There Is No Point in Arguing with Someone Who Is Already Dead

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This is my post Mother’s Day post. I find myself continuing old arguments with my mother. Arguments that I can not win. I hear her yelling “What is wrong with you? Why can’t you be normal? What did I do to deserve this?”

My mother and I argued from nursery school through graduate school. I couldn’t take it. I gradually reduced the number of visits until I only saw her at funerals, weddings, and Bar/Bat MItzvahs. We could not be seated at the same table. In the end we had nothing to say to each other. We argued silently. Continue reading →

The Boxer Rebellion

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My post “Traveling to Guatemala” was Freshly Pressed. The post was then highlighted again in a Friday Faves. This has brought me some new readers. If you are one of them, welcome.

I wanted to celebrate my 15 minutes of fame, but I had trouble figuring out what would be satisfying. I could go out for a nice dinner with Donna, but I don’t want to sabotage reaching my goal at Weight Watchers. I could treat myself to a new piece of computer paraphernalia, but blogging was supposed to be an inexpensive hobby. I could buy a pair of waterproof Keen summer hikers that I’ve been eyeing, but the space under my bed is already cluttered with dusty shoes. Then I remembered these posts from Buzz Cuts and Bustiers and Butch Wonders.

My Dad wore cotton poplin boxer shorts; my brother wore basic Fruit of the Loom briefs. The kind with the Y-pocket and the striped band. I coveted the briefs. I had a habit of stealing a pair, wearing them, and then putting them in the laundry basket. I was caught wearing them in 11th grade math class. I told the girl that I had run out of clean ones and that it was better to borrow his than to recycle a dirty pair. I had not worn men’s underwear since. Continue reading →

Wear Your Heart on Your Sleeve

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I like the idea of being able to visibly demonstrate my love for Donna (and for Gracie). Donna and I have not gotten married (it is legal in New York State, but not recognized by the federal government). We don’t wear wedding rings. We have wills, we have medical and legal powers of attorney, and we have made each other beneficiaries on all our accounts. It is a lot of paper (reminder to contact lawyer to update my name on my will). We’ve made our commitments to each other.

My ideal wedding would be to call a couple of friends, go down to City Hall (the Municipal Building), get married by the City Clerk, and be done in time to have Dim Sum for lunch in Chinatown. It is not going to happen. Continue reading →

The Dog Gene

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When Gracie meets up with another dog, she goes right to butt-sniffing. Serious sniffing. This forces me to make small talk with the other owner. At first, being a shy person, this seemed like a weird thing to do. Now it is natural. The standard questions are boy or girl (if it is not obvious), what is your dog’s name, and what kind of dog is that. I’ve learned to recognize a lot of unusual breeds and ”designer” mixes.

Some owners know what mix their mutt is because they adopted the dog as a puppy and know the dam (and sire). Some owners guess based on what the dog looks like (ears, muzzle, tail, markings). Most of us are curious. To solve the mystery, I could do a DNA test and find out Gracie’s genetic material. I’d have to swab her dog’s mouth, put the results in a plastic container, and send it to the lab. A few weeks later they would tell me how many different breeds were identified, and the percentage of each breed in the mix.

When asked, I say that Gracie was supposed to be a Flat-Coated Retriever mix, but she seems more like a Border Collie mix. I haven’t done the test. What if it came back that she was a Chow/Chihuahua mix, or a Spitz/Field Spaniel mix? Would I feel differently about her if I knew her true genetic identity? What would Gracie’s results tell me? We’ve already figured out each other’s personality, routines, and obnoxious habits.

Continue reading →

Hola Amigo! Back from Guatemala

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The Guatemalan equivalent of “Can I help you sir?” is either “Hola amigo!” or “Señor?” I spent three weeks in Guatemala without using a gendered bathroom except in a few restaurants where the bathrooms were in the back and I could use them relatively unnoticed. Donna used many “servicios sanitarios” in the markets but I avoided them. I didn’t want to risk being challenged, and I don’t speak enough Spanish to respond appropriately.

I found it hard to balance being comfortable in my clothes and comfortable on the street. I opted for the basic butch t-shirt and jeans look. Donna wore purple and pink; loose linen tops and pants. She always looks slightly dressed up and put together.

In the western highland areas of Guatemala, most of the women wear traditional Mayan clothes (skirt, blouse, sash, apron, shawl). Most of the men wear contemporary western clothing (a lot of A&F and HCO knock-offs for sale in the markets). My jeans and t-shirt blended me in with the guys. They saw me first as a gringo; then they dealt with my gender presentation. I caused a lot of confusion. Continue reading →

Traveling to Guatemala

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Donna and I are about to embark on a three-week vacation to Guatemala. The vacation will be og-less. No dog, no blog. Donna will have me all to herself. You will get a three-week break in posts. Gracie will spend three weeks with our dog walker.

