New beginnings

Well, it's official. I've graduated from college with a bachelor's degree in literature and a minor in children's literature!

I got into graduate school for the library and information sciences program!

AND...

I'm jobless.

What a combination!

Technically, I'm not jobless until 1:00 this afternoon. Today is my last day at work and I've been holding back tears all morning.

The last few days have been a unique combination of elation and sadness. I f*cking GRADUATED from COLLEGE! I got into f*cking GRAD SCHOOL, which I have been stressing about for a year! I met somebody who's sweet and wonderful and doesn't mind my abject weirdness, and it may very well go somewhere!

The highlight of this entire month, really, was on Sunday. There was a small gathering at my parents' house to celebrate my graduation and acceptance into grad school ("small" being about 20 people--the REAL party will happen later in the summer, when my house will be jam packed with 100+ people who won't leave until the sun rises the next day).

I thought the high point of the evening was when my parents informed me that they had put ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS in my checking account!

But no. My amazing, wonderful parents one-upped even that phenomenal gesture.

Side story: When my biological mother was alive, she had collected Barbies. Not just any old Barbies, but expensive, collector's edition Barbies. When she passed away, all these Barbies went into storage. Over the years, they got lost track of and relatively forgotten. But not by me. I don't have many things of hers, because I never lived with her. I saw her occasionally, yes, but she worked, married, had two kids, and had a fairly active life. I have a few pictures of her, and a letter she wrote me, and a bracelet she made, but that's about it. So when her husband passed away and my parents got custody of their two kids, the subject of her Barbies eventually came up. I had asked my parents if they knew where the Barbies were or who might have them. They said that my birth mother's brother would probably know, but that they doubted he'd be willing to do anything about it because they were either:

a) in storage
b) lost
c) rightfully my half-sister's (my birth mother's daughter)

This was a major disappointment to me. But I didn't want to fight with my parents about this, especially since they didn't seem to think it was a big deal and I didn't want to be accused of making a mountain out of a molehill. So I've been mute on the subject for roughly a year.

On Sunday, after all the guests had left, my parents took me out to the garage and showed me the two boxes of Barbies that they had requested that my birth mother's brother bring over for me.

I was completely overwhelmed. I cried for most of the evening. I called my birth mother's brother to thank him, but I doubt he understood me through the sobbing.

My half-sister and I resolved to share the Barbies. We feel that we both have the right to them.

In the midst of this joy is incredible sorrow to leave a job that I've had and loved for the last four and a half years. I'm not just scared about not being able to find a new job; one chapter of my life is ending. A new one is beginning and I'm absolutely terrified because I don't know what's going to happen.

Well, as a last resort, there's always Antarctica...

I'm a drag queen!

I've been going thoroughly insane the last few days. Well, more insane than usual...

It's exam week for me and I've been taking 400-level literature classes, which require me to read a thousand books per class and create infinity final projects and portfolios, so I stopped existing for a while. But I'm back! You're all terrified, I know.

For one of my classes, we had to do a final presentation. Mine was on Leslie Feinberg's Stone Butch Blues and Drag King Dreams. Transgendered characters run rampant throughout these stories. My angle on the two was that the novels, which were published 13 years apart, address a lot of the same issues, such as corrective rape and violence toward the LGBT community.

I decided to give my class a little taste of what it's like being transgendered.

My teacher said we could use visual aids. She did not give limits. Professors really need to learn not to give me this type of leeway.

I think everyone in my class very nearly died of shock when I came sashaying in wearing a short skirt, a tank top, a very visible lacy bra, high heels, and makeup.

I received a lot of comments, not just from classmates but from friends who saw me staggering around campus in those g*ddamn heels. Mostly, "What the f*ck?!" and "What's going on?!" and "Why?!"

I think a lot of people jumped to the conclusion that I had dropped my transition and gone back to being a girl.

I had to stop and explain to everyone.

Shocked Friend: What the hell?! Why are you dressed like that?!

Me: I'm doing a presentation for a class.

Shocked Friend: On what?!

Me: Transgender.

Shocked Friend: So...you decided to dress in girl clothes? Why not wear what you usually wear?

Me: Because everybody in my class knows me as a guy. Seeing me in drag will be a shock. I'm trying to make a point about what society expects as far as compliance with the gender binary. I think this will help get the point across.

Shocked Friend: Whatever floats your boat...

Not a lot of people actually believed that going to class in drag would help get my point across. I think they thought I was just being weird for the hell of it. But seriously, my costume DID help get the point across. In fact, it drove the point home completely.

I got a lot of compliments on my presentation after it was done.

Dressing in girl clothes absolutely did NOT feel natural to me. This wasn't a case of, as a lot of people assumed, me going back to what was natural or normal for a bit.

