My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction


February 1999

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Saturday, 27 February 1999 (i don't sleep, i dream #2)
sometime after midnight


When you wake and realize you've been dreaming about not being able to get to sleep, that's when you realize you're in serious trouble.

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Friday, 26 February 1999 (25)
sometime after midnight


lee said last night would be long, but he was off by 24 hours. how much more of this loneliness do you think you can take?
can i call my friends' parents by their first name?
reality's so different by i'm still the same
and i don't know where i have to go
if i could light your candle, would you steal my flame?
would you steal my flame?

days by the phone that never even rings
nights by myself when loneliness sings
theoretically not sad, actually not too bad
if i could talk to you about so damn many things
so many things

i'm 25 and i just can't see all the things that have happened to me
unresponsive girls, love is just like pearls
and still i gamble my life merrily
so merrily
correct me if i'm wrong, encourage if i'm right
don't drown your feelings during every fight
dissatisfaction will ring true
sincerity won't stock the larder on a cold winter's night
on a cold winter's night
on a cold winter's night
i'm 25 and i just can't see all the things that have happened to me
unresponsive girls, love is just like pearls
and still i gamble my life merrily
so fucking merrily
i'm 25 and i just can't see.
i'm 25 and i just can't see.
  —Jim Connelly

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Thursday, 25 February 1999 (feeling gravitys pull)
9:00am


Tired this morning, though it's my own fault. I was in bed by 10:00pm, but up 3am to go to the gym. I hadn't gone since sometime last week, and my work there is simply not done. I need to drop another ten or twenty pounds. (If I can't save my soul I'll save my body.) At least this exhaustion is a little better than that of the last couple nights from staying out late.

Speaking of which, I did see Tiff Tuesday night, and I didn't really get to spend any time alone with her. On the other hand, I got to see her in her natural environment, which is to say not in a club or around other goths but in her daily life. I think I fit into it quite well, actually.

However, maybe it should have been, but that wasn't it for the evening activities for me. I had in my mind that I must go clubbing; at the very least Trannyshack, and perhaps Roderick's too since I'd never been and it was just a couple blocks down from Trannyshack.

So we parted company at 9pm. She seemed disappointed that I was leaving, but said at several points during the evening that she was happy I'd been able to make it at all.

you get what you want, then you throw it away. exactly how hopeless are you, anyway? why aren't you trying to spend every possible moment with her?
I was already on the bus when I realized this was probably very stupid of me. She said she was tired of getting involved with flakey people, that it was one of the reasons she was reluctant to get into a new relationship (particularly with someone obviously going through as many changes as myself)...and here I was, flaking on her so I could go out. Regret came creeping in. The Ex clearly hadn't been just picking words out of thing air when she called me self-absorbed and insensitive.
going and doing something she couldn't have done anyway for financial reasons, and here you are flashing the gold around. real mature, kiddo.
But the ball was rolling--I was going out, and that was all there was to it. I got home at about 10:15, and was heading out again an hour later. Not a bad turnaround time, all things considered.

As a result, there was nothing remotely imaginative about my appearance: black velvet dress, black stockings, hair in pigtails, standard heavy-on-the-eyeliner makeup, etc. But it did the job, and I didn't look half bad.

oh. well, then, that just makes up for everything, doesn't it? for the fact that you probably broke tiff's heart in a very minor yet very fundamental way. by showing evidence of unreliability. but you didn't look half bad and were going to a place where it was a safe bet you'd be fawned over, so no worries, huh?
I drove past 7th and Harrison, but couldn't for the life of me figure out exactly where Roderick's was. No discernible crowd outside, or door person or bouncer or anything. So I went on to Trannyshack, which I'd already figured I go to first anyway.

It happened to be the third anniversary and as a result was even more packed than usual. While standing in the coat check line I had the moment which many people in my position dread but which I actually look forward to on those rare occasions that it happens: Seeing the Old Friend. In this case it was a Le Video coworker we called Eddie Baby. Nice guy, queer in both the classical and modern senses of the word.

I think I can say without risk of hyperbole that Ed was shocked. He hadn't seen me in probably a year, and it took him a moment or two to recognize me at all. He probably wouldn't have noticed me to begin with if I hadn't gone up to him and made it clear I knew who he was. I showed him my driver's license, the picture on which bears no resemblence to me now, so he could at least see the name and be convinced that way. It's disturbing how often I whip out my ID these days; I used to absolutely loathe the picture, and in truth I still do, but I look sufficiently different now (roughly seventy pounds lighter, for starters, never mind the hair or the way I was dressed and made up at that moment), it's not so much an embarrassment as a testament to how far I've come.

yeah, a testament. that's what it is. all hail your raging vanity and ego.
The dance floor was beyond packed, so I didn't even bother. The poolroom was my domain, the place where you really go to be seen. And let's face it, that's why I was there. To be watched as much as to watch. To indulge that particular vice before I got sick of it.

Besides, it was my second time. I'd seemed to make something of an impression the first time around, and I was curious to see what reaction my return would bring. I'm not quite so arrogant to expect everything to revolve around me, but there were certain people I was expecting to see. Regulars had taken warmly enough to me the first time, and that was what I was seeking.

