Day Of Remembrance

Friends, Family, & Loved Ones,

It is with a sad and heavy heart that I welcome you today, on this day of remembrance. We have come together to keep alive the memory of those where were victims of violence this past year. We have come together to share our grief of loved ones lost. We have come together to bury our dead.

Let us observe a moment of silence while we give our prayers.

...

Yes, today is a solemn day, but even now, there is hope. Though we may gather in sorrow, we do not stay in vain, for there are similar services today spread not just across America, but indeed, throughout the world. Awareness has spread! That means that where before there were no local resources for transgender support, now there is!

And we shall not forget the cost! Violence afflicts many people, for many reasons, but too many transgendered persons know the pain of losing a friend. Too many transmen and transwomen live in fear of their physical safety. Too many lead silent, tortured lives. Too many have been killed for the innocent crime of simply being themselves.

For certain, the path is difficult; ask any transgendered person and you'll find a story filled with undeserved bigotry, hatred, and too much sadness. And for the lucky few who recognize their situation and survive their transition, they often disappear in the fabric of society, assimilated not as transgendered, but as their transitioned gender. For many, the desire that drives them is not money or power, or control over others; it is simply to be accepted as they feel. Such a modest goal for an all-encompassing desire!

Let us then also remember on this day that though we share a common pain, we also carry with us a common dream. Know that your thoughts, your words, and your actions influence others. Know that you spread the seeds of hope and acceptance when you keep alive their memory. Show through your example, a world free of discrimination, intolerance, and hatred. Show through your love that we are all of us, God's children. Awareness will spread further, times will change, and one day, on Novemeber 20th, there will be no new names to remember for there will be no new deaths! And on that day, we will come together with lighter hearts, knowing that our grief, our sorrow, and our loss was not in vain. We will remember the passing of loved ones and know that their life and their memory served to bring about change, acceptance, and unity.

May God bless.

(for more info: see here)

Pulling My Hair Out

This morning I pulled out 505 hairs from my face. That's an unusually high number for me; generally it's around 50-100 hairs in the morning but since Halloween was an up close and personal night, after my normal hair removing routine, I shaved too.

When I shave, that's like, 24 hours of total smooth, so I can survive waking up in a strange bed.

For some reason though, this morning the hairs just kept coming.

In case you're wondering how I know it was 505 hairs... I counted them as I pulled out each one! I'm getting pretty quick at this; this morning's marathon only lasted about 20 mins. It's usually 5-10 mins.

And yes, I count everyday. Yesterday was zero. The day before was 58. Before that, 92. Before that, 85. Before that, 55. Before that was 212. The spikes are from doing my upper lip all at once.

I wonder if half the real women out there would go through as much trouble as I do to be female? I mean, whatever routine they use to get pretty, they start the day as female. I'm still starting the day with 50-100 little reminders I'm not. At least I can epilate my entire face now; that was the goal that got me started pulling the little buggers out.

So I figure there are around 1,000 hairs on my face - a drastic reduction from normal thanks to laser hair removal. I think electrolosys requires 90 seconds per hair, plus maybe another 30 seconds to position the needle. At that rate, I'm 2,000 minutes, or 32 hours (non-stop) away from never having to shave (or pluck) again.

Of course, I'm also 32 hours worth of money short for that to happen... but soon!

The Punchline

Okay, I know my last posts about Mr. Big have lacked that certain... je ne sais quoi. Sure, it was surreal enough, but was Clio surreal?

In a word, no.

Thank you, World for fixing that tonight. What happened you ask?

Well, I'm watching TV... Monday night football. Not my usual choice, but the Colts are my only real link to the culture here. I go out in my pink Manning jersey and I get instant street cred. Or sidewalk cred anyway.

So I'm watching TV... on comes a commercial for a jewelry store.

Yes... THAT jewelry store!

OMG! How funny is that?!?! I suck one dick and now, 'lo and behold, there's the owner's smiling face looking down at me from wall! Shelarious!

And then I notice all the diamonds. Wow, it's a nice store!

To be continued...

It's Genetic!

This news bulletin just in: Male Transsexual Gene Link Found!

