Drag king stories #9

Posted: January 22, 2025 | Author: | Filed under: Drag King, Drag King Stories | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m back to performing, after a 5 year hiatus. “Adam Andro-matic” was last seen at a small bar downtown doing drag-aoke as a wind-up-doll to the song “Blue Monday” by New Order. And then the pandemic hit, and I haven’t been back to that bar since. A new opportunity came up recently! An acquaintance put on a show at a small theater in November that we attended, and they asked me if I wanted to perform in the next one.

I decided that since it was a theater that hosts mostly comedy shows and improv, I would try to lean into that. To tell a humorous story from a past drag experience. It ended up going really well! After telling the story, I did a dramatic reenactment of the event, and then in the 2nd show later that night, I twisted the reenactment into an alternate reality, and did a bizarro-world version.

Here’s the story:
Spring of 2006 – I was a drag baby, a baby king, with 5 whole shows under my belt. The belt was silvery-shimmery, sequined and studded, thick and gaudy and I was so ready to tuck away a bunch more shows. I had weaseled my way into a huge show at the U of R, through a tenuous connection, a last-minute addition. I really had no business being there; it was a bunch of drag queens (who I didn’t know) and Stratus – local drag king legend!  He and I were going to be sharing a dressing room!

I decided to do a song I had already done – I could afford to by now, and I’d feel less nervous if it was a little bit familiar. And by that, I mean to me, not to anyone else; I was going with an obscure song by 90’s Britpop bedroom navel-gazing darlings The London Suede. It was having a moment in my mind. Get this:  they had a lyric that went, “We kissed in his room / to a popular tune” and it was amazing because the singer was a man! This wasn’t some overt queer anthem, but it was in there, subtle.

I had bubblegum pink corduroy bell bottoms (exhibit A: these are the exact same ones – can’t believe they still fit) and a sheer zebra striped women’s blouse. Sideburns that thrilled me to no end and eyeliner that really made my eyeballs pop out. I was going for that vacant deep-stare-at-nothing look.

Stratus and I didn’t talk much, if at all. We had pre-show jitters. I didn’t know how this venue worked – how to get out to the stage, how I had gotten back stage, what it would feel like to be out there. Didn’t matter; I was about to go on and here we go!

And… The wrong song was totally playing. Booming, actually, ricocheting all over this huge cavernous party room.  It was just so painful in my skull.  …A stupid silly song by Oingo Boingo, and I was mortified by the incongruence. I was gonna have to run with it; no one to tell, sound person tucked away back in a secret locale. I kinda knew this song right?  Had done it, but was going to have to improvise. I bounced out onto this huge stage, trying to use the entirety of the space, which was much different than the little hole-in-the-wall gay dive bar I was starting to get used to.

I was cringing on the inside – this song did not match this outfit, and everyone could obviously tell! That’s what I told myself anyway; the students were staring blankly.  And then, I noticed the catwalk. It felt like an abyss, but I did go out there.  At the very end, one dollar bill stuck up straight in the air like a buoy, right when I was starting to feel like maybe I was drowning.

I reached for it and, and realized it was my flamboyant rockabilly friend Sarah, and hanging off her was my fellow drag buddy, Johnny. I didn’t even know they were coming! They had surged through the crowd to deliver this crisp dollar bill, and I was forever grateful. But that was it and I had to keep going and this song was just so long and totally wrong for this crowd!  I did a little song and dance, a little of this, little of that.  Turned around and before I knew it…

Backstage again with Stratus, my adrenaline has surged and oxytocin was hitting my bloodstream hard and we were now a bonded pair. I blurted out, “Oh man, that was so fun! What are you doing now, do you want to come out to Vertex [local goth night club] with me?!” He was polite, soft-spoken, saying, “That sounds fun and I totally would. But I’m going out with my girlfriend and a bunch of people to this lesbian club.” I didn’t say anything, but of course she was. Stratus was a woman, performing as a man, who was now transforming back into her life, going out with her people. I was neither man nor woman, performing as I’m-not-sure, who was now heading out to my misfit happy place, by myself yet again.

Photo from 2006, wearing the bubblegum pink corduroy bell bottoms (sadly can’t see them in all their glory in this B&W photo) and zebra striped women’s blouse, plus bonus Batman muscle-T. I was doing the song again, this time while visiting friends in Ann Arbor, MI.

I came out at work, redux

Posted: November 30, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: coming out, Janitorial work, Testosterone | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Eight years ago, after a long buildup, I finally came out at work (an elementary school) as trans, and more specifically, non-binary. It was right after Trump had been elected, and before he took office. It feels like a long time ago now. Lots of new staff members have been hired since then; I don’t have reasons or avenues to come out to any of them.

Last week though, an opportunity arose. Er rather, I took something as an opportunity and ran with it. Trump has been elected again, hasn’t taken office yet. It’s a weird-feelings time, to say the least.

