"Living the Dream"

 Yesterday, while preparing to leave for work, I was putting on my shoes and bantering with my roomie/bestie Linda as usual: a typical day.  She said "have a good day" and I replied "living the dream."

That's when my two remaining brain cells nudged me.

I was sitting on the couch while wearing a dress.  I was also wearing a bra which supported my own breasts, pantyhose (yes, I'm old), and pierced hoop earrings.  I was also fully made up and had styled my hair.  I was dressed as the woman I am.  

I thought for a moment about that.  For so many years, this WAS the dream- an impossible dream.  The idea of stepping out the door, never mind going to work, dressed this way, was so beyond possibility that I didn't dare even consider it.  

Yet I've been doing that very thing for almost eleven years.  

Yes, I've paid the very steep price (and will do so the rest of my life), but also yes- I guess I AM living the dream!

And so I went to work.

Be well.

Three More Days 'Til Halloween

Title stolen from here.

As I write/type this, the date is October 28, 2024.  I awoke early today, as I had an 8 AM doctor appointment (transition med check among other things.)   I was rewarded with a beautiful sunrise featuring peach and blue-gray clouds.  

During my appointment, I found that my gall bladder issues were a side effect of estrogen that's uncommon, but happen.  Huh.  Learn something new every day.

In any case, it's Halloween season.  Samhain for some.  Long time readers know that this marks an anniversary- on Halloween 2008, I "rediscovered" myself.  That night I went out dressed as Lois Lane to my Wife's Clark Kent.  (Full story... hmmm   did I ever write the whole story?  I'll check TG Forum...)  The dam that held back 25 years of denial broke.  

That was *counts on fingers and toes* 14 years ago.  I didn't expect to live this long, never mind being Sophie full time among other things.  But, yes, it'll be 14 years, 10 of which I've been full time.  I feel so old.  But in any case, being my age and having been out for so long, kinda makes me a "trans elder."  I have stories to tell, many of which I've told here or on TG Forum (my last post there was August and concerns stories.  Read it HERE.)

I used to be a Halloween fanatic.  Don't get me wrong- I still love the season.  Heck, I'm wearing a jack o lantern face T-shirt as I type this!)  It's just... not as special.  It's been years since I've been to a Halloween party, and I haven't been out on Halloween night since 2019 (I wore my Supergirl suit.)  We don't get trick or treaters where I live.  I used to LOVE planning Halloween parties, which we held at M's house (see M here).  She didn't mind as I and a few others did all the setup, execution, and clean up.  I miss those parties, and the people who attended them.

Hmmm... it seems I never wrote the full story on that first night in 2008.  I thought I did.  Maybe I just can't find it.  

Right.

The story begins two years before: 2006.  Wife and I loved doing couple costumes.  That year, we did Lois Lane and Clark Kent.  Halloween 2007 we didn't as my daughter was born Oct 26.  No Halloween for Wife.  Anyway, a week before Halloween 2008, Wife and I went out to dinner to celebrate her birthday.  As we waited for our food, she brought up the topic of Halloween.  That year, Wife suggested another couple costume: Lois and Clark again.  I said "we've already done that."  She replied "No- this time YOU'RE Lois."  At that moment, the food arrived.  I seem to remember saying yes to the idea, but Wife isn't sure.

So that set off a week of panicked planning.  I enlisted the help of my coworker Elizabeth to help with an outfit and bra.  I got a wig from a Halloween store.  My friend Dawn, who is a beautician, volunteered to do my makeup.  

It took all week, but I managed to find everything (including getting shoes that fit sent 2 day air).  The night of October 30, after everyone was in bed, I pulled out the items and tried them on.  Everything fit.  I crafted my boobs from birdseed in pantyhose feet (a trick I learned from reading the fantastic I am not myself these days by Josh Kilmer Purcell.)  Everything fit.  

The next night as Wife fed Daughter (the natural way) I changed into my outfit and wig.  With me I had the Superman T shirt that I used for Clark Kent (which I still have.)  I finished dressing, put on the wig, grabbed he t-shirt and my phone, and exited the bathroom.  Wife was in the kitchen.  I called out to her and said "ready!!"  She turned and looked at me with a look of disgust.  I took a picture of that expression.  I then tossed her the t-shirt and said "I'll take care of changing [daughter], you get ready."  Then she remembered what we'd discussed for our costumes.

