Rusty

It was seven years ago. It was a Friday. I had just finished the last of my finals at SIAST and I was looking forward to the summer. That evening my dad needed a ride home from work. He was a lawyer and had an office in a building downtown. I went to pick him up. I pulled into the alley behind his office building and he was waiting there for me. He had on a dark suit and was carrying a heavy looking briefcase. I don't remember if it was overcast, if it was just dark from the shadow of the tall building, or if it is just my memory making the scene seem so bleak. I can honestly say that he wearily got into my car. I mentioned I was all done school for the year and he tried to look happy, but his eyes still told me he was very tired. I was so absorbed in school I didn't even know this was the last day before his vacation too. He too was looking forward to the summer, and looking forward to a well-deserved rest.

That weekend Dad asked me to help him out. He was going to build a patio using paving stones. I said I couldn't. I had already committed myself to helping a friend move. I didn't see him much that weekend. If I had only known it would have been his last.

On Tuesday morning I was laying half-asleep in my parent's basement when my mom burst into the room. She was extremely upset and said that dad had suffered a heart attack while out picking up more paving stones.

We rushed to the hospital. To be honest I don't know how or when my sister arrived, I just know we were all at the emergency room at the same time. We gave our name at the desk and the nurse said to follow her and she'd get the doctor. Someone, I don't know who, asked if he was alright. The nurse said she'd get the doctor to speak to us right away. My mom said "Is my husband dead?". The nurse said "Yes he is."

~~~

There is nothing worse than thinking about the 'what ifs'. What if I had helped him? Maybe he wouldn't have been so strained. If I was involved maybe I'd have been with him to help load more paving stones. What if I had been there to tell him to take a break? What if I had just taken that last chance to spend time with him?

I thought about things like this for years. I thought about it so much that every time I was reminded of my dad, my heart would sink. I'd think of what I might have had if he lived longer - what I should have had. He was only in his 50s, he should have had more time. I'd think about what I was missing. I'd think of the what ifs instead of thinking about him.

Over the years thinking about dad became easier. I was better able to think about the happy memories with my dad instead of dwelling on his death, but it was still really hard to get past that sinking feeling.

~~~

Quite a while ago now I was on Facebook and saw a person who I hadn't spoken to since elementary school. His name is Glen N. I actually met him sometime in the 70's when we were both in 'Beavers'. This is when he met my dad too, as my dad was a Beaver leader. (Beavers is the group that comes before 'Cub Scouts' which is the group that comes before 'Boy Scouts'.) After Beavers Glen and I went to different elementary schools for years. When his school closed he came to my school (and we may have even gone to highschool together).

When he came to my school we were not exactly friends. We not only hung out in different groups, but the only time I remember spending time with him was one afternoon when he was repeatedly hitting me over the head until his hand hurt and he had to quit.

That being the case I was apprehensive about saying hi to him, but I realized this isn't the playground anymore. He wrote back and he didn't realize who I was at first. He said he went to school with my brother Andrew. I explained that I am actually that same person with a new name.

He didn't react poorly at all to either my transsexuality or to the fact that we didn't part on good company years ago. In fact the only thing he said was that he had heard about my dad's death. He said that my dad helped him out through a lot of tough times when he was younger and in trouble. He said he owed my dad a lot. Glen's words seemed so real and heartfelt, they really affected me.

I haven't seen him on Facebook since. It was like he came on just briefly enough to say something great about my dad and then he disappeared.

~~~

I think about dad a lot. The day we lost him was the worst day of my life. It is taking me a long time to get over that day. It has taken a long time for me to think about that day without crying. Lately happy memories of 30 years of life with my dad have replaced the sad memories involving his death. I know I'm his kid so I am biased, but my dad was a great guy. I've always been proud of him, the things he did when he was around, and I'm proud of what he has left in me. I have a lot of qualities in myself that came directly from him and I am better for them all. Being proud of my dad is nothing new, but thanks to Glen I was given a chance to hear something new about him that I didn't know, and another reason to be proud.

~~~

I remember my very first day of Beavers. I didn't know what Beavers was but I knew there'd be a bunch of kids there and I was very excited that *my* dad was going to be a leader. He said he was probably going to be called 'Rusty' because of his hair colour. I didn't know yet that they gave the leaders special names. I couldn't figure out why anyone'd call him Rusty at all, but sure enough he was introduced to everyone as Rusty, and that is what all the kids called him - except me.

