Transgender Validation Versus Reality

Being validated as a woman is what used to be called passing in my book.(or blog)
Reality is living an extended amount of time as a woman.
Yesterday was an exercise in reality for me.
I went to a fall festival with my friend and her 8th grade son. Yes she is a cis-female.
The nuances of finding parking standing in lines for entertainment, food and of course shopping were incredible.
After a short period of time I had to look down at my breasts and clothes to remind myself who I was. I was no longer worried about being validated as a woman by the public. I simply was one.
I will relate some of the smaller nuances of my date later....such as the porta potty and the bleacher seats!

Handmade Fashion For You!

A friend of mine designs her own line of bracelets, bags and jewelry.  I was looking over her web site and came across at least a couple of pieces that may be of interest to some of you.
Particuarly if you are into the "Goth" culture or are looking for a special addition to your exotic Halloween costume check out this hand made bracelet!

Fishnet hose, a short lacy black dress, boots and a head full of out of control dark hair and the evening is yours with this bracelet completing your outfit!
Check out more at Liz's website.
Cyrsti

Then there was Bob?

On my way back from my "session" with the "Doc" I stopped to relax and catch up on my phone messages at my favorite "pub".
I no more than settled in and brought the "droid" out of my purse (android phone) when I saw him eyeing me from across the bar. I figured nothing more would come of his interest. He was thinking one of two things anyhow. Either I was trans and he was curious or he was curious why a single woman was there in a sports pub to begin with.
The next thing I knew he was sitting next me and before I could react he had his hand on my thigh. Let me point out "Bob" was an older intoxicated man and quite the active one.  Quickly I learned a move I really didn't know I had...crossing my legs and putting my arm down the middle of the top leg so my hand was at my knee and elbow at my my waist.  Good old Bob couldn't get his wandering hands anywhere important.
About this time one of the female bartenders was going to intervene but I assured her I could take care of myself with good old Bob.
I simply changed the subject from me to him and started mentally harassing  him ever so gently. I even involved him in a conversation with one of the female regulars I knew would annihilate him!
He quickly grew tired of me fending off his six pair of hands and wobbled over to a pair of blonds who entered the pub. I went back to my world hoping he wasn't driving in that condition.
Good old Bob taught me an important lesson about women and their surroundings. The situation can change so fast. Not always for the best!