300

It's a perfect score in bowling, but for me, it's the number of times that I have dilated in basically the past 4 months. I spent the first month dilating 4 times a day, then went to twice a day for three months. I think I missed one of the 4 times when I flew back to California, and I've missed a handful of the twice-a-day's as well. I've dilated every morning, though, but missed a few late night ones when I had been out too late (or was too lazy).

Three hundred times in four months. Using at least 20 minutes per dilation, plus at least 10 minutes for set up and clean up, that's 9000 minutes or 150 hours....over 6 days. I typically dilate at least 30 minutes, which would be 12,000 minutes....or 200 hours...or over 8 days. That's a lot of time.

The problem with dilating taking up so much time, though, is that it has totally shrunken my day. Instead of a 24 hour day, I now have a 22-23 hour day, which actually makes things a little tougher getting everything done around the apartment...including writing in here.

Drag Queens

Ya gotta love them. They're a mixture of the outrageous and the flamboyant mixed in with femininity, yet gay beyond belief. Some are angry, some are sexy, some are just way over the top (well, relatively speaking, that is) some are fat, some are really tall, but not many are short. I guess I've never really seen many short ones. I wonder why that is.

Anyway, today I was a drag queen. TGSF had a float design that was going to portray Stonewall and family values. The front end of the float would have a bunch of drag queens dancing around a Stonewall set with the back having a house and white picket fence setting. In between both sets, there would be a model of the Golden Gate Bridge and a rainbow to 'bridge the gap' from Stonewall to Family Values. The people who built the float did an excellent job both in the design and the construction....enough so that the organization was awarded a vehicle to pull it and a prime spot up front.

I portrayed a drag queen over two years ago when I did nine performances of La Cage Aux Folles in a community production. The costumes were so over the top and our makeup was quite outrageous. I didn't feel like going that 'all out', but I was able to dig up a few items from previous costumes and stuff I bought when I was still dealing with some of the GID aspects before transition.

Instead of wearing my own hair, I decided to wear this ugly blonde wig that I had initially started out with so long ago. I made small little pigtails and looped them up, bobby-pinning them back to the wig. For the rest of the outfit, I decided to go mainly black since that was one of the colors that I had a lot of. This included a black corset, my black boy shorts that I wore at the Cotillion, shiny black thigh high boots, and black spider web gloves. On my BART ride into the city, I applied some drag makeup. I got a few looks on the way there.

When I arrived at the float location, there were numerous people that simply did not recognize me. I guess I looked more like a DQ/TV than anything. Actually, that's kinda what I was going for.

Anyway, I had a fun time up front on the float. They had some oldies music playing on our float and, when I could, I'd dance to the rhythm. I went over the top here and there, just to give them a good show and to play the part of an angry drag queen.

Near the end, my wig started coming off, so I just pulled it the rest of the way off and let my hair flow free. I probably didn't look as much like a drag queen at that point. Our time on the parade route ended and I started slipping back into the regular clothes that I had...first removing the boots and putting my sandals on. At the Day of Remembrance booth, I changed into a black T-shirt and slid some jeans over the boy shorts. I finished it off by wiping all of the drag makeup off my face.

A few people who knew me before, saw me in drag, and then saw me after I wiped everything off said they liked me back the normal way. So did I.

After that, I simply worked the rest of the afternoon at the Day of Remembrance booth with Gwen Smith and her wife, Bon. It was a nice relaxing afternoon. Although it wasn't that exciting, at least it wasn't a drag.
   
       

T-dar

As I approached the Trans March area in Dolores Park, I spotted her walking toward me from a distance. She was T. I could just tell. It’s what many of us call T-dar. I don’t know if it’s the physical aspect of the smaller hips, the wider shoulders, the taller stature, the manly walk, the masculine face...or what...but there is typically something that gives all of us away...to some degree or another...only if you have the right eye to spot all of it, of course.

A few weeks ago I visited my therapist for a little session. I like to show up a little early just to see who leaves before me, as well as see who is there after me. I’m curious, OK?