I called him Dad.

~~~

I miss you Dad!

The Final Roommate

- Ok, I know I said this article was going to be called "The Big Move", but in the interests of civility, I just didn't want to call it by it's real title or post it until after my roommate and I parted ways - just in case. So now that he has gone, let's read "The Final Roommate".
I hope you like it.

As I round out my last few weeks living in this apartment I have a lot of mixed feelings. On one hand I absolutely love this place, and I will be extremely sad to move on. I will miss that huge balcony and all the naps I had out there on my balcony futon. I'll miss my cozy living room, and I will miss my neighbourhood. I can't imagine ever choosing to move away under any different circumstances. On the other hand I think maybe my feelings of happiness probably come from inside me and not from my apartment. I am still very reluctant to move, but very excited at the same time because I think that it is very possible that it won't matter where I live, I'll end up being just as happy anywhere. On the third hand, I am anticipating having a wonderful time living someplace without a roommate.

If you are familiar with my blog you may know that I have had troubles with my last three roommates. My most recent roommate Warren, well... he was just too 'Warren' for me (see previous blog article). The guy before that, Mark, didn't have a job, never cleaned himself, watched Lord of the Rings several times a day, and faked a suicide attempt one night for attention. Before that was Curtis. Curtis was my best 'guy friend'. We got along great. We had similar interests, we hung out, we fixed cars*, went camping and fishing, and played video games together. I miss him a lot... but he hated transsexuals, so he had to leave.

I believe the way to go, when choosing a roommate, is to move in with a stranger or semi-stranger. It worked out great for me when I agreed to be Michelle's roommate. She and I went from being casual work friends to being lifelong friends**. Living with someone really puts a strain on the relationship. Even though I knew both Mark and Warren before they moved in, it was only as acquaintances, so now that I've parted company with them I have no regrets. If I ever moved in with a good friend again, like Curtis was, it is scary to think that something might happen that causes us to never talk again. So despite my lack of success living with strangers, when it came to finding a new roommate last month I didn't think twice about putting an ad in the paper.

Aaron was one of the first people to respond to the ad and he was the first person to show interest in living here. He is a 20 year old native man who, prior to moving in here, lived on a reserve. I was sure he wouldn't have much in common with an ethnically unremarkable 36 year old transsexual woman, but at the same time his situation and mine complimented each other. He needed a room, and I had one. He didn't have any furniture and I do. He didn't need the parking spot, and I did. Best of all, he worked nights and I worked days.

I would spend my days quietly working, and he'd spend his days quietly sleeping. Shortly before I was off work he would leave for his. By the time he arrived home I'd already be in bed. I was a bit sad not to have the social aspect of having a roommate, but after a few weeks I realized this was probably the best arrangement ever. I had no complaints, and as far as I knew, neither did he.

As it turns out he did have a complaint, and it was a big one.

Aaron and I do have periods of interaction on weekends and on his days off. He would still sleep all day and stay awake all night, but we'd usually both be around in the evenings. It was during this time that I began to learn about some of his eccentricities. It started off one day last week when Aaron was telling me about how he had just spent four hours reading the bible. I'm sure you all know by now that I can't imagine any reason for reading the bible, but even I will admit that there are reasons out there that are way better than Aaron's.

Aaron sat down at the computer that day to check his Facebook page. For those not familiar with Facebook, you can add 'applications' to it that give your page added functionality. One of these is called Funwall, and it allows anyone on your friend list to post items to your wall. These items are mostly funny pictures or videos. What happened on this day was that someone posted a video about a Britney Spears' song that when played backwards reveals a hidden message. The video is intentionally quiet so that the viewer has to turn up the sound. The video plays legitimately for 20 seconds or so longer, then suddenly a scary face appears and you hear a very loud (because you just turned your sound all the way up) and terrifying shriek. This demonic face is supposed to scare the viewer and give him or her a good laugh, but in Aaron's case it scared him so much he had to retreat to the safety of his room and read the bible for a few hours.

When he told me a demon appeared to him on Facebook I didn't know what to say. Even if I did know what to say, I didn't get a chance to say it because he started talking about how he had to talk to his sister's exboyfriend, the drug-dealer psychic. I don't know his name, but let's call him Larry. Aaron explained to me that although Larry calls himself a psychic, he can't actually see into the future. What he can do is talk to animals, Dr-Doolittle-Style. According to Larry, the animals of course, can see the future. These animals then relay the future back to him and that is how Larry is able to counsel people in matters of the future.

I just want to pause here from the main story to talk about something very interesting and possibly scary about the animal kingdom. Aaron tells me that Larry is a very successful drug-dealer because he can never get caught. Oh sure, the police try to catch him, but the animals are always on the lookout and send warning with plenty of time for Larry to escape. Clearly these animals like Larry a lot, but why not just predict him up a winning lottery number? I think the animals want man to spread drugs around to bring about mankind's downfall that much sooner. Once we are out of the way, then they can take over. I can't imagine fighting a cocker spaniel as it is, but imagine fighting one when you're high and the cocker spaniel is precognizant! That'd be impossible!!

I just want to take another pause here to say that I am very disappointed with my lot in life. Not only was I burdened with being a transsexual, but my only super-power is being able to smell things from far away, and that is a really sucky super-power. I'd way rather be able to talk to animals than smell them.

Anyway, after Aaron spoke to Larry for a while he came out of his room with a worried look. The animals told Larry to warn Aaron to be on the lookout for danger. It appears they have spotted The Devil here in Saskatoon. It reminds me of a few years ago when Bill Cosby was scheduled to do a show in town, and a couple days earlier someone purportedly spotted him buying a pair of shoes from a store on Broadway. Was it really 'The Cos', or just some random black guy? Did those animals really see Satan, or maybe it was just a guy with a sunburn? I can't say for sure, but I imagine those animals are not all that smart. Whatever they saw though, it had Aaron on edge. (I should point out that the animals also saw God, but Aaron didn't seem concerned about that. Probably because who has God ever hurt eh?)

If things were not already bad enough Aaron had more troubles. I have two lamps in my living room that were putting Aaron on Spiritual-Def-Con 4. Yes, my lamps were stressing him out. I have one weirdly shaped lamp that doesn't really shed light, it just has a pinky-reddish glow about it. Aaron feels the glow is just too reminscent of Hell for his tastes. I figure Hell, being fiery and all, is probably more of a flickery-yellow-orange, but I don't read the bible, so what do I know?

The other lamp is one of my favorite possessions. It is an iron sculpture of a woman with stained glass butterfly wings that my mom gave me after I told her I was a transsexual. This lamp also casts a reddish glow, but the problem with this lamp isn't the glow so much as the wings. Aaron feels they look a little too much like wings of a demon. Personally, I feel that demons are probably less colourful and butterfly-y, but again, what do I know?

(I took a picture of both lamps, but I couldn't figure out how to turn off the flash, so everything looks bright and the glow is washed out. In reality the room is dark except for the reddish glow from both of these lamps. Note the evil spikes on the bottom of the demon wings. I've totally pretty much never poked myself with them)

Anyway, that night Aaron was distressed. He made a pot of coffee and started writing notes into a notebook. (Oh what I wouldn't give to read that notebook!) I left him to his zealous writings and came to my room to play with my cockatiel. (That sentence has a really unfortunate ring to it doesn't it?)

A few minutes later Aaron knocked on my door and hurriedly mumbled something at me. I had to ask him several times because he was not only using his patented mumble, but he was speaking really fast. Finally I understood that he was asking if I had any sleeping pills. He said his mind was racing and he just drank a pot of coffee, but all he wanted to do is go to sleep. I said I had some benadryl that would do the trick and I handed him the bottle. He asked how many he should take and I said one or two. He asked how long it takes and I said to give it an hour.

