tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24897372852211608892024-02-20T14:36:05.910-08:00The Papillon PagesWelcome to my blog. This blog is my attempt to share some of my thoughts and feelings in my resolve to affirm my gender through transition from male to female. The page title comes from another transition. The word 'Papillon' is French for butterfly. I feel like the caterpillar that is becoming the butterfly, and one day I will fly.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.comBlogger9125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-58461758779410249132012-03-15T20:32:00.000-07:002012-03-15T20:32:17.953-07:00Locks of LoveThis week ( 03/11/2011 ) marks an anniversary of sorts for me. It has now been one year since I first started to let my hair grow out. It has not been cut in the past year except to have the split ends trimmed. My hair is now just past my shoulders and I love to feel it brush my skin. I can’t wait until this time next year when it should be down around my shoulder blades. Did I mention that I love long hair? <br />
<br />
A couple of months ago I was getting ready to color my roots. Yes, unfortunately I am old enough to have to submit to that chore. I had been staying with my adopted family, all of whom have been so wonderful during my divorce and transition. ( They took me in when I was kicked out of my house. ) My adopted Niece, Charity was going to put some highlights in my hair for me. She asked me if I wanted to stay brunette or if there was a hair color that I had always wanted to be. I told her that I had always wanted to see myself as a blonde. She asked what color blonde and I pulled out an old Newport News catalog and found one of the models whom had the most gorgeous blonde tresses and highlights, and I said “that color”. She said, “I can do that.” Yea!<br />
<br />
It took us several days and tries, mostly since my hair was dark and it is harder to go from dark to light than it is to go from light to dark, and Charity had never work on hair going from dark to light. Finally, after stripping my hair and re-coloring it we arrived at the exact color that the model in the catalog had. I was thrilled and we both jumped up and down with joy. Joy tired after a minute so we stopped jumping, too. <br />
<br />
Ladies, be careful what you wish for! I really was happy with the results of our, … Charity’s efforts. I had little to do with it. She had done a fabulous job. But, every morning I would get up and look at myself in the mirror and ask, “Who are you?” I thought I just needed time to get used to my new look, so I gave it almost a month to soak in. It never did. I just could not get used to myself as a blonde. I was getting ready to go for my first job interview as Lindsay and remembered Charity and my adopted sister, Nancy telling me to go to the interview with the hair color that I was going to keep. So, I went back to my natural brunette but with some added highlights. I was thrilled with the color and the highlights as a brunette. My confidence was high as I went to my interview.<br />
<br />
When I was trying to get used to my blonde locks, I started thinking about the women that I admired and whom I thought were beautiful. When I was growing up, all the women that I admired or thought were beautiful, were all ladies that had longer hair. And somewhat surprising to me is that almost all of these women were brunettes. The ones that came to mind were Audrey Hepburn, Suzanne Pleshette, Marlo Thomas, Jacqueline Bisset, Jacqueline Smith, Pam Dawber, and more recently Julia Roberts and Jennifer <br />
Garner. And, on a personal note, there, ever present, were my own two beautiful sisters. I wanted more than anything to be just like them. I hope I didn’t miss the mark too far.<br />
<br />
To the several girls that told me that they had to “do” their hair on a night that I had asked them out, please forgive me for thinking, “What a load of crap. If you don’t want to go out, just tell me.” I now know how much of an undertaking it is to “do” your hair. While I’m at it, let me go ahead and apologize for rushing my dates as they tried to get ready. It takes time to be breath-taking. Giggle. Another observation; I never thought that I would be thankful for hair that got in the way. When Charity was doing my hair I turned quickly and got slapped in the eye with wet hair. When I eat I have to make sure to push my hair out of the way. When I clasp a necklace or zip up a dress I have to lift my hair out of the way. Such small acts, but ain’t it grand.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-4909571772723865942011-10-25T21:12:00.000-07:002011-10-25T21:12:49.264-07:00A New (Legal) NameI knew the week was going to be a good one. It had literally been years since the thought first entered my mind. What name could I come up with for my new life? Who or what would influence my decision? Would it fit me? How many times would I change my mind and try on another name for size. I have been Lindsay for so long, I had to stop and think what it was that drove me to decide on the name. So, what was it? I don’t know! Honestly, there were no movie or television stars during my High School and College days when I chose the name that caught my attention, or that I lusted over. There were no stand out entertainers named Lindsay. It was just a name that I thought was pretty, as I wished I was. It seemed to flow from the tongue. And it was totally different from my male name, which was a huge plus. I didn’t want a take-off of my male name, I wanted something new for the new me. I’m not knocking any of you that have chosen cute little twists of your birth names. They can be very appropriate for some of us starting a new life. And, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I want to cut all ties to my past life. I have had some wonderful experiences up to now, that I don’t want to forget, including the marriage to my wife and the birth of our daughter. I still love my wife and our daughter is still Daddy’s little girl. But, I am starting a new life, the key word being “new”. So, “Lindsay” gets the call for my new name. <br />
<br />