I saw the one T leave before me, went to my session, then saw the T after me as she was sitting in the waiting lounge. I took the elevator down, then exited to my right. As I did, I saw a person presenting as neither male nor female. I could tell she was most likely T. I found it amazing to see another T there since I’d already seen the ones before and after me, and there was only one therapist handling T patients. I exited the building and headed for my car. As I walked toward the parking lot I saw a woman walking toward me. As soon as I spotted her, I knew she was T. I looked for the trachea as we approached one another, but didn’t see it. I thought to myself, “Good for her. She obviously saw a good surgeon.”

OK, people are probably thinking to themselves that Kara is too obsessed with thinking every woman out there is a T. I usually don’t, but these two majorly set off the T-dar.

How do I know they were T? Well, as soon as I walked past the second one, I heard, “Kara?”

She was a friend I had met once before and exchanged numerous emails with. She’d also had surgery with Dr. O so I wasn’t really able to recognize her. We chatted for a few minutes, then she told me she was meeting two friends there. I told her that I’d probably seen both of them...the one in therapy, and the one outside the elevator. I walked back in with her and met the one I had passed in the lobby. I’d actually exchanged emails with her, too, but I didn’t know what she looked like. Ironically, we both lived in the same spot as children...before my family moved on to the next military installation, that is.

Small world....small world.

Dream

The dream started out quite plain. I was in the manufacturing plant of the company I used to work for. I was trying to improve a process that was not producing quality parts, but I was also working with a coworker. The identity of the coworker did not really enter the dream.

The process improvements led us back to the office to review specifications. I searched through some of the relevant information, and then stared at the lone coworker sitting in one of the desks. He didn't move. At first, I didn't recognize him.

Usually in my dreams, I do not know that I am dreaming. I don't think many people do, and if they do, it's not a regular occurrence. I think it might have happened to me once in the past, and it was usually more toward the late morning hours as I drifted from unconsciousness to consciousness.

As I looked upon my coworker, I realized it was my friend Mark who had died almost 2 years ago. I hadn't seen him since I moved to San Francisco almost four and a half years ago. This is the point at which I semi-realized that I was dreaming...or at least knew that this was not reality since my mind recognized that he was no longer alive.

"Stay," I plead to him, and then gave him a hug.

I don't remember what happened immediately after that. I do remember it being a very somber and sincere experience, though. What I meant by saying 'stay', I'm not really sure.

The next dream, though, which was either separate entirely, or just a continuation of that REM state, was more sexual than anything else.

I don't remember who exactly was involved, but it ended up being a threesome. Sweet!!! Yup, it was two girls and I. Not only that, but I was also a girl in this dream...something that is happening more and more now that I am full time.

OK, so the good news was that I finally had my second orgasm, and basically the first since healing and not having any residual testosterone in the system. The bad news is that I was entirely asleep for this one.

Breast augmentation consult

It took well over a month to get in, but I finally had my breast augmentation consult with Dr. Gray today. After filling out the regular patient information, I was in his office reviewing with him some general stuff. We then started discussing the details of breast augmentation surgery.

He drew two breasts on a piece of paper and showed me the places that incisions can be made to insert the implants. He mentioned the incisions under the breasts, in the armpit, and along the areola. He didn’t like all three for a variety of reasons...the huge scar, the noticeable scar in the armpit and significant bleeding, and the presence of the scar along the areola.

He said he preferred the incision at the nipple, which could then allow him to adjust the muscle at the bottom to allow it to droop more. He suggests using smooth, round implants since they provide a better appearance.

The surgery itself would be outpatient surgery. After 3 weeks, I should be back to walking around normally without feeling sore or tired; after 6 weeks, I would be at full speed. For the first few days following surgery, I shouldn’t do much.

The stitches remain for 2 weeks. I believe he said that after one month, the implants would still be fairly high, after 2 they would look OK, and after 4 months, they will have settled into their final shape.

He said that if the nipple is small, he sometimes has to have an extra jagged zig-zag cut to get the implant in. I asked if there would be a scar, and he said there would be.

After getting me in the exam room and looking at my current breasts, he said he would have to use a triple zig-zag on me since I had such small nipples. Not good news.

He also put me in this black leotard and taped the back straps together. He then placed some sizer implants in place and wanted me to see how it looked and felt. I think he started me off with something in the 400cc range. When he first started going through his sizer drawers, he started with the larger sizes, but I almost wanted to tell him to go directly to the smallest ones.

