She is the safest person in my life and I can tell her anything.  She is always there for me when I need her.   She is wise, smart, and knowledgeable.  She entertains me with her antics and her quirks just endear her to me more each day. She makes me smile just by a stray thought of her.  Gin is often the first and last person I think about every day.  She is my best friend.

Identifying someone as your derby wife, if you're doing it right, is just another way to say you love her.

Roller Derby Face

As I mentioned in my last blog article, I recently joined a roller derby league. About a month ago I was trying to hit a jammer who was just a little bit faster than I was. I was trying to hit low, but missed entirely and ended up hitting the ground instead - with my face.

A Sign of Intelligence

I haven't written in my blog in a long time, but that is probably good news for any readers I might still have because if I had been blogging, chances are good that every single blog article would be about roller derby. Yep, in February I joined the Saskatoon Roller Derby League and since then derby is always on my mind. We practice three times a week, I skate on my own most evenings, and it seems like every weekend we have a fundraiser so that we can afford to rent places to practice. This past weekend was an event called "Dirty Dogs and Derby Girls" where we washed dogs to raise money. Since dogs give me asthma something fierce I let the other girls wash the dogs, while I kept well away. In fact I was several blocks away at a busy corner holding a sign advertising the dog wash. To me, skating around at a busy intersection makes a hell of a lot more sense than being near those evil deadly poisonous dogs.

I was out there for two hours at the corner of 8th and McKercher on a little triangle of concrete. The goal was to get people to see my sign, so I wore my skates and my jersey and tried to skate around a bit to catch the eye of drivers. It was pretty windy out, and my sign was acting like a sail, but I think the skates were still a good idea because I actually seemed to get a lot of attention. As cars stopped at the red lights I looked at all the drivers and almost all of them were looking at me. A few people even shouted things at me, like asking to see my sign better, or asking how much it cost to get a dog washed. One woman actually got out of her car at the red light, walked over to me and asked where the dog wash was.

Not everyone who said something to me was interested in the dog wash though. Some people were more interested in my derby outfit. A guy who looked a lot like Big Moose from Archie comics yelled "ROLLERGIRLS ROCK!" as he sped by in an over-sized truck. One woman yelled "I LOVE YOUR SKATES!" A while later a younger woman passenger leaned her head out of her window and shouted "WHAT'S YOUR DERBY NAME?"* I turned around so she could read the back of my jersey. It was a boring job, but I have to admit - I was enjoying the attention.

Over an hour of sign-holding later, the dust and the wind were getting to me so I took a short break. I skated into the 7-11** for a slurpee. I also took this time to put down my sign and pull out my headphones. After I had some 80s music playing I picked up my sign and headed back out to my windy concrete triangle.

I wasn't out there for more than a few seconds before some guy yelled something at me. I couldn't determine what he was saying, but I smiled and waved and spun around on my skates. To my surprise it was only about a minute later that some other guy was yelling something at me. I thought the wind must have blown my hair into something cute for once, and I waved and smiled at him before his light turned green and he drove away. Then mere seconds later someone else was shouting something at me! I didn't know what was going on. I was getting so much attention! What fun! I pointed my sign at her and waved happily.

The woman obviously didn't want to see the sign because even after I showed it to her she was shouting at me again. I thought maybe she wanted to see my derby name too or something like that, so I pulled my headphones off so I could hear her. Once I had them off she repeated herself, "YOUR SIGN IS UPSIDE-DOWN!"

* My derby name is Mega BiteMe. It is part computer reference, part taunt.

** I skate a lot these days, and I've adopted the policy that if any business does not have a sign prohibiting rollerskates on their door, then they must be allowed, and I will skate into them (but very slowly and mindful of other customers of course). So far businesses that seem to be rollerskate friendly are McDonald's, Starbucks, Sobey's, 7-11, two different Sasktel stores, and Shopper's Drug mart.

A Couple of Pictures

7-Eleven Zero

When I work the evening shift I like to make a trip to the nearby 7-11 at around supper time. I usually just get a diet coke, but sometimes I make the unfortunate decision to buy food as well. Tonight was just such an occasion.

I pulled up to 7-Eleven this evening to see the usual scenario. Two staff members were outside smoking, leaving only one inside to deal with a line of customers. I held my breath through the cloud of smoke and made my way inside. I got my diet coke and decided I was a little bit hungry. I peeked inside their display case of various deep-fried foods. For some reason the onion rings looked good to me, but I wasn’t willing to eat many of them. I hoped that they had a small size I could order.

The line was moving slowly, since the other two clerks were still outside. They appeared to be done smoking, so I assumed they were talking about how unique they were for having eyebrow and lip rings. Once I finally got to the front I asked the clerk, “What sizes do your onion rings come in?”

According to his nametag, his name was Myles. Myles looked at me like I had just asked the stupidest question he had ever heard. He shrugged, frowned, scowled, shook his head, and in his best Napoleon Dynamite voice he said, “Uuuh… they come in assorted sizes?” His statement-spoken-as-a-question had that tone of teenage superiority that indicated he felt he just answered something that was plainly obvious.