So there's this gene which is somehow involved with how your body processes testosterone. Apparently, mine is longer than found in most males which makes that androgen receptor less efficient at doing testosterone-y things, the most significant of which is turning the female foetus that we all begin life as into a male one.

Another news article from the BBC shows that there are some tell-tale traits of transsexuals: which hand we favour, the prints on our hands - events that are known to be set down during the first 15 weeks of pregnancy. Mum was left-handed too; I got my creativity from her. The number of maternal aunts was an indicator too; there are many, many sisters on my mom's side of the family.

Now this is not new news; researchers have long suspected there was a genetic link to transsexualism; they're just now being able to prove it.

Geez, I was lucky. I was lucky I eventually figured out what was wrong, lucky to have had the internet (years ago) to research it, lucky to have met the transsexual people who helped my along the journey, lucky to be able to self medicate, and lucky that my body has been so receptive to the hormones, though we just learned, that might have a genetic component.

This research goes some way to unravelling the mystery that is the horror of being trapped in the wrong sex body.
- Professor Richard Green, Imperial College, London

Aw, it's only horrific at first. I feel pretty darn privileged to be able to experience a life on both sides of the gender divide, and ultimately, a life that transcends gender. No doubt, I enjoyed being a boy, and I love being a girl!

Unfortunately, I don't think this news will help my parents. They already feel like they did something wrong that turned me into me. If my mom found out it was genetic, especially with the aunts thing, to her it would sound like I'm blaming the whole thing on her!

And I don't mean to blame it on you ma, but tell me on that morn,
Did you chance any soft hosannas, did ya dig my daddy, when I was born?

Mama, how'd you get a child who's so forlorn?
Did you, did you love my daddy when I was born?
- J. Meltzer, unpublished single

Mr. Big

So I don't hear from Mr. Testorosa the next day, but I'm not worried. I know he's got plenty of seductive images in his brain... he'll get in touch eventually.

And so he does!

Gary: R u a s/m?

[Am I a sado-masochist? huh? i guess it depends on who you ask! Ooooh, shemale. he must have felt me up while I was sleeping!]

Clio: Yes, I am transsexual... I live full time as a woman... passport, d/l, everything. Does that change things? People usually get to know me before putting hands down my pants. Sorry you didn't know sooner... I enjoyed your company!

[Playing innocent, for real this time.]

Gary: It's totally dif for me. I loved u sucking me, but who wouldn't. Ur a very fine, very creative n very smart person n i love that. I had a great time at ur place. I don't judge people, I judge honest n integrity.

[Of course you loved me sucking you. That means you're a man. You might have been my first, but I was more than familiar with the concept of good blow jobs. Don't judge me!]

Clio: You're sweet. I didn't tell you in bed because I didn't want you to leave. It's a long story. I was selfish, so I'm sorry 4 that.

[You know the story. I wasn't going to force him to accept my full complexity.]

Gary: It's okay. Although Id don't want to have anal sex under these circumstances, i really like u n would have that party with u. But i'm pure hetero.

[Woah. That thing of yours is bigger than anything I've ever seen come out of me. No way is that thing going in me!]

[Of course you want to party with me. I know how to party!]

[Straight? LMAO. If I had a nickel every time a straight man says he's pure hetero after a sexual experience with another man, I'd be richer than Bill Gates.]

Clio: Just treat me like a lady... that's all I ask. You're too big for me anyway! I'll get better at the sucking!

[setting the stage for bartering sex for jewelry...]

Clio: It's not a gay thing... I identity as female, not gay! Gay men are into gay men... not girls like me!

[It's true. I'm pretty girly as far as gay men go.]

Gary: Got it. Ur the best. I respect n accept u as a sexy, beautiful lady n i had a great time wed nite. I'd like to do the party, especially if several guests will suck on me.

[That's me a sexy beautiful lady... wha-wha-what? Okay sure, bring some girlfriends. Now we're really gonna party.]

Clio: You can bring girls if you want...

[Now we're really gonna party!]

Gary: I was thinking there might be some there

[We have just lost cabin pressure. Please use the oxygen mask in front of you, and return all seats and trays to their upright position.]

Clio: LOL! You want free drugs and girls? How generous are you? If I'm just a fluffer to you... Applebees don't come close!

