Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

Just a few months ago the idea of sticking a needle into my thigh every 2 weeks wasn't, in the slightest, an enticing one. I went from whimpering and  asking friends and family to do it for me  to becoming the no needle fearin' boy I am today! I just finished today's injection. I look forward to every other Thursday like it's a trans Christmas, when I get to inject again and experience my body and mind connect more and more every.single.day. It's wonderful. When preparing, I wipe the injection point on my thigh with a little alcohol wipe. I remember my first injection on December 11th when I wiped my hairless, soft thigh. Today? It's harder, and a twirl of wet hairs are left behind after wiping the area. Gross, I know. But great. I'm still on the same prescription that I started out on - 100mg of Testosterone Cypionate every 2 weeks, injection via a 25g syringe into any muscle. Right after injecting I looked in the mirror to enthusiastically examine m

Disclaimer: Fair warning, in advance, this is a long post. Put on your reading glasses! Mushroom Hunting On Father's Day my pops announced that we'd be driving out to the middle of nowhere to mushroom hunt and to launch the model rocket I got for my mom on Mother's Day. We ventured out to an area with wild mushrooms galore, which also happens to be covered in stickers. The family pup, Ganymede, even without the protection of ankle socks, diligently scoured the field for edible mushrooms. On our way out we noticed that the sky was full of obese seagulls. Why were there so many seagulls, frantically swarming about in this little portion of the sky? The question was swiftly answered as we turned the corner to park and, low and behold, there stood a massive warehouse with HOSTESS plastered along the side. The entire roof of the warehouse and the dumpster were full of Twinkie and stuffed seagulls. I've never seen a dumpster full of so many birds. My family ran

Non-trans-related side rant! Back in the day I purchased a slumber ball for my cats. Yes, I'm that person. And I'm that person who'd blog about it. This is what it's supposed to look like (and usually does): Ahhhh, so soft and spacious. This ball is generally occupied by my little calico kitty, Theseus. However, this week I'm pupsitting the family dog, Ganymede, who has decided that he wants to sleep on the slumber ball. Theseus has resigned to sleeping in a shoe box. Look at that! It's flat as a pancake! I'm going to have to fluff the crap out of this thing! He doesn't even fit! Frickin' pitbull. Why can't he be more like the pitbull Sergeant Stubby , who was a war hero? Or little pit Popsicle , the drug sniffer? I bet they didn't steal and flatten slumber balls made for cats! End side rant. And Theseus, right at this moment, deprived of her fluffed slumber ball: Poor disgruntled little thing. A Tribute To Pitbulls: The All American Hero

On Saturday I volunteered at a  No More Homeless Pets (NMHP) fund-raiser called Canine Casino Night. I'm a sucker for homeless animals. This one, though, is the cream of the volunteering crop - like a cherry on the tree of NMHP volunteering; especially for little hormonally adolescent trans boys like myself. It's eye candy central where the entire aesthetic of the event is reminiscent of Vegas, a casino ambiance where compassionate animal-lovin' femme fatales wander while I diligently carry out my tasks. Mmm hmm. I mean, for serious! It's also especially fun to watch guardians gaming with their excited pups not giving a hoot why they're out so late or what in the heck is going on. All they know is that a.) they're out with their person and b.) get to sniff a million + 1 other pup bums. It's so excellent for everyone on so many levels. A friend of mine who came to volunteer as one of the glammed up donation garnering femme fatales invited me to go

A few weeks ago my grandpa called and invited me to play on the extended family softball team. I've felt a little nervous in regards to writing about extended family, but I'm going to convey my perceptions and feelings as clearly as I can, while respecting anonymity! I've mentioned my cute little ol' grandparents here a few times - about how they're both refreshingly supportive of me, especially given the generational barriers between us. My cousins n' aunts n' uncles n' whatnot have also been good, in general, when it comes to being friendly and respectful towards me and my partners. I don't get to interact with them all too often and when I do it's usually maybe a few times a year around the holidays. They interact with one another a great deal, however - presumably due to having more in common (most are married, have children, etc.) All n' all, I feel super uber fortunate to have the support and acceptance that I DO have. It's es

I noticed a peculiar and grody social shift in myself last weekend. One that's peculiar, unprecedented, and causes me to shudder - just a wee bit. A little back story : The me I knew prior to December 11th ( the day I had my first injection ) would, in general, attempt to woo hapless damsels by listening, asking a slew of questions, learning bits n' pieces, and ultimately fusing an emotional bond. It wasn't an intentionally devised, conscious effort - it just happened that way. Then I'd witness males interacting with individuals they were attracted to - noticeable because of how blatant it would generally be. The intense space invasion, leering eye contact, leaning in, arm/leg touching... etc., etc. When it would happen to women who weren't seemingly reciprocating I'd think to myself, " What a creep, invading her space like that! Just lean back a little! " Now? Unfortunately, and I hate to admit it, but I'm partially understanding the creep

