Tube Top

Occasionally, I try to do an entry about how my mind works.  If it comes off as bragging, so be it.  It's not intended that way.  Be patient with me on this, as it's kind of a quirk thing. 

Remember, I grew ups in the 1970's and 80's.  A popular fashion trend back then was tube tops.  Some people hated them.  I understand why- they don't look good on everyone.  Remember, braless was very in style back in the 70s.

Pic from the 70s

Current web store pic

To my young mind which craved femininity, the tube top was the absolute epitome of female garments.  They showed that the wearer had breasts and left nothing to the imagination- shape, size- proudly shown off.  No straps- the only thing holding up the top was the boobs.

Hey, I was around 10 years old!  Work with me!  Back then, I thought the physical difference between boys and girls was that girls didn't have penises and they grew breasts! (Why that happened or their purpose, I had no idea.)

Me at 10.  5th grade

Tube tops fell out of fashion in the late 70s, but made a brief comeback in the mid-80s.  My college girlfriend had a couple of them, and they showed off her C cups beautifully.  When she wore the tube tops, she got a LOT of male attention. 

Guys are really stupid when it comes to boobs.  I know- I speak fluent guy. 

Fast forward many years.  In December 2012, I started HRT.  Due to an absolutely lucky genetic draw, I started "blossoming" quickly.  Within six months, I had C cups, and they were getting very hard to hide.  I wore compression shirts under oversized polo shirts to work and at home.  I even wore them to bed, which Wife noticed as I used to sleep shirtless.  (Obviously she knew why.)

Fast forward again.  I've been out over four years now, and I have natural DD cups.  As I said, I'm VERY lucky and I know it, when it comes to the boob fairy.  I figured I'd look up tube tops just for s's & g's.  I figured I could wear one around the apartment.  They were available, but none near my size.  Story of my life.

Then a few months back, I was browsing an online catalog for sun dresses and saw one that... wait is that... yes!  It's a dress with a tube top!  At the time, I had the money, so I bought it.

And so it was that I got my red sundress with a tube top.  I LOVE this dress.  At first I wore it with a strapless bra because, you know, propriety.  Then I noticed something.  Going braless seemed to be a thing again.  So, with this one dress, I stopped wearing a bra.  After all, it was a tube top and I had the means of holding it up.

Wearing the red tube top dress yesterday: no makeup. no bra.  The straps are superfluous

It's a very small and peculiar dream, but it was one I had growing up, knowing so desperately that I was really a girl.  Forty some years later, I am the Woman I wished I were.  (Well, almost.)  And I have my tube top. 

Be well. 

Men of the Skull Chapter 19: Leaving BK

Some time ago, I decided to skip posting a bunch of chapters of my book: Men of the Skull: A Memoir of Fraternity Life in the 80s, as they didn't have fraternity hijinks.  You see, even though it IS about fraternity life, it is about MY life back then.  And chapters 19-28 were about non-fraternity related things- specifically my growing relationships with several people.

I'd found that "non-fraternity" posts in the book got only 10% of the hits that "fraternity" posts did, so I decided to skip posting those chapters.

And there was another reason as well.  They don't exactly paint me in a flattering light.  During that time, I did one of the things that I regret most in my life to this day (aside from being born.)  That isn't in this chapter- it comes soon though.  What happened STILL hurts.  But I also think that the two chapters around it are the most powerful in the book.

I decided that if a certain number of people requested that I post those chapters, that I would do it.  I set a number that meant a lot to me.  Saturday morning that number was reached, when someone politely asked to see the skipped chapters.

That number?  86.  The year I started at Penn State.

So, if you are glad to see these chapters, thank those 86 people.  If you are one of the 86: see- I listen... eventually.

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

Chapter 19: Leaving BK

Sunday, October 26, 1986 Expulsions by Britain are hastened

            Working fast food is a hard job.  It’s greasy, smelly, and usually (not always) the managers treat employees like dirt.

            Easily the hardest part about working at a BK (aside from the customers) was closing.  A standard crew was five: one did the broiler, one the fryers, one the mountain of dishes, one did the front service area (soda machines and stuff), and the last did the burger boards and specialty board.  If anyone finished early, they pitched in elsewhere.  The job usually took between thirty to sixty minutes.  I knew how to close a BK because I’d done it hundreds of times in high school.  I hated doing it.