Didn't take long, actually. A thin fellow dressed in black identified himself as one of the queens who'd insisted on having their picture taken with me last time, the picture in question was now hanging in his apartment because I looked so good. A somewhat disconcerting but intriguing thought.

disconcerting? oh, puh-leeze. drop the false modesty already. you know you love it, and not only are you a liar if you suggest otherwise, it confirms your hypocrisy. whatever happened to putting long-term well-being over short-term gratification? if that was the case you wouldn't have gone.
He said if he'd known I was coming he would have brought the pictures, but that he'd email them to me. So one of my goals for the evening was to track down a pen and something to write on.

Another of my goals was to track down Kirstan, which was roughly as difficult as finding a battleship hidden in a junk drawer. (Because, you see, a battleship being much larger would dwarf the junk drawer, and...) Kirstan was someone whom I'd been told about last time, an extremely tall TS. Much taller than myself, and I'm hardly short by any standard. I'm 6'0", but she's probably 6'6" if she's an inch.

It was one of many pseudo-propositions I'd received the last time. A rather intense-looking bald gentleman had come up to me and commented that I looked lonely, variations on which I heard many times over the course of the evening. I explained that no, I was fine, thank you very much. This was just the way I normally looked, which is to say standing by myself and not smiling. He advised that I should meet his roommate Kirstan, another TS. (Points for identifying me as such rather than a queen, if nothing else.) She wasn't there tonight, but would be again soon and to keep an eye out for her.

Kirstan was there this time, and hard to miss. I introduced myself, which seemed to throw her off a little; eventually I realized that her roommate normally handled this sort of thing. Anyway, we talked on and off throughout the evening. Sex-positive to the nth degree, she describes herself as "hardcore," and it's an accurate word. I'd thought Maggie and I were as opposed philosophically as could be, sexually and otherwise, but Kirstan's on a different planet altogether. Except in Kirstan's case, she's much more tolerant of those unlike than Maggie, who treats all non-dykes with a contempt that doesn't even approach anything my mother and I might possess towards each other.

She asked me at one point if I was on drugs. Since I wasn't, I said I wasn't. So she offered me some black tar heroin, which I politely declined. She's also self-medicated with hormones bought in Mexico; a somewhat tempting option since you can buy a year's worth for what a month's supply costs in the USA, but it's simply not worth the risk to me. Compared to her I'm a complete wimp, really; she went off hormones for two years, a thought I find horrifying, because "I missed the feeling of coming through my penis." Which I suppose I can see if you're really concerned about that sort of thing. If nothing else, it illustrated one point in which we were in firm agreement: surgery is not a necessary step. That particular issue, I suspect, is one of the reasons Maggie doesn't take me seriously, because she wants it more than anything else in the world. If I don't want to go "all the way," I'm just a queer boi. Whatever.

It came as no great shock when she said there was a party happening at her place after Trannyshack got out and that I was invited. Intriguing a thought as it was, a number of factors worked against it. Probably the most annoying was her saying to ask her roommate for directions, the same one who'd initially approached me. Like a business manager or something. In fact, that was probably very much the relation, a conclusion based to some degree on her page. She spoke with particular pride about her new business, the banner at the top. Of course, she was probably trying to recruit me.

Then there was the simple fact that I wasn't looking to get stoned, drunk or laid, hence there wasn't any particular reason to go to her party. And considering the fact that I had to work the next morning, a little sleep at some point would be desirable.

if you weren't looking get drunk or laid, why exactly were you at the club at all? hello?
Much to my surprise, I was recognized from Shrine of Lilith. A new girl named Meesah, who'd only gone to Lilith for the first time the previous Friday. (Just goes to show that I underestimate the impression I make on people.) We talked about Lilith, the differences, similarities and apparent overlap between the goth and tranny scenes, and hair of course. (She was wearing a wig, and seemed impressed that my hair was real.) Very nice girl. When we said our goodbyes, though I'm probably wrong about this, I think she strongly considered kissing me. There was briefly a a look in her eyes which reminded me of...well, of another time and place. A situation I don't care to revisit just now.

I also hooked up with Kristina (not to be confused with Kirstan), a girl I'd met last time. Late thirties, Mexican, very sweet. She was also fond of just sitting and observing, which is ultimately all there is to do there. Like any scene, boredom is the dominant paradigm.

Perhaps knowing it was where all the clientele would be for the evening, the Motherlode girls were there in force. The Motherlode is where the tranny working girls can always be found. If you're looking for action and don't mind paying, it's the place to go.

As it happens, a few of the them ended up congregating around Kristina and I. For the probably the first that evening I was genuinely smiling. Indeed, I was practically giggling, it was so damn amusing: I was standing amongst a group of working girls, at least a couple of whom were very clearly on duty. I would have killed for a picture of this particular conjunction, which would surely not happen again anytime soon. They're notoriously protective of their turf; I would not be as welcome at the Motherlode as they were at Trannyshack.

Granted, Kristina and I did have a certain sore-thumb quality about us in comparison, but it was still fascinating to think that we were being sized up on essentially the same level as them.

And there's one of my great paradoxes: I dig the attention, but I really don't like anyone acting on it. I'm not looking to get picked up, particularly by a man. Yet, right around the time that I was thinking about leaving--2am, at which point my energy level was seriously dipping into the red--someone decided to try their luck.

Whatever my type of man is, he wasn't it, not by a long shot. I tried to project polite disinterest as much as I could (didn't want to be rude), but he was quite persistent. The most information he was able to pry out of me was my name and that I lived in the Sunset district. It's not like that's enough to go on, but I'm not sure why I told him even that much. Next time I'll say the Haight or something like that.