[Okay, the ball is in your court! I've thrown you a soft one. Throw a touchdown! Hit something with a stick...]

Gary: Like i said... i had a great time with u.

[Indeed! who wouldn't!]

Clio: Is that a yes?

24 hours later, still no response.

Wow, he wants me to throw a cock sucking party where he's the guest of honor. Haha. I can't be surprised that he's a dick... that much was very obvious from the start. I just hoped to maybe get a little something out it. Eh, I was too good. He'll be back. All it takes is one text from me pretending to have a bunch of girls over and he'll be begging to visit, and he can - provided he brings a rock with him!

And if he doesn't, well, if I'm ever filming a porno and need a 12"er with a hot car, I know who to call.

Italian Cars & Fried Food

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Smilestone(d)

A big anniversary today; I've been on HRT for exactly one year now!

Status update:

Skin - soft and supple! Very happy. Yay!

Legs - not quite where I want, but decidedly much more feminine. At least they look like a lady's legs now.

Breats - see legs; can almost fill an A-cup! Groooooooooooow breasts! Yay!

Hair - able to epilate face; only minor pain left (upper lip). Yay!

Hips - what hips?

Butt - see hips.

It really is fascinating watching my body change. So happy.

Of course, this year has been about more than physical changes... major life changes have occurred as well. New identity, passport, driver's license; new home (again, again, and again); and new friends. What a year!

That Kind of Transsexual

Ms Ersoy is Turkey's best known diva, adored across the country.

She was already one of the country's most popular male singers when in 1981 she underwent a sex change operation.

Cool. Told you things were different outside the good 'ol USA. And now she's a political activist.

I know it's so last decade to refer to people like myself and Bulent as transsexual, but I much prefer the term to transgendered. Look at me, being elitist already! But I can't help it.

I Googled 'transgender support' and was disgusted at what I saw. Sites for men wanting to dress up as women... sites on deportment... sites selling stage makeup masqurading as nomal woman's makeup... sites for gay men to hook up... and that's just the first page!

Now lest you think I've suddenly become snobish to my own people, I was disgusted by those sites even before I was conscious of the woman I am. They give transsexuals a bad name.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A MAN WHO WANTS TO WEAR WOMENS CLOTHES AND A WOMAN TRAPPED IN A MAN'S BODY.

The former only fantasizes about being a woman, the later IS a woman and makes all of the changes she can to correct things.

I never identified as the former, yet we're all lumped together into one giant freak-fest. So, just for the record, no, I'm not a drag queen, no I don't like putting on my wife's clothes, no I don't fantasize about being a woman. I feel like a woman, I think like a woman, and I am taking steps to make that a reality, HRT, living full-time, etc.

Brave Coward

The first time I tried to kill myself I was 8 years old. I don't remember all of the details as to why because there were many reasons. My parents were fighting and, like all kids do when their parents talk of divorce, I blamed myself. I was just beginning the discovery that I was not quite the boy I appeared... and discovering the rejection that came with it. Shame from the parents was intense. My dressing up was so embarrassing, they refused to even once talk about it with me. Even my friends were making fun of me. I was used to classmates (and friends) calling me names, but that summer, I was called a transvestite. I didn't even know what that word meant, and the only words spoken by people that I didn't know were the naughty ones, so I knew it wasn't good. I was really depressed. There were so many reasons I was unhappy as a child, I couldn't begin to list them all.

But I do remember in vivid detail how I tried to kill myself. I even remember finally discovering - 20 years later - why I failed. I remember running away from taunts in the school yard, a full eight blocks, coming home to an empty house. I sat on the floor of the kitchen, which at that time was wallpapered in metallic paisley prints. No shit, my mom could decorate. I sat there in that tin-foiled room and I cried and I cried and I cried.

Finally, thinking I was clever, I left a suicide note scrawled into the cabinet shelving underneath the microwave. Not too obvious, as the shelves were lined with paper... my note hidden underneath the lower-left sheet covering the veneered wood. It read: I hate my life. I want to die.

