Gemma Goes Wild In Hampshire

2006-03-07T00:56:00.000+01:00

~~~ Checking In ~~~

In case anyone is still reading this: no, I'm still alive, still trannying, and still as busy as anything. Cute Girlfriend is moving in with me in a couple of weeks, despite all efforts of various malicious people to the contrary. Which is really funny: all the venom that was aimed at us has just driven us a lot closer together, a lot faster than expected. It Just Goes To Show, doesn't it?

The trannying is still evolving. Besides involving CG, I find that standard tranny locations no longer appeal. I'm no longer trying to hide in a group of trannies; I can go into a GBLT place and Just Be Me. It's more fun: more real. And a lot closer, too - driving into and out of London is a bit of a pain, whereas there's a lovely lesbian bar just down the road.

I've been toying with a lot of ideas, too. The "why tranny?" question is still an obsession, the previous answer has too many holes in it. The "sexual satisfaction" idea has gained ground (though it's sublimated), but it's only a part of the big answer. I'm finding that what I like wearing changes as my understanding changes - which sort of suggests that I'm discovering more about myself, rather than why trannies tranny. Buh!

I'm also pushing my luck with appearance. Eyebrows are nicely shaped, fingernail lengths at time must be very suspicious to my colleagues. I can sense my subconcious pushing my luck - I think it's trying to "out" me, but my colleagues are all too well-behaved to make any comment.

So, I'm building up some more material to blog about, so check back every now and then. If you have the time.

Ciao! Gemma xxx

2006-02-01T00:59:00.000+01:00

~ Finding A New Level ~

This is so peculiar, but I feel I have to apologise for being inattentive to you. I know that someone reads these posts, as there are the comments, so it behooves me to behave with courtesy. It is, of course, all the fault of meeting up with Cute Girl. But first some messages.

Friends
It is infinite sadness when someone you care about seeks to hurt you. Bye, hon - I won't write again.

Timelines
Odd person who wishes ill to Cute Girlfriend: check the dates carefully. CG first makes her appearance in the blog of the 11th January. There is no mention at all of her in previous posts. You are a very troubled individual, and I suggest you seek some form of therapy.

Back to the regular programme
I do apologise for that, gentle reader - a way of getting a message across to two people who only seem to have malice in their hearts. CG and I have been getting along rather well, but that seems to have upset some folks who, rather than be pleased for us, only wish illness and bad things. Such is the way of the world.

Now: I was having some trouble working out how to balance the trannying side with CG. Trannying is a very selfish activity; how could I reconcile it with making CG feel good? Eventually it dawned on even this dimmest of trannies: do what the girls do! (doh!). Girls dress nicely to (amongst other things) please their boyfriends (yes, I know - just bear with me, right?). I've found that I can do the same for CG, when we're out: she gets pleasure from being in the company of someone who's tried hard for her. Does that seem peculiar to you? It does to me! Back to the selfishness thing once again: we usually dress to please ourselves. Okay, it's not like I've dramatically changed my style or anything. But the motivations behind it have altered, and that once again makes trannying an Okay Thing to do.

But, I find that nowadays I have very little time to spend on the net, hence the drying up of the blog. You may want to check in very intermittently from now on; I can't promise to have written or done anything of much note. I'm going out to fewer clubs, and spending far less time on the counselling too. One wonders if CGs are worth it all! (don't even bother to answer that one ;) ).

It's been fun writing this, and I've enjoyed everyone's comments too. Thanks for bearing with me, and see you around sometime in the future!

Hugs; Gemma xxx

2006-01-19T12:10:00.000+01:00

~ Stereotypes ~

"I've seen the enemy, and he is me". Or something like that.

Recently, I've been dating a very cute (genetic) girl, though this blog isn't about her. She met me as Gemma, then as my male side, and seems to be okay with both. Before meeting with her, I could do whatever I liked about dressing up. Being Gemma obviously isn't a problem for her either, so still no pressure on me.

So why do my thoughts continually slip into an "anti-tranny" mould?

Before, I would slip into something more comfortable in the evening, or not have a problem going out. Now, it's as though that tranny side of me is slightly embarrasing. I've been trying to work it out, and it's quite illuminating because as it's nothing to do with external pressures, it's all to do with my own mental model of the world; the stereotypes or roles I can possibly adopt. And being a tranny with a cute girlfriend isn't one of them.

From what I understand, as we grow up we observe the world, and build these ideas of possible roles: mother, father, friend, colleague, and so on. And importantly, male and female. They're formed in the first seven years, and are "imprinting" - done at the emotional, not the cognitive, level, and as such are bloody hard to shift. They're ruts in the roadway of our minds, and deep ruts at that.

So - while I was by myself, I could experiment in an area of my mind where there were no ruts. The moment cute girl (CG) came on the scene, I'm in an area where my behaviour has a set of ruts to follow, and it's doing so. Standard male behaviour is coming out, much to Gemma's anguish. I can counter by doing some extravagantly tranny things to drag myself back into that virgin area where I played before, but that ends up distorting the landscape. Much though I like CG (and I'm not letting her go), I'm really missing the carefree, halycon days of yore. I know that if I can overcome the ruts, then CG won't have any issues at all with Gemma expressing herself. In fact, we may even be heading into problems as Gemma is far less in evidence these days because of all the ruts about, and Gemma was one of the things that attracted her to me.

Given all that angst, I considered some friends who have been in this relationship thing from the other side: got married, then started doing their trannying in secret. How much harder for them! No wonder the guilt and anguish: they're living in a world of ruts, have to balance precariously in the small, rut-free areas, and have to constantly struggle to not fall back in. The pressures on them must be incredible. No wonder trannies are confused: their minds are tearing them apart with two irresistable forces: the desire to dress, but the pre-established behaviour patterns not to.

I was chatting with a friend about "Little Britain", and whether the "Ladies" were good or bad (she thought bad, I thought good). I'm even more convinved they're good. Sure, they're laughable. But they're creating a tranny rut in everyone's mind. Those ruts will eventually change, moving from the silly area to part of normal life, just as the emergence of a "gay" rut has changed to something normal or acceptable in our lifetimes. And there's the rub: once those ruts are laid down, they don't change easily, and once you're out of childhood there are so many ruts about in your mind it's hard to create new ones without falling into an existing set of tracks - just look at how a tranny is assumed to be gay; it's the nearest rut the unwashed masses have to think about us in.

So, I don't think we'll get acceptance in our lifetimes, as frankly there's no hope for the older generation. It's the under-sevens who will be the ones who grow up with trannies an everyday item in their mental toolkit, and our role should be to put out a stereotype of the TG community that is positive, vibrant and fun. Not sexual deviants or sad, lonely or confused people.

So go on. Get out and start rutting.

2006-01-11T22:11:00.000+01:00

~ The Cat and the TS ~

There are hidden dangers to all aspects of the transgendered world. Here's one recounted to be by a friend, and one they never tell you about in the clinics.

My (TS) friend was performing her regular dilation exercises, one of which was exercising the resculpted muscles using a dilator. She'd applied the KY jelly, inserted the dilator, and was squeezing away. Unfortunately, she squeezed too hard, and the dilator shot out. Shot out the short distance to the cat, quietly resting in front of the television, and catching it a nasty knock on the head.

Leaping up up to rush to the stunned moggie's aid, she unfortunately stomped onto the open tube of KY jelly. This squirted out over the carpet, the television, and (predictably) the now-unconscious cat.

Apparently the mess took ages to clean up. The carpet still has odd-looking stains on it, the television is very gunky in places, and the cat won't come anywhere near my TS friend.

2006-01-08T20:54:00.000+01:00

~ The Plight of the Phoenix Tranny ~

Currently, there's a move to change what the number-one Google rating for transvestite is, away from Trans(hrrch-spit)formation to Wikipedia. Like many t-girls, I've bought some complete and utter shite from there when first starting out, and so feel very negative about that company. I feel that it preys on fledgeling trannies, but would welcome any comments the owner of the company would care to make.

But, I think we're sort of shooting at the wrong target here, and the company's owner will be laughing at us, or (even worse) not even caring, because it's not about Google Ratings, it's about the psychology of the customer.