            When I was hired at BK in State College, I told them I could not work nights, as I had late classes and I needed time to study and do homework.  I didn’t mention parties, but they weren’t dumb and must’ve known that was a part as well.

            So I was surprised to see me scheduled for a closing shift.  I protested and tried to get out of it, but no dice- I had to close.

            Add to that, almost everyone else called out.  I would have to close this huge store alone.  This store was the largest BK in the US.  Its dining room was three fucking floors (it used to be a restaurant called the Train Station.)  The whole thing was huge.  And they expected me to clean it all on my own?  Fuck that!

            So it was me and two managers.  By the time we closed, the place was wrecked.

            So I chose a task and started while the managers did whatever they did.  Drained fryers, then cleaned the broiler (the hardest, dirtiest job), then cleaned the fryers, oh fuck it sucked!

            “This fucking sucks.  I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this when I have fucking work to do.  Fucking assholes!”  I said to myself, and so on. 

            Eventually one manager, then the other, came to help.  This was one AM, two hours after we closed.  They were kissing my ass. 

            “Man, we are so glad you are here doing this.  Really glad, man.  You are the best…” etc.

            Three AM, and I finally finished mopping all three floors.

            I needed money, but not that bad.  I also wanted more time to see Judy.  I got sick (honestly!) and called out for a week.  Then I called and told the manager I hated most that I was done.  I quit.

            It was all I could do not to say “Fuck you.”  Good thing I didn’t.  I would need BK later.

Next Chapter

Last Chapter

First Chapter

Goodbye Shangrila

Last Thursday, August 23rd, I went to meet my mentor and "big sister" Mel at Shangrila.  That's where we usually met to hang out and talk, as Mel liked the food there, and the Happy Hour was a particularly good deal.

Before I arrived for our usual 4 pm meeting, she texted me that she was going to the nearby McKenzies instead.  Shangrila was closed.  I agreed to meet her at McK instead.  First, I stopped at Shangrila ("Shangies" as it was affectionately nicknamed by the local transcommunity of a "certain age."    I wanted to see the note on the door myself.  I took a picture.

So, Shangies is gone.  Another one bites the dust, right?  But Shangies holds a special place in my heart.  You see, Shangies was where I first went to Angela's Laptop Lounge on that first December night in 2013 when I went to discover who and what I truly was.

I wrote about this LONG ago (obviously.)

What made Shangies that much more... dangerous... was that I worked RIGHT next door.  The bookstore overlooked it as the next store up the hill.  Fortunately, only one window opened to that side of the building, and that was in the children's department.  Back then, I drove an easily identifiable car- a Honda Del Sol.  I parked it away from the street so as not to be spotted those early days.  When my del Sol finally died, I bought a much less identifiable car so I could blend in just a little more.

Map:  Google maps

I needn't have worried- the people I worked with at the time weren't looking for me there, especially dressed as a woman.  Essentially I was invisible to them.  (I actually proved that on the night I "re-emerged."  I went into the store, and while they KNEW I was a crossdresser, they didn't realize it was me until I said something.)

And so it was that Shangies became a special place for me.  Once a month, Sophie would re-emerge, go to the Renaissance meeting, then converge at high speed upon this place.  It was crowded- the bar area isn't very big- but it was there that I began making connections with the local Trans community.  I made some of my dearest friends there- like Jen Lehman, Jen Jensen, Katie Ward, Charlotte Sometime, Kristyn King, Angela Gardner (who runs the event) and so many more.   I would do my 10 o'clock check in with Wife while I stood outside the front doors.  Supposedly, I was playing D&D. I hated lying.

With Jen Lehman during my "blonde phase."  August 2009.

Occasionally at work, I'd have to go into the children's department, and, if no staff were there, I'd look out that back window at Shangies, wistfully counting the days until I could be Sophie once again.

The worst part was that I was having SO much fun, and meeting so many great people... but I couldn't talk to anyone about it.  I couldn't share my experiences with Wife or my "Lance friends" as none of them knew... and wouldn't understand.  (I lost over 90% of those "friends" when I transitioned as they didn't want to know from me anymore.)

After several years, the Laptop Lounge moved.  There were complaints about unfair, sliding drink prices depending upon the bartender.  Whispers of management disparaging us.  Laptop has gone to several other places since (as of this writing, it happens at 30 Main in Berwyn, PA.) 

