Christmas Night '21

So Christmas is over, thank God.  This tale begins on my last day of work at the LGBT Center for the semester.  As a thank you for volunteering to speak to classes, they gave me a $20 Starbucks gift card.  I don't drink coffee.  All of us working there got a small bag full of stickers and glitter pens and such.  A couple of days ago, my friend Aimee gave me a Christmas ball she knitted, which promptly went on the tree.

I've had insomnia the past few nights (what else is new?)  This morning, I woke up around 7, coughing my head off from this cold I can't kick.  It isn't Covid- I was checked.  I had a bowl of cereal, and went back to bed, having had only four hours of sleep.  Besides, Linda wasn't up yet, so...

I crawled out of bed again around 11:30.  Plopped on the couch until Linda was ready to open her gifts.  I bought her a book.  Linda's sister generously sent me a bag of small things, and my dear friend Jenny North sent me a DVD, an ornament, as well as a Disney + subscription.  She's far too kind.  In any case, that was my Christmas.  

Linda and I played a couple of games during the day.  I made dinner: ham and mashed potatoes.  We watched a movie.

11:30 and I still wasn't tired.  I took melatonin, but knew from experience that it would take time to hit. (it's 1:06 as I type this and I'm still wide awake).  I decided to take a drive downtown, so Linda wouldn't have to listen to me cry.  

And cry I did.  For the past few Christmases, all I've asked for from Wife for Xmas was for her and Daughter to come visit me for the day.  Hasn't happened.  Still.  I barely spoke to either of them, as while they returned one call briefly (as they were going to Wawa), the second call wasn't returned.  Guess they had better things to do.  I texted with Daughter a bit though.

Christmas Tree, College and Allen

I'm tired of the fact that they are Top Priority for me while I'm merely and inconvenience or obligation to them.  It's tearing me apart.  So, I cried like the weak little useless child that I am.  (Got a bloody nose out of nowhere as well.)  

I arrived at the main intersection in State College: Allen St and College Ave.  That's where the "gateway to the University" stands, as well as the Christmas tree.  I took pictures.  Downtown was empty.  No one on the roads, and maybe three people walking.  I walked half a block to take more pictures, and as I walked back to my car, I heard music coming from Zeno's, a basement bar I frequented back in the day.  It was open!  So I walked down the stairs, and had a beer.

Alone at Zeno's

There were a few Asian women at the bar wearing very short dresses as well as maybe six other people, plus staff.  I sat at a small round table, and quietly drank the beer.  Around 12:05, they started kicking people out.  I finished my beer, and walked over to the bar to pay my tab.  It was free- the bartender wrote "Merry Christmas" on the charge slip.  I had no cash to tip him.

I left him the Starbucks gift card, and went back to my car.

I hate Christmas, almost as much as I hate my life.

Stopped to see an old friend on the way home.

Holidazed

I've written many times here, on TG Forum, and on social media about my feelings about the Christmas holiday.  I hate it.  Absolutely and thoroughly.

Yes, I know- stop whining.

Like me, so many transgender people lose their families when they come out.  In my case, I lost my marriage as well.  My daughter was five when I was thrown out.  During the few years before that, I tolerated the holidays, because of the magic I saw in her eyes, especially on Christmas morning.  She loved Christmas and everything that came with it.  Does she still?  I have no idea.  I never see her on Christmas anymore- not in years.  

I just asked her via text.  She said "Yeah, kinda.  I like giving gifts."  

One of the major reasons I hate Xmas is all those years in the service industry: bartending, serving, wholesale, and the worst: retail.  Any of you who have worked retail during the holidays know how horrific people can be during that time.  During the last few years at the book store, working Xmas eve left me actively looking for ways to die after work.  People were that bad.  I would drive home sobbing and hating every breath and heartbeat.  Sleep couldn't come fast enough.  One year, my friend Katie insisted on coming over with bottles of wine.  She literally kept me alive that night.  

I used to enjoy Christmas when I was young.  Gifts from Santa were great.  Also, the whole family (dad's side) would get together.  I used to get along well with many of my cousins.  That kinda ended when we all started hitting our teens, and the oldest of the cousins married, etc.  When I hit my teens, I felt more isolated, because teen, but also because of my Dark Secret I needed to hide- that I was trans.  

In very late 1989, I met someone who loves Christmas.  We dated through spring and summer 1990, and she kept telling me that she was going to teach me to love the holiday, as her family was REALLY into it.  But she cheated, and by October it was over.  Then my first suicide attempt.  Thing is- I was really looking forward to seeing why her family loved it so much.  That added to the bitterness of the breakup and the holiday. That was over thirty years ago.  Yes, it takes me forever to get over some things.

Yesterday

For a few years, I did "Orphan's Christmas Eve" at my house in Baltimore and then when I moved back to PA.  That ended when I was thrown out.  I enjoyed that bit.  I think I already wrote about it somewhere.

Since coming back to PSU, it hasn't been as bad as that.  My roomie/bestie Linda and I watch TV Christmas eve.  Next morning she opens the gifts I give her as well as the ones from her sister.  The past few years, a dear friend has sent me a gift which I open Xmas morning.  That done, it becomes just another day.

Just another day.

But it's a day where everything is closed, everyone is busy (not that I have many friends around here- I don't), and there's nothing good on TV.  Some bars and such open that night, but by then I'm not in the mood for being social.  Maybe I will afford a decent thing to make for dinner, like a turkey or ham.  (Who am I kidding? It'll be Hamburger Helper.)

Thing is- I have it SO much better than so many people, especially trans women.  So many of us are homeless or worse.  In my case, at least I have Linda here, and maybe I'll be able to speak to Wife and daughter if they're not too busy.  Usually her brothers come over with their many kids (ten between them.)  So many of us have absolutely no one.

Maybe I'll have the money to buy a bottle or two and drink myself into oblivion.  Been a while since I've done that.  Besides, it's not like I'm doing anything the next day or so after.  I don't recover as well as when I was younger.  But Drinking, I'd go to sleep, and the day would be over.  

Face it, the only three spirits helping me with Christmas will be liquid, not Dickens-esque.

In any case, I know many of you enjoy the holidays, and for that I am grateful.  Enjoy them for me too, please.  

Be well.

Dreams are Personal

I can't think of anything more personal than dreams.  Nothing- not fears, intimate encounters, secrets, is more personal.  When one reveals their dreams, they reveal their soul.  Dreams are the ultimate secret. 

For so many transgender people, living their Truth, or surgeries are their deepest dream and darkest secret; a secret that many take to the grave.  How many transgender women needed someone to "scrub" their homes of any feminine clothing or things before family found out post-mortem?  How many pass never living that dream for even a moment?

A week ago

Some say I'm living the dream, as I am full time as myself.  I usually reply that, no, I'm living a nightmare.  But has living my Truth been my biggest dream?  My fondest wish?  

No.

My biggest dream, beyond any other was to grow old with my Wife.  Once I decided "yes, she's the one" that has been the goal.  Even before that- the idea of growing old with my life partner- if I could do that, then everything else would be at least ok.  I remember thinking on my wedding day, as I looked into Wife's eyes... this is it.  This is the rest of my life.  

Well, I screwed that up over 8 1/2 years ago, didn't I?  

Lately I've wondered if I should detransition- if we could be a family again.  But I already know the answer to that: we can't.  Wife doesn't want to.  So even if I wanted to detransition (I don't), it wouldn't matter, I'll still be alone.  I'll die alone.  I already know this- always have.  I just dreamed of living out my days with my Wife.  That isn't going to happen no matter what.  