Let's look at exactly the sort of person who goes to Trans(hrrch-spit)formation. They'll be adult, and still exploring the whole transgendered thing. In this day and age they almost certainly have access to the Internet (it's an underlying assumption of the Google-bomb campaign). So for weeks, months or years they will probably have been browsing the Internet, reading everything out there and have a good idea of what's on the scene. It's irrelevant where the Trans-entry actually is; sooner or later they'll stumble across it.

So why do they go to Transformation? It's simple: minimising stress. Maybe you can remember, gentle reader, when you first when into a high-street store to buy a pretty skirt you liked - the damp palms, the beating heart, the slightly sick feeling? It takes a lot of getting used to. New trannies cannot cope with doing a whole load of shopping to get all the basics, no matter how hard we rant. However, according to the advertising, with a single visit you can be transformed from a guy into a girl at the Trans-place. We know that's not true, but it is so very appealing to the aspiring tranny, who wants so badly to become a girl but can't face the high-street stress. And that's how Trans(hrrch-spit)formation can afford the huge markup and shoddy goods: what they are selling is not the goods, but the tranny experience without the stress.

So all of our efforts are at the wrong target. If we really want to make a difference, we need to help fledgeling trannies achieve trannyhood without the stress. I've been thinking of ideas for this, but would welcome more or any feedback.

Build a decent Tranny Wiki site that has "recipies" for things the newbie tranny can do. Proven, cost-effective, helpful things. I've been trying to do this, but sadly my own trannying activities have got in the way (lesson #3: becoming a tranny will magnify your social activities out of all proportion). If anyone has time and feels like they want to get www.trannypedia.[co.uk|com|org|org.uk] online, write to me. I'm nearly there, just need to arrange a hosting service and post up the code. I'll pay for it; the domains are mine for the next two years, and I'm happy to maintain it as a public tranny service on an ongoing basis.
Run our own mail-order company, probably following the recipies above. Let's face it: the basics of trannying are VERY basic, and very predictable. We could do a damn site better by ourselves, can cater for different levels of privacy, and could get all newbie trannies de facto members of places like Angels, Roses etc.
Find someone who nearly provides the service we'd like to see, and liase with them. If it earns them more money, they won't complain at all the unpaid advertising and help they're getting.

There's more. A lot more. For all our bitching, we're a cohesive social group with a lot of talent - managers, IT staff and so on (and counsellors, she says, banging her own gong). Harnessing that T-force would be something special, wouldn't it? We could bring new t-girls into the community who aren't screwed up with guilt, who have a lot of very positive role-models, who know what they're getting into and know where they can turn to for help - if we want to create a better image for trannies in society, then that would be a very good base to start from.

Something to think over for the next week or so, at least.

2006-01-02T21:43:00.000+01:00

~ Trannies - the universal medium ~

This is rather a good blog title, if I say so myself. Did you spot the references to: alchemy? spirituality? cross-barrier communication? communication in general? the middle point? the thing that lies between all else? Not forgetting: the not particularly good at anything. I had a rather eventful New Year, gentle reader, and feel the need to blog about it.

The Plot

The Three Tranny Witches (Gemma, Denise and Crystal) go to Manchester, one flying in a day later (broomstick troubles). Much partying is done. They then go home.

Day One

Even in Manchester's Village there were still oiks who wondered about the bloke in the dress. Which chuffed/irritated the TS in the party, who irrationally wanted to ask "Hey, what about me?". Foolish girl! One of our party got very irate with them, and the TGs in the party had to explain to her that idiots like this "win" when you react negatively and shout back at them. Be dignified or sneaky: ignore them, or go and flirt/talk/communicate with them. Their little brains can't handle that.

Dancing in a lesbian bar, it came to me: trannies cover all bases, don't they? Hetero men, gay men, hetero women, lesbian women, and other trannies. We appeal to all market sectors; we're (hopefully) cute and harmless. Have you been hit on by all genders yet? (you may guess I did the mental equivalent of "Bingo" this evening).

However, rudely bought down to earth when a friend got very upset, and I couldn't talk her out of it. Arrogantly, I thought I could talk to anyone, so a well-deserved lesson was learnt freezing my bits off outside Manchester Coach Station. She ended up safe, I ended up very cold, and very chastened. As for the little shite who punched her in the nose: your days are numbered, my friend, and you are so lucky I was in 4" heels that evening and couldn't catch up with you (the site of a macho guy running for his life from a long-legged tranny must have been amusing for onlookers, though). It is a little known fact that many trannies, before coming out, are in hyper-masculine roles as a form of denial. Two of our TG party have served time in the army; one is a crack shot and martial arts expert. Don't mess with a tranny if you know what is good for you.

Day Two - New Year's Eve

Napoleon's Bar in the Village has the tranny equivalent of a wasp trap. A small dance room which is walled with mirrors; watch the trannies drift in there, then get ensnared watching themselves dance, and dance, and dance. It's evil; fortunately so many trannies got trapped that they could no longer spot their reflections, came to their senses, and made a break for the exit. Go there and see for yourself. But bring a blindfold.

A tranny is the perfect universal communicator. We don't pose a threat to anyone but ourselves, and so can talk to people without any fears on their behalf about what our hidden agenda is. From 9pm to 3am I was either talking or dancing, or both, and people listened and talked to me, sometimes about very personal or intimate things. Some messages in case anyone passes by and recognises the hyper-tall tranny in the short red dress who listened, cared, and maybe predicted your future (more on this later):

To the cute gay guy - you really were cute!
To his tall friend (not partner): I don't understand your relationship, but you were cute too!
To his partner: I admire you; I personally would be insanely jealous, yet you're keeping it all together.
To the sad asian girl: please, use the number I gave you and get in touch. It will improve.
To the gorgeous blonde in the red dress: the look you have achieved is incredible, especially given your past. This tranny salutes you, and would like you to know that all the other trannies were wide-eyed with awe at you too.
To the white witch: give over; you're a red witch, and you haven't contacted me yet!
To Jess, you're lovely; that sailor dress made you even cuter than the cute gay guy. Never let anyone tell you different; no matter what your background, you yourself are amazing, so be honest and proud in who you are.
To Rachel: you gift will turn out to be something marvellous, amazing, and possibly a bit scary! Use it wisely.

To all the other people who shared in those six hours, all I can say is that I've never had a better time in my life. Wowser. I need a rewind button!

Now: we all know that trannying opens the feminine side of your nature. And I do Tarot Card readings, and they seem to help the people I do them for, but I've always thought it worked from a counselling/psychological point of view: nothing mystical about it at all (I thought). But could trannying account for me, halfway through the evening, beginning to sense fragments of someone's future, and share this with them? Good fragments, I hope - positive paths they could go down. Not rubbish either: too many times a fairly specific prediction was confirmed back as a choice they had and weren't sure of, or were denying. I must admit, this now has me fairly spooked. And interested, too; the following day I tried to reconnect to that feeling while doing a Tarot Reading for a friend. Well, wherever the insights came from, they seemed to mean a lot for the friend, and I'll not begrudge them although they moved both of us nearly to tears. I now just have to work on how to re-open myself to what was being shared with me.

Gypsy Rose Gemma indeed. Someone pass me a headscarf; I'll supply my own hoopy earrings and crystal ball.

Oh, and alchemy? Well, mix liquids and strange chemicals, and you can get some very odd results. It's the beginning of chemistry, but is very unscientific. Anyway, the universal medium dissolves everything. Pretty much like alcohol, I suppose.

2005-12-27T12:14:00.000+01:00

~ Review of 2005 ~

At this time of year it seems that writing lists is The Thing To Do. I like them; they're psychologically healthy as they promote "closure" on subjects, allowing you to move on to the next thing. Sometimes, we need to feel all the loose ends have been cleared away, or at least catalogued, which is the next best thing. They also allow you to see progress, which is reassuring and uplifting. And it bores people in a whole new way. So here are my closing thoughts on 2005, in the middle of the mad whirlwind that is this year's Christmas and the New Year.

