Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

My parents visited me here in Maryland last Wednesday for mother's day, my dad's birthday (May 11), and for my birthday (May 15)! This was the first time my mom had ever been on a commercial airline and the furthest she's ever traveled from Utah. She was all anxious about potential motion sickness, the cabin pressure, and so on, but ended up sleeping the entire way. All went well and they arrived safe n' sound! This past week has been so.much.refreshing.fun. Vacation time with my parents is a rarity, and I almost didn't think it would be possible to get them out here. But it was, and it happened. We have been on a few road trips near Utah together, but never further than California. And right now I have this incredibly unique opportunity to live in Maryland, which makes it the most affordable time for my cute parents to experience DC and this humid, foresty wonderland. Seriously. The trip took my parents from the usual arid world we're used to in Utah: ...

I just self-injected! Finally! It's been a little over 9 months that I suddenly, for no reason, couldn't self-inject . It was bizarre, because I'd been self-injecting testosterone cypionate into my thigh for almost three years with no fear and very little problems. And then, bam! - I just, couldn't . Confused and frustrated, I assumed that maybe I was just off my game that week. But then it happened that following week. And the week after. And for over nine months, I've discovered that it's an incredible inconvenience to have to rely on someone else (usually my father) for my injections. I started to develop additional anxieties around what's going to happen when someone isn't around to help, like when I move to Maryland next summer and don't know anyone who could help. I've also been irrationally hard on myself about it. I woke up Friday morning determined to do my it myself. I decided not to do it in the morning, when there's a lo...

I noticed that something was definitely wrong with my elderly kitty, Evilbunny, last night. When I tried to pet him near his lower back or pick him up, he'd cry, clearly in pain. Then, today, when I got home from school, he was worse. He had become more sensitive to touch and was having difficulty walking. I had no idea what was wrong, but I was really worried that he was experiencing something that his younger brother had about 12 years ago - a sudden, paralyzing blood clot. It was 6pm by the time I got home so my mom, brother, and I took him to a nearby after-hours emergency vet. The vet confirmed that Evil definitely had severe pain, and concluded that it wasn't a scary blood clot situation (even though Evil does have a heart murmur and is at high risk), but severe arthritis. The x-rays confirmed his suspicions. We left with a prescription for kitty morphine and some other medicines. The second we got home I gave him all of his medicine, and then tore my room apa...

After months of whimpering about how unsuitable Tumblr is for blogging, I finally woke up with a snap! yesterday morning and promptly remedied the situation. I've returned to blogger. Hello again, it's very refreshing to be back. Sadly, I lost a lot of really great comments in the move. In other news, I somehow managed to weasel myself into a really nice college senior situation. I have two classes where, instead of being confined to a room and a lecture, my feral self has been released into the world to complete two missions: Mission #1: read numerous trans-related research articles, then write a paper about said articles. Mission #2: write about my research on belief in a just world, anti-transgender prejudice, and the blaming of innocent victims that I just might be able to get published. Or, at least, I'm going to try. Aside from these two lecture- less situations, I have two lecture- packed class situations: Personality Theories and Social Psychology . I...

Shopping for clothing has never been my top #1 favorite activity of all time in the universe. For as long as I can recall, it’s been an agonizing, everything-fits-funny pain in the schlum. Out of a gazillion + 2 shirts and pants, I’d be lucky to find something that fit right. Either the shirts were too straight or too stretched out or not long enough or - this has been the story for forever and beyond. Until last Saturday. Since I had top surgery last August, I haven’t shopped for new clothes. Er, I lie. I have. For multipacks of Hanes t-shirts and underoo’s. But those don’t count. For months now my dad has been whimpering about having no clothes. And I’ve been wearing the same ol’ white Hanes shirt and shorts combo every single day. Which is great if you’re Pee Wee Herman, Einstein, or Seth Brundle from The Fly, but. Despite the convenience of only having multiple pairs of one outfit, I finally cracked last Saturday and decided to dupe my father into going on a trip to the ...

My dad’s Facebook comment about this article : “It’s funny how insecure people are about gender. There was never a question that she was absolutely gorgeous until she publicly announced she was transgender. Then, suddenly she is a freak and unattractive. Face the fact that you are attracted to a beautiful woman who used to be a man. Don’t worry. Your peepee won’t fall off or anything. You won’t be less of a man because she used to be a man. Grow up and get over it children. Trump was absolutely right (as rare as that may be) and this creep is just a nasty person who has issues with losing competitions. Big surprise - didn’t expect anything like that in a beauty pageant.”

Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~ . It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could wear a binder and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva! But, the idea of hormone therapy scared me. Socially, I was adverse to the idea of losing my visible queerness. Health-wise, I was terrified to head down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude and discriminate against. There's limited research that hormone therapy in persons assigned female at birth may increase cancer risk, cause liver damage, increase cholesterol, acne, etc. This aversion was further compounded by all of the seemingly insurmountable logistics, such as finding a trans-...

