The last few days have been hectic, and while I haven’t left the house much since the Tuesday before Christmas (it is now Sunday after), I had two distinctly different experiences being read as a woman.
You heard it right, it seems like twice I have not been clocked, at least not in the beginning.
The first time was more expected by me. The hubby and I were in the grocery store trying to pick up the last bits of food for upcoming Christmas Dinner (on Xmas eve, that is when we celebrate it). It was a wednesday and it wasn’t packed so we hurried on out to Safeway.
As we wandered the aisles, the hubby stepped away to get some cheese I believe. Meanwhile, I was bent over and crouched down reading the different egg nog labels in an end-cap, near a group of Safeway workers who seemed to be hauling stuff from the warehouse.
I couldn’t tell you what caught my attention, but I heard one guy (turned out to be an older, shorter guy) talking to another. I heard him say “Check her out.” I am not sure what made me start to turn and stand up, but I did.
As I turned to stand I could hear the guy start whispering harshly, “Don’t turn around, don’t turn around, don’t look.” Just as the older man finished speaking I had stood up and turned around to see what was going on, just in time for a young man, maybe in his early twenties who was standing next to me, to turn around towards me and bounce off my boobs.
The older man fled, I swear he was almost jogging to get away as I bounced back. I had seen that the younger male hadn’t even heard the older male’s words, instead his face had been fixated on my chest (I forget they are 38H, probably dysphoria) and had been so fixated on seeing what the older guy had done that I think he literally had taken a step forward, not realizing how close I was, or that I was standing up and moving towards him.
The young man’s faced became incredibly red as he quickly apologized and retreated back into the warehouse. Part of me was annoyed, I had never done that as a guy and I found the hubby to bitch about it.
It wasn’t until I was talking with him that I had assumed wrongly. I thought they were checking out the “trans girl”, but he pointed out that no, I probably wasn’t clocked in that short time and they were just acting like guys seeing boobs.
I was both weirdly annoyed and pleased about the situation. No guy should act like that, and being objectified sucks. However, it did help reassure me that maybe someday I can pass more fully. Part of me likes that objectification because it somehow proves my efforts.
The second time happened a couple hours ago when I dumped a couple of bags of garbage and a small light that died. I had gotten out of my car at the garbage area. A small meth-ridden homeless man stopped me and asked me if he could have the light. I had no problem and after talking with him I gave it to him and moved back to my car.
That is when I caught behind the garbage area (it is a walled off area) was a guy that lives in the complex with a large pit/mastiff type dog. He had been watching carefully, and it wasn’t until then that I realized as he smiled and walked off, that he was watching out to make sure I was safe.
Both the hubby and I are pretty sure he hadn’t clocked me, and that he was just making sure that the woman wasn’t harassed by the homeless guy. I almost argued with the hubby that it couldn’t be that, but the hubby was right, I wouldn’t have waited around if a guy was dumping garbage, when I was still a boy, unless something was really wrong.
Evidently the guy with the dog either thought I was cisgender, or maybe he was still worried about my feminine appearance enough that he stayed around anyways to watch over it. Either way I found it strangely nice that he had registered me as someone that needed to be watched over.
Don’t get me wrong, at 6’2″ I don’t think I was in any danger from the homeless guy, but there is something about that treatment that reassures that at least people see a feminine person when they see me. I will undoubtably get tired of the staring at my boob thing in the store, and maybe of the watching over me, but either way, that was twice this week that I was at least partially treated like someone who I feel I am would be treated in this society.
I have always liked writing reviews. This could be on Amazon for stuff I bought, on Meta Critic for movies or video games, or on Good Reads for books I read. It really didn’t matter, and I never thought I would be famous or make money on it, I just like doing it.
Up until I couple years ago I had a blog with several hundred media reviews called Red Band Station. The one problem I always had was writing something succintly. I tend to write on, and on (and you are probably familiar with that with my other writings). I eventually shut it down and just kept my blog.