Lindsay was the first name that I seriously considered. Strangely enough, I didn't change or try out other names as my first name. Lindsay seemed to fit me so well. My middle name however, was a different matter. I didn't really think seriously about a middle name until about two years ago when I decided to transition. I thought about how different names would sound together and how they would flow. I tried 'Ellen' and 'Elaine' both which I liked very much. In the end I took the path of an acquaintance of mine. She had taken variations of the names of her children as her names. I thought that would be a way to honor my daughter. So when I came out to my daughter early in 2011, and she was OK with my transition, I asked her if I could take her middle name as my middle name. She thought that was cool, and gave me her blessing. Thus, Lindsay Nicole was to be my name. <br />
<br />
It was the day after Memorial Day 2011. I had to be at the District Clerks Office at 8am. It didn’t help that I didn’t get much sleep the night before trying to decide which of three outfits I would wear. I ended up wearing a simple black skirt, with a semi-sheer black and white print blouse and a black cami underneath with simple 2 inch black heels. I was determined I was not going to be late on this most important day. I arrived at the court house with 45 minutes to spare, no small feat for me. Getting through security was a breeze since my outfit was simple and I wore minimal jewelry. I was proud of myself for planning my outfit with security in mind, and getting there in plenty of time. I was smiling as I rode the elevator to the 5th floor and stepped out to, … a locked clerk’s office door and about ten other people waiting in the corridor. There were two benches against one wall and those were occupied so I stood nearby trying to look casual. Other people drifted in after me. After about 15 minutes of standing, a nice gentleman who was seated on one of the benches and had been talking to a female I took to be his wife, stood up and apologized for being rude, and offered me his seat. I graciously thanked him and took the proffered seat. I and about 15 others had to wait another 20 minutes for the clerk’s office to open. After the office opened we took turns checking in with the clerk then waited to go to the court room all together. It seemed that most of the other 15 or so people waiting were in the same court as I was. At around 8:30am the clerk took us up to the court room.<br />
<br />
I had no idea what to expect from the Judge. I didn’t even know if the Judge would be a man or a woman. I was hoping to get a female Judge feeling that a woman would be more sympathetic to my cause. I don’t know if that is the case, but it is what I thought at the time. We found out from the Bailiff that one of the other Judges had taken that Tuesday off to extend his Memorial Day weekend, dumping cases that Judge would have heard onto the Judge hearing our cases. Our Judge was none too happy about the extra work load and the fact that the absent Judge had not cleared it with our Judge. I was afraid that might put our, my, Judge in a bad mood which might affect his decision on my case. <br />
<br />
The Judge heard all the cases from the other court before starting on the cases in his court. Yes, I had drawn a male Judge. How wonderful. He took six cases before me and I could hear some of the conversations in front of him. If the Judge wasn’t in a bad mood from having to take on another court’s cases, he was at least brusk, to the point, and all business. He denied one woman’s petition because she didn’t have her paper work filled out properly. <br />
<br />
<br />
Finally it was my turn. I was hoping that the Bailiff would only call my last name because my male name was on my petition. No such luck. He called both my first and last names and I got a few quizzical looks when a woman walked up to the bench after a man had been called. Again being all business the Judge asked me why I wanted to change my name. I explained to him that I was a male to female transsexual in the middle of transition. That was good enough for him and no other questions were asked. He was about to grant the petition and close the case when I interrupted him and asked about the gender marker change. He was unaware that I had asked for a gender marker change and had not even seen the letter from my doctor that I had submitted with the petition in support of the gender marker change. I advised him I had another original, (yes, I had obtained two originals for just this event) and started to pull it from my notebook. He stopped me and told me it did not make any difference because he did not have the authority to change a gender marker. I started to ask, “If you don’t have the authority as a District Judge, who does?” I decided that would get me no where and remained silent. If he thought he didn’t have the authority to change a gender marker, my arguing with him was not going to change his mind.<br />
<br />
I had to wait for the rest of ‘our group’ to finish and the clerk came and took us back to her office to finish the paper work. The clerk was really sweet and gave me more certified copies of the court order than I had requested and didn’t charge me for any of them. She wished me luck and I was out before 11am. <br />
<br />
It was bitter sweet for me as I was really hoping for the gender marker change, also. But, the feeling of finally being Lindsay legally is so wonderful. I was so pumped up and still am even now.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-75919383075859209952011-10-25T15:52:00.000-07:002011-10-25T15:52:19.952-07:00Introducing Lindsay To My SistersIt had been almost a year since I had come out to my sisters, and still in that time neither of them had met or seen pictures of Lindsay. It was the summer of 2010, and I guess I was getting a little grumpy from not being Lindsay as much as I wanted or needed. It was actually my wife, Diane, who suggested that I go see my sisters. I had some time off from work that I needed to take, so I called Leslie and asked I could come see her for a week and introduce her to Lindsay. She thought the idea was great and coordinated with my other sister Lin for us to have an all girls week. Of course my girlfriend, Suzi and I, had to do some shopping so I'd have enough nice clothes for a week with my sisters. Any excuse, right Suzi.<br />
<br />