Ten minutes later he came back to my room and said that nothing was happening. He asked if he could take some more. I know that every now and then when I wanted to be particularly mindless for a night I have taken up to four of them at once, so I said, "I guess, but no more than four."

I guess he misunderstood me because in one lucky flick of the bottle four pills landed in the palm of his hand. I expected to see him put two of them back, but instead he swung his arm up and tossed all four pills into his mouth at once. I had time to say '... uh' and then I saw him swallow. About half an hour after that I heard him stumble into his room.

The next day I waited and waited for him to wake up. Aaron told me he hadn't paid his rent yet because pay day is Friday, and rent was due on Thursday. I wanted to make sure he paid before the weekend. Sixteen hours after Aaron went to bed he groggily came out of his room. He said, "There's something in here..."

I started sniffing the air. I thought he meant that he could also smell that empty can of tuna in the garbage. I was about to tell him that we should take out the garbage, but then he said, "... something evil... I can feel it... I felt its presence all night. I dreamed about it."

I am a smellophobe, so I would argue that the smell of a old tuna can is evil, but after last night's conversation about demonic lamps and facebook videos I knew that isn't what he meant. I told him there is nothing evil here, and that perhaps the six sleeping pills had something to do with his trippy dreams, but then he said, "No. That Facebook Demon came back last night. ... there's something here alright... I've got to get out of here. How much do you want for one day's rent? Ten bucks?"

I said "What??"

He explained that it was the second of the month, so he has only been here for one day, and he had to leave immediately to get away from whatever the evil thing was in the apartment. I was told him that he owed for the entire month and that he needed to give one month's notice before he could move out. He went into negotiation mode at this point and repeatedly gave me a firm counter-offer of "I'll pay half, not full" but eventually after an hour or so I managed to convince him that this wasn't a negotiation, and that there are legalities to consider. I got the entire month's rent out of him, but he was firm that no matter what, he wants to leave and get away from the demonic presence so he gave his one month's notice to me.

I didn't know when the place would be sold, but I understand I get several months notice if the new owners need me to move out. There is a chance they may have wanted to rent out the place too, but I didn't want to live with the uncertainty of it all. I called the owners of this place and gave my notice as well. It was a day late, and the owners grudgingly accepted it, as if somehow that one day was a huge deal to them but they are willing to throw me a bone***. Giving notice was a sad thing to do, but at this point I had to do it. The owners are selling this place, and I just don't want to sit around waiting for that to happen, and I certainly don't want to find a new roommate only to find out the place is sold a month or two later. I really have no choice but to leave now.

I've had a lot of good times here. This place just gives me a happy feeling all over. From the huge balcony to the cozy red glow in the living room, and even, believe it or not, to the experiences I've had with roommates, this place means a lot to me. There is nothing about living here the last five years that I won't miss. I know I should look at the bright side, but right now I'm having trouble finding it. My new place is bigger inside, but it costs almost twice as much to rent. It does have a balcony, but it is tiny with a crappy view of the parking lot. About the only thing I can definitely say is positive is that my new place is a one bedroom and has no room for any roommates.
Aaron is the last one.
I'm so relieved.

* When I say Curtis and I fixed cars together, it was more like Curtis would ask for a tool, and I'd hand it to him. If ever the engine needed to be turned over I'd do that too.

** I think that we are closing in on 14 years since I lived with Michelle, and I still talk to her every week. Thanks for sticking around Shelly!

*** Yes it is true. Rent must be given on the first of the month. He is within his rights to our notice was too late and force us to stay another month. I just have to say it was almost sickening to hear him use that tone with me, as if he is doing me a huge favour. He bought the place three years ago for $75,000 and is selling it for $190,000, and in the process making me leave my home of the last five years. I'm sure not being a stickler on a technicality isn't going to be a problem financially, in my opinion it is the least he could do.

Who’s doing the bullying?

A while back I wrote a blog article called "Shame on You". It was in response to the opinion commonly shared by religious people that transgender people are abnormal deviant sinners. I quoted one religious guy in particular, a guy named Robert Gagnon who is the Associate Professor of New Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. Strangely, a few times per month someone does a Google search for this guy and ends up on my blog. This week it happened twice, and it made me curious. I was surprised that my little site would rank anywhere near the top search results for this guy, so I did a search of my own.

I never did find my page in the search. I gave up after reading ten pages of the results, but I did find a quote that looked interesting so I checked it out. I ended up jumping from site to site skimming article after article. After quite a few site hops I ended up at this poorly named site: http://79.99.42.50/ where I saw something that made me sad.

It is about some Day of Silence in some school where students in support of gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender people can choose to stay silent for 24 hours to show that support. The author of the article wrote this:

Consider that during DOS, many kids who hold time-honored traditional values relative to sexual morality (i.e., that human sexuality is a gift from God to be shared between husband and wife within the bonds of marriage) are frequently and ironically tagged as "hateful," "bigoted," and "homophobic." (Who’s doing the bullying?)

"Who’s doing the bullying?"
- Matt Barber, Anglicans United & Latimer Press

Yeah he really said that. He really asked who was doing the bullying. I have to say from firsthand experience that the level of negativity from the religious side of the fence compared to the transsexual side is like comparing an erupting volcano to a pimple. It's true. On one side we have an unstoppable torrent of deadly material flowing over us with affects that last a lifetime, and on the other side we have a slightly irritating little red bump that goes away in a couple days.

There are some religious people out there who don't seem to get that when someone grows up different like I did, we spend so much thought about what others think. We are so very scared. We don't want to be different. Life would be so much easier if we were 'normal'. I can't tell you how many times I prayed to be normal as a kid. While all this is going on we have to listen to people of faith standing on every corner telling us that we have no morals and no values, that we are sinners, and that we deserve to go to hell.

In our hearts and minds we know we have done nothing wrong. If there is a god* then we know that we are just as god made us. We eventually begin to realize that this is who we are and there is nothing wrong with it, but we have nothing to base this on but our own feelings and experiences, so convincing others is difficult.

Not only that, but people who believe it is their faith to condemn us will not accept our feelings as the truth. These people somehow believe they are able to trump the reality of our words with the fiction of their faith. Say I am talking to a man who subscribes to a faith-based opinion that I, as a transsexual, have no morals and deserve to go to hell. I can tell him it has nothing to do with morals, that I was born transgendered. I can tell him I spent years as a child wishing I wasn't transgendered. I can tell him I fought it for thirty years until I couldn't take it anymore. I can tell him that finally confronting my feelings of being transgendered was the hardest thing I have ever done, and I only did so when I was at the absolute end of my rope. This person will turn around and tell me that none of what I said is true and that I've actually just chosen an immoral lifestyle of sin and I am lying to cover that up.

Unfortunately the believers of this fiction are united. Most of them have been banded together for all their lives into their various Christian and Catholic religions and offshoots. I know that for every person who speaks out against transsexuals based on religious reasons that there are many many more who share that same belief. Suddenly I don't have just one guy telling me that I'm an immoral waste of skin, I have millions of them. Even when they don't say that I am awful they are quick to say things like they are people "who hold time-honored traditional values relative to sexual morality (i.e., that human sexuality is a gift from God to be shared between husband and wife within the bonds of marriage)" Yeah that isn't condescending. Way to steal words like 'moral' and 'values' and make them only belong to the religious.