On Transgenderism:

Have I reached the "gah! stop thinking it over!" stage yet? Probably not!
I like my current theory. Humans are programmed to align their behaviour with social groups. Gender isn't binary, but has two vectors, male and female, which vary in strength (but interfere with each other). TGs have a strong other-sex vector, causing the group behaviour to kick in and e.g. pretty dresses to be worn as an expression of that drive to conform to the group.
so, it's a drive, not a fetish (though it can be made fetishy - furs, heels, etc)
the drive has different levels of intensity, maybe leading to the CD/TV/TS divides.
some TG's add a cognitive layer of complexity to things, obsessing about dressing. See a therapist!
TG are very social, but only really in a TG context. Who else understands? Ghetto mentality.
CDs and TVs can be very promiscuous - but more so than other social groups e.g. the gay community? Not sure.
Is it a perversion? Should we repress it for the betterment of society? Trannying can be very destructive to ourselves and our relationships with others. Tentative conclusion is that it is a perversion, but only because society has wrong values - we're fighting the same battle as the gay community did in the last half century. Change the world, not your dress sense!

On Blogging:

everyone loves their 15 minutes of fame. We get to stand up and tell the world what we're thinking, and nobody yawns (that we can see).
it's therapeutic.
doing it in an entertaining manner is hard.
keeping up with everyone else's blogs can be very time consuming.

On personal change:

New Year's day 2005 I was a boy.
Februrary saw Gemma first appear. "Ugly" doesn't begin to describe it.
April saw Gemma's first footsteps into the outside world, and her first experience was: getting chatted up outside a pub. Also first outing to Transmission. Also first falling down stairs in heels.
July I started getting IPL treatments for unwanted body and facial hair.
August saw the first Purge, with a six-week "crap tranny" phase bought on by illness. Also the start of this blog.
September was the start of a new career (counselling). Only 3.5 more years to go!
November was an epiphany: the emotional acceptance of who I had become, after my first major solo flight from home (Transpocalypse). Also the first suggestion that I might be TS.
December I started being "me" for days on end: four days at the start of December, then (hopefully) 9 days in the Christmas week.
New Year's Day 2006, I'll be a girl. Or at least, a tranny in a pretty dress - even better!

On (maybe) being TS:

I need to apologise more about banging on about this. But you'll understand - personal issues don't really get any bigger than this. It needs a lot of banging. Fnarr Fnarr.
My subconcious isn't raising any screams of alarm over the subject
But neither is it saying "yes, this is right".
No fantasies either about being morphically female, but there are ones about being full-time Femme.
Conclusion: not TS. Yet. Just a fun concept to play with. Are there in-between states, e.g. permanently pre-op TS?

But thinking about this: how many other TGs are in the same situation as me? Where the conviction isn't strong enough to go for gender-reassignment surgury, but is enough to boot you out of the masculine rut into ... ah, that's the problem, isn't it? Into what?

On the Tranny Fashionista thing:

Women's fashions are fun!
Any excuse to buy more clothes :D
This isn't a normally seen aspect of trannying. Am I weird?
It's a positive thing: it encourages greater appearance awareness and so to being a better tranny.

Resolutions:

to write fewer e-mails. It takes *ages* to keep up!
to wear other eyeshadow colours than brown and golds! (but: an RG friend says she doesn't do other shades either)
to buy and wear more dresses
to investigate social cohesion in other subgroups
to read up much, much more on the whole TG world
to be a tranny fashionista

So, I wave goodbye with fondness to 2005, one packed with fun, interesting and good memories. But - hello, 2006, here we come!

2005-12-23T22:51:00.000+01:00

~ Pulling a Fast One ~

A man walked into a bar and started chatting up a cheetah. I said to him "You're pulling a fast one".

Wheeeee! !Whoosh! through the dark and scary cave of Purging, and back out into daylight. In fact, rocketing very high indeed, I was chuckling to myself all round Tescos: really digging being a tranny; planning buying a pair of really sexy black leather boots and loving every second of it; admiring various girlies in nice clothes. I even stopped to complement a Goth Girl on how good she looked; we talked about "A Nightmare Before Christmas" and so on. I don't know if it was the effect of throwing out those boy clothes, but it's certainly knocked me out of those depressive thought patterns.

And before you think to yourself "Oh, that's nice, Gemma's back to normal", think again. I've been reading up about depression today. This sort of wild mood swing is not normal, and is a feature of depression. Or at least, it's bipolar (manic/depression). Which got me thinking: is the purge just a tranny form of depression? Which means it's treatable with certain cognitive techniques. Please, if anyone out there starts suffering a purge, fancy being a guinea pig? We'll see if we can beat it using some thought pattern restructuring.

And something good came of it too. I was looking to see if there were any therapists who dealt with depression and gender-related issues who used cognitive therapy. "No" was the resounding answer. Looks like I've found another area of specialisation then; trannying and depression go together like Dolce and Gabana.

2005-12-21T23:20:00.000+01:00

~ The Tranny Rollercoaster ~

Back to basics. This blog was supposed to give the casual reader an insight into the tranny world but recently has descended into parody and humour. Well, we're back with a vengeance, because I'm just entering that wonderful downturn on the rollercoaster of tranny life known as the "purge" cycle.

For the non-TG reader, this is a staple part of tranny existance, where social conformity pressures gain the upper hand resulting in self-loathing, depression, guilt, anxiety and a throwing-away of all things femme - clothing, makeup, the lot. I don't know what it correlates with: whether secretive married dressers experience the purge in a more severe fashion, etc (I'm neither). I'm fairly sure that the purge is an externalisation process, where the act of discarding material possessions is symbolic of getting rid of the internal pressures, guilt, loathing etc. Of course it doesn't work: that sort of behaviour is more properly known as "sympathetic magic". Anyway: the desire to cross-dress always returns, leading to new purchases of clothes and makeup. And so the great cycle continues, and shopkeepers rub their hands with glee.

It's an odd phenomena, and I don't think it's associated with things like Bulemia Nervosa (binge eating). A tranny might only have a couple of attacks in her life, so I think it's more like earthquakes: pressure builds up, then is released in a destructive few moments. There may be lesser quakes; I seem to suffer from the self-doubt variety (when I can be heard muttering to myself "I'm such a crap tranny"). This time seems to be up to 5 on the tranny Richter scale.

I thought I might as well blog it; mostly trannies won't because it's so painful. Right now, I'm in a particularly self-destructive mood, so what the heck (remember: self-loathing). Perhaps you'll see a bit closer into the tranny world. Maybe you're a tranny and will remember this when you get into your own purge cycle, and it will lessen the pain somewhat (and that is homeopathic magic). Definitely don't throw away your dresses. Give them to another deserving tranny; let's try to minimise the earthquakes, shall we? Causes of today's little shock? It started off with that sudden twinge of loneliness the day before yesterday, but a double-whammy sent me over the edge.

Firstly, one of my two vanilla friendhips (only two? How sad) came over for the first time in months, but things were strained. She accused me of being "bland" (a tranny? BLAND?), and felt we'd gone in different directions. In a sense she's right: I've become a lot less pig-headed and opinionated over the past few months. And becoming Gemma has been a pretty major life changing event. She can talk; she's had her head buried up her arse while working every hour God sends, and that drains the personality. Well, I can't and won't go back to the old me just because she's scared of change, so it looks like one old friendship is about to die.

Then, my other set of vanilla friends told me that after careful thought, they felt really uncomfortable about me being Gemma and would prefer it if I kept it seperate. Now, I can understand this. It's still rejecting, because they were the one set of people I was sure wouldn't have an issue with it because of things in their own life. We both realise that this uneasiness is going to diminish our friendship. We're both very social, except I'm social as Gemma. I wanted to make them a part of this life, and it looks like this isn't to be. So there won't be that many opportunities going forward when I'll be in boy mode and able to see them.