Not yet knowing why he thought I was so stupid, I ignored the tone and all of his theatrical facial expression and asked, “Ok… so do they come in small?”

With audible disdain Myles sighed loudly and said, “…j-sa-sec.” He turned and plodded with Frankenstein-like enthusiasm to the display case. He picked up a pair of tongs, opened the display case door, then started to do something in there. The display case was on the opposite side of the counter and his back was to me, so I didn’t know what he was doing, but he appeared to be sorting the onion rings. He paused and turned around and said, “How small do you want them?” Then he held up the tongs and pinched between them was a wee tiny onion ring. “This size?”

Realizing the weird way he misinterpreted my request I tried to explain away the confusion. I said, “I wanted a small order of onion rings, not an order of small onion rings.” Myles looked very confused and after a few seconds of frowning he tried to say ‘What?’ but it came out as “Wut?”

I didn’t know how to explain this so that he’d understand, so I just backed off entirely. “Nevermind what I said before. Just give me a regular order of onion rings.”

I ended up getting my onion rings and was even able to return to my office within my break. I did get way more than I wanted to eat. There were well over a dozen in that bag, and I ate them all.
At least they were small.

Big Hairy Deal

When you go for treatment, they say that laser hair removal is permanent, but they give you a quiet disclaimer. Back in 2004, after ten painful sessions I was proud to say that my face had permanent hair loss, but just to spoil my happiness I had that disclaimer nagging away at me - “in the hair loss industry ‘permanent’ means ‘up to three years’”.

It had been over four years since my last round of lasers, so around Christmas time when I noticed some re-growth I wasn’t too surprised. It wasn’t bad at all, and it just took a couple swipes of a pink razor and I was good to go.

As the months progressed, more re-growth showed up. I noticed it took a few more swipes and a layer of foundation before I felt comfortable. Finally in recent weeks, even with full-on shaving and a generous portion of foundation I felt as though I looked like ‘Road Trip’ Sylar from season 3 of Heroes.

Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

Last week I was driving home from work and heard a commercial for Nirvana Laser Hair and Skin. At about the exact same moment I noticed I was driving past the clinic, their phone number in huge letters on the sign. I picked up my phone and called to make an appointment. The woman on the other end of the call wouldn’t let me make an appointment without my credit card number though. It seems they are worried that people will not show up for their appointments and therefore won’t make them without a credit card number.

When I got home I called back, credit card in hand. I asked for their earliest appointment. I’ve been working nights, so an 8:00 appointment would be ideal, but it was unlikely they’d be open. I was hoping to get in right at 9:00. The woman said she had one available for 11:30. I asked her to check if there was anything earlier and she replied, “The doctor doesn’t come in until 11:30.” I took the 11:30.

~~~

Later that evening I decided I wanted to colour my hair something dark. When I was all done with the dye I noticed that my bangs were really long. I decided it was time to get someone professional to look at them.

It was already 7:00pm, so instead of waiting until morning so my wonderful friend Joanne* could cut my bangs, I drove down to Ultracuts. I asked the girl there to cut them to the level of my eyebrows. I also told her that they usually leave them longer at the sides, and a little bit shorter as you come in because I sweep my bangs to both sides. I showed her in the mirror what I was talking about. It shouldn't have been hard to visualize what I wanted because my bangs were already cut that way, I just wanted them a wee bit shorter.

She nodded as if she knew exactly what I meant, then squirted down my hair and stood in front of me for a while. After a couple of minutes she stood back to reveal my bangs. “Is this a good length?” she said.

My bangs were cut straight across in a perfect line across my forehead. I said the length was perfect. She then stood in front of me again and started snipping away. Looking back on that moment I wonder why she even bothered to ask about the length if she wasn’t going to pay attention to the answer. At the time though I just assumed she was cutting them the way I had asked.

When she moved out from between me and the mirror my bangs were brushed to either side, but they looked awfully short, and just plain weird. My heart sunk a little bit, but I just told myself that once I got home I could do my hair the way I do it and it would look fine. I was wrong.

When I got home I washed my hair and then blow dried it and I got to see the extent of the damage. Not only were my bangs now about 2 cm ABOVE my eyebrows, but she cut them a uniform length across my forehead. Even worse was that she had cut my bangs way to far back. My bangs started at my temples!!! Given my new dark hair, and the semi-circle of short, ruler-edged bangs, I was now sporting a Spock-mullet!

Picture of Sarah: Sept 2009.

To add even more insult to this awful haircut experience, when I was paying the bill the debit machine asked me for a tip amount. I actually typed in a tip**! Now the girl is going to think she did a good job, and also that I *wanted* to look like a space alien.

~~~

The next morning I went to Nirvana. I arrived about ten minutes early. I hoped the place would be dead, but it had quite a few people in there. I was very self-conscious of my Spock-mullet and Sylar-stubble so after I checked in, I picked a spot next to the window where I could sit alone and fill out the stack of forms the receptionist gave me.