Having finally worked up the courage, I stood up and opened the microwave door. Now, I wasn't some dumb kid- I noticed that shutting the door on the microwave triggered three latches on the inner door jam. Using a knife and my fingers, I held down the three latches, punched in 5:00 on the timer, full power, put my head in and hit 'start'.

Nothing happened.

Nothing continued to happen.

Now on top of everything else, I felt like a failure. Dejected, I closed the door and went to my room. I was very good at blocking out the pain of life while alone in a room. I don't quite remember what I did, but I know now that I had then stumbled upon a secret of the Zen Buddhists. What I did was absorb myself fully into whatever I was doing at the time. Sounds simple, but if you do it right, hours can pass by in just a few minutes.

And, if you combine that with an active imagination, days can go by. Throw in a little determinism, and decades could pass.

I do however remember dinner time. My little attempt had broken the microwave. Made it short-circuit or something. The parents were pissed. They didn't know what I did to break it, but they knew I broke it. I got grounded. All and all, that day really sucked.

I also remember something like, 5 years later, my mother going into hysterics. She finally had changed the paper linings (along with the wallpaper) and had found my scribblings. I had forgotten to cover my tracks, or, more accurately, I had forgotten I had remembered to cover my tracks. I think there was a shrink involved, but by that time, I had long buried those feelings deep inside and had moved on. I had literally de-evolved and had become less conscious as a coping mechanism. Now I was only interested in things good midwestern boys should be interested in: sports and girls.

Even now, I'm shocked how long that lasted: 25 years. All that time, unconscious.

Funny enough, it was only recently I discovered that microwaves - even those made in the 80s - have a secondary safety mechanism which my 3rd grade education had not yet prepared me for: a magnetic seal had to engage before the circuits would turn on. Of course, in the 80s, no one actually thought the security would try to be bypassed, so when I did it, the resulting effort burned out the circuits. Nowadays you won't break your machine.

Even then, I wasn't as smart as I thought I was.

Now that I have enough education to defeat even the most complicated safety mechanisms, I find I lack the courage to go through with any real suicide attempt. This is particularly ironic, because I know there are some who think I'm exceptionally brave, living as a transsexual and all. They mistake being brave with not having a choice.

Anyway, death is not an option here. I don't want to decompose in Indiana. Since a small child, all I've wanted was to leave this place... and yet... always forced to return. It's like Hotel California here. No, I want to walk out into the ocean.

Here's a fun tip: did you know that drowning in fresh water is different than drowning in salt water? For real!

In a freshwater drowning, the inhaled water is quickly absorbed out of the lungs and into the bloodstream. The water washes away the wetting agent (the surfactant) in the lung air sacs (the alveoli) that helps keeps the sacs inflated... In a saltwater drowning, on the other hand, the inhaled salt water draws blood plasma out of the bloodstream and into the lungs. The subsequent fluid buildup in the air sacs prevents oxygen from reaching the blood, resulting in death. In other words, in salt water you basically drown in your own juices.

Fortunately, if you're out in the ocean, it's cold, so you're probably a little hyporthermic, tired, and disoriented. Unfortunately, there isn't an ocean around here to test out the theory.

Parenting A Headache

I never intended to stay with my parents longer than a week; just stopped in to say, "hi," catch up with a few friends, get some badly needed beauty treatments, and move on. I did, after all, have a $140K/yr job waiting for me in Manhattan.

I didn't last a week.

They flat out refuse, under no uncertain terms, to even acknowledge my transition. Calling me by my old name, using male pronouns. To quote:

Just because you changed your name doesn't mean we changed it.

I didn't even mention (again) the fact my driver's license and passport both say 'F'.

Oh it gets better... from the mother, just after the above doozie:

You only think of yourself; you're the one that abandoned us.

>blink, blink<

Okaaaaay. Clearly all that crap about being true to yourself was just that. I didn't even respond. In this badly fractured family, one only needs to go to bed and in the morning, everyone pretends like nothing happened the day before. It's like Groundhog Day meets the Osborns.

Of course, this was the third time in three day I went to bed early without saying anything. This house is a toxic mix of stale cigarette smoke, bitter moods, and dreams unfulfilled. It doesn't matter anymore what I say, they argue or affirm the opposite of every statement. The collective mindset of the household has gotten nasty. Even the dogs are not immune to the resentment, Phoebe has gotten quite hateful and possessive, and each dog only wants what the other one has, be it attention from one of us or just a toy.