He then moved down to 375cc and said that would be about as small as he would suggest. I told him that I was thinking more along the lines of 275cc and he said that would be a mistake. He said the 275cc size was more for a really small Asian girl, and that if I thought the 375cc was too big, this might not be the surgery for me. He said I would need the larger implant since the larger size was larger more in the diameter than in the thickness. Since I have a larger chest than a genetic girl, I would need fuller breasts so that they don’t look disproportionate. He said the smaller implants would create a wider gap between the breasts and would start lower on the chest....and wouldn’t look good. Of course, getting them too big and having me top heavy also wouldn’t look too natural or good in my opinion. The thing is, he’s done a lot of breast augmentations, and a lot of breast augs on T’s as well. He knows what he is talking about, but I’ve noticed that surgeons always seem to go larger than what most women want. That’s what I am trying to compensate for.

He told me that one cup size is typically 200cc, so if I am a small A now, I would be a C cup with what he was suggesting. I'd just like to be a regular B, but they don't make implants that size that will make me look natural as well. Basically, T's need wider diameter implants and smaller profile implants than genetic women just to make up for our larger chests. I wonder if they even make such a thing.

So, the smaller implants aren’t as wide, and will leave a larger gap between my breasts. Making them too big leaves me feeling too chesty. And no matter what I do, I’ll probably have some type of scar wherever I put it. Because of an athletic commitment later this fall, I can’t get in before then and still maintain my fitness level, so the earliest I can have the breast augmentation is later this fall. Based on his scheduling delay, I have until about August at the earliest to decide on things.

Now batting for Prem Arin, Estra Diol

I was at therapy on Monday...the first time since before SRS. I had two reasons for seeing her...the first being my current hormone regimen. Before SRS, I was on 5mg per day of Premarin, along with 150mg of Spironolactone. I cut the Spiro after SRS, and was officially dropped to 1.25mg of Premarin after SRS. I still had a number of 2.5mg pills, so I continued taking 2.5mg per day until I ran out last week. At that time, I dropped to the 1.25mg pills. I’d rather stay at the 2.5mg dosage, since I’ve only been on hormones for just under 3 years. I also wanted to try Progesterone since my breast development is minimal, and figured trying it wouldn’t hurt. My HMO also issued a statement a few months ago telling us it was switching everyone from Premarin to Estradiol.

So, I asked her about the Estradiol and if she could switch me over to it now instead of waiting for me to run out of my current Premarin. She did. I also asked her about the dosage. She said she’d normally put someone post-op on a dosage of 1mg per day, but she would put me at 2mg per day. I think this is still kinda low, but I’ll work with it for now.

I also asked her if I could start progesterone since I had minimal breast and nipple growth. (Officially, progesterone has not been shown to increase breast growth, but some people swear by it that I figured I would at least try it.) She said she would, and asked me which progesterone I would prefer...prometrium or medroxyprogesterone. I had done a little homework before our appointment, and found that the medroxyprogesterone is a synthetic progestin while prometrium is naturally micronized progesterone from yams. I’d heard that the synthetic stuff can mess with ones head quite a bit, so I asked for the prometrium. She prescribed 100mg per day for me.

Also during therapy, I talked to her about an issue I’ve noticed among some of my friends and family. People who have been with me during my transition know that I’m very comfortable talking about my transition and I’m very honest with them. They know they can ask me questions. They also know that I have other transsexual friends.

Unfortunately, my non-T friends then think that since I am fairly open about my transition, that others must be the same way. That’s not always the case. Not only that, but many of my non-T friends then almost default all of my friends to being T. Sometimes they ask me if the person is T or not which really puts me in a hard predicament.

This situation is really unfair. From now on, I’m going to be very forthright and tell them that it’s none of their business. Hopefully people will realize that if they are OK with me and other transsexuals, then it shouldn’t matter if they know or not.

Later Monday evening, I was out to dinner with some friends, a few of which were T...with one having surgery the following day. Somehow three of us got on the subject of revisions, and I mentioned that I was awake for my hairline advancement and sorta felt him cut out the section of skin along the hairline.

“Did he show it to you?” she asked.

The evil side in me (oh, admit it, we all have it) saw an opportunity. I stuck my arm out straight, touching my forefinger and thumb together. With a serious look on my face, I said, “He wiggled it in front of my face,” as I shook my hand back and forth.