With Jen Jensen and an orb, January 2010

Eventually, Mel and I started meeting there just to talk and drink.  Mel is a sushi connoisseur, and said that Shangies had the best in the area.  I don't eat seafood, so I wouldn't know.  When I was thrown out five years ago, I took those who helped me move to dinner at Shangies.  Last Christmas, Linda and I had Christmas dinner there.  My very dear friend Victoria had Affirmation party there as well in April 2014. 

Affirmation party set up, April 2014

And now it is gone. 

It has joined my already crowded memory of places and times passed, and the dear friends who passed as well.

I normally don't wax nostalgic about restaurants closing.  I really miss Blue Pacific (another place that hosted the Lounge for a time) and sort of miss some of the Penn State bars and restaurants that have closed since I graduated.  Time passes, stuff happens.  However Shangies will always hold a special place in my heart.

It was the place where Sophie truly began.

Zàijiàn, Shangrila. 

A Quick Jaunt to PSU

On Monday, August 20, 2018, I awoke early, smeared makeup on my face, and drove west to my happy place:  Penn State University Park.  I went to talk to a few people about PhD programs, and did so.  I met three different doctorates, and discussed my research ideas with them.  However that isn't the point of this post.

With an Old Friend

It was the first day of classes at PSU, and students were everywhere.  I could feel the electricity- the anticipation of a new school year.  For some, it is their first time away from home.

I finished my meetings, and went to the campus LGBT center.  I'd invited its director and assistant director to lunch, but they were busy.  I also contacted a facialbook friend, Susie, but she was up to her eyeballs in work, so no go.  So I walked down to College Ave, and over to Baby's, a 50s style diner that opened while I was at PSU in 1987.  

So this was a 50s diner, which opened in the 80s- 30 years after the 50s.  It's now 30 years after the 50s... I feel so old.

Anyway, as it was just me, I sat at the counter.  A beautiful young waitress took my order (Original burger, no tomato, fries, and a hand-spun chocolate shake.)  Her name was Brittany, and I detected the hint of an accent.

As I waited for my drink, I pulled out my writing notebook to write a few things down about the day.  That's when Brittany returned and said "May I ask you a personal question?"

I knew what the topic would be, sighed and said "sure."

She asked "Which pronouns do you prefer?  I mean..." 

"She/her/hers, thank you for asking."

At Baby's

She'd clocked me as trans, obviously.  She then told me about waiting on a table the day before of four people- three girls and one guy.  She said "hello ladies" and the guy seemed deflated.  Turns out he was a transgender man, and felt misgendered.  She said she apologized profusely, and didn't want to make the same mistake again.  While she spoke, another fresh faced waitress joined her.  Michaela is a little taller than Brittany, with pink and black hair (PSU's original colors from the 1880s, but I'm not sure she knew that.)  She had many more buttons than Brittany.  I commented that she "needed more flair" but she didn't get the reference. 

Kids these days.

Some of the buttons she had were trans-positive.  I'd picked up a button at the LGBT center (a heart with the transgender flag colors,) so I fished it out of my purse and gave it to her.  She was very excited.

Brittany and Michaela.  Note the trans-heart button

The ladies spoke to me when they could while working their sections.  I was right about Brittany's accent: Texas.  She did her best to hide it, but as I'm an "accent chameleon" I picked up on it.  I told them both stories of PSU of my time, and they asked lots of questions, both about PSU and about the transgender experience. 

The burger was as good as I remembered, as was the milkshake (best in State College!)  As I was preparing to leave, Brittany was as well, as she had to get to class.  She was working her way through school- a VERY tall order these days.  I paid my check (leaving a huge tip) and started back to my car at the HUB parking deck. 

Students on College Ave

It was a good visit.  I'd met people, and had a few hours at my Happy Place.  I watched the students rushing here and there, many glued to their phones.  I wanted to shake them and tell them to put the phones away- to keep their heads up, eyes open, and drink it all in; because the time goes by so very fast, and they enjoy every moment of it.  As the poet sang "Such a long long time to be gone and a short time to be there."

After another short errand, I turned my car southeast, and headed back to Phoenixville. 

Back to my life.  Away from Home.

