Approaching The Unknown

Posted by Sophie Jean, Oct 22 2009, 12:42 AM

Only 2 more nights with my family before I leave them for Kentucky. I can't help but think that I am going to miss the routine around school and the children, having to live in an empty hotel room by myself.

Today was a busy day. I turned in all my library books, and on the way to cancel my electrolysis appointment for next month, I got messages that the intruder alarm was going off at our house. When I returned and chastised myself for failing to lock the door properly, I let the officer waiting in the drive know that nothing seemed to be missing. The obvious targets were still in place.

When I canceled my electrolysis appointment, I let them talk me into a half-hour tomorrow. "Whatever you need." It is going to be hard for the first week as I just barely have enough to cover the week's stay and the gas going up. I had to drive to a building in North Richland Hills to take a drug screen today. This was the first time I have had locks of hair almost shaved off. The address was in the FedEx package that was on the doorstep that threw me off on locking the door earlier.

Meanwhile, I'm all packed, with the exception of whatever clothes come out of the laundry, and the last minute pack items like toiletries, computer, charging cables, etc. I leave shortly after midnight on Saturday morning for the 13 hour drive to check in before the hotel office closes. 3 days from now, I'll be living in Louisville, Kentucky--alone.

6 months. That's how long I will be on contract. After which, it is anticipated that I will be offered to continue contracting at the company or switch to salary and become a regular employee. The company is large, and based in California it has marked in the top tier of companies on HRC (The Human Rights Commision) index for equity in the workplace. It seems to be a safe place to transition. Even most transgendered expenses fall under the company's insurance.

So I will be gone for my daughter's birthday (I already got her shoes she wanted), Halloween, and a memorial for my friend Cathy who took her life last July.

This is what I would say if I were able to make the memorial service as I wished, but the company wants me in Kentucky next week, preferably by Monday.

When I think of Cathy, I have to think of her old beat up pickup truck. Always worried it would "give up the ghost," she still found it in herself to volunteer it to help out at events, and somehow, she kept it going, to help out at numerous events. I wanted to be here, but circumstances forced me out of state at this moment and I chide myself for having lost the only photos she sent to me. But if anyone knew Cathy, they would recall this big vintage smile that would just brighten up the darkest room.

Unemployed for two years, alone in her own place, Cathy did not give up on doing what she felt was the right thing. Just like she volunteered her tired truck, she volunteered herself. She supported the girls at the V-Monologues, and while too shy to accept the invitation to join the cast inside, she stood a self-appointed watch over the door, kindly opening it for all the ladies who entered. She supported Jo and I and billed our upcoming performance to something that we had to live up to. Cathy was working backstage at Casa Manana as an usher when I came off the stage to give me a hug for the great things we felt we were doing.

At one point, previously, when I was deeply in emotional turmoil over my relationship, Cathy said to me in an email:

"With the exception of living versus dying, Life usually gives us more than two choices about things. I hope the two of you can find a third way."

But there was so much more to Cathy. They say still waters run deep, and Cathy's introspections seemed to have no bottom. From Herman Hesse's Steppenwolfe to the V-Monologues to topics in sexuality to the remembrance of transgendered people who have needlessly died, her mind was always engaged.

I will always remember Cathy, who was an angel here on earth, I will remember my friend, I will remember her sharing attitude and, most of all, I will remember her smile.

Hugs and God Bless,
- Sophie Hawes

What Happened?

Posted by Sophie Jean, Oct 11 2009, 10:24 PM

The phone interview didn't happen. Considering I gave a 3 hour window, it's a little irritating. Anyway, it gives me a little more time to study Java Web Service Architecture in preparation for the interview.The book I picked out to study is Java Web Services Architecture by McGovern, Tyagi, Stevens and Matthew. It's a little dated (2003), but at 831 pages it was top of the list on Amazon. I suppose the interview will occur sometime early in the week.

With the plane ride to Seattle and back, I have gotten a lot of reading done. I finished Poems from the Women's Movement, The Believers, and Be Still My Vampire Heart. The last two days I have gotten 202 pages into Eclipse.

About 4:30 PM I gathered the kids up for a 3-hour tour to get flu shots, anticipating that it would be about 20 dollars for each of them. CareNow was out of shots, the first CVS pharmacy we went to didn't have a clinic, and on our first attempt to find the CVS with a clinic, we didn't see it where it was supposed to be. Say called and told us that they were having 15 dollar drive through shots at the school district's coliseum, and when we drove 30 minutes to get there, we only saw skateboarders. After talking to Say, she said she did remember the CVS we attempted to go to, and we tried again from a different direction, and this time we found it.

Inside CVS at the clinic taped to the sign-in terminal was a sign that they weren't taking any more patients. Since there was no one hanging outside the office doors, we decided to wait it out. In about 10 minutes, the provider stepped out and told us to come back at 9 in the morning and the injections were going to cost 30 dollars each. We left in the middle of Monsters vs. Aliens playing on a TV just outside the clinic and stopped by McDonald's to spend some of the last cash I have remaining. On the screen over the table, Madagascar 2 was playing.