While most of the forms were explaining possible side-effects, the entirety of page five was for explaining that they will take $50 off your credit card should you be a no-show for your appointment. I thought it was weird that they spend fewer words on side-effects than on their no-show policy. Even though I really don’t agree with it, I signed the form anyway. I handed my forms back in and looked at the time. 11:30 on the nose, perfect timing.

Half an hour later my name still hadn’t been called. Nobody had been called actually. I was getting really impatient, and really hot. The sun was beating down on me through that window, but now I had no place to move to unless I wanted to sit right next to someone else. I just sat there baking in the sun and stewing in my own impatience. A few minutes more in that heat and I wouldn’t need lasers to cook my follicles.

There was another woman waiting nearby. She looked very grandmotherly and pleasant. I imagined that her name was Betsy and in her spare time she bakes cupcakes and wears a bonnet. Betsy went up to the counter and said “How much longer?? I’ve been here 40 minutes!” She didn’t sound nearly as grandmotherly as she looked, but I still got the sense that despite her annoyed tone she was still just a fraction of a second away from handing out cookies from a hidden stash in that suitcase of a purse she was carrying. The receptionist said, “Literally just one more minute. The doctor just arrived.”

The doctor just arrived?? Her day doesn’t start until 11:30 and she still doesn’t roll in until after 12:00?? I was worried that since it was already noon she might break for lunch and keep me waiting another hour. I couldn’t believe that a business that charges its customers $50 if they don’t show up could possibly be run by someone who doesn’t show up herself.

We all sat there about ten more minutes, and I am sure we were all thinking the same thing when finally the doctor emerged from the back and called Betsy into a room. A few minutes after that, the receptionist interrupted my sun bathing and took me into a different treatment room.

I only waited in the room for about 30 seconds when the doctor came in. She was an older lady with curly poodle hair and an amazingly smooth face. There wasn’t a blemish or crease and I couldn’t tell if she was 50 or 70, but I also couldn’t tell if she hadn’t just been stung by bees. She seemed pleasant enough, and when her plumped-up lips parted she said, “Good morning!”. It was actually afternoon by this time, but I didn’t correct her. She continued speaking. “My name is Dr. Genesis.”

Dr. Genesis??! This just could not be her original name. I have no problem when people change their name – I’ve done it myself - but she named herself after her profession? She clearly wanted to associate her name with feelings of “coming into being” caused by the rejuvenation of appearance that she provides by injecting you with Botox. It was like when centuries ago people found last names in what they did for a living, like Smith, Carpenter or Farmer, except in an extremely corny way. It is just a hard name to take seriously. When I think of the name ‘Dr. Genesis’ I imagine that is what Phil Collins’ character would be named in World of Warcraft.***

Anyway, Dr Genesis asked, “So are you ready for this?”

I wasn’t all that annoyed at this point to be honest. When I got called into the treatment room my feelings of anxiety and frustration over the long wait slipped away and were replaced by feelings anxiety and fear over the pain this treatment was going to cause me. Still, I didn’t like that she was so late for our appointment considering that my punctuality is enforced by a monetary penalty.

I said, “Yes, actually I was ready forty-five minutes ago.” I smiled to lessen the effect of the words, but it probably just made me look more antagonistic. Sometimes my smiles do that.

She immediately said, “Feel free to leave then if you’re in such a hurry.” Dr Genesis was annoyed so quickly that I wondered if maybe Betsy had mentioned something too.

I said, “I don’t want to leave, I just thought it was worth mentioning that my appointment was for 45 minutes ago.”

“Go then. If you don’t want treatment you can just go. We’re not making you stay.”

I said, “Well you kind of are making me stay because you’d charge me $50 if I left. Actually if *I* showed up 45 minutes late you’d probably have already charged my credit card by the time I showed up.”

“Well you can just leave them. It’s fine, you can leave if you think this is taking too long.”

“I’ve waited this long, I clearly want the treatment, I just think there is a double-standard going on here that needed to be acknowledged.”

I really just thought she would have acknowledged her lateness and said sorry, I didn’t expect her to react in this way. She had just told me to leave several times in the past minute and I was growing tired of it. I said, “I’m not leaving let’s just get on with it!” And we did. Dr. Genesis and I got down to business and she spent a full 4 or 5 minutes with me explaining the procedure before handing me off to a laser technician.

When the technician began the pain was quite incredible. The last time I had this done it was very painful, but I didn’t think it was anyhere near as bad. Last time it felt like red hot needles were poked into my face. This time it also felt like that, but in addition I felt every follicle explode and sizzle and the inner layers of my skin felt baked. It hurt so much worse than normal I asked the technician to stop after about 30 seconds.

I got up and looked in the mirror and saw that the affected areas were strewn with burnt black hairs that were literally exploded out of my pores. My skin didn’t look like it was worse for wear except for a blotchy purply redness. The technician also assured me this was all very normal, but conceded to turn down the power at my request. I got back on the table and let her continue.