For a transsexual growing up in this world it is hard. We feel that we can't trust anyone with our secret. We go through life alone. We don't go through life deaf though, we silently digest the words we hear about us, and trust me, we hear everything said. We hear it over and over again all throughout our lives, and it hurts. It weighs down on us, and it depletes our sense of worth and our self-esteem. It kills us inside because there is nothing we can do about it. We are scared of ridicule if we open our mouths in defense. In our private existance we are but one person listening to the cruel comments believed by millions of people. It is like David and Goliath, only there are a million Goliaths. We'd never survive a fight, so we don't fight. We just take the cruelty over and over all our lives.

Consider millions of religious people who year after year have no reservations about airing their negative opinions of transsexuals and compare that to one lone scared transsexual who silently takes it. This is the reality of what happens. We are helpless against religion, and religion won't let up. Since there is strength in numbers, this is clearly a case of the strong repeatedly oppressing the weak and defenseless. Wait... isn't that the definition of bullying?
It certainly is.

Now I guess we can answer Matt Barber's question as to who is does the bullying. Organized religion is doing the fucking bullying, Matt. To suggest that it is possible for gays, lesbians and transsexuals to bully a religion simply means that you don't know the definition of the word. Bullying is long term, repeated, habitual, cruelty from the strong towards the weak, and that is what religion does to people like me all our lives. Organized religion is the biggest bully there is and ever has been.

"Organized religion is the biggest bully there is and ever has been."
- Sarah JM, Sarahs Adventures

* There isn't

Shame on You

I feel bad that my first blog article after such a long absence is one where I rant about religion again, but here it is anyway:

I often feel separated from the transgender community. I don't attend transgender support groups, I don't socialize with other transgendered people, and to be honest I don't have many transgender friends either. I learned a long time ago that simply sharing the experience of being transgendered with someone is a very far cry from even liking him or her, let along being friends with that person. Still, from time to time I feel the urge to find out what is going on in the transgender world. At times like these I usually just do a quick Google search and look up articles concerning transsexuals or transsexualism. I have to say that almost every time I do this, the lack of reason in the opinions I read depresses me. Then it makes me angry.

I came across an article called "Media Bias on Transgenders Raising Concerns" and I gave it a click. When I saw this article was from The Christian Post I should have stopped reading right there, but I trucked on.

The article initially centers quite positively on Rebecca Romijn, who plays a transgender character on TV. She is quoted saying that her show "helps people understand this community of people that still has yet to find a voice really."

The next quote is from Dr. Robert Gagnon, associate professor of New Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. "They're (media) trying to normalize transgender existence. There's no question about that. "

I wasn't sure if this statement was in support of presenting transgender people as 'normal', or if it was against it. Next Gagnon said the media is "trying to present a case where they are able to demonstrate that these persons cannot help themselves, [that] this is not something they asked for. [And] if you don't allow them to become transgender, they'll probably kill themselves."

Again at this point he could be going either way on the subject. Certainly people have killed themselves over not being able to express their transsexualism. Even I thought about it a couple times. Perhaps Gagnon is sympathetic to our feelings and mindful of the pressures this condition places on us.

My hopeful outlook on Gagnon's humanity was dashed however when the article says that Gagnon began quoting 1 Corinthians 6:9-10. According to his preferred translation 'effeminate' or 'soft men' will not inherit the kingdom of god. Apparently Gagnon goes on to add that transwomen are the closest thing you can get to effeminate soft men.

The article goes on to voice some of Gagnon's embarrassingly uninformed opinions on biology and psychology, but I don't want to talk about them. Instead, let's take a quick look at this passage that Gagnon referred to.

9 Do you not know that unjust persons will not inherit the kingdom
of God? Do not be deceived. Neither pornoi, nor idolaters,
nor adulterers, nor malakoi, nor arsenokoitai,

10 nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor
robbers will inherit the kingdom of God.

I have said it before, and I will say it again. Passages like this are fascinating to me because while so many Christians stand firm in their bible-based opinion of transsexuals, you may note that in the passage that condemns us, the words that are used to condemn us are not even in English!

The words in question are written in ancient Greek. Many bibles have translated them into 'effeminate' and 'soft men', or into 'homosexuals'. I think some bibles even say 'homosexual perverts', (for that truly disdainful flock). If you look up alternative translations though, you are given many other options for what these words could be referring to, such as wishy washy men who don't stick up for their beliefs, rich men who lead soft lives and wear soft clothing, or men who have let themselves go in terms of physical condition. The fact is that the words causing all the trouble have no distinct translation and therefore, according to one big article I skimmed, "determining what Paul might have meant by the terms in 1 Corinthians is especially problematic."

I know nothing about the bible, so it is hard for me to say what it means. I don't even know what a Corinthian is. All I do know is that Gagnon and millions of others steadfastly hold to a belief that transsexuals are somehow living an improper life. These people believe that we don't deserve a voice or fair treatment. They believe this because they are told to believe it... but they were not told by the bible. They were told by human beings who assume they know what this Paul guy meant (when he allegedly wrote it two thousand years ago, in ancient Greek).

The funny thing about the bible though, is that it says a lot of things that don't make sense in today's world. Things like selling our daughters to slavery, killing common thieves, stoning adulterers, the list goes on. If you want to believe the words in the bible are the absolute truth and must be absolutely followed, then you really have no choice but to start stoning people. It is as simple as that.

People don't follow the bible word for word though because some of it is impractical, parts of it are illegal, and other parts are just plain ridiculous. I want to ask a question of people like Gagnon who, based on the bible, feel that I am somehow wrong for living my life.

I ask you, "If you don't follow everything in bible, then how can you hold so strongly to some of it, especially when some of those parts crush the feelings, destroy the self-esteem, and cause torment in the lives of those you oppress?"

You don't have to answer.
I know why you do it.
It's because you're assholes.

Read the entire Christian Post article here.
Read that big article I referred to here.


P.S. Calling you guys assholes technically makes me a reviler, so no kingdom for me (or anyone else who has ever used abusive language either. Too bad you didn't follow that part of 1 Corinthians eh?)

P.P.S. For something really funny, scroll down. (Those Corinthians are down on everybody!)









1 Corinthians 11:14
Doth not even nature itself teach you, that, if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him?

"Shame on you Jesus!"

Ava Ann

I met Heather 14 years ago when we both worked at A&W. Since then we've lived together in four different places (including her mom's basement). Over the years I've spent a lot of time with her and got to see her do many things that just left me in awe. From being a Hilltop cheerleader, to having 4 jobs at the same time, to starting a fight with another girl in a bowling alley parking lot, Heather has always stood out just a little bit more than everyone else, but last night she topped it all. Last night at 6:26, Heather had a 9 pound, 13 ounce baby girl!!

I don't even know what to write right now. Every time I look at this picture I just tear up. I just feel so happy for Heather, and extremely proud of her. I think she'll be a great mom.

Congratulations Little Nuckers!!!





P.S. I'm an aunt!!!!

Now Serving 71