When I got home, I saw photos from the Fort Worth Pride Parade and was rewarded with seeing several people I knew in the photos. My heart warmed at the sight.

Saturday, we returned to CVS to get the flu shots early in the morning. My 6 year, M, didn't cry for the first time in her life on an injection. In my book, she's officially a big girl now, and I let her know. We grabbed low-cost McDonald's breakfast on the way home, where I saw that a local crossdresser club was hosting a job search counselor who was going to explain what his organization did to help transgendered people find jobs in North Texas. I wanted to go, but my wife has been suffering from her flu shot for two weeks now. I will have to contact him another way. I also saw in my inbox a job I was qualified for at a large company in Fort Worth that had a float in the pride parade. On the company's website, they have included gender identity in their equal employment clause, and have a local pride orgainization. Needless to say I submitted my resume. I couldn't find an email for human resources. I wanted to ask them if it would be better to interview in male or female mode, since I am struggling at that in between stage now.

I missed church today to stay home and let my sick spouse rest before returning to work tomorrow, It was only Wednesday, but it seems like so long ago that I interviewed and spent 3 days as a woman in Seattle.

Kids are staying home for teacher-in-service day tomorrow. Maybe that late phone interview will occur tomorrow. Meanwhile, it will be time to return to searching the job boards and studying web architecture while I wait for the call.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie Jean

Dormer

Posted by Sophie Jean, Oct 9 2009, 03:54 AM

The long awaited phone screen with a company in Kentucky finally occurred today. Apparently, I did well enough that the interviewer is considering me for a web architect position. He is moving for a more in-depth phone interview tomorrow early afternoon. The position is supposed to be permanent, but it is 6-month to hire. I am interviewing in male mode, but the company does include gender identity, so I should be able to open talks with human resources fairly early:

[The company] does not discriminate against any employee or applicant for employment because of race, creed, color, religion, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity/expression, national origin, disability, age, or covered veteran status.
- Posted on Company's Diversity Website

Of the 3 companies that I flew out to interview with, I already have a rejection from the first. The second company, a small company, seemed really interested and would want me to telecommute from home. The job interview where I presented as female took place in Washington state on Tuesday with a large company that I have been communicating with for over a year. I flew out on Sunday and came back home Tuesday night. It was a good experience for me to spend 3 days in female mode, wearing a skirt suit to a potential employer. I have another in person interview with another company opening an office in LA to be held in Arizona the Sunday after next in male mode. They are flying me out there and I don't know their gender identity policy yet and I am afraid to ask for bombing the interview.

After all that, I have to admit that I am scared to see the decision emails. I am not sure I can handle rejection letters, especially from the Washington opportunity, which of course would mean massive changes in my life. Funds are low trying to pay the bills. I maxed out the one credit card I use and the TWC debit card is almost empty for the next week and a half. I am now entering a cycle where I have to rotate between credit and debit, and yet we still can't pay the full bills.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie

Cathy

Posted by Sophie Jean, Aug 19 2009, 12:43 AM

A couple of people have flown en femme in a local crossdresser group of which I am a part. Any resident of Texas that wants a government issued ID that is acceptable for the TSA can get a State of Texas issued identification card. For 15 dollars, it will have your legitimate male information on it and your femme picture. Of course, you have to show up at the DPS en femme, and wait in line for it.

I can confirm that the DPS at North Richland Hills will also gladly take your picture en femme for your driver's license as well, and save the 15 dollars (I am going to have to do a little explaining to Human Resources when I land a job). Maybe with the new regulations and my new driver's license, I will now have to fly en femme. Business trips with the boss might get a little interesting and educational for the boss and coworkers.

One of the crew members for the V-Monologues, and a member of my support group, the very dear Cathy Lawton, was found dead yesterday in her place, apparently having taken her life in her own hands about a week and a half ago. She survived for two years unemployed until she had apparently too little cash to go on. She never married, lost her dog in 1998, and decided to transition when she got laid off in 2007. Her sole surviving natural parent, her mother, passed away just over a year ago July, and the anniversary of her death may have pushed her over the top. Despite Cathy's experience, she was only offered opportunities with substandard pay once she transitioned. She had made up her mind that she did not want to be a burden on her family or her friends, despite what we would have told her. To anyone thinking likewise, if you don't want to be a burden, please--be a burden! We want you here with us.

In spite of her shy introspective reluctance, Cathy was always happy to do anything in a supportive role, putting her old pickup to use. Cathy's infectious smile, sense of humor and frank candidness will be sorely missed by all whom she touched. Indeed, I miss her. The world is a sadder place today with one more angel gone.

I plan to be there at Cathy's funeral to wish her goodbye. This is a sad day when our community was unable to take care of their own. The guilt is racking me, because the warning signs were there, in her last messages, but I failed to piece it together.

There must be better terms than "transphobia" and "homophobia" to describe the hate-motivation behind violent acts committed against lesbian, gay, bisexual or transgendered/transsexual individuals.

The greek suffix "phobia" actually means fear. So "transphobia" and "homophobia" literally mean "fear of transsexual/transgendered people and "fear of gay/lesbian." Fear can be addressed through education, by members of the group living amidst the population as good citizens, and by time. Not so with hatred.