I decided I still want to write stupid little reviews, but I thought a way to force this would be to write twitter reviews for media and anything else that came to mind. So I now started a stupid little twitter just for reviews, which I will probably crosspost here.
I have wanted to do reviews over entire series of things, it doesn’t matter if it was a 200 episode tv show, or a set of movies. This will let me do it without trying to take it too serious. After all I have no education in movies, theater, etc. All my opinions are from my poor white trash upbringing, and my more refined LGBTQ opinion nowadays.
So that was it, I just wanted to tell you that review tweets will probably be crossposted here, and I will eventually figure out how I want to organize them, but that is that.
Last night I woke up to a bizarre dream that had been happening on and off. I am not fully awake so I apologize if this is choppy, but it’s better to get my dream out than wait to wake up all the way.
It started by me being with a large group of auditors, I can’t tell you how I know that, it just felt like that. We were in a library or something like an old bookstore. A lot of books on the shelves, but we were not working. I was some sort of supervisor or lead auditor. We were almost military, at the very least some sort of Department of Defense auditing situation (but not my actual job at the DoD).
I realized this wasn’t at an audit site, and we technically weren’t working either, which the small part of me that recognized this was a dream was confused by. It was everyone’s off time yet we were all together and I was watching over what felt like “my little ducklings”. It felt very much like when I would watch an old ex-marine coworker who would travel with us, count everybody every time we entered or left a room to just make sure everyone was there. Someone who stepped in to guide the ducklings
While we were there, I noticed there were arguments and the normal fucking around occurring. That kind of banter from people that are around each other most of their days. After some talking the scenery shifted and we ended up in a restaurant. People kept coming to meet to fix things and I can’t being grumpy and tired, but I tried to be kind to them and help.
The dream flipped and we were inside some sort of theater. In a setup of steep stadium seating type situation, we were up towards the top and in the back. There were maybe 20 or so auditors, and I felt like all of them were much younger. It really did have that dual feeling of new soldiers and an old sergeant, mixed with a bunch of young auditors with an old grumpy auditor watching over it.
We were talking and the group was being rowdy. There was no movie at the time, and the upper area had a set of sinks, garbage and almost a rec area. No one else was in the theater (not sure if movie or live action theater). Whatever was about to play was starting and I told everyone to be good and I crawled over to a couple of chairs and settled down to take a nap.
I was awakened once by a younger female auditor who was trying to be too chummy and I directed her back to her seat with a snap of my finger (for some reason it reminded me of my hubby’s RPG character and the maidens that sometimes followed him around). I wasn’t going to broke any more nonsense from them.
I was then awoken by a bunch of the younger people because there was some sort of commotion going on at the sink. I got up grumbling and most of the auditors scattered from me when they heard my voice. I walked over and yelled at one of the auditors go sit down and found the other person they were arguing with was my little brother who was inside the sink cupboards. Somehow I knew he had been part of the group at the restaurant and library as well (but I didn’t remember seeing him earlier in the dream).
We had to pull him out of the plumbing and he was still trying to argue with the auditor. Some reason my brother was supposed to be there, maybe he was another auditor but I couldn’t be sure. When he got out I yelled at both of them for being loud fuckwits and interrupting my nap.
The other auditor went and sat down, my brother bitched at me a little about me being a jerk about it but I dismissed it and sent him over to another seat. Most of the auditors seemed to divide up and sit around either my brother or the one he was arguing with. I then went to sit back down mumbling, when a cute little auditor girl sat next time, started talking to me. All I wanted to do was take a nap and as I turned to say something to her, I woke up annoyed at my brother.
Obviously I am processing both stress and my brother. This is the first Christmas in awhile that he hasn’t called with something going on. Definitely not like last year when he was in Las Vegas and everything was melting down as he had a broken foot, in a wheel chair with no money and on some sort of run, it really sucked.
My favorite people in the world. #hubby #tally #love #bw
Let’s preface this that I am fucking amused by this, but I had to post because I evidently need attention this morning 🙂
Evidently, I am in Facebook jail and am serving 19 more hours here. I have been out defending a bunch of transgender people (specifically two trans guys), and it turns out Facebook doesn’t want to support when people are called slurs using the T word, or various other debasing words.