I feel like I've just lost the only friends I have in the vanilla world. One good tranny friend is off abroad. Another two aren't answering mails, no doubt in their own purge/depression cycles. All seems black, doom and gloom, etc. Gentle reader, if you were ever wondering why the NHS insists on psychological assessment of TS's, it's because in this state you get a wild sort of recklessness about you. Post-op? Why not, it's not as if the male genitalia are of any particular use except for peeing standing up. Maybe I'll have a happier existance as a girl; hell, a lot of people seem to want to be my friend when I'm Gemma, judging by the trans-dating sites. You might also be able to tell: I've had quite a lot of people saying that I'm obviously TS, and they expect me to transition in the next three years. Well, f*ck it, maybe I just will.

It's at times like this that I feel grateful for some core personality traits: honesty and bloody-mindedness. I know that high follows low (which is why it's a cycle) so it's all about waiting this burst of depression out. Throwing clothes away won't help, unless it's to improve the quality of my wardrobe. I know I'm not TS (yet), so shall treat the pre-op comments as a sort of praise or affirmation that, yes, I do have a very feminine side that is expressed so well as myself (Gemma). Friends come and go; it's painful, but inevitable. Can't stop change, so just live with it, love those who need to move on, and welcome new opportunites. Carry on being who I feel I really am. Doing a "Calvin's Dad" on myself here, this is all "character-building" (though I feel that trannies have more than enough character, thank you very much).

So please excuse me. I'm now off to purge my wardrobe. Not of lovely girly clothes but (being bloody-minded) of crap boy-mode clothing from M&S etc. As Gemma I'm a nicer person (honesty coming out here), so I should spend more time as her even if my friends can't cope. I get the psychological release of throwing things away, of making a positive change in my life. And it will free up some space to buy some more frilly dresses.

2005-12-19T22:40:00.000+01:00

~ Maudlin self-pity ~

Maybe it's the time of year. Maybe I've been doing too much counselling, supporting other people. Maybe I've been listening to too many other people. Or perhaps it's the half bottle of Chardonnay. But all of a sudden I've been overwhelmed with loneliness. Oh, I have friends. Lots of very good friends, who I love dearly. But this is different: this is that primeval longing for a soulmate, someone to share life's ups and downs with, someone to snuggle up to and just be close.

I *had* thought that marriage had burnt it out of me, but obviously not; there's a stubborn ember still flickering. Good for it, and I'll fan it this evening even though it will be painful. We shouldn't ever let our fires go out.

2005-12-18T12:56:00.000+01:00

~ The Pros and Cons of Tranny-Partnering ~

It's been done before, but I'd like to do it again. Genetic Girl partners of trannies have some odd advantages and disadvantages.

pro:She can use your makeup whenever she needs to.
con:You will use hers.

pro:She'll always have someone to go shopping with
con:You're spending as much as she does on clothes, so there's less to go round

pro:She'll have someone to diet with
con:You can shed pounds faster than she can

pro:You'll understand when she has to bitch to you about something
con:She has to listen to you bitching about a whole lot more

pro:You'll never complain about how long it takes her to get ready
con:You take twice as long to get ready as she does

pro:She always has someone to go clubbing with
con:Your legs look a lot better in a mini than hers do

pro:You won't ask her to sit through Star Wars episode 17
con:You will ask her to sit through Casablanca. For the 17th time.

... more when I can think of them! Any suggestions?

2005-12-15T00:49:00.000+01:00

~ The Narcotic Of Choice ~

May I say, no tranny was harmed in the making of this blog. No illegal substances were ingested. No crimes committed. This is all completely, totally hypothetical, for educational purposes only. Of course.

First off, Trannying surely should count as a drug ("T"). It's expensive, it messes with your mind, it takes you to an altered state of existence. In many places it's illegal. And you get dodgy vendors selling you extremely unreliable product (not that I'm pointing the finger at Transformations or anything).

But on a recent trip to Manchester, the subject of narcotics came up. Manchester is a city that demands narcotics, I feel. But which ones? We discussed the matter, and came to a conclusion of sorts, albeit at early hours of the morning when judgement should be suspended for the common good.

Alcohol is, of course, the beginner's choice. Freely available and with no social stigma (unless you order a pint of Heavy in a tranny bar). But consider: alcohol is not a tranny's friend. For a start, she's almost certainly on heels. Alcohol ruins the balance, leading to that Naomi Campbell falling feeling. It makes her slur, and trannies are talkative. It makes her talk nonsense, and heavens knows a tranny is not the most intellectual of creatures to start with. No, I really feel that we must move on from Alcohol; trannies just shouldn't do it.

There are, of course, the hard drugs. Crack, Cocaine, Heroin, Angel Dust, PDP, and all the others. Addictive and with a tendency to destroy your earning capability. As such, a tranny should go nowhere near them; she can't afford not to buy this season's latest fashion.

What about the softer drugs? Well, there's good old Hash. It makes you go very mellow and lethargic. Now: most trannies I see spend a goodly time on the dance floor, so this isn't a good choice. Or are social butterflies, again needing their energy and wits about them.

Then there's acid. Speak for yourself, but I find trannying to be enough of a weird trip without further distorting reality. And you tend to end up in a corner of a room gibbering to yourself. Not the sort of thing a lady wishes to be seen doing.

There's tobacco, but there are the health consequences, and you end up smelling like the rancid end of a stale kipper. Oh, so femme. So charming. Bleugh. And don't get me started on the Knitting Circle trannies with their pipes. Really - they exist.

Which brings us to Ecstacy, or E. A drug that apparently makes you open to the world, loving everyone. You can get very talkative on it. Or very receptive. Sensations are amplified - always a bonus for wearers of satin and silk lingerie. You can dance for ages. And an erotic experience is much deeper, is so more powerful.

Strange. It hits all the ducks, doesn't it? Almost as if it was invented for trannies. But of course we're good girls, and would never partake of something like that.

2005-12-15T00:24:00.000+01:00

~ On Coming Out ~

Or, seven degrees of connection. I was going to write a "Fear and Loathing ..." style piece. I've just come back from a trip to Manchester, and heavens knows that resembled the book in a number of places:

"We opened the trunk; it was a pervert's wet dream. Twenty-three miniskirts, fourteen pairs of assorted tights (predominantly fishnet), bras, underwear, thongs, slips, corsets and satin nightslips. A whole bag of boots ranging from 1" to an eye-watering 5". We couldn't possibly wear all this in four days, but once you start on a clubbing collection it's hard to stop until you run out of space."

I personally now consider "T" to be a drug as lethal as any other on the market. But the trouble with Fear and Loathing writing is: it's descriptive. It entertains. And I was writing this blog to look at issues from all sides, to consider different perspectives. So here's the deal. Any entry starting with "Fear and Loathing ..." is recounting some episode in my life. I'll try to make it entertaining, but there won't be that many of them as they take a lot of effort and I'm not that motivated over writing that sort of thing.

What did set me off today was talking to some friends. I'd told them last week about me (Gemma). Well, Siobhan and Gillian were doing it, and the time felt right. My friends were pretty cool about it. I even invited them to a party so they could see me, as opposed to my Clarke Kent side. Today, the conversation went like this:

"Can we invite K.? We've told her about you."
"Ummm ... sure." (I like K., but ...).
"Oh, and L. will be coming too. You don't mind her knowing, do you?"
"Errr ... no, not at all. In fact - you better tell Z. too."

I thought I'd better get the last in before they did: a bit of pre-emptive outing. What got to me was: I'd shared this very personal and private part of me, and suddenly it was being disseminated through my social group. Especially L. - she will tell everyone. There now is truly no place to hide. I have to admit to feeling a bit exposed, but on the other hand, it's like being in a nudist camp and having the beachballs taken away: eventually you have to give up being embarrassed and just go for it, without worrying what your friends are going to think. If they're your friends they won't mind - will have fun, in fact. If they're not your friends, then you don't want them around, do you?

The sad fact is: once you start coming out, you may as well go all the way and tell everyone as soon as possible. There are no halfway measures. At least you'll be the one who enjoys the shocked reactions, rather than people coming to you and saying "Really? How nice!".

2005-12-08T10:22:00.000+01:00

~ Gonzo Dressing ~

Becky mentioned Hunter S. Thompson, Lemsip and "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" in a website. I'm a big fan, and shamelessly parodied the opening paragraphs in a response. It was fun. A lot of fun! And I like fun. So I thought, "what would Hunter write about if he was a tranny in Hampshire? Just coming to terms with it all?" ...