I was finally able to thank him for the conversation and leave with a handshake--he held it a little longer than necessary, and me putting my hand on his was probably a bit more than I should have done. Still, it was as far as he was going to get with me, so no harm done.

While retrieving my coat, I noticed he was drifting towards me. Damn. Not good. I didn't want to have to tell him no if he offered to walk me back to my car. I *would* have said no, but I just didn't want to deal with it. Fortunately, given the way crowds are constantly rearranging themselves, I was able to slip out past him relatively unnoticed, and he didn't follow.

I went home, and the first thing I did was get online and write Tiff, giving her a very brief summary of the night, and apologizing somewhat for bailing on her. Maybe it was enough, maybe too much. I don't know.

But that was Tuesday night.

Tiff and mine's future is uncertain right now. I have no idea what's going to happen and quite frankly it's tearing me up inside. But I must wait, must be patient, must hope for the best and prepare for the worst, whatever either of those might be.

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Wednesday, 24 February 1999 (crush with eyeliner)
8:00am


Busy day yesterday. My mom wrote, for starters.
Haven't heard from you since my last message. Either you didn't receive
it, or you have decided you don't want to talk to me ever again? I
think about you all the time. I haven't given up on you, have you given
up on me? At least I deserve to know.

Love,
Mom

She is, of course, ignoring the third choice: that I simply haven't written. Which is the case, both because I've been busy and I'm still not sure what I'm going to say. She's absolutely right, she does deserve to know. I'm replying to her saying as much, and will have composed a real reply by the end of the week. Yep.

More later.

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Tuesday, 23 February 1999 (what's the frequency, kenneth?)
4:50pm


this is the part where you need to relax. just relax. it's happening. let it happen.
Joy came over last night to watch Voyager from last week. It was nice, very casual. Afterwards we went to the Sutro baths, apparently a favorite late night hangout of hers. While a couple miles from where I live, I'd never actually explored out there. I suppose with all the other strange twists and turns my life's taken over the last few months, trudging through a dark, muddy cave at midnight sans any kind of light source except for my indiglo watch with an angst-ridden goth girl is par for the course. Takes a lot to faze me anymore.

We talked about the scene (a word I'm liking less and less every time I use it--the "group?" the "community?"), relationships she's had within (mostly bad, it seems, and with people I know), the standard. Of course I found an opportunity to rant about my mother, whom I still haven't written. The poor kid, she's only 19 and it's astonishing how much she's already been through. Certainly more than I had by that age, perhaps more than I have now at 25. If my part of generation x grew up too damn quick, I suspect hers may have missed childhood altogether.

Which might have accounted for why our age difference was irrelevant. I suspect those sorts of distinctions--a 19 year-old and 25 year-old--belong to a different set of standards. Fuck 'em.

do you remember the nightmare? the screaming? the panic you felt, of being trapped or lost or abandoned?
Going to see Tiff tonight, though I probably won't get to spend much time alone with her. Still, it beats waiting until this Friday.

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Monday, 22 February 1999 (when i feel again)
1:50

Missed yesterday's entry. Whoops. Oh well. That'll happen.

Part of the reason was, I didn't want to tie up the phone because I was waiting for Tiff to call. Is there anything more pathetic than waiting for the phone to ring? No, but that wasn't all I was doing. I cleaned, too, and realized that spending a day at home alone (The Ex was still in Fresno and wouldn't be back until late) was losing its allure.

It wasn't quite as much of the day as was originally intended, but I spent the evening with Tiff on Sunday. Or, at least, in the same room with her, which I suppose is better than nothing. For reasons which I chalked up to bad luck, we were mostly on opposite ends of two separate couches. We managed to sit together for maybe twenty minutes towards the end of the evening, which is absolutely much better than nothing. It's been too long since I cuddled with someone. Even before we broke up, and I can't remember when the last time I did so with The Ex, or had really even wanted to.

We hugged goodbye outside her apartment, and kissed--a real kiss this time, long and meaningful and with mouths open, not the semi-cursory pecks from Friday night. I initiated it and she responded in kind, making me feel like everything I've been through in the last two months just might have been worth it, for that moment and what it suggested for the future.

This is working. There is good in the world.

Still haven't written my mother.

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Saturday, 20 February 1999 (so fast, so numb)
10:15pm

Just got home about an hour ago. It's already been a long weekend, and I hope it isn't over yet. Very tired...have the bed to myself tonight, which is a wonderful thing, must go soon...

Though we got there at about 11pm, Tiff didn't show up until about 2am or so. If it weren't for waiting for the film crew to get their shit together so they could interview Summer (I confess I wanted to be interviewed too, but it's surely for the best that didn't happen), I wouldn't have seen her at all.

Acting not so much out of any kind of plan as simple joy in seeing her, I hugged and kissed her. She seemed slighly surprised, but responsive. It happened, it worked, it was a beautiful thing.

We danced for a little while (and there was an ugly incident which just goes to show why there's no combination more destructive than testosterone and alcohol but I won't go into it here), but soon I had to go. Seems a group of people, Tiff included, were meeting at Sparky's, a 24-hour diner in the Castro. She said she was going to dance for a little while longer, then would join us. Fair enough.