The session was still very painful. I had to ask her to stop several times for a break from the pain. It was worth it to me though because it felt like it was going to be so much more effective than last time. Last time I went for ten treatments. With any luck this time I’ll only need to go five or so.

~~~

When I got home I looked at myself in the mirror. My bangs were ridiculously short. My face was red and purple and blotchy all over. My chin was speckled with the occasional corpses of dead burnt hairs that were somehow reminiscent of Michael Jackson’s beard. I looked terrible. I was very glad that I was working nights so that nobody would see me looking like this.

By this point I had been awake close to 24 hours, so I was very ready for bed. Before drifting off I paused for a moment for a short prayer. I am not a religious woman at all, I think it is all ridiculous and utter nonsense. Still, every once in a while I find myself throwing a silent plea out there according to the outlandish premise that there is someone listening to my thoughts who might be able to magically affect events in my life. Despite the futility of it all, my silent plea was that the hair on my chin would stop growing, and that the hair on the top of my head would grow faster.

* Joanne is the owner of Hush salon, downtown Saskatoon. Go get her to cut your hair right now!

** I think it is funny that I can’t even snub a machine when it asks for a tip.

*** I obviously changed my name to Sarah, but I really did consider spelling it Saraa – which is how I spelled my character’s name in World of Warcraft.

Star Trek

When I was a kid I used to stand in the basement and just look at the shelves. They were filled with book after book after book covering a lot of the available wall space. My dad loved science fiction, and he loved science fiction novels. Sometimes he bought two or three books at a time, and many of them he didn't even get a chance to read. He told me once that he'd read them when he retired. Well, he didn't make it that far. He died several years ago, and those books were left unopened. I couldn't help but feel sad and wonder which books he had on his retirement-to-do list. I was pretty sure that high on that list, if not already read, were his Star Trek novels. My dad was a fan.

When VCRs became somewhat reasonably priced in the late 70s or early 80s my dad bought one. It was absolutely huge compared to VCRs these days, but that was OK because so were TVs. That first VCR we owned was part silver and part fake-wood, but all plastic. It was a spring powered top-loader that made you think you'd lose a finger if you were too close when the 'eject' button was pressed. With all this advanced technology, I think the feature Dad used most was the remote. It had only one function - it let you pause while playing or recording. Best of all it was connected to the VCR with a 12 foot wire. With that VCR and the high-tech remote, Dad was no longer collecting Star Trek books - he was collecting Star Trek episodes.

I must have been around 10 or 11 years old when Dad started recording Star Trek off the CBC every weekend. We'd watch it as he recorded it, careful to pause recording during the commercials. I remember a few times he'd entrust me to man the remote, and more than once or twice he'd try to hide his disappointment when he realized I had paused it for the commercials, but forgot to unpause it when they were over. He was never upset about it though, because he knew it would be on again in the future.

As the time went by and we got more cable channels Star Trek seemed to be on more frequently until eventually Dad had every episode, mostly in order, with commericals edited out. During that time, my sister and I (and even my mom - although probably reluctantly) watched a lot of Star Trek.

When the newer Star Trek series came out like The Next Generation or Deep Space Nine, and Voyager, Dad recorded them too. Soon he had to put up more shelves in the basement to hold all the VHS tapes.

He told me that despite the newer special effects in the new episodes, he still preferred the original series. He said that the characters of Kirk, Spock, and Bones made the show for him. He loved their personalities, interactions and relationships. I always preferred that series as well, in no small part due to the fact that I saw most of them with my dad.

When I found out they were making a new Star Trek movie, I was excited. I was even more excited to hear that they were bringing back the original crew, my dad's favorites. Some people were upset that they were using younger actors to play these iconic roles , but I didn't care. Afterall, my dad said it was the characters that made the show great, and I think he was right. My excitement over the new movie was tempered though. I couldn't help thinking that Dad would have loved to have been around to see it, and I would have gone with him.

That got me thinking. I still remember the day he took me to the first Star Trek movie, and I still remember the solemn look on his face when Spock died in The Wrath of Khan (I cried, by the way). It just didn't feel right to me, to go see this movie without him. It just seemed like something I should be doing with my dad, so I had an idea.

I asked my family; Mom, Jenn and her husband Nick, and of course Heather to save May 8th for me so that we could all go see this movie together. I picked up the tickets last week, and I got one extra. When we chose our seats in the theatre, we left an empty one in the middle of our group. I like to think that is where Dad would have sat if he could have made it. Dad would have loved that movie if he had been there, I know I did. Even better, it just felt special to me, having bought him a seat and surrounding it with his loved ones.

I wish you had been there Dad, it was a good time. We all thought about you and missed you.

Dad's ticket

P.S. Thanks to Heather, Mom, Nick and Jenn for adhering to my strict timetable, seat preferences and seating plan. It was perfect.

Plenty of Fish