~~~~~~

We both agreed, it had to be done. There was a need, there was Black, far too much Black, and we had the colours in our wardrobes. I remember sitting in the bar and checking out the girls as they came in. Black. Black. Nice, but too tranny. I turned to my Fashion Adviser and said "Something needs to be done. And soon."
In the middle of a straw of Coke, my Fashion Adviser stopped to think about it. This is her problem: she thinks. I, personally, don't rate the activity. If a thing is worth doing, it's worth doing to excess especially if it involves the Clarins cosmetics counter. Earlier that week I had withdrawn the better part of my life savings and in a 24-hour shopping spree had completely failed to spend most of it. Black, it seemed, was the In Thing. The Clarins girl agreed. She also agreed that shopping must be done to excess if it was to be done at all, and took the opportunity to sell me some very expensive gold eyeshadow. Gold eyeshadow is a terrible thing. On a model, it glitters, it shines. It sings out to the trannies' heart. Yet give a girl a tube of it herself, and she becomes some trashy egyptian slut, fit only to parade about with King Tutenkhamun.

But we weren't in Ancient Egypt, we were in Transmission, checking out the dress sense of the incoming girls. Of course, we ignored the good-looking ones. They didn't count. Never look up, it just holds you back. We were interested in climbing up the backs of the poor, downtrodden masses, the huddled trannies in the sacklike garments. Maybe cruel. Maybe harsh. But we weren't interested in the milk of human kindness at that moment, though in the morning maybe we would be interested in milk of magnesia. And what to wear that wasn't black, and wasn't shapeless, and showed us to be the goddesses that we were.

Then my Fashion Adviser clutched my arm. "Oh My God, I'm having a seizure. Tell me I'm having a seizure. Tell me I'm not seeing a 6'6" walking talking Barbie Doll on Amphetamines". Looking up from my handbag, I looked upon Michaela Marbella, the embodiment of what is Good and Right and Noble in the tranny world: the right of every girl to dress to excess, this evening in a particularly extrovert "Princess of Romance" fluffy number. A sight like that is hard for a girl to cope with, especially on only one glass of Chardonnay. Pulling my Fashion Adviser up by her arm, I muttered to her "Come on, let's go to the bar. This demands a drink, and you're buying".