I asked Tiff about going to the movie on Sunday; she said that she'd already seen it but would be happy to see it again. However, as for Sunday, would I be interested in helping her dye her hair? Oh, yes. yes yes yes.

We hugged and kissed again, and it was much more organic, for she was fully involved. Was this happening? Are such things possible anymore?

As we stepped apart, she told me I looked wonderful. I thanked her and returned the compliment, saying that she looked even better, for it was surely true. (Still, I need to learn to accept compliments as is.)

Tiff never did make it to Sparky's, but a lot of people who were supposed to didn't. No biggie.

Bed now. One of us will call the other tomorrow, and we'll go from there.

I'm worried about c0g. I hope he hangs on. Him and Summer can work it out, I'm sure of that.

Still haven't written my mother.

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Friday, 19 February 1999 (hats off to larry / a glaring omission)
5:30pm


There'll be a film crew at Lilith tonight. And I'm going with Summer, who's certain to be the crux of at least some attention, being the nearest thing to a celebrity we have and in fact having been contacted by the producers. Connection between the cameras and this being the first time she's invited me to come with her to Lilith since early January? Can't say, couldn't guess, don't care.

More important than any of that is the fact that Tiff will be there. She didn't seem particularly bothered that I'm going with Summer—

Why would she, you arrogant bitch? Is she your girlfriend? Are you dating her? No, and no. So why would she mind?
—though she seemed just the slightest bit skeptical than nothing would be going on between me and Summer, all things considered. Yeah, right. That's a good one.

Casual. It's all very casual--not casual as in cold/aloof, but casual as in, like, whatever will happen will happen. Which is I think is good.

Yet, she's still a mystery to you, isn't she? Like there's something which you aren't quite grasping. As though that casualness is a lack of familiarity. That can be very dangerous, either in terms of your immediate relationship with or all future relationships.

Yeah, that's right, future relationships. As in, odds are you'll break up with her and move onto someone else, and then break up with that person and...this is the world you've entered, this is how it's done. This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wouldn't have pursued it so damn vigorously if it you didn't think it would make you happy, right?

So, my itinerary for the evening.

  1. I will kiss Tiff.
  2. I will ask her to go see October Sky on Sunday, or at least make plans to do so next week.
  3. Refer back to number 1.
  4. Being ready for my closeup--in other words, going easy on the raccoon look.
  5. The whole Tiff/kiss thing.
And, of course, since there's no way I could bring myself to lie about it if it doesn't happen, I guess I'll have to kiss her tonight. Damn the luck!

The Ex, I should point out, is out of town with the car, so I'm on my own. This is, in many ways, a perfect night for her not to be there.

Oh, and I still haven't written my mother back yet. My mind's not in the right place. Do I make it long, short, angry, apologetic, pleading, indifferent? Where do I go from here?

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Thursday, 18 February 1999 (dead to the world)
5:00pm

Wow. Can you say "violent mood swings?" The hormones would be causing them regardless, then add in everything else happening...thus begging the question, which came first? Would all this even be happening if the hormones weren't driving me slightly insane to begin with? Chicken and egg time. I really haven't the first clue as to the answer, and it hardly matters. Things are the way they are, and that's all there is to it.

I haven't written my mother back yet. I don't know when I will. Probably early next week, unless she decides to impose some kind of time limitation--if I don't write in 24 hours it's all over!

That's unfair of me, to be sure. In fact, in a seeming reversal which shocks even me, I think I'm going to try my best to make good with her. She referred to putting the past behind us; really, and I can't ask for more than that. What I'm doing amounts to destroying everything that came before, starting from a clean slate. If my mother's willing to work with me on this, I must pursue it. Regardless of whatever my anger and pride and (yes) arrogance tell me. I must rise above those things.

Do you think she'll be happy to see you tomorrow? You'll know from the look in her eyes, from the quality of the hug you may or may not receive. She'll either be looking forward to seeing you, or you'll just be an annoyance after a very busy week. But you'll just have to wait and see.

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Wednesday, 17 February 1999 (radio free europe)
2:00pm

The meltdown with my mother continues. So my brother Tom, he of the former crack addiction and two children he never sees, is getting married. I hadn't heard from my mother for a while (she didn't even write back earlier this week to acknowledge my new email address), and Tom told me that she had disapproved of his plans--she apparently implied that he doesn't deserve to be happy, which sounds like her MO--so I figured it was as good a reason to write as any. I wrote:

>> Not to break the sanctuary of silence, but Tom told me his news.
>>Personally, I'm very happy for him.

Okay, so maybe my tone was a little rude. I don't know. She's accused me of cutting her off when I don't write for a couple weeks, so in a lot of ways it seemed fair. Her reply:
>What sanctuary of silence? I wrote right back to you last night, and it
>bounced back (your new address) and then I forwarded to your Hot Mail
>address. Didn't you get it? If not, I wonder where it went? Please
>write back.
Fair enough.
>> No, I didn't receive anything at either address. If you know how to
>> access your other folders, you might want to look in sent-mail (if you
>> even have one of those). Most mail programs keep copies. Otherwise, if
>> the entire message bounced back, try sending it again, error messages and
>> all.
I'm not convinced she understood what the hell I was talking about, but:
>O.K. will do now.
Then:
>My message from last night bounced back again. Seems the only way I can write
>to you at this address is to reply. Why?
A bit of backstory here. Last Christmas, her Netscape started fouling up something horrible. Mail was working, but she couldn't browse with it. So, among other things, she couldn't click on URLs in mail and have the page automatically come up. As a stopgap measure until we figured out what was wrong, I started to show her how to cut and paste a URL into IE so she could look at the pages that way.