When a transgender woman is forced to commit a sex act and is then stabbed to death, the crime is obviously not done from fear. It is done out of pure hatred. It is not fear if a homosexual is beaten to death. It is done out of pure malice. There are better terms available that should be used to make the distinction.

You can't live for very long in the open when there is hatred toward your very existence. This hatred that we face is a different phenomenon than a cultural fear, and will therefore require different tactics. Therefore, we need better words to separate psychopathic hatred of people from a simple fear. The greek suffix for "hatred" is "misia," like in misanthropist--a person who feels a deep hatred for humanity.

Transmisia and homomisia are the phenomenon we must address today. Sometimes an individual's homomisia is so strong it spills over into transmisia, equating transgendered people with gays and lesbians as a target of hate. These people honestly feel that the targets of their anger are less human than they are, and make for easy targets. Violence to "easy target" subhumans is an exciting thrill and a passage to acceptance in their subculture akin to knocking over a convenience store or tagging the neighborhood with graffiti. Performing violent acts against those who are to them as annoying as an ant, and just as useful gives the psychopaths (typically young) a sense of power. It is my belief that many psychopaths find careers of law enforcement to their liking. It is for that reason, and my own experiences, that I don't trust police. Too many don't care about you...only about their own power.

According to Robert Hare, there is no cure for psychopathy. In fact, psychopaths not only fool their counselors, they learn better forms of manipulation from them. It is usually not until they have been caught in a brutal deed, that all the pieces are put together to verify their psychopathy. Their is a checklist of behaviors from the DSM-IV antisocial personality disorder that tends to occur in more psychopathic individuals, and if you sense these behaviors in someone you know, don't trust them. The entire checklist can be found online at wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hare_Psychopathy_Checklist). Of course, the list scares me, because when I denied my emotional state, I found myself occasionally doing some of the behaviours. But that's the key: psychopaths tend to have little or no emotions when it comes to other people. They tend to find horrific deeds more curious than revolting. They can manipulate your emotions to make you think they care. In reality, they are revolted by people who seem less than them. I also recommend reading Columbine by Dave Cullen.

Transphobia and transmisia are two different phenomenon. So are homophobia and homomisia. We can't go on lumping them together, because the response to each requires completely different responses. Just living openly and honestly as good citizens mitigates transphobia and homophobia, while it will make you a martyr to those who have transmisia or homomisia and are looking for "easy targets."

The good news is that phobias are much more prevalent that the outright hatred. The only way I can think of to battle transmisia is to do everything you can to be a "hard target."

There is an argument that since a phobia is a fear without reason, that the resultant hatred is a "irrational knee-jerk reaction" as a consequence of the fear, like a person with arachnophobia killing spiders.

Using the metaphor of the spider, or an ant and the time it takes for 100 synapses in a chain to fire in the human brain, if I react by killing the spider before a rational thought can take place, out of pure emotion, that's killing out of fear, and that can be alleviated by not being an actual threat to the people who may have that fear.

If, on the other hand, and I'm borrowing some Buddhist teaching here, if I get up, go get a can of Andro, and spread it over the whole mound or I hunt down the spiders and kill them, or if I tear off the legs one at a time, while killing the spider and enjoying it, that demonstrates that it is malice aforethought, and a hatred based on elevating myself and any member of my group above that of the animals that I am bringing to harm. In fact, in the case of torturing a creature to death, I am exhibiting signs of psychopathy. It's done out of a hatred for the spider's existence, or maybe for the thrill of the moment.

Most of the news stories I have seen involving crimes against transgendered people because they are transgendered and the scenarios I highlighted above show that the perpetrator had plenty of time to curb in their reaction and chose not to. In fact, in numerous cases the victims were trapped. The killed-out-of-fear tactic has been used unsuccessfully by the defense because of this reason.

In my opinion, to kill out of fear, one has to be afraid for one's life. If one is afraid that she is going to die if she doesn't kill the victim, then there is justification to the "berserker" defense. Otherwise, it is a "hate-crime."

And that's my point. People who commit hate crimes are trying to cop out with the phobia excuse, when the intent is really malicious. People who commit hate crimes are not afraid of anything except the victims having the gall to think they are as good as the rest of society. They want to put them in their place.

I believe there are police officers that really do care. I have met some of them. And I have also met some of the others, who are in it for control. I would like to see the cruel psychopaths flushed out, but as I was saying earlier, they are hard to detect until they've be caught doing some brutal act.

I advise the same to anybody. To the white man on the streets early in the morning barhopping in s minority neighborhood, he has made himself an easy target by being unable to defend himself due to his stupor, to being visible to people who haven't gotten that liquored up, and by establishing a pattern. He has also probably said something to somebody at one of the locations or on the road to seem like an a$$hole because his inhibitions are down and the watcher's would say he deserved what he was getting.

Be aware. Be sober. Be Safe.

Was Cathy killed by transphobia or by self-transmisia? I'm not sure. It is quite possible that it was neither and nothing more nor less than stress-induced depression, and I really wish she would have come here to Laura's for help.