The first party was one at Dawn's.  We brought Daughter, who was barely over a year old.  Dawn did my makeup, everyone had a good laugh (as well as fussing over the baby.)  Wife wanted to go home, so she drove herself to the party.  

I drove to the bookstore, where I wandered around a bit.  Elizabeth was upstairs working in music, so I went to see her.  No one recognized me except her.  They knew I was a crossdresser, but no idea who it was.  After taking pics with Elizabeth, I went downstairs and revealed my identity to the rest of the staff.  Gasps of disbelief and laughs.

With Elizabeth

After this, I went to the bar where we'd all meet.  Some people I didn't know, then my coworkers arrived.  We hung out and drank (I used the men's room.)  One guy was uncomfortable with me, so I made sure to pester him because I was an asshole.  

On the way home, (I shouldn't have been driving... I'd pay the price eventually) I looked down at myself... down at the fake breasts pushing out my sweater... and thought about how right I felt.  I thought about how, for the first time in decades, I didn't feel anger or Pain.  I was at Peace.

I knew that I was in trouble.  

One of "More pictures"

I got back home, where everyone was asleep (It was after 2 AM.)  I quietly took more pictures, then removed my girl things, probably forever.  I washed my face, and... damn nails wouldn't come off.  It would take a lot of time the next day to dissolve them off.

The rest I KNOW I wrote about more than once.  Find that HERE.

In any case, all these years later, here I sit typing in State College.  My roomie/bestie Linda is in the other room recovering from an illness.  Soon, I'll start making dinner.  Thursday is Halloween.  Maybe I'll go out.  Maybe not.  I doubt it.  No fun going alone.

In any case, Happy Halloween or Blessed Samhain.

Be well.

Helping a Dad

I mention occasionally that I work for the campus LGBTQ Center here at Penn State.  PSU is still between Maymester and the start of Summer semester, so there are few students here, but the Center is still open.  One event that happens is New Student Orientation (NSO) which happens all summer.  During this time, groups of new students attend a two-day orientation here, along with their parents.  The students stay together in a couple of dorms, while the parents stay wherever.  

One of the activities for NSO is the Organizational Fair, where the students and parents see tables staffed by various organizations (orgs) and can get information and swag.  Of course, the Center is there, and we have the most colorful table and swag.  Go figure- lots of rainbows.  Like my fellow staff, I take my turns working at the table.  I see a mix of just parents, kids and parents, and just kids.  Sometimes I get the evil eye from grown-ups who steer their kids far around our table (so they don't "catch the gay" I guess), or adults alone who glare.  That's part of the fun.  I give them my sweetest smile.  

Last August's issue of Town and Gown

Sometimes I see a student walk by with parents, looking at the table but not stopping.  By now, I can tell which ones will be back without their parents- the ones who are closeted.  Occasionally a parent stops alone, anxiously asking questions about the Center and about the environment of PSU for LGBTQ students.  Fortunately, PSU has come a long way from my undergrad days in the 80s in many things, and one of them is with LGBTQ.  Penn State is ranked #2 in the country by Campus Pride for LGBTQ acceptance and policies.  It's still not perfect, but it's far better than many places. 

Ok, that's a long introduction to an encounter I had yesterday.  I was not working the table, but I was working.  A parent came into the Center- maybe about my age- said he works for the University, and that his stepdaughter will be attending PSU this fall, and she is transgender.  Dad wanted to know about transgender healthcare, acceptance, policies... the whole schmear.  

I showed him the pamphlets about those very topics, and while there answered all of his questions.  Where can she get hormones?  Are there therapists with Gender diverse experience?  What about doctors?  Is there a place she can get hair removal done?  And of course: will she be "safe" here?

