My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction December 1 - 10, 2000

Sunday, 10 December 2000 (target audience (narcissus narcosis)) 7:52am They finally quieted down by half past three. Until then, Maddy's occasional, usually half-asleep from the couch (to which she'd relocated shortly after I realized that attempting to sleep was futile) exhortations of "fucking yuppies" seemed to sum it all up nicely. Our attitude towards them was not improved by their insistence upon leaving the front gate propped upon, so their ready-to-rumble guests wouldn't have to ring the doorbell. This is not a bad part of town—for as many times as I've had to walk around in the middle of the night I've never felt unsafe, but there's still a reason while these buildings are gated at all. This is something our upstairs neighbor has never seemed to grasp, probably not realizing that just because this looks more like the suburbs than a city, it's still a city. The best thing to do would be to talk to them directly. Directly? As in, direct confrontation? Me? Oh, it is to laugh. I think my excuse is that I was damaged by warring with my last set of neighbors. Shell-shocked is more like it. I can't go through all that again. I suppose, for right now, I could go back in the bedroom and lie down. Except for that whole "perchance" thing ol' Billy was trying to warn us about. But being awake isn't much consolation, either. 3:33pm In the front entryway are several plastic garbage bags filled with the detritus of last night's upstairs romp. Although I do not see the titular item which defines such an event, the sheer number of plastic cups suggests to me a "kegger." Thankfully, the gate is closed. We've been out for the last few hours, and when we left it was standing wide open. In the meantime they have apparently decided it no longer suits their needs for it to be open. Fuckers. The next bit of suspense is what happens tomorrow morning when the trash collectors come, consider their somewhat restrictive one-trashcan-per-household rule. They do at least realize that there are in fact two different households at this particular address and as such always pick up both cans, though I'm afraid ours will be ignored in favor of theirs. And, of course, there won't be much I can do about it except get exasperated, and gosh, that always accomplishes a lot. We rented Eraserhead and Citizen Kane, two of my favorite movies and ones which Maddy has never seen. They're not on DVD yet, but thankfully Le Video has them on laserdisc, and our machine hasn't quite rolled over and died yet. (Almost, but not quite.) This evening will make up for the way the last day and a half has gone. It must. When we were driving around earlier, I didn't really want to come home. Not because I was especially enjoying myself being out—I wasn't, and certain drivers had made me feel something resembling bloodlust, which I'm sure can be partially traced back to a hormonally-charged mood swing but I still don't like—but because the people upstairs have been making me feel so uncomfortable. There's nothing worse then being afraid to go into one's own home. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 9 December 2000 (disposable teens) 6:45pm My old therapist wrote back. Dear Sherilyn It is good to hear from you. I have often wondered how you were doing. Sorry to hear that your relationship with [your old endoc] did not work out for you. I will take your experience under advisement when making future referrals. At least it sounds as if you are now satisfied with [your new endoc]. [your new endoc] has a great deal of experience in these matters and I'm sure she will get you through the rest of transition. Thanks again for the update. Take care of yourself and have a wonderful holiday....... Pretty much what was I expecting, and certainly as much as I could have hoped for. Others may be steered clear of my old endoc, and that's what matters. I called my electrologist's office today; he still hasn't replaced the CD player. Quite frankly I have no reason to think he will anytime soon, so it's time to start digging out the tapes. Lest I sound too much like a digital snob, my reason for preferring CDs over tapes in this context is that his stereo was a three-disc changer, meaning there was the potential for over three hours of uninterrupted music. Flipping tapes every ~45 minutes doesn't help the flow much. Okay, yeah, we seldom go for three hours at a time without stopping (especially since his phone is constantly ringing, usually with people on the other end who don't understand the meaning of the words "I'm at work, I can't talk now"), but it was nice not to have to worry about it. Oh well. Just because something is nice doesn't mean you're entitled to it. One of my subconscious's favorite ways of fucking with the rest of head is to play a game of this is what you could have, but don't. I think it was a tournament last night. Earlier in the evening, of course, we saw Jonathan Richman with Dana and Costanza. It was fun, as Jojo always is. Before the show, Maddy and I ate at Hamburger Mary's. It's odd how disconnected I feel from the local queer community, and I don't want to be. I really need to get out more. My mom has asked Maddy and I to stay with her over xmas, and we probably will. If nothing else, I should do it for all trannies who have been rejected entirely by their families. sometime after midnight There's a party going on upstairs. It's very loud and drunken. By virtue of how the building is put together the sound is loudest in our bedroom, and I have to admire that Maddy's able to sleep right now. Of course, the party does fall into the "anything" category, so her ability to sleep through it comes as no great surprise. I hope they're so fucking hung over tomorrow they can barely move. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 8 December 2000 (the fight song) 7:36am Written by my endoc on the form I'm taking to the lab this morning: [X] Total Estrogens Do NOT Substitute * Last time I ordered this test Unilab changed to "estradiol" without my approval. These tests are not equivalent. And, heck, who could blame them? One look at me and it's fairly obvious there's no need for full estrogen testing. I'm a boy, after all. (Need proof? Look at the name on the ID. That settles that.) They don't need to be told their jobs, now do they? 10:28am I have to hand it to the woman who works at the lab, she's personable as hell. She didn't even seem miffed by the tone of my endoc's note, although it appears that the mistake had been hers in the first place. As she entered the necessary tests, she had me watch the screen to confirm that yes, she was requesting the correct ones. Which on the one hand made me feel a little guilty, but on the other at least I do know it was done correctly this time. Another rug has pulled out from under me, though, one upon which I was never especially steady to begin with: my insurance company. For some reason United Health Care has gotten the hell out of Dodge (née California), and I've moved to BlueShield, almost by default. Everything about my coverage is supposed to be the same, except for the name of the monolithich provider in question. Indeed, even if you put my old and new cards next to one another, beyond the fact that the new one is printed on cheap paper rather than the somewhat durable plastic of the old (woohoo! let's hear it for backwards progress!), everything is the same. Except, of course, that the lab doesn't cover HMO plans. I wasn't even sure that I was (on? under? through? inside?) an HMO until I doublechecked the card. Mind you, they had no problem with my old card which was also an HMO. But they don't like this one. This is probably a portent of my hormone-related insurance coverage going away altogether, as I knew it would eventually. Because, of course, everything does. At least when we finally get kicked out of the apartment and cast into the raging current of Bay Area housing, I'll be a little more prepared. She said she did the same test on someone else recently (I considered saying "We're kinda like roaches, aren't we?" but decided not to) and the results took seven days to come back, so I can expect the same. I didn't ask if she meant business days, but it stands to reason. So, I'll probably be getting a call from my new endoc the week before xmas... 12:29pm So California's experiencing a power emergency, and it's entirely possible that there'll be rolling (not to mention stationary) blackouts any time now. Fair enough. I just hope that I'm at home when it happens, since we have plenty of candles and it'll give me an excuse to continue reading. I'm 155/459 of the way through Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon and am thoroughly engrossed. The book is actually 918 pages and I'm on pg. 310, but when I typed out 310/918 I realized I hadn't reduced a fraction in at least 10 years and decided to give it a shot. I'm pretty sure 155/459 is about as reduced as it gets—the lowest common denominator of 155 is of course 5, and for 459 it's 3, so I'm pretty much out of options. Unless I want to convert it to a fraction, in which case I'm .337 of the way through. This is the effect Stephenson's books tend to have on me: they bring out my inner geek, the part of me which rather enjoys this sort of thing, but is hampered by my overall lack of discipline and tendency to get foggy when it comes to heavy number-crunching. Which is why I didn't major in computer science in college, because I knew I wouldn't have survived it. I'm proud of myself when I can do sixth-grade math, for chrissakes. Very sad. I don't know what I'm going to do when my meager job skills are finally rendered obsolete. Hell, by that point the video-rental industry will be in dust. Nothing like starting over. 1:28pm But not as a math or English teacher, apparently. Fraction, decimal, po-TAY-toe po-TAH-toe. I try to be clever, I fail, this surprises you? Oh, and based my observations this morning, I suspect I may not be a bleeder after all. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 7 December 2000 (the love song) 6:35am San Francisco public access is greatest achievement of the technological age. Why? Because it's given us Queen Bee TV and Bevornia, that's why. 11:06am Now would be a good time to disappear. 