So when someone tells you their dreams- listen.  They're revealing who they really are.  

But be careful!  Dreams, like Hope, lie.  

Late November Late Night Rambling

Thanksgiving was quite nasty, and I'm still deeply depressed from it.  But I'll see if I can write something that isn't depressing.  This is being typed straight in- I didn't write it longhand before.  See? I ended two clauses with prepositions- look at me go.

I had to drop a class this semester due to various issues- chief among them being that I was so far behind in the reading.  How did I get so far behind?  I spent a LOT of time lying in bed, either asleep or staring at the ceiling.  I'm guessing the depression meds aren't working.  That said, I doubt they've ever worked.

I'm taking a break from writing papers.  I have two due next week, both 20+ pages.  One is in my qualitative research class, and the other is in my Sociology of Gender class.  I really enjoy the Gender class, as it goes right into my research.  The other one... doesn't.

I wrote a TG Forum post for last week, about TDOR here at PSU.  In it, I wrote:

I then stood to speak at “open mic.” I don’t remember all that I said. I opened with “I don’t know what it means to be cisgender” then talked about fear. Fear of being caught dressing by parents, about Wife finding out, about losing everything because of coming out. . . and then there’s violence. In Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters wrote that trans women of color are murdered, while if a white trans girl dies prematurely, it’s usually suicide. Either way, dead.

Death doesn’t scare me — never did. However, I wonder how long it will be until another person I know’s name is read at TDOR. A week doesn’t pass without word of the suicide of a trans friend or a trans friend of a friend crossing my social media feeds. Too many of us are dying. I read in an academic paper recently that the average age of death for a transgender woman is 32. I don’t remember which paper, but it was peer reviewed, so must be somewhat accurate. And none of those count natural deaths (miss you Katie!). I thought I was desensitized to loss, but as the number of dead friends continues rising. . . well, I’m not... [edit]

I remember one other thing I said — that I’m afraid that my life, or someone I care about, will be reduced to just a name to be read on November 20. And mostly forgotten by the next year.  

If you want to read the whole thing, I linked it above.  

Fat bitch reading

I've been thinking a lot of what I'll leave behind.  I have hundreds of books just taking up space in storage.  I doubt anyone will want them, like a used book store, and putting them on ebay would be more trouble than it's worth.  So when I'm gone, will they all just be thrown in a dumpster?  Each one of those books was a gift, or piqued my interest enough for me to buy them.  I'd guess 2/3 are unread- the pleasure and knowledge I sought from them wasted.  I remember all the times I'd go to bookstores with Wife and just browse, because I couldn't afford to buy.  

I miss those days with Wife- almost carefree in a way, as we had no daughter or pets.  Yes, I was still depressed, and drinking heavily, but I was young and it was Wife and I against the world.  Re-discovering my trans self in 2008 destroyed so many things.  Can I say transition has made me happy?  No.  It destroyed what little good I had left in my life.

I'm grateful for the friends I've made since that day in 2008, including some of the best people I've ever met, especially Lisa, Ally, and Linda.  I like to think I've done some good as well, but is that enough to justify all this pain?  Every single fucking hour of every day?  No therapist or medication has cured it (unless you count the fact that I'm still alive) after over three decades of work.  Dr. Osborne did the most, but then she retired.  

But back to the books in storage.  I also have a lot of games in the room where I type.  I think selling them would yield more money, especially since they'd hopefully go to a home where they'd actually be played.  My roomie/bestie isn't a gamer, not that I have time.  Nor do I have the inclination.  All I do anymore is stare through walls, watch tv, or nap.  And homework.  I have no hobbies any more.  It's been forever since I've written a story.  Or a blog entry (before this.)  And this one isn't exactly a bundle of laughs.  let's face it, I've become that boring person at the end of the bar that no one talks to because they're so depressing.  

I think I mentioned previously how I've already written the final entry of this blog- I did it five years ago.  I update it occasionally.  I think about the day it will be posted often.  I don't write here much anymore, primarily as I don't see the point.  It doesn't bring me any joy, and I'm bleeding subscribers as fast as I lose hits.  

And while I'm on that topic: Ruben Paixao, I'd appreciate it if you'd change your icon.  Nobody wants to see that gross display, and this is a family show.  

Thanksgiving passed, and it ended with me sobbing for days.  Like, still.  I try not to cry in front of Linda, as she has enough problems.  In any case, it's now the "holiday season."  I'm glad so many people find joy in it.  I don't.  Haven't in a long time.  I guess working wholesale and retail wrenched what little enjoyment I had right out of me.  Usually on Christmas, I just cry.  I've written about this so many times before, so I won't belabor the point.  

It's almost 1 am, and I'm still not sleepy.  And writing isn't helping.  Maybe I'll watch some tv or such.  I'm so fucking pathetic.  Sorry, I couldn't write something more uplifting.

In any case, thanks for reading, those who do.  I seriously appreciate it more than I say.  Makes me think someone actually cares.  

Be well.

Getting Caught

Thinking back all the way to when I first put on a piece of feminine clothing until, well, today to some extent, my biggest fear concerning being trans has been getting "caught."  Discovery.

It's something feared by transgender women from crossdressers to transitioned, but mostly  those who are closeted. (Heidi Phox has a fun video about this.)

When I first started, I feared being caught by my parents or my brother.  I knew that if my parents caught me, the punishment would've been beyond severe.  Possibly being thrown out or worse.  And if my older brother (OB) caught me, he'd instantly tell them while greatly embellishing the story to the point where the only true part would be the skirt.  (In reality though, when my brother caught me, it meant a huge bribe to buy his silence, combined with the knowledge that he had something terrible on me.  But to his credit, he never told.)

So I usually dressed when they all were away.  Sometimes when mum was away and dad was on night shift, so asleep during the day.  It really depended upon how bad my dysphoria was on a given day.  

Sometimes I'd dress if they were out running errands, but then it would only be hose or something easily removed and hidden.  During those times, I kept my ears peeled for the squeak of the front door, or the sound of one of the vehicles in the driveway.  I sort of miss those days, fresh with discovery and fear.  My adrenaline ran very high and senses were on edge.  At those times, the clothes felt extra silky and soft.  

But then that sound- was that the door?  The frantic scramble to unzip, unhook, don't rip it!  Hide it hide it!  God help me if I had on makeup!  That usually meant shower time- that was my excuse for all the washing.  

Close calls.  Oh, so many close calls!  The sound of my mother's voice shouting my name up the stairs... I didn't hear her come in!  PANIC!  Strip!  Oh don't come up here!  As I mentioned, I was only caught once, and that was by OB.  

After Halloween 2008, I was hiding from the whole world, especially my Wife.  I knew that the consequences for being caught now- with a family and career- would be catastrophic.  I took every precaution and thought through every move.  Motels paid in cash.  Post office box in another town. Storage site several towns away.  I was so cautious, and wasn't caught.  I realized an important fact: that no one would recognize me because they weren't looking for me.  Even if they were looking for me, they wouldn't be looking for me dressed as a woman.  They may recognize that I'm a crossdresser, but not who I am.

Of course, the problem happened because this blog was found.  I was Thrown out.

Since then, I haven't cared who found out.  And then in March 2014, I came out to the world.  Since then it's been misgender, misgender, misgender.  But no more hiding.

I know no one reads this anymore, but I'll ask anyway: have you ever been caught crossdressing?  What happened?

My Fault

Everything is my fucking fault. I can't do anything right. I'm never smart enough, strong enough, fast enough... whatever.

Want proof?

Ask my wife. Who destroyed our marriage?  Me.  Who couldn't find a good enough job so we could move out of her mom's place?  Me.