Emma-burgh

I made the 8:03 train to Edinburgh on time, but I hadn't showered.  (I did put on deodorant and brush my teeth.)  I slept most of the way.  The train arrived on time, and I went off in the direction of my hotel.  Google maps was having issues, as the compass kept spinning.  Eventually, I figured it all out, and headed for the hotel.

The walk included hauling my very heavy suitcase up a HUGE stairway.  How big?  There is a tiny pub halfway up the steps called "Halfway House."  Seriously!

The steps.  The homeless guy watched me haul my suitcase up the steps, but didn't offer to help.

The dotted line is the stairway

Tired, hot, and sweaty, I arrived at the Ibis South Bank Hotel at 9 AM.  In all the years I've been travelling, over three continents, I have NEVER had a problem checking in early.  Well, I did here.  They informed me that check in was 2 PM, and they did so quite rudely.  I was angry, and thought about going to another hotel.  I went down the street to a place called The City to eat, as I was famished.  There I had a full breakfast (with haggis.)  I came back and saw that a different person was working as receptionist (there was no desk- just someone in a red t-shirt.)  I heard that person deny a couple an early check-in as well, but not as rudely.  The couple was just as perplexed as I was.

I went to a restroom and splashed water in my face.  I felt some scummy.  I sat in the "lobby" and wrote in my travel journal.

The Travel Journal

I was there maybe half an hour when Emma came through the door.

Emma was a local, and she graciously volunteered to show me around for the day.  Emma is a fellow sister of Vanity Club, and that's how I initially contacted her.  But like several transgender women that I consider inspirations, I knew about her before I transitioned.  I found her pictures on Flickr.  She always presents herself with class and elegance.

Emma in front of Edinburgh Castle

So there she was in person- all classy and elegant.  Me?  I was unshowered, unshaven- a total wreck.  I was completely embarrassed.  Still she was wonderful.  She has a rather thick Scots brogue, but it wasn't a problem, as I am used to it.  (Mum is Scottish.)  Emma's voice was so feminine, she made me jealous as hell.

We spoke for a moment, deciding what to do.  We decided to walk up the Royal Mile (which is uphill) to Edinburgh Castle.  I really wanted to see it again, as I'd been there the last time I was in Scotland back in 1972.  Back then, I didn't "get it."  I was just a little kid.  Now, I'm a grown woman and a history fanatic who loves castles.  On the way up the Royal Mile, we detoured through a parking lot around a cathedral.  Apparently John Knox is buried beneath it somewhere.

That's a huge cannon: Mons Meg.  It's been moved since 1972, having undergone conservation.  In the picture on the left, I'm the short one.  As you can see, I'm a little taller among other things.  When I planned this trip, this was THE picture I wanted to take. We couldn't do the identical angle because the gun was being swarmed by a tour group.

And it was right about then that the elastic in my panties gave out.

So to recap- I feel scummy and look worse, I'm accompanied by the picture of elegance... and now I'm pulling up my panties every couple of minutes.

While there, we watched the firing of the One O'Clock Gun, which was a great display of military precision.

We toured the whole castle, including the old St. Margaret's chapel.  Afterwards we headed down the Royal Mile, passing a wall I remember from my last visit- with a cannonball embedded in it.

St. Margaret's Chapel.

See the cannonball?  Center of the picture

At the Whiskey Experience.  Classy Emma and Slob Sophie

We went to the Whiskey Experience, which was all about Scotch.  Both of us love scotch, so it was wonderful!  They house the world's largest collection of Scotch- 3,384!  Price of admission included... SAMPLES!  Yes.....

We then continued walking east- downhill on the Royal Mile.  There were many touristy shops, a piper in full regalia on every block, and plenty of pubs.

We stopped at St. Giles Cathedral, whose construction began in 1322, and continued for 150 years.  John Knox, the noted protestant reformer, preached there, and is buried under the parking lot.

The cavernous High Kirk

Facing east toward the entrance

Wow.

Cathedrals fascinate me.  I am in awe of the architecture, the beauty, and the craftsmanship of these incredible buildings.  I also have read a lot about the the politics and economy of the building of them- generations of workers toiling to create a building to last ages.

However, I had a second reason to visit here, in addition to gaping.  I wanted to light a candle for Lisa Empanada.  Yes, she was an atheist, but this small gesture of remembrance comforted me- I could show the world, silently, that I still think of her and cherish her memory.

Lisa's candle is the one at the top left.

