Damn Beard!

Can't live with the "beards" up in there on your face in this male to female transformation video on the Cyrsti's Condo big screen:

Responding to On Line Transphobia

I'm the first to admit I spend "mega time" on line searching for relative topics to post here in Cyrsti's Condo.

Today I was giving one of my email boxes a well needed cleaning and found this old post called "7 Tips: Responding to Transphobia On Line" written by the Transgender Law Center.  If you follow any of the attacks flying back and forth at each other from groups as the Rad-Feminists (if that is what they are going by now) and some of the transgender folk who do battle with them, all of them should read this.

In addition, if you do any on line work as a trans woman or trans man-you know you are subject to being "trolled" at any time.

The "Other Woman" Pageant

By accident I came upon a Flickr site where the person has showcased bunches of womanless pageant pix. I am appreciative as the next person around here of the so called amateur contestant who just happens to show up as a beauty.  I do however get a little uneasy on a predominance of kids doing it....

However there are a couple of interest here as well as a ton of pix that aren't.

Two examples are the "girl" on the left and  "Matt Dressed in Drag" below.

Go here for more. On a side note you may want to go quickly if this is the same person whose link was on Femulate all so briefly before it disappeared.

Fiction

Really? In a world far far away...in someone's fantasy world...this happened how? Being the cynic I am, I couldn't help " passing"  it along.
 

The Essence of Time

If I had to store words the old fashioned way, I would have a wall full of notebooks, tablets and stacks of paper.  Thank goodness for me, I have learned to store my stash of words on those little black things I call "info stix". In addition I literally have tens of thousands of words on an E-pub site called Vook and of course approximately 2,000 posts here in Cyrsti's Condo.

I equate the "hoard" on occasion to what is in my "noggin".  This morning for example my dog and I were headed to a local park for a walk and we passed a "20 something" woman heading for her mailbox. Nothing special except for the way she moved. I just noticed how utterly feminine she was in her denim skirt and white top. She was feeling her girlness from the inside out. Then instantly, my brain raced back in time to a trip I made to our family mailbox so many years ago and I could identify with her.

I estimate I was approximately 14 or so and for some reason found myself home alone one fall morning.  I was never one to let an opportunity to dress as a girl go by.  I pulled out my secret stash and did the best I could with my meager wardrobe of clothes.  The end result was a short skirt, a neutral boys jacket of some sort, make up and my shoes I bought with my allowance/odd job money.

To this day, I remember the anticipation of thinking "Wow, this could be the day I open the front door to the world and take a step out". And I did. My life and steps suddenly went to slow motion as I opened the front door to our house, walked to the drive way and made my way down to the mailbox. I estimate the round trip distance to have been around 50 yards and all I felt was the heavenly freedom of the air on my legs and up my body. Oddly to me at the time, the feeling was more of being free rather than a sexual rush which became hugely important later in life- as I began to discover I was transgender and not a cross dresser.

The problem with most of these feelings with me is the aftermath. I waste too much time wondering about the  what if's. What if I had come out then. What if I had come out after the Army?  Who cares-right? The only benefit at all from living in the past is what it can teach us-the true essence of time.

This morning of course was no different.  The girl who walked to the mailbox so many years ago was just walking her dog this morning and I wondered where the woman I saw bought that wonderful top! Obviously she thought so too.