The job hunt is going slow but steady. I am either 1/3 or 1/4 of the way through the interview process for one company, depending on if they require a technical phone interview. My search has been expanded to include all of the great state of Texas, and I have submitted my resume 9 more times since Monday.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie Jean

I Got Ma'amed (well...almost)

Posted by Sophie Jean, Mar 23 2009, 01:36 PM

I had a great time doing the monologues on Saturday! Did I get stage fright? You bet! And I also got dressing room fright, too. But, to hear the audiences reactions, to look in their faces, and listen to their laughter at the appropriate places, and the cheering at the close of our set was absolutely worth it. The camaraderie in the dressing room and backstage was wonderful. To be greeted by people I knew in the lobby, event organizers and others with congratulations for a job well done...well, that just warmed my heart. And to top it off, I got ma'amed at the drive through the next day(well, almost. He did a fast double take and corrected himself.) when I was just being normal with the kids in the car. Needless to say, I’m still in the afterglow.

I was so excited Saturday morning. It was like a work day, but I was going in my costume. We had to be at the stage door at Casa Manana by 8:30 AM for the technical rehearsal. I got a good shave, my beard cover, two layers of foundation, eye shadow and eyeliner on the upper lid in place before I noticed it was 7:45 and time to go. We didn’t have to worry about our hair and makeup for the tech rehearsal, but I wanted to see how far I could go. Besides, I really needed to get that beard cover and foundation in place before we left. What was important was that we show up in our costumes, ready to do a run through at 8:45 AM. I had on a new purple rayon blouse, with a draped v-neck and elbow-length sleeves which displayed my minimal curves to good effect in the mirror. The costume theme was Everyday a Woman, so I also had on my black slacks and bone-colored Siamanto shoes. I brought my new black Eva-Beaded flip flops, hoping they would be quieter than the clacking heel. The heel clicks tend to reverberate backstage, and that’s where we had to get miked up, and find our entrance points at stage left and stage right. It turned out the sucking noise of the flip flops was worse than the heels I had, so I opted out of the flip flops. I discovered I could move quietly, but very very slowly by rolling from the heel, which had a very thin rubber sole, to the toe when I walked.

The director showed us to the dressing rooms. We had two chorus rooms, which each fit twenty women. I was carrying a bag of props for her and followed her in. I then returned to the dressing room scene partner, Jo, had gone into, barely able to find an available seat. I put my things on the counter, noticing the makeup mirror. I couldn’t wait to use it. After a very short while our director, Beth Bontley, called everyone to the auditorium, where we were invited to get comfortable with the stage. Casa Manana used to be a theater in the round, with its geodesic dome stretching overhead. Today, it is a semicircle stage, jutting out into the audience, with a classic rectangular stage behind. I walked my entrance and exit, pausing at the front of the stage to mentally rehearse my lines and physically the gestures. I said to myself, I can do this.

Once we had all taken seats in the auditorium, the girl who sat next to me asked if I identified with the lines. My monologue was “They Beat the Boy Out of the Girl…Or So They Tried.” I answer, “Most definitely. “

“So you went to boot camp?” she asked.

“United States Naval Reserve. I got sick in boot camp with pneumonia for two weeks.” My voice was refusing to go into my highest register. It seemed I was stuck at the next range down, more like a second alto. “By the time I was done with boot camp and training school, because I was sick, I was officially a veteran, and entitled to veteran’s benefits. I went on active duty three and a half years later.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I have two. One’s 11 and the other 5.” She’s probably looking at me trying to figure how I could have squeezed out children and still have such slim hips and small bosom.

“So you and your partner had them?” she tested.

“Yes.”

Beth called for everyone’s attention at that point. She called up volunteers to use the props so she could adjust the layout. Once that was done, it was time to practice C**T. We are all onstage for that performance, and I got blocked to a specific location. I was sick the day she first blocked it out, so I was standing in the wrong place like a sore thumb. We practiced the monologue a few times, and then moved on to curtain call. We had to do it over and over until the 42 of us women presenting executed it smoothly. Someone suggested that we use the “Stop the Violence” hand gesture, because the proceeds of the performances of the V-Monologues are targeted toward programs that end violence against women. Several people thought was a good idea, so we added it in.

At this point, we began a speed through, with cue-to-cues so we could get the lighting, sound and blocking working. I watched the first piece then headed back to the dressing room, where I brushed out my hair, did my eyelashes, blush and lipstick in the mirror, and realized my lipstick was on too thick. However, I didn’t feel I had time to fix it. Usually, I just cover the center half-inch of the upper and lower lips with the base color, and spread it to the remaining surface with strawberry tart lip gloss. Why I covered the whole surface this time is beyond me.