I am hesitant to go on vacation. I like to travel. I know I am lucky. It is a luxury to have a job and vacation time and a partner who likes to travel. I have a bunch of books I’ve stockpiled to read. I’ve been reading up on Guatemalan history and Mayan culture. I am hesitant because my dysphoria increases when I am out of my comfort zone. Guatemala is out of my comfort zone.

This is my first time traveling as Jamie. My new passport says Jamie, my driver’s license says Jamie, my credit cards say Jamie, my tickets say Jamie. Donna even says Jamie 95% of the time. Last year when we went to India, I went as Amy. I waited to change my name until Donna was comfortable with me taking on a new name; I did not want to jeopardize the relationship anymore than I already had by saying I was transgender. It has been a rough year.

When Donna met me I was a baby butch. Now I am a middle-aged butch who also identifies as transgender. The process has been hard for her. She has had to wrap her brain around a lot of concepts she didn’t expect to be thinking about. She has had to consider whether she wants to go through this with me (whatever the “this” is). A lot of women go running in the other direction. She is standing her ground.

I never traveled before I met Donna. I don’t come from a traveling family unless you consider running from a pogrom traveling. I was raised to think that travel was what ostentatious rich people did to show off their jewelry. And, since we lived in the greatest city on earth (New York), with the greatest museum in the world (The Met), there was no reason to go anywhere else. You could see all the world’s wonders for free, right here. Donna changed that. She got me going.

I need to remember that I travel to get out of my rut. To shake up my queer New York centric view of the world. To think about other people’s history instead of my own.

Three weeks of traveling independently is a lot of time together. A lot of time to talk about our relationship and my butch-trans*-iness. Donna has always wanted to go to Guatemala. She is interested in Mayan indigenous culture and textiles. I am interested in Mayan ruins and colonial architecture. Donna will be open and charming; she will chat up other travelers and any locals who speak English. What will I be?

Donna taught me to travel light. I wish I could do it spiritually, but I will settle for the physical part. I need to winnow my stuff down so that it fits in my pack. I have sudden urges to buy new items for a trip, as if a new shirt or new sneakers will magically make everything OK, and my anxiety and dysphoria will disappear. I know the opposite is true; to reduce my dysphoria I should take old, proven, comfortable, favorites. There is a pile of clothing on my bed. I can only fit a quarter of it in the pack. A worn black T-shirt and broken-in jeans are my equivalent of a blankie. They are probably all I will wear no matter what else I bring.

Lastly, there is how I will be seen on vacation, and the tension that arises in our relationship when I am with Donna and I am read as male (Donna is not amused by this at all). From her vantage point we are an obvious butch/femme couple and she wants to keep it that way. Donna will be standing her ground in Guatemala; but I feel it shifting subtly under me.

Let’s Start at the Very Beginning

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Note: In preparation for writing this post Gracie and I watched all 174 minutes of The Sound of Music. The last time I saw it, I was still in high school. I watched it with my girlfriend; we were stoned and spent most of our time making out.

My first celebrity crush was on Julie Andrews, in the role of Maria in The Sound of Music. I was six, my family had gone to Radio City Music Hall to see the movie for a big night out. I already knew the music because we had the original cast album from the play. I was not prepared for how lovely Maria was, and how sweet she was towards the seven children in the Trapp family (Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta, and Gretl). I was doomed. I wanted to be Kurt. I wanted Maria to be my governess.

Kurt is on the far left wearing leather lederhosen.

I particularly wanted to have lederhosen made out of curtains (Maria made Friedrich lederhosen from old curtains). When I first saw the movie, it was all about Kurt. On re-watching it, I can see that he played only a minor role in the movie (two love stories and the Anschluss are more important).

I am a second generation American Jew, of Polish and German descent. Little Jewish girls are not supposed to run around in lederhosen. My family still identified German products with Nazi Germany (e.g. Volkswagen and Mercedes-Benz). In that culture wearing lederhosen would have been perceived as hardly different from wearing a swastika. No lederhosen for me; no celebration of Oktoberfest either.

I am not a person who moves quickly; I do not have a crush of the week. I am loyal. I am not onto the next big thing. I focus intently (compulsively) on things and work my way through them very slowly. When I was a child I listened to The Sound of Music soundtrack over and over and always imagined myself as Kurt.

For years, even after I came out, even after I identified as butch, I allowed myself to have an active fantasy life. In that fantasy life I allowed myself to be a boy. That boy was drawn from movies, from books, from television, and from music. The fantasy sustained me for a long time. Then it didn’t.

A Boy and Her Dog

Traversing the Border between Butch and Trans*