Stand to Pee Fat Trans Guy

Oh this is so cool. I have a little blog tracker that revealed to me this morning that someone found my little speck on the web by typing "stand to pee fat trans guy" into Google. With those key words, my blog is THE FIRST ONE to show up in the results. HA!

It's a pretty accurate description these days, actually.

Moving on.

That whole wolf in a really cheap sheep costume analogy came kicking up again the other night when I was out causing mayhem with those two female friends of mine. Ugh.

I'm also finding that it's hard not to blog about this constantly. Perhaps I should start up another blog that's sole purpose is dedicated to ranting and raving about the libidinous side effects of testosterone that weren't at all anticipated like this and most unfortunately are not placebo.

So, back to a lame, classic, and not-at-all-accurate analogy I've used before - it feels like my adorably fluffy sheep friends will come along in their flock and say, "Baaaah wolf'ish appearing sheep friend, come join our flooooock. You won't eeeeeat us. You loooooove us."

So I'm brought into the fold and everyone feels safe and jolly, even to the point of sitting on my lap, nuzzling up next to me. We even graze together. On the outside I can wipe away the saliva oozing from my chomps and say, "Baaah*cough*grrr,er... uh, baaahhh", but on the inside my mind is cranking out oodles of hunger and rampant images of tearing through their thick layers of cotton fluff and straight into those juicy centers.

It's terrible! Definitely taking some adjusting to. I feel guilty to some extent for what's cranking in the back of my mind while, on the outside, we're talking about life and kitties and blue skies and carrots.

It's as though this projector in the back of my mind is plugged in and cranking out a slew of visual scenarios, constantly rolling back there and impossible to suppress. This projector has always been there, you know, projecting... however, prior to this whole testosterone dominant shindig I could dim the lights on it a tad, especially while interacting with my adorable fluffy friends.

I know that feeling guilty about what's going on in my mind is unfair and ridiculous and what really matters are one's actions, especially since I'm not a believer in ever censoring one's mind. Yet, having a very prominent theme of thought that orients around juicy centers is, well, distracting, annoying, and trickles into my ability to hold conversations that don't have something to do with, yes I'm going to say it again - juicy centers.

juicy centers.

juicy... centers....

juic-- er,

And, on another note, I'm sad to think about this social dynamic changing as more pieces of my sheep-like cotton fluff blow off into the wind revealing what looks like a salivating wolf with sharp teeth and I'm no longer invited into said flocks or able to approach stranger sheep without having them fear that all I want are their juicy centers.

Because, despite the fact that this projector is on full power and unprecedented in my life and takes some adjusting to, I'm still able to function and maintain my composure! 'ish. And I don't literally think "juicy center", if that helps. That phrase actually makes me think of Bubblicious chewing gum, or of some toy gag from the 40s.

Okay, enough whining. Yada yada.

I was a bit concerned about potential emotional side effects of taking T due to things I'd read about its impact on individual mood, creativity, etc. In my experience so far, emotionally I haven't noticed any significant difference. I feel just as creative, just as energetic. I'm not any more or less moody. The most significant difference so far, personality-wise, is just being distracted by the domineering juicy center focus and trying to figure out how to go about managing the sudden burst.

In other news, my mom and dad have been super uber good about referring to me as "Mel" these days. My mom, in particular, was struggling for a bit there. But nowadays, no corrections necessary, ever!

Plus, my dad has even been referring to me as his son. It's particularly the best when I do or say something flamboyant. For example, the other night while we were having dinner together I mentioned that I want a fitted Victorian gentleman's suit so.frickin'.bad. He replied by shaking his head and commenting, "My faggoty, faggoty son..."

Speaking of fitted Victorian gentleman's suits, who wouldn't want one? Seriously.

Then things will happen when he's not around, like when I saw a bus go by last week and, for who knows what reason, flailed my hands about and screamed "Bussy!" and I think to myself, "That was definitely a 'my faggoty, faggoty son...' moment".

Love.

p.s. today is injection day! Weee!