This morning I went for a blood test. The procedure at the lab is to walk in, take a number, and sit down. Eventually they will call your number and then you bring them your health card and the doctor's blood test orders. Then you take your seat again until they call you into the back to actually have your blood taken. It is a pretty simple procedure. Most people make it in and out within half an hour. Probably the only time the system breaks down is when you forget to take a number.

I arrived at 7:30 in the morning and saw a lot of cars in the parking lot. I wasn't too surprised. I think it is standard to fast for 10-12 hours before a blood test, so it makes sense that most people prefer to fast overnight, and have their blood tested before breakfast. As I parked my car I saw a man just getting out of his. I had to shake my head. I am not sure how, but at some point I must have been given a curse that no matter where I am going, I am always a few seconds behind someone else. When you consider all the lineups at banks, drive-thrus, grocery stores, etc, I am sure that throughout my life I have spent months waiting for that one person who always manages to get places 2 seconds ahead of me. I got out of my car and I followed this guy up to the entrance.

He arrived just ahead of me, but instead of going straight in, he opened the door for me. I walked right in and now I was ahead of him. I immediately felt guilty over making him wait for me just because he is polite, so I stood to the side for a few seconds. I pretended to be looking for something in my purse because I wanted to give him a chance to get his number first, but he didn't take one. He went straight to a chair in the waiting area and sat down next to the table in the corner with all the magazines. I grabbed my number and took a seat on the other side of the table.

The waiting room was about half full of people, most were over the age of 65. Generally I like to people-watch the elderly, but this morning I couldn't do it because I kept wondering about that guy ahead of me. Why didn't he take a ticket? I glanced at him. He just sat there reading In Touch magazine. At first I thought he must be waiting for someone, but after a few minutes he pulled out his purple blood test orders and put them on his lap. I thought I should ask if he had a number, but I didn't. Surely he could hear them calling out the numbers one by one. I decided he must have been there well ahead of me, and I had only just witnessed him come in after running out to his car for something. I considered the matter settled, and I picked up a six-month-old magazine that promised to describe what Paris could expect in prison.

Pretty soon they called out '54' and I went up to hand in my stuff. I sat back down and realized that man hadn't been called up yet. There is no way he had a number prior to my arrival. If so he would have handed in his purple sheet by now, but it was still on his lap. He caught me looking at him, and at that moment I think he realized it too. His expression became one of intense irritation and suddenly he stood up. He was clearly angry as he stormed up to the counter and ripped a number from the dispenser. He looked at the display on the wall that still said "Now Serving 54". Then he looked at his ticket and shook his head slightly and sighed with disgust (at himself I hope). Then he walked back to his chair, his face was red and his jaw looked clenched.

About a minute later a woman walked in. I noticed that she didn't take a number either. She took a seat on the other side of the man with the clenched jaw. He was staring straight ahead and still scowling. She took a few seconds to get comfy and then she tucked her hand behind Scowly-man's arm. Despite the absence of a greeting and the fact that his expression didn't soften in the slightest, it seemed evident that she was his wife. Right then a nurse said "55?" and an old lady with a cane got up and walked to the counter. This prompted the man's wife to lean over and ask, "What number did you get?"

With a touch of irritation he said "71."

She looked surprised and said, "71?! They are slow this morning. They must be really busy eh?"

The man didn't respond.

Pictures

The Bizarro Sarah

As you know, I have been parking across the river to save money on parking. I am glad for the exercise, but I hate crossing the bridge because I always feel so self-conscious. I don't know what it is, maybe it has something to do with temperature, or the fact there are no obstructions, but as soon as you get over water the wind seems to increase exponentially. As a result, as soon as I step on to the bridge, my hair blows back revealing my tragically male skull shape.

I shouldn't complain because given the age I began my transition, I haven't been too cursed with overly masculine features, but let's face it - most of my transition success is due to women's clothing, jewelery, makeup and a feminine hair style. If you get me out of my clothes, the illusion quickly fades - and that is one of the reasons why I am always clothed in the presence of others (the other reason is that I can't seem to get a date these days.)

Hair is like clothes for the skull. As a transsexual I use hair in exactly the same two very important ways that I use clothes. The first way is that I keep it feminine to help present a feminine appearance, and the second way is that I use it to hide my non-feminine features. The problem with hair that I don't have with clothes, is that it doesn't take much of a wind to blow my hair into a position where it stops hiding my flaws.

Unfortunately for me, our species has significant amount of what is called sexual dimorphism. This means that males and females, although the same species, have differences in form and appearance. If men and women were only roughly the same shape and size, life would be a lot easier for us transsexuals, but clearly there are substantial differences.


Sexual dimorphism in pheasants

The easiest differences to spot of course, include the fact that women have pronounced breasts and hips, and that typically women are smaller than men. Some differences that are harder to notice on anything but a subconscious level involve the skull. Men have a pronounced brow ridge - similar but not as emphasized as the kind you see in gorillas or cavemen (female readers: you can probably extend further comparisons along these lines if you like). Further, a male skull is somewhat dome-shaped above this ridge, where a female skull is typically a continuous curve from the eyes to the top of the skull.

Differences between male and female skulls

Compared to a woman's skull, men also have a broader chin, as well as a more defined angle where the chin approaches the ear. We may not notice these differences, but we use them all the time to differentiate between male and female. It is exactly these differences that make me feel self-conscious when I don't have hair hiding the sharply-angled and misshapenly-masculine bits of my skull.

Again, I don't want to be a whiner. I think I am pretty lucky facially in the pass-for-female department. On cursory examination I seem to have somewhat soft, feminine facial features, but when my hair is blown back, it reveals the true male nature of my boy-skull. Any appearance of feminine softness is replaced with craggy, hard looking angles along my forehead, and along the sides of my chin and any illusion of femaleness disappears as surely as if I had just taken off all my clothes and let my wiener hang out.

I will illustrate this using... illustrations. You can see in the first image below how I look with hair framing my face (and sunlight reflecting off my pudgy cheeks). Considering I'm male I think I pass alright as a woman. In the second picture though you see what I look like when my hair is blown back. It is hardly feminine, in fact, it is down-right scary.

Sarah with her hair allowed to frame her face


Sarah with her hair blowing back in the wind

The Front Fell Off

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Goodbye Grandpa

My grandpa died last week. He would have been 93 soon and he had been deteriorating for some time. It is sad to say that the last few times I saw him, it didn't really feel the same because of the limits his age placed on his behaviour and reactions. For years one couldn't help but know that soon he'd go, but though it wasn't a shock he had passed on, it was pretty sad to realize it. It turned out I wasn't as prepared as I had thought to say goodbye to Grandpa. When I heard he was gone I regretted not seeing him more when I had the chance.

Something my grandpa rode around on decades ago.
I was looking forward to getting back out to the farm, even if the trip's purpose was for a funeral. The farm has a lot of memories for me. We went out there a lot when I was a kid, and of course back then it was my grandpa who personified the place. I wanted to get back there and wander around and just remember what I could. I didn't really see him much in the past few years, so I wanted to pay him some respect by admiring the place he built.

The old farm house. It had no plumbing but was home to my
grandpa's family for years and years until abandoned after a
tornado removed the roof and put it down in the wrong place.

The old bathroom. (The house had no plumbing remember?)

When it was time to go to the funeral I was nervous. My grandma and dad have both died leaving my Grandpa, uncle Verne, and aunt Helen and her family on my dad's side of the family. I saw Grandpa and Verne a lot, but I haven't seen Helen's family in years and years. As a kid I saw them a lot. I loved playing with my cousins and I have fond memories of catching frogs and shooting Bryon in the ear with a bow and arrow. Knowing I was seeing them again soon made me feel nervous on two fronts; because I had changed genders since the last time, and also because I was a bad cousin having let nearly a decade go by without a visit.