All packed, (my word, I can't pack light), I stopped for a couple of days to see a friend on the way to Leslie's, but that's another post. My poor sister was in an apartment because she had had part of her house catch on fire from a lightning strike but her insurance company had set her up with a two bedroom apartment. Leslie was great as I knew she would be. She was very complimentary on my make-up and wardrobe. She was still making arrangements to have her house repaired and I went with her to take care of things. I asked her if she would be embarrassed for me to go with her into Lowe's and other places. She looked at me funny and asked why. I told her that I don't always pass. She told me that I looked more like a woman than a lot of women she's seen and if anybody said anything to me about it she would "punch them in the nose" for me. That's my sister. We took care of her business at Lowe's and a few other places, including gathering some things from her house, and Leslie didn't have to punch anybody out.<br />
<br />
That night we went to dinner at a nice Mexican restaurant we both enjoy and had a couple of drinks to celebrate Leslie's "new sister". Back at the apartment later that night Leslie brought out some jewelry bags and set them in front of me. Leslie told me that after I had come out to her and told her about watching the girls of the family split up Mom's jewelry, she felt so bad that I had missed out on all the girl stuff. She had gone through her jewelry box and picked out some things she thought I would like, some Mother's, some her's, and she wanted me to have them. We hugged and cried sporadically as she showed me the jewelry. There were some really nice pieces, necklaces, bracelets, and rings but there was one item that had caught my eye. It was a James Avery butterfly key ring that had been Mother's and I remembered seeing it on Mother's keys. Since butterflies are kind of my thing, and I knew that was special to Mother, it was special to me. It went on my keys right then. I didn't care who saw it or if they thought it was gay or sissy. It had been Mother's and now it was mine.<br />
<br />
Leslie and I drove to Lin's house and we stayed there a couple of days. One day we all went and had pedicures. Another day we went shopping. I had been looking for a pair of nice slacks that would go with a particular blouse I had, and Lin and Leslie helped me look for the right color. We didn't find the right color slacks, but we did have fun trying on clothes. I'd be in the dressing room and Lin and Leslie would bring me things they thought would look good on me and I would model some of the outfits. I'm sure some of the other ladies in the store got a kick out of the three giggling women. Then we went a few store down to an accessories store call Charming Charlie's. It was mind blowing. What a store. If you haven't been to one you need to find one in your area. I ended up buying several pairs of earrings there. The whole week was wonderful. We were just three sisters doing things any sisters or girlfriends would do. I haven't laughed or had that much fun in a long time. On the last night I was to spend with my sisters we dressed up semi-fancy and went to a nice restaurant. During the meal Lin and Leslie made a toast to "Sisters" which made me tear up. They were so wonderful and I know I'm a lucky girl to have such great sisters.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-78678282552562233702011-04-07T05:27:00.000-07:002011-04-07T05:27:50.094-07:00Coming out to my sistersFor many years I had wanted to tell my youngest sister about Lindsay. She and I have always had a bond. Because of one thing or another it just never seemed to be the right time. In the summer of 2009 our mother was very sick, and the 'kids' took turns taking care of her, with the brunt of the work falling on Leslie, my youngest sister. Mom ended up passing that summer and we were left with the tasks of selling the house and dividing property, ect. When we were dividing property the girls in the family had spread Mom's jewelry out on the dinning room table and they took turns choosing pieces they each wanted. I so much wanted to join in and pick a few pieces for myself. It was agonizing to sit in the kitchen watching them, fighting back the tears, and wanting to yell, 'damn it, it's my turn'. I finally went up behind my wife and whispered into her ear, 'please get me something for me'. I was astounded when we got home and found out that Diane had gotten me several things, mostly necklaces and bracelets, but they were Mom's, and now, they were mine. I was very pleased.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later I took a U-Haul down to pick up the big things that Diane and I wanted. She had stayed home. My youngest brother and his wife were there to help me load things, and oh, so smoothly talked me into taking things I didn't want for the sake of getting the things out of the house. And they were slick. Of course, Leslie was there, too. After completely stuffing my truck and a U-Haul, my brother and his wife went home leaving Leslie and I alone in the house drinking a glass of wine together. I guess my siblings were more astute than I realized. Leslie asked me what was wrong, saying she had sensed there was something eating at me for some time. I tried to avoid the subject saying it wasn't the right time. Wiser than her years she explained that life is always complicated with something going on all the time, so if my reasoning for not telling was 'it's not the right time', it never would be the right time.<br />
<br />
So, sitting in the house that had been our mother's which was then partially gutted, I broke down and told Leslie my story of growing up a Transexual. I had always thought that if any of the siblings would be understanding, it would be Leslie, because of the bond that we had always shared. She didn't let me down. She hugged me and told me that she loved me and promised whatever I needed in my journey, she would be there for me 100%. Then to show her support she said, 'have you checked out Mom's closet to see if there's any of her clothes you can wear?' So, I got an assortment of shells, pant suits, and blouses that had been my mother's. Pretty cool.<br />
<br />