For almost three years now I’ve been self-injecting. The very first time my hand quivered and I literally couldn’t do it - but every injection since then? No problem. It had become such a menial automaton task that when I switched from bi-weekly injection to every week it wasn’t no thang. But then, something happened. About a month ago. I don’t know what the hell it was, but when I went to self-inject, I just … couldn’t do it. This was a little over a month ago. I remember feeling extremely frustrated and confused over the whole ordeal and eventually cracked and had a friend help me. I figured that this was just a one-time anomalous incident. But no! Ever since, every Thursday, I can’t self-inject. I couldn’t even look until last week. What the hell? Seriously. So this morning I wake up, determined to self-inject. I get the needle ready, cleanse the injection site with an alcohol wipe, go for the plunge and… nothing. Couldn’t do it. I felt closer this time, but still froz...

My father just spontaneously transferred some photos from a USB stick of his on to my netbook. Photos from Thursday and Friday - none of which I remember. Well, except for this first one. This one I remember. Pre-Op, in the waiting room with my parents. Getting poked with my first intravenous drip ever was the scariest part. The first attempt in my hand didn’t work out, due to some valve don’t-wanna situation going on. Fortunately, Nurse Arlene was super distracting and comforting as she poked me in my left arm instead. I do not remember this one. At all. First Post-op Picture EVER! Where’d ma boobies go??? My earliest memory was of Nurse Arlene (above) giving me a popcicle. And of almost vomiting on the car ride home after I’d pleaded for my father to pull over for coffee. The next day at home. Or that night. Not sure. Also don’t remember this one - but Gany is super concerned. “Wazzup with Uncle Dexter? Will he empty those drains into my food bowl if I sit here ...

At the rate at which I’ve been spoiled throughout this recovery… I’m tempted to come up with excuses for a major surgery every week (not really). Whenever I sit on the recliner chair I obnoxiously whimper: “help. help. help. help.” and my sweet mom will come lift the foot rest for me. Which I quite literally can’t do on my own - but still, she does this for me about a hundred times a day and night. And then places a soft blanket on me. I’m above and beyond lucky to have my parents and kitties and pup here for me. The other night I woke up around 4 am, as my mom seemingly slumbered in the recliner chair next to mine (which she's doing just to be here for me). I didn’t want to wake her, so I did my best to slowly lean forward and to quietly lower the foot rest (I can lower it, just can’t pull it up). As I stood in the darkness I suddenly heard: “What’re you doing? Where’re you going? What do you need?” There’s no escaping the radar of a mother, that’s for sure. It’s like I’m post...

I tried to make a little webcam vlog shindig via my blatantly super enthusiastic voice — but, alas, something went amiss and the audio isn’t being captured. wonk wonk. Which means — I’ll blog it! … for now . I want to make a giddy vlog about this, too, damnit. In the meantime… I just made my final payment for surgery. It is now paid for and the way swell “receptionist” ( This is entirely surreal. To actually have it paid for and to know, for sure, this is happening. I can’t thank everyone enough who has donated, helped with my fund-raiser, and supported me throughout all of this. If I could cry (I haven’t once since transitioning - wtf!), I would. ;)

… and I celebrated by going to birthday breakfast! I initially planned on going to the Utah Renaissance Festival and Fantasy Faire , but then grew increasingly anxious about an important paper that’s due tomorrow. So - I postponed it for a day that will work way better! I’ve received the greatest presents ever. This bag from Jude: This envelope, sealed with a kiss: This creepy doll from Shenan that I now call “Dexter’s love monkey” who opens his mouth into a perfect little O and sings when squeezed. It’s a perfect fit. Plus, my pup, Gany, really, reeeeeally wants to gut the voice box out of this little guy: A gift card to Nordstrom Rack for a new pair of shorts from Jude, who can’t stand the basketball shorts I romp around in daily and has been complaining about them since last summer. But the most important gift of all? The adorable company of and lovins from my friends and family last Thursday and this morning, of course! Oh, and the best gift? My dad’s post on ...

Photos from my DANCE YOURSELF TO DEATH! TRANIMAL PARTY (May 12th 2011) top surgery benefit! See more, courtesy of Viola Photography :

I’ve been forewarned numerous times that “Facial hair isn’t as fun as you’d think…” by many who have grown them in the past and now I’m beginning to understand. The thicker my stubble becomes, the less fun shaving is. Even with shaving cream, as the blade rolls along my skin it snags on every hair now instead of just smoothly gliding along like it used to. There’s this snaggy scrrrrrrraping feeling that leaves me feeling absolutely amazed when I’m finished that it hasn’t left behind a landfill of bloody follicle tears. A couple of times now I’ve tried to patiently let my facial scruff situation grow out to see how it goes and what it looks like, but it’s like trying to go from bald to growing one’s hair out. I go NUTS trying to grow my hair out - especially during the whole “puff stage” where I feel like a walking, talking 5’11” Q-Tip, and then crumble and cut it all off again. This same shindig is happening in facial hair land. While I love it, it is itchy and straw-feeling. Yet,...