People, I am a GUY.

I was in f*cking DRAG.

I felt like Angel, from Rent. It was pretty cool because Angel is the most kickass drag queen ever and I got to enjoy feeling totally kickass. Oddly enough, the comparison to Angel made me feel MORE manly because Angel wasn't biologically female, either.

I also got to laugh at all the straight guys who stared at me. Every time they did, I had to turn my head away to hide my smile and resist saying, "Ha! You think I'm a girl, you little queer!"

Dating websites sick/rock

So yeah, I joined a dating website because I have nothing else to do with my time...

Besides graduating, making a resume, planning a presentation, studying for exams, still applying to grad school, trying to keep my insane cats under control, going back and forth from my parents' house (moving things in slowly), applying for jobs, working ridiculous hours because my college insists on doing this stupid thing where the library is open 24/7 for students to study at all f*cking hours (not taking into account that the student employees are also STUDENTS--you hear that, college?!--and don't WANT to stay up all night when we could be doing something important, like doing our own studying. Or SLEEPING.)

How is it that I manage to have free time?

But yeah, I got bored and joined a dating website. I love filling out the info about myself. I love talking about me! As you've probably gathered...

What sucks, though, is this website only gives you so many options to choose from when listing your gender and sexual orientation.

When it comes to gender, this website gives two: male and female. Surprise! So which do I choose? Uh...? Is there an option for those of us who don't fit? Or who are all over the f*cking spectrum?

I wound up choosing female.

My rationale for this is that I will probably be more accepted in the gay community, so rather than shocking some poor girl with my strap-on when she was expecting a real cock, I figured I'd give people the heads-up and let them know what to expect. So I listed myself as a female looking for another female, and wrote in my profile that I'm a transman. Also, my profile name has Pete in it. That should give people fair warning.

Then it came time to list my sexual orientation. This site gave three options: straight, gay, or bi. What the f*ck, website? What about those of us who are, again, ALL OVER THE SPECTRUM? I'm NOT bi. I think I've made that clear by now.

Bisexuality implies a gender BINARY. Binary means TWO. As in, two genders. It only recognizes male and female. I like EVERYONE. I'm not kidding. Male, female, androgynous, multi-gendered, two spirited, third gender, fourth gender, FIFTH gender, FTM, MTF, MT-whatever, FT-whatever, I don't care! If you're human, I'll go for you. And, as a little hint at what gets my motor running, if you are a man in drag or a MTF, watch out because I will be on you like glue.

Digression.

This website only gave three options. I wound up choosing bi, but seriously...isn't it a little silly to try and neatly organize things that have no order? It's science, folks. Yeah. That is TOTALLY science. And math, because you can't divide something that can't be divided. Logic.

I rule at school.

UPDATE: I changed my gender on the website to male because I decided, f*ck it.

Library patrons can be more annoying than my transition. Also, I accidentally hit Marine.

My brain still hates me. Last night, it tried to surprise me by the insomnia torture rather than the nightmare torture. So I was awake at around 3:30 this morning, when Marine surprised me by following through on a text he had sent me earlier that said he was coming home. I almost didn't believe it when he came stumbling into my room to wake me up. Good thing I was already up.

We sat around for a bit, talking about what's been going on in the last week and a half. I admitted to having briefly doubted his existence.

We talked for a while, but eventually the valerian root I'd taken kicked in, and we both fell asleep.

My brain was pissed at me for forcing it to sleep, and immediately went to its last resort when it can't torment me with insomnia: nightmares. I don't remember what exactly I dreamed about, but seeing as I spent most of my lazy Sunday watching dinosaur documentaries, it probably wasn't pleasant. I remember being scared in the dream, and swinging my arm to hit someone or something in front of me.

I was awakened when I felt my hand collide with something soft.

Marine: WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?

Me: Huh...?

Marine: What the f*ck just happened?!

Me: Oh my god! I am SO sorry! I was having a bad dream!

Marine: What did you do?

Me: Um...I accidentally smacked you in the face.

Marine: ...go back to sleep.

He didn't talk to me for the rest of the night.

Anyway, that little anecdote has absolutely nothing to do with my next topic: WORK! Yay work! Except I don't love my job when I have to deal with people who insist on being dumb. Yes, I understand, some people are unfamiliar with the library and/or our systems, and questions that may seem simple get asked a lot. I have no problem with that. It's my job to help people. What I DO have a problem with is people who seem utterly incapable of any kind of thought process whatsoever insisting on asking me the same questions repeatedly, expecting my answer to change.

One of my numerous jobs is to ring patrons up for multimedia items (posters, color copies, copies of non-standard sizes, etc.).

PROCESS:

Step 1) Patron asks person at multimedia desk to make their copies/posters/whatever.