An email went out two weeks ago that a teacher wanted ALL STAFF to send her a photo from when they were in elementary school. I didn’t think much about it; I’ve participated in school-wide things from time to time over the years, to varying levels of satisfaction; at this point, I usually just opt out. The next day though, I passed the teacher in the hall and she said, “I need your photo!” I asked, “What is it for?” And she gestured toward the front entryway, saying it’d be posted there. Sure enough, there was a banner saying, “Once upon a time, we were kids too,” and really fun photos were already going up – kids in jumpers with frilly bibs, bob cuts, bowl cuts, polyester blouses with rounded collars…

My gears started turning and I asked my mom if I could stop by to look as some school photos after work. We had a nice bonding moment, looking through old stuff and laughing. I took a 5X7 of my kindergarten picture and also looked for photos from a few years later. Before and after my initial transition, from girl to tomboy, midway through 2nd grade.

In 1987, I was a kindergarten student at the school where I now work. As far as I can recall, I thought of myself as a girl. I looked and dressed like a girl and did girl things (whatever that means).

In 2nd grade, I made a new friend and never looked back. She looked like a boy, sat at the boys’ table, played with boys, and I was thrilled she made an exception for me. As more years went by, I skewed more and more masculine. Er, maybe it wasn’t that linear, but it definitely did start there.

I decided that I was going to submit both photos for the bulletin board. I asked the teacher to put them side by side, with the same number so it was clear they were the same person. (No one was identified by name – only number; maybe it is a guessing game.) She replied that she applauded my bravery and celebrated me, but I’d have to pick just one. That was the rule. If I picked the kindergarten photo, I imagined hardly anyone would know, and people would be shocked in the “reveal,” if that was what we were doing, if they were paying attention. I imagined if I picked the one of me as a bigger kid (guessing I’m 11 here?) people would easily guess, and what I was going for would be completely lost.

My response might have been a bit over the top; suddenly I was feeling very passionate about all this. I said,

“I’m sorry, but I can’t pare it down to just one.  This is one small, quiet way I choose to come out, for kids and the school community.

When I originally came out at school 8 years ago, I had to push hard, mostly against the principal at the time, to have my message received the way I intended.
I understand this is a fun way to share who we were as kids.  
I will gladly talk further with you in person.  I feel resolute about it.
Thanks,
Kameron”

My mind was churning through everything I had already gone through and everything I might have to go through to fight in the future. And will I have less to stand on down the road? As in very, very soon? This was going to have to happen now. It was a lot for a little while there.
Luckily, she replied that she understood and she would get both photos up.

They’re there, amongst about 70 other staff photos. These two are squished and elongated, because they were formatted to fit on one page, but that’s OK – they’re there. And if kids and adults are confused, there are other adults around who can fill in the story (I already heard one story about how this did happen.) I have a history at this school; it’s taken a lot out of me to feel comfortable here, and I only want to be even more out and visible, as opportunities arise.

It’s a conversation starter. A statement. And it’s already led to a chance for me to come out to my newest co-worker; I’ve wanted an in for about 4 months…

Backstory: Toward the end of the summer, we had to tackle a huge, last-minute task, involving lots of heavy lifting, moving, taking legs off tables, setting up desks, etc. I asked my co-worker if she could get started on it the night before a huge delivery – I’d be in first thing the next morning, filling in for my supervisor. She did a lot, and then I did a lot, and when we overlapped the next day, she relayed what she had done, but also how she had hurt her foot, and how she had not done as much as she projected. She said, “I’m not a man!.” And I replied, “I get that.” And she just sort of rolled her eyes at me. I wanted to say, “Here’s how much I get that – I’ve been both. I’ve been doing this job both without testosterone coursing through my veins and then also with this magic muscle elixir making aches and pains vanish out of thin air, everything suddenly lighter, more stamina, shifted center of gravity allowing me to get a whole lot more out of my whole body everything suddenly easier, more tolerable, more doable.” I could have ranted on and on. The differences are huge. But, in the moment, I didn’t, didn’t say anything further, because I didn’t know her well enough yet and although I’d be more comfortable with more people knowing, in theory, there’s always a risk. I let the moment pass.

When I told her last week though, in the context of this bulletin board fun guessing game, she was completely shocked (which always boggles my mind a little!) and very supportive, connecting super hard with me and even sharing that her sister is a transwoman and showing me pictures. And just being with me as I relayed the tiny drama that was getting 2 photos on the board because I wanted to tell a story.

I’m going to continue telling this story whenever it comes up or makes sense to share.

The Future of Queer People in the Janitorial Field

Posted: August 19, 2024 | Author: | Filed under: coming out, Janitorial work | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

I got an email from a reader named Ike the other day. They said,

“hi there! found this site killing time before my shift as a fill in custodian for the NYCSSS and it was about exactly what i was looking for lol. I wish my question was more close ended, but basically, what do you think is the future for being queer in a field like this? At the moment, i have only worked alongside someone else even close to my age once (just turned 20), and other than one OTHER person, its pretty much been 30-50 year old cis men on the job. Why don’t queer youth see this is a possible job i guess, even for a summer like i’m doing it. And is it bound to change? As being queer becomes more normalized, will the next generation of janitors be more evenly diverse in that way? And is that even necessarily something wanted? Nothing against being a custodian i’ve actually enjoyed it a lot, but i feel most of my generation has big plans for their future, and being a custodian is very much a local service. Hope you’re well 🙂 “

And it gave me a lot to think about!