After the cathedral, Emma and I went back to the hotel.  Time flew past quickly, as Emma is an amazing conversationalist who is knowledgeable about a diverse array of topics, especially Scottish history.  I was able to check in (finally) and go to my tiny room.  There I FINALLY showered, shaved, threw out the underwear, and did a quick makeup job.  When I cam back down, Emma was waiting in the lobby.  She'd changed into a stylish dress, and re-did her makeup.  Even cleaned up, I felt so very scruffy next to her.  That's me: the "Ugly American."

View from the door

View from the window

We decided to eat at a nearby hotel restaurant: the Itchycoo.  Seriously.  Does Donovan get royalties?  We weren't IN the restaurant per se.  We were seated outside the restaurant in the lobby.  Grr.  Anyway, I had steak.  During dinner, a piper wandered about the hotel common areas, sometimes rendering conversation impossible.

After dinner, I feared Emma would be tired of my company.  No, she wanted to keep going!  So she suggested a pub up the Royal Mile a bit.

Emma enjoying an after dinner glass of wine

Did I mention the cobblestones?  The Royal Mile is all cobblestones.  And we were in heels for dinner.  Emma glided gracefully over the cobblestones, making it look easy.  I looked like a drunken sailor, stumbling and tripping.

We went to the Deacon Brodies Tavern for a couple of pints.  It was a quaint place, named after the inspiration for Dr. Jekyll/ Mr. Hyde.  We had a couple of pints each, during which time we chatted about many things while watching two "ladies of the evening" ply their trade on a tourist.

With Emma at the pub

Behind the bar

You can see one of the ladies to the left of the guy in glasses

After the pints...and the wine... and the scotch, we were quite tired.  However, Emma wanted to show me a couple more things.  We went downhill- south on George IV Bridge.  Emma mentioned that Edinburgh was a truly three dimensional city, in that in many cases, the current city is built OVER previous incarnations, which are now intact underground (there are tours too!)  It also makes for a nightmare in navigation.

These streets intersect??

We passed the cafe where JK Rowling wrote the first Harry Potter book, then Emma brought me to a statue of a dog: Greyfriars Bobby.  The legend is that the dog was so loyal that he guarded the grave of his master for 14 years after his master died.  It's across a narrow street from a pub named in the dog's honor.  On that little isthmus of sidewalk, two college age girls were holding back the hair of a third who was vomiting the everything she'd eaten in the past ten years.  I asked if they needed help, and they politely said no thank you.  Within a minute, they tossed their drunk friend into a taxi, and they drove off.

 Greyfriars Bobby statue

Picture courtesy of Google maps

Here is where Emma and I parted company.  I don't know if she lived nearby or was parked nearby, but she said this was her parting point. We hugged, and she disappeared into the night.

What I DIDN'T know was how close I was to one of the places I wanted to visit: the infamous Greyfriars Kirkyard.  Known as one of the most haunted cemeteries in the world, visitors have left bruised, burned, and bloody from unseen attackers.  In the google picture above, the Kirkyard is down that tiny alley between buildings.  I love old cemeteries, and this one was high on my list, but I didn't know where it was, and I figured Emma wouldn't want to show it to me, so...

Picture:  Google maps

The cemetery also has a Harry Potter connection.  Not that I care, but it does.  I've never read HP, nor have I seen any of the movies.  In any case, we'd passed the Elephant House, so I went back to take a couple of pictures.

From there, I wandered the dark streets- a woman alone clack clacking on the sidewalks- back to the hotel, where I took off my makeup and promptly collapsed.  I'd done a LOT of walking that day, and my feet, back and legs ached.

Blue: first walk.  Green: return to hotel. Red: Dinner/pub walk. Purple: After pub

The Royal Mile is essentially "Disneyland: Scotland:" a big show for the tourists, showing what they "expect to see" in Scotland.  There were pipers, cobblestones, haggis, pubs, a cathedral, and two castles.  Everyone was snapping pictures of the ubiquitous pipers, and bagpipe music was everywhere.  If I had time, I would've loved to explore more of the city, or the very nearby Stirling and Bannockburn, as well as to pay respects to the Bruce.  Emma gave me that option instead of the castle walk we did, but I NEEDED to see the castle again.

Time was not on my side, as the next morning I again had an early (6:22 AM) train.  And this time, I'd take a taxi instead of those damn steps!