I remember listening to an interview with Alan Alda, talking about how his mother developed paranoid schizophrenia and how the family dealt with it. He and his father never - ever - said one word about the problems in the family. I'm forced to worry the same might be true here.

What's wrong with my mom?

I really, really do have compassion for them. I'm really, really sorry they lost their son, and I'm really, really sorry they refuse to accept their daughter. But this is really, really screwed up.

And so I'm leaving... this time for good. They can deal with the death of their son on their own terms, but I won't be coming back. Oh, I'll be here when they come to me as Clio, but I refuse to live under their delusions and broken dreams any longer.

It sounds harsh, these words, for in them I have failed to convey the extent of hostility and rejection toward me. Every time I have presented them with an opportunity for growth, they have shunned me... this is something they are going to have to go through on their own.

Meanwhile, my life continues to suck and blow at the same time. Job offer withdrawn. The drama in this job search is off the charts and I haven't the energy to dissipate it here. There is however, some good news. By the grace of a wonderful friend and his new wife, I'll be escaping from here to - gasp - even deeper into Indiana, habiting her now vacant home.

I figure one week in a furious depression, out of human contact, with plenty of mind-altering substances to deal with recent events. Then it's back to anonymous work-from-home until I can get myself solvent again. Who knows? Maybe I'll like it there and make it home while I rebuild. I'll still be car-less (and fancy free?) in Indiana, but there's a - gasp - Wal-Mart within walking distance. I'll actually be walking back and forth to Wal-Mart every day to get my groceries. That's really gonna suck in the winter, if I'm here that long. On the other hand, they are just a couple miles from the airport, making quick get-aways feasible.

It is easy to be thankful for that which we scarcely have; it takes a spiritual master to be thankful for that which we have in abundance.

I am thankful for my friends.

Second Epilation Session

So it's taken a long time for my skin (chin) to heal from the last epilation session. Fortunately, life provided enough frustration that I was ready to once again to literally, rip out all of the hair on my face.

Remember, the rationale here is based on prior results. I used to epilate my body and it hurt, now the hair just comes right out. The thinking is that, if I stick with this, eventually, the hair on my face will just come right out and I'll be able to epilate my face as quickly and easily as using an electric razor.

LOVE not having to shave every day! It's such a guy thing anyway, shaving your face.

LOVE having a smooth face! I can't tell you how much more natural it feels than stubble.

LOVE not having ANY trace of beard. I love that I don't have to wear makeup to cover up the hair, visible beneath the surface of my face.

This time wasn't too bad; mostly got hairs that weren't growing during the last plucking session. The sides of neck and face didn't hurt, but chin is still tender. Lip area okay, though it doesn't feel good. Upper lip still hurts with each pluck- like it goes straight into my brain, but, that too is manageable with the right mindset. Putting on a tough girl face really helps. Grrr!

OUCH!

It took two days, but I did something I never could have imagined doing earlier in my transition... I epilated - pulled out hair by the root - my entire face!

Worst pain ever.

I first started epilating way back in 1999, though then it was just tweezing out the hairs around my nipples. Hairy chests were okay, but a smooth nipple area makes for happy nibbling.

Eventually, I bought a machine which looked like a normal electric razor to epilate my legs. The shins didn't hurt. Knees were kinda painful, but the upper legs hurt like hell. Inner thighs was the worst pain ever... until I did my belly. Ouch! That was the worst pain ever... until I did my chest! Arms not so much.

That was then, and now, it actually feels good to epilate. The roots are no longer twice as large as the shaft, and so the the hair is thinner and comes out quite easily and with no pain. In fact, it feels like scratching an itch... almost pleasant.

Well, the idea is that if I can stick with the face long enough, epilating my face will be a pain-free way to keep my face baby smooth.

All this cause I can't afford any more laser hair removal, which when I first started became the new worst pain ever! I never thought I'd ever feel anything that hurt like that... it was like getting punched in the face over and over and over.

So, armed with the bravado, I figured, what the heck, I can get through this.