I also started in this field at age 20, first on a paint crew for the summers and then as a fill-in cleaner and later full-time.  At that time, I also had a hard time because no one else was my age (they were on the paint crew, but not once I started working as a cleaner).  I considered going into food service or retail instead so that I could work with younger people and maybe even make friends through work.  I also thought that since I went to college, this can’t be enough; I should be looking for bigger things.  And I think being visibly queer was a big factor in thinking about all this stuff as well.  Things seemed more limited because I wasn’t willing or able to conform.  I wanted to be out and loud and proud, but I also very much wanted to be safe and protected and to stay in control.  A public-facing job with other people my age was appealing for those reasons, but it also seemed like it was going to be way too much of a drain, knowing how introverted and sensitive to stimuli I tend to be. And so I stayed where I was, sometimes just by default, and grappled with doubts that it was the right choice.

Now, 22 years later, I am so glad that I did stick with this line of work.  I found peers and community through other avenues, and work is very much compartmentalized, in a good way. I get great health benefits, an annual raise I can count on, insane amounts of paid time off, and an actual pension when I retire. At this rate, I will be able to retire at age 55, which is starting to become a little bit unheard of these days.

I’ve definitely worked with a lot of older cis men, but over the years, I’ve also worked with many women, people of color, and immigrants from all over the world, including Eritrea, Poland, Barbados, The Philippines, Macedonia, Jamaica, Taiwan, and other countries. And now that I’m older, I’ve even worked with some younger people on occasion; I wasn’t the only one!

As far as queer people going into this line of work, and the trades even more so (plumbing, electricians, HVAC, etc.) though, it can definitely be an upward battle. When there’s a pre-scripted culture of homophobia, misogyny, racism, it can feel confining and stifling, to say the least. It can be flat out dangerous. It most certainly depends on the individual people and whether they’re willing to bend and change. It helps to be in a union. It helps even more to be within a school, in a liberal state and town. I have a lot of protections at work. I have to wear a uniform shirt, but otherwise I can wear whatever I want and look however I want to. The bathroom is a non-issue, my name and pronouns and honorifics are what I say they are. If I were being made to feel uncomfortable, there are a number of channels I could go through – my supervisor, the principal, the union. It might not be sorted out perfectly (from experience, it never is!) but at least there are structures in place, and I have felt supported where it matters.

I sincerely do hope that as being queer becomes more normalized, these standards will spread outwardly into some of the more traditionally masculine fields than the one that I am in. I hope things are bound to change! These types of fields offer stability, decent pay and benefits, upward mobility, and lots of autonomy and opportunities for job satisfaction. When I think about other lines of work that people can get into without much experience or education – food service, retail, piecing together a living through the gig economy – it sounds draining with lots of hustling and scrambling involved. If someone calls out last minute, you might be called in on a day off. If customers are rude, you do your best to absorb it or shield yourself from it. You might have to be potentially available or on call way more than 40 hours a week in order to piece together enough money for that week. The work ebbs and flows; many factors are unpredictable. These statements are all just coming from personal opinion, for sure. It’s all about finding the right fit, and for many people, especially younger people who might be more transitory and looking for temporary situations, these areas of work can be a great fit. For me, it’s been about stability, predictability, independence, and low-stress environments.

I do feel like being a cleaner is a secret dream job, a hidden gem.  Too many people might not even consider it because of the low social status.  And/or the “yuck” factor.  Or it’s just too menial and repetitive. They might even think the work is degrading. I struggled with some of this when I was starting out. Especially because I was working in schools that I had attended, just a few years prior, and was running into teachers and personnel who had know me as a high-achieving student. I even remember thinking (and this is a bit embarrassing) that I was too beautiful (I was fabulous and queer!) to be hidden away at a 1pm-9:30pm shift all by myself with no one around to appreciate my style! Haha.

And so I got out more. I used the late nights to my advantage. I did drag, I saw local bands, I became someone who is seen and known out-and-about. And that’s totally separate from my job, which has its own set of perks – I just listen to music and podcasts all day. I get daily exercise. And I finish with enough time to sit down and get some reading done. All the work stays at work.

If younger queer people are feeling a bit aimless after finishing their education (I know I did!), or are overlapping their school and work life, it would make sense they might be looking into temp work or nothing they have to invest too much into. Being a cleaner can definitely be that, but on top of it, if it’s a government job, it has stability and longevity incentives built into it, so if you just keep finding yourself still there (I did!) it might pay off in the long run! And it’s important to keep dreaming big; having a regular day job (or night job) can really help that inspiration flow, even if that seems counterintuitive. If basic needs are being met without too much effort, the sky’s the limit for what else is possible!

Ten year anniversary of this blog!

Posted: July 24, 2023 | Author: | Filed under: coming out, Janitorial work, mental health, Testosterone, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ten years ago, today, I started “janitorqueer.” I wanted to write about being queer, specifically genderqueer, and about being a janitor. Mostly though, I wanted to find and connect with others who had similar stories. I wanted to be on testosterone long-term, but I was afraid that it was going to do irreversible “damage” to my body and my life. And before that stage, I was so afraid of even just trying to access testosterone as someone who is nonbinary. I was looking for other people who had traversed that frontier specifically of low-dose testosterone, so low that no one could detect anything going on at all. In the process though, that end goal changed, and my fear of being detected drastically shifted. I am now out in all areas of my life, and I like being pretty loud about it if the opportunity arises. I found other people trying to walk this thin tightrope, but more importantly, I found many many others who dance under this broad umbrella of transgender experiences, and I learned so much from all of these peoples’ writings, more than anything else.