Edinburgh was a wonderful stop, but I wish I'd felt more secure in my appearance (and underwear.)  I wanted to re-connect to old memories of the child who was here all those years ago.  I wanted to re-consecrate them as Sophie memories, and Emma was more than happy to join me.  She is very proud of her city, and it showed.

At Edinburgh Castle, looking north to the Firth of Forth

It's hard to put this trip to Scotland into perspective.  I don't know what I expected, and there were things I HAD to do that I didn't.  Like I didn't see my cousin Anne.  I didn't see Culloden or Loch Ness.  As I wrote above, it was a bit like a pilgrimage.  But it was also an introduction: I wanted my Scottish kin to meet Sophie.  And a few did.  Lynsey and Stephanie allowed me to see into their world, which wasn't just that of Scotland, but life for two 21 year old beautiful college students.  Seeing my Uncle again was a treat as well.

I had time to reflect on it on the long train ride the next morning.  The adventure wasn't over yet!

Next Stop:  London

Men of the Skull Chapter 53: Monday Night Shakespeare

As I wrote in this chapter: Penn Staters could make a drinking game out of anything.

The class in question was English 444: Shakespeare.  Professor MacAdams.  He was very passionate about Shakespeare, and it was contagious.  At least it was to me.  But the seed had already been planted in me.  I write about that HERE. 

There is a lot of foul language and misogyny in this chapter.  The language, well, we were drinking.  The misogyny... before I transitioned I did my best to be as "manly" as possible.  And I saw almost every guy I know refer to women (and their body parts) in this way.  So I did.  I didn't want anyone to even guess the "shameful secret" I hid.  And that's where I was while writing this book.

Now then, looking back, should I correct that in editing?  I should- the "tits" reference at least.  part of me says "no- that's where I was then."  But I was an asshole back then.  So...

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

Chapter 53: Monday Night Shakespeare

Monday, March 16, 1987 Braving pain to confront Klaus Barbie at trial

            I had trouble reading all the assignments for my Shakespeare class.  It’s all Ye Olde English!  And besides, they’re plays-they’re meant to be seen.

            I discovered that Pattee library on campus had all of Shakespeare’s plays on video, performed by the Royal Shakespeare Company.  Yes!  The answer to my problem!

            So, since I had Tuesdays off, Monday nights became Shakespeare nights, where I’d watch that week’s play.  After Chapter meeting, and while drinking, of course.

            Within a week or two I wasn’t alone.  There were two people from my class that joined me.  John was a Sig Tau Gamma (the ROTC fraternity across the street from the apartment.)  He was crew cut and gung ho, but not as “hardcore” as some of the others.  He was laid back.  John brought along his girlfriend Shannon who was in the class as well.  She was cute, nice tits, incredible legs.  She also had a scar down the left side of her face, the result of an angry dog attack when she was very young.  She had a cute smile, grey eyes, and wavy brown hair that went just past her shoulders.

            As time went by, Virginia would join us.  Dave usually showed up too.  He loved a good night of drinking and culture and drinking.

            We are Penn Staters!  Anything can be a drinking game, even the Bard.  When the play ended, discussion began over drinking games.  We sat around my small square living room table.  As usual, Mark was asleep in the other room, so we spoke quietly.

           

The Bard's Grave, May 2018

            “I don’t know how convinced Henry was of himself and his troops when he gave that speech,” I said.  “Or maybe it was just the way the guy portrayed it.”

            “Didn’t need to be convinced as long as the troops believed,” John said.

            “King gives three.  All yours, asshole,” Dave said, pointing his elbow at me.

            “Mother fucker!”  I said, then drank.

            “They seemed to believe,” Shannon said.  “I wonder how accurate this was compared to what really happened.”

            “Fairly close.  I was a massacre, but mostly because Henry executed his prisoners.  Ten consumes nothing” Dave said, dealing to John.

            “Why?”  I asked, finishing my three drinks.

            “Because those are the fucking rules.  Ten doesn’t drink,” Dave said.

            “Ha ha” I said, sarcastically.

            “Two consumes two,” Dave said, dealing to Shannon.  Because the French really did slaughter the camp followers.  Henry was pissed off so he ordered the immediate death of all the prisoners.  I think they had ten thousand of them or something.  Four consumes four,” he said, dealing to Virginia.

            “That’s fucked up,” I said.