The answers are all in the pamphlets, but I answered them one by one.  Yes, the University has a transgender health team which includes therapists.  Yes, she can get hormones here (after a screening), and they are covered by student insurance.  Hair removal services are available in town.  As far as safety- this generation is far more accepting than ours (he and mine) ever were- being transgender just isn't that big of a deal to most kids... to a point.  She'll be as safe as any woman is here at PSU assuming she is smart: never go to parties alone.  Always keep your drink with you.  Never go upstairs at a fraternity house unless you really KNOW the people you're going with.  All the precautions that co-eds must take because some guys can be predatory.  Is there anti- trans prejudice here?  Yes.  But it's far far better than many places.  And the Center can help when it happens.  We also have a mentorship program here at the Center of which I am a part, to help guide them through the obstacles that transition and school throw at people.

So, I told him all of this.  Me- a transgender woman wearing a tank top and peasant skirt, a parent of a daughter, and a Penn State alumna, answered all of his questions again and again.  I walked him through the pamphlets.  

Last week

When I finished, you'd think I gave him front row seats to see his favorite band.  He was happy- no, Joyful- and so many of his fears were assuaged.  She will be coming to NSO later this summer, and she will stop by the Center.  I think the answers he sought were more for him than her.  Him- a concerned supportive parent.  A loving parent who wants the best for his child.  

The whole encounter lasted maybe twenty minutes, and when it ended, he went on his way, beaming.  I went back to the desk and told my (undergrad) coworkers about the encounter.  But I didn't tell them everything.

I didn't tell them how the encounter made me feel.  I really feel that I made a difference yesterday in the people's lives.  I felt like I DID something.  Usually I feel utterly worthless, and that I'm just a waste of oxygen... but not yesterday.  I did something.  I felt... good.  Worthwhile.  That's a rare feeling for me.

Last night, I spoke to Wife on the phone and told her that story.  After, I told my roomie/bestie Linda.  She asked why I didn't tell her the story earlier in the evening (it was around 10).  I replied that it wasn't that big of a deal, and I didn't think she'd be interested.  She disagreed.  Linda said that these are the stories she WANTS to hear.  These are the stories I should post on facialbook or here in the blog.  Stories of something good.

So, there you have it, dear readers.  A happy story for a change.  Thank Linda.

Be well.

Capacitor for Work

I'm currently fifty six years old and not in great shape.  Today I did the following:

Emptied a book shelf.

After doing so, I felt worn out.  I was coated in sweat, and for a time I felt dizzy.  I told my roomie/bestie Linda that I didn't feel good.  But I'd rented a van, and only had it for a few hours, so we had to get moving.  

You see, dear reader, I'd agreed to take a bookshelf from one of my bosses, as he's moving out of state.  It didn't fit in my car, so I needed a van.  And I needed Linda's help, as it was not only big, but very heavy- good sturdy wood.  Sturdy HEAVY wood. 

 

So off to Port Matilda (a nearby town) with the van, with Linda driving.  We loaded the van with a little help, and drove back as the sun set.  We still had a problem: how to get it out of the van, up a flight of steps, into the apartment and set up.  The shelf is 7 feet tall and heavy!!  

Fortunately a neighbor was home, and helped us carry it.  He refused any form of payment, but agreed to a dram of Glenmorangie with me.  

Then Linda and I moved just a few more things, and I reloaded the one shelf.  I was a sweaty mess.  Again, I felt dizzy and so tired.  So very tired- just loading and unloading a shelf.  I used to do this sort of thing all the time- stocking shelves, moving books around, with no trouble at all.

Now, doing this completely wears me out.  It makes me feel like my ability to work, my ability to be useful, may be coming to an end.  And of course, in a capitalist society, if I can't work then I'm worthless.  Maybe I need a capacitor to help my capacity to work.

I made that vase in art class my senior year in high school.

In any case, the one shelf is restocked, and the other will have books and things.  The apartment is small, so having more shelving helps.  

This getting old thing really sucks.

Be well.

Scitman

Back in summer 1982, so much was changing in my world.  I was fifteen, with sixteen (and a driver's license) so tantalizingly close.  Some of my friends already were driving, and I envied their freedom.  They could leave this town and go to exotic places like MALLS and such without their parents.  It was the summer before my junior year in high school.  Local cable started carrying MTV which was brash, bold, and new at the time.  I was in my first summer of working at Burger King: a job which would define my high school 'social life' such as it was.  