I used to spend 2-3 hours a day reading and commenting on blogs. At the time, it directly fed my soul. And I would write! Write so much, at least once a week, during my “heyday,” which I’ll quantify as being between summer of 2013, and spring of 2018. What changed? Probably a combination of finally feeling comfortable in my skin, and shifting my writing energies toward a memoir. And also going back to my roots of journaling. Been doing a lot of journaling. I don’t think I’ll ever return to this blog with the fervor I once had, but this blog will remain open and public; that I am sure of.

In that first entry I wrote, back on July 24, 2013, entitled “low-dose testosterone for the rest of my life,” I chronicled how being on testosterone had been going so far.

I wrote,

“About 4 months ago, I started a low-dose testosterone adventure.  I wanted to take testosterone long term while ideally, not going through any physical changes.  I didn’t know whether this would be possible, and I still have yet to find any information about whether it’s possible, specifically.  I largely feel comfortable with where I’m at in terms of gender presentation and expression.  But I’d been wondering a lot if certain internal experiences could be better.  Gradually, I found myself in a place where I realized, I need to try out a few things and see what works for me.  I got on a really low dose of Androgel and was completely floored by how well my body seemed to connect with additional testosterone.  To me, it feels like it has a whole lot more to do with my mental health than it does with my gender identity, but of course, it’s all intertwined.  As of now, I plan to be on testosterone for the rest of my life if possible, while minimizing physical changes.  I’m taking testosterone toward androgyny.  Although, I’m already androgynous, so I hope to be transitioning (outwardly) toward more of the same, actually.” (If you wanna read the whole post, it is here: https://janitorqueer.com/2013/07/24/low-dose-testosterone-for-the-rest-of-my-life/ ).

What is striking to me now, is this dreadful fear of changing. It clearly was about a coming-out process, but I would not have framed it that way for you at the time. I wrote, about some physical changes I was hoping to dampen, “Other subtle changes have plateaued out, and I stopped worrying so much that I was going to have to choose between coming out in new ways to people I that didn’t really want to come out to, or stopping this thing that I was falling in love with, internally.” I would have said I don’t want to come out because there’s nothing to come out about, at least nothing that makes sense for me in society as it is now. Looking back, that fear had me patrolling my own body in some strange ways. I’m so much louder, fancy-free, and out and proud these days. (Still do patrol my body a bit – don’t want to go bald! but there’s so much more room for my body to just be, now.)

body, just being, fancy free (from 2 days ago!)

I didn’t know I was going to end up wanting to try all types of doses of testosterone. I didn’t know I’d want to stop and start and stop and start with such (ir)regularity. I didn’t know I’d end up wanting some of the external masculinizing changes. I didn’t know I had the capacity for happiness I now inhabit. If someone had told me I could one day be happy, I would have said, “sure, I guess, this is some version of happiness.” I found something different.

I haven’t written about being a janitor as much as I thought I would. I think that mostly has to do with uncertainty about work stuff, online. But there is one thing I’ve never said about it, and it’s me all the way, so I figure why not? I have never had any career aspirations (outside of being a little kid, when we all do! I wanted to be an artist and a marine biologist). The only other job I could ever envision myself doing is a postal carrier. Except I don’t want to drive the truck; in my fantasy it’s exclusively on foot. Earlier today, I uncovered something I wrote in my journal from March 18, 2003 (twenty years ago! And coincidentally, exactly 10 years later from that date was the first time I tried testosterone!)

I said,

“There’s not much I’m capable of doing right now. I did none of the work for [school] over break, and today in class when we were discussing, I wanted to hurt myself badly. Then I went straight over to the counseling center to see if I could talk to [my counselor] today instead of tomorrow. She’s booked. I want to go home for the rest of the semester. I want to feel safe and secure until this passes.
The reason I want to get a manual labor type job is because I’m at risk of being blocked for an extended period of time. And any sort of brain type job, I’m not always able to do. A manual labor job would be consistent and no brain function working not working. I don’t know how to handle brain right now. This is the second time this has happened so badly. The first time, I truly was severely depressed. I’m depressed now but am able to manage it better. Better at faking, but I’m not doing anything for real. I don’t care about anything. I want to drop out of school. I won’t let myself just lay there, because I know how painful that is. But I can’t get myself to do anything either.
Yesterday I was going to do my midterm. I’m not going to do it anymore. What I did get done is crap. My brain is simply not working in any sort of organized manner. And I’m getting so sick of pretending like I can function. I’m also getting so sick of not functioning.”

