Saturday, December 31, 2016

Bags of Dice

Somewhere, perhaps in storage, are two bags of dice.

One is larger.  The bag is tan suede and it's about ten inches long.  It holds a lot of dice.

The other is smaller.  It is black leather.  It doesn't hold as much.

These were my gaming dice, collected over decades.  They are dice of many shapes and sizes- four sided, six sided, eight sided, ten sided, twelve sided, twenty sided, thirty sided, and even 100 sided.

In that bag are two of the surviving dice from my original Dungeons and Dragons blue boxed set.  Their corners are rounded with use, all those years ago.  In fact, they've been rarely used since before high school.  I bought other dice with sharper edges and different colors.  But I saved these two.  My dear friend Dr. Dave has two others from this set.  Or at he did.  I don't know if he still does.

When we started playing D&D, Dave and I scavenged dice from all of our other games for use with D&D.  After all, one can have too many dice!  They are now in the dice bag.  There are dice from the games of my childhood there, the rest of the games long gone.

When I attended gaming conventions, I always bought at least one new die.  A memento.  One of the six siders is a special Gen Con Commemorative die, which has a dragon for a "one."  It is large and red.  It is in the tan dice bag.

I bought the black dice bag at Origins '91 in Baltimore, Maryland.  It was Wife and I's first overnight trip together.  The trip was July 4th weekend, and we watched the fireworks over the harbor while holding hands.  While at Origins, I met the people from Chessex game distributors.  A month and a half later, I had a job there, which I held until 1994.

The black bag holds my Gaming dice- the ones I used all the time.  There are two sets of dice in that bag, both sets a gaudy orange.  I figured no one would steal ugly dice.  I used to use those weekly at least.  Now, I haven't laid eyes on them in years.

Not all of the dice I own are in those bags.  The dice I used while playing at Penn State are glued into a display along with the miniatures used by the gaming group there.  I was the only one with miniatures, so we all used mine.  They are all in a small display: frozen in time.  In storage.

I have a couple of large dice in the apartment sitting on shelves as dust collectors.  One is a very large translucent yellow six sider that I bought at my first Gen Con, also in 1991.  The other is a large 20 sider that I bought at the local comic store.

I have a few dice in my car.  They belonged to my late friend Big Al, dead now these four years.  I keep them there in his memory.

All those dice- engines of imagination.  Random generators that determined the course of mighty stories.  Polyhedral memories.

I have no idea where they are now.  Somewhere in storage I think, in one of the many boxes.  I hope so anyway.  Haven't seen them since before I was thrown out.

Part of my life lost.  Missing.

I can't think of a better metaphor to close out a year that has been so horrific.

Be Well.

December 30, 2016- before work

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

Why no posts?

Sorry I haven't posted.

Christmas in retail.

And besides

"If you don't have anything nice to say, say nothing at all."

So I'm not saying anything.

"Give the people what they want."

Gratuitous Sophie Pic

Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Happy Hair!

A week or so ago, I decided to try something different with my hair.  Because wow I felt it looked sooo flat, and some people claimed that my hairstyle was one of the reasons I get misgendered so often.  Really!

I haven't seen my Hair Miracle Worker (Donna Miller) in months.  There are sooo many reasons, but y'know I'm not going to dwell on them!

Anyway, one morning, I decided I'd get out my curling iron and do some damage!

Many people commented that they liked my old wig look, with the swept bangs.  Well, so did I, but my natural hair hasn't grown in enough yet to even attempt that!  I wish it were- it was sooo pretty!

Wig by Henry Margu, styled by Amanda Richards

I guess I'm just stubborn, but I WANT to wear my real hair. (Add to that the fact that wigs make me sweat like crazy!)  That's why I take Finasteride, which has helped tremendously in filling in some thin spots.  I still have a way to go around the stupid widow's peak though, which makes some of the styles just impossible.

When I went full time in March 2014, Donna styled my hair with bangs.  But I just sucked at doing that, and I thought it looked too thin.   I mean really!

Comb over

For a while, I parted to the side, but the whole widow's peak thing bothered me.  Seriously!

Look how short my hair was!

So then I parted in the middle for a long time.  It was sooo much easier and covered up the thin areas.

I really like this picture.

My problem is that I have a continental shelf forehead (to go with my aircraft carrier shoulders!)