And I was cross-dressing.  Whenever my parents went to the house down in Delaware, I stole chances to be feminine.  I'd ordered clothes from the Sears catalogue and used water balloons for boobs.  I felt what I was doing was absolutely wrong, and I didn't understand the compulsion.  I knew it was dangerous, and that the consequences for being caught would be extreme.

Still, I had a small group of friends- kind of two.  One group was the "D&D group" which consisted of Dr2Dave and another guy (who is now an MD), as well as "R".  I'm still friends with two of them.  The other group was among a group who orbited around a rather large baby faced guy we called Scitman.

Scitman was tall and very strong.  He was a lineman on the school football team, an outdoor sports enthusiast, and a genuinely nice guy.  However, among this particular group, Scitman was best known for his ability to belch, loud and long.  He could belch the entire alphabet at one go.  Childish, I know, but we were in our early teens.  

Occasionally joining us (usually on the basketball court) was a girl I'll call Pam.  Pam was tall, athletic (varsity girl's basketball) and incredibly smart.  In fact she was one of the top three of our class in GPA.  I think she had a crush on another guy in the group, who I'll call Bill.  Bill was also an outdoor enthusiast, loved basketball and bad jokes.  In any case, usually the group was me, Bill, and Scitman.  

Original Page One pencils

Back then, I really wanted to be a comic writer/artist.  I was also very much into D&D (go figure.)  In addition, I REALLY wanted people to like me, despite me being undersized and, well, different.  After all, I had this dark secret: cross dressing!  (Ominous crash of thunder).  I'd done a few short subject comics in ninth grade for my friends, and was published in the local newspaper for a while.  One day I bought a hardcover sketchbook and decided to fill it with a comic- a D&D comic, but one that people would like (D&D wasn't popular then.)  

And so Scitman the Barbarian was born.  I'd draw two or three pages at a time, usually while watching MTV.  On days that I wasn't working, I'd walk over the bridge to Royersford (where Scitman and the others lived, and try to find them- which I usually did, at the basketball courts.  There I'd show them the new pages, hoping to get laughs.  Sometimes I did- sometimes I didn't.  In any case, I enjoyed doing it, and saw the book as practice for my hopeful career. 

Page One Inked

Some of the poses I blatantly stole from Frank Miller's Daredevil, in both books I and II.  Also, some of the scenes have graphic violence, which was a way for me to release all the anger and frustration, as well as helplessness I felt.  Unfortunately, a few characters late in book I (a little in book II as well) are crude stereotypes that my 15 year old small town mind found amusing.  Looking at them now, I cringe.  Still, I'll ink them as drawn, and note that it was inappropriate then and now (like they do on Looney Tunes cartoon compilations.)  In any case, it's not like anyone will see them, as I don't intend to publish them.  This is an exercise in completion for me.

I finished the first book on July 29, 1982.  98 pages of cartoons- all in artists pencils.  My little circle loved it.  I bought another sketchbook and started on a sequel, imaginatively titled Scitman the Barbarian Book II.  

All Three Scitman books

I was a junior in high school.  Burger King had become my social life.  I was writing to various colleges for information (this was pre-internet) as I knew college was my only hope of escaping the small town where I was trapped.  People heard about Scitman, and the book was passed around the school.  In addition, I was practicing art and developing a portfolio.  Consequently, Scitman II had some new characters, again based on people I knew, new monsters and character types, and better artwork.  Looking back now at the two finished books, I could see the progression of my art as I did my best to improve my anatomical art and other aspects.  I finished Scitman II on April 22, 1983.  Would I continue?  Of course!  

This time, I couldn't find a sketchbook of similar size, so I bought a bigger one.  I decided that Scitman III would be inked and in color, but quickly abandoned that thought.  In this book, there were some new characters and villains, these taken from my BK friends among others.  I finished 56 pages of that book before stopping.  I'd fallen into deep depression after deciding to stop that cross-dressing foolishness and be a man.  In addition, I started training to be an Emergency Medical Technician.  And so, the Scitman saga ended.