Gadz, this old 15-year-old fuzzy bastard is the best for recovering from Pride wreckage. This is Evilbunny's second appearance in my blog. When I first mentioned him , I relayed that " Evilbunny ... has been my best little feline friend and a highly addictive inner cuddle spoon since I was 12 years old. ", which, keep in mind, is when I named him. And, " That little guy has been the sweetest friend who's been there for me throughout my entire teenage and adult life - through thick and thin, chalk full of lots of unconditional lovins. He could care less if I'm gay or straight or trans or cisgender or employed or unemployed... " He's seen me through two puberties thus far! Today, in particular, as I've piloted my body around in slow motion and sluggishly attempted to clean my apartment, he has lured me in to oodles of stomach churning cuddles: Gross. On a riveting note, when I got around to showering earlier today I noticed that I am, indeed, growi

I'm completely wrecked from Pride Weekend. It got to the point last night where it felt like every.single.capillary in my eyeballs were on the verge of bursting. The fact that I feel this wrecked without a drop of alcohol in my system has me feeling a great deal of sympathy for those who do. Seriously, how do their bodies handle it?! All of mine is from a few days of sleep deprivation, where I was determined to milk Pride Weekend for every little drop it had to offer. " Oh, fueled on just a few hours of sleep, a cup of coffee and one soda pop, you say there's stuff going on at this or that club tonight? And I need to be down to the Pride Parade tomorrow morning by 9am? Okay! Great plan! Wee pride! ?" By Sunday morning it was clear that most everyone else had been operating via similar logic. The bloodshot eyes and zombie-like shuffling along made it clear. Pride...must... keep....going... Some of us, cracked out on adrenalin, were able to GO GO GO amongst the sh

"Conservatives Warn Quick Sex Change Only Barrier Between Gays, Marriage", from The Onion (a parody/joke news network): I can't wait to get my very own transsexual tattoo. The Onion is such a knee slappin' good time.

I had to have my little dumbo rat companion, Ben, put down yesterday. His little body shut down from the toll of old age and it was clear that suffering had taken over. Above are photos of him rummaging around in a garbage can I'd fill with paper. He and Socrates ( his friend who passed away just a few months ago, also from old age ) would run amok, enthusiastically shredding it all up and would hop around building little nests out of it that they'd stash their treats in. A garbage can play pin is oh-so-fitting for rats. Especially a big fat, brown one like Ben. A sewer would be, too - but the closest he ever got to that sensation was the kitty's drink well water fountain full of frozen peas and edamame. He'd be completely soaked after diving for those peas all night, stashing them around my room. Oh Ben. I hate how short a rat's life span is. The worst part about loving a companion animal is knowing that ultimately, inevitably, they have to die one day.

During lunch today I heard about a partially giddy-inducing conversation that took place. On Saturday, while volunteering at Strutt Your Mutt , at some point I hugged a friend of mine, one of the volunteer coordinators. Later she was asked by a friend of hers, " Who was that kid? ", to which she replied, " Who? ". " That kid who hugged you. How long have you known him? ", " Oh, years. He's been volunteering for years. ", and, on to the kicker, " Isn't there an age limit for volunteering? Isn't he like 15 or something, at most? " Great. I'm starting to pass as an acne-ridden, awkward, goofy adolescent guy.

No More Homeless Pets had their 14th annual Strut Your Mutt fundraiser Saturday. Essentially the event is a pup-oriented festival after a mass horde of proud guardians and their dogs walk around the park together. When I opted to volunteer last year, I got there right at 5am with my friend, Gine. 5 flippin' a.m. We spent the 4 hours until 9 a.m. filling up swimmy tubs and pup waters. It was a lot of water. Once the actual strutting commenced, I was delegated the responsibility to lug numerous jugs of water along the route via a heavy wooden wagon contraption. Mission: Keep dog water bowls along route filled with water. Okay, sounded simple enough. As I'd lug it along, thirsty dogs would descend around the wagon and corral it into a corner where I'd sweat and grumble trying to pull it along. I'd eventually give up as dogs climbed all over the wagon, knocking jugs over and drinking.drinking.drinking. Tails wagging. Slobber and panting galore. The water wagon h