Ask my parents. If something happened in that house, it was my fault.  Period.  Never my brother's- mine.  After all- he said so, right?  I was the root of everything wrong and evil.

Ask anyone who I've failed, which is pretty much everyone I know. If I haven't failed you yet, give it time, I guarantee I will. Ask any of my teachers or employers. Li Longo didn't get past the primary because I sucked as a campaign manager. When BN or GW didn't hit a target, it was because I fucked up.

I fucked up so much at GW that they moved me out of sales and put me under someone who did his best to make me quit.

I never do anything fucking right, so why do I fucking bother even trying.

I'm fifty fucking five years old.  I'll be near sixty IF I finish this program.  No one will hire me.  So why am I bothering?  Transwomen are dying out there, and here I am learning adult learning theory.  Theories don't stop bullets.

I used to think transpeople may just survive the 45 junta.  We did- barely.  The GOP kills far too efficiently.  Ask the Latinos in the camps... or their children who have been sold off, oh I'm sorry- "disappeared."

Now they'll just legislate us out of existence.  And what am I doing about it?  Reading about Gramsci and ubuntu and qualitative research.  Useless.  I'm fucking useless.  Always have been.  

Early Autumn Raw Whining

I've always taken a writing book everywhere I go, but lately I've started writing in it while in class, as we're supposed to keep a journal to reflect on readings and discussions. The following was written yesterday, and has the class related stuff removed- but that's the only editing I've done, aside for clarity and removing names..  Raw Sophie thoughts as they happened.  Not that anyone is reading.  Last month, I had 747 hits.  I used to do over a thousand a day.  Is it that no one is reading blogs anymore, or that I've scared everyone off.  Or bored them.  

I'm good at fake smiles.  Sept. 2021.  Like my sun poisoning?

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Sweaty as fuck, as it's so humid.  Drug dr. says Cymbalta may be the cause.  I'm very sick of it.  I sweated through a dress this morning, so I'm on my second dress of the day.  

Mum is still alive.  I spoke to her the other day, and could barely understand her.  I thought of going down [to see her] on Sunday for her birthday, but decided not to, as I don't want to see her like this- not again.  Spoke to Wife and daughter about it today as well.

Drug dr. asked me if I'd felt suicidal lately.  I answered yes, but didn't say when: this morning.  I woke up at 6 am and thought that today the world would be better off w/o me.  Everyone would forget me very quickly.  I got out of bed and pushed myself to the shower that I desperately needed.  I hadn't showered in days.  And I needed a shave.  I just didn't- too lazy.  I didn't care.  I still don't, but as I have class today, I wanted to present well, not offend people with my stench, and in a desperate attempt to feel feminine.  I'm convinced that unless I get bottom surgery I'll never feel feminine or complete.  As I'll never afford it, I'll never feel complete.  I lost all hope of that long ago.  Hope lies.  I've known that for years.  Just keep moving forward, step by step.  I would rage against the dying of the light if the light hadn't died long ago.  After all, I'm a mistake that was broken again and again- loss after loss, defeat after defeat, more regular than a heartbeat.  I was born as a warning to others- that life can make mistakes.  If I were so fucking smart, then why do I lose so goddamn always?...

True Colors Photoshoot, 2010.

…Just thinking- even if I had bottom surgery, what would really change?  It's not like I'd ever use the parts, even if I wanted to.  I'm too fat and ugly and old for anyone to ever want me.  What kind of lover would I be as a woman?  Yes, I have big tits, but that isn't everything.  What kind of wife would I be?  Would I wear the white dress, etc?  Could I?  Me as a bride, outside of a photoshoot.  Never a consideration.  That pre-supposes losing Wife, meeting someone else, and caring enough about them to spend the rest of my life with them.  I can't see that happening.  I can't see wanting it to happen.  I'm already married, and will remain so until Wife jettisons me.  Would I even survive that? I doubt that very much.  Just being separated makes me crave death every day.  All those years ago, the marriage councilor said I'm "Needy, clingy, and possessive."  Spot on.  I forget which therapist said that's because I crave the love I didn't get as a child, or the acceptance I never found.  Am I capable of receiving love anymore?  Was I ever, really?  I know love has ALWAYS meant pain to me- every fucking time.

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In other news, a couple of weeks ago, I attended a tailgate.  I wrote about that HERE.  I came away with a mild case of sun poisoning that knocked me down for a week.  It's now at the peeling stage.  I should make an appointment with the dermatologist, but no money means no medicine.  

School is brutal, but at this level it's supposed to be.  The academic term for it is "rigor,"  which is defined as "hard as fuck."  One of my classes is Sociology of Gender, and I really enjoy that class.  I've learned a lot from looking at the issues from a different lens, so to speak.  

It's October in Happy Valley.  Still summer out there, despite the leaves changing.  The world is changing too.  What kind of planet will my generation leave behind?  A cinder?  

In any case, that's all I have today.  I wanted to post something for what readers I have left.  To those who have hung on, thank you.  Seriously.  You help.

Be well.

8

Dearest Lisa,

Today marks eight years since they found your body, hot pink and lifeless in the back of your work van.  How long it had been since you died is uncertain.  

What is certain is how you tore apart so many lives.  I get it- I really do.  I know how the Pain and Darkness eat away at the soul.  How the Darkness makes promises- promises sweet relief from the Pain.  

What the Darkness didn't tell you is how many people loved you, and the price we paid for your peace.

Every day I think of you, and every day I think about joining you.  The Agony you left behind still lives in me.  I hang on.  I hang on trying to do right by those you left behind.

Eight whole years.  So much longer than I even knew you.  

I wish I could go back and tell you what I know now.  Would you even recognize me?  I know I've changed- I see it in my eyes.  I hate mirrors more than ever.  If we met now, would you even want to be friends?  

I want to write more, but I'm afraid to.

I will always miss you and love you, Lisa.

Sophie

Double Nickel

On September 13, 2021, I turned 55.  Another year passed, another year still alive.  What did I do?  Well, I worked my one job for a few hours, then treated myself to some lunch (wings and iced tea) at Cafe 210 West.  The owner, noted local musician J.R. Managan joined me for a drink, which was very nice of him.  I also bought myself a birthday gift- a white Penn State Tank top that I couldn't afford, but it's my birthday.  I then went the other place where I work (grocery store) and picked up the free cake they give employees on their birthday.  I then went home for a nap.  That night, I made a steak for dinner for myself and Linda, and had some of the cake.  Also during the day, I spoke to Wife and daughter.  

At Cafe 210

And that was how I spent my 55th birthday.  Quietly.  I didn't tell people at my one job it was my birthday as it didn't matter.  I'm used to people not knowing and not caring about me or my birthday.  With the exception of when I was dating/with Wife, I spent most of my birthdays alone.  Nothing is lonelier than a birthday alone.  However, if a person goes around reminding people about it, they're seen as "seeking attention."  Well, YEAH!  It's nice to get just a little attention on your birthday!  That's why I paid hundreds of dollars to throw my own birthday party a few years ago.

A few of my facialbook friends remarked that a lady never tells her age.  I'm honest about it, because so many transgender women don't live this long.  We get murdered or commit suicide or whatever.  My dearest friend Lisa died at 52.  So at 55. I've survived three suicide attempts, countless deep depressions where I wanted to die, accidents, running into burning buildings, crawling into demolished cars, fights, falls, and God only knows what else.  Yet, still here I am, typing this.  If I had my way, I'd be dead these five years and mostly forgotten.  

272 people posted on my facialbook page wishing me a happy birthday.  My birthday fundraiser raised $502 (target: $300).  Yes, I am honored by this, and very grateful.

