- I can’t grow a full beard, nor proper sandpaper stubble, but when my laziness reaches the week mark, I do rock a full face of pubescent fuzz. A few weeks ago, before I went to the doctor, I made it a point to shave. I was going to the gynecologist; it just seemed like a respectful thing to do.
- For the past month, between travel documents and medical records, labs, and doctors I had to use my old name a lot, which meant I was constantly alternating between “Nina” and “Nick.” (I’m physically fine, though I did have an anal probe to determine, again, that I have a chronic and mild case of JewBowel, or GI conditions common to those of Eastern European descent.) I got the to the point where I couldn’t remember what name, boy or girl, to use.
- Although there are VIP locker-rooms at 24hr Fitness, none have a stick figure sign for “boy band member”–my gender identity of the week. In these VIP locker-rooms, just like the regular ones, the men’s side has open gang showers and the women’s side has doors on at least some showers. Despite being recognized as a guy all the time, I STILL use the women’s locker-room (to shower before returning to work) AND nobody has commented yet, even when I don’t shave. I know, I know, but what am I to do? I don’t take hormones to acquire “male privilege” any more than I take hormones to spend my lunch break naked in gang showers with large, smelly, hairy men.
- I am addicted to gay dude porn. I watch it regularly, obsessively, without any forethought. I can be checking my bank statement and find myself on Xtube before I’ve even noticed. I had to upgrade my Macbook several months ago because it was too old for good streaming video software and I couldn’t handle watching one more glitchy blowjob. Now I have a small collection of DVDs, made up entirely of gifts from exes, women. Because here’s the thing, I only date and pursue sex with women. I love women. But I cannot stand watching women in porn, so instead I fill my head with dick and balls.
- Sometimes, I think I’ve broken down sex into poles, holes, erogenous zones and positions, and that I can see through sexual orientation entirely. Sometimes, I think I’ve deconstructed gender, isolating the pieces–names, body parts, hormones, locker-room used–all of which may have something gendered associated with them, but from which there is no sum, no gendered whole. Sometimes I think I’ve transcended it all, and then I realize I’m only one paradox away from a full-on identity crisis.
*NOTE: I’ve shared certain things above that I may not be willing acknowledge again and wouldn’t want others to bring up about me. Also some of those topics are not comfortable for all trans folk. Being a paradox is funny until a doctor won’t provide you with service, someone purposely ignores your preferred name, or security is called while you’re in the “wrong” bathroom.