From Scitman II

For my 10th high school reunion in 1995, I managed to photocopy (poorly) Scitman I, and gave copies to a few of the friends who appeared in it.  I didn't go to art school and wasn't a comic book writer artist.  I was selling toy soldiers for Games Workshop.  I dreamed of inking the books and somehow scanning them into a computer someday.  

Maybe five years ago, I bought artists pens from the book store where I worked.  I started inking Scitman, as I noticed the pencils were fading away after years in storage.  I didn't get far.  Recently, I broke out the pens again, and have been working on it again.  I'm more than 1/4 way through inking Scitman I now.  

From Scitman III

Time and transition has separated me from those friends.  All of them graduated from college and have lives and families.  At least one, Chuck, is dead.  I intend to finish inking at least book 1, and scan it in to the computer.  If I can finish both I and II, I'll then send the books to Scitman, whom I haven't spoken to in decades.  I think he'd still get a kick out of them.  After all, that was the point.  

Reading these books, I still see the kid craving attention, scared of what the future may hold.  In some ways, I'm still that kid- desperate to please others and craving acceptance.  However, I know now that acceptance will take more than me scribbling pictures- I'm just not that good at it.  I gave up on achieving acceptance long ago, as I never will.  Now, I just want peace.

In any case, in some universe somewhere, Scitman the Barbarian lives on, even if not from my pen.

(Addendum: I finished inking book 1 on Oct 31, 2022, over 40 years after I finished the pencil work.)

Be well.

From Scitman II

56, Nine, and Forever

As I type this line, it's Monday September 12, 2022.  That means yesterday was the 21st anniversary of the terrorist attacks, and that tomorrow is the anniversary of my birth.  Don't ask me which I think was the bigger disaster.

I've written many times about my opinion of September- I dread it like normal people dread getting a root canal.  Inevitably, the calendar turns, and the month begins though, as time doesn't stop no matter what we try.  So here we are.  

August 2012

All that said, I wrote this letter last night:

Dearest Lisa,

Another year, another anniversary, another slew of letters you'll never see.  I wrote you almost daily in the spring as I tried to sort things out in my broken head.  Not so much lately, as a dull fog descended on me a month or so back, obscuring thought, emotion, and life.  

Ever since I passed my comps, I feel like I've been going in slow motion.  I wonder if you ever felt that way.  You always seemed so in control and way ahead of everything.  You certainly had me fooled- or did you?  After all, your plans and behavior before the execution of those plans fooled everyone.

I can't believe that you left us nine years ago.  Nine fucking years.  In many ways, it still seems like yesterday, but the world has changed so much since you died.  I wonder what you'd think of it.  I wonder how many people still remember you, your smile, and how special you made them feel.  

In any case, another year goes by without you- another year closer to our eventual reunion.  Save me a seat.

I will always love and miss you, Lisa

Yours,

Sophie

Return of the Keystone Conference: 2022

This past week was the first Keystone Conference in three years. The last two were canceled due to covid. But this year we returned to the Sheraton Harrisburg/Hershey now for the 12th time. However, things were different. They were so low on staff that the restaurant wasn't even open on a Saturday night, nor was the bar open during the day.  For me, a lot of the conference was casually speaking with friends in the bar, drinking or not.  It was quiet enough for me to hear, and comfortable enough.  This would be my 12th Keystone, as I've never missed one.  This conference has been a major part of my life since it began.

I signed up to do a presentation (as usual) and received the 9 AM Saturday slot.  That was fine, except I'd have to wake up ugly early to make the drive from State College to Harrisburg (which takes around 90 minutes.)  I signed up for Saturday only, which was the cheapest option.  After all, I've had money issues for years.

A day before the conference, Kristyn King called me.  She's a dear friend and president of Greater Philadelphia Renaissance, which I've attended since 2008.  She asked if I was going to Keystone (yes, Saturday only); did I have a room (no, can't afford one); would I like one (no thanks, can't afford it); no, you don't understand- I have an extra room, would you like it- free? (you're kidding, right); no, you do so much for others that it's time you get something back; (sure!  Thank you!) So now I had a room for Friday and Saturday nights!  