So I'm still here today.  Still studying for my PhD.  Still breathing.  Still crazy after all these years.

Be well.

Tips For New Girls Redux

This piece was first published on TG Forum on August 30, 2021.  Please click on the link to show them some love.

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And now for something completely different.

Long ago, back when people still drew on cave walls, I did a piece (either here or on my blog) about some helpful tips for beginners.  It’s been forever, so I thought I’d try this again.  Tip of the hat to Linda Jensen who also writes about this, and does it far better than I ever will. 

Right.  The transgender continuum encompasses many different types of people, from casual occasional crossdressers, to people who dress often but can’t transition for whatever reason, to people who have surgeries and go stealth. My dear friend Kristyn King told me when I first came out in public the first time that being TG is like a train: you ride and progress until you arrive at the stop where you are comfortable (or must stop.)  However, very few ride the train until the end of the line: transition. I am one of those who paid for the ticket, and took the ride.  I’ve been living my Truth since 2014.  I’ve learned a lot since rediscovering myself since re-discovering myself in late 2008, usually the hard way, but also from other transgender women here and there.  And now, I give this wisdom to you.  You lucky people.

Let’s start with legs shall we?  This is the biggest sin I see at TG events:  KEEP YOUR KNEES TOGETHER!  As biological males, we tend to sit with our legs spread far apart: the “Man Spread.”  Women don’t sit this way.  At all.  They are socialized to keep their legs together to prevent them from flashing their privates to any who care to look- especially while wearing a skirt or dress.  Give you a hint ladies: we don’t want to see your underwear or pantyhose crotch.  Keep your knees together!

Manspeading

While I’m at it, let’s discuss feet.  Females sit (or hover) when using the restroom.  You know this, right.  Men don’t have to, as they can stand to pee.  However, if you’re going to dress as a woman, nothing will creep out cis-women (and out you) faster than standing at the john in the ladies room.  WHILE IN THE STALL, KEEP YOUR FEET POINTED AWAY FROM THE TOILET.  That means sit on the throne, ladies. 

The next major bit I notice is obvious, but not.  When I attend TG events or conferences (like the amazing Keystone Conference in Harrisburg, Pa), there are usually group meals.  During one of those, close your eyes and listen.  What do you hear?  Guys.  Guys talking and laughing.  Some of the most beautiful women you meet at a conference out themselves as soon as they open their mouths.  They make no effort to raise their voice into a feminine range.  TRY TO USE AS FEMININE VOICE AS YOU CAN.  Even if you think it sounds ridiculous, it really helps your mental state and presentation.

Walk past a male presenting person.  How do they silently acknowledge you as you pass by (assuming they do)?  They nod.  Men in Western cultures nod to acknowledge/greet others.  What do females do?  They smile to each other.  (They don’t smile at men that often, especially in Europe, where smiling is seen as flirting.)  WHEN SILENTLY ACKNOWLEDGING SOMEONE, SMILE- DON’T NOD!

Finally, we have walking.  Men walk one way due to the angle of their hips and center of gravity, while women, with structurally different hips and higher center of gravity, walk differently.  There are long lessons on how to walk in a feminine way.  So, as a simple guide: WHEN WALKING, SHOULDERS BACK, CHEST OUT, AND A MAKE BELIEVE BOOK ON YOUR HEAD.  It isn’t perfect, but it’s better than shambling around like a guy. 

In any case, I hope these tips help.  I’m still working on voice and walk, and always will be.  Hopefully, these tips will help your feminine presentation, and help you be the best female you can! 

 

Be well!

 

 

 

update 09012021

 too depressed to write anymore

not that anyone cares

be well

Collectables

I used to collect a great many things when I when I was first out of college (It's hard to collect anything when money is so tight.  That said, in college I collected hangovers), especially after I met Wife and I was able to get a relatively stable job in a game distribution company.   Go figure one of the things I collected were board games. I also collected miniatures, as well as Dungeons & Dragons books. One thing I saved my money to buy was a 1990 Captain America chess set, in pewter and brass.  I loved that, and couldn't wait until we had would have an actual house where it could be displayed.

Occasionally, I bought a comic book character statue.  Around that time, Wife and I collected video tapes of movies, because we didn't go out that much so at night we would drink wine and watch movies.  

This was a wonderful time.  I had friends with whom to game, money enough to pay the bills (as Wife made more than me, even at the beginning of her career.)  Our biggest expenses were my drinking and our weekly dinner date night.  

Unfortunately, my drinking was out of control and I spent a LOT. 

Wife is better with money than me. Things were looking up.  We were building a life Together.  Y'know, like normal people.  

At that point, I changed jobs.  When I took the job with Games Workshop, it also cut my income by a third.  I cut back expenses a bit, and started selling off a few things at conventions.  Eventually, we saved enough to buy a house.  I loved that house:  it was an end unit of townhomes, built with our input.  A dear friend who worked in construction built the deck for us.  Add to that, we shared a wall with an amazing couple (who are the best neighbors anyone could ever want) named Adam and Carol.  

We held many parties there, hosted some dinners, and eventually even got a dog.  And, finally, I was able to display my chess set.  Fortunately, it was not one of the things taken when the house was robbed.  My favorite times there were sitting on the couch with Wife after the day was done, drinking wine and listening to music.

Captain America Chess Set.  Pics swiped from an ebay auction.  Want it?  $524.00

Still, even with an occasional raise from GW, expenses were outpacing income.  Then, Wife was laid off.  

I began selling things I'd collected.  I began selling off comics.  Then the statues, one by one.  Board games that I didn't play for whatever reason.  Out of production miniatures.  Miniatures I'd painted.  Books.  Eventually, I sold some of the original art I'd collected.  I'd occasionally buy something on ebay just to turn it around to resell it, as I knew it was worth much more than I paid.  

It wasn't enough. 

One day, I sold the Captain America chess set to a comic book store.  I remember that day vividly.  I put the chess set, mint in factory box, on his counter.  He paid in cash, which I handed to Wife.  I was so sad.  I'd never even played a game with those pieces.  I felt like a complete failure.  We made the mortgage payment.  

I don't know why, but I thought of this image when writing this piece.  It's drawn in the art style of Wife.

Eventually, my job at GW was eliminated.  We sold the house we loved so much, and moved back to Pennsylvania.  I was deeply depressed.  Again, I started selling off things I'd collected.  No longer constrained by my employment with GW, I sold off most of my GW miniatures, including the armies I'd worked so hard to build and paint over the nine years I worked there.  I sold the last of the sellable statues in 2011.

Very Rare Game.  Sold January, 2011

Since that time, I've been selling to pay bills.  At first, it was to pay for things like the tuition for my masters degree.  Then our daughter was born.  Eventually, it was to buy feminine items and clothing, as my femme side re-emerged in 2008.  

Now, I still sell things, and occasionally buy.  Almost all of the high-end items are gone.  What few items are left aren't worth much to anyone really.  My once huge game collection fits on two ikea shelves.  Most of my books are in storage.  I tried selling some to a used book store, and they were very blunt about telling me that they weren't interested.  I've given many of my old books (mostly unread) for free to my friends who own Bramble Books in Spring City.  I figure it will help them make money.  (Their bookstore is thriving, btw.)  

In any case, a lot of the games I still have, I kept hoping that someday I'd actually have people with whom to play them.  I've had several of them for over thirty years, and a couple for forty.  At what point do I finally give up and either sell them or give them away?  (Before you ask, my roomie Linda isn't a gamer.  She builds amazing models from scratch.)