Over these past couple of years I have been through a binder or two , and, while all of them are uncomfortable awful acid-reflux-inducing pain-in-the-lower-backs, eventually I stumbled across the Underwork's Double Front Compression Shirt (Model 997) and have since become ridiculously fond of it. Ever since I started wearing it last June I have literally worn it every day since . Even though it's comfortable in comparison to the other binders I have, if worn for longer than 6 hours it will start to cause acid reflux and my shoulders/upper-back start to really ache. After longer than 10 hours, I will literally start to feel sick - so I started to wear it in classes and then, while wearing a baggy jacket, will switch to the T-Kingdom M801 for a chest break'ish. This system has been a flawless one - up until Monday morning, when I couldn't find the 997 binder for the life of me. Dun dun dun! Now that I hate my other two binders (which are just ridiculous awful and...

Earlier this week I received an e-mail from my school asking if some other students and I wouldn't mind being photographed for some promotional brochures for our school. I have never, ever been asked to appear on promotional materials for anything . We were asked to wear colorful clothes and multiple layers. I couldn't help but wonder why I'd been invited to appear in a photo shoot for school promotional materials. Is it my funny floppy gauged ears? My tattoos? Was I chosen as some aesthetically alternative bastion of liberalism? Whatever the reason, I couldn't resist and immediately agreed to it. Images came to my mind of hopping on steps with college kids throwing school books in the air or posing with smiles or skipping or rolling around in bright green grass or... who knows what. Something epic, no doubt. I wore a bright purple shirt and a vest. That particular day was super sunny, but the windchill factor was freezing. Yet, between shoots, we were asked to re...

Earlier tonight I watched the documentary Becoming Chaz , about Chastity Bono's transition to Chaz Bono which is premiering here in Utah at the Sundance Film Festival. From the Sundance website: Chaz Bono was a male trapped in a female shell for as long as he can remember. Growing up as Sonny and Cher’s adorable golden-haired daughter in a body he felt wasn’t his own was a crucible it took years to transcend. Now, as he undertakes gender reassignment, he’s bravely decided to share the process on camera. Becoming Chaz invites us along on Chaz’s remarkable journey of transformation. As hormone shots give way to top surgery, down-to-earth, unflappable Chaz beams with a sense of liberation and goes public with his story to put a face on a misunderstood issue. Meanwhile, his gregarious girlfriend grapples with the realities of suddenly living with a man, and it’s clear sex change isn’t solely a physical transition. Intimate and nakedly honest, the film reveals the humanity and c...

Had my consultation today and it went very well! It was up at the University of Utah Madsen Surgery Center with Doctor Cori Agarwal . I made the appointment with a super sweet over-the-phone coordinator named Haley, who informed me that it would be in the Womens Health Center and made sure to add the disclaimer, " But don't let that scare you. We're welcoming of all gender variations! ", which I thought was adorable. So this morning my mom and I got up all excited for my big consultation day. And my mom, as always in her mega supportive way, accompanied me. We found the Madsen Surgery Center up in the cobweb of a mess loopty loop road situation up at the U of U in time for my morning appointment which was, in fact, at the Womens Health Center and was, in fact, full of women. As we waited to sign in, a nurse behind the counter, addressing my mother, said, " We'll be just a moment! " Once that moment had passed and sign-in time had arrived, again add...

My cat, Evilbunny, is 84 years old in kitty years now. What the? That's 17 in human years! Madness. He just keeps going and going and going and... I think all of the cuddles I've been giving him throughout the years (since I was 11) are keeping him alive and sufficiently plump. Or so I say. Here is a photo taken yesterday of our usual nightly sleeping arrangement. Since I had to get up to acquire my camera and take the photo, I doodled in where I sleep and the position I arrange myself in, like a puzzle piece, to fit:

Back in the day I wrote about how, when I was hired to work on campus, a tool they use called  E-Verify flagged my social security number due to my name/gender not matching . I'd had it all legally changed in all other ways (birth certificate, I.D., etc.) but not federally yet (I can't legally change it, rendering my local gender 'male' and my federal gender 'female'). This didn't just end up impacting my campus job, but also my financial aid. I received a notice from my school that I had to go through a re-verification process, giving them my new social security card, filling out paperwork again, tracking down my 2009 W-2 and giving it to them again, and so on. In addition to this whole fiasco, when I initially received my financial aid package at the beginning of this semester I worked out a 10-month payment plan with Student Account Services for the remainder that loans and scholarships didn't cover. Yet, due to this whole E-Verify flagged mismatch...