Leslie was curious and asked questions which I answered. She wanted to know if I had told anybody else in the family, which I had not. She asked if she could tell my other sister and I gave her permission to do so. After telling Leslie I was going to tell Lin anyway, but I let Leslie do that for me. After I got home, I got the sweetest e-mail from Lin telling me that she loved me, and would support me in whatever I needed to do. I had been pretty sure that my sisters would understand and support me. I wasn't as sure how my brothers would react. But, both Lin and Leslie promised me that when it was time to tell my brothers, if I wanted to do it in person, Lin and Leslie would be on each side of me for support. I am truly blessed with a wonderful family.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-9674106848720558832010-08-25T21:27:00.000-07:002010-08-25T21:27:23.636-07:00A Day with Doctor and Therapist<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CChuck%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><o:smarttagtype name="City" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">I’m not a very experienced girl. I have work and family responsibilities that I recognize as being more important at this point and time than my having a few hours of enjoyment as Lindsay. Of course it goes without saying that I would love to be out experiencing life on a regular basis as Lindsay, and I am anxiously looking forward to the day I will go full time, even though it will alter my responsibility to my family. But, at the moment I must bide my time. I get to be Lindsay about once a month when I go to see my therapist and my doctor, usually on the same day so I don’t have to take off work too often. Other than therapy and doctor days, I get out about three or four times a year when my best friend Suzi and I go to <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Dallas</st1:place></st1:city> for a whole weekend. Because my time as Lindsay is so limited right now, I savor every moment I can be my true self.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My typical trip to the therapist and doctor usually go something like this. My wife doesn’t like me to dress around her, or even in <st1:place w:st="on">East Texas</st1:place> where we live, because she is so fearful that someone we know will recognize me. So, getting dressed at home on the day of my appointments, and then driving to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Dallas</st1:city></st1:place> as Lindsay is out of the question. The best solution I’ve come up with is to drive over on the night before, get a decent meal I don’t usually have access to in <st1:place w:st="on">East Texas</st1:place>, and check into a motel. I do some prep such as shaving the legs, and putting on some fake nails then try to get a good nights sleep. I try to get up six or seven hours before I need to be at my appointments. Let’s face it, it takes time to be as beautiful as I. Stifle that chuckle. It does take some time for me to get ready, because I haven’t had that much experience with makeup, but probably more because I’m just not a morning person. Trowel and shovel in hand and before the day is over, I’m ready to go. LOL One bad cup of coffee in the room requires a stop someplace for a real cup of coffee, or to be more precise, a large sugar with a side of coffee. That usually is enough to get me where I need to go. I like to schedule the doctor visit first since my doctor is in Coppell, about as far northwest as you can go and still be considered in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Dallas</st1:city></st1:place> area. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My doctor is great, and she has helped me in so many ways, but I will write about her in a future blog. Everyone at her office is so friendly. They do the usual weight, blood pressure bit, and then Dr. Ridley and I sit down and talk about a little bit of everything. She takes her time and a session with her usually takes between 45 minutes to an hour. And, that time doesn’t include the time in the waiting room, or getting vitals checked. That is from the time I actually sit down with her to talk, until I walk up front to check out.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Doctor visit out of the way, it’s time to remind my stomach that we are still friends. I eat a light lunch, as in not too filling. I’ll save my appetite for dinner and splurge a little. Arby’s, Chick-Fil-A, Sonic. All are promising for the short term. With my stomach now having signed the temporary Peace Treaty, it’s time to head for therapy. Feleshia is such a sweet lady. Her office is set up more like a living room than an office, with two couches, a soft chair and a coffee table. We each usually take up the same spot on different couches, with Feleshia kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs under her as she sits clutching a big soft pillow, and me trying my best to be the prim and proper lady. Sometimes, though, Feleshia rubs off on me and I’ll have to kick off my heels as well. I usually pour my heart out to her and she provides insight and guidance. Most of our sessions are pretty upbeat since I have been fortunate enough to have almost NO bad experiences. I have been known to do my share of crying when we talk about my family. And Feleshia is so sweet, she doesn’t even make me bring my own tissues. I know we have a patient/therapist relationship. But, there is so much more to our interaction than that. She is truly like another sister to me. I consider her one of my friends and I hope she feels the same about me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With doctor and therapy out of the way, it’s usually time for some more therapy, …, RETAIL therapy. Over the years I’ve spent so much money on things that aren’t right for me or were just cheap products. The old adage ‘you get what you pay for’ is true. With my RLT or full time looming in the near future, I’m no longer buying things just for me enjoy wearing around the house only for me. For the last six to eight months I’ve been trying to build my wardrobe to start the rest of my life. I definitely shop more and buy less than I used to. While I am trying to pay for doctors and therapy and trying to save for surgeries, I have to be more selective in what I buy to make sure it is something that can follow me into a new life. It really is therapy. If I’m feeling a little down, a little shopping time can pick me right up. I love the hunt, and finding that one great piece is also on sale is fantastic. I feel the urge for a shopping day coming on.