They both cringed.

I took it one step further after they regained their composure.

“And then he ate it,” as I moved my hands to my mouth and made a slurping sound.

At that point, they both knew I was kidding, but they both still cringed at the thought of seeing Dr. O sucking down a raw piece of my forehead.

Both of them joined in.

“Did he have a fondue pot there, too?” in reference to the end of the Hannibal movie.

Cindy made the Hannibal Lector sounds, “ffhhuuhh ffhhuuhh ffhhuuhh ffhhuuhh,” as she rolled up her lip and sucked in air.

It’s nice that we can at least laugh about it.

I see dead people

Tonight, I dug out the old video camera and was looking at previous tapes for reality show applications. They are basically a small record of my transition as the first ones are me when I was still trying to live as a guy. Further along, one can see the different changes at the beginning of my transition.

One of the videos is while I was still wearing that stupid red wig. I probably hadn’t even started hormones. My voice was absolutely horrid. My walk was rigid. Watching it made me shudder. Even watching the old ‘male’ videos was hard to a degree. It almost felt like seeing a ghost or remnant of a person that...that...no longer exists?

We're not in Oz anymore

I was in the middle of Kansas for my cousin’s wedding this past weekend. I flew in Friday amongst all the Midwest thunderboppers, which delayed my initial flight from the night before, the connecting flight's landing, and my subsequent arrival in Kansas. Luckily, I didn’t see any witches, or houses on top of witches.

My cousin Dorothy's wedding was early Saturday afternoon, so I had made an appointment to have my hair done before it. Initially, I told the hair stylist that I would like to do some sort of up-do, but that I’d had surgery on my head which caused two receded areas...areas to avoid. She never asked why. She did ask me if I had ever seen Eddie Izzard, though.

“Isn’t he a cross dresser?” I asked, semi-playing along with her whole inquiry. I don’t think she knew I was TS, she simply thought he was based in San Francisco and knew that I was from there as well.

We also talked about how she had moved out of Kansas City to the current town because “KC was too conservative, and this town was much more liberal.” I told her that I, too, sometimes feel like a blue dot in a sea of red.

My cousin’s wedding was early that afternoon. She wore a beautiful white dress. The actual wedding wasn’t that long with a reading, a song, and the exchange of vows. The one thing I really noticed, though, is how much the priest was pushing the heterosexual agenda.

Yes, the heterosexual agenda. I don’t blame my cousin at all, she was just wanting a priest to marry her and her fiance in order to be legally wed.

What is the heterosexual agenda, though? It is a movement to keep marriage only for heterosexual couples, allowing only them to have children, allowing only them to visit loved ones in the hospital, providing benefits only to other heterosexual partners, and keeping anyone else from getting married.

OK, yes...I am being sarcastic. I just get tired of people always yelling and screaming about the 'homosexual agenda'.

This next paragraph is a combination of things I have heard from friends and some of my own independent thought (albeit not very much):

If marriage is a religious institution, then the government should not decide if one can marry another of the same sex...it comes down to the church or religion from which the couple seeks a marriage. This is a matter of the separation of church and state. The state should only be able to issue a legal license for one to get married. There should just be general requirements on it, such as being over 18 and not being blood relatives closer than cousins, etc. The church should then be the one to decide if they will marry a couple based on their beliefs. There are plenty of religions that are against same-sex marriages, but there are some that accept it as part of human nature. If one does not choose to have a religious marriage, then there should be civil unions enabling those people with the same rights as religiously wed couples.

Of course, providing both wedding licenses and civil union licenses creates discrimination based on what type of license one has, so everyone should simply get a domestic union license...or something.

The following day at the brunch for close family and friends, my uncle jokingly bashed my fellow “crazy Californians” as we were conversing...which is good that we were conversing since he has been relatively quiet around me the past few years.

“Wait a minute...let’s talk about Kansas and their education system (which wants to stop teaching evolution...again),” I said.

He then lowered his head as he said, “...and that darn Fred Phelps.”

“Oh yeah, him, too...he’s bothered us out in California a few times...even some of my own constituents. Doesn’t that guy have anything better to do?”

(Fred Phelps is so radical, I won’t even post a direct link to his site.)