This morning, I'm exhausted.  I've worked on this piece for days, little by little.  Time to go to work.  I'm doing both jobs today.  Then work Friday, Saturday, Sunday...  

Maybe I'll just give it all away.  They'll make someone happy.  It's all wasted here.

Humid Midsummer Sunset

The sun was setting when I left work Tuesday, and to the south an early moon hung in the blue and rose colored sky.  The humidity was so heavy you could see it and almost taste it.  This is the sort of summer I remember from growing up and those summers when school was just a threat over a month away.

Last night

But tonight, it reminded me of the beach.  Bethany Beach, Delaware, specifically.  Early in our relationship, Wife's family always rented a beachside house for a couple of weeks during the summer, usually in late June.  It had to be beachside, as Wife's grandmother wanted to be near enough to hear the ocean, even though she never went down to the beach itself.  The sound was enough.

Most nights after dinner, Wife, her brothers, and whatever cousins or friends were along, would walk on the beach about a mile to the Bethany boardwalk.  We'd usually get ice cream and play miniature golf at the most ancient yet challenging place, and it only cost fifty cents!  It's long gone now, replaced by a restaurant.  

Still, it's those memories that relationships are built upon.  I loved those walks.  I loved those evenings.  I could usually only stay a few days or a week, as I had to work, but those were wonderful times.  I think about them on evenings like this as the bright early moon presides over the sultry sky.  I miss them.  I miss the days of being happy and with Wife.

The next morning I learned that some of the haze was due to smoke from the west coast wild fires.  So much for wistfulness.

Men of the Skull: Chapter 147 (out of order) Macaroni and Cheese Party!

 I don't remember if I posted this before, so...

This post prominently features "Debbie," whose introduction I haven't posted yet.  From that chapter:

She wore a white one piece bathing suit and mirrored sunglasses as she relaxed on the lounge chair on the balcony reading a book.  She had a gorgeous body: huge breasts, perfect legs, and fiery red hair.  She was an absolute knockout- I’d never seen anyone like her in my life.  A woman among girls.  And she didn’t notice me- but why would she?  She was reading a book. 

...

A minute later, she opened the door.  She’d wrapped a white towel around her hips.

Debbie was maybe five seven.  She had a round Irish face with prominent apple cheeks speckled with freckles.  She had almond shaped hazel eyes and a wide full mouth.  Her red hair touched the bottom of her shoulder blades and framed everything beautifully. 

...

Debbie was a criminology major going into her senior year.  She stayed up for the summer to do an internship for a law firm out on University Drive, where she was well paid.

            Jones asked her about her boyfriend, and she made a sour face.

            “She dates a football player” he said in a mocking tone.

 “Shut up!” she said as she kicked his chair.  She then turned toward me and smiled. 

"Jones" was the guy I was subletting from- a Marine ROTC about to go on his summer obligation.  The apartment was in Armenara Plaza, on Beaver Ave.  

Armenara Plaza, Summer 1988

***********************************************************

Chapter 2.147: Macaroni and Cheese Party

Wednesday, June 22, 1988 The region grows parched-with no break in sight

            I hate macaroni and cheese.  No, really- I fucking HATE macaroni and cheese!  My mom made it all the time while I was growing up because that is what we could afford, and I ate it because I was hungry.  But I hated it, and now I don’t have to eat it.  I’ve held brains in my hand.  Want to know what it feels like?  Macaroni and cheese.

            Whenever I visited home during a semester, when I came back to school my mom always gave me a “care package” and it always contained five boxes of macaroni and cheese.  In the dorm at Drexel, or the apartment or in the house there was always someone who wanted them, so I’d trade for stuff I found edible.

            Problem was, during that summer I had no one with whom to trade.  After a few quick trips, I had more than thirty fucking boxes of macaroni and cheese lying around and I still was not desperate enough to eat them.

            So Deb was over at my place typing something on my computer and she heard me clunking around in the kitchen.  I was reorganizing what little I had and putting all the macaroni and cheese into one big box.  Deb saw me putting the last blue box in with all the others.

            “Macaroni and cheese!  Oh I love that!  It’s so good!”  Her whole body radiated happiness.  Eye contact, Lance. 

“Wanna make some?” she asked.

            “Um, you can if you want.  I can’t stand it.”

            “Oh what’s wrong with you?  It’s so creamy and cheesy, especially the Kraft kind you have!  Wow!  How many boxes do you have?”

            “I dunno.  Maybe thirty?”

            “Why do you have so much if you hate it?”

            “My mom puts it in care packages.  Usually I trade it away, but I haven’t found anyone to trade with since I moved in here.”

            “Awww!  Isn’t that cute?  Mommy makes you care packages!”  She said, trying to look sickeningly sweet.  “Still, I’ll trade!  Thirty!  That’s enough for a party!”

            Party?  A bell seemed to go off in both our heads.  Penn Staters will use any excuse for a party.

            “We should have a macaroni and cheese party!  Macaroni and cheese and drinks and music!  It’ll be awesome!”  Deb hopped up and down and clapped. 

            Fuck eye contact!

 

Thursday, June 23, 1988 Phila sweats in high of 100

            Deb made some calls, and by the time I finished work at three, the party was ready. I supplied the macaroni and cheese as well as my bartending skills, and she supplied the beer, rum, and the place.  I also negotiated another little perk, but I’ll get to that later.

            So on yet another in a long string of broiling hot summer afternoons, about twenty of Deb’s friends sat around drinking and eating steaming plates of yellow-orange goo as they got drunk off their asses.  I couldn’t reach George.  Oh well.  Me?  I had some pizza with my beer, brought by one of the guests.  It was fun to watch the guys stare more and more at Deb as they got more and more drunk.  Like I wasn’t?  Sing it Terence.

Wish me love a wishing well
To kiss and tell
A wishing well of crocodile cheers

            The macaroni and cheese kept going long after the hot sun set and we started in on the “secret stash” of vodka.  With each batch of cheesy gloppy shit Deb or someone else tried adding stuff like hot peppers, A-1, any handy spice, eggs, beer, vodka, whatever.

            There were some interesting piles of puke later, I’m sure.

            I suggested adding ground beef and tomatoes, which Deb did.  (That’s how my mom always used to make it.)  I used some of the beef, mixed with A-1 to make a sloppy sandwich.  The new single from INXS came on the radio.  I really liked it- especially after watching Deb bounce around to it for a bit.

Are you ready for a new sensation
A new sensation
Right now
Gonna take you on a new sensation
A new sensation

            Eventually, mercifully, we ran out of boxes.  Five people lay passed out, contentedly snoring with cheese oozing from their mouths.  One girl managed to throw up off the balcony, but no one was on the street below.  Just an orange yellow splatter. 

 

Saturday, June 25, 1988 Court says education is not a right

            The curtains masked the setting sun as I sat in Deb’s apartment at her small table.  She set it with nice dishes and two white candles.  This was the negotiated payback: Deb cooked me a nice steak dinner for two.  I bought the best red wine I could get for ten bucks. 

            A nice dinner- just the two of us.  For a while, I could pretend.

            And it was her idea.

            She served the steaks while I poured the wine.  I held her chair as she sat, and then seated myself.  We lifted our glasses to toast. 

            “To macaroni and cheese,” she said, smiling, as I looked into her eyes.

For Katie

Katie Ward passed away on Monday, June 14, 2021.  

She suffered from brain cancer which metastasized to her kidneys.  I'd like to think she was surrounded by loved ones, but I don't know.  There are many things I don't know about Katie, but this I do know: she was a dear friend and mentor.