Nope. She all but flipped, saying she didn't want to know how to do that--she wanted to point, click and be done with it. So I never showed her how to cut and paste, the most basic of the basic functions.

So then it went sour. I went sour, anyway.

>> I don't know; nobody else has had that problem, to the best of my
>> knowledge. Possibly you're mistyping it, being a fairly complicated
>> address. You might want to cut and paste it, if you know how. (I tried
>> to show you last time and you refused. Hopefully you've learned how in
>> the meantime.) Otherwise, try lndgnwtr@wenet.net rather than hooked.net,
>> or just send it to jeff_connelly@hotmail.com. Beyond that, I'm at a loss.
>> Anyway, I'm going out for a couple hours, so I look forward to reading it
>> when I get back...
She didn't like that one bit.
>I'm going to bed now. I'll try again tomorrow. Goodnight. I can't do anything
>right anyway. Your contempt for me is getting to be a bit much.
Now, the two wisest things for me to do would be: A) apologize or B) let it drop.

But you know me--I went straight for C).

>Well, now I guess you know how I've felt over the last year.

I guess sometimes you just stop caring. Sometimes you absolutely must stop caring about other people's feelings if you're going to look out for your own. In a lot of ways I feel like my mother's forfeited her right to courtesy from me; she did so the moment she started acting like was a criminal because I got bangs. Why go to a lot of trouble for someone who's so shallow they'd humiliate and insult their grown-up child over a haircut?

If she calls my bluff, I'll show my hand. She's treated me contemptuously for quite some time over my appearance, in spite of the fact that it had no ill effect on my life. It didn't cause me to lose my job (indeed, I'm a better job now than I've ever had in my life, and my hair is a non-issue) or get my college degree revoked. Yet she thinks it's almost as bad as me living on the street smoking crack. If she doesn't understand why I'm angry, I'll make her understand. If she decides that keeping in touch with me is just too disturbing, so be it.

In other news, I actually slept on the bed last night at The Ex's offering. I think she's finally beginning to realize that sleeping on the couch is killing me. I'm getting no rest whatsoever--if someone was watching me and didn't know better they'd think I was narcoleptic. Not to mention how dangerous it is for me to drive. So she took pity on me, and we talked a bit. She explained that she's not doing it to be vindictive (so it's a mere coincidence that I was relegated to the couch the same night I told her I didn't want her hanging around at all the same places as me!), but that it has more to do with the emotional difficulty of being the same bed as me without touching me. Which I guess is very sweet, though maybe she should give the couch a whirl for a change. If it's not punishment (which is how it feels), then there's no reason that I shouldn't get the bed--oh! wait! Her parents bought it. That's right. Not that they bought the apartment which I'm paying for or the car which I'm paying for and she's mostly driving. So I guess that makes it fair.

Tiff wrote back. She won't be joining me for Voyager tonight, though it looks like Lilith is on. I offered to meet her at her place and we could take the bus out there together (The Ex will be in Fresno with the car). We'll see.

10:10pm

I don't know if this qualifies as calling my bluff or not.

Dear Jeff,

I am not going to be able to continue conversation with you if the
venom coming from you toward me is not stopped. You are DEAD WRONG, I
have never in my life felt contempt for you. I think you have the "if
they are not with me, they must be against me" mentality, which is
totally untrue. I did not like your hair and, rightly or wrongly, made
that known to you. You are asking me to accept you the way you are, but
you refuse to do the same for me - or even acknowledge that there have
been some positive things in our relationship - even in the last year.
If you cannot do this, I am afraid there is no hope and that makes me
very sad and very heartsick. Can we please put the past behind us (at
least the bad stuff) and begin again? I love you very much. If I
didn't this wouldn't hurt so much.

Mom

So there it is. The ultimatum I've been expecting.

sometime around midnight or so

I just met, very very briefly, the guy The Ex's going out with. Blech! Hello! Has she learned nothing since Fresno? She can do so much better!

I find I'm only bothered by the thought of them having sex in the sense that it's her and an ugly guy. Otherwise, the thought that up until recently she was perfectly content to be with me for the rest of her life doesn't bother me at all.

No, really, it doesn't.

Fucking liar.
We had another long argument/fight earlier this evening. Apparently I'm arrogant, self-absorbed and constantly spewing venom at everyone (she latched on my mom's phrase remarkably fast). I'm completely wrapped up in myself and need to learn to see things from other people's perspectives. Since what I'm doing is so alien, however, the same courtesy need not be shown to me.

I want out, but I have nowhere to go.

Maybe I'll get up in three hours to go to the gym, maybe I won't.

Maggie doesn't consider me to be her friend anymore, if she ever did. I wonder if I should ask her about that. I wonder if she's jealous of me because she considered me a boi and nothing more (even The Ex calls her the closest thing to a feminazi she's ever met), or maybe because I'm so much cuter than she is. Nah, that couldn't be it. But that sort of thought gets me out of bed in the morning after sleeping for three hours to hit the gym. I'll show them. Whatever else happens, I'll prove that I'm capable of taking care of myself physically.

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Tuesday, 16 February 1999 (i don't sleep, i dream)
3:45am


Here comes that awful feeling again...
Just woke up from a dream. A nightmare, I suppose. Is there really a difference anymore?

