Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

These past couple days have been emotionally taxing. Especially because today is injection day and my hormone levels have been extremely low. I may need to ask my doctor about what to do about this. I inject every 2 weeks. I'm fine for about 11 days - but, by days 12 and 13, I'm not doing so good. I'm foggy, lethargic, sensitive, moody. I wish there was a way to administer a small dose on a daily basis, rather than a huge dump on one day that tapers off until I inject again. Transdermal testosterone is applied to the skin daily, but I'm not sure it's a viable option for me. I'll ask my doctor about it. For now, through the online grapevine I've read that changes via transdermal testosterone are slower. Which is fine for me, if it means that I don't end up feeling so awful every 2 weeks. According to Hudson's FTM Guide : Transdermal testosterone is usually applied to the skin daily in small doses in an effort to keep a steady level of testoste...

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...

Lots of queer softball, job hunting, packing, and gender pronoun mishaps galore. I will be moving this Wednesday into my 3 bedroom duplex pimp pad where I can live out the American dream of having half a backyard to BBQ in. Queer softball has been difficult. I mentioned that I'd been roped into joining a gaggle o' faggle softball league a few weeks ago in a previous post , where I also stumbled across a predicament in regards to binding that has prevented me from participating in sports ever since being a tweeny bop high schooler. The whole scenario of running around with breasts that my brain isn't connected to is incredibly awkward, uncomfortable, and upsetting. It's a definite trigger for feeling the umph! of that disconnect (aside from intimate relationships), where the mental/physical mismatch is incredibly difficult to ignore. I've been to a few practices so far and one glorious game where the final score was 34 to 3 (we got the 3). I tried loosely bind...

Ooo ooo! Just a moment ago, the very.first.thing a project manager who I haven't worked with in some time said after I asked, What can I do ya for? was: " Your voice sounds deep today. Are you sick or something? "

Alright, so here's a little bit o' strained viddy action from March 10th, marking day 90 of my transition !

Here is another awkward viddy documentation of my voice change. There's a bit o' difference! In other news, yesterday was my brother's birthday. Aww, a little Valentine baby ! It was oodles of aging fun. Most of it was spent with my mom, dad, brother, and his girlfriend. Speaking of family and spending time together, I have numerous traumatizing memories of scratching my dad's pimply back. Zits popping, pus and blood under my fingernails. My brother also developed backne and my mom would pop his back pimples and put medicine on them. Me, on the other hand - I've never had a back pimple . Yet, last night, there I was, head in my mom's lap while she popped my backne. Gah, seriously. The shame. I really shouldn't share this kind of flattering information. I'm becoming more of an irresistible Casanova every day. Ahem, moving on, later in the evening we went to see a picture show that lacked a single uplifting moment - ' Revolutionary Road '...

If blogging is out of my element, photo documentation is even further out in the element ball park. What's on an another planet altogether is video documentation. Still, here's the thang. My voice just started cracking a couple of weeks ago and I want to catch it while it's high pitch central and to be able to look back on that change later down the road. Since the thickening of my vocal chords will be very gradual, I'm going to record my voice every so often to document that change. Here goes!

Oh boy! So either I'm getting a cold OR my voice has started to crack. I'm err'ing on the latter, seeing as I have no other cold symptoms. Maybe I'm finally growing up and becoming a big boy! WikiHow has an article called How to Prevent Your Voice from Cracking , which offers the following, very helpful advice: 1. Get past the age of puberty. Everything's so weird and embarrassing, with the extra hair growth and the voice changes. Give it a couple of years, it'll peter out eventually. Your voice will even out too! Thanks, WikiHow! It's a little tragic, but also comforting, that I've entirely adapted to being a greasy, acne-ridden, bad smelling individual. Now it feels normal to squirt oodles of white pimple goo all over the bathroom mirror every night and I no longer notice my smell. Life is good. Enough about white pimps n' grease, I emailed a photo of my chest to my preferred surgeon for chest reconstruction surgery and got feedback ...