Katie Ward, March 2020

I met Katie in early 2009, soon after rediscovering myself.  We hit it off nicely, but didn't really start speaking until I visited TransCentral PA a few months later.  We bantered back and forth, and learned about each other.  She was vital to the Keystone Conference in Harrisburg every year, so I also saw her there.  Katie didn't BS people- she was blunt, and I liked that about her.  If I looked like shit, she said so.  If she thought I'd had enough to drink, she'd say that as well.

Laptop Lounge March 2009.  My first pic with Katie

Katie's life was all about service.  She served...  well, it's easier to do this.  The following is what TransCentral PA sent out about her passing.  It's how I learned she'd died.

We are sorry to announce the passing of our beloved friend and sister Katie Ward.

She passed on Monday, June 14th in a care facility after finding out less than a month ago she had stage 4 brain cancer which had metastasized to her kidneys. The prognosis was short, but she underwent a few treatments of radiation so she could have a little more time with her daughter and granddaughters. Although tired a lot in her last days, she said she had no pain.

Katie dedicated much of her life in service to others. She served our country honorably, first in the Navy, and then in the Air National Guard which she retired from after 20+ years of military service.

She was an officer of TransCentralPA for over five years and a volunteer/member for twice that amount of time. She would consistently host dinners around Harrisburg before our support group meetings to give people a chance to forge friendships both within and outside the group and build confidence in themselves. She enjoyed helping people and giving back.

She actively participated in many community organizations such as the Keystone Business Alliance whom she helped plan their annual awards banquet for a couple of years.

Her favorite event though was the one she helped grow into one of the largest events in the country--The Keystone Conference, A Celebration of Gender Diversity. Katie took on many roles at Keystone; she was the volunteer coordinator, the off-site event coordinator, the security coordinator, the Registrar and many others for several years. At the Saturday Night Gala of the last Keystone, Katie received a much-deserved standing ovation for her contributions to Keystone and the Central Pennsylvania community.

With her passing, Katie leaves behind a legacy of generosity, kindness and compassion. We will miss you Katie--thank you for being our friend.

So, you see, Katie was all about helping others.  I was one of many t-girls who benefitted from her wisdom and friendship.

It's so hard to write this.  Even though I knew it was coming, I still feel a deep hollow emptiness.  She did so much for so many- it just isn't fair that she should pass while so many useless people survive.  

Katie in a proper uniform

She was buried in a military cemetery under her birth name.  So the name Katie Ward passes into memory, kept only by those who knew her Truth.  I don't know how many of her family knew about Katie.  I think her daughter did.  In any case, we the transgender community have a responsibility to not just keep her memory alive, but to rise to the challenge that her service demands.  She showed us how caring and helping others can be done, and it's up to us to step up and continue her work.

I remember telling her several times that I wanted to be her when I grew up.  She would usually reply with "like you'll ever grow up."

Keystone Conference, 2017

It's rare that one can tell people exactly how you feel about them, and I took that opportunity with Katie.  Once I heard about her diagnosis (and that I couldn't visit due to covid restrictions) I messaged her on Facialbook and told her what she meant to me.  I hope she knew what she meant to so many people in our community, and how great her life impacted so many others.

I know that this piece doesn't begin to give justice to the beautiful soul who has left us, but I think everyone who knew her will understand the depth of grief we all share.  

On her page, I wrote "May the four winds blow you safely home", but I think a more appropriate parting would be "Fair winds and following seas, Katie."  I will miss you, dear friend, and do my best to follow your example.  

Photo by Cassandra Storm

Climbing

 As many of you already know, Penn State is at the geographic center of the state, directly in the midst of the Allegheny mountains, in the appropriately named Happy Valley.  It was named that before the University got here, I’m told.  In any case, the mountains are old, and were under several miles of ice under numerous ice ages.  The ice retreating left interesting rock formations, such as Devil’s Den at Gettysburg, or really wavy ridges in the mountains, like those southeast of here on the north face of Blue Mountain.  

Map: Google maps

While those ridges are the setting for this entry, I’ve never been there.  I’ve driven past them on Rte. 322 more times than I can count (322 is the main route from Harrisburg and the southeastern part of the state to State College).  And, that’s kind of the point.  

Map: Google maps

First, I need to give a little background.  In summer 1988, I stayed up at PSU to complete two classes so I could graduate “on time” after five years of college: two at Drexel and three at PSU.  The summer before, I met a guy named George at bartending class.  Yes, he’s good with me using his name, as I used it in my book Men of the Skull.  George was/is a brother of Lambda Chi Alpha, and… well, I’ll include a short book chapter here.

********************************

Chapter 70: Kamikazes

Monday, June 15, 1987 Arms pact reportedly is at hand

So it was the last bartending class.  The idea was that each team of students would bring alcohol and make one kind of drink.  Then, we would all sample each other’s drinks.  Not really a final exam, but sort of.  More of a pride thing.

Lambda Chi George, myself, and this one blond had been a team for a while.  We decided to make Kamikazes!  He said he’d bring the vodka, she brought triple sec and all I needed to do was buy the damn lime juice (as I was still underage.) Simple enough, right?

Of course I forgot.

So I arrived early to class just to have George ream me out a bit.  I ran across a road and a parking lot to a grocery store to pick up the juice.  Felt like a fucking idiot.  I returned sweaty and out of breath just as class was starting.

Every group was doing simple shit like martinis and screwdrivers.  We did Kamikazes that had three ingredients.  Yeah- go us! 

George brought a yellow plastic cocktail shaker from homecoming last year.  So as Paul said “ReadyReady!” and called out a drink for us to make, George was loudly shaking kamikazes.  Never mind that you really don’t need to shake kamikazes.

“Readyready: vodka martini rocks with a twist.”

SHAKESHAKESHAKE

Soon, Paul figured out that the class was descending into chaos.  Oh well.  Everyone drink and enjoy!

“Are you going to be good to drive home?”  Paul asked George.

“Sure, no problem!”  George replied, and gave him a kamikaze I made.

Damn good one too.

*************************************

In any case, George was up for the summer as well, and we hung out a LOT, usually going to the bars or fraternity parties together at night, when George would find his latest hookup and I, his wingman, would fail miserably.  I also helped him with his business course by editing his papers for grammar (his other summer course was golf.)  

George lived near enough to me back home that we would share rides back when necessary.  I think we went four times.  The trip with George was an experience, as he liked to drive fast, and would stop at every bar on the way.  Every bar.  They all knew him by name, and one particular bar near Dauphin (long gone) would see him walk in and know his drink AND food order before he said a word.  This made the usual three-hour trip into a five or six hour rather dangerous one.  

Each time we passed those particular ridges, we noticed how steep they were, and the fields of loose rock dotting their sides.  I'd seen this sort of thing before this: on the eastern face of Mount Misery at Valley Forge park, where it plunges to Valley Creek below.  However, Mount Misery is only about 577 feet high, while these ridges southeast of Lewistown are a bit over 2000 feet.

Close up of one of many stone fields visible from the road (Google maps)

George and I would say the same thing every trip: "we have to climb that someday."  The subject came up occasionally while we were drinking, including the last time I saw him in 1994, but we never made plans.  Hell, I don't even think we considered how hard that climb would be, and what equipment we'd need.

In summer 1989, I was driving through Valley Forge Park with my friend Mike, and decided that I'd climb that rock field on Mount Misery.  So I went, with Mike following reluctantly behind.  I was wearing penny loafers.  I made it to the top, but twisted my ankle several times doing it.  That wasn't as steep as those ridges.  I would've needed hiking boots for that.  