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Before going back to the motel to change and go home I always take the time to treat myself to a nice dinner. I have my favorite haunts like Chili’s, Olive Garden, Cheddar’s, and Outback. Perhaps next trip I'll have a good steak and a glass of wine, or a nice pasta and a margarita. I feel very blessed that in all my outings, whether it’s shopping, dinning out, or going to the movies, I have always been treated with respect, and dignity, as all people should be. </div><div class="MsoNormal"> </div>LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-65364782225896436052010-07-25T00:17:00.000-07:002010-07-25T00:17:41.406-07:00Not Quite 40 Days And 40 Nights<meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"></meta><meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Generator"></meta><meta content="Microsoft Word 11" name="Originator"></meta><link href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CChuck%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype name="State" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype name="City" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style>
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<div class="MsoNormal">Last night before going to bed I once again conducted the experiment that I have tried so many times before. And, once again, I could see no scientific proof that the experiment was a success. So, being the dedicated non-professional that I am, I know that I will continue running the same experiment until I have success. I am that committed to the outcome I seek. The experiment, Sleep Learning. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, once again I fell asleep with my laptop in front of me. Concentrate as hard as I could, I absorbed no more knowledge than dozing off without the computer in my lap. How many times must I repeat the trials of science with the same outcome, before there is a miraculous breakthrough that will benefit all mankind? I shall persevere, my friends. For, to not try would do a disservice to the scientific community, geeks everywhere, and anybody that enjoys a good nap. Fear not, my friends. For I look out for you and my sleep learning experiments shall one day be victorious. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today is February 12th, 2010 in a small community north of <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Tyler</st1:city>, <st1:state w:st="on">Texas</st1:state></st1:place>. Well, to be accurate, it is February 12<sup>th</sup>, 2010 in other places, too. Last week it was fairly warm, but oh so wet. It rained, and rained, and rained some more. On Tuesday I was afraid that I would not be able to make the trek up and down the 130 feet of my poor soggy driveway. My pickup truck can usually handle just about anything. But the huge amount of rain that we have been blessed with in the last week certainly put my truck to the test. So, in a display of brilliance not often delivered by my brain, I decided to park on the opposite side of the circle drive that doesn’t see much traffic. I was so proud of myself. There is a fair amount of gravel on that side of the drive and almost never gets bogged down in mud. The well traveled side of the drive now has ruts about 8 to 9 inches deep that are completely full of water now. So, as I walked out to my truck Tuesday morning to go to work I hardly got my boots muddy. I was feeling a little smug as I had put one over on mother-nature. She wasn’t going to get my truck and I muddy another day. I backed out and just barely got off the drive onto the yard, and promptly sunk the truck about 5 inches. Not to worry. The back wheels weren’t that far off the drive, and didn’t seem to be that deep. I’ve done this before and I can do it again. Slowly give it a little gas and watch the tires spin, in place. Not what I had in mind. Rock the truck, that’s it. I tried that, but what I forgot was that the truck has to move at least a little bit for it to rock, not just spin in place. I thought I could do this. Did I forget to mention that I’m the same person that got my grandfather’s 65 horsepower farm tractor buried up to the axles. We had to “pole” the tractor out. Probably only the country folks reading this have a clue what it means to “pole” a tractor. So, what did I do. I did what every red blooded budding female would do. I put my head on the steering wheel and cried. Yes, five months on HRT have been working on me. I have noticed that I cry at the drop of a hat, lately. Don’t ask me why. I know it doesn’t really hurt the hat. I knew that it was coming. Other girls have told me that they got very emotional at different stages of transition. So, why wasn’t I prepared for it. Girls have told me that they wore their feelings on their sleeves. I prefer to carry mine in a cute little Coach purse. Not really. I’m transitioning. I can’t afford Coach. Who am I kidding. I couldn’t afford Coach if I wasn’t transitioning. So, how did I get my truck unstuck? Did I use my feminine wiles to charm some man into helping a poor female in distress? Although I did ask a neighbor down the road to help me, my feminine wiles and charm are still in reserve for another day. In my amateurish opinion, feminine wiles and charm are like sage. Best when used sparingly. Does that make this sage advice? </div>LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-63526796034730296412010-06-27T14:44:00.000-07:002010-06-27T14:44:28.914-07:00Roadmap To Transition - High School and BeyondWhen I was a Senior in High School in Albuquerque all my friends wanted to go out drinking all the time. And of course, I did my share of that, too, as long my family was home and I didn’t have a chance to dress up. If they were gone, I preferred to spend my time alone, well, except for Lin’s closet. I was working at a fast food place then. Once the rest of the family went up to the lodge, our vacation cabin on the Pecos River that my family built. They were to be gone a couple of days and I couldn’t get the time off to go with them. It’s true, I couldn’t get off, but I wasn’t too broken up about it. It gave me the whole weekend to myself. One of those nights I went to the movies on base. What nobody else knew was that I was wearing one of Lin’s light georgette sheath dresses under my regular clothes. As I was walking home a car load of my friends drove by, both girls and boys, and they wanted me to go out with them to party. I declined because I knew that if I went, something would happen. Either I, or one of the girls, or both would be a little tippsy from wine or beer, we’d start getting a little frisky, and she would see or feel Lin’s dress and I would be found out. That was also the year that we had “Hippy Day” at school. I borrowed a pair of Lin’s purple velvet hip-huggers and wore one of my own pink and purple flowered shirts that went well with the pants. I was on cloud nine all day knowing that I was wearing girl’s clothes to school, even if it was just pants. I felt great wearing girl’s clothes to school and nobody cared. <br />