At that time, I had been working for my former school district in the summers, on the “paint crew,” mostly painting classrooms and fulfilling more specified work orders.  Somehow, I instinctively knew I would/should continue pursuing something similar, as opposed to any career that involved working with others or using my brain to generate good work. I continue to experience “brain function working not working,” all the time – sometimes I can watch complex television shows and listen to dense podcasts and read for fun when I have down time. Other times, all I can muster is staring off into space for extended periods of time. And move. All I can do is keep my body moving, for that forward momentum I need to maintain my stability. This job I have been doing for 19 years now, this cleaning at an elementary school, ends up being a near-perfect fit. It is heavily routine-based, but it doesn’t have to be – that’s up to me. I don’t have to interact or collaborate with anyone, usually. Just doing my own thing, getting exercise, finding various ways to entertain myself. I envision myself retiring from this gig.

Long live being a janitor. Long live being queer.

Addressing hate mail

Posted: April 27, 2022 | Author: | Filed under: coming out, mental health, Testosterone, top surgery, Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

I got some hate mail yesterday, and decided to respond.

Anonymous asked,

Why the fuck are you doingvthis [sic] to yourself and causing other people to follow you. [sic]

The main reason I’m doing “this” to myself is because I value the quality of my life. I’m just going to have to venture a guess about what “this” is, based on the contents of this blog: taking testosterone, getting top surgery, changing my name and pronouns, being a janitor, being a writer, being out and open about being nonbinary… hmm, what else is this blog about? Going to therapy. Taking psychotropic medications. Being open about mental health struggles. Umm… wearing t-shirts. Talking about portrayals of trans people and characters in the media. Sometimes I’ve mentioned going on vacation or important things going on in my community.

If I were to narrow it down to the most controversial topics, it’d probably be taking testosterone, getting top surgery, and being open about those things. I do these things to myself because when I was not doing those things, my life was fairly hellish. And so I tried, very tentatively at first, a little bit of this. And things started to vastly improve, all around me, relatively quickly. So I was able to determine it was most likely a cause and effect relationship. So I tried a little bit more. And then more and more. But since I’m not a binary person, I also had to try less, and also stop and start and feel it out. But as far as being open and documenting the journey, I did not have to back off or stop – it was all forward momentum and connecting with others and learning from others and sharing with others, and the more I came out, in all areas of my life, the better the entire world got. And I’m not just talking about things like a promotion or going on a cruise or accruing more material possessions. I’m talking about a deep connection with who I actually am which radiates outward and fulfills so many of the ways I always thought I was falling short, missing out, and avoiding what could be. So, yea, I’d say that doing “this” to myself has been extremely worthwhile.

And to address the second part of your question, I’m not actually causing other people to follow me. Fortunately, I don’t hold that much power over others. Other people get to do whatever they will with their lives, and if that includes looking online for information or connection or to relate to others’ experiences, then that’s pretty cool. I’d have to categorize that as more of a symbiotic correlation as opposed to a causation.

And I also just want to note that when I say, “follow,” I just mean literally clicking “follow” on this blog so that they can stay up to date about when I next post. I don’t mean, “follow” in any cultish, fervent, collecting “followers” to do my bidding and do whatever I am doing or say they should be doing type of way. That would feel highly uncomfortable.

If you are interested in “following” other people who are out as nonbinary on the internet and who also like to address people who send them hate mail, my spouse recommends the following:

ALOK on instagram

Jeffrey Marsh on instagram

Haircut

Posted: January 6, 2022 | Author: | Filed under: Testosterone | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Last week, I got my hair cut by a professional for the first time in over 20 years. Why haven’t I done this sooner?! I was aware that I had acquired some stubborn habits around my hair, and I was planning to go to someone to intervene, but it still took me a long time to follow through and book an appointment.

Hair salons / barber shops are one of the most gendered spaces someone can enter. That is the biggest reason I’ve avoided them for so long. I have never been to a barber. Starting at age 8, I decided I needed my hair cut short, like a boy. My mom took me to Hairzoo, a unisex salon with 8 locations in Western, NY (and, strangely, one location in Santa Monica, CA). I just wanted a fucking bowl cut, but the stylists, every time, talked about a “feathered look,” tapered down to the neck, etc. I kind of hated going there as a kid, but I tolerated it because it was the best avenue toward the ultimate goal of keeping my hair short. As I got older, my mom met a friend who did hair, so we’d go to her kitchen and I’d get my hair kept short.

At age 18, a friend buzzed my head for the first time, and I immediately knew I needed to procure my own set of clippers.

I got my hair cut professionally one final time, at age 19, at a salon in my college town. It wasn’t a bad experience. Actually, it was probably one of the best hair styles I’ve ever had – I had bleached hair at the time which was growing out. Long natural brown roots. I asked the stylist to keep the tips of the blonde, and she actually followed my instructions, and I had a cool frosted effect (am aware this fashion trend is very much dated. But in 2001, it looked awesome!) The person I had a crush on, who didn’t talk to me much, complimented me on my hair shortly after this cut. It doesn’t get much better than that!

A few factors contributed to me never going back in there though: I hated the “culture” I had walked into when I went to that salon. Too many ladies and women talking too much and too emotively, basically. Plus there was the price factor. I didn’t have the spending money, as a college student, to keep doing that. So I pulled out my clippers and any pair of scissors I had laying around and hacked away at my hair every so often until I actually got pretty good at it. (Getting kinda good took a while. I definitely had some hair disasters. I usually went for either a mohawk or bowlish cut / undercut. One time, I shaved everything off completely, down to using a razor.)

