Would you still love me if I put Jewel's 'Foolish Games' on a mixtape?

Last night I had a dream that someone called our apartment at 11:30 pm, and MelRo answered the phone. At first I thought it was someone she knew, because she was talking to them really sweetly and seemed to be advising them on some sort of a problem. I had been asleep when the phone rang, sort of fell in and out of sleep while she was talking, then when she hung up, I struggled to wake up enough to ask who was on the phone and why were they calling so late? She told me the phone was for me. I was like, what do you mean? Who was it? And she said it was a harasser who was calling to threaten me physically and harass me for being trans and threaten to out me to everyone I knew and people I didn't who would beat me up for being trans. I thought she was kidding. But she said that she gets calls like that ALL THE TIME and she always manages to talk the person down, and she said that usually the person seems to be dealing with some sort of other mental issue but is taking it out violently on me, and she helps them sort things out enough and they usually don't call back. So then I was confused -- there are numerous harassing callers? And she said that yes, there seems to be a whole population of people unrelated to each other who harass trans people. I was stunned. I was also confused and amazed by the fact that this had been going on for months and she was handling it and never told me about it.

So, uh...thanks darlin'.

Could this be related to my birthday today? Perhaps. This afternoon will be the exact one-year mark for hormones for me. Woo-hoo. What a long strange trip it's been. As usual, I feel more connected to the person I was 2-3 years ago than to the person one year ago. That person still seems strange and intriguing to me.

I'm on my second cup of coffee. look out!

Your life will soon be graced with the presence of stardom.

Or so a fortune cookie informed me on Saturday evening. I reached in my pockets to get my keys out this morning and rediscovered the tiny slip of paper acquired at dinner this weekend. I decided to save it, and posted it on my monitor with the date written in the corner. I realized that hundreds of fortune cookie fortunes could have conceivably come true over the years, but I wouldn't know because I forget the fortune 5 minutes after reading them. This is probably true of numerous other things in my life. How many lessons have I repeated over and over again because the information learned never survived the transition from short-term memory banks into crystallized permanent memories?

Anyway, with my luck, the stardom will be someone hugely famous that I don't care about or who annoys the fuck out of me. Like seeing Fred Durst in a restaurant or something. But then again, I wouldn't exactly called that being "graced".

I just re-read a few posts from a few months ago. Then I re-read posts from a few weeks ago. Then I re-read posts from yesterday. Who knew the cringe factor could kick in so early. I'm such a freak, even to myself sometimes.

Last night I made corn chowder for dinner. Today I'm having the leftovers for lunch. I feel compelled to e-mail my father because of it. It's his recipe. I even felt like him last night, if that even makes sense. But in an okay way, not necessarily a scary way.

Oh, and to whom it may concern: I didn't mean "grossly" in the 'disgusting' sense. I mean it in the 'large size' sense.

And another oh -- thanks for the happy bday wishes from folks.

"Baby girl....."

brief thoughts regarding the anniversary

Last night I was thinking about Tara's comment on the phone regarding the picture of Rockie she showed me and how it was pre-T (he did NOT look pre-T AT ALL)....and I kept staring at my reflection in the window above my turntables and thinking about how "male" and guyish I look. Like how broad my shoulders have become, and how my neck seems thick (not in a scary football player way, but not dainty and just...broader), and how my hairline looks....it was weird. Nearly foreign, but also familiar. Then Riley posted a comment about how he sometimes forgets that I'm not a bio-guy. That sorta fucked me up. And it's not the first time someone has expressed that sentiment to me -- hell, even when I met two people the first week I was on hormones, they told my friend that they were floored that I wasn't born male. Funny stuff this transition thing. I don't have an regrets of any kind -- it's more about realizing that I'm still making adjustments, and even though I imagine myself in my head as sort of guyish, I'm still used to imagining my actual physical self as some weird mix of a female-dyke-teen boy body. So I'm shocked when I look at myself and sort of see an adult male. Hmm. I never really identified as a "boi" or "boy", and I'm not convinced that it's just an age related thing. Because even if I had come out as trans 4-5 year earlier, I might not have felt that way. But what does it mean to "be a man"? And is that who I am or who I want to be? I think I'm just a person, first. I'm an adult (or working on it). And then the next description is guy or transguy or transfag or queer. I don't generally unite my gender identity with age, but now I'm realizing that you have to, because gender starts in the head but it plays out in the body and the body has an age. It has a general set of characteristics that appear at certain times of the body's life. I don't mind having a post-adolescent body -- but it does take some adjustment to re-envision myself.