I Used To Be Jealous…
…of women who got cold, easily.
My internal thermostat liked an external temperature in the mid-60s— which meant that in warmer environments I usually perspired.
Particularly on my face.
My neighbors would laugh because they would see company walk up our driveway holding sweaters in their hands— in August.
Wearing makeup is a lot more complicated when your face perspires so easily and it was a constant problem for me— especially on my upper lip.
I used to pray— literally *pray*— that I could be like the women who were always cold. Who almost never perspired. Who had to wear a light jacket when other people were wearing short sleeves.
Imagine my disappointment when hormones did little to change my internal thermostat. Estrogen moved it up a few degrees and my face and body didn’t perspire nearly as much— but I still got hot very easily.
So it was a complete surprise when, after my surgery in February, my comfort range suddenly went up by about 12 degrees.
I’ve had bloodwork done, since then, and everything looks fine. All my numbers look great, so there doesn’t seem to be anything that has changed in that area.
My best guess is that it’s because instead of *neutralizing* testosterone, like I was doing with pills, before, I’m just not making any (other than normal female amounts).
And I think that that has affected my temperature preference.
So my “perfect temperature” is now in the upper 70s. And I rarely perspire.
And even though I complain about the cold and the temperature that Annie keeps the house, I’m actually glad that my wish finally came true.
My makeup coasts through the day without needing touchups, my clothes are as fresh when I take them off as when I put them on, and I can enjoy living in the South more fully.
I have no idea if this is a common occurence or not. I’ve certainly never read anything about it.
I’m just glad that it worked out for me.
So when I complain about being cold just tell me to shush and put on a jacket. Because I asked for it.
Giving Blondes A Bad Name
I’m drinking coffee in the sunroom and the waterfall fountain suddenly stopped.
Here was my thought process:
“Hmmm, the fountain just stopped. I wonder if the electricity went out? No… the candle is still burning. Wait— you idiot!”
OH NO! I just realized the Keurig isn’t working either!
I Have Gotten The Most Incredible Messages This Morning…
…in response to my post on “The Land Of O”.
The emails have been humorous and kind.
Thank you for your support and interest in Annie’s and my journey.
Y’all are incredible.
I, Too, Have No Idea What A Man’s Process Is
My “old process”— the only way I could even function— was to convince myself that I was the woman. That I was on the “receiving end” of things.
It was complicated but it’s something I learned to do— and I’m sure it’s nowhere near what a man’s process is.
If he even *has* a process.
Trying To Get To The “Land Of O”
This is a TMI post, but I think it’s an important part of the post-surgical journey of a trans woman.
If you’re my mom, dad, other family member or you live in my town— or a neighboring town— it’s probably best to skip this one.
After being chased out of the Jacuzzi by lightning, the night before, Annie and I were back in it, last night.
We had candles all over the place and dropped in another Lush bath bomb for some aromatherapy.
I’m not allowed to say anything about Annie in this post, btw, because she’s intensely private. I will say, however, that considering what she’s been through (as I have completed my journey) she’s been, and continues to be, a really good sport and a loving and accepting spouse.
After the Jacuzzi it was time to welcome the newest member of the family— a personal massager purchased at one of *those* stores.
And while I didn’t make it all the way to the Land of O I know that it was just around the corner and I’ll end up there soon enough.
I did learn a lot, though. Seriously.
1) I’ve discovered that I have to learn to O all over again. The process of getting there is more different than I expected it to be.
2) I always assumed that the woman just laid there and waited for it to be delivered to her— like a pizza— but it actually takes a mental and emotional investment to make things happen and that’s the part I was lacking. It’s hard to get emotionally invested in a vibrating piece of equipment, no matter how good it feels.
3) Have you ever seen a caged monkey going crazy as it tried to get out? My O was that crazed monkey and I couldn’t find the key.
4) I got really close— and then almost started crying for some inexplicable reason. They were happy feelings but they were overwhelming feelings. That’s never happened to me before and I was afraid that Annie would think I was an idiot if I started crying— so I started thinking about what I was going to make for dinner, today, until it passed.
The surgeon told us that it can take up to a year before you’re ready to climax.
I know that I’m capable of it, right now— but I need to figure out how to drive this thing, first.
It didn’t come with an owner’s manual.
I wish Google Maps could supply turn by turn directions to the Land of O but when I typed it in it wanted to take me to “The Land of Odd” in California.
Maybe it’s trying to tell me something.
Sorry if this post offended. In all the research I did leading up to my surgery this is one area I didn’t find much info on.
The good news is that I know I’ll be a frequent visitor to the Land of O.
Once I figure out how to get there.
The Place With The Blacked Out Windows…
…was busier than I expected it to be.
There was a female customer standing at “The Wall” which was covered from end to end with personal massagers of every conceivable size, shape, design and color.
There were many that I didn’t even understand, from an operational standpoint— and I’m an engineer.
There were about a half dozen guys in the video section of the store which, btw, was divided up into sections that had disturbing and terrifying names.
I don’t know if they were for rent or sale but clearly whatever was there must have been extremely interesting because they eventually lined up at the register with several DVDs each.
When I first walked in the amply-pierced, fuchsia-haired sales girl immediately asked if she could help me find anything.
“Personal messagers, please.”
Like a pink-headed Vanna White she happily waved her arms toward “The Wall” and with a big smile said, “We should have whatever you’re looking for!”
She obviously loved her job— and she was, of course, correct.
A few of them looked like they could double as television antennas.
I ended up lingering in front of one “high def” model but decided that we should probably work up to something like that in the due course of time.
I selected something that was specifically recommended by one of my followers. It looked innocent and, since it’s the size of a lipstick, it didn’t seem terribly intimidating.
After the guy in front of me paid for his teen porn I made my purchase and left.
When I told Annie about it she remembered that her sister had given us a personal massager as a wedding gift. (We have extremely thoughtful family members.)
So it would seem that we’re now a two massager family.
And I think that might be a good thing!
Chelle: Okay, you win. Where are you hiding the personal massagers?
Girl1: I'm sorry, we don't stock them.
Chelle: I checked, online, and it said that this store had them in stock. And I know you hide them so that people will have to ask for them.
Girl1: Do you mind if I ask another girl?
Chelle: You might as well...
Girl2: Let's look it up on the computer. Hmmm... why isn't it doing right? Here it is. Personal massager? Is that, like, a vibrator?
Chelle: It's so much like a vibrator that it actually IS a vibrator.
Girl2: I can't bring up the viewer.
Guy: (walking up) The viewer? Hit 'V'.
Chelle: This is turning into a store meeting.
Guy: (Pointing to the screen...) Is that what she's looking for?
Chelle: Yes. It's a vibrator. I want one that plugs into 220 or has big giant battery cables. It needs to be able to shake the whole house.
Girl1: Cuz I think this one would probably fit in a purse.
Chelle: I was being sarcastic. That's the one I'm looking for.
Guy: It's in the 'Sleep and Pain' section.
Girl 1: There's a place up the street that has everything you can think of. It's incredible. The windows are all blacked out but it's the place you want to go, trust me.
Chelle: Go ahead, I'm listening...
Asking For A Friend
If a friend was going to buy her first ever “personal massager” and wished to make her purchase at a drug store chain or at Walmart, which model should my friend purchase— and why?
She’s anxiously awaiting your response. ;o)
P.S.- Dear Mom and Dad: It’s not for anyone you know. Love, Chelle
A Romantic Evening Thwarted By Lightning
Annie and I slipped into the candlelit Jacuzzi with some wine— and then we dropped a Lush bath bomb in for extra ambience.
Ten minutes later the lightening forced us to retreat back inside.
Then as soon as we showered the lightening went away.
Better luck tomorrow night.
One of my followers pointed out that I was talking about “select” cuts of beef and switched to “choice” in the next two references when I was still talking about “select.”
I hate that.
In Today’s Paper (First In A Series)
I’m sure that Tumblr will reduce the quality of the pic to the point that it’s unreadable, but you get the idea.
Any newspaper that lets me write for them must be one fine publication. ;o)
A Perfect Evening For All
My best friend went out for a romantic birthday dinner and a movie with her fabulous husband…
…while Annie rough-housed with the 2 year old and held him after he conked out and fell sleep…
…and I held the 2 month old for hours and hours.
The baby loves being on the changing table and laughs the entire time. He actually makes even the poopiest of diapers a pleasure to change.
When they got back we celebrated her birthday with cake AND tiramisu.
Yes, it was a wonderful day!
When a two year old hands you some pistachios and you pop them in your mouth— only to find out that they’re wet and mushy— he might have already sucked on them for awhile.
It’s a good thing I love him or I might not have eaten them.
I Used To Hate…
…that my best friend, who’s from India, kept her place at 80°F.
Ever since my surgery, however, I think it’s the *perfect* temperature— especially since my menopausal spouse keeps our place at about ten below zero.
Today I’m holding her baby AND I’m warm.
It’s a good day, indeed.
Truthful Tuesday: Happy Birthday To My Best Friend!