            “Ace drinks five!”  Dave said, dealing to me.

            “That’s a rule!”  I said, preparing to finish my Milwaukee’s Best.

            “So Shakespeare cleaned it up a bit.  That makes sense,” Shannon said.  “I mean, he couldn’t just bad mouth a king.”

            “He does in Richard III,” John said.

            “That’s true,” Shannon said.

            “Maybe it depended on what king,” Virginia said.

            I finished my five and belched loudly.  Virginia punched my arm- Hard.

            “Owww!”

            “Shakespeare didn’t like rude Skull pigs either,” she said.

            I stood to get another beer from the fridge.  “Anyone need one?”

            Two hands raised.

            Came back with three beers and opened mine.

            “Ok, the rule is ‘no cursing!’”  I said.  It was Dave’s least favorite rule, as when he got drunk he cursed worse than a rude Skull pig.

            “You fucker!”  Dave said before dealing the next card, which would start the rule.

            “Do you think they had Henry’s penitent soliloquy as a way of Shakespeare trying to show redemption for the royal family?”  I said.

            “What?”  John said.

            “Are you a fuckin’ essay question?”  Dave said.

            “Consume!” three of us said, pointing elbows at Dave.

Dave at my Beaver Hill apartment on a Monday night.  1987

            “I think it’s a good question!”  Shannon said, then leaned over to high five me.

            “So what’s the answer then?”  John said, looking at her with a touch of jealousy.

            “I have nooo idea!  Why don’t you ask in class?”  Shannon said.

            “I will” John said.

           

            And so the cards went round.  We became drunk and educated at the same time.  We are Penn State! 

I think Willy Shakes would have approved.

Next Chapter

Last Chapter

First Chapter

Therapy Talk

Today I saw my therapist since the first time since May. 

She sees me gratis, as I can't afford therapy, so I go when she can fit me into her schedule.  As those few who read my last entry know, I've had a very rough few days.  The Darkness had me and wasn't letting me go.

I was fifteen minutes late to the appointment- I'd forgotten it was moved from noon to 2 PM.  I entered my therapist's office, out of breath.  After a moment, we started talking. 

I told her EXACTLY how I was feeling- and how I felt Sunday/Monday.  I gave her the details, which I haven't even told my Wife or my bestie and roomie, Linda.  I will not discuss them here either, except to say that within minutes, I was crying again.

She pointed out that every time the Darkness has me, and I survive, that something I am glad I lived to see happens.  While I don't agree totally with what she says, it's happened enough to make her point.

Also, The 3rd was Lisa Empanada's birthday, and the 5th anniversary of one of the most amazing and moving days of my life.  This morning's facialbook memory thing brought up a post she made, and sent me into tears again.

So, we talked, my therapist and I.  We discussed the thought loop in my mind that has played since I was a child ("You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted" among other adjectives.)  She says I have to counter that.  As it's been playing in my head for my whole conscious life (in addition to 'greatest hits' of things others have told me) it's burned into my soul. 

Then of course there's the wound inflicted by my Wife nearly five years ago.  And the torn out part of my soul from when Lisa died, again, nearly five years ago.  Maybe these events are making "the internal recording skip."  Constant repeat. 

Didn't get that job? You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Misgendered?  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Wake up in the morning?  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  Insomnia?  The volume goes to 11.  YOU'RE USELESS, UGLY, DISGUSTING, AND UNWANTED, but with the coda of why do you even fucking bother living?

This past weekend, a few of my fraternity brothers- my fraternity BROTHERS- called me "it", "he/she,"  and "tranny" during the debate for the trans-inclusive amendment to the fraternity constitution.  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.  These are people I'd never met before last week.  I wanted to rip their heads off.  But I remained calm.  But, the damage was done- just like when my brothers at PSU would tell me "you're a transfer, and don't f*cking belong here."  "You're not a real Skull."  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.

I spent 45 minutes with my therapist, focusing on exactly how I felt, and what triggered it.  (I already wrote about that last entry.)  Fact is, Lisa died at 52.  I'm currently 51- and next month will be 52 (funny how that works.)  (Jerry Garcia died at 53- and today is the anniversary of his death.)   I think about that a lot- how Lisa, despite everything she endured, made it 52 years, 1 month, and 2 weeks.  I wonder if I can beat that.  You're worthless, useless, ugly, disgusting, and unwanted.

