Ramble On

Do you remember that Led Zeppelin song? I went shopping at the local thrift store the other day. Walked in the door and ran into someone I knew in boy mode. I looked at shoes and walked back out.

As a transgendered female, So much of my life is lived on the edge, it’s hard to keep track. I want so much that I cannot have. So many strings tie me to the male mode and I wonder, would I be truly happy as a female? I glance over men I come into contact with, and I’m not attracted to them. It makes me wonder how many men are truly attractive to genetic girls.

If I were to ever go through transition, Would mine, be the life of a lesbian? I’ve read and seen stories of trans girls who begin to find an attraction to men. When I think of some men like Richard Gere, I can see how it’s possible, but a lot of other men? Not a chance.

So where does this leave me? I love women. I love being one. Making the decision to transition would be easy. Having my fifty something year-old-body cooperate is another matter. So many problems—so few answers. I wore my white skirt with a black lace top and it made me feel warm and fuzzy. I wear my panties to work and I feel connected to life.

Then I run into someone in the thrift store, or I see myself in the mirror on the wrong day and want to run to the nearest drug store. Overdose on testosterone and call it a day. The truth is I will never be able to perform sexually as a man again. Without going into details, I just can’t, but if I had different plumbing . . .

Thanks for letting me ramble. I know there is no easy fix, but I’m hoping to find resolution. Maybe tonight, I will shave my beard. Maybe next week, I’ll find the money to get my teeth fixed. Maybe next year I will have lost all the extra weight. Maybe I’ll be a female when I die. If not, bury me in a black skirt and maroon button shirt. A pearl necklace with matching ring will complete the outfit. Get a professional to do my makeup and I’ll be happy.

                                           With Love, Francine.

Smashing the Looking Glass

They say that mirrors don’t lie. Mine actually laughed at me. No, I’m not crazy. Well, no more than usual. I put on my black camisole and gazed at myself in the mirror. To say I didn’t like what I saw would be an understatement.

The mirror said, "You’re just a fat, old man trying to recapture the feelings of your youth."

You know, it might’ve been right. Then, again, let’s see how judgmental it is after I toss it out the window. I wear women’s clothes because of how it makes me feel. I toyed with the idea of transitioning when I was fourteen, but that was a long time ago. It was during the dark ages of gender dys-combobulation.

Now I’m cursed with a middle-aged male body and a mind that thinks like a female. I can relate to all the women I know, and I secretly wish for a time machine. I still plan on attending DLV next year, but I’ve got a lot of work to do. Right now, I think I’ll go for a walk.

With Love, Francine

I'm Not Ready

There is a social gathering for transgender folks in Las Vegas this month, but I won’t be going. My body aches to be able to attend, but I’m not ready. I don’t care if I pass. At least let me look like a woman on the outside.

My long list of correctables is getting smaller. I’m working on getting my teeth fixed, and I need to shave my beard off. A good wig is on the list and a larger wardrobe is a must. Oh, how I wish I’d kept all the clothes I've purged through the years. You know if a transsexual saved all the money they spend on binge and purge, they could transition in style.

My goal is to be ready for the event next year. I have one year to perfect my walk, voice, and presentation. I will be the girl I always wanted to be. I can’t wait to meet "Like minded girls who know all about my journey and love me.

In the meantime, take pictures for me, and drink a toast to me when you remember absent friends. Put Twenty-bucks in the pot of a poker game, win the hand, and have a drink on me.

                                       With Love, Francine