The sad fact of the people I most recently got into a flame war with, one of them was an older white man attacking the trans guys, and a middle-aged trans woman attacking another trans guy. Fuck them both and their racist, sexist and transphobic asses (yes, a trans person can be transphobic). Also, I probably have a soft spot for trans guys… not sure why that is…
I must have really pissed one of them off as I have gotten more than two dozen comments of mine reported (new and older), but they only upheld two of them. The weird part is the two of them are not the harshest comments I have made. So not sure what the algorithm’s decision was.
The first was for evidently performing hate speech on myself… yes on myself.
We were in a discussion about using random cans as measuring cups. The original poster called himself a hillbilly and I mentioned yep not only hillbilly (ok it was hillybilly, that was autocorrect) I continued to say, 100% poor white trash from the trailer park here and we had something similar… evidently that counts as hate speech on myself. How the fuck is that hate speech?
The second one was maybe a little more appropriate, although I don’t think harassment and bullying when the person originally started calling me names (including calling me an “it”) and I called them an idjit and said “fuck you”. But hey, they are an old white male, why not defend them Facebook, I am sure you don’t think calling someone an “it” is harassment.
I don’t feel bad about telling him to fuck off, nor do I feel bad about Facebook Jail. I actually hate Facebook with a passion, but several of my friends and family don’t use any other social media source so it is what I use.
I will try and remember to post when I do the submitting of comments for hate speech against trans and other LGBTQ/minorities and give you the resulting mincing of “doesn’t go against our services”. I didn’t think of doing that, and now I am kind of too lazy to search for it to show older ones.
Also, if I get dumped off Facebook (or maybe even rage quit) that isn’t a big deal either. I have lots of other social media presence and maybe I won’t be so stressed.
I just wanted to share on social media, about my social media jail in a specific platform (I wonder if this effects my instagram… I suspect not).
I will completely admit that I found it amusing a few weeks ago when gay men started posting pictures of themselves holding hands, kissing, being intimate, and tagging it Proud Boys. I noticed though sometimes it bothered me as well, I couldn’t place it. It wasn’t the gay men that bothered me, it was the cis-gendered straight white dudes, but I didn’t realize that at the time.
Fast forward to yesterday when I was on Facebook and a good friend, who absolutely had no ill intentions, posted an image of two men holding hands. I completely admit it, yes I love to watch Proud Boys members squirm. I think they are ridiculous, and I also admit that isn’t the high road.Continue reading “Outrage at Proud Boys and Rainbows”
I have been remarkably silent, especially after posting that last post… oh a full month ago. Shit sorry about that.
This month was a lot rougher than anticipated, but also it has been great. I haven’t really progressed any further posting or even delving into the subject I didn’t actually cover in the last post, so yes just some passive references this post about it.Continue reading “Thanksgiving was rough and other updates.”
I have really been wanting to talk about everything happening. Ranging from COVID to Trump, to elections, to not having the ability to do things out of the house, all the way to my having to cancel electrolysis in December. The hard part though is there is a lot of stress and it sort of opens up more stress and trauma I never have wanted to deal with. This means I have been fighting with my depression and tendency to self-sabotage.
Lately, I have opened up with my therapist about some stuff that only Wolsey knows about (not even my siblings or older friends). I do plan on talking about that (writing it out is how I work with it) but it’s still way too fresh. I do however need to make room for dealing with the new trauma, so that means I will probably start writing about the old trauma. I only have so much room and that is how I get it away from me.Continue reading “Directions… or lack of one”
So, you haven’t seen CoaA posts yet, have you? Well, that is because that stands for “Confessions of an Asshole” and this is my first post. Mostly it means that like other people I talk about here, I also will talk about my own failings, including when I am absolutely the asshole. Sadly that happens more often than I like to admit, especially when I was younger.