11:06am So I wrote my old therapist, whom I haven't seen in over two years. Hi, [my old therapist]. Just wanted to bring you up to date on recent developments. As you msy recall, I started HRT with [my old endoc] in September of '97. Last month, I decided to switch to [my new endoc]. I was feeling extremely dissatsified with [my old endoc], specifically her lack of attention to details. I'd see her roughly every three months, and her examinations amounted to little more than taking my blood pressure, feeling my breasts and fretting about my weight. The only time she had my levels checked was before I actually started on estrogen, and the only blood test she had me take after that was to test my thyroid levels because of my tendency towards jumpiness. (Which I suppose is a valid concern, but it suggests to me that her priorities were misplaced.) I'd heard from some of her patients that [my new endoc] was much more thorough, so I decided to give her a try. When I showed her [my new endoc] my medical records, she was rather surprised by the lack of testing, and informed me that [my old endoc] hadn't even had my hormones checked the first time around. In essence, she'd been flying blind, and as it turns out she missed the target by a country mile. I got a blood test the following day, and the results were not encouraging: after two years of [my old endoc]'s regimen, my estrogen levels were fine, but my testosterone was still in the 500s. [my new endoc] immediately increased my provera dosage, and I'm having another test done tomorrow. I feel I should point out that I in no way hold you responsible; choosing [my old endoc] was my decision and my decision alone. Heck, if memory serves you'd also suggested [my new endoc] at the time, and I chose unwisely. But I thought you might find my saga interesting... Poorly written, but it gets the point across. I'd originally ended it by suggesting that she might want to reconsider recommending my old endoc, but decided against it. If she reaches that decision, she'll do so on her own, not because of my suggestion. Something I almost wrote: I'm going crazy six ways 'til tuesday. I've been through this before and I know it'll pass, but it's still killing me. But I didn't. I guess it seemed off-topic. 5:37pm On second thought, I probably won't shave tomorrow morning, since I'm getting zapped on Monday. Besides, what am I expecting to happen? That if I shave and get tarted up, Jonathan will pick me from the crowd to meet him backstage after the show? I don't think so. 10:18pm For as often I've heard the cliche "edge of your seat excitement," I've never actually seen someone on the edge of their seat at a movie. I certainly wouldn't have expected Quills to be the first time. Never can tell. For the life of me, I can't tell if Kate Winslet is still supposed to be overweight or not. Even when Titanic came out and she started getting flak about her weight, I wasn't sure what the big deal was. (No pun intended.) Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 6 December 2000 (godeatgod) 6:13am I haven't shaved since Saturday morning. (I did not shave again before the pictures were taken Saturday evening, and in my mind I can see the shadow starting to creep back in.) I will again Friday morning since we're seeing Jonathan Richman that night, and then I'm getting zapped on Monday. And the cycle continues. I've never really looked forward to it as such, but I'm looking forward to it even less now. I have to call and find out if he's at least gotten a new CD player yet. Even if he has, there's still the shiny new white linoleum on the floor, replacing the brown carpet. In addition to messing up the acoustics, it the linoleum lends the room an antiseptic air which I dislike. I realize that's the whole point (he told me as much, and also made it clear that he was doing it under pressure—frankly, there's little more troublesome than a grumpy electrologist), but I don't like it. Everything goes away. 8:58am The water cooler in the kitchenette at work is empty. More specifically, it's broken: "the coupling by the filter has burst." Heaven forbid we should have the passé kind where the water is in a bottle on top, not a high-tech company like us. Nope, this is a fancy space-age kind where the water comes from gawd knows where via copper tubing. Mmmmm, nothing like a little copper in your water. I suppose that's what the couplings and filters and stuff are for. But, not to worry, for there are vending machines offering pints of water for $1. I can't possibly object to that, because if I did I'd be a communist. 2:03pm I should know better than to go to a restaurant called "Sushi Rap," which in my mind has the unpleasant connotation of "wrap," the Ameribastardization of burrito. And I still don't understand why that's necessary; Taco Bell is about as lowest common denominator as you can get, and they don't seem to scare people off by using so blatantly ethnic a term as "burrito." I'm not convinced it isn't the same kind of semantic homogenization at work—"Gosh, honey, we love wraps, and we don't like sushi because it's raw fish, but, heck, let's give it a try!"