The main road through the middle of the farm.
My cousins were there with their kids. Everyone was very pleasant to me, and I was glad for a chance to talk to them all again. Brenda's eulogy made me cry, and when I glanced over and saw that Carolyn was crying too and I was reminded that these are not just people I have lost contact with, they are my family. After the funeral we had a lunch and I was able to sit down and chat with Bryon for quite a while. When all the attendees were leaving I was happy to hear that all of Grandpa's children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren were all heading back to the farm for supper. I was looking forward to catching up some more, but it turns out that I didn't get that chance.

When we got back I was going to help Brenda and Carolyn make supper but then I was invited to play tag with Brenda's son Wesley and Carolyn's kids Ryan and Taylor. We went outside and had a game of girls vs boys tag and I have to admit we lost. Bryon jumped in a couple times and help the girl's team out, but otherwise Ryan was just too fast to catch. About 7 minutes into the game I had to sit down on the ground and catch my breath. I apologized that I had to rest a while and Taylor said, "That's OK. I do this two hours a day!" Taylor sat down next to me on the grass for a while and then asked if I could take them to catch frogs. I said sure.

An extreme close-up of me on the road with all the frogs.
The four of us went down the road through the bushes and the frogs started jumping out of the way. With every footstep we'd see several frogs jumping for dear life, hoping to avoid getting accidentally stepped on. I reached down to grab a few for the kids to hold. After I handed one to Wesley, Taylor said, "Susan?"

"Sarah." I corrected.

"Sarah, Are you a tomboy?"

I said, "Yeah I guess I am sometimes." I didn't know if girls got teased for being tomboys these days, so I added, "There's nothing wrong with that though."

She paused a moment and said, "I'm a tomboy too, I'll take a frog please!" After I handed her one she said, "You're fun." and I felt great.

Our walk took us through the middle of the farm and I got to tell them about things I did as a kid there and they all listened. Taylor and Ryan told me about their farm, and in return I told them about my apartment. Taylor was a shocked to learn that I had no backyard. "Where do you play?" She asked. Kids are cute.

We heard people yelling that supper was ready so we started back to the house. On the way we had a rock throwing contest, and Wesley won it on his first throw. While I was eating Taylor asked me to come sit with her, so I did. I was feeling guilty that I hadn't spent much time with Bryon, Brenda or Carolyn yet, but I was having fun hanging out with the kids.

After supper I went inside to wash my dishes and Taylor came with me. We ended up looking around the house for a while. She talked about Grandpa a lot. She said that he never came to see them, and they only saw him when they visited him. I said that he was just too old to move around too much and it was just easier on him to wait for visitors. She agreed that was probably true and she saw one of his caps laying around. She picked it up and said "This should have gone down with him." I had to stop and marvel about how smart some kids are.

Before we left to go back outside she said, "Sarah?" and then she stopped for a minute looking like she was thinking really hard. "Are you my auntie? or my grandma?"

I said, "Well, I am cousins with your mom, so I think that makes us cousins too."

She looked as if she finally figured something out and said, "We're cousins!" She smiled really big and I could tell this was good news to her. Then I figured something out too. Maybe I didn't get a chance to catch up with my first cousins, but I did a pretty good job of getting to know my second cousins, especially Taylor.

It is funny to say, but I had a great time at the funeral and the supper afterwards. I had a chance to say goodbye to Grandpa, to talk with my cousins, relive some memories and to meet some new relatives for the very first time. I don't think Grandpa would mind one bit that I smiled a lot more than I cried.

Wesley Austin Ma*****on
1914 - 2007

Canadian Dud Services

Yesterday was my first day in a brand new office. I showed up at 8:20 and I waited until 8:57 before someone arrived to let me in. It wasn't really a big deal because I'd rather be early than late on my first day. Today I was all set for a 9:00 am arrival. I left home the same time as yesterday, but I parked on the other side of the river and walked the rest of the way so I could save money on parking. I walked off the elevator at 8:55 - perfect timing... except the office door was locked and I don't have a key.

After nobody had arrived fifteen minutes later I pulled out my laptop and did some work right there in the hallway. After nobody had arrived an hour later I decided this situation was ridiculous. Not only did I feel silly sitting on the floor, but I was getting a sore neck. Laptops are very uncomfortable when you actually use them on your lap. I decided I'd be better off to leave and work from home.

I started the long walk back to my car and to pass the time I called my mom. I was waiting to cross the street and I noticed I was in front of the Canadian Blood Services building. Their sign caught my eye and suddenly I was inspired to do something good. I decided I would not go home, and instead I would donate blood. I figured it would be socially responsible... and I get a free donut. I also thought that maybe by the time I was done, I'd be able to get in the office.

Mom she said that they might not let me donate because I have diabetes. When got in I made sure to ask. The woman volunteer behind the counter didn't know, so she called a nurse to come out. She said that I could still donate as long as I wasn't on insulin. Perfect.

After the nurse left, the volunteer began entering my information into the system. I asked her if I could have a Kleenex and she said sure. I said I was so glad that it rained last night because hopefully it has washed away a lot of the stuff making me feel so allergic lately. The volunteer stopped dead in her tracks and she looked at me with the same look Indiana Jones had right before he said he hated snakes. She called over another nurse and asked if allergies will prevent me from donating. The new nurse said it'd be OK as long as I wasn't currently under the effects of any medication. Perfect again.

Next the volunteer took me into another area and sat me down with a pamphlet. She said I had to read it before I could move on. I opened it up and skimmed through it. I stopped at the section on determining if you should or should not donate blood. The first sentence said that you should not donate if you are at risk for HIV. So then I referred to the section on determining if you are at risk for HIV. The first point on the list said that one should not donate blood if they are male and have had sex with another male since 1977. Not so perfect.


I knew that when I last gave blood there was a questionnaire that asked a similar question, but I haven't given blood in 17 years. I honestly didn't expect to see anything like that today because things have changed since then. Back then it was the Red Cross, and since then blood donations have been managed by Canadian Blood Services. Back then AIDS was predominantly considered a 'homosexual disease', and since then we've all learned better.

My mom said that is just one of the ways they determine if you are at risk for HIV, but it isn't even right. Public awareness efforts have been teaching us for years that anyone is vulnerable to contracting HIV, and that anyone can be a carrier. I find it upsetting that Canadian Blood Services doesn't seem to realize that if anyone has had sex with anyone since 1977, that they could be at risk.

The list goes on to include other risk factors, such as intravenous drug use and living in Africa. It even says that 48 hours in jail puts you in the at-risk category. Strangely, the most important consideration is not listed at all. I remember a while back there was an effort to inform the public that AIDS is not a homosexual disease. Article after article, public service announcements in magazines and television, and all sorts of tv shows concerning HIV told us that having sex with many and varied partners - especially strangers - is the best way to contract HIV.

I understand that they are just being cautious. They can't just exclude people if they have had sex, so by excluding any male that has had sex with another male they believe they are just being safe. In truth they aren't being safe at all. Monogamous sex between any two gay men is far safer than sex between any man and woman where one or both has had casual sex with multiple partners. The concern should not be what the genders of the participants are - it should be on how many participants there have been.

Maybe someday they'll change their pamphlet. Until then Canadian Blood Services is rejecting people that are perfectly healthy and at the same time they are allowing people to donate who may be unsafe. For now I just did what the pamphlet said. I didn't donate blood. It's too bad because I have perfectly good blood. I bet someone could have used it.