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It was in H.S. that I realized that when I dressed up I didn’t just feel like I was Chuck in a dress. There was more to who I was, who I am. It didn’t seem right to look at myself in the mirror wearing a pretty dress and say, “Chuck, you look pretty.” The girl in me needed a name that was female. That’s when I chose the name Lindsay. That was long before my niece was even a thought, so I didn’t name myself after her. Lindsay is still who I am now, who I have always been. Then I thought that I was Lindsay just when I dressed as a girl. I would later realize that I have always been Lindsay, regardless of what I wear. I am not Lindsay because of what I wear. I am Lindsay because of what is in my heart and mind.<br />
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In college I continued to dress. Most of the time I had my own room, even though I had house-mates, and I managed to keep my secret. My best friend back then was Rick. His girlfriend was Debbie. When I moved into the apartments that Deb’s father managed, I worked security there. Rick and Deb and I had a friend that was getting married and we went to a party for the Bride & Groom the week before the wedding. While we were mingling Rick and Deb had gone off someplace to visit with friends and a girl I didn’t know approached me. She introduced herself and told me that she had been to the apartments to visit one of her friends who lived there. Her friend was a male and she had a female friend with her that night. She and her girlfriend had talked the guy into letting them dress him up as a girl and they had taken him out driving around. They were all giggling and having fun when they drove back in and I checked them at the gate. I knew that something was going on but I also knew they had been in numerous times visiting the friend and had never caused any problems so I let them in without knowing the third girl in the back seat was the guy. When she was telling all this at the party I remembered the night she was talking about and thought that the guy didn’t make a half bad looking woman and I told her so. Then she floored me. She told me that I would make a good looking woman also and she could help me like she and her girlfriend had done to that guy. It took me by surprise and all I did was blow her off saying I was too ugly to make a pretty woman. She said “your loss” and walked away. Regret #3. I wished that I had taken her up on her offer. But, if I had, I probably would have found a reason to stay in Albuquerque, I probably would not have moved to Texas, and I wouldn’t have met my future wife, Diane, and I wouldn’t have a beautiful daughter, so even though it seemed like a regret at the time, it seems that I made the right choice. <br />
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When I moved to Texas and met Diane, I thought being married to a beautiful woman would cure me of this curse. Regret #4. I didn’t tell Diane, my future wife and soul mate, that I thought I should have been a woman. I fell in love with her pretty quickly. At first I was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to handle me being femme, and I was sure she would leave me. Then I found out about Michael, her first husband, and how hurt she was finding out that he was gay. Me hurting Diane like that was the last thing I wanted to do. I was already in love with her and knowing about Michael only made me feel MORE GUILTY. I couldn’t tell her then, that would have crushed her. So, I didn’t tell her. I should have. Making the arbitrary decision not to tell was, in retrospect, selfish. She should have been given the information and had the chance to make the choice to either stay and marry me and my femme side, or run for the hills. I didn’t give her that choice. I took that choice away from her because I was afraid that she would leave me if she knew. That was selfish. I was hoping Diane would be my salvation, and in a way, she has been. Just not the way I thought at the time. I did stop dressing for a while. I was, am, that much in love with her. I was willing to give up the thing that had given me so much pleasure, and pain, over the years. The thing that made me feel whole. It wasn’t until well after we were married that I realized that this is not something you get cured from, it’s part of who we are.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-11493089976092995842010-06-27T14:08:00.000-07:002010-06-27T14:08:03.734-07:00Roadmap To Transition - The Early YearsI’m not very good at writing these things, but I do recognize the value of writing down my thoughts and experiences, even if it’s only for me. I got a little ahead of myself when I wrote my first installment of this blog. I should have started at the beginning and done this in chronological order. When I wrote the first blog I was inspired and wanted to get it down while it was still fresh in my mind. In this blog I will try to fire up Mr. Peabody’s Way Back Machine and fill in some of the things from my childhood and growing up that provide some insight to how I got to the place where I am today. For anybody reading this that is Transgender this may be the same old boring story that many have read before or even lived. It is surprising to find how many of us have similar backgrounds and experiences. <br />
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My first recollection that I was different than boys was around the time I was 5 years old. Before this specific instance I had already noticed that girls had a certain quality about them. At that age I wasn’t sure what this quality was or how or why they possessed it. All I knew was that they seemed special. I admired them, thought they were pretty, and I was fascinated by them. <br />