I felt the first thing I would talk about was my wedding day and the fact that my husband, who was my wife at the time, should have probably just dumped me there and then. Also, I will probably reference “my wife” because it is hard to separate who we were then. I find myself having a very hard time referencing him as him when I remember the small girl or shapely woman in the memories. He is ok that I reference him like this, just like I am ok that he references me as his husband whenever he talks about our past.
Our wedding was itself actually pretty great for what it was. The asshole part didn’t come until it was over, but it was still unacceptable, 100% unacceptable.
I had originally asked my husband to marry me when we first started dating in the summer of 1991. We lived on Alabama Street in the 1900 St apartments. I was working 2 shifts on, one shift off for weeks straight and when I asked her to marry me, she said no. I knew she wasn’t into marriage to begin with, and I suspect subconsciously I knew she was starting to pull away so I probably felt that would help things.
Fast forward two months and we had broken up, then got back together six months after that. By this time we ended up living on Kulshan Street I believe, and she surprised me by asking me to marry her. I agreed immediately.
We decided we didn’t want a big marriage, we were just going to a judge with a few friends and family and get it done. Wolsey was an atheist (just coming out of new age stuff) while I was a weird mix of buddhist and catholic, but nether of us wanted a church wedding. We also didn’t want any sort of debt, we were poor and we both knew that her father and mother weren’t going to pay for it (and even if they did we wouldn’t accept the strings with it).
So fast forward to the day of our ceremony. We celebrate (and have since renewed our vows) our wedding day on Halloween. In 1992 unfortunately Halloween fell on a Saturday (much like this year), meaning we had to have a judge marry us on a very dark, wet, and stormy Friday. I was freaking out in my head. Not because I thought marrying that beautiful girl was bad, but I thought I was bad for her, and that honestly, I didn’t deserve any of it. She calmed me down and we proceeded.
We showed up with Wolsey’s family, my mother, siblings, our friend Aaron who was the best man. We showed up at the courtroom of Judge Ross, a man with a huge handlebar mustache. He quickly and dryly started going through the ceremony, it was probably the most anticlimatic ceremony you would ever see. That is until Judge Ross stared at the papers in front of him, stopped talking as he looked up at me and looked around the room.
We all sort of looked around confused when he asked me… IN MID CEREMONY… “Are you related to John Bradley?”
My mom froze, I froze, Wolsey froze and everyone else just looked confused. This is where the judge started talking about how he had issued a warrant for my father John Bradley’s arrest. I think this time it was about my dad beating the shit out of a couple officers when he was drunk, and not paying the fines. The bailiff looked around and I know they checked outside the door as well. This took a few minutes until it was clear my dad wasn’t here. He asked a couple of times if my dad was here or if we knew where he was.
Of course we said we didn’t know where he was, but the truth was my dad was waiting downstairs in the car. We all knew he had a warrant, but none of us imagined that Judge Ross would interrupt our marriage ceremony for that, especially if my dad wasn’t there.
After some more awkwardness, he continued the ceremony and we finished it off. It was both anti-climatic and very awkward. However to me, it didn’t matter, I was married to the most beautiful person in the world, and I was happy, but also freaked out even more than my wife was now stuck with me.
As a gift to us after the wedding, Wolsey’s parents took us to dinner at the Top of the Tower in Bellingham. For Bellingham it is considered one of the nicest restaurants in the county. My stress level was incredibly high at the moment, and when we stepped into the building that the restaurant was in, caught the elevator to the top of the building, and got out, I was fairly overwhelmed. I had never been to the dining side of a four-star restaurant. Not as a customer (I had worked as a dishwasher/prep cook at the Marina restaurant a couple years before, but never sat in a booth). Below are Wolsey’s parents Clark and Debbie.
To be honest, as someone who had been homeless with his family for years, and for many years before and after that we were evicted constantly, with our food mostly provided by food stamps, the whole aura of the restaurant was too much. I don’t think I talked too much as we sat down to have dinner.