The years drifted by.  As I wrote, the last time I saw George was on October 7, 1994, when we went to a Grateful Dead show together.  He'd secured a limo so we could drink our faces off, which we certainly did.  I didn't know that within a few weeks my life would radically change, as by the end of that month I was living and working in Baltimore.  

Now it's (as of this writing) 2021.  I'm 54 with bad knees, sciatica, and a host of other issues.  I'm nowhere near the 22 year old who was winded climbing Mount Joy.  I haven't seen George in nearly 28 years.  He lives in Florida now, and has been sober for almost 15 years.  We speak and text occasionally.  He's one of the friends I did NOT lose when I transitioned.

There is no way I could climb that mountain now, just like there's no way George would appear at my door asking me to do so.  It's like so many other plans I had.  Someday I'm gonna...  You know someday I really will...  We all have these, right?  Regrets.  I seem to be the queen of them.

In many ways, that mountain: steep and impassable; that I've passed so many times is a metaphor dragged out of its cliché closet.  I can't look at it without thinking about those summer trips and the idea that my youthful limbs would carry me (and, undoubtedly some drinks) to the summit.  There George and I would down a few while gazing around the landscape.  

So many plans for little things that would've meant so much.  So many regrets piled up in my memory and my soul.  

Perhaps, after I've passed through the veil, my spirit will climb that mountain and finally see that view that, in my youth, I never bothered to seek.  I hope it's a clear day, so I can see forever.

Be well.

Codex: Sophie 3.0

 This entry will be updated as needed, and it's been a while, so NEW EDITION!.  It's sort of a resource for the Blog.  Here you'll find basic definitions of terms and who the people are that I reference most often.

A quick summary of my life as it is currently:

Who am I?

That's a deep question.  I am Sophie Lynne.  I am a pre-operative transgender woman.  I was born in September 1966.  I graduated from Penn State with a degree in Education, then many years later I earned a Masters degree in Education, also from Penn State.  I married in 1993, and currently am still married.  My daughter was born in 2007.  I used to work at a bookstore as a supervisor, but was laid off in February 2018.  I am currently living in an apartment in State College, PA.  I went full time as a woman on March 25, 2014.  I now do Outreach at Universities, and wherever I'm invited, really.  I have been writing my whole life, and have been published in international magazines as well as the New York Times.  I wrote a book about my college years, but it has yet to be published. I've posted some chapters here in the blog, though.  In fall 2019, I moved back to State College to pursue my PhD in Continuing Learning and Adult Education with a minor in Gender studies at Penn State.  In August 2022, I passed my comprehensive exams, so I'm now an A.B.D (all but dissertation), so now I'm doing dissertation work.  Fun fun. 


What is Transgender?
According to the American Psychological Association, transgender is:

an umbrella term for persons whose gender identity, gender expression, or behavior does not conform to that typically associated with the sex to which they were assigned at birth. Gender identity refers to a person’s internal sense of being male, female, or something else; gender expression refers to the way a person communicates gender identity to others through behavior, clothing, hairstyles, voice, or body characteristics. “Trans” is sometimes used as shorthand for “transgender.” While transgender is generally a good term to use, not everyone whose appearance or behavior is gender-nonconforming will identify as a transgender person. The ways that transgender people are talked about in popular culture, academia, and science are constantly changing, particularly as individuals’ awareness, knowledge, and openness about transgender people and their experiences grow.   Source

HERE is another good definition with some follow up questions.


When did you realize you were transgender?
I knew I was different when I was four- that I was in the wrong body.  I was 11 when a special ran on the local news called the "Transsexual Dilemma" and I was like- That's me!"  Of course, being in a very blue collar family in the 1970s I thought I was only one like me in the world.  I cross-dressed for a while until I was about 16, then stopped.  I started again in 2008.  I realized that I needed to transition comparatively recently.

Like many TGs, I joined a fraternity in college. I also participated in hyper-masculine activities in an effort to bury my feminine feelings.

Frat boy???

Why did you choose to be Transgender?

I DIDN'T choose this.  I was born this way.  Being transgender is NOT a mental condition, it is a Physical condition. There are several theories as to how this happens:  a flood of estrogen in utero at the wrong time, faulty hormone receptors in the fetus... but in the end, no one really knows for sure.

Here's a VERY good discussion on the current theories.

Why would someone CHOOSE to be TG?  Why would they choose a life of prejudice and hatred?  A life where they constantly feel the anguish of not being "Right"?  41% of TG people attempt suicide.  Compare that to 3% who attempt suicide in the non-trans population.  Our murder rate is much higher than the cisgender population as well.  It's a HARD life.  An expensive one.  And, in the end, a life of uncertainty and pain.  Yeah, definitely my first choice.  *rolls eyes*


Why did you stop in 1983?

I was ashamed.  I felt like a freak.  And I'm sure if I were caught, the punishment would've been VERY severe.  So I suppressed it for many, many years- doing my best to be the guy I was expected to be.  I wasn't very good at it.  Remember, this was before the internet, so I thought I was the only "freak" who had those feelings.

Why do I call myself Sophie?

I didn't start with this name.  In December of 2008, I went for my first makeover at Femme Fever in NY.  Karen, the proprietor, did the makeup and asked what name I was using.  I told her but said it was not set in stone.  She stepped back and looked at me, as the makeup was finished, but I hadn't seen myself yet.  She looked at me and said "I have a strong feeling your name is Sophie."  She then turned the chair around so I faced the mirror and said "Say hello to Sophie!"

My First Look at Sophie

I usually don't ignore strong feelings, so I kept the name.  I added the Lynne part as I liked the sound of it.  I have been told that I "own [my] name!"  Ok.  Thanks!

Sophie is Greek for Wisdom, and I can use all the wisdom I can get.

Since becoming Sophie, I've researched famous Sophies in history.  By far, my favorite is Sophie Scholl.

What's your male name?

It was Lance.  Was.  Past tense.  I answer that question only because I mention it in posts occasionally.

Did you legally change your name to Sophie Lynne?

No.  I legally changed my name in October 2016, but not to Sophie Lynne.  Sophie Lynne remains as my nom de plume.  :)

Are you gay?

I am attracted to Women. (I'm married to one.)  I am not attracted to guys.  At all.  So,  I am considered a trans-lesbian.

Sexuality is who you are attracted to.  Gender is who you ARE.  The two are independent of each other.

What does Christ have to say about Transgender People?

He had the last supper in the home of a TG.  Luke 22:10 says And he said unto them, Behold, when ye are entered into the city, there shall a man meet you, bearing a pitcher of water; follow him into the house where he entereth in.  Back in Christ's day, Women carried water.  period.  Men did NOT do so.  Yet, this man did.  Why? The man was TG.  (I didn't make this up.  Google it!)


I think he's cool with us.  After all, why would God have made me this way if they weren't cool with it.  God doesn't make mistakes, right?

Have you had your surgery yet?

The normal answer to this would be something like "Why are you so interested in my genitals?"  I mean really, it's no one's business.  Calpernia Adams has a really wonderful video about questions like this one.   Also, there isn't just one surgery: there's facial feminization surgery, breast augmentation (no, I didn't have that), and Gender Correction Surgery.  I'll never be able to afford any of them, so there's your answer.

Baby I'm a Star!
Ok, not really. It doesn't happen often, but occasionally I get some press coverage.  Here are links:

Philadelphia Daily News Profile, June 2016
Penn State Abington Review of a talk I did, Nov 2015
Penn State Abington Review II, April 2017
Phoenixville Non-Discrimination Ordinance, March 2017
Me speaking at the Borough meeting, March 2017.  I'm at 14:15
Outward Today, Oct 2016

Dramatis Personae:
I use many pseudonyms for people in my life as I'm sure they don't want any publicity.  My favorite form of pseudonym is a random letter designation.  After Wife and daughter, they are in no particular order.  This list is FAR from complete.