I was very angry at plentyoffish.com for a while, but I've decided to look past our differences because it is free. It was extremely frustrating to have my profile deleted on a consistent basis, but so far I've been online with them for over a year without any trouble. Normally I'd probably want to take a stand and refuse to use a service who would delete profiles just because they are transgendered but, like I said, it is free. For those interested, I did find out from an administrator that it isn't PoF policy to delete transsexuals on sight, but it is their policy to delete all profiles that generate even one complaint. So, even though I have been enjoying the site for a while now without incident, all it takes is one complaint from one devout christian, and my "offensive" profile will be deleted. Until then, I'll just continue checking my mail each week.

Do you drink? Socially Marital Status: Single Profession: Programmer Smarts: Some college Hi there, thanks for checking out my profile but before you read any further, I'd like to make sure you know that I am a transgender woman (if you have any questions about that please ask). Other than that though, I'm just your average woman that likes to drink slurpees too fast and sleep too late in the mornings. I love to spend an evening in a coffee shop or out for dinner, (occasionally I like to go out for some drinks too) but mostly I'm a homebody. I am a smart, funny 35 year old who is looking for a smart local guy who likes to hang out, likes computers and the outdoors, and can make me laugh me with jokes containing 80's pop culture references.

My offensive profile on PlentyofFish.com

(clearly it hasnt been updated recently.

I wish I was still 35).

I don't go on PoF frequently, maybe once a week. It is fun to peruse the letters I am sent while I eat some lunch. Normally it is all the same old thing. I think I've mentioned before that I should keep a record of my responses so I can just paste them into new conversations instead of retyping it each time. For the most part I'd only need to keep a master list of 5 or 6 responses because I'd say 95% of people ask the same things with very little variation. The remaining 5% is a bit more unpredictable.

Usually the remaining 5% send me messages of an extreme vulgar nature that leave me speechless. For example, last week a guy named Mike said, "I am tired of trying to ask you out nicely that hasnt seemed to work, so _________" He said a number of rude and vulgr things about what he wants to do to me, then followed it with ,"Interested?"

Messages like this don't even deserve a response.

Today though I received a message from someone named Jamshid. It was nothing like any message I have received on PoF.com before. It made me LOL IRL.

Hello Sarah,I is me again, I have read your progfile and wonder if you can help me?
1.I receive the message: error on page, what should I do?
2.I have 7Mbps internet, but practically,the speed of my internet is too low. I am using router. Is the problem from router? or somthing wrong in my PC?
IF you don't like to communicate with me it is fine and accpetable. But I hope you can find answer to my PC problems.
Thanks,
Jamshid

Sarah is a Momma Again!

As you know, a while back I got a pet. I remember being very unsure if I should or not, and then Megan and Jenn W talked me into it. What started off as a nice lunch turned into them taking me to the pet store where I bought little Babies. I was surprised at how smart he was, and even more surprised at how much personality a bird has. I would spend hours watching his antics and laughing at the weird, random, things he does. It wasn't long before we became best friends. Probably the best thing I have ever done is get a pet bird, so several months later I decided that it just made sense to get another one.

I was cautious about getting another bird though because I live in an apartment, and noise is a concern. I've heard how Babies will reply loudly to other birds he hears outside (or on TV), so I was a little worried that two cockatiels in the same apartment might play off of each other and turn out to be infinitely louder than just one.

Despite my fears about noise, I always thought that Babies' life would be enriched by having another cockatiel around. They are social animals, and although I try to be around as much as I can, it isn't always possible. Even if I am home, I cannot always pay him attention because of work. I decided that I was reluctant to get my first bird and it turned out great, so I should just get over my reluctance to get a second. I found I began checking out pet stores for another little feathery companion.

The pet store I bougt Babies from is Petcetera. I do not like the condition of the cockatiels they have. They have ratty tails, and the birds are antisocial. Their water looks disgusting and the cages are dirty. Some people might think that you should buy your pet from a place that takes better care of them, but whenever I am in that store I find I want to rescue those birds. It was no exception when I was there on the weekend. I visited them on Thursday night, and again on Saturday afternoon.

Saturday afternoon I saw they had the same three birds as on Thursday. They had two friendly looking pearl cockatiels in a cage together, and above them was a small little grey cockatiel sitting on a perch all alone in his cage. The pearls had very frayed and short tails, but otherwise they looked beautiful. They both seemed to be very happy, and they were grooming each other. The grey cockatiel looked angry.

I asked the girl at the cash register how much the pearls were, and she told me. They were $109 each. I told her I wanted to get one. She said she'd be with me in a moment.

I walked back over to the birds and I watched the two pearls grooming each other. I couldn't tell which one was cuter, but I started to feel guilty about splitting up the pair. When the girl showed up she asked which one I wanted, so I picked the bigger one hoping he was male. (I love cockatiels, but I don't want little baby ones running around).

She had a flattened box in her hands and was trying to open it back up and tape it so it could hold a bird. To break the silence I pointed to the grey one in the top cage and said, "Last time I was here there was a sign up saying this guy was already sold."

