It’s coming. It’s coming fast, yet somehow I feel that I am a skydiver, wondering why the ground isn’t moving up on me faster when the truth is that the ground is rushing up at me at 32 feet per second per second. I leave in 53 days, my surgery takes place in 59 days. Now that I finally have my travel plans, I can get my passport. There are new protocols in place regarding passports for trans people, however, like any good bureaucracy, all the new information has yet to be fully absorbed at the local level. A few days ago I went to City Hall to talk with them about the new wrinkles and to pick up my application. When I told the woman I was trans, she looked quite panicked. She wasn’t bigoted, just under prepared for me. So, it was ten minutes of watching her rifle through her things. Then, with a world-weary expression, she explained that she couldn’t find the new regulations and left, begging me to wait for her, as she disappeared to find someone who knew more than she did, which I figured wouldn’t be difficult, however, I was mistaken. With exasperation, she asked me if I could come back and tried to encourage me in quite an impotent way, “Next time you come back, we’ll be ready, sweetie. Don’t worry. I promise!!”
Fortunately, I am blessed with well-connected friends. I was put in contact with a member of the National Council on Transgender Equality. She basically told me to bypass all of the red tape and awkward baby steps, by simply having my doctor copy and complete information in a pre-written letter to the State Department. Don’t you love government song and dance?
There is a bit of a tradition in the Male to Female trans community to have a hot dog roast before the big sleep. Of course I prefer the soubrette “weenie roast” for reasons of obvious wordplay. I had hoped to make it easy: hot dogs on park provided grills. My doctor had other plans. The other day, he sent me a note which basically said, “Your flight plans are a little late. I’d like you to be in the country a few days earlier, so I have unfortunately been forced to re-schedule my flight. I hope I don’t lose too many people with the re-dux. But as the Goddess as my witness I WILL SEE THOSE WEENIES BURN, DAMMIT!!
Now, at the risk of alienating both readers of this blog, I am a Pagan. I live with my tres cool girlfriend, who is also Pagan and three members of the “Cherry-picking” sect of a particular monotheistic religion. When I noted how many Christian artifacts lined our living room, I asked to hang one 12” X 12” wall hanging, illustrating my personal faith and beliefs, I was yelled at. Yes, actually YELLED AT, by my roommates. After a few minutes of utter ignorance and closed-mindedness, I was given the coup-de-grace. “3 vs. 2, majority rules!!” We are talking about a couple and his mother. Gee, do you think they might vote in a block and turn away every single religious knick-knack I would like to display in this, our community space? Regrettably, they managed to live up to the low opinion I have about the followers of the great space dad. The way these people go about picking and choosing what is and isn’t important in their own religion is a special kind of douche-baggery. I mean, I only eat three or four things on the Chinese buffet, but that’s ridiculous. We are Pagans. We were slaughtered by the thousands by Christians who couldn’t stand the idea that some individuals might want to retain their personal beliefs. They mocked us by calling us “April Fools” when the Pagan calendar, which began in the spring solstice, was changed to January first. I love the smell of religious intolerance in the morning. I still think there might be a chance to sneak the Green Man into the living room at some point. By all means, guys, piss off the nervous, stressed-out, sleep-deprived transsexual. That always ends well. *cough* assholes *cough*. Good night, boys and girls. Get some rest, personally, I’m starting to think a frying pan upside my head might work better than sleeping pills. As always, I remain Your Zozo.