The mohawk eventually morphed into a mullet-hawk and then just a full on mullet. I have been rocking a mullet for a solid 15 years. I stopped bleaching it about 15 years ago as well. It was ravaging my scalp. But I did pick up another bad habit around this time: a friend emphatically stated that he stopped using hair products. Only baking soda as shampoo and apple cider vinegar as conditioner. I followed suit because I didn’t know whether hair products were working for me and there are just way too many and I liked the idea of being stripped bare. And also getting rid of fragrances. I started the regimen but quickly discarded the vinegar – too smelly – in favor of a fragrance-free conditioner. But the baking soda stayed. It was a point of pride.

In retrospect, it was probably drying out my hair and scalp like nothing else! For so long!

I started testosterone in 2013, and it’s brought on two major changes to my hair: It suddenly made my hair very, very curly (it had always been wavy, but now we’re talking sausage curls inverting inward toward infinity) and a receding hairline. The receding hairline has been such a concern that it’s been the major reason I’ve gone on and off T, over the years. (I finally started taking Finasteride a month ago – it has yet to be determined whether it’ll help, long-term.)

Anyway, jump back in time to just a week ago. For months, I had been toying with the idea of at least consulting with a professional, if not actually letting them cut my hair. And I had someone in mind – someone who is an acquaintance, so at least I already know them, and they’re an expert on curly hair, and they curate their space to be non-gender specific, and they work alone. Pretty much, the perfect person. I booked the appointment. I kept the appointment.

And, I’m so super happy I followed through. We talked about habits I’d been doing for years, if not decades, that haven’t been working for me. She verified baking soda is no good regularly, but could be good as a cleanser, maybe monthly or so. She suggested some products that are known as “no-poo,” basically shampoos that don’t foam up, act more as conditioners, and maybe that’s all I’d need. And I told her about how I’ve barely cut my hair in a very long time, maybe just 1/8 of an inch to take care of split ends, but I’m aware that’s not nearly enough but I can’t get myself to cut more because I just want more of my hair in light of the receding hairline and I pull hairs from the back and sides forward in an effort for more coverage and it’s really not working for me, not to mention my split ends and knots. (Wow, OK, that was a run-on sentence!) She acknowledged that it made sense I was trying to do the things I was doing. Then she proceeded to start cutting (after I consented to that) and it was like AN INCH OFF! and I was a little freaking out. Until I realized it made almost no difference in actual hair coverage. It just looks smarter and cleaner. And, no one in my regular daily life has yet noticed I’ve gotten my hair cut at all, which to me, means it’s a resounding success. Because I didn’t want my hair to look much different. I just wanted to clean it up and learn some ways to take care of curly hair. I want healthy hair, now, and I think I can achieve that. Maybe I can actually coax it to grow longer, over time. That’s the dream! I tipped her 40%. I’m pretty happy overall.

Electric Plush

Posted: October 31, 2021 | Author: | Filed under: Writing | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This essay and accompanying collage were first published for Femme Salée’s zine issue Perverse Bodies, Winter 2021. More about this awesome collective of artists, writers, and curators can be found at Femme Salée.

On Halloween afternoon, 2009, I was running around doing last minute things like my head was cut off. Our inaugural variety show was kicking off that night, at the local community space that had just opened up. One of the many things I realized I’d overlooked was figuring out how to hook up a boombox to the PA system. I burst into a Radio Shack without the slightest idea of where to look, but also with a strong aversion to talking to anyone working there. I called my mom. My brother was around too – mom put the call on speakerphone.
“I need a jack or an adapter or something, to get my boombox plugged in to a PA.” My mom had always helped me rig up my stereo equipment amidst many moves, and my brother had played bass in a bunch of bands; I hoped the two of them together could figure this out for me.
“OK,” he cut in, “you’d need a 1/8 inch jack on the boombox end, and then a 1/4 inch to plug into the PA.”
“OK so, I’m seeing those. There are a bunch of kinds though.”
“Get one that’s male on both ends.”
“What do you mean?”
“Male. Like, it’s protruding out, right? Instead of female, which would get plugged into.”
“I don’t get that.”
“Uhhh, so, the male is what’s getting put in…”
“No, I get that! It’s just, I don’t get why it’s called ‘male’ and ‘female.’ Is that for real?!”
“Yes! Of course I’m not just making this up!” It was the first I’d heard of it.
“I just don’t get it!”
“Yea, that figures.”

As I poured over which product to get, a memory flashed into mind. My brother and I had been vintage Saturday Night Live fiends. We were sitting together, watching Dan Aykroyd as a sleezy late night public access TV host, and Laraine Newman as his guest / date / escort. They’re watching a video of some worms getting it on, making lewd comments.
“These little buggers have both male and female organs. They like to go both ways, AC/DC you know what I mean, heh heh,” Dan Aykroyd’s character jeered. I didn’t have the slightest clue what he meant. But it seemed obvious from all this imagery: Sex is electric. And from that, I deduced that I was doing it wrong.