REM was playing at a Jerry Falwell event. (Don't ask me why. It's a dream, it's not supposed to make sense. I suppose Falwell's kinda zeitgeisty.) REM has been my emotional soundtrack lately; their music, and particularly Michael Stipe's genius as a lyricist and vocalist and open genderfuck queer and force of nature, has been a great source of strength and comfort to me--the story is a sad one told many times, the story of my life in trying times. My siglines have used his words to share my psychodrama with the world. When I heard him explain that "Losing My Religion" is not about religion but having a crush on someone and not knowing if they have any idea or even care, I realized it might be the greatest song ever.

Back to the dream: I was totally getting into it, particularly as Michael was running through the crowd getting people to sing along (I don't remember the song, and given the nature of dreams it probably wasn't even one of theirs), but the two people behind me weren't. They were hassling me and talking shit about Michael, calling him a bumpkin(?) and saying he should just shut the fuck up. One of them starting touching me and pulling my hair not unlike John Draper did that time in junior high, the first time I snapped and hit someone. I had finally realized that I was in an evil presence when I woke up, almost in the classic melodramatic sitting-up-straight motion. Of course I was curled up on the couch so sitting up wasn't much of an option, but I was definitely sweating and disoriented. The disorientation hasn't quite gone away.

Perhaps I will go the gym after all. What the fuck, it's 4am and I'm awake, and besides, the rain is light outside. The longer I wait, the harder it's going to rain. Rain can't be trusted in that respect. It will turn on you on a moment's notice, so I'd better get out of here now.

9:19am

Made it to the gym, and lasted longer than I expected to. My stomach's not happy with me at all--a hangover of sorts.

speaking of which, you say one of the reasons you don't drink is because whatever marginal pleasure it brings is not worth being hung over the next morning. and yet here you are pursuing a new relationship even though it's entirely likely it might end in heartbreak once more. at least a hangover goes away after a while. so what the hell's your excuse?
So. About Shrine of Lilith this last Friday.
everything you touch, you destroy. that'll never change.
As usual, I was ready to go about an hour before The Ex, who fussed and primped and agonized over every little detail as the evening slipped away from us. Much of it was about her boa. Yes, a boa. Insult, meet injury. We drove, though the plan was for her to almost certainly leave by cab and for me to take the car home or wherever I might be destined. Fair enough, provided we were both back home by 10am or since we had a hair appointment with Miguel at 11am on Saturday.

Our paths split as soon as we got there and never really crossed again, except briefly in the ladies' room later that evening. By the time I left at 3am (not to get too far ahead of my story), The Ex was long gone. We'd agreed to alert the other when one of us left just to be on the safe side, since in theory we might both simply be going straight home, but I concluded she'd found other means.

I wandered (sauntered? sashayed?) into the bar and found Tiff. Before long we sought a little more privacy and found it in the hallway between the bar and the dance floor. We sat down and talked.

If you've read *any* of this, you've probably come to the conclusion that I have a tendency to overshare. And, lord, did I. That I didn't scare her off for good right then and there is a miracle, and many points during the evening I thought I'd done just that. I went into perhaps more detail than I should have about The Ex and I, and essentially hung a huge sign around my neck screaming "ON REBOUND, DO NOT APPROACH."

We more or less hung out together for most of the night; however, when she went off on her own, unless invited I did not follow. Under no circumstances was I going to cling. Usually we'd reconnect on the dance floor.

Some random events from the evening. In the bar, a girl whose name I didn't catch said she was jealous of me, because she owned the dress I was wearing and it looked much better on me than it did on her. I was appreciative, of course, but skeptical.

At another point I went onto the dance floor, and a girl next to the door told me apropos of nothing that I was beautiful. She said she'd first noticed me the previous week at Sanctuary, and wanted to make sure I knew.

You'd think that hearing these things would improve one's confidence. When you spend most of your life aesthetically displeasing at best (as I did), it seems logical to assume that if only people thought you were attractive, happiness will surely follow. Funny how it doesn't quite work that way.

because it isn't beauty that runs to the bone, you idiot. and notice how this silly little pursuit of it, even as means to an end rather than an end itself, has had the effect of alienating you from both your mother and the person who otherwise might have been your soulmate. congratulations. next stop: world peace!
Then there was Universal Black, or at least the boy guitarist and girl singer. Self-described as "high-energy fuck music," apparently they're playing Shrine on 3/19, and they started talking to me as I was walking down the hallway minding my own business. I honestly don't remember why the stopped me or what they initially asked, but we talked for quite a while. They were quite clearly stoned, or at least the girl was. In fact, they asked me if I wanted to smoke out with them, but the timing didn't seem quite right--I still had to drive home, and the evening with Tiff might not be completely over. And I was tired enough as it was.

The girl, while clearly so baked remaining upright was devouring much of her mental resources, asked me a question I've never actually heard before: if I'd had a sex change. Usually if that comes up at all, they'll ask if I'm going to, not if I already have. I decided to take it as a compliment, although I hope if the answer to that question ever becomes yes, I won't have to answer it at all because I'll appear sufficiently natural. But enough pipe-dreaming for now. (Is it any wonder I have a hard time taking compliments at face value?)

—and don't forget what happened the last time you believed someone—
At their request, I gave them my name and phone number, if barely legible on the back of a flyer written in my favortie eyeliner. They promised to call. Suuuure.