When it got close to my monologue, I went backstage, slipping my shoes off to move quickly and quietly, where I had a belt and microphone attached. The girl doing the mike warning me she was going to get a little comfortable with me as she ran the wire up my back and to the blousing on the lapel of my shirt. Every scene was having to be rushed through, and the blocking gone over several times. When we got to our scene, it went so fast, the only words I got to say was the last line, “They were that terrified…” Then we were off, I was unmiked and told to keep the belt. Jo and I had slipped back to the dressing room, when we were called back, so we came back running. The actresses after us had missed their entrance cue, so we had to exit again. From there, the rehearsal proceeded all the way to the end. She then dismissed us to the dressing rooms, where all around me women were stripping unabashedly to their underwear to change into casual clothes for after rehearsal. I didn’t bring any change, as I intended to head straight home in what I was wearing. I focused my eyes on my hair and makeup, thinking, What the heck am I doing here? Just the thought of undressing with these women of al shapes and sizes to see my preteen size chest, and imagining hoping that the lump wouldn’t show in my panties was frightening. I had never been in a women’s dressing room or locker room like this before. The anxiety was beginning to creep through, until I finally found the courage to gently get my purse and whatnot and head to the green room, where the director told us how great we were, what to focus on that evening, and to practice energy management. We all parted, many of intending to get a nap before the night’s performance.

When I got home, I changed into my other purple blouse and jeans. I worked around the house for a bit, having found out that my wife was at the auto dealer with the kids having the brakes fixed. After a bit I was sleepy enough that I wound up taking a 2 hour nap. I had about an hour left, so I returned to the sink where I shaved with the skin cleanser, reapplied the beard cover and foundation, touched up my eye makeup, noticing the 30 strokes of mascara on each eyelash was solid as a rock still. I noticed I was out of time again, and I felt like wearing my round black Spring hat. I had no clue it was the first day of Spring. I grabbed a plum for dinner to help wet my vocal cords. By the time I got to the theater, it felt like it was another day. This time I proceeded to change in the dressing room when I got there, even though a couple of actresses had walked in while I was changing. It felt like it was another day. Jo was already there when I arrived, so when I finished adjusting my makeup, doing my lipstick the right way this time (I went through about three shades until I found the one I though was good enough), I went to the green room to wait. One of the girls had bought chocolates and was offered mint-chocolate and raspberry chocolates in the shape of little footballs out of a heart-shaped box. I listened to talk of pregnancy and how it affect your reactions, and then Jo entered. We rehearsed our lines about 3 times, until our director came in.

She brought a skein of rainbow-colored yarn to represent that we had built something out of diversity together. We all stood around in as best a circle as we could manage, while she cut the yarn in segments for everyone. I wrapped mine twice around my right wrist and tied in the form of a friendship bracelet, or as my daughter calls it, a BFF (Best Friends Forever) bracelet. From there we went back to our dressing room, and awaited top of the show. We got to listen to the whole performance, as the microphones were piped to the dressing room and the green room. Backstage we chatted, while we listened, marking how close we were to our individual parts. Jo told me about her workplace transition, and how to do it right. A bottle of wine was broken open, and a bit later those of us in the dressing room were sharing whiskey. About that time, one of the girls brought Joe back. He had nose rings and lip rings and it was hard for me to look him in the face. He hugged a couple girls and glanced my way. When he was offered some of the whiskey, he boorishly tilted back the bottle and drank the remaining half without coming up for air. “I was thirsty,” he said. I thought he was rude and disrespectful. But that’s just me. I realized this could quite possibly be the “Joe” that had directed the monologues at Texas Wesleyan University a couple years ago. After a bit he was taken on his tour again, probably to the other dressing room. I decided I would blush with the war stripes, as I had learned long ago watching my mother. I took the reddest lipstick I could find and drew a diagonal across each cheek from the direction of the ear to the direction of the lip. I blended it in with the foundation, and put just a drop of foundation on the pad. I recovered the area by the nose on each sides, to make the blush seem to be deeper, but more natural.

When my turn came to get miked up for the actual performance, I started feeling the anxiety take over. I tried breathing and centering exercises, and they slowed the anxiety down, but I felt my leg start to tremble under my black slacks. And I knew I must have been going pale under the makeup, but I knew this feeling from before. I hadn’t had it in a long time and I couldn’t recall exactly when I felt it, but it was known. I waited what seemed like forever behind the curtain, waiting for my cue to enter on the stage right ramp. But the magic line was said, and Jo and I proceeded together to the front of the stage where it juts out into the audience. My voice gurgled at the beginning of the word, “I” when I said “I ached to belong,” and I noticed I could see my lines on my card, even though I had brought my glasses in my left hand just in case. But that was the last time I had to look at the card. As I went through the lines I had rehearsed over and over, I looked pointedly at the faces of the audience, staring in rapt attention. I was speaking slowly and deliberately emphasizing the correct words, and just as Beth had promised, a chuckle floated over the audience when I said, “For trying to fly in church like Sister Birtrell.” My leg was still threatening to give way as I proceeded to the voice part where I thought I had butchered the Jewish accent line until I heard laughter immediately swell out.The next line got them rolling, when with a lilt I told them, “A southern accent is really excellent,” following with the aftershock created by “Howdy, Y’all” I proceeded though the monologue until I retold Calpernia Addam’s story. When I finished, not a pin drop could be heard. They were that silent. After a couple of moments, Jo and I gave each other the planned hug, to which I heard the applause and someone screaming, “Whooo!”

It felt good. Incredibly good. We made it through the rest of the performance. The audience getting whipped up again and again. When we finished the last curtain call, we waited for the audience to exit, and then returned to the stage for a group photo. There must have been six to eight photographers out there taking the snapshots.