I had had some electrifying moments, but they were few and far between, and around that time I had been feeling I’d been short circuited all together; from there I just shut down the whole operation. When things had continued to not work like I kept hearing they were supposed to, when nothing ever felt right, I stopped pretending they did and clammed up. Sex was touchy, both the act itself and the topic in general. If a group of friends were laughing about sensational sex stuff, I would get so uncomfortable that I’d just get up and leave, no explanation. I’d just be gone. I didn’t seek out anything that might be arousing because it didn’t seem worth the effort. I was not asexual. I was purposefully squelching my sexuality because things didn’t line up. And since none of it made sense, I didn’t know how to start trying to open back up, even if I had wanted to. Which, eventually, I did. Sometimes I would have wet dreams, and I was glad that at least I had that going on, that thing that is generally a male thing. It was my favorite part about my sexuality. Waking up because I was orgasming felt like the best gift in the world. It felt like a freebee. Because to climax in waking life was a lot of hard work.

Around the time I started to transition medically, a few years after that Radio Shack moment, with hormones and top surgery and other stuff, I felt an urgent need to finally and fully figure out my sexuality. Really force it—reading books, going to workshops, making my spouse come to workshops with me even though they didn’t want to, talking about it exhaustively in therapy (or rather, writing exhaustively and emailing that writing to my therapist), bringing it up a lot with my spouse even though it felt, well, forced. All these efforts helped a little but not much. What did get me there was patience, time, experimentation, thinking creatively, and just feeling out how to be present in my body in other ways.

Transitioning did help. What I can see and feel makes a lot more sense now. My chest contours in a way I can accept, although it’s not perfect. My voice is present and fully-formed, after seeming far off and lost for so long. Broader shoulders and more muscle definition have allowed me to carry myself differently. Getting confirmation that I’m seen as male, mostly, by others, has bolstered everything else (although I identify as non-binary and am not actually a man). It’s my junk though; although it has changed for the better, it’s not enough and I still get hung up on the junk.

And I do mean “junk,” a word with various meanings, one of which is “male genitalia.” I don’t technically have a dick, but in all ways other than the physical realm, I do, and in that discrepancy lies the crux of my transness. Or more specifically, my in-betweenness. Because although there is a strong correlation between genital-dissatisfaction and transness, the two do not always go together. Some cis people don’t like what they were born with either. And some trans people are fine with what they got going on. Others are not at all, and lower surgery is first and foremost; the ultimate transformation. I’m somewhere in between.

A few years ago, I was tasked with designing and creating my own “groinment” for a theatrical production of a tripped-out version of a play called, If Boys Wore the Skirts. In this genderfuck of a fever dream, my three “classmates” and I wore white button-down shirts, black ties, black socks, black shoes, and black skirts upon which we had designed fancy-free versions of our internal landscapes. I was thrilled by the opportunity and took it very literally; here was a chance to come up with something that reflected the way I feel about my junk. If you were to ask me, I don’t have a vagina, clitoris, and labia. Nor do I have a penis, scrotum, and prostate (unfortunately). What I got is junk, and it’s janky AF. But by reimagining it, I’ve started to learn to live with, maybe even love, what I got. In this version I dreamed up for the play, there’s a highly delicate water balloon configuration at the top of a water slide. Pointy party hats are there to protect it. And in my right hand I held a needle: I’m the only one who gets to “pop” it, which I did, during a fashion show scene in the play. The water did indeed gush down the slide and splatter fantastically on the upswing. My ultimate wet dream, cum true.

Plush Armor, collage, 2021

Back on testosterone, yet again

Posted: September 30, 2021 | Author: | Filed under: Testosterone | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

I like to make note of when I’m on and off testosterone, and this time, I’m way behind on mentioning it – I’ve been back on since July 20th. I hit it hard initially with a pretty high dose (100mg per week) and then lowered it to 60mg per week. So far, my menstrual cycle halted immediately (fingers crossed this continues to be the case – it’s been over 2 months so I’m thinking I might be in the clear!)

I haven’t gone to any medical professionals yet, but I do plan to make an appointment with Planned Parenthood very soon. This time around, I’m aiming to also ask for Finasteride for the first time (a drug that helps with hair loss / is a partial testosterone blocker). My hope is that I’ll still get the benefits of testosterone I’m seeking while not continuing to have a receding hairline. Really not sure – just going to try it and find out. If it does seem to be a good balance, I envision myself staying on T for much longer than ever before. We’ll see!

I feel like I’ve finally reached a point where being transgender feels normal. I’ve both hoped for this state of being and feared it, in equal parts. I don’t mean that I feel normal – I definitely don’t and probably never will! I just mean that doing yet another shot of testosterone is no longer an event. It’s rote; it’s routine. I don’t care whether I do it subcutaneously or intramuscular. I don’t have a preference for needle gauge. I’ll do whatever. All that matters is getting it into my body. There’s very little mental fanfare, no ritual surrounding it.

In addition, although I enjoy connecting with other trans-people and hearing others’ stories and journeys, I no longer need it. I don’t specifically seek it out. My journey is probably not even near complete, but I feel like I’ve done everything that I felt an urgency around, and the other aspects will either happen or not happen, at some point down the road. I’m not stressing or planning or strategizing anymore.