So I drove down Friday night, planning to arrive after the busses left for the various restaurants.  I wanted to surprise people.  However the Vanity Club bus was delayed and hadn't left.  As I walked to the hotel with my bag, a woman walked up to me and told me how inspiring I am, and how she loves reading my stuff.  I was so flattered yet embarrassed.  I thanked her.  I had mixed feelings about this.  I really appreciate this validation, but I don't feel I deserve it.  I've done nothing.  

Friday Night

In any case, I was wearing my blue dress that showed off the girls.  I checked in, found room 310, then headed for the bar.   Sat at the bar, saw someone sitting alone, and invited her to join me.  I believe that "no one sits alone at Keystone" because I know what it's like to be alone at events.  She joined me, and we talked. I had chicken tenders, as I'd done my makeup and didn't want to mess it up. Eventually busses returned from the restaurants and people trickled into the bar.  People I know began walking in.  So wonderful to reunite with friends I hadn't seen in at least three years.  I'd previously lost a bet with Stephanie Wardlow, an Arkansas alumnae, as they beat my Penn State Nittany Lions in a bowl game.  So, I bought her the drink I owed: a Cosmopolitan.

I didn't stay out late- back to the room at 10:30.  After all, I had little money and a presentation in the morning.  Woke up, showered, dressed, and took aspirin.  Yes, unearned hangover.  Had breakfast with the incredible JoAnne Carroll, president of TransCentral Pa.  We had a nice conversation, and I ate a lot of bacon because I rarely get to do so.  Then off to the session.  That's when, well, I had use the restroom... NOW!  So, off I went.  Glad it didn't happen during the session.

I had eight people in my session, including three old friends.  The session went well, and many good questions were asked (and yes, I followed up by sending the slides to those who asked.)  Went to the dealer's room with Jenny North and hung out a bit.  Eventually, lunch.  The speaker was Amanda Knox, whose story was amazing.  I bought her book, Love Lives Here, which she signed.  

Back to the room for a nap.  Then, doll up for dinner.  I'm definitely out of practice.  In any case, off to the gala, where it was VERY hot.  I popped sweat almost immediately.  I sat at the Vanity Club table, had chicken, listened to Lady J speak (another wonderful talk), then said my goodbyes.  After all, I had homework to do.  And as I had little money, it wasn't like I could go to the bar and drink my face off.  And I'd feel isolated, as in loud places, I can't hear anything but background noise.  So I said my goodbyes, packed, and got on the road.  Through the snow... in freaking late March.

Grape Ape

Made it home around 11 pm.  Unpacked my sweaty clothes and collapsed into bed.  90 minutes away, people like me are enjoying their last night at the conference- Partying against the dread of the next morning.  Sunday morning at Keystone is so very sad.  It's over, and it's back to drab life for most of them: the dreaded Pink Hangover.  I hated that so much.  

So, I left the conference early.  I wish I could've given my extra "girl time" to them.  Now home, taking a study break from reading, writing this blog entry.  I'm so glad Keystone is back, and hope to go next year as well.  We'll see where life takes me.

Be well.

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.

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.

Asked about HRT

 In conversation with a closeted transwoman (Terri- I wrote about her on TG Forum HERE), she asked about how it felt when I started Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) back in December 2012.  (I wrote about that HERE.)  

She wrote "That must have been quite an experience starting hrt."  I replied "Anticlimactic.  I didn't notice changes but others did.  The first "felt" effect was pain in my pectoral areas."

I thought about it, and it's been a while since I wrote about this (HERE for example).  Like, many years.  I forgot how much of a "Holy Grail" HRT is for so many.  Funny what one takes for granted after a long time.  Of all things, HRT.

So, what was it like?  

As anyone can tell you, it's a slow process.  First, the drugs have to build up in your system, then they take effect.  Like a cisgender girl, the effect is then gradual.  I didn't just wake up one day with big boobs!  (That would've been hard to explain!)