After the photo shoot, I took a moment to recollect myself, and then proceeded to the lobby, looking for familiar faces. They found me. I was greeted warmly by friends from all the organizations that have been welcoming to me. People from my support group, Tri-Ess, and the Unitarian Church told me how courageous I was. When I felt that I had met everyone who was looking for me, including, believe it or not, Lori, who was on the steering committee for the group and promised we would get to see the video (“I begged to her that the camera hates me.” She said it didn’t matter), I started to leave until I noticed that the last of the raffle was drawing near, and a formal presentation of thanks from the cast to the steering committee was about to be made. We had signed prints of the Best Friends sigil while backstage. I stopped to watch, noticing as luck would have it, I was standing next to Joe, who was elevated on a chair or table to view the event. He held out his hand, asking “I’m Joe. And you are…?”

“Sophie,” I replied, as I noticed the warmth of his hand and arm.

“I like that you did the transgender thing.”

“Well, they’re women, too,” I replied and turned to watch the rest of the drawing, very intent on the presentation moment.

Finally, it was over, I bid farewell again, and headed back to the dressing room, where I changed alone into my jeans and purple top. It was too dark outside to where my sun hat, and I arrived back home about midnight, having tried to acquire a late meal at Wendy’s only to be told they were closed.

Would I do this again? Borrowing words from Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, “You betcha!” I can’t wait until next year.

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie Jean

Passing The Yoke On

Posted by Sophie Jean, Feb 20 2009, 04:30 PM

I feel deeply honored to have helped carry the yoke of forum moderator, and it's no yoke when it's distributed among so many willing volunteers. It's just that I just don't have any good time to focus on effectively moderating and haven't for a while now, which would require time going back through the forums. I will continue to offer a listening ear and the supportive shoulder to cry on.

Right now, my outreach is going in a slightly different direction. I will be one of two transwomen at the Casa Manana theater this March, playing the part of the same for Eve Ensler's V Monologues. The monologue I'll be sharing highlights the plight of the transgendered women surviving amidst the specter of violence.

The other outreach is in the collation of my blogs and poetry from around the web into some semblance of order, editing them so that I stand some chance of someday getting them published in book form. Of the few personal transitions I have read, none of them addressed the spiritual component, which has been biggest one for me. It is one of my deepest desires to get the word out that the journey can be a deeply spiritual one as well as a personal one.

Do not think I am abandoning Laura's Playground. Maybe sometime in the future, when there's not so many demands on my attention, I can help out here again if needed. My contact information is still valid, and I will drop in from time to time.

On the lighter side, something really weird happened this morning. Both my kids got to stay home and sleep in because this is a teacher in service day. This enabled me to leave and get to work a good bit earlier. As I was pulling into the parking lot, my cell phone started buzzing in my pocket. This was an unexpected shock, as it always is when it vibrates. I usually never get calls as early as 8:07 AM, unless it's my wife or daughter calling.

When I looked at the phone, the number was in my area code, but not one I recognized. Focusing my mind on as middle a voice as I could muster, I answered, "Hello?"

"Is Sophia there?" the unknown caller asked. Who was this person? I didn't recognize the accent, and how did they know me, or get my number?

"This is she."

"Can I talk to Sophia?"

Okay, now this was getting just plain silly. I thought that maybe my voice must still be a little too masculine sounding throwing the caller off, and they were going to hang in until they heard a voice that made sense.

"Just a second." I waited a few seconds and then I said in a higher voice with a little more inflection, "This is Sophie."

"I don't think so."

Now just how rude can people get. I had had about enough of this lady. If she thought I wasn't Sophie, then I was going to play along to get her off the phone.

"Can I give her a message?" That should work, I reasoned. At least it fits into her reality model.

"Tell her her mother called?" Okay, now alarms were going off. This was not my mother on the other end. Who was this lady, and why did she think I was her Sophia? How did she get my number?

"Okay. I will."

We hung up and I walked into my office, started setting up my computer, thinking, She's going to think that she finally contacted her daughter, and that's not true. What if it was something really important, and I just blew her off.

So I had a change of heart, I went back outside with my cell phone and called her back where no one could overhear if I had to go into Sophie mode again.

"Hello?"

"Hi. You just called my number looking for Sophia, and I think you got a wrong number." Now my voice tone and inflection were more in Sophie mode. Go figure.

"I thought so, myself," she replied. "I just didn't want to say anything." Interesting.

"I was just curious. How did you get my number? It's not really published anywhere."

"Oh, I've had it a long time." Longer than I was Sophie? It must be her house number.

"No, I mean the number you called me with."

"Oh, I just was off by one digit."

"What a coincidence!" This was met by a couple of seconds of silence on the other end, so I added, "Well, I hope you find your Sophia, then," really hoping it was so.

"Oh, I left her lots of messages. Thank you." And we both hung up.


Thanks, Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie Jean

The Women's Circle

Posted by Sophie Jean, Feb 13 2009, 02:34 PM

The women's circle is a sacred place. It's a place where a woman feels like she belongs and it is a place of healing, for getting back into what it means to be a woman.