A part of me wondered if I’d ever get to this point I’m describing, since I’m nonbinary and still have not quite “settled” into my gender. There is no settling into the gender I feel I am. It’s always a balancing act. Being “settled” and being “satisfied” are two different states, I am realizing. I hope to remain satisfied, but to never settle. I”m sure I’ll be back on and off testosterone for many years to come.

A couple of things I want to note from my most recent time off testosterone (Dec. 2020 – July 2021):
– I regained even more sensation in my chest. This happened in a past timeframe off of testosterone, and I was thrilled it continued. I now feel like my chest has just about fully regained sensation, something I had given up on at one point in time.
– I felt more things, emotionally. Like being able to cry a little bit, stuff like that. Always important to me, to be able to revisit.
– I was less hot, sweaty, oily skin type stuff. It’s not a big deal, but it is preferable.
– I had my period. Blah.
– My sex drive was non-existent. Also blah.
– I did not experience fat redistribution reversal like I have in the past. Maybe that has to do with getting older, metabolism slowing down? Not sure.
– I stopped losing hair / some fine hairs did grow back in along my hairline.

That’s about it for now. I like making predictions about timelines when I make these on T / off T posts. My guess is that if things go well with adding in Finasteride, I’ll be on T for over a year and a half.

Tried testosterone for the first time 8 years ago, today

Posted: March 18, 2021 | Author: | Filed under: coming out, Testosterone | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Eight years is a long time! Trying T, even though I wasn’t at all sure I was going to like it, but positive I needed to at least see what it was like, was one of the best decisions I’ve made for myself.

For the first few years, it was a very fine line between feeling very connected to what it was doing for my inner world, versus not wanting any physical changes. I was microdosing, but even still, was on-and-off of it a few times. Later on, I did want some changes, but only up to a certain point, which led me right back to that pattern of being on-and-off. This is still the case – I’m currently off, with plans to go back on at some point (maybe summer?)

I continue to find myself right where I want to be, more so as the years go by. Here’s a description of an interaction I had yesterday that highlights how I’ve hit that sweet spot of in-betweenness:

I was trying to print out some photos at a store. One person started to help me, and then another person also came to help. The two co-workers were talking amongst themselves, referring to me, and one person was using, “he/him/his” and the other person was using, “she/her/hers.” Finally, the “she/her/hers” person got confused and just said, “Who?!” And the other person gestured toward me and said, “Him!” and simultaneously, I just said, “Me!” And no one did any back-pedaling, questioning, or apologizing, which was pretty much perfect.

Ideally, I’d like for everyone who has known me from before I started my transition, to get on board with my nonbinary identity. I realize this is a tall order, so for those people who can’t grasp the nuances, I’d prefer they defaulted to male, “he/him/his.” This isn’t the case across the board, but one can dream right? And then for those who are just getting to know me, I hope they’ll all get that I’m nonbinary, as much as there is space to have those conversations. And then as far as strangers go, I really revel in the mixture / confusion. That’s the best state for me to exist in.

To many more years!

Back off testosterone again

Posted: December 22, 2020 | Author: | Filed under: Testosterone | Tags: , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The last time I injected testosterone, for the time being, was December 8th. I like to keep tabs of when I go on and off it – I’m back around to off again. The first thing I noticed that was new / different happened today: my co-worker made microwave popcorn downstairs while I was upstairs, and even though she does this on occasion, I actually could smell it today. And as I sit here typing, I can smell my smelly feet, which is so weird! I forgot I’d been missing out an a whole other aspect to our world – things smell strongly, strangely, pleasantly, pungently, amazingly, and everything else amongst those adjectives. It’s pretty bizarre how much hormones affect our sense of smell!

Things I am not looking forward to, based on what has happened before:
– getting my period again
– feeling cold
– losing my happy trail
– diminished sex drive

Things I am looking forward to, also based on what’s happened before:
– less oily skin
– hair growing back
– some minor fat redistribution reversal
– I guess the sense of smell thing? Honestly, I’d forgotten all about that until I was hit with it today!

My prediction / guess is I’ll be back on it by July. Last time I was off it and then back on, I lasted from April 2019 till November 2019. So I’ve been back on for a whole year (my prediction had been 6 months). I went through most of my old, expired stockpile, until I realized why am I doing this when it could be less effective than getting new stuff, which I could easily do now through Planned Parenthood? So I called this past July and got an appointment within weeks (this was all through telemedicine, as many things are these days). I got my prescription the same day. I was on 60mL / week. I was injecting intramuscularly. My period didn’t fully go away until October – note to self: don’t mess around with expired stuff. There is not a scarcity / difficulty in getting more, as I have always feared!

Despite what I just said, I still do plan to do my next appointment with Planned Parenthood in about a month and get my prescription filled so that I have it on hand for the very moment when I want to go back on it. Once I’ve decided, I want to be able to inject that very moment, and not wait around to get more (even though, like I said, it is a quick turnaround.) I guess you could say I don’t want any middle people between me and T, once I’ve made up my mind… Just enough to get started, and then I’ll connect with Planned Parenthood again to get more…

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