Struggling through the seething trannies, we discussed what we should do. "Follow the tranny dream. Be bold. Be beautiful. But above all, be noticed." We both agreed: being noticed was important. And attending the right parties. Goddammit, weren't we gorgeous? We HAD to be at those parties. The girls needed us. And maybe my gold eyeshadow too. This was getting more serious, we were going to have to talk to people, mix with people, find out where the parties were. And buy more dresses. As the Chardonnay took hold, I remember stressing the importance of a dress. And a high hemline. My Fashion Adviser disagreed. "Don't be a fool. Ethnic is in. Cheongsams. Sarees. Russian chic." My Fashion Adviser is ethnic, and is prone to talking like this. She has the skin tone to carry off loud colours, but I feel she fails to notice the finer points of subtlety and blending. So we agreed: we would sit down and plan, we would party, we would dress so well that we would set a shining example to trannies everywhere. And maybe we would wear Sarees. Trannytown wouldn't know what had hit it.

~~~~~~~~

... God, that *was* fun! I like this. I like this a lot, and it could work out. There's a space for interesting, weird reportage of various tranny events. I can't do wild drug abuse, but will persue this for a bit and see how it goes. Stay tuned; there are a few more chapters bubbling in my head!

2005-12-04T10:53:00.000+01:00

~ Hissy Fit ~

This just isn't fair: why me? Why now?

Perhaps some context is needed. I'm visiting some friends in Manchester; 4 days full-on trannying. What shall I wear? I have to think of day-wear and clubbing, each one different. And do I have a suitcase big enough for it all? Don't tell me to bring less; I'm a tranny. I like to dress up. You think I'm missing out on any one of eight different ways to dress? I'm ordering the pack elephants now.

Last night, too, was Transmission, and I was travelling with the delectable Nina (at 2am, she'd racked up 7 chat-up attempts. Way to go, girl!). It was important to look good in that sort of company (flirty floaty red dress, wide leather belt, and a beautiful white shawl). We also had a long chat about how trannies can be irresponsible gadflies, and decided to dedicate our lives to a nobler cause: being supreme fashionistas.

However. In the last two weeks I have spent a lot of time clothes shopping, and I am depressed. "And this season's colours are inspired by nature: namely, the bottom of a pond. Heather is looking oh-so-pondweed in that gorgeous muddy brown skirt and slime green top. Zara's emaciated form is cunningly concealed in that full-length black dress which completely hides any curves or shape that she has: I do think the Burkha could be next season's big thing, don't you, Jilly?"

Well, really. I didn't sign up to be a tranny in order to look like pond scum. Where are the colours? The vibrancy? The frills? Pink, even. There was a moment of happiness with the floaty, chic Boho look, but that has evolved (degenerated?) into this mud-coloured palette. Or just grown mould, you really couldn't tell. Just my luck to start wearing dresses when they become hideously unwearable. And note, dear reader, this is from a girl who likes brown, so it must be bad if I'm stomping a pert foot in a fit of pique.

Sigh: these things are sent to try a tranny's courage. So I'm focussing on the classics, instead. Red and white, nicely festive - especially this, which Jessica pointed out and I fell completely in love with. A lovely silver thing that will be just right for Christmas. (Darkly) if it arrives in time. Despite being ordered ages ago, it doesn't look as if it's been dispatched yet. This isn't good! While I do need a little black number, I don't know if I can bring myself to wear it. And a shameful admission: I'm going to wear the same dress out to a number of events, I can't afford to be a perfect fashionista just yet. Any gorgeous, wealthy admirers who would like to spoil a t-girl and dress her in sumptuous fabrics, please apply here.

2005-12-02T01:25:00.000+01:00

~ What Not To Wear ~

Jessica has suggested we write to What Not To Wear, to persuade Suzie and Trinny to do a Tranny What Not To Wear. This is an idea so good that it has to happen. Please - write now! Perhaps even nominate the worst-dressed tranny you know :D

Failing that - perhaps we should do our own "Floozy and Tranny" WNTW!

2005-11-30T23:11:00.000+01:00

~ I, Tranny ~

A theory has emerged from the bubbling depths of my subconcious as to just what's been happening to my inner mental landscape, as detailed in a rather confused earlier blog. What am I babbling about, you ask yourself. As well you may. It's a major milestone that I think most trannies pass, so deserves to be babbled about.

There were a couple of clues I should have picked up on, if I had been a small fat Belgian. Happiness, or at least not-botheredness about being clocked; up till now I'd been very paranoid about that. Rehearsing giving a talk on the whole Transvestite thing at work, and possibly doing a slide-show (of the less provocative photos, of course). Thinking about trannying far more than is actually healthy for you. Considering it as a holistic activity, rather than the more mundane "dressing". The sudden willingness - no, eagerness to get out and about in real life more.

The penny dropped - ker-ching! I'd emotionally come to see the world in three shades of gender identity: male, female and tranny. No longer was I stuck between male (unacceptably beige) or female (adverse to scalpels, and still able to read maps). Instead, a new wide-open vista of trannydom had opened up that I could happily wander about in, free of the constraints of either side. All the inner confusion was obviously the equivalent of having the removals men in, dropping priceless items and asking " 'ow about a cup of tea, luv?" as the mental furniture was relocated to the Vale of Tran.

I can sense the Gentle Reader may still be confused. See, a tranny in her early stages is still understanding the world in terms of Male and Female. Where exactly in that spectrum does she fit in? Either side you put her, it's wrong. It does lead, I think, to an obsession about passing in public: as she's not male, she must be female, and so must become so you can't tell the difference. Once she accepts that there is a third gender identity she can be, then a lot of confusion and anxiety fade away. There's no problem about not being masculine, because she's not male. She's not female, so she doesn't have to pass as one in public. "Transgender" is a pretty crap term as it implies moving away from gender. Tranny suits me fine, as it's a recognisable noun/verb thingie (dear reader, please correct my appalling understanding of grammer). I begin to see where Becky was coming from in one of her diatribes!

It's helping me understand the Tranny landscape more, too. I think Drag Queens are the truly visible extension of this realisation, because they sure aren't trying to pass. Oh, the viewer might think "that's a bloke in a skirt", but really, she isn't. Even the pronoun "she" is wrong - one T-girlfriend despises all trannies who refer to themselves as 'she', stating bluntly that she's a bloke in a dress. That's true but a bit harsh, I feel - the female pronoun is an integral part of trannying for me. This adds a possibly interesting perspective on the Transsexual viewpoint: they can't see themselves as either male or tranny. It may also cast light on Crossdressers: they can't see themselves as tranny. Or all of this could be hogwash, which is highly likely; look at previous blogs to see just how wrong I can be.

Whether it's right or wrong, it's useful. I can now go out in public and if someone says "Bloke in dress!", I can retort: "no, tranny in dress, and isn't it pretty?". It's very liberating, because I don't have to judge myself by the male rules anymore. If the viewer has a problem, it definitively is their problem, not mine. Though it may becone mine if they try to kick my head in - either time to practice those counselling skills, or dredge up the ancient karate (worthy of a blog: how many t-girls are involved with the martial, as opposed to the marital, arts?).

Anyway, that is the "Doh!" moment I think I've arrived at: I'm a tranny, behave like a tranny, and no need to feel embarrassed unless I choose a really badly fitting dress. Already I can feel myself wondering how I failed to see this on the other side of the Tranny Event Horizon, and want to capture the moment for posterity. There is a third way, and it doesn't involve Tony Blair. Hopefully. The Way of the Tranny is acceptance that one lives in-between the two normal states, that it's a valid gender identity, that you don't have to be perfectly passable, and to stick two fingers up at anyone who says the bloke-in-a-dress thing.

Je suis Tranny.

2005-11-30T00:42:00.000+01:00

~ Reality is consensus opinion ~

It's not who you want to be: it's what other people think you are. That can be a very negative thing for a tranny, but some recent experiences have shown it's a two-edged sword.

A TS friend is suffering from the people surrounding her. Despite the fact that she is now a pretty girl, they persist in treating her as a boy. This, as you can imagine, is very harmful to her self esteem. You're shouting "get out of there" at her. Sometimes that isn't possible. So despite the fact that she's taken this as far as physically possible, the peer pressure is leaving her where she started.

On the other side: my weekend up in Birmingham was surrounded by vanilla people who could only see me as Gemma. I want to make that distinction; with TG friends, it's not the same. See, if you're TG, you're much more accepting. So a TV is a bit hairy? She's still a sister, and you treat her as she would like to be treated. But the general public are a lot more discriminating, not to mention rude. It's not a question of "passing" - that's advanced trannying for me! But to go out and be flirted with, for people to laugh (can't avoid that!) but still be pleasantly amused, well - that's very reinforcing. It tells me I'm not a complete dogs-dinner. That the new foundation and shadow cover were actually doing their job. That I might actually be pleasant to look upon. And that, for a self-conscious and depreciating tranny on a huge post-Transpocalypse buzz, is about as good as it gets.

Or so I thought. Then someone got in touch with me. It wasn't your standard admirer - let's face it, a lot of guys will say anything to get a girl into bed, so you become very blase about it all. But this was different, and made me feel wanted for who I was. It pushed the point home even further: people were appreciating me - Gemma. It wasn't an act any more, it was as real as it could be.

That's powerful magic. I have to say that my employers today did not get value for money, because some very strange shifts were happening inside my head. I can't quite explain it, except suddenly everything had come into focus, and I was being forced to look at what I was doing and say "Yesterday I was playing. Today, it's for real". Here and now, I was Gemma, not some bloke in a dress. And that changes everything - every act, every item of clothing, every peice of makeup has to be considered in this new light. No wonder I couldn't concentrate.

We all like to think we are who we want to be. These past few days I've been far more moved by what other people think I am. It's addictive and I recommend it to anyone, whether it's just viting the local TG support group, Transmission, the Village or strutting your stuff through the shopping centre on a busy afternoon.

So if you see a rather tall tranny striding out proudly down your high street, then it could well be me getting my next fix of reality. See you out there!

2005-11-28T00:35:00.000+01:00

~ A Tranny Collective ~

Just what do you call a group of 3 or more trannies? A critique of trannies? A bitch? A hysteria? Definitely a have-a-good-time-and-don't-give-a-damn, that's for sure. I don't normally blog about events, mostly because other people do it all too well (never play a game you won't win, that's my attitude). But as Transpocalypse was a gathering of blogging Trannies and Significant Others, it has to be done. Just once. I promise I'll go back to the abstract airy-fairy and stop bothering y'all afterwards.