She incorrectly called him a female and said, "Yeah, she was sold, and then they returned her. She's had it rough. She had a cage buddy for months and then we sold him and she was all alone. Then we sold her and they took her home, got her wings clipped, then brought her back because they didn't want a female. She's been depressed ever since." Then she opened up the bottom cage and said, "Which of these two do you want?"

I just felt bad for this poor grey bird. I found myself saying, "I changed my mind. I want this guy instead." Before I knew it I was at home with my new bird. I named him "Buddies".

I opened the box and tried to release him into the big cage, but he was refusing to leave. Babies looked very interested and came right over. When Buddies finally came out Babies went over and stood next to him, it seemed like they were already best friends.

The first picture of Buddies

Babies (left) and Buddies (right) eating lunch

Buddies (left) and Babies (right) goofing around

Buddies enjoying his first shower

Find the Smell

A few days ago I made a mistake. I didn't even discover my mistake for 3 or 4 days, and when I finally did, I felt sickened by it. It was the kind of mistake that makes me seem airheaded and lazy and slobby all at the same time.

What makes me feel airheaded is that I couldn't even remember what I had bought from the grocery store. When I shop, I just get a few items at a time. I usually only get enough food to last a half a week and I rarely walk out of the store with any more than 2-3 bags of food. A few days ago was no exception, yet I couldn't seem to remember what I had bought.

It normally wouldn't matter if I could remember or not, but in this case it sure did. While I was shopping I remember considering buying some pork chops. I had been craving pork chops a few days earlier, but once they were in my hands I no longer did. I remember assessing my future pork-cravings potential before moving on. When I got home with the groceries I was putting everything away, and I didn't notice any pork chops. I paused over it, but despite that I could remember my internal debate over them, I really couldn't remember what I had decided - so I assumed I just didn't buy them. That was my mistake.

The problem was further complicated because I was lazy. When I was unpacking I put the fridge stuff in the fridge, and the freezer stuff in the freezer. I had cupboard stuff too but I was too lazy to put them in the cupboard. Instead I just dropped the bag onto the floor near the microwave, somewhat near the cupboard - and that is where it stayed for a few days.

A couple days later I came home and smelled an odd smell. It was sort of sweet, yet sour. I sniffed around for a bit, but could not determine the source. I decided that it must be from a neighbouring apartment. Before long I became accustomed to the smell and didn't give it another thought. I often smell things that nobody else can smell (except my sister), so I wasn't too concerned.

The next day when I came home the odd smell was back. It was less sweet, and more sour. Again I tried to find the origin, but it was just too faint to pin it down. I figured it was maybe coming from the dishes in the sink or the garbage underneath. I sniffed them and while it certainly wasn't a good smell, it didn't seem like the same smell. I did the dishes and took out the garbage, and I hoped I had removed the source. Still, despite cleaning the kitchen, I opted not to put that bag of cupboard stuff into the cupboard. Oh I saw it there, but like I said, I'm lazy. So I left it there.

The next day was Saturday, and I was out most of the day. I didn't get home until around 2:30am. I opened the door to discover the smell was still sticking around, and it was worse. It was still far from a stench. If I had to guess, I would say that this was the first day anyone with normal smelling ability could have detected it. Still, for a smell-o-phobe like me, it was a little distressing. Not only was it offensive, but I just couldn't think of what was causing it. It was late though, and I was too tired and too hungry to search for the source again. I just wanted a snack and my bed. I put a couple pizza pops on a plate and stuck them in the microwave.

Being as tired as I was, I didn't stand while I waited for the pizza pops to cook. I knelt next to the counter in front of the microwave such that the bag of cupboard stuff was right at my knees. I realized the smell was stronger in that position. I looked inside the bag and among the cans of tuna and boxes of macaroni was another bag. It was wrapped around itself and around its contents. Without thinking I picked that bag up by the handles so that gravity unwrapped it, then I held it to my nose. It was a good thing I was already kneeling because had I been standing I might have fallen over. That bag contained only 1 item - a package of gray, slimy-looking, rancid pork chops!

It was like opening a Pandora's Box of stink. That bag had done a good job of containing everything, but once I opened it and jostled everything about, my apartment smelled like a slaughterhouse. I quickly ran that bag straight out to the garbage. Even outside in the cold air I could still smell it, like it had attached itself to the insides of my nose.

As I was trying to recover from the olfactory assault I got mad at myself. If I wasn't so airheaded that I couldn't remember what I had bought 15 minutes earlier then I would have looked specifically for the pork chops and put them in the freezer. If I hadn't been so lazy that I couldn't put everything away I would have found them by accident and put them in the freezer. If I hadn't been such a slob that I thought it reasonable that dirty dishes were responsible for the smell, I might have at least searched harder and taken the chops out before they got so completely rotten. It was a good lesson I thought. I learned something over this all.

Of course a couple days later, sitting here at the computer writing this, if I look over at the microwave I will see that the bag of cupboard stuff is still sitting there on the floor below it...

7-11 in Progress

I work at home on a computer all day. It has it's conveniences for sure. I can put in a load of laundry to wash while I am working. I can listen to loud 80s music. Some days I even work in my pyjamas. Still, it is boring and sometimes maddening to be cooped up in here all day long. For that reason I like to head out at some point to buy a diet coke from 7-11.