No, I'm not asking for sympathy.  This blog is about how I'm feeling; what I'm thinking; and trying to make sense of it all.  So.  I don't get satisfaction from writing any more.  But I didn't want to end the blog on a total downer (if I never posted again that is.)

I was late to my appointment.  I was hurrying from the parking lot to the door when a splash of color caught me attention.  A flower- maybe six inches in diameter.  Large, beautiful, and proud.  I stopped to look at it, then took a picture.

Because sometimes, I need beauty in my life.  And it was worth the minute I stopped. 

Maybe I'm not too far gone.

Had to Pull Over: Thoughts on Coming Home in early August

This is going to be kinda random and jumpy.  If anyone actually reads this.  Which they won't.

I'm back from New Orleans.  I had to pull over twice on the road home from the airport because I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't see.

I'm home.  Flat broke.  I had to beg my wife for money to borrow for my share of the rent.  I'm useless, worthless, and  have no future

The Darkness has me.  I feel useless, and the fact that I can't find a job makes me worthless.  I spent more money than I had helping people I will never meet, and who will never know what I did.  And, the trip being over, I have NOTHING to look forward to.

Nothing.

The New Orleans trip was the last thing I had planned.  Now, nothing.  September will be here soon- and I HATE September.  It's the month I lost my marriage (technically that was August 31 I think, but I'm not quibbling.)  It's the month I lost Lisa.  It's the month I was born, and I hate it most of all for that.

Me.  Now.  Typing this.

I don't tell people my feelings anymore.  I tell people this, they get angry and tell me it's my fault because I don't think positively.  One fact I've had burned into my soul: I can never tell people the Truth about how I feel.  Oh and it's my fault because I travelled, and put money into an account for my daughter.

I just want the depression to end.  I cannot remember a day without it- literally.

And if I say that, people threaten to have me hauled off to a hospital.  I have sworn I will never, ever go back to one of those.

Insomnia when I desperately want this day to end.

I don't think I'll be writing about the New Orleans trip. I think I'm done with writing.  No one is reading what I write, and it doesn't make me content anymore. Doesn't help.  Last thing Im posted still hasn't broken 100 views.  I used pull that in an hour.  No one gives a shit any more.  Why should I?  I still have my little writing books that I keep filling.  I suppose I should put them all in one box.  Then throw that box away.  Then those thoughts will be gone, unheard.  As they should be.

I volunteer to help others and lose lots of money in the process.  I'm done with volunteering. You want me to help- pay me.  This weekend, I debated a bunch of entitled kids who have been taught to hate and mock anything different.  But, I managed, with help, to get passed a trans-positive motion for my fraternity.  And the people who will benefit?  They'll never know about the 18 months of work several people put in on it, or the debate, or the insults I endured.  They wouldn't care if they did know.  I was invited to New Orleans by the fraternity.  I thought more costs would be covered.  And maybe I'll be reimbursed for some of the outlay.  Eventually.

I shouldn't care about that.  One person of facialbook wrote me: "Most people don't volunteer to help others expecting something in return. They do it from their heart and soul."  Well, so did I. Past tense. All its gotten me is a zero bank balance, PTSD, and wounds that can never heal.  

I did this for a fraternity which, when I was an undergrad, 95% of the brothers didn't want me around.  Many actively hated me.  But, I'd sworn an oath, and my word is all I have.

I used to believe that all the sadness and pain I endure would be balanced out by happiness and good in my life.  That there HAD to be balance.  When I was a teen, that kept me alive.  I now know that thought was absolutely wrong.  There is NO balance.  And if there is, my suffering is balanced by the happiness and ease of someone else's life.

I often think of myself as an old toy, neglected and forgotten when the child outgrows it.  I use that metaphor often in my journals.  An object which has no function but to bring happiness, fun, laughter and joy, sitting silent and still.  Do they long for the child to return and play with them?  (Kinda Toy Story, I know, but I think about it.)  I wrote about this on my old guy blog once.  

When I'm gone, my wife will probably put my dead name on my urn instead of my legal name.  An echo.  A memory.  And if it brings her comfort so be it.  I've hurt her enough.

Melatonin is finally kicking in.  Maybe I can fall asleep.  Maybe when I wake up tomorrow, the Darkness won't have me by the throat.  But I'll still be unemployed.  And worthless.