When I rejected the violent world of men as a child, I naturally sought the kitchen. This was the setting of the women's circle as a child. Men performed repairs while the women sought to nurture their family's body and each other's spirit. I enjoyed the setting, even though my poor father was left alone, while I preferred my mother's presence, until I was sent outside gloomy to "help" him. How could the cold unforgiving nature of the weather and automobiles compare to the warmth I found in the kitchen, and its denizens of the female gender.

Play was always preferrable with the girls. I loved playing house outside in our makeshift tent-house. I just didn't like it when I always had to be the "Daddy" or the "Baby." The boys on the other hand were more interested in how well they could throw baseballs, dirt clods and rocks. We had a tree in our backyard in Germany, and I used to just climb it to a nice little crook, where I could relax and see what everyone was up to.

There were many days I was sent outside to play, and I was the only one. I was deeply grateful when I saw a child in the sandbox playing. It turned out they were playing with a toy soldier, and I learned to play with the soldiers and cars like they did, so I could at least have a friend. I never saw that child again. My Dad signed me up to play little league baseball, and he volunteered to coach. After a couple of years, there was no thrill over it for me. I had more excitement learning about the team name that the game itself.

So it was natural I became a loner, and learned to rely on myself for my own entertainment. I couldn't count on anybody being there forever. Over the years, I made friendships with individual boys and girls growing up. The boys would become more rough, the girls more sweet, and of course I would stop hanging out with the boys, or they would become bullyish and the girls would suddenly stop showing up to play with me. The truth I didn't know then is how protective parents were of their daughters, not condoning them playing outside alone or with a boy.

So I was alone, more often than not. How could I know I was a girl, when half of gender is your societal interaction? I was labeled a boy, and though I wasn't happy with it, I felt I must conform to it in as minimal a nature as I could. Segregation from the girls made me so angry and confused at first, until I learned to ignore the feelings. How else was I going to get through school, where the teachers, predominately female, took to my work ethic?

Every so often, over the years, a young girl about my age would brave the societal norms and become my friend. We would do things together, just the two of us, until she was cloistered away. By the time I got to junior high and high school, the brave girls only had time to show interest in passing conversations between our desks while we waited for the bell to ring. By the time I reached my Senior year in High School, I had several friends among the current cheerleaders and college-bound young women, as well as among the Junior nerds. I was accepted into their inner circle.

In the 7th grade, in an effort to avoid the stereotypical male or female classes, like home economics and typing, I signed up for band. My mother realized I was good enough with a recorder to play the instrument she had, the clarinet. It felt so good to bond with my mother, that I didn't even think that it might be an instrument played overwhelmingly by girls, which it was. When I first merged into the junior high band from beginner band, I realized that I had run right into the thing I was trying to run away from. But then I realized, I broke the segregation. I'm back with the girls where I belong. On top of that, as a Freshman, I took drama and upon learning that boys took the parts of women in plays, I was hopeful that I could do it--to secretly express how I felt.

But back to band. Whenever section practice was held, the clarinetists would all get in a private room with the door shut, circling up in a women's circle to practice. But practice was never immediate, for when you group women together the main concern is sharing, lifting each other and advice. I so cherished being made privy to the conversations. At one point in high school, I walked in a little late, and the discussion was on menstruation. They just gave me a quick apology--as that was not a fair topic--and continued just a little longer before getting down to practice. I didn't realize it at the time, but these little circles uplifted me for the whole day, wishing, however, that I could be considered more female.

One of the clarinetists, Lisa, found me on classmates.com after I posted a femme picture there, and wanted me to contact her concerning an upcoming band reunion. I don't know if she saw the photo and the associated comment, but it's hard to avoid. Anyway, she added me as her friend on the site.

Once I left for college, the women's circles were a thing of the past. Although I found a local cross dressing club where many of the wives took part, I was never made privy to the inner sect, until I started attending a Unitarian Church in full female mode. I had been there as male, but the women really welcomed me as one of there own, greeting me, talking to me, and hanging out with me as if I were a lifelong friend. Three of the women asked me out to Luby's on the same day and I had to decline. I had to decline because I was scheduled to rehearse shortly after.

About a month prior to that, one of my support group friends posted a notice that rehearsals for The Vagina Monologues by Eve Ensler were going to be held at the church where I felt so welcomed. One of the monologues, "They Beat the Girl Out of the Boy...Or So They Tried" rang so true in my emotions that I could try out for the piece. Assuming this would be at a college theater, I felt I pretty much had to do it. God opens doors for a reason. I contacted the director to arrange a tryout, and she more than happily agreed. Then I found out the venue was going to be Casa Manana! Oh God, what had I just done? What a way to make a debut? In front of a thousand people!

When I showed up for auditions, looking for the place, Lori looked at me and asked if I would like to try out! I was accepted immediately--again! You can't believe how ecstatic I was feeling as well as how nervous. Then two of my good friends from the support group came through the door. Jo had performed this very monologue alone two years ago, and suggested we audition together. When we were onstage, expressing the feelings evoked within the part, the director made us stop after a couple of moments because she claimed we were making her cry. Jo and I were in, and going to do that monologue.