—but I did, in fact, give it a try. The "wrap" (or "rap") angle is essentially that they skip a step and don't cut the rolled sushi into four bite-size pieces. The net effect is a seaweed burrito, which would be fine if seaweed leant itself to being chewed apart in the same manner as a tortilla. Alas. I also got a california roll (cut regularly, thank you very much) because, as we all know, that's the true test of a sushi place. In this case, the words "thuddingly mediocre" come to mind. Not particularly bad, not particularly good. Pretty much what I expected. I found peculiar the combination of the girl behind the counter having several piercings, and KOIT playing over the loudspeaker. KOIT is the local "lite rock" station, designed for office buildings and retail stores which don't want to risk offending their customers. (I had to endure it while I worked at Diamond Video in early '95. We had a teevee showing movies, but the owners didn't want the sound on, and they most certainly didn't want us to play new releases. Why? Because they were afraid that if a customer saw and heard it playing, they would decide they didn't want to rent the movie—which, of course, flew in the face of half a decade's experience of having movies I'd selected getting rented by a customer after they stood and stared at the screen for a half an hour. It always seemed to happen during the shootouts in Miller's Crossing. "Dude! This looks fuckin' killer! Let's rent it!" I can only imagine what happened when they got it home and attempted to decipher the plot. Served 'em right.) Anyone who appreciates KOIT is not going to appreciate being served by someone with a septum piercing, and vice versa. I just don't get this city sometimes. The place was empty; the few times I've gone by it before (it's right next to Brian's girlfriend's store in North Beach), I've never noticed anything resembling a crowd. However, they already sell branded clothing and merchandise. I suppose they have their priorities straight, kinda like companies that lure employees with stock options rather than pay. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 5 December 2000 (the last kind word) 9:06am It just occurred to me—this is Advent, right? I always thought Advent was kinda cool. What with the candles and all. 1:15pm The restroom at the theater last night is perhaps the harshest light in which I've yet seen myself. It was not promising. But it is what it is. Maybe it'll change and maybe it won't. We've started taking St. John's Wort. Ports and storms. 2:24pm I respect and fear the IT department. I have a pretty good idea of the shit they have to endure on a daily business, and this has been the case since long before Maddy became the company's IT admin. As such, I'm always reluctant to contact them unless absolutely necessary. I don't come crying every time my mouse gets sluggish, and I know better than to try to install a new OS. (Which, rumor has it, a counterpart of mine in another department, did. Whoops.) So the power button on my new computer hasn't been working properly. Essentially, it's been stuck in "on," making restarting or shutting down difficult at best, as I've had to pull the power cord from the back. It's not that big a deal to me, really. I don't mind the inconvenience, such as it is. But, still, it's a computer fresh out of the box not functioning properly—and, for how much was spent on it (I don't know, but I'm sure it was a pretty penny or two), that's not a good sign. So, after a few gentle prods from Maddy, I reported it. The tech who initially installed it came by to take a look and replicate the problem. Which, of course, he could not. "But, I swear, it was making a funny noise on the way to the garage..." I am so embarrassed. Last | Top | Next

Monday, 4 December 2000 (so much for the afterglow) 9:17am The power's back on. Yay. On Friday afternoon at about 4:30pm, it went off. When it becomes functionally impossible to work that late on Friday, the logical thing to do is to just go home. Not around here, though. Inertia is a powerful force. A few people still had power (I wasn't one of them), and were told that it was likely to go off at any moment, and as such they should shut down and go home. But, no—surely we can still work for a few more minutes? Please? Apparently a transformer blew out, or something like that. (Pike's office provided a neat view of firetrucks surrounding a source of purple smoke.) I found it amusing that during the last few heatwaves, we've been repeatedly warned that we might lose power. Instead, it didn't happen until what passes in San Francisco for cold weather. Then again, I'm easily amused. The fishnet shirt Astrid got for me at the Serious store in Hollywood arrived. I'd forgotten how one feels when it fits properly. I heard my old endocrinologist referred to as a "fascist" this weekend. Not based on my own experiences with her, but others'. At least I'm not the only one. (Which isn't exactly comforting.) My entire body seems to itch, constantly. It's from the hormones, although I don't remember if this happened when my skin reconfigured itself the first time around. 