By the end of the night (3am) Tiff and I had converged once more on the dance floor. But...something...was...missing. What promise there'd been over the last few weeks, in her emails, indeed at the start of the night, the notion that I was flirting with someone for the first time in my life (even with Summer it never seemed like flirting per se, but then again I'm extremely stupid), didn't really seem to be there anymore. As though what had taken a couple months with Louise and a couple weeks with Summer now took a couple hours with Tiff. All she had to do was get to know me, just a little, and she got wise real quick.

We walked outside together, at least. Her friend Renae (from whose biting demonstration earlier in the evening my neck was still a little sore--she offered, I accepted, there you go) asked if I was Tiff's new girlfriend. Tiff seemed almost startled by the idea, saying that no, it wasn't anything like that, we were just here as friends, right? I rolled with it, natch. Just as friends. Nothing more. Indeed, I should be perfectly satisfied with that. More than I deserve, to say the least.

She accepted my offer of a ride home, though--she lives near the Haight, which isn't exactly out of the way to my place. When we got to her place, after debating internally the entire drive: I decided to take the plunge and ask: while we obviously weren't dating, was it possibility? Could this evolve into a dating situation? Most people (well, men at least, and I don't mean to align myself with the male gender) would have been working towards having sex by that time in the evening; I just wanted to know whether or not she found me completely repulsive.

No, she didn't. Quite the opposite. She found me quite attractive and had been relieved to find out I liked girls. But she was (understandably) nervous about entering into a relationship, particularly with someone going through as many changes as I was. It was not so much the end results of the changes that made her nervous (as she likes girls as much as boys) but the fact that she needed some stability. But it was a definite possibility. We'd just take thing as they came and see what happened.

We agreed to meet Saturday at Bound, hugged--a rather passionate hug, as these things go--and she went inside. I went home. The Ex wasn't back yet, but it didn't matter.

And that, essentially, was Friday.

3:40pm

         disassociation

just because you can walk in and act like you own the place don't make it so. there are histories and dramas and connections and relationships and loves and passions and dire hatreds and emotional bonds that you can't even begin to realize you're not perceiving, don't you get it? it all existed and thrived long before your sorry ass showed up and will continue to do so long after you'd faded, perhaps even more so--not for you having been there, but because any place tends to improve once you leave. it was a social hiccup, a failed experiment, that brought you in to begin with. a random convergence of events that probably shouldn't have happened to begin with. the only honorable thing would be for you to remove yourself entirely. but of course you won't, will you?

                  wilderness

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Monday, 15 February 1999 (falls to climb)
11:40pm


We've exchanged numbers and have talked on the phone for the first time. It felt nice. I now know her full name...what is it with me and irony, huh? Or is my life simply out of fresh material and simply has to keep recycling the old stuff?

Slept on the bed this evening. More like napped, really. I was mind-bogglingly cranky when I got home from work because I'd finally realized that sleeping on the couch is killing me. I'm 6', and the couch is considerably smaller. So I got as much sleep on the bed, fully clothed, as I could before The Ex when to bed. I think it helped, and Tiff's call during that time aided my relaxation considerably.

She really doesn't deserve this, you know. Acting so goddamn immature about her new boyfriend(s). Even if you don't think that's the reason for those little mini-tantrums, she does. And she may as well be right.

Tiff said she's looking for stability. You must provide that for her. It's exactly what you want, too. Don't expect to forgive yourself any time soon if you blow it.

Time to go to couch now. I don't think I'm going to the gym tomorrow. In fact, I'll be lucky if I'm not sick in the morning, since I kinda sorta indulged heavily in one of my few comfort foods: ice cream. The "light" stuff from Safeway, but a lot, as much as my mood demanded. And since this was one of the first days in a while in which I cried, my mood was demanding a hell of a lot. *sigh* So one of the net results of this weekend will be me putting on a few pounds. I can handle that. And it's out of my system for now, of that I'm certain, although there's a part of me which is tempted to go into the bathroom and follow up my binging with the most logical next step. After all, a little tiny bit of bulimia never hurt anyone, right? Right.

Sometimes my humor is very very very dark. Barefoot said he would love and support me up until the point at which I lost my sense of humor. If I lose my sense of humor, in spite of how gutter or sinister it might be, I'll lose my reason to live entirely. I'll be like the others, the truly angry and bitter ones.

Tiff likes me for who I am--and she does know who/what I am. Must remember that. This is will not be another crash and burn, not right away at least. I want us to see the millennium together, and we will.

This is my strength, my destiny. This is the role that I have chosen.

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Sunday, 14 February 1999 (test pattern)
3:30am


Saturday was another busy day, which is why I'm only getting to this now. Got my hair trimmed and recolored (still black, natch), drove out to Oakland and back for my brother Barefoot's party, and went to Bound and hung out a bit with Tiff as our pre-courtship period continues. At least, unlike with Summer, it's acknowledged that's what's happening. I guess things are going well; she doesn't seem scared of me just yet. She may be joining me for Babe: Pig in the City at The Red Vic, and I'm planning on attending a star party with her on Tuesday. To say I'm attracted to her mind as much as her beauty is not an overstatement.

I still haven't heard back from my mother since last Saturday; the day before, 2/5/99, I finally came out to her. She's talked to both Barefoot and The Ex, though. She's treating this like a death and, as she puts it, is grieving right now. Can't say I'm surprised. She always was quite the drama queen.