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Dad was a Captain in the U.S. Air Force and as such he was a strict disciplinarian. At this time there was something that I was upset about or something I wasn’t getting my way about, and I was throwing a fit. I don’t remember why I was upset, but I certainly remember the result. Dad thought I was acting like a baby or a little girl. So as punishment Dad put me in panties and a dress that belonged to my sister who is three years older than I. I had to stay in the dress and panties for the rest of the day. My sister, Lin and I shared a room back then. When I was sitting in our room wearing the dress and panties my first thoughts were “This is supposed to be punishment?”, “What’s wrong with this?”, “This feels nice!” Then I began to wonder if girls felt the way I was feeling. Was it the pretty dresses and other clothes that made them special, or was it something else. Back then I thought it had to be the dresses. I knew that only girls wore dresses, so I reasoned that if I liked to wear dresses, I must be a girl. I began to wonder what it was like to actually BE a girl. And NO, Dad did not do this to me. He did not cause this, and it is not his fault. I don’t blame or hate him for what he did. Even though my feminine side has, over the years, caused my wife and I considerable pain and heartache, I see Dad’s punishment as a learning experience now and wish I could thank him. This experience confused me for many years to come. I thought, ‘everybody tells me I’m a boy, but I can’t be a boy because I like pretty dresses and other girls clothes. At that time I thought I was unique, and for many years to come, I thought I was the only “boy” in the world that felt the way I did. I would much later find out that we were wrong. Everybody was wrong about me being a boy, and I was wrong about being the only one that felt the way I did. I enjoyed the experience, being punished by making me wear a dress, and thought “why can’t I wear a dress all the time. But, I couldn’t tell my father I enjoyed it and liked the dress. After all, I knew that I was being punished and if this was punishment, then this must be something that I wasn’t supposed to like. So, I hid my feelings and started wearing Lin’s clothes whenever I could. <br />
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When I was in about the 5th grade we lived in Salina, Kansas. Halloween was coming up and I had no idea what I was going to go as. Mom suggested I go as a girl. She knew I would be embarrassed about trying on girl’s clothes in front of her. At that time she knew nothing about my dressing, although I’d been trying on Lin’s things when I could for a couple of years, by then. Mom laid out two outfits for me to try on for size and she left me alone in the house. One outfit was the traditional poodle skirt & blouse. It was cute. The other was a very simple blue cotton dress with a fitted bodice, short puffy sleeves, and a full sweeping skirt with a net underskirt. I fell in love with that dress. It wasn’t fancy, trimmed in lace or anything exciting. But, when I put it on it made me look like the other cute girls that I had admired, at least from the neck down. It zipped up the back and it was hard for me to zip, but I was determined that I was going to wear that dress. Both outfits fit perfectly, but the blue dress was THE dress. I felt so pretty in the dress that I didn’t want to take it off. In the end I was too afraid that I would be too enthusiastic about wearing the dress in front of my friends and I would be found out. I told Mom that neither outfit fit me. That was my first big regret, that I was too chicken shit to take advantage of the situation. I think I ended up going as a Hobo that year. After Halloween Mom packed the dress away with some other Halloween things. When I could, I would secretly take it out of the box, wear it for a while, and cry when I had to take it off and put it away. I really cried when I outgrew it. I really think Mom knew that something was going on even though she never said anything. <br />
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When I was about 12 years old we were living in Savannah, Georgia. Rick, Dan and I were all in the same room together in bunk beds. Mom and Dad used to have parties a lot. During one of their parties and after the rest of the kids had fallen asleep, I went into the bathroom we shared with Lin. I found some of her panties in the hamper and tried them on. They were nylon panties and they felt wonderful. I then brushed my hair into what I thought was a feminine style and put some hair ribbons in my hair. Then I painted my fingernails a medium pink. I put my regular PJs back on and went back to bed. I didn’t plan on falling asleep, but if I did I knew that Mom and Dad always could drink with the best of them, and being in that condition they probably wouldn’t come in and check on us that night. But, guess what? Mom came in to check on us and sure enough I had fallen asleep. Mom saw the hair bows and the fingernails and called Dad to come in and look at me. Dad woke me up and we went into the living room to talk. Well, that’s not really accurate. He lectured and I nodded my head and listened. It was pretty embarrassing. Even drunk Dad could make you feel about an inch tall. I told Dad that I was just playing around. Regret #2. Maybe if I had told Dad the truth, he might have been able to help me be a girl that I truly wanted to be, but I didn’t hold out much hope that he would understand. After the lecture Mom helped me get the polish off my fingernails and comb out my hair. Nothing else was said about it.LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2489737285221160889.post-5074276840589317112009-11-07T21:50:00.000-08:002009-11-09T00:22:30.491-08:00A nice day with my wife<span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">Since I started making plans, over a year ago, to actively pursue transition, I have been acutely aware of the stress this has placed on my marriage and my wife. It was the subtle things that told me that there was a problem. Things like the crying, the screaming one day and the silent treatment the next. Ok, from both of us. As a member of the Law Enforcement Community I have undergone rigorous specialized training that allowed me to pickup on these often overlooked clues. Since early in our marriage I have been aware that my dressing caused my wife some grief and concern. But, I have gotten complacent about my job causing her concern. I have taken it for