Anyway, I decided to see if I had enough hair to attempt the swept bangs.

Not Really

So I goofed and I curled and I sprayed... and ended up with this:

Ta Daaaa!

I've been trying slightly different things, but I'm happy with this look.  It requires a LOT of hairspray to keep the bangs in place though.  Like tons!

Going to work last Saturday

I have to admit, when I look in the mirror now, I FEEL more feminine!  That's MY hair, long and styled.

It was a matter of practice and patience.  I'm so excited to try new things!

I think I look so cute and sassy!  Maybe I should try a pretty bow!


Tuesday, December 13, 2016

Creating Pain

Ok so I've gotten comments on my last entry; here, on facialbook, and privately.

I figured I'd answer publicly.

Why Not?  After all, I posted the beginning publicly.

Several people have taken issue with my posts.  They say I'm too negative.  That I create my own pain.  In the person's words of a person I greatly admire, but haven't met yet:

"Look, you honestly seem to delight in your own suffering...  You create your own circumstances and control your choices.  You make your own bed, then complain it's on fire... Just don't expect sympathy when you make it clear you are deeply and passionately in love with your own self-inflicted suffering."  

(That bit is from a private communication and is used WITHOUT her permission.  I will remove it if she desires.)

And the worst part is- I can't say she's Wrong.

What does that say about me?

Two People said I looked like a guy the day I took this.

I mean after all, it's all MY fault. That's what I get for transitioning, not taking voice lessons, hair lessons, dressing the way I prefer, living here, keeping this job, and drawing breath.


Anger is all I've known all my life.  I don't know anything else.  I know I hurt.  I know my hurt affects others, and that makes me hurt more.  So I want to eliminate that hurt.

My dear friend Jenny North wrote me and said:

"... Change is always scary...letting go of your pain isn't easy sometimes!  {break]  Owning your pain is one thing, but getting mired in it because you're worried about the alternative is something else."

To which I replied:

"I'm not worried about the alternative.  I WANT the alternative.  But some people who I care about deeply don't.  And I'd rather suffer than hurt them."

(I can hear it now:  "you're such a pathetic martyr!")

If you're keeping score at home, that's one person who I greatly admire pissed off at me, several readers pissed off, and a couple who have dropped away...

Pissing people off is my mutant power.


So my next entry won't be so negative.

Give the people what they want.

Be well.

Friday, December 9, 2016


For those of you unlucky enough to be on my Facialbook, you've probably saw that I measure a good or bad shift at work by how many times I get misgendered.  Why?  Because it happens pretty much every day.

Many people have sent me ideas as to how I can improve my presentation, like to check my voice, change my hair, get big implants, or something.  I don't know.

However, many people don't understand what the big deal is; just shrug it off and keep going.  Walk It Off.  Put on your big girl panties.

It simply is not that easy.  You see, every single time someone does this, it feels like they are punching me hard in the stomach while simultaneously slapping me in the face.  They usually do this as they are leaving.

"Thank you, SIR."

In fact, the pervasiveness of it makes me wonder if it's an organized thing.  Am I being paranoid? Probably.  However, there is a church nearby that has sponsored speakers in favor of conversion therapy, especially for Trans people.  One of them has already been told they can't speak to me.  I wrote about her previously.

I don't know, and I frankly don't care at this point.

The fact is that it happens every Goddamn day for the most part.

Let's face it dear reader I am 6'1" tall, and I weigh approximately 250 pounds now.  I have aircraft carrier shoulders, and a face that belongs on a Neanderthal.  There's no way in hell I pass as a woman, even a grotesquely ugly one.


It is currently the Christmas season, and the rich people who patronize our store are getting more and more feral.  And in their "holiday spirit," they make it a point to insult me on their way out.  The management of the store says I should just report these people to them as they come through, but these people always do it when they're leaving, so that by the time I can get a manager to the front, that person is long gone, and, in fact, this time of year as soon as that person goes that I have another grumpy face in front of me.

So in other words, I'm on my own.

And my hands are tied- I can say Nothing. I can do Nothing.

And They know it.

So, dear reader, if you want to come around and punch me in the stomach and slap me in the face, know that I will have to smile at you as you do so, and wish you a good day, because that is my life.

And people wonder why the Darkness has me.

Be Well.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Insomniac Eyes.