2:49pm Twice today outside the office I've run into The Den Mother. This is not a good sign, if only because I don't want her taking an interest in the hours I keep. There's nothing wrong with the hours I keep, but the less interest she takes in me at all, the better. 3:25pm There are flyers up around the building for a blood drive, and they feature a young girl no more than eight years old. I'm not entirely sure what the point is, since no eight year-old girls work here. Maybe they want us to bring one? Eight year-old girls have a lot of blood in them, after all. 3:33pm Maintaining a healthy self-image is a difficult task at best when one lives in a city like this—yes, it may be filled with shallow people, but a large majority of them are pretty and shallow, and I reserve the right to be superficial—without sites like Twisted Lens. (Damn you, Illara!) (I kid, of course.) Cute, bespectacled goth girls. Ouch. The secret, as with all things which cause pain, is to simply relax. Let it happen. If any philosophy has guided me recently, that's the one. Anticipate it, yes. But don't tense up, don't cringe. Just loosen the muscles and accept it. 4:04pm So you're using Windows 2000, and you wonder if it's actually 98 in stealth mode because of how dumbed-down Windows Explorer has become. You don't want big dumb icons, you want to see the files in text with their sizes, types and dates. If you wanted to use a Mac, for christ's sake, you'd use a Mac. So whatcha do first is set View of whatever folder you're in to "Details" (which should be the default, but noooooooooooo). Then go into Tools -> Folder Options -> General and select "Use Windows Classic folders." (Classic? Windows Classic? This may be the grossest violation of that particular word since Coca-Cola discovered it in the mid-eighties.) With me? Good. Now select the "View" tab and choose "Like Current Folder." Voila. Whoopee. Many thanks to Dana. 5:32pm Oh, no no no...there are many reasons to dislike the xmas season. Coming in a close second is the music in stores. (You can always tell the stores which think they're hip, 'cuz they're invariably playing A Very Special Xmas. It'll probably be as close as The Pointer Sisters come to immortality.) The first is, of course, the office gift exchange. Unnnnnngh. To be done at the (compulsory) holiday lunch. Three more weeks, three more weeks and it'll all be over for another eleven months... 10:38pm Went to see Christopher Guest's Best in Show. It's something strangely comforting to know that Eugene Levy is still working, not to mention that Scream 3 didn't hurt Parker Posey's career. I'm trying not to think about her in Josie and the Pussycats, though. Some things are just too depressing. After the movie we walked to the ice rink in Justin Herman Plaza. As we approached, the PA in the Embarcadero Center was playing the opening song from the Peanuts Christmas special. It was more than a little surreal. Of course, once we got to the rink itself, all we could hear was whatever was being played by whatever radio station happened to be the sponsor at that moment. Three more weeks, that's all. Last | Top | Next

Sunday, 3 December 2000 (a copy of an imitation) 6:54pm Marilyn Manson is playing in San Jose next month, and tickets went on sale this morning. So, just in case, we got up early (at least, what qualifies for early on Sunday for Maddy) and went to the nearest Tickets.com™ outlet when they opened. After all, this is a show that's gonna go like the proverbial hotcake, right? Um, not exactly. Anyway, we're going. Last | Top | Next

Saturday, 2 December 2000 (dress rehearsal rag) 11:41pm There. A whole roll wasted on me, even a few with a lei. Though I doubt those'll be seen anytime soon. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 1 December 2000 (famous blue raincoat) 2:08pm So I have my shiny new work computer. Naturally, I'm expending a lot of effort to make it as much like my old computer as possible. (Considering I've gone from Win95 to Win2000, it ain't easy.) That's a metaphor for something, but as usual, I'm at a loss to say just what. Apparently word has gotten out that I have a CD burner, since I'm already getting requests. Woohoo! I'm popular! Now all the cool kids will like me! Did I need one? Not really, no. Brian insisted I should ask, mainly to see if I could get away with it. Apparently, I can. None of this changes the fact that I'm wanting sushi again. It's probably safe to shave by now. As of tomorrow it'll have been a week since I got zapped, and I last shaved on Thanksgiving, eight days ago. I cut myself that morning (that stuff yesterday about unintentional vs. intentional bleeding when the skin is pierced of course does not take shaving into account), never a good omen. I still think it was the Fresno air affecting my skin. That stuff'll mess you up every time. Well, I doubt that there's a higher incidence of shaving accidents in the Central Valley as compared to the Bay Area, but the air quality is just different enough to me to be noticeable. And I am quite convinced that had I stayed there any longer, I would have gotten sick. Lord knows that's happened enough over the years. Before I go down there again I'll have to get a megavitamin shot or something. Last | Top | Next