It wasn't easy. The first night I used the same trick I used when I first got to my belly and chest... get real drunk. Alcohol numbs just great. Getting high only makes you more sensitive and thus, makes it hurt more, but a good buzz helps. Finished almost 1/2 bottle of Disorono to get through most of my neck.

The trick I used was this... normally I'm on a 24-hour shave cycle, but 12 hours in, I started pulling out the hairs that grew quickly. I could do my whole face this way without too much pain. The pain comes from pulling out the hairs in quick succession, and from the hairs that require more than one tweeze to get tugged out.

So, I'd epilate, wait an hour, epilate, wait an hour, epilate, wait an hour, and I could only hold out one more time. The rest would have to be shaved in Milwaukee. Still, I had managed to pull out an impressive amount of hair.

This time, however, I had full-on hair growth; 36 hours into my cycle and 24 hours after the first session. All hairs on my face were exposed. I started from the bottom of the neck and almost an hour later I had about 50% of the neck done. Awful pain, and unfortunately, it was to be the 50% of the neck that hurt the least!

Determined, I continued, taking breaks ever now and then because it just hurt that much. Of course, during the breaks, I'd still tweeze like mad, pulling out hairs one at a time. This method doesn't hurt, but ... it's awful slow. I would first do a quick sweep on an area to get the pain receptors warmed up and then bring in the epilator for mass uprooting.

The sides of the cheeks were pretty easy going; finishing the neck was hard, but drawing on my awesome ability to endure pain, I persevered. Under the chin was the new worst pain ever until I got to the upper chin, sides of chin, and then the lip area.

I don't think this would be possible for someone who hasn't already lost the majority of their hair due to laser removal or electrolysis - there's just too much hair on the face and it's just too thick and the face is just too sensitive. Took me over two hours to get through the face and 12 hours later, the chin area still hurts.

But, my face is smoother than I've ever felt it. Smoother than with shaving, sanding, Nairing, you name it. I'm already addicted to having a smooth face. Plus, with nearly 3/8" of hair under the skin gone, my face is oh so much brighter and whiter, if just a bit temporarily red and barely swollen.

When they said beauty is pain, this must have been what they were talking about!

The alternative? A really good story about how to kill hair can be found here.

What Whore Moans Look Like...

Walked down to the sushi shop on the corner, felt pretty.

On the way there, a man rolls by slowly in a Caddy, driving through the parking lot adjacent to the sidewalk.

"Hey there, baby, I saw you doing your thing."

My thing was listening to music while I walked. Maybe I byounced a little at the traffic light; wasn't paying attention... B'youncie was playing... who knows?

Evidently, I didn't act like a hooker would. He picked up on that pretty quick. Most of the black guys who have been into me seemed quite adept at social cues. I have to admit, based on my small sample size, they ooze confidence and style in a way the other boys don't. It's pretty sexy.

Anyway, I let him know I was just meeting a friend for Sushi (I lied) and he was content to just watch me walk away before pulling out of the parking lot.

Now at the local headshop, where I went on my first day here in Vegas, and many times since, the local shopkeep is amazed I didn't find a man to stay with out here. He literally can't believe it! I guess I passed to him way back then and still now. This surprised me as it's very, very bright inside his store and I've spent hours in there. He actually asks the next customer who enters (a cute young man) if he wants to come party tonight with me, but not before telling me that the going rate for in-call sex services are around $100. Is he a pimp-wanna-be?

Of course I could have found a man and a place... but that's the trap of Vegas and I wasn't about to fall into it! Seems a lot of people here are looking for someone to take care of them, either by winning money from the casino or finding a sugar daddy. The sad part is that the casinos are actually kinder than the men. The casinos just take your money, the men take your self-respect.

On the way home, a Mexican in a bright red truck actually u-turned and wanted to give me a 'ride' home. A little drunk on sake (the fermented rice beverage, not raw salmon), I humor the boy. There's no way I'm getting into his truck, but let's see where this goes.

Awkward. At least he knows what he wants. I reassure him that I live on the block and I was looking forward to walking off a bit of dinner, and head on my way.

Sweet. I'm ready for New York!

PS- the book is for women going through menopause, not M2F...