Poem for my friend Sarah

There once was a Canadian named Sarah who loved a warm, sunny day.
She spoke with a thick accent and said weird words like EH.
She liked to play computer games and writing on her blog.
Her friend Chino thought she should get a small dog.
She was a special gal who could always make you laugh.
She liked to post photos online of her taking a bath.

- Kara "Chinosmum" C.

Great Big Shove

Last night I went to see Great Big Sea at the Field House. I went with the Little Nuckers (Regular Heather) and Mike, Cecille, and Shallon. Once we got there we ran into Megers and James as well as Lindsay and her friend (Tall Heather). Of course it just wouldn't be right not to mention Laura and Erin, the overly drunk couple besides us. They were boisterous, but I liked them... even though I think Erin spilled her beer on my shirt.

Before last night I was a GBS novice. I knew of them of course from the radio, but it turned out I was only familiar with five of the songs they played. Despite that, there wasn't one song I didn't like. We got there early and claimed a spot in front center almost within arms length of the security crew that was guarding the stage. We had to be vigilant to make sure our spots were not claim-jumped, but it was worth it. Not only did you get to see the band better, but that was where everyone was dancing and singing along. Up at the front was where all the action was, but Heather warned me that up there I might get shoved. She was right.

Once Great Big Sea started playing a lot more people pushed up to the stage, this was actually fun until She arrived. I don't know her name of course, but she was short and jovial looking. She and her boyfriend didn't just drift to the front, they forced their way. She pushed her way right in front of me, which meant she had to wedge right between Heather and I. I got shoved back and Heather got shoved forward. Heather reached behind and grabbed my arm and tried to pull me back to where I was. I did my best to get back behind her, but this meant I had to push the jovial woman over a bit, which was hard because a) I am polite, and b) that woman wanted to be where I used to be!

I managed to get a foot-hold back onto my territory, but the woman was not budging much. I was now sort of half behind Heather and half behind the pony-tail girl beside Heather. It was a pretty good spot except pony-tail girl's pony-tail was paint-brushing my face as she danced. I decided I could deal with that though if it meant a peaceful co-existence with the jovial shoving woman to my right.

The shoving woman though made it hard for me to be comfortable. She wanted to dance! I don't mean the jump-on-the-spot-hands-above-your-head dance that everyone else was doing, she was much more elaborate. She was making little kicks, swinging her hips, swaying all over and generally just flailing about. It was like a full-body upright seizure! I had to stand with my right foot sort of pigeon-toed so that she wouldn't be able to step on my toes. With every beat of the music she'd bump into me until after a few songs I was feeling a noticable sweater burn on my right arm. The worst though was when she would raise her arms above her head and swing them all over the place. Every once in a while when her arm swung in my direction I'd feel her diamond ring stab me in the forehead. It was almost embarassing for me to watch because honestly, it was like she was doing semaphore without the flags. It takes less arm motion to guide in a 747! Thankfully right in the middle of a fit of arm motions worthy of a drowning swimmer she left as suddenly as she had arrived. I felt a relaxing peace fall over the crowd and everything was perfect again.... until she came back a 20 minutes later.

It was right in the middle of Heather's favorite song (the Na-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na one) when I felt another great big shove. Thank goodness there were a hundred people pushing up behind me or else I would have fallen over. I looked over and saw that She was back. From the force of the shove it felt like she must have fallen onto me from the rafters or something. As I straightened up I saw a glint of light and ducked just in time to avoid that damn diamond ring. I leaned forward and said to Heather, "I just want to punch her!" Heather said "DO IT!!!"

I didn't punch her but I decided I was going to get back to where I was. The woman was not going to let me squeeze back in this time and she put her elbow out to stop me. I decided that it is about time being a transsexual worked in my favour, so this time I used my size to my advantage. I put the squeeze on her so hard that a few seconds later she popped like a zit into the row behind me. Thankfully she realized she was not going to win this fight and wordlessly surrendered. She stayed behind me for the rest of the concert. She still danced around like crazy, but it turned out to be a lot less painful to get poked in the kidneys with her boobs than poked in the face with a diamond ring.

Same Sex = Different Treatment.

I am getting frustrated by the debate over same-sex marriages. My office-mate today was explaining to me that same-sex couples should not be allowed to get married because marriage is a religious ceremony, and therefore those that do not follow the religion should not be allowed to be wed. To him it was so cut and dry, so black and white. It was explained plain and simple that 'marriage' must be maintained with a traditional religious definition. I asked him why people who are not religious are then still allowed to get married and he said "...it's complicated". I was confused. On one hand the issue is simple but on the other hand it is complicated, and it all depends on what group of people you are talking about. I personally think that the issue isn't worth complicating with whatever rationalizations make it alright to discriminate. Any opposition to same-sex marriage in the defense of a religious definition is pointless because what is supposedly being fought for has already been lost.

The case against same-sex marriages, as regurgitated by my office-mate, is one that I have heard often. People want to maintain a religious definition. This argument is not believable because the definition has already changed without any outcry. Marriage is no longer governed by the church, it is governed by laws. In fact, marriage is recognized legally without requiring that religion of any kind be involved in any way. Even if the roots of marriage are based in religion*, it cannot be denied that marriage has become, first and foremost, a societal institution with religion as just a footnote in it's history.

Some who oppose same-sex marriages believe it is OK to allow a "Civil Union". Interestingly, this is exactly what marriage has become anyway. The religious aspects to marriage may be important to some people, but these days that doesn't count. After all, it seems to me that every person who has divorced a spouse has already broken an oath to god. If the church was still in charge then why is divorce allowed? Marriage has changed so much that the only thing that universally matters to society are the legalities.

However it may have originated, marriage is currently practiced by the nonreligious and religious alike. It spans religions, cultures, and societies. Marriage is a worldwide tradition and for any one group of people to claim it is unrealistic. It would make more sense for religious groups to assign the definition they want to preserve to a different term such as 'Christian Union', or 'Catholic Union'. This way marriage can stay a legal institution, and all the religions can set their own definitions. Once religion is separated from marriage, then any push for discrimination** will go with it.




To my religious friends,
I mean you no disrespect, and I mean you no criticism, and I in no way believe you to be discriminatory. I just feel that the argument I most often hear against same-sex marriage is completely discriminatory.


* I believe that the roots of marriage belong in our biology. Many species of animals are at least somewhat monogamous by nature, and given that humans are simply another form of animal life it isn't hard to believe that humans are the same way... somewhat monogamous by nature.

** Banning same-sex marriage is discrimination. If people wanted to ban interracial marriages we would clearly see this as discrimination, yet such a marriage used to be considered immoral and unnatural. We know this to be wrong now, but at the time it was considered gospel. In fact it has been less than 40 years since a Virginia judge upheld an interracial marriage ban stating god's intention to separate the races. Luckily the decision was overturned by the supreme court, who had these wise words to say:

Marriage is one of the "basic civil rights of man," fundamental to our very existence and survival.... To deny this fundamental freedom on so unsupportable a basis as the racial classifications embodied in these statutes, classifications so directly subversive of the principle of equality at the heart of the Fourteenth Amendment, is surely to deprive all the State's citizens of liberty without due process of law. The Fourteenth Amendment requires that the freedom of choice to marry not be restricted by invidious racial discriminations. Under our Constitution, the freedom to marry, or not marry, a person of another race resides with the individual and cannot be infringed by the State.

( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Loving_v._Virginia )

Rolling Eyes and Cars

Sometimes my mom says things that make me roll my eyes. It is something I learned to do when I was 12, and it has been habit ever since. This morning I was at my mom's house and my eyes were in mid-roll when suddenly they opened very wide.

I was on the couch reading the newspaper when Mom took a break from her ironing. She looked at the purse on the floor near me and said "Is that your purse?" I was wondering who else she thought might it belong to when she looked out the front window and said, "Is that your car?"

I didn't answer because I was too busy thinking 'of course its my purse' and 'of course its my car'. I didn't know why Mom was asking questions with such obvious answers. Maybe because I hadn't answered yet she asked again, but rephrased her last question to "Is that your car on the neighbour's lawn?"

I know that Mom's neighbours across the street also have a red Ford Focus but it is a different shade than mine. I have seen them park their mini-van on their lawn and I reasoned they just happened to park their Focus there this time. I stood up, started to roll my eyes and was about to ask mom why she thought I'd park on their lawn when I looked out the window...

It WAS my car on their lawn...

When I parked on Mom's driveway I guess I didn't put the brake on, so my car rolled down the driveway, across the street and onto the neighbours lawn.

I rushed outside and walked across the street to retrieve the car. I hoped nobody was watching, but the woman who lives there was standing guard just inside her screen door. As I walked towards her I hung my head in shame until I got close enough to speak. I said I was really sorry and she just smiled and said it was ok. Then her smile slightly diminished and she added that it could have been a lot worse. I decided to just leave it at that, so I unlocked my door and just before I got in I glanced back at her...

She was rolling her eyes at me!

Sucks to your ass-mar!

Piggy* had ass-mar. Now I've got it too. I guess I've always had it. I could always tell I did. I was just being stubborn and didn't want to go to the doctor for it. A couple days ago though I was not feeling very well and decided that since I have like a team of doctors these days I might as well go get an inhaler.

For the last few years I have really noticed that I have trouble breathing after being around pets. Last week I went to visit Debbie and Colleen and they have a dog, so I took a couple squirts of Flonase and a couple hits of Chlor-Triplon before I left. It didn't help. Their dog was outside all night, but I still started feeling a bit of tightness shortly after I arrived. Part of me hoped it was just because I drank a few glasses of red wine (red wine is poisonous to my delicate ecosystem of a body. It always makes my heart race and makes me feel out of breath). By the time I left it still hadn't faded at all, (like it does with red wine), and in fact it was much worse. As of Tuesday night (five days later) I still hadn't felt any better. It felt like I had inhaled more than just dog hair. Chlorine gas maybe. Or needles. My lungs actually hurt when I breathed, and it felt like I had half a lung worth of fluid in each one. The worst part was when I would lay down to sleep the fluid would gurgle and whistle with my breathing and the sound was loud enough to wake me up!

On Tuesday I decided to go see a doctor. I mentioned I have a team of doctors... but they are the wait-3-months-for-an-appointment kind of doctors so I went to a mediclinic. I waited for an hour or so before they called my name. There were actually only three people in line ahead of me, and I saw them all come and go before I was even called in. As far as I could tell the place was completely empty of patients, but they still made me wait. After I waited in the large waiting room they moved me to a little waiting room and I waited some more. Oddly, after a doctor finally came in to see me, my entire examination was only about 2 minutes long. He listened to my breathing in about six different places and then took me to the lab for a breathing test. He told me to have a seat and someone would be with me shortly.

So I took a look around my third waiting room of the night. At least I got to see where all the patients were. I saw about ten people already waiting. I had noticed that the doctor put my sheet at the top of the lab tech's in-box so I assumed that she worked from the bottom. I looked for a place to sit and saw that there were five people standing, yet there was an unoccupied chair. I guess nobody wanted to sit next to the biker. I decided that since I was a male-to-female transsexual, I was therefore brave enough to handle anything - so biker or not, I sat down. I was sitting there about a minute when the lab tech came out and called my name. When I got up to follow her I looked back and everyone still waiting looked kind of pissed off, disguised as disinterest. I wonder if I was prioritized to the top of the line, or if the lab tech just didn't know my sheet was just recently added. Either way though, I didn't really care - my ass was already sore from all that sitting.

The lab tech said the test was difficult. I wondered if there was a written portion or something because I thought I just had to breathe into a tube. How hard can that possibly be? It turns out that it was hard. You take a couple normal breaths and then you inhale as much as you can, then you blow it out as hard and as fast as you can. When your lungs are all fluidy though, this test makes you end up coughing, hacking and choking followed by raspy gasping, then more coughing. I had to do it three times too, so I had three bouts of really sick sounding coughing. I was embarassed to think of the sounds my old waiting room buddies were hearing, but I was hoping they at least realized I was sick and that I didn't bud in line on purpose. When I walked back to the waiting room they didn't look disinterested in me anymore, but they all looked kind of disgusted. I could tell that this time, the biker did not want me to sit next to him!

A little while later the doctor came to get me. He said that according to my results I was breathing at about 64% of normal. He explained that I have asthma, and I was feeling the effects of constricted airways and congested lungs. He told me all about the prescription he just scribbled on a little piece of paper and with that he shooed me back to the original waiting room. Altogether I had about 1 and a half hours of waiting, and 15 minutes of doctorin'. I noticed that there was a pharmacy attached to the clinic, but it had it's own waiting room that was half-full of people. I guess if I was more of an optimist I could have said the waiting room was half-empty, but I'm not - so I decided to go elsewhere.

I drove down the street to a different pharmacy. The pharmacist looked at my little piece of paper then said, "That'll be ten minutes", as she pointed with her eyes at a row of chairs next to the counter. It wasn't so much a waiting room as a waiting section, but this time I didn't mind sitting. I was not feeling very good. My breathing was pretty bad and I was actually a little out of breath just from the walk from the parking lot, so I took a seat. I watched that little pharmacist go for nearly the entire ten minutes. She wrote some stuff down, she wandered here and there, she chit-chatted on the phone to someone else who works in the store somewhere, and I think I heard her put 34 yellow pills into a pill bottle. When my little internal timer estimated I had been sitting there 9 minutes and 48 seconds she went to a cupboard and grabbed an inhaler. Then she put a sticker on it and bagged it and met me at the prescription pick-up counter. I was a little sick of waiting tonight, but I never really questioned that the doctors at the clinic were all very busy. This pharmacist though... it took her TWELVE SECONDS, NOT TEN MINUTES! If it only takes 12 seconds why make me wait ten minutes? Why not just give it to me?? Pharmacists.

~~~

I've been using the inhaler for the past couple of days. My breathing is doing much better now so the inhaler must be working pretty good - good enough for me to have already forgotten it at work anyway. I think that by tomorrow I will be back to my normal self. Just in time to go to Jenn's house and start all over again - she has a cat.

* Lord of the Flies, Page 9

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke again. "What's your name?"
"Ralph."
The fat boy waited to be asked his name in turn, but this proffer of acquaintance was not made; the fair boy called Ralph smiled vaguel, stood up, and began to make his way once more toward the lagoon. The fat boy hung stead at his shoulder.
"I expect there's a lot more of us scattered about. You haven't seen any others, have you?"
Ralph shook his head and increased his speed. Then he tripped over a branch and came down with a crash. The fat boy stood by him, breathing hard.
"My auntie told me not to run," he explained, "on account of my asthma."
"Ass-mar?"
"That's right. Can't catch my breath. I was the only boy in our school what had asthma." said the fat boy with a touch of pride. "And I've been wearing specs since I was three!"