Today at about noon I headed out for a little break. I drove to 7-11 and pulled into the parking lot right behind a police car. I walked into the store with the two police officers right behind me. The policewoman poured herself a coffee and the policeman got a diet coke right after I did.

When I took my place in line the woman was already there, and a moment later the man stood behind me. While we were waiting there we heard a loud, solid, 'Beep Beep Beep'. The police woman quickly put her coffee down and pulled out her walkie-talkie. Instead of talking into it, she looked at the display on the front. I tried to read it, but it was at a bad angle. She then turned around and frowned at her partner. Her expression indicated that she was surprised at what she saw. I assumed there must be a '419 in progress' somewhere, or something.

In response to her expression the policeman pulled out his walkie-talkie and looked at the display too, and then he shrugged and said, "Wasn't me."

The policewoman said, "Wasn't me either. That's weird."

At this point I pulled my phone from my purse. After looking at the front I said, "It was me."

Apparently the default ring tone for text messages on an LG Voyager phone is the same tone that the Saskatoon Police Department uses on their walkie-talkies.

"Knowledgeable Sales Assistance" *

Several weeks ago my mobile phone contract reached two years of age. I immediately received an email from Jump.ca declaring that my account was eligible for an upgrade. The email was frantically urging me to buy a new phone at a reduced price and to return my old phone for a paltry sum. I was pretty excited over the idea of a new phone, but not too eager to pay any money for it. I spent my days daydreaming about a fancy new phone, and I spent my nights nightmaring about paying for it.

I decided that my phone was good enough, and that I didn't need a new one. My phone *is* pretty good. It works perfectly, it keeps a good charge, and it does everything I want and even a bunch of stuff I couldn't care less about and never use. Still, it was hard to fight the urge to buy a new phone because the call of new gadgets notwithstanding, Jump.ca called me twice and emailed me twice more, and sent me a letter all within a three week period. It was hard not to think about new phones. Eventually I put the idea of a new phone so far out of my mind that I made it two weeks without thinking about it even once.... and then my internet went out.

I called Sasktel, and they said they thought my modem had died. They gave me a choice of waiting all day for a repairman or driving 5 blocks to a Jump.ca store to pick up a new router on my own. I opted to pick up my own router and within minutes I was in line at the Jump.ca store.

While I was waiting I looked at their phone demos and I saw a beautiful phone, the LG Reveal. Not only does the outside look great, but it opens up to a qwerty keyboard and a big screen on the inside. It was pretty and geeky at the same time - just like me. Suddenly I wanted a new phone again. I asked the girl at the counter and she apologized and said the demo had just arrived, and they really didn't know anything about it yet, including when they were coming in.

The LG Reveal: pretty and geeky
at the same time, just like Sarah.

I went straight home so I could look up information about it. Unfortunately the new router did not fix my internet so I had to wait a couple days before everything was working again. When I could, I looked up the specs. Except for the silly 2.5mm headphone jack I liked everything about the phone. I called Jump.ca to see if anyone knew yet when would be in. Nobody did. I asked what price it would be. Nobody knew.

A week or so later I checked the Jump.ca website to see if the phone was listed. It was! There was also a banner ad saying that it was on sale for $0 if purchased before December 31st. I drove down to the store only to find out that it wasn't in yet, and still nobody knew when.

This morning I checked the website again. This time it was there and it even said it was "available now". I didn't want to waste another trip, so I called to make sure it really was there before heading down. The woman on the phone said that they had some of the black model in stock. I don't want black though, I want purple. I asked her a series of questions, and received terrible answers in return.

I said, "Do you know when the purple one is coming in?"
The woman said, "Oh, we don't know."

I said, "Do you think it will be in before Christmas?"
The woman said, "Very doubtful."

"By the end of the month though for sure right?"
"Cannot predict now."

"If it comes in after the sale is over, can I still get the sale price?"
"Ask again later."

"...Ok, is there anyone else I can speak to who might know something?"
"My sources say no."

"I feel like I'd get better information from a Magic 8 Ball."
"Signs point to yes."


Ok, I admit it, I re-worded some of her answers to make a joke, but I didn't strip them of any information. She was exactly that vague and non-committal. One thing that she said didn't need to be converted to a joke was right at the end of the conversation. I asked if they even knew if they are even going to carry the purple model. She replied, "Yes, we are going to carry it, but I doubt they'd be in within one or two weeks. Probably more like the end of December."

Sorry lady, but two weeks from now is January 2nd.

Maybe she means next December.

* From the Jump.ca website: "Our service strategy is to provide our customers with prompt, knowledgeable sales assistance and enthusiastic service"

Prop 8: The Musical

Honesty

I have mentioned before that I am on a couple dating sites. I like to spend some time chatting with new people who may be interested in me romantically. Sometimes the conversations are quite fun. A few rare times they are very offensive. Most of the time though they are repeats of the same conversation I've already had many times. On dating sites people tend to greet you the same way, make the same comments, ask the same questions. I feel like I should keep a record of my responses so I can just paste them in, instead of having to always type them out for each successive person. Today I received a message from a man who said something that is not unusual for people to say. He, and others who say it, mean it to be complimentary, but for some reason I don't take it that way. I'm probably going to sound awful here, but believe it or not I get offended when people thank me for my honesty.