Step 2) Person at multimedia desk makes copies/posters/whatever.

Step 3) Person at multimedia desk gives patron a receipt.

Step 4) Patron brings receipt to me at the circulation desk.

Step 5) I make a photocopy of their receipt.

Step 6) I file their receipt.

Step 7) I ring them up.

Step 8) I give them the photocopy of their receipt.

Step 9) Patron brings receipt back to multimedia desk.

Step 10) Patron receives posters/copies/whatever.

Yay!

Fairly easy process, right? You'd think. But this is how the interaction between a patron at I went once we reached Step 8:

Patron: They said I had to bring something back to them.

Me (assuming that "they" are the people at the multimedia desk): Yes, just bring that receipt back.

Patron: How will they know it's mine?

Me: Because of the receipt. They gave you a receipt.

Patron: But you took it.

Me: But the one you have there is a photocopy of the same one.

Patron: But how will they know it's mine?

Me: Your name is on it.

Patron: So what do I take back to them?

Me: The receipt I just gave you.

Patron: So what do I give them?

Me: That receipt.

Patron: You took my receipt.

Me: I had to file it. But you have a photocopy. It's a photocopy of the same receipt.

Patron: So what do I do?

Me: Give the people at the multimedia desk that receipt and they'll give you your poster.

Patron: How long will it take?

Me: I don't know. It's probably done by now. You'd have to go over to the multimedia desk and ask them.

Patron: I don't have time for that.

She stuffed the receipt in her bag and walked away, shaking her head like she didn't believe me. Because I had every reason to lie to her? Lying to her benefited me how?

I love most of my library patrons to pieces. I know the people who come in all the time. We laugh and talk and I ask them how their kids/spouses/pets/jobs are, they ask me how my pets/family/job is/are doing. We talk about Doctor Who and Sherlock Holmes and equal marriage rights and whatever subject they happen to be checking books out on. But some people...I swear, there should be a quota for stupidity and once it's used up, I vote that they should be banned from the library.

SHE didn't have time for that? Does she think I did?

I hate it when people think the world revolves around them. What about the rest of us?

Two interesting experiences

I've had two interesting experiences over this weekend, which I think are important enough to share. If you don't think so...please don't kill me.

Interesting Experience #1

I was out drinking the other night with a friend of mine who just turned 21 in December. He's a super genius and one of my best friends in the world, but he's busy finishing his undergraduate degree early, taking graduate courses, working on getting his master's degree a year earlier than me (I fume with jealousy. He was two grades behind me in high school. That is utterly unfair), and getting internships with major computer companies. I feel so much less successful compared to him...but I comfort myself with the thought that, when the zombie apocalypse comes, I'll survive and I can laugh when he gets eaten because I read The Zombie Survival Guide and he thought it was pointless. Ha! Take that, Super Genius Friend!

Anyway, I hardly ever get to see this kid. And we hardly ever drink together. That's the part that made him upset. Not the fact that he rarely gets to see me, but the fact that he even more rarely gets to see me DRUNK.

So we went to a bar in the city he lives in, which is sandwiched between the city in which I now live and the town in which we both grew up. The town in which I grew up will become vital later.

So, Super Genius Friend recently had some good luck financially as well, and when I had exhausted my own monetary means to gain alcohol, Super Genius Friend liberally provided me with more.

I am a lightweight.

Put that together.

So I was pretty trashed when I needed to pee for the eighteenth time that night, and I was intoxicated enough to decide, f*ck the womens' room! I was sick of walking past the men's room, sending it jealous glances while I ashamedly used the ladies' room because of my stupid body and its inability to produce the anatomy I desired, no matter how hard I wished.

So I deliberately walked into the men's room.

The problem was, it was already occupied.

Beneath the stall door, I could see a pair of legs. The feet attached to the legs were wearing black high heels and there was a short jean skirt around the ankles.

The girl in the stall said, "I'll be out in one second! I'm sorry! I know this is the men's room but the line for the women's room was long and I REALLY had to go!"

"I'm a tranny. It's okay," I told her.

"Really?"

She came out of the stall and looked me over. I did my best to appear as manly as possible while still leaving no doubt that I was on the same page as her.

The door opened and a guy about my age walked in. He stared at us in bewilderment, then asked, "Am I in the wrong room?"

"No," the jean-skirted girl assured him. "The line for the women's room was too long."

The guy stared at us a bit more. He looked almost disgusted, like the restroom that was rightfully his was infested by some kind of ugly, disfigured insects. Insects that are even more repulsive than regular everyday insects.

I found myself scowling at him. "I'm a f*cking tranny," I told him.

He stared at me more.

"Everybody thinks I'm a f*cking girl but I'm NOT!" I yelled.

"