granted that she just accepted that I would be home when I got home. Being the wife of a Law Enforcement Officer AND crossdresser, she has had it with both barrels. I don't do as many things now days that are as dangerous as when I was younger. I used to handle mental commitments, run narcotics search warrants, chase homicide suspects, handle family violence calls, do traffic stops, and numerous other things that put me at risk. It was just part of the job to me. but to my wife, it was torture not knowing when or even if I would be coming home again. And, then add to that, the fact that I believe that I am a woman, and want the life of a woman, and I am surprised that I haven't given her a heart attack, yet. <br /><br />This past week the "traveling wall", the smaller version of the memorial to honor our fallen military personnel, came to our community. I had been part of the welcome ceremony on Friday and had a preview of it's beauty and wonder. It caused me to swell with emotions, and no, it was not the hormones talking. Saturday we got up early, with a little grumbling on my part, and we visited the wall. It was a very emotional day, seeing the wall, which was complemented by dog tag like plates that symbolize the sacrifices of the men and women who gave their lives in 911. It would be emotional enough on any regular day. But, this day came on the heels of the shooting at Ft. Hood. My wife and I both come from military families, so viewing the wall and talking about the shooting hit close to home. I defy anyone of character and heart to keep from choking up when reading the tens of thousands of names of people who gave their lives for our freedom. We ended up spending about an hour walking around, reading the names, talking to veterans in attendance, and remembering our fathers. We are so glad that we took the time to go. <br /><br />My wife wanted to go to Dallas this day to do some Christmas shopping, so after making sure she had water and my cup was steaming with coffee, we headed towards Dallas. Diane had looked on-line and knew the shop she wanted to go to was on Preston. Not knowing where on Preston, we first went north from LBJ. We saw a jewelry store, Village Jewelers, that was having an 'up to seventy percent off going out of business sale', and thought we might check it out later in the day. We eventually found the Christmas store just south of LBJ on Preston called Noel Christmas. I love all of the decorations, as long as I'm not the one that has to put them up. The store is laid out well with wide isles and lots of nice merchandise at reasonable prices. We bought a few small things, but to her credit, my wife showed remarkable restraint to only leave with a few items. <br /><br />Diane was wanting to find some smaller eclectic shops like those in the now defunct Ola Padridas on Coit. I wasn't aware of anything resembling Ola's so I suggested she might find something in the Sam Moon center and off we went. We started out in the affiliated store next to the main store. We found a nice men's toiletry bag and bought it as a switch gift.<br /><br />Then it was about lunch time and we went to the sandwich/deli shop on the other side of S.M. My meatball sandwich was very good and Diane liked her Chicken Salad sandwich. <br /><br />Then it was on to S.M. main store. Diane had never been to a Sam Moon and she was amazed at the selection. As usual, most of it was elbow to elbow. Diane wanted a new wallet for her purse. As she was looking, so was I. My women's wallet was getting a little ragged, as well. Diane found one that she liked, and found one already in our basket. She asked about it and I told her it was for me. She just said "Oh, OK", and went on with her shopping. No hint of being upset. She found a watch she liked and got that, too. <br /><br />After checking out at Sam Moon Diane was ready to tackle Garden Ridge Pottery. I wasn't sure I was as ready. After getting back on LBJ, the more I thought about the sale at the jewelry store the more I wanted to go. I told Diane that I'd like to go by there and she said there wasn't really anything she wanted. I told her that I wanted to look for a gold chain. She asked if I wanted one for me and I told her yes, I wanted a gold necklace for a pendant. She wasn't fazed. She said "OK, let's go look". Diane helped me look for a necklace and deal with the sales lady. Diane asked questions and checked sizes and lengths right along side of me without batting an eye. She really was very helpful, but in the end neither one of us saw anything we thought would work with my pendant. And, with gold being around $1000 an once it may not be a good time to buy even at discounted prices. Oh, BTW, the chains were only 40% off.<br /><br />Off we went again to Garden Ridge. As we pulled into Town East parking lot, I wondered out loud if the jewelry places in the kiosks at the mall were reputable. Diane told me that most of them were and ask if I wanted to go check some of them out while she shopped at Garden Ridge. I opted to stay with Diane and wait on necklace shopping. She also suggested that I might want to check pawn shops for a good deal on a necklace. I think that is a good idea and will probably follow up on that.<br /><br />Diane is pretty talented when it comes to flower arrangements so the silk Christmas florals were a must. And, I've never seen anybody that could make a better package bow than Diane, so ribbon was next. They have some really pretty wired Christmas ribbon. I wish I could tie bows like Diane. When we left G.R. we were still a little full from lunch, but ready to head home. We ended up taking I-20 to Lindale and by the time we got there we were ready to eat at Cracker Barrel, one of Diane's favorite places. Breakfast for dinner is such a rebel thing to do, but hey, even we get a little wild sometimes. We wouldn't want to do that very often though. Anarchy might prevail.<br /><br />All in all, we just had a nice day together even with a couple of "Lindsay" things thrown in there. And, Diane never got upset at Lindsay encroaching on her shopping time. Has Diane's resolve of her non-support softened. Not likely. But, she does love me as I love her, and she wants me to be happy. I hope we can have other days like this in the future. Time will tell. <br /><br /><br /></span></span>LindsayHhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03591766523925234138noreply@blogger.com2