What Hormones Look Like

The medicine arrived today! Yay!!! God bless the Internet and trans-friendly on-line drug stores that don't require a prescription.

So I as transition off the old brands (some generic, some branded) to the new ones (some generic, some branded) there's a 17-day transition period until I'm fully on the new brands. Here's what that looks like:

The white pills are 25mg of spironolactone (branded as Aldactone) in 100mg doses. Spironolactone is commonly used to treat congestive heart failure or high blood pressure. I take it for the side-effects: breast growth and its anti-androgen properties. (It stops hair growth in women who have hair hair where most women don't by suppressing a male hormone that causes hair growth). I went with 4-25mg pills instead of 1-100mg pill (then) because the former is $4/mo and the latter is $120/mo. Doesn't make sense to me either. They will be replaced with one larger, chalkier pill which costs $16/mo.

The oval blue pills are generic finasteride in 5mg doses. Used mainly to treat prostate swelling in men I use it because it decreases production of testosterone. They will be replaced with the larger blue round ones, the same drug, but branded as Fincar and costs $26/mo.

The tiny green pill is 2mg of generic estradiol... estrogen. Used mainly by women who have stopped producing it on their own, this hormone is used for its primary effects. I found this little guy hiding among the oval blue pills. Costing around $30/mo, they are replaced by the smaller round blue pills, the same drug branded as Estrofem, $15/mo.

The pink pill is just baby aspirin, taken to thin the blood slightly as there is an increased risk of blot clots (and strokes) from a daily regimen of this feminine cocktail of drugs. The increased risk is small, but higher in women who smoke. I know one pack a month doesn't really qualify me as a smoker- not really- but since I do and there is, I will. $2/mo.

Not shown are the postage-sized clear stickers of estrodial (branded as Estradot) that deliver 2mg/day over 4 days. Gotta keep them sealed up in foil until ready to use, and these little babies are expensive! $60/mo. Why take the same drug twice? Drugs absorbed transdermally (through the skin) go straight to the blood; no messing with the liver. Since my liver often processes C₈H₁₀N₄O_{2 (}caffine), C₁₀H₁₄N₂ (nicotine), C₂₁H₃₀O2 ₍tetrahydrocannabinol... THC... pot), and CH₃CH₂OH (Ethanol), it only makes sense to ease the load on the liver whenever I can. LOL, other than that, and consuming C₁₂H₁₇N2O4P (psylocybin... magic mushrooms) whenever they present themselves, I'm pretty drug-free!

So that's the most common way to change your sex (from M2F). I'll find a specialist soon and tailor the doses and drugs based on my specific needs.

It really is a miracle to watch the transformation. Better living through chemistry! :)

Quote of the Day

People aren't as repulsed by you as they thought they would be.

LOL. Taken in context, we were talking about the draw of lil 'ol me to the normals, and particularly, why people hang around even after I may or may not have been read.

Current events tell me I'm not being read, but I could be. I'm walking with the gorgeous people and believe me, it's hard feeling pretty around flawless, fun, 20-somethings in revealing outfits!

Regardless, past events tell me the stares are no longer from contempt or disgust. They might be stares for beauty or stares of curiosity, but they are no longer threatening, and, if I smile, or flirt back, they usually smile too. But still... they stare.

And linger. Of she who said this, a man in a genetic woman's body, I'm her 3rd sex arm candy. She's got a fetish for folks like me and thinks the rest of the world sees me as she does, and knowing the mindset of normals, thinks that people are surprised that they aren't more disgusted by me, or the situation of being so close to me.

And why not? I'm not like the transsexuals you see on Jerry Springer or reality TV. (I doubt I'm like the ones in porn flicks either!) I've even caught glances of amazement cross their faces when they hear our erudite conversations. "What? The evolution of life? They aren't talking about sex or drugs?" Seriously. I have compassion for the black man walking down the street who watches the old lady cluth her purse tighter as she sees him approach.

China

I've been seriously considering living in China, teaching English.

Nothing like learning another culture to make you more cultured, and this one is fascinating. From the everyday customs (put water on skin in morning, skin in water at night) to the special occasion tea ceremony, to food (if it moves or the sun shines on it back, eat it."