Shit. Gotta sleep. More later.

11:09am

Just stood in line for an hour trying to get Alanis tickets for The Ex, because she isn't feeling well and wasn't up to the trip to Tower; fortunately, she was able to get them over the phone and paged me as such, thus saving me the embarrassment of getting to the front of the line and discovering that I couldn't have bought them anyway because it was a BASS outlet and only Ticketmaster was selling them. I really, really hate the system.

She's started smoking cigarettes again. Her habit orignally started in mid-94 just before I moved, because she was so upset that I was moving and has always been incapable of handling stress without a crutch. (Almost since the moment we broke up she's been stoned; on the other hand, I've smoked grass once all this time and didn't enjoy it like I used to.)

Up until she quit until about year and a half ago she smoked an arty British brand called Dunhills, but now she's a Marlboro girl. Marlboros??? I guess she's showing the world that she can be as much of a rebel as I am, so smoking cigarettes and wearing a biker jacket and going to goth clubs is apparently the most logical way.

Yeah, mom. *I'm* the self-destructive one.

Jim and I talked quite a bit last night about mom and my transitioning and the attendant issues. His support really is touching, and he honestly believes that the bond that's developed between him and I will certainly survive all this.

9:04pm

Tiff didn't make it to the movie, but she was waiting outside afterwards.

I think this might actually work.

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Saturday, 13 February 1999 (afterwards)
4:15am


Just got back from Lilith. Stayed till closing, and took Tiffney home, both firsts. We talked a bit...but I can't discuss it now. I'm far too tired--I've been up for 26 hours straight, a lot even by my standards...i'll tell my story later.
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Friday, 12 February 1999 (the morning of the second night it all ends) (first entry)
11:00am


Up at 2:15am this morning. Didn't need the alarm clock; it was set for 2:50 anyway. I just woke up at quarter past and knew that was that. Besides, the couch--well, technically, the loveseat--doesn't lend itself to rest. Three and a half hours of sleep seemed like the most I could hope for, and even if I was still in the bed I wouldn't sleep much longer. So I put on my gym clothes and drove to the 24-hour fitness on Ocean avenue. Really, I should have taken the bus to the location on Bay so I could have gone straight to work afterwards, but I decided to take advantage of the car I was solely paying for while I still could. The Ex probably isn't moving out any time too soon, but after Tuesday night, she's taking the whole "she gets the car and I get the apartment" split much more seriously, thus begging the question of why I'm sleeping on the couch in the apartment I'm also solely paying for. Because her parents bought the bed, it's hers, not ours. Using that logic...no, I'd best not even let my mind go in that direction.

you keep asking yourself, what happened? where did things go wrong? where did you screw up?
those are the wrong questions.

I got back at about 5am, showered, dressed, got made up--just eyeliner and powder, my basics these days--and was out of the apartment by 5:30am. Got to work at 6am, anticipating having the place to myself for a little while and could have the lights down low for a change. This isn't a matter of aesthetics; my eyes are sensitive (maybe that accounts for why the red-eye reduction never works in my pictures? just a thought), and when the lights are up all the way, it hurts. Alas, I suspect it's simply written off to my gothiness. *sigh* Whatever.
maybe she'll be there today, maybe she won't. and it won't make any difference whatsoever, certainly not now, if it ever really did.
Lilith tonight. The Ex's going; indeed, when I asked her on Tuesday not to anymore, I knew the most likely reaction would be for her to be that much more determined. How could I be such an asshole? she demanded to know. "This is such bullshit!"
and this is why they're the wrong questions: because you already know the answers. you know everything you've done to screw things up. asking such things is like trying to assign blame elsewhere. ultimately you're responsible for everything that happens to you. that's the price of free will.
All through our relationship I'd been practically phobic about upsetting her, because she'd start to cry at the slightest provocation, and the guilt of knowing I'd made her cry was often more than I could take. Recently she'd admonished me for this, saying I should have been more direct with her over the years, not so afraid to make her upset. Finally I'm being direct--after we've broken up, yes, it's true, lousy timing--and in doing so have probably destroyed whatever chance we had of maintaining a civil relationship. Anger and jealousy and bitterness, when not diluted, can do that.

Best of all, he'll be there. I'll get to see her new beau. Probably not meet him per se, but at least see this new person she's picked up. My oh my oh my, how lucky she was that I let her come along so she could play the field! So much simpler than trying to go out on her own. I'd done all that scary "going somewhere for the first time" stuff, so she only needed a minimum of courage at best. And, of course, She Has Every Right to Be There.

I really need Tiffney to show up tonight. I need to get it right this time.

she asked you why you have to make everything as painful as possible--this, on the other hand, is a completely valid question. do you think it makes you noble, somehow? that it will cleanse you of your sins? is that why you're doing what you're doing to your body?
5:15pm

She wrote back, and she knows the score. Nothing about tonight, but definitely tomorrow. Which means now *I* need to make it out there somehow. Not easy with The Ex in her current mood. But it'll be done.

Yeesh. Could I be a little more pathetic, please? Would that be too much to ask?

Rushing headlong once again. Hoping it'll work. I've always maintained that trying and failing is better than not trying at all. Eventually I'll realize that's why I'm always fucking up so bad.

But not tonight, apparently.

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