Sophie Lynne:
Me.  Your humble hostess.  I am the youngest of two children, and I have an older brother.

April 2021 (pic by Chuck Fong)

Wife:
My wife is a couple of years younger than me.  We met in 1991 and married in 1993.  Like all couples, we've had our ups and downs.  I refer to her as "Wife" as a term of affection.  And she's cool with that.  She's the oldest of three children, and has two younger brothers.

Daughter:
My daughter was born in late 2007.  She's been without me in the house since 2013.  

Parents:  My mother died in January 2022, but father is still alive.  I told them about Sophie on Saturday, December 28, 2013.  The initial reaction was positive, and we've covered a LOT of ground. Things went well for a while, became really rough, but are better now.

OB:  Older brother.  Used to always beat me up and blame me for everything he did.  My parents always believed him over me.  I told him about being Sophie and he laughed at me, then lied to my parents about it.  He met his sister on Christmas day 2014.   We don't speak.

MIL: Mother in Law.  My wife's mother.  So right wing she thinks Rick Santorum is liberal.  Extremely intolerant of anyone who is not exactly like her.  Racist.  One insulted her Filipino daughter in law with a racial slur to her face.  For ten years, Wife and I lived in her house due to my inability to find a job that paid enough to move out.  I was thrown out of that house in late August of 2013 for being TG.

Mel:  My "Big Sister."  Mel transitioned in 2003.  She is an incredibly intelligent woman, and very plain spoken.  My therapist asked Mel to advise and mentor me, and we've become good friends.  I wouldn't be where I am today with out her candid, sometimes brutal, advice.  Mel is very good friends with Donna Rose, who was HER big sister.

Dr. Maureen Osborne:  My former therapist.  One of the leading minds in TG therapy.  She's fantastic!  She was my "Big Sister's" therapist as well. She retired in 2015.

Dr. Osborne (seated) receiving a gift at Transhealth, June 2013

Lisa Empanada:  My "transition buddy."  My Sister.  Aside from my Wife, she was my closest friend.  We could finish each other's sentences and often did.  She committed suicide on Monday, September 16, 2013.  Her death sent me into a tailspin which almost killed me.  I miss her very much.

Lisa Empanada

David:  David is a trans-man living in Baltimore.  I met him at Laptop Lounge back in February 2013, and really got to know him at Keystone 2013.  He is good people, but we've fallen out of touch.

Elizabeth:  Elizabeth was the first non-TG I told about being Sophie.  My first time out on Halloween 2008, she helped me pick out an outfit.  (She didn't know then.)  She and I worked together at the time, but she was moving to Turkey with her boyfriend. I was SO nervous!  But she was extremely accepting.  For a while, she was the only one of my friends who knew.  She gave me a party on the one year anniversary of going full time, and I was a bridesmaid at her wedding.

Dave:  Dave was the first cis-gender male that I told about being TG.  We are former co-workers.  He is married to Elizabeth.

M:  My coworker for several years.  She was among the first I told.  She's an unapologetic hippie from California, and her exploits could fill several books.  She is also VERY rich, and uses that money to help autistic children world wide.  She opened her home to me for nine months after MIL threw me out.

Jamie:  Another former co-worker, she now works in the publishing industry.  She is from Missouri and is an absolute delight!  She accepted me readily.

Linda Lewis:  One of my earliest inspirations, Linda is an amazing person.  Over time we started conversing on Facebook and became friends.  I met her at SCC.  She is an icon of the community, but more important, she is an amazing and down to Earth woman.  Linda is currently my room mate and bestie.  Yes, she moved to State College with me.  She's a BLAST to have around!

Linda Lewis, April 2017

Kimberly Huddle:  Another early inspiration.  Kim travels the country dressed as Kim for her drab job.  She lives in Texas, and, despite her folksy manner, is extremely sharp.  She's an amazing, beautiful woman and a great friend.  She has an amazing blog which inspired me to start this one.  Read it HERE.

Kim Huddle, on her second Philly visit.

Ally Raymond:  She's from Richmond, Va.  I met Ally at Lisa's affirmation party, and since then she's become an indispensable part of my life.  Tall, gorgeous, and so outspoken... she's a role model for transwomen!  At least I think so.  She married her longtime partner in 2021.

Ally, March 2017

Amanda Richards:  Owner of True Colors Makeup Artistry.  A absolute genius with makeup and a very dear friend.  She went to a rival Big 10 school, but I don't hold it against her.  ;)

Amanda Richards, March 2017

Lorraine Anderson:  Owner of Occasional Woman.  She makes a lot of the clothes to fit over my difficult to fit body.  Such a fun, caring, and genuinely amazing person whom I'm proud to call friend!  She also writes for TG Forum.

Lorraine and her worst customer

Sandy Empanada: Lisa's Widow, and one of the strongest people I know.  She's simply amazing.  She, and Lisa's daughters Kristy and Tiffany, are family to me (as are the entire Newell family.)

Jake, Sandy Empanada, Tiffany Empanada, David, me.  November 2013

DrD:  My oldest friend.  We met in kindergarten. He was Best Man in my wedding.  He is my best male friend.  I told him about my Truth, and he was supportive.  DrD holds two doctoral degrees, and is a fellow Penn Stater.  He is an amazing person, and I would die for him.

With DrD in October 2019

R:  My friend since 1980.  We graduated high school together.  US Army veteran and VMI graduate.  He was a groomsman in my wedding, as I was in his first wedding.  In his second, I was Best man.  When I came out to him, he cried, and swore to support me.  I have often said I would "take a bullet" for him.  And I continue to say that.  He met Sophie in late 2014.

A:  My friend since 1993.  I met her through her boyfriend of the time when he was in my D&D group.  She dumped him soon after, but we stayed in touch because we clicked.  She invited Wife and I to her wedding to her no-good husband (who abandoned her when her cancer relapsed.)  I told her about being TG right before moving out of MIL's house.


Glossary:

CD:  Short for Crossdresser

Cisgender:  The opposite of transgender.  A person whose body matches their gender identity.  In other words, almost the entire population of the planet.  More HERE.

Crossdresser:  A person who dresses as a woman.  Said person may or may not be transgender.  See HERE for more information.

"The Darkness":  My name for the pain and thoughts surrounding suicidal depression.

GCS:  Gender Confirmation Surgery. "Surgical procedures that some transgender people go through to obtain physical characteristics found in the opposite gender."  "The Operation."  Also known as "Sex change" and SRS.

GG:  Genetic Girl.  A woman who was born female.

HRT:  Hormone Replacement Therapy.

"My Truth:" My term for the fact that I am a Woman, and Trans.

"The Pain":  My name for the suffering inflicted by being Transgender.

"Pink Hangover": The feeling after a night, weekend, whatever, of being en femme and having to return to being a male.  This is a feeling of regretting being male and wishing the female time didn't have to end.

Second Life:  A Computer simulation game sorta thingee.  All content is made by users.  I have some amazing friends there, like MK, Cisop, Zonker, Plato and so many others!

SRS: "Sex Reassignment Surgery."  "Surgical procedures that some transgender people go through to obtain physical characteristics found in the opposite gender."  "The Operation."  Also known as "Sex change" and GCS.

TG:  Short for Transgender

Transgender:  A person who dresses/lives as the gender opposite their birth.  See HERE for a better definition.

Transsexual:  Old term for someone who has completed GCS.

TS:  Short for Transsexual