So the Sunday I was invited to Luby's was our first rehearsal. Vagina rehearsals are a bit different. So we gathered in a circle of 42 women, and I sat next to Amy from the church, who was fast becoming a buddy. Despite the fact that I am 6 foot tall, and a little less bosomed than most, I was welcomed as a woman. The director took us through bonding activities and reconnecting with our feminine feelings and I felt so healed. I could not even imagine what it felt like to have been male. Me male? No way! I am and always have been a woman, although maybe a nerdy one.

Hugs and God Bless,
- Sophie Jean

First Annual Whole Woman Festival

Posted by Sophie Jean, Feb 9 2009, 10:49 AM

Join Jo Siegel, Cathy Crowley, I and a host of beautiful women of all ages at this years Whole Woman Festival on Saturday, March 21st, culminating in a 7:30 Performance of Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues at Casa Manana in Fort Worth. This year’s optional monologues include “Miss Pat,” a salute to Katrina Warriors, and “They Beat the Girl Out of the Boy…Or at Least They Tried,” which Jo and I have been nominated to present. For more information on how you can contribute or just show up (the events with the exception of The Vagina Monologues are free, but accept donations to lift women and children out of violence). Entrance to the evening show is $15 , which goes to the V-Day campaign against violence. Concessions will also be sold.

More information on the events and on how you can be involved is available at the following website: http://www.vdayfortworth.com/

Hugs and God Bless,
- Sophie

Free To Be

Posted by Sophie Jean, Feb 2 2009, 01:43 PM

A lot of quotes today:

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie Jean

Both And Neither

Posted by Sophie Jean, Jan 27 2009, 12:45 PM

"Is that a woman or a man?" my friend was asked concerning a picture she had of me on her desktop.

"Both...and neither," she replied, discomfiting my co-worker a little bit more.

The curiosity was apparently too much, so the driving question was asked, "Who is that?"

With a sense of internal humor at the condescending attitude, she said of her office mate, "That is someone whom I admire and respect. They have values that I look up to."

When I heard of this exchange a bit later, I have to admit to a bit of flush rising up under my ears. Of course, it was told in two parts, due to work getting in the way. I don't know if I should be excited or not. I still get sir'ed at the drive-through after having been on hormones for 10 months, and in makeup and a wig from 6 months ago, my gender is indefinable. I see Lorianne from Tuscon, and she is looking more feminine than ever, as well as Nicole, who is driving her femininity through a starvation diet that can't be healthy for her.

So for my family sake, I ask myself, can I live in the in-between indefinitely? I'm a woman. I always have been, and was deliberately fooling myself to think otherwise.

The mind can be attuned to what it desires, and I desired to be normal. The problem is that I am not normal by societal definition. What was not normal was living my life in the analytical realm, while denying the emotional and spiritual. Now my mind is more attuned to what I can be, to the feminine flowing in and around me. Movement in circles of less understanding become more difficult.

I made an agreement with my daughter. I would take her to the adventist church every other Sunday where she feels so welcome, and she's free to accompany me to the univeralist church where I feel welcomed. The adult service in the adventist church, while feeling liberal before, feels so stifling now. They sing of the power of Jesus' name, and Christ as the only one, and I feel they are missing the mark, the defintion of the word, "sin." Greeting one another is only done perfunctorily and greater donations are requested for improvements to a building that isn't in need of rennovation, when people are struggling. It was so hard to remain where I was through the worship service, until we finally got to the sermon. I had such a strong desire to just walk out, but I didn't feel like drawing the attention. So I sang, but I only sang what I believed.

When I was 8 years old, I was reading my children's bible, and my mother asked me if I believed that Jesus died to save us from our sins. I thought to myself, "Why not?" It makes sense. So I sat down and prayed to let Jesus into my heart, and immediately felt as if God was asking, "Will you be good?" Shocked, I conferred with my mother, before promising I would. But the funny thing is, it felt more like I was opened to God than to Jesus.

When I was 10 years old, my mother's father passed away. He was a retired minister, and I tried vowing to God that I would take his place. I felt movement in my mind that God already had plans for me.

I wanted Jesus to visit me so much, to help me resolve who I was. I prayed so hard for him to come to me. Then as I lay there, I felt as if I could see him saying to me he was my friend, and I should pray to the Father instead, as we are all children of God.

I have to say over the years that was the only time I felt Jesus move in me. I feel guilty for annoying him so, and he must feel so embarrased by the number of people that pray to him instead of the God he points to. It must be similar to the feeling Moses got seeing Aaron and the Israelites worshipping a golden calf after their miraculous exodus from Egypt.

Even my 10 year old daughter can feel that God does not have a gender. God takes whatever form we most need. When I was young, I needed the father form, but as I pass through middle age and acknowledge my calling to take the road to womanhood, I need Her motherly aspect. God knows what I need.

I am still waiting nervously to find out what part I will get in V-Day. Something tells me results will be in very soon. My office mates have vowed that we will go out to lunch as soon as I find out. I hope it's today, since I forgot to prepare my lunch until too late.

Hugs and God Bless,
-Sophie Jean