It's midnight, and I'm still awake after having gone to bed an hour ago. I just took some melatonin, as I don't think I'll be able to sleep without it.  Tonight, as always on nights when I can't sleep, my mind is racing.

As most of you know, I wear glasses most of the time. I need them to see. I rarely wear contacts, because they bother my eyes, and, besides, their prescription is two prescriptions old.

I wear bifocals, even though I'm only fifty.

Sometimes, late at night, I walk into the bathroom, turn on the light, and see myself in the mirror without my glasses.  When I do, I see a blur.

These days, I see a blur of long hair and breasts, and I could be mistaken- without having my glasses on- that this blur is a Woman- maybe even a pretty one.

It's amazing the way that bad eyes can fool you.

I have often been told that I have my father's eyes. They are blue with maybe just a touch of green, and I've always considered them my best feature. They are deep-set, which, when I pretended I was a guy, wasn't a problem.  However, now it's an extreme impediment.

But still they are Blue, and still they are my best feature- not that anyone looks at them anymore.  Not in a long time.

I see them all the time.  Every time I look into the mirror.  And when they're made up; with mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow, I could almost be fooled into thinking that these are the eyes of a Woman.  What is the difference between a man's and a woman's eyes?  The funny thing is that my daughter has my eyes, so in a way she has her grandfather's eyes, yet her eyes are not deep set.  And her eyes are feminine.

See Me

I think the difference between men's and women's eyes is that a woman's eyes tend not to be as guarded- you can see more of their soul.  You can see kindness, or happiness.  Or Pain.  Men guard their souls- they guard their eyes.  Their eyes tend to be colder.  However, a rare man allows you to see his eyes- allows you to see their soul.  These are the ones who, for whatever reason, women don't want to date.  These are the ones who've been hurt so many times that they can't hide the pain anymore.  Perhaps, emotion in a man's eyes is seen as a weakness.

I don't know.

So what is it I see when my blurred eyes look into the mirror?  At the distorted reflection?  Is that truly a woman who stares back at me, or is that blur the truth of my soul?  Perhaps my entire life is simply


Thursday, December 1, 2016

A Strange Difference

I was thinking of this today at work.  Yes, sometimes my mind wanders.

Between my "re-awakening" in 2008 and when I understood who I truly was, I wore a HELL of a lot more stuff when dressed in feminine attire.

Here's an example:

Makeup by Amanda Richards of True Colors Makeup Artistry

In the above picture, I am wearing panties, a corset, the corset liner, Hip pads (a Veronica 5 from Classic Curves Intl- HIGHLY recommended!), high waisted panty over that to cover seams and corset laces, breast prosthetic (Proactive Prosthetics- amazing if you can afford the best), bra, pantyhose, skirt, top, boots, wig, Lee Stick on nails, jewelry, contact lenses, and had a professional makeover.  15 items.

I felt armored head to foot.  If I were wearing a skirt that moved as I walked, I couldn't feel it swishing for everything else I was wearing!

In the end, it really wasn't that comfortable either.

Now, compare to this:

November 2016

In the above, I am wearing panties, bra, pantyhose, skirt, top, jewelry, glasses, and heels.  I did my own makeup and that's my natural hair and nails.  8 items.  About half.

And THAT was far more comfortable.   And, I think, far more feminine.

Now granted, a MAJOR difference between then and now is that I've been on HRT for several years, and living my Truth full time for nearly three years.

I thought about how physically uncomfortable all that was- confining and tight.  And yet, if I wanted to be Sophie back then, that is what I did.  I had a definite idea of what I wanted to look like and worked toward that "ideal."  And that meant feminine hips, big boobs, long hair and an hourglass figure.  Yet, that one night a month, I felt so Free.  I was shedding the weight of my male skin and becoming who I really was.

These days, of all of the Sophie "ideals" I had, I only managed to get two:  Long hair (almost five years of growth) and generous boobs (yes, I KNOW how lucky I am.)  Maybe If I lost weight, I'd achieve a better figure.  Someday...

Obviously, the biggest change is that my male self is gone.  I move FAR more confidently as a woman.  Now I do everyday things as Sophie, and, while I think of how I walk, etc, I don't think twice about appearing in public in feminine attire.  Why should I?  After all...

... I'm a Woman!

Be well!