The first thing I felt was a sense of calm as the testosterone weakened.  My anger flares weren't as constant.  I had a haircut for my trial in September, but was letting it grow out since.  I'm guessing the hormones were taking effect, as people said I looked different.  They asked me if I was losing weight (I was, but not much.)  I'm guessing the main reason for their comments were my skin "softening."

Early February 2013, I felt a, well, thickness under my nipples.  They began to hurt a little.  The pain would become a familiar one.  That was my breasts budding.  As they grew, it continued to hurt.  Not badly, but noticeable.  I started wearing t-shirts under the polo shirts I'd wear to work.  Soon, they wouldn't be enough either- the nipples were protruding.  No one said anything, but I noticed.  I invested in some pressure shirts people use for exercising.  

May 18, 2013: first time out without forms

Wearing a bra without forms was a watershed moment (wrote about it HERE).

As the date I chose grew closer, I learned that one pressure shirt wasn't doing the job any more- so I started wearing two.  Ugh. I also wore baggier shirts when at work to "cover" my breast development.  people didn't notice my skin softening.  I told people I was growing out my hair to donate it to "Locks of Love."

January 2021.  I think the HRT worked!

Now it's been eight years.  Having breasts is something I'm used to- but am still thrilled to have!  Some people say my face changed a little, but I don't see it.  In any case, it's been one hell of a ride!

Inspirations: Amanda Richards

I'm forcing myself to sit at the keyboard and write something (as opposed to my normal method of writing things out longhand first) so I'm not wallowing in the Darkness.  So I decided to write about someone who always makes me smile.  So this entry is about one of my Inspirations and dearest friends: Amanda Richards.

Amanda Richards

I met Amanda in January 2009, a mere 2 1/2 months after re-discovering myself.  I first heard of her through an internet search when looking for a transformation makeover.  I decided Bethlehem, PA was too close to home, and instead went to Femme Fever in New York for my first time.  A few weeks later, I attended my first Renaissance transgender meeting (wrote about that here) without makeup.  I determined that I wouldn't do that again, and sent an email to True Colors Makeup Artistry, domain of Amanda Richards.  So it was that on January 19, 2009, I drove 90 minutes to her studio.  I was nervous as hell.  (I wrote about that day here.)

I didn't know it then, but I was meeting someone who would be a pillar of support, a mentor, and an incredible friend.  

Amanda's name is well known within the transgender community.  She's been active for... a while, doing M2F makeovers in addition to her work doing weddings, proms, etc.  She's also an in-demand photographer, and a former president of Vanity Club.

She was very re-assuring and supportive, seeing that I was so nervous.  I was far from her first "first- timer."  I had a photography session, then went down to the January Renaissance meeting, wearing the wig she helped me choose.  

That trip to Bethlehem became part of my monthly routine on "Sophie night."  I'd get the motel room at Motel 6, drive up to True Colors for a makeover, then drive to the meeting then Angela's Laptop Lounge party.  After that, I'd go back to the motel room to thoroughly clean myself up before going home.  

I saw Amanda at the Keystone Conference almost every year as well.  She's a very guarded person by nature, but eventually over time she opened up.  I learned such things as that her fraternity voted her "Smart ass of the Year" five years in a row (yes, that includes her first year as an alumni.)  Also, she dressed a bit in college for a fraternity thing.  Years later, she learned while getting together with her brothers that they eventually discovered her femme side, and were cool with it.  

With Amanda at Keystone 2017

For years, I went to her for makeovers; asking questions and learning learning learning.  Eventually, I reached a point when I could do my makeup, but I still went up to see her.  After all, she was better at it than me, and I loved visiting my friend.  She always had great music playing, and we talked about music, sports (she attended a rival Big 10 school), and I often asked her for advice.  

Amanda has been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and I'm not alone.  She's mentored so many "new" transgender girls- almost everyone in my area knew her or knew of her.  People travelled literally thousands of miles for her services.

Early in 2020, I was mentoring a "new" girl here at PSU.  She'd never had a makeover, so of course I took her to Amanda.  Because I trust her.  And I missed talking with her.  

From the January 2009 photoshoot

True Colors is closed for now.  When we get past this pandemic, she'll re-open.  For now, she's taking a well deserved break.  

