Tag Archives: relationships

Masculinity and Misogyny

“I’m not misogynist, I love women.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth I regretted saying them. I was trying to convince Donna that there was nothing inherently misogynist or sexist about being either butch or transgender. That being masculine did not mean hating or objectifying women. Or did it?

This is not about ogling women on the street or tallying sexual conquests. It is about the insidious microaggressions in everyday life that I am guilty of. I am impatient. I get annoyed. I do not like to consider the possibility that I might be wrong about anything. Including being misogynist. Continue reading →

The Tipping Point

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My first tipping point was the summer between kindergarten and first grade. I developed a crush on Sandy and I developed a way to deal with my world.

It was the summer my grandfather died from lung cancer. It was a hot New York summer. We lived in an apartment that was not wired for air conditioning. My grandmother decided that she should take us (my mother, my brother and me) for a couple of weeks to Sacks Lodge in the Catskills. My Dad took the bus up from the city on weekends.

Sacks Lodge had a day camp and a children’s dining room for breakfast and lunch. They kept us busy and out-of-the-way until dinner. Sandy worked in the dining room. She was 17, and had long blond hair pulled back in a pony tail. Continue reading →

I’ll Have the Usual

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Gracie loves routine. Gracie expects to walk down to 11th Street in the morning and she expects to go to the dog run before dinner. At night, she expects me to play “tricks for treats”. She expects a rawhide swizzle stick after the last walk, and she expects to be invited up for a snuggle right before I go to sleep.

If I try to skip a routine because it is late, or because I am tired, she sits and gives me a withering look. She whines. She is a willful little bitch. The last time I counted, we had over twenty daily routines. I will not list them. She keeps track. Dogs like consistency. If you asked Gracie what she wanted to do tonight, she would probably reply “The usual.”

I enjoy Gracie’s routines. They are a form of intimacy. I love her enthusiasm for giving me high-fives. I like how she pulls me to the right at the corner of Horatio and Washington because it it time to go to the dog run. Gracie and I understand each other. We know what makes each other tick.

There is great comfort in being known, even if it is by a dog. I don’t have to explain myself. I don’t have to make excuses. I don’t have to pretend to be someone else. I can stick to the routine.

It is a good thing that I have Gracie, because Donna chafes at routine. Continue reading →

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 →

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.

Give That Dog a Kiss

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I love kissy dogs. I love snuggly dogs. Dog lovers can be divided up into kissers and those who think getting licked on the face by a dog is gross. Dog lovers can be divided up into rescuers and purchasers. The rescuers also need to be rescued. I am a kissy rescuer. Just one problem. Gracie doesn’t kiss. She will air kiss, she will nuzzle me, but she will only lick me after I eat cheese. She tolerates me kissing her, but I know she doesn’t like it.

I’d kiss you back if you weren’t so needy.

I take Gracie to the dog run almost everyday. I have people friends and canine friends there. I wave and say hi to the humans, but there are a number of dogs who whine and mob me when I come in. Mickey and Lulu always demand kisses and scruffing up. Gracie is a jealous bitch. She will try to worm her way in-between me and the other pups. When it comes to dogs, I am polyamorous. I can’t get enough love. When it comes to women, I have room only for one. Lucky Donna. Continue reading →

The Right to Remain Silent

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Gracie asks for what she wants. When she wants to come up on the bed or couch, she grunts a little low “urg” to get my attention, and waits for an invitation. When she wants her belly rubbed, she rolls over and taps her tail. When I have ignored chow time she lies down in my sight line and stares at me. When she is ready to go out she goes to the door. When she is bored she goes to her toy box and throws everything that is in it onto the floor. When there is an “urgency” she noses me and dances around. There is no confusing or mistaking any of these signals. Gracie is confident. Gracie is a good girl.

I find it difficult to ask for anything. I learned to suppress my desires. I learned to stop saying what I wanted because I wanted to be a boy. What game do you want to play? What do you want to dress up as for Halloween? What do you want to do when you grow up? Do you want to play house? What do you want for your birthday?

The message was clear. If I told the truth, I got in trouble. If I lied, I betrayed myself and ended up with a Barbie Dreamhouse. Either way, I was not getting the hockey skates. The safest thing was to say nothing, but you can’t stay silent forever. I know, I tried, it doesn’t work.

Donna wonders why, after all of our time together, am I still so secretive? Why can’t I just tell her what I am thinking? Why is it so difficult for me to talk about my feelings? Why can’t I tell her what I want? Why do I hesitate? Why don’t I trust her?

I still feel like the eight year old who yearns for hockey skates but is afraid to ask for them. I hope that refusing to suppress my trans*-ness, my boy-ness, and my more than vanilla butch-ness, will eventually let me loosen my tongue. I would like to answer Donna’s questions honestly, without fear, and without squirming in my seat. I would like to be as confident as Gracie. I would like to be a good boy.

A Boy and Her Dog

Traversing the Border between Butch and Transgender