Though truth be told, I'm a little wary of that last one. They do eat everything there, to the point where it's 100% acceptable to spit food out of your mouth onto the table if you don't like it. Wow. It is even considered acceptable to offer food to guests that you yourself would never eat! It is not acceptable to not try it, but, you can always spit it out.

Evidently, Americans are somewhat of a celebrity status there... I was told to expect frequent dinners with the mayor and other government officials.

No ovens or clothes dryers... a bit pretentious when your neighbors might not even have electricity!

Still, I think I'd love it there. Only one hangup... the bath house is where people go at night to cleanse themselves, relax, and purify the body of the day's toxins. The problem? You walk in, and at your first steps in the door, assistants take off all your clothes (can have them washed and dried if you want).

Hmm... poses a problem for a girl in transition...

They've not much experience with transsexuals, but from what I gather, the view on gay sex is, "fine, just don't let it get in the way of your family responsibilities." Wow, just like the greeks!

Self-Medicating

Okay, first crisis is hopefully solved!

God bless the internet!

Not my normal brands, but a 90-day supply of everything costs $350, a full $220 savings from the same products (with prescription) at Target and I'll get more discounts on the next order!

It is a sad commentary that one has to resort to means like this, but seeing how I'm the only one able to help myself, it will do for now.

I am still interested in finding a good doctor (regular blood-work seems a no-brainer for long-term health screening), so if you come across one in my area, do please let me know. However, knowing that I might be spending the next X years in Asia, I just might self-medicate my way to an inexpensive SRS in Thailand! :)

Counting Blessings

Today I have crossed that imaginary d0tted line between 'guy' and 'girl'. No matter how much further I feel I have to go in my transition- physically, mentally, or behaviorally- I find myself now firmly with both feet in the area labelled 'girl' and at last, appearing to the world as 'female'!

This is a very exciting part of my transition! For how many years have I dreamt being here? All of them!

>trumpets blare<

The Blonde Leading The Blind

Joanda, my massage therapist called me today seeking advice on how to be a sexy woman.

In case you don't have a massage therapist, they are generally more aware of your own body than your intimate friends, unless you're lucky and found someone who spends an hour a week doing nothing but touching (theraputically) your entire body.

Anyway, I told her my secret before she put her hands on my body, but long after we had our initial consultation. She initially saw me as a woman and was quite curious about my condition, but I didn't give it much thought after that. We were girls, all of us there in her office.

At first, I didn't notice her constant affirmations of me being sexy, and then, once aware, I assumed she was just doing her thing. She's cuban, a refugee- as in rode a raft across the ocean to get to Florida. Everything about this woman is sexy, her story, her affected accent, her shape, color, and demeanor, so it seemed improbable to me that she found me as sexy as she claimed.

So I was shocked to hear her voice on the other end of the line asking me (me!) for advice on getting affections (and money) from a man. But only for a moment, for I initially found the whole idea silly, but after we began talking, I realized there was a lot she did not know about American, specifically, boy culture.

The poor thing was being played by some jerk... making her think that he'd care for her and help out her business just so he could get in her pants. She wanted in his pants, for sure, but worse, thought his affections were genuine. Like watching a train wreck in slow motion.

So, I drew on my penis experiences (or more accurately, stories from other's penis experiences shared unsuspectingly to me in the role as double-agent) and I tried to get her to realize how his behaviour might be different if he truly cared for her.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't want to hear it and only listened to how she could be more alluring and sexy. How romantic the mindset of foreign women!

So, I drew on my vagina experiences (or more accurately, stories from other's vagaina experiences witnessed first hand) and I gave her gasoline for her fire.

Three days later, I called her to find out what the score was, but unsurprisingly, he was not in a hurry to love her or care for her, despite her giving herself to him. Poor thing, she deserves so much better.

"Buht yoo air alwees so sects-see whan I see yoo!"

>blush<

Thanks, Jo... right back at ch'a!

Somewhere Between Hello And Goodbye

Somewhere between lying in bed with a naked man, myself only wearing a pair of satin thong panties and, "Hi, my name is Clio. I used to be a boy." there exists the right time to let someone know there's more to me than meets the eye.