What Amanda did for me is what she did for an uncounted number of people like me- she helped us to find ourselves and to blossom.  She taught so many of us skills in makeup as well as gave us the courage to face the world as our true selves.  

The transgender community owes Amanda an unpayable debt.  She is an amazingly talented artist, and an incredible person.

After the first time she did my makeup, she told me to stand in front of a full length mirror.  She said to look at myself, and repeat to myself  "I am Sophie.  I am Sophie."  Her idea was to put me in the right mind for having pictures taken.  It calmed me. She took the pictures, then off I went to my first time out with a professional makeup job.  

She helped me so much in these eleven years I've known her.  I can never thank her enough, despite thanking her each time she worked on me.

Amanda is one of my dearest friends.  She is a mentor.  She is a Legend.  

And Amanda...

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Touch of Grey

I tend to avoid mirrors, as I keep seeing a guy staring back.  However, a little while ago (June 1) I noticed something different.  I noticed that my hair was graying at the temples.

Back before I rediscovered myself, I said I'd go bald and gray with dignity.  For one, treatments would be expensive.  And for two, I didn't care about how I looked.  Then there's the fact that I never thought I'd live long enough for it to be an issue.

Well, I have.  

Old lady

Wife has been going gray for years- her grandmother had snow white hair at 30.  Also, being married to me is enough to make anyone age prematurely.  Add in that she lives with MIL and is raising Daughter... I'm surprised she hasn't gone bald from pulling out her hair.

I've been taking finasteride for hair loss since 2013.  That's hard core Propecia and it REALLY works!  However, guys wouldn't like the side effects- shrinkage below and boobs above.  For me, that's a bonus!

I'm still not going to color my hair.  I'll go grey.  However, as a thought exercise, I went to the Revlon site to try different hair colors.  Y'know, for shits and giggles.

These are the results.

A close relative used to die her hair orange.  It wasn't supposed to be, but it was.  So here's that look as well.

What do you think?

My fave would be the dark brown, edging out the red... barely.  My hair is auburn in the summer, so I could've done that, but... nah.  I must admit though- the purple is intriguing.  

There you have it.  I'm 53 (as of this writing) and look it.  I'll never fool anyone into thinking I'm in my 20s or 30s again (or even my 40s!) so I'll just accept what comes hair color wise.  Of course, changing her mind is a woman's prerogative.

Oh well, a touch of grey kind of suits me anyway. That is all I have to say and, it's all right.

I will survive.


Be well.

Sophie Dolls Up

I haven't felt feminine in a long time.  I decided to do my makeup and do the best I could.  I also decided to take pictures as I did it for the sheer hell of it. 

So here they are, all of Sophie's makeup secrets!

Step One.  I've showered, shaved and dried my hair.  This is what I look like after I do all that.  I still see a guy in the mirror.  

Step Two:  I've used a curling iron, and done my best to get some VOLUME in my very fine hair.  meh.

Step Three: Ok, some blue blocker and eye shadow (I used pinks.)

Step Four: Eye liner and foundation around muzzle

Step Five: Eyebrow work and mascara.  I tried false eyelashes again and failed miserably.

Step Six: Coverup around eye sockets, then some white in the corner to "bring it out" since my eyes are very deep set.

Step Seven: Some subtle contouring around the oval of the face, either side of my schnoz and cheeks.

Step Eight: Even with big boobs, some make up contouring can be fun.  I should've blended it more.  Not that anyone is looking.

Step Nine: Dress time!  I always put on whatever I'm wearing before doing my lippie.

Step Ten: Ok, so red lipstick isn't subtle, but since my eyes are, why not?

Step Eleven: Jewelry and a smile completes the look.

So, what do you think?

It's funny.  I still see a guy in the mirror most of the time.  Yet, after I doll up, sometimes I see a woman in the picture, and I can't believe she's really me.

So I had a little fun with photoshop after doing these.  I'm trying to get back into practice with it.

Took off a LOT of weight, half my forehead, and the scar.

So, there it is dear reader.  My day so far.  I feel much better than when I woke up.  I just need to feel like a woman sometimes.