My dating site profile is titled "Saskatoon Transgender Woman". In the 'About me' section I again specifically state that I am a transgender woman. I do it that way because many men are not willing to date a transsexual, and I know this. I believe my profile will weed out those men who may otherwise contact me, and reduce the chance of having a great conversation with a nice man turn sour when he discovers I am a transsexual. In short, I announce that I am a transsexual for two reasons: 1) So I don't have to waste time talking to men who are not interested in transsexuals, and 2) So I don't have to feel the rejection I'd feel when someone almost invariably refuses to reply after discovering I am not 100% female.

It is this declaration of transsexuality that people commend me for. Many times people have messaged me with good intentions, but not romantic intentions. They simply want to want to thank me for my honesty in stating that I am a transsexual on my profile. I don't think they realize that their good intentions are actually hurtful to me. I feel like they are thanking me for not wasting their time. Maybe one or two times it isn't so bad, but after many people have thanked me in this way and then never spoken to me again I feel like I've actually been thanked for saving them from me. Quite honestly, their messages feel like they are saying, "Whew, thanks! I almost asked you out!!"

"I commend your honesty in revealing that you are a Canadian."

If I could give any advice to anyone it would be to consider transsexuality just another attribute alongside such dating site staples as nationality, hair colour, or religion. If you think the message, 'I commend your honesty in revealing you are a transsexual' sounds like a perfectly acceptable sentiment, then try replacing 'transsexual' with any of my other attributes: 'Canadian', 'blonde', or 'radical atheist'. If someone did say 'I commend your honesty in revealing you are a Canadian' then how would a Canadian feel hearing it? Clearly the speaker perceives something is undesirable about Canadians, and the Canadian would not appreciate the comment at all. Hopefully this comparison shows how condescending and upsetting the sentiment becomes.

In addition, whenever I am thanked for my honesty in this way I am also left with the question of what it makes me if I do not reveal my transsexuality. If it is commendable to tell people I am a transsexual, then is it deplorable if I do not? Would this same person commending my honesty feel that I have become dishonest should I edit the word transsexual off my profile? Does it make me a liar to wait until I know someone a bit more before I tell him?
If so, then I've been a liar many times over.

I haven't always had such an open profile. I once thought it best to tell people after I've had some time to get to know them. As a result I've actually been told many times that because it is a dating site, I OWE it to people to tell them. These people believe that transsexuals must adhere to a strict policy of full disclosure, and believe that we are being deceitful if we do not tell them right away. I think that is ridiculous because the intent isn't to protect the transsexual woman from potentially angry reactions, it is to spare some men from embarrassment over his attraction to her.

The notion that I owe it to people to tell them upsets me. Should I not still have the option to reveal private parts of my life when and to whom I see fit? What should I do in real-life situations? Believe it or not I have been asked out by regular men thinking I'm a regular woman. Would such a man be within his rights to be upset with me for not somehow having advertised my genital status ahead of time? Even if he isn't one to be upset over transsexuals, do I owe it to him to tell him before he asks me out for coffee?

It reminds me of one time I was at Diva's (a gay bar) hanging out with some transsexual friends. Some guy had spent the night lingering in the background staring at me, and when I went to buy a drink he was quick to offer to pay for it. As it turned out the bartender didn't give me the choice to turn him down. The bartender, too busy to worry about it, took the man's money and moved on to the next customer. As I walked back to my table the man asked me what I was doing with the 'fucking trannies'. When I told him that I was one of them he was disgusted with me and didn't come near me again all night. So he saw a woman hanging out with transsexual women in a gay bar, and was still upset that he didn't know I was a transsexual too. Short of wearing a placard or taking off my skirt I don't know how else to have conveyed to him my transsexual status.

As a transsexual woman I think it is a good idea to make sure any man I go out with knows ahead of time that I am a transsexual. It is a decision based on preserving my safety and to protect my self-esteem, not to preserve the black and white sexuality that some men believe in. My profile says I am a transsexual not to spare men from being exposed to me, but to weed out those men who would not be interested, and to avoid negative reactions that hurt my feelings. I advertise this fact about me only because I have chosen to, only because it serves my purposes. In no way do I owe this information to anyone I don't wish to have it. If you want to thank me, don't thank me for 'being honest' about a highly private detail of my life, thank me for gracing you with it.

S T A R T R E K

I saw the trailer last night.
I am EXCITED!

PS. Sorry I forgot the website I borrowed these pictures from.

Proposition 8 Wins...

Well, they took that step backward afterall. Did nobody down there read my blog? Sheesh. You always hear that California is the most liberal state but just over half of that place is in favour of discrimination, so I guess California is now just as backward as the rest of that country. Way to legalize discrimination California!!!