the three things I know

I wrote a short piece for The New Civil Rights Movement which you can read HERE. Check it out, leave a comment, tell them you want more?

Have a wonderful Friday.
I for one, have to leave the house at 7am to go to a stream assessment training.
It's going to be F*ing cold.
That's all I have to say.
Goodnight.

Learning New Skills

I find it interesting that so many ftms and butch women just grew up knowing how to build, how to play sports, how to talk tough and how to fall off a skateboard going 20mph down a hill, and then get back up and try again. In fact, I've never had the guts to just jump on a skateboard to go down a hill that fast in the first place, for fear of the previous scenario. I am learning though. I learn to take more risks in my life, I've learned the difference between a phillips and a flathead which is more than I can say for myself five years ago. I even built some shelves, and I've become increasingly better at identifying tools, and following my boss' directions for construction projects. I now rarely have to ask when looking for tools what said tool might look like. This is a start, for me. When I was a kid I was rarely called upon to help my dad, or play with tools, because in all honesty, he knew less than I know now. Don't get me wrong, I had no idea how to do stereotypically girly things either. My mother never wore more than colored chapstick until she met my stepfather and if she did, I was not playing around in her makeup. Everything I learned about how to be a "girl" was from friends. I learned how to chase after boys by observing the girls in my elementary school that got the guys to be "friends" with them. At least I think that's what I thought was going on. I thought that was the only way to be friends with guys. I learned how to apply eyeliner in my eighth grade spanish class from a gorgeous brunette with long black hair who sat behind me.
I think that there should be classes for people like me. We need classes to learn how to do the things we've always wanted to do. I wanted to learn how to fix my car but got frustrated with my dad because I didn't feel he was an expert on the subject, I didn't want help from my ex-boyfriend, now best friend because I felt I should already know this stuff and felt to "girly" asking for help. Now I observe and slowly learn to do projects on my own. I watch the guys at work and ask questions. Maybe that's the key, you have to pay enough attention so that they want to teach you.

Now that I've changed the oil on one of the work trucks and the van I think I could handle my own car. I can recognize brake lines, brake pads and filters. I can change the oil and air filters, check all the fluids, rotate the tires, and put a vehicle on a lift. And this is all one giant step up from a month ago when all I knew about my car was that it's a manual transmission and I could check the oil, and add water/oil if I remembered to check.

I wish I would have asked more questions earlier, but I think I've finally taken my training wheels off of my life. I moved across country on my own and I'm learning to ask questions I never had the courage to before. The more knowledge I have, the more knowledge I want, the more knowledge I receive.

Or, you know, something along those lines. Was that even what this blog was about?




Currently Reading: Loose End by Ivan E. Coyote

Wrong Bathroom!

I had a very much needed weekend in hot hot hot Arizona for my godmother's wedding. I hadn't seen any of my friends from home and really needed some good long hugs, tattoo shops, singing and dancing. They're part of me, part of my family, even if they're not blood. 

My flight back with Delta was cancelled four or five times and due to weather they weren't answering their phones, or so their automated answer system said. I got to the airport at 630am and then stood in line for two hours with a hundred or so other people whose tickets had also been cancelled. By the time I had gotten to the front of the line I had missed the last flight they had automatically booked me on so they gave me a ticket on another airline in another terminal but it was a nonstop flight and everything finally went smoothly. 

When I finally landed at BWI I stopped to use the restroom on the way to my car. I was tired and cranky from the long day and walked into the Women's restroom like I've done a thousand times before. I've gotten weird looks before, but this woman yelled at me from outside the restroom 

"You're in the wrong bathroom! Sir, you're in the wrong bathroom! Hello! That's the ladies room!" 

I turned around, "Yes, I know that, thank you."

"Oh My Gosh, I am Sooo sorry... it was the hat, from the back..." etc etc etc

I don't know what it is, but that was the first time I'd been called out in a restroom before. This happened all weekend. I couldn't get a drink at the restaurant the night before the wedding because they thought I was a fifteen-year-old boy. I do have two months until I turn twenty-one, but it still makes me laugh.  Right before I got on my flight the guy at the frozen yogurt counter did the "SirMam" as did the guy at the coffee shop. I wasn't even wearing a binder... maybe if I had been they would have stuck with Sir? Of course I probably would have been kicked out of the restroom too.
Such is my life :)

My Half-Sleeve

 My awesome new half-sleeve. is half-complete! We still have to do the inside of my arm... hopefully in February. 

Maybe none of it matters right now

Maybe none of it matters. Maybe I was just afraid of concentrating on the right now. Afraid of living my life. Maybe it helped me to concentrate on the what-ifs and the who knows? To philosophize everything, overanalyze every inch of my life. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to live in this moment. Look back fondly on those moments that make my heart beat more happily and attempt to learn from the mistakes I know I've made and will make. I've had a long week. I met my girlfriend's mother and sister and spent thanksgiving with them. All day Saturday I guiltily watched Grey's Anatomy... all day long.

Sunday my mother called me. She called to tell me that she really didn't want to discuss this over the phone but that her and my step-dad are separating. After being together for over fifteen years. Poof. I like my families. I was comfortable in the crazy wacky world that is my life. I was really happy knowing that we have some strange family dynamics. For the majority of my life I like to say that I had two families and we all fit together very nicely. My mom and papa (dad) they were roommates in an attic in a house full of hippies. My dad was 24, almost 25 and my mom was 30 when I was born. They got married when I was five months old and divorced before I turned three. I was never sad that they weren't together. They are, and have always been, great friends and I hope it remains that way for the rest of my life. My mom dated a couple of guys I barely remember and then when I was five she met my stepdad. They dated for four years before deciding to get married and finally got married when I was ten. I was really excited. I love my stepbrother, my stepdad took some time adjusting to, but I really do love him too. My dad dated some women I wasn't too fond of and then around the time my mom got married, my dad met the most amazing woman who I would love to call my stepmother... They were together for ten years and then broke up two years ago. They still love each other. But my father was too afraid of commitment until it was too late for her. Her daughter is fifteen now, almost sixteen. These are my families. They were all at every birthday, every important event in my life. They all have been there for me through every hell I've given them. I love my family because we're odd and disjointed and some would probably think it's a bit nuts that this year for Rosh Hashana dinner, my mom's mom had my dad, and my dad's ex girlfriend and her daughter and my mom at my grandmother's together when I was all the way across the country, nothing forcing them together. I love my family. But my family seems to be falling apart and I don't know how to hold it together. I need them to stick together. It's the only way I know how to exist in this world is with my crazy family. My stepdad lives in San Francisco now, they're on a "trial separation" I hate that phrase... What does it mean anyways? false hope? does Separation mean they'll actually try? I know in theory I won't lose my stepbrother or my stepdad, they won't disappear from my life. They won't because we all love each other. But I need them to be there. I need them to be there when I come home for my twenty-first birthday, the first time after being gone for seven months. My step-dad has always been the one to calm my mom down enough so she could calm my dad down when I'm about to go after something I want, or get a new tattoo. He's the one not just encouraging me to explore the world, but demanding it. He's the one excited for me, when I'm excited about a new tattoo. He gets it. And he gets when I'm not happy too. I need them all in my life. I need them in life as my family. My crazy-dysfunctional, functional family. I need it to work.