Birmingham is suprisingly convenient for Farnborough - 2.5 hours away. Or so the RAC claim, but what do they know? Roadworks at Oxford, the M40/M42/a tranny's inability to go the right way, and Birmingham Saturday Traffic conspired to make that 4 hours. Well, really. Just enough time to buy an epilator to pull out hairs that had been loosened by the IPL. Or so I thought; I tested it on an arm (nice one, Gemma - not at all visible) and stomach, then decided that the pain and time wasn't suitable for the evening. Nobody commented on the horrific arm rash; perhaps they all thought I had a communicable disease and were trying not to breathe too near me.

"What to wear" took considerable mental energy: most of the Friday, plus Saturday morning. I really wanted a pink tweed coat - nicely girly, but warm, given how our weather has decided to do impressions of Siberia. Could I find one? No I could not. Well, that's a lie, I did find one, but at £450 I had to stagger off and have a sit-down. Eventually it came down to mature (knee-length skirt, fashionable but warm jumper thingy) or clubby. Clubby naturally won out, being short, distinctive and suitable for bouncing about getting hot and sweaty. For the fashionistas: white tweed mini, victorian lace blouse-thing, small-hole fishnets, black boots, lace shawl used as belt, and a high-waist denim jacket, pink stripey scarf and matching gloves for warmth. Rrrroowwww, very nice!

Because I wasn't sure up till the last moment, I packed for two outfits. One night: one small suitcase, I thought. How charmingly, innocently, pathetically naieve. Oh, I crushed it all in, but I think in the future I should upgrade to one of those box trunks. Plus a porter or three. Continuing the naieve theme, I thought I was very organised in the hotel bedroom rather than looking like the normal cosmetics factory explosion a.k.a. tranny getting ready. However, T-minus-60 saw all discipline disspaear and every flat surface pressed into action. T-plus-30 the nail varnish was drying and I managed to get out of the room without tripping over anything and only one false start, then sashayed out into the wider world with no clear idea of where I was heading.

At this point, I'm going to have to dissapoint you. I can't say anything about Siobhan's interesting attitude to building foreign relations, especially when it comes to members of the Arabic nations. I promised not to; she won't remember that promise, but what's a tranny if she doesn't keep her word. So, it's important to state that this is the type of noble, self-sacrificing person I am. Damn, because it's such a good piece of gossip. Sigh ...

Update: now the cat's out of the bag, you should know, gentle reader, that the above is complete misdirection. Not a pack of lies, because there isn't a single untruth in there. See, Jo (enthusiastically abetted by Becky) suggested making up an outrageous story about Siobhan, because Siobhan was 99.374% likely to get so outrageously drunk she wouldn't remember anything, and so we could feed her a very disquieting story: "Siobhan and the Arab". As it turns out, Siobhan's actual behaviour on the night was far more interesting, so the plug was pulled. It's amazing how much we infer from negatives and inferred links: I have no idea what Siobhan feels about Arabic people; I promised Jo, not Siobhan; etc. Anyway: on with the story.

Fortunately, the bar was right next door to the hotel, and I managed to spot the few trannies hiding in plain view. Very few: Clarissa, Gillian, Becky and Jane. Where were the 20-odd t-girls? Late, of course ("naieve" is the theme of this trip, it seems). Gradually the bar filled up with cheery trannies waving at the gawking passers-by (Gillian getting especial pleasure from tormenting the poor beasties), and eventually we headed over the road to the Chinese restaurant, only 30 minutes late which is pretty darn good for a collection of trannies ("herding cats" sums it up)

Crossing that road was fun. It was chokka with traffic, and how nice to sashay across the street in full tranny swing and catch sight of the dropping jaws. The restaurant punters were desperately oh-this-is-nothing-unusual; good for them, but they very much enjoyed the spectacle of a flock of trannies in full socialise mode. I am humbled: each girl was different to how I imagined her. And a waiter in the restaurant got a special mental hug for calling us "ladies" when he didn't need to. I spent the meal chatting to Vanessa, Rachel, Becca, April and Angela. Great people, I thoroughly enjoyed it. But - so little time, and so much to talk about. In the end I talked at length to the girls around me and didn't mingle, because I wanted to get to know these people well, and not be a social butterfly. Depth rather than width, as the Actress said to the Bishop. There'll be other times when I get to talk to them, other Transpocalypes. And, rather than recount what was said, here's a roll-call and links to the appropriate blog (if I can find it - gonna post this and come back to the links later on). No special order, just as my memory dredges them up (and Becky kindly filled me in where either alcohol or lack of contact left me blank)

Gillian Stuart
Clarissa Darling
Jane
Becky Enverite
Rachel
Vanessa
Becca
April Angell
Angela
Ian & Kim
Miss K
Siobhan
Jessica
Jo Nicholls
Steph & Tracy
Sophie & Shannon

Anyway, once the tranny locust plague had passed, leaving behind a stripped tablecloth, off we went down some cold and initially deserted streets (the cold?) to what was listed as a gay nightclub but seemed to be 50/50 hetero/gay. At least, if the really cute Brummie lassies I was talking to was anything to go by. Three floors; good-ish dance music on the top; not really much cop downstairs; the bottom floor near the bar had a couple of couches which impressively got swooped on by our crowd so some serious chatting could be done. Well done, girls!

At around 2am I faded; my feet were killing me. I blame the gel insoles I was trying, because normally I can last longer while dancing more. Wandered back to the hotel with Becca, Sophie and Sophie's partner, then bid them adieu and went to bed, to sleep the good sleep of the tired, well-fed and happy tranny.

And now it's nearly 1am, it's a work day, and my bed is covered in the debris of a serious weekend's trannying. Good memories, hopefully stored on Flickr.

2005-11-26T00:26:00.000+01:00

~ In Vino Veritas ~

I'm sure it wasn't Chardonnay; standard pub dry white (a.k.a. horse pee) while I listened to a friend do a U2 cover gig. I don't like U2, so this was true friendship. But it was nice being able to switch off, let the alcohol take its course, and start solving the problems of the world.

The first insight was how we all play by rules. There are an infinite number of ways of playing the human game, and it IS a game, ask any anthropologist or psychiatrist ("Games People Play", Eric Bearne 1970ish). More specifically, there are male and female rules of the game. Trannies break those rules (from the male/female perspective), arousing much ire and indignation. But look at the bigger picture. For once, one small section of humanity is able to put aside one set of rules and take up another. I don't think it's possible to abandon all rules, that leads to chaos and the inability to make judgements, which is a biological imperative. Sing "Ho!" for trannies, for we're supra-rule based. Sisters, I love you all (I'm such a nice drunk).

Second: it was lovely being in bloke mode, seeing the blokes standing around being really blokish, seeing the girls being very ... girly, and knowing I could flip between either viewpoint as I chose. Dammit, trannying can be so liberating at times! And I enjoyed the music more, because I could let go more easily. Important lesson, Gemma!

Third: how nice to have a secret that nobody else knows! Gillian has recently been telling people about herself. I'm not sure I actually want to; I derive a lot of pleasure from having a seperate me. But more power to Gillian for doing so.

Fourth: I think I'm becoming addicted to mulled wine. I know it's cold, but I definitely had enough to drink at the pub. And I certainly don't need the mushrooms on toast I'm planning to cook for myself. Talk about a severe attack of the munchies.

Fifth: what the heck am I going to wear at Transpocalypse? It's too cold for everything I like; I want to appear at my best; I don't want to risk anything new. I'm stuffed; I can't satisfy all of these criteria. More shopping tomorrow morning! Plus a backup plan. The 'A' team always had a backup plan. But no trannies. Though I always had my doubts about Mr. T. ... No, Gemma, don't go there. (shudders).

Sixth: I really want to try on that sexy lingerie. But what sort of person does that make me, trying on sexy lingerie when Under The Influence? ... Human, I guess. What the heck! If a girl can't try on clothes she's just bought, the world is a sorry place.

So, I leave you, gentle reader, to return to your wonderful life of diversity and interest while I go and put on something that is labelled "Brazilian" underwear and eat mushrooms on toast. I hope your evening turns out to be as good as mine is shaping up to be :D

2005-11-22T23:35:00.000+01:00

~ A Life Worth Living ~

Despite the previous depressing post, I really do feel that being a t-girl's a positive thing, and felt I needed to put the Pollyanna perspective on it all.

I can remember B.G. (Before Gemma). It was dull. I might even say "a life wasted". It was like vanilla ice-cream, but without the taste. Remember the Vultures from the "Jungle Book" cartoon? "Bored!" "So, waddya want to do?". Or Vik, from the Young Ones - "Bored Bored Bored!".

Ever since I found this other side, I've been places that I would never have gone normally (the ladies' lavatory), seen things (ditto), done things. Wild, crazy things! Danced the night away. Met people with stories so interesting, so full of joi de vrie, that it's taken my breath away. Met sadness too, it's true. I think it's the price we have to pay to get access to this different way of existance. Maybe some girls just see the price, and never realise just what an incredible thing they've purchased for it. I can remember thinking B.G. "damn! I'll never get to experience being a woman, to see things from her perspective". How wrong I was.

So - we're not victims of a cruel and uninterested Mother Nature (ever wondered why they call her a Mother?). We're not sad creatures, curiously suspended between both sexes. We're certainly not perverts.

Then what are we?

We are wondrous, joyous creatures. Especially after the second glass of Chardonnay. We are social, active, daring. We challenge the rules that society constrains itself in. We are perfectionist, we push things further than many real girls push them (just take a look at Miss Gay UK). We see things from the outside, and so can see them clearly. It isn't us that has the problem - it is the rest of the world. One day it will change, and we are the harbingers of that change. We lead lives that are full of strangeness and charm. We are t-girl.

2005-11-19T13:37:00.000+01:00

~ Alice through the looking-glass ~

Chatting with Emma Sculley this week (who does ace IPL; she's TS, very understanding, has a very private clinic, and she really works hard to zap every last follicle. God bless her!). We got onto the TV / TS thing, as you do. We agreed that there really IS a divide, with no shades of grey: either you know you're going to go for the Transformation, or you're not. TVs and TSs approach the world differently. That's politically unacceptable in the glorious Rainbow Coalition that we live under, which is a daft approach - "vive le difference", as our car-burning cousins say. We're stronger for our diversity.

Something suprised us both, though: each side is afraid of the other. This, by the way, is me reading the generic into Emma's specific comments. Have a chat with her if you want to find out her actual views; she's a really nice person and gives out a lot of advice too on the TV-chix website.

For a TV, a TS is scarily serious. There's no way we can approach that degree of commitment. In comparison, our own efforts look very shallow, superficial. Unconciously, TS's can reinforce that: "you part-time girls" was one innocent comment made by a TS friend. From her perspective, it's spot on. From mine, it implies lack of dedication - how many times have I joshed colleagues at work for being a 'part-timer'? And so TV's will push away TS's as being uncomfortable to be around - nobody likes being made to feel superficial, after all.

Many TV's will react really strongly to me saying this; don't they bend over backwards to be inclusive with TS's? Which doubly proves the point. You don't react strongly to something with no emotional truth, and you don't need to bend over backwards if there's no difference. Me, I say stop fighting it. TS's are different, and that makes them hugely interesting to be around: walk a mile in another girl's stilettoes, and all that. Once you start recognising differences, you can accomodate them with their different views and needs. In fact - there is no accomodation: you just are. (and while there is no spoon, is there soup? And how will we drink it without a spoon?).

Emma was suprised almost to incredularity to hear me say this. After all, being around TVs intimidated her, which stunned me until I heard her out. For a TS, the prime goal is body reshaping to turn male into female. Once that female body has been achieved, the TS can get on with living her life according to how she feels inside, 24 hours a day. And that means dressing and behaving normally - jeans, tee and trainers. So put her in a room full of TVs who are made up to the hilt, and she starts feeling a bit dowdy, a bit plain. It's intimidating. She feels different. I suspect that a TS will in general do less of the makeup too, as she doesn't have to, which adds to the seperation. And the morning after, the TS is still herself, whereas everyone else has ... changed. I suspect that being a TS is quite a vulnerable position, so the instinct will be to either draw in on oneself, or bond strongly with a nearby TS. Which a lot of TVs see, and react negatively against; it's a vicious circle.

So there we all are: staring at our reflections in the mirror, pretending like mad that they're the same thing when there are all sorts of differences in the reflection and the red king is sliding down the poker. And when Emma commented that I behaved like a lot of TS's, suddenly I was on the other side of the mirror. Up to that point I hadn't even considered I could be a sort of proto-TS; and here was this rabbit hole opening up in front of me. Sometimes, you just have to follow the White Rabbit to see where it leads. Good thing I attached a rope to the fireplace before I went through, huh?

2005-11-12T11:27:00.000+01:00

~ The Dark Side of Trannydom ~

We've looked at despair; let's now stare into the bony eye-sockets of Death. This follows on from "Big Girls Don't Cry", because I reached a conclusion but wasn't done. Anyway, this one needs a post of its own, sealed off from the others in a hazmat drum.

Billy Joe jumped off the Talahatchie bridge. Maybe he was pushed, but I don't believe it. Wipe off a tranny's foundation and you'll find Death staring you back in the face. Some statistics I read a while back: 30% of pre-op TS's end up committing suicide. Also, 30% of post-op TS's too. While cause/effect gets a bit tangled, one thing stands out: gender reassignment surgery is not the end of the story. If you've grown up in a binary society (M/F) and you're actually analogue, you're in trouble. Your brain will be imprinted with binary values, attitudes and habits, even though it wants to explore all those delicious ranges in between. Internal conflict will be your constant friend. That's not going to go away just because you've had some bits of flesh resculpted. Which is of course why the Transition has so many psychologists involved. Even for TVs, dressing is already a deeply embarrasing and guilty thing (according to society's mores), so t-girls tend not to talk about what and why. And so, so many of us go through life building up that internal pain, unable to resolve the conflicts until that day when it gets too much and all we want is peace.

For some reason I keep finding myself on the Talahatchie bridge. I had a sibling when growing up; she jumped off and I wasn't looking. Feeling guilty? You bet. Some internet aquaintances have left me letters saying "going for a quick swim; may be some time". I've still not heard from them. And of course being in the TG world, I find that there are quite a lot of people here too who tell me that a really good solution to their hurt and anguish is one quick drop away. Me, I occasionally look over the edge but the water is very far away and looks dark, cold and uninviting, so I loose all inclination to take a dip. I think there's something in me that finds comfort in being on the edge (don't jostle me, now!), but to be honest I don't trust my subconcious one inch. Especially not one inch away from a big drop.

Sooner or later the realisation has to hit even the densest trannie: we're here for a reason, and it's usually bleedin' obvious. Me, I think maybe I can do some ropework, fasten some safety lines and reach a hand out to anyone with those toes hanging over free air. Maybe not; it's a long downhill road to get to the bridge, and turning around is not going to be easy. But there should be at least one of us there, surely? Someone to meet the girls as they arrive, to ask them what they think of the view. A "last chance saloon" of the soul. And if the dark waters of oblivion are too tempting, someone to give them a last hug and shed a tear for them as they go angrily into that long night. No doubt there are a number of us already waiting patiently by the bridge. One more can only help.

So, if you're passing by on your way to the bridge, let me know. I'll like to walk with you a way, keep you company for a while. You've walked an interesting and hard road, and I'd like to hear about your travels. I'll show you my favourite view, and there's a small shelter I've put up away from the edge where we can have a quiet hot drink out of the weather. After all, the bridge has been there a long time; it's not going anywhere and can wait while you collect your thoughts.

So, you know where to find me. I'll be the one at the Talahatchie bridge, looking out over the sunset and waiting for you to drop by.

2005-11-12T10:20:00.000+01:00

~ Big Girls Don't Cry ~

This blog is going to get drawn towards a nasty, dank place today. Look away if you're in a fluffy kittens mood, because we're going to get heavy. ... Turns out I've had to split it into two for aesthetic reasons; this one is followed by the Dark Side.

It all started with the Talahatchie Bridge. Billy Joe McAllister jumped off it; though the exact reason is never spelt out. It held me frozen this morning when it came on the radio - it's a song, "Ode to Billy Joe", by Bobbie Gentry, if you didn't know, very atmospheric and very powerful because everything is hinted at rather than described.

But it was when she sang that "There was a virus going 'round, papa caught it and he died last Spring / And now mama doesn't seem to wanna do much of anything" that really hit me. Dammit, I can't even look at this without wanting to burst into tears; so much sadness and despair, and I feel for mama. See, that's where this came from. Without going into why that moves me so much (maybe later), this has been the first time that Gemma has experienced something that's bought her to tears.

And it wasn't any better than in the past, and it should have been. Now, I'm going to get "me me me" for a while which is selfish, because that is one fine song: Bobbie captures her past perfectly, and there are three or four different threads running through the song that just beg to be discussed. She's another one who can't find her place in the world; studied philosophy, built a career, tried to shape the world to be what she wanted, but eventually gave up and dropped back into privacy. Good luck to her.

Anyway: I was overwhelmed by the sadness and despair in that line. Tears should have followed. But there's this part of me that will not let go, and it hurts, really physically hurts: the irresistable tide of sadness and the immovable "boys don't cry" met and clashed, and it feels like the battleground is my throat which is raw. And it struck me that in one way trannying is very shallow emotionally, for me at least. I'm a caring person, and as Gemma that is easier to express. But just that: "easier", so I'm not really going anywhere new or challenging or changing myself. There's no doorway that's been opened up into my soul to give the feelings an express elevator to the surface, or added new feelings, or let others go away. There are still a lot of unsavoury doormen checking everything in and out, so when it comes to something like crying that's imprinted so deep it is NOT going to change quietly. So while there's a lot changing on the surface, deep down where it's important not much is happening. (Glumly) And you know what that means? I'm running away and looking for an escape route. I hate it when I can see what my subconcious us up to.

Really at this point I should make some observations on trannydom in general, and how in some very important respects most of us still are blokes in dresses. I'm sorry, I just can't today, this has left me very unsettled. But you're a smart reader, so could you draw some observations and conclusions yourself and post them back? One of us has to pick up the slack around here.

Anyway, it's a bit of a slap to be honest: putting on a dress is a lot of effort and I expected more of a result. At the end of the day, it seems that I'm still me, and another day I'll be thankful for that. But right now I'm churned up with all these emotions that have no way of draining away. I should have known better: we are who we are, always, and there ain't no silver bullet. I prescribe a course of weepy movies; practice makes perfect after all, and if that doesn't work I can always take up a career as Blues Singer with a wonderfully deep and husky voice.

2005-11-04T23:20:00.000+01:00

~ There's something in the air ... ~

There is a tide that moves the fates of trannies. It ebbs and flows, and right now we seem to be looking at a lot of exposed mud, though let's hope: no crabs.

It's very quiet in the tranny world. Trannyflickr has almost fizzled out after a very enthusiastic few months. AngelFlickr didn't really go anywhere. Two t-girl bloggers have gone off-line (Jessica & Miss T. - I hope they're well. Despite having never met, when you read someone's blogs, you start to care).

On the personal front, too, it's gone grave-like. The number of people writing is at a low (probably a good thing; I spend FAR too much time writing enthusiastically to people). It's even quieter on the boyfriend front (if that were possible). And as for my own personal inclination to dress up and be outrageously Gemma-ish: oh dear. Too much hard work has left me awash with testosterone, so the impulse has died away. No doubt it will be back, but right now I feel about as girly as a night down the pub.

However, it IS transmission weekend. 24 hours to get into the spirit of things. And if you were wondering what was in the air: it's the smell of gunpowder.

Gemma Goes Wild In Hampshire

~~~ Finding A New Level ~~~

~~~ Stereotypes ~~~

~~~ The Cat and the TS ~~~

~~~ The Plight of the Phoenix Tranny ~~~

~~~ Trannies - the universal medium ~~~

~~~ Review of 2005 ~~~

~~~ Pulling a Fast One ~~~

~~~ The Tranny Rollercoaster ~~~

~~~ Maudlin self-pity ~~~

~~~ The Pros and Cons of Tranny-Partnering ~~~

~~~ The Narcotic Of Choice ~~~

~~~ On Coming Out ~~~

~~~ Gonzo Dressing ~~~

~~~ Hissy Fit ~~~

~~~ What Not To Wear ~~~

~~~ I, Tranny ~~~

~~~ Reality is consensus opinion ~~~

~~~ A Tranny Collective ~~~

~~~ In Vino Veritas ~~~

~~~ A Life Worth Living ~~~

~~~ Alice through the looking-glass ~~~

~~~ The Dark Side of Trannydom ~~~

~~~ Big Girls Don't Cry ~~~

~~~ There's something in the air ... ~~~