To be honest I had fully disassociated at this point. At the time I never knew that people didn’t get out of body feelings when they were stressed, my life had been full of violence, alcoholism, homelessness and poverty. I thought it was normal. That happened here.
I don’t recall most of what we talked about over that dinner. I do however remember getting a check from Wolsey’s parents for $500. It was far more money than we had at the $4.25 an hour or so we made, also something we immediately used to pay bills.
We were sitting there and I do remember one clear thing. I got a black coffee placed in front of me, a small container of sugar, and a small ramekin filled with what I thought was whipped cream. I hesitated and was confused about why we got whipped cream with our coffee. At home we had milk and instant coffee, I had never heard of this… maybe it was a dessert coffee you get at the beginning of a meal?
Wolsey noticed my hesitation and squeezed my leg under the table. I don’t know if it was purely for reassurance of if she was trying to indicate what the whipped cream was for. That is when I saw her father watching me intently, he then reached over to his coffee, took a spoonful of what I thought was whipped cream, and put it in his coffee, thereby lightening it.
I noticed that Wolsey’s mother Debbie hesitated and looked confused when she saw Clark put what turned out to be creamer in his coffee. She asked him why did he use creamer, he NEVER uses creamer, he just sort of waved her off and said he wanted some tonight. She looked pretty confused.
I immediately followed suit and noticed he gave me the slightest nod of the head and a subtle smile as I used it. I was a little astonished that it was cream. I had never seen cream for coffee like this. I later found out that Wolsey’s dad doesn’t use creamer (and I remember something about it sometimes gives him migraines even). That is when we both realized Wolsey’s dad did that just to show me what it was, without embarressing me. There are a lot of issues (a whole lot) I have with that man, but I have to say I really appreciated that.
The meal itself I assume was good, but like most times when I am disassociated I don’t remember the exact details. Wolsey’s mom didn’t notice at all, but I think Clark did.
To be honest, the rest of this story is embarrassing for me, but I deserve to be embarrassed by it. I don’t remember 100% of the details as I don’t think I ever really came back to myself that night. That disassociation or weird emotional space however IS NOT AN EXCUSE, it is just so you can understand me a little better.
We eventually got back to our new apartment on Bennett street. By this time Wolsey was feeling sick, her nose had started running and she was feeling ill. I think for the first couple of minutes I tried reassuring her a little, but it was too little for what I should have done, and far too short of a time I gave her my attention.
Instead of being fully supportive like any real human would have done, I was frustrated and vented about our wedding night being destroyed because she got sick. I was one hundred percent inappropriate, and while the details are scattered for me, I know I yelled at her and became even more frustrated that we couldn’t be intimate on our wedding night. Yes, I had fully become that privileged guy with “expectations”.
I was an absolute shithead about it. I do remember bits of her crying, and of me just getting angrier. I had a lot of rage, most of it I suspect was from other things that I constantly buried. None of it was because of anything she had done. For whatever asshole and monstrous reason inside me though, I let that rage and anger out and I know I yelled at her, made her cry, I was unreasonable on every level (I have never hit my spouse, but I pretty much was abusive in every other way that night). Most of the detail of this part of the night is gone for me, I don’t think I ever remembered specifically my lashing out, but I do remember bits as if I was in a detached dream.
It was a strange detachment though. I was so angry, but it was an anger that seemed like it was outside of me. One that I knew I should bury, put out or hide it away, but I just shrugged and I didn’t do anything to really control it except I eventually told her off, slammed the door, and left the apartment. I ended up going to Bear’s, the local arcade with my friends. I don’t really know if they ever knew what happened, all I did was tell them she was sick.
Yep, that is the asshole in me, out at an arcade playing video games with my friends while my sick wife cried to herself in our bedroom on my wedding night. I feel vaguely guilty that I can’t remember more details to show truly what kind of asshole I was, but this is the best I can give you.
I am eternally shamed by that night. There are no excuses for it. I just wanted to talk about my wedding night, and I don’t feel I should ever leave out negative things about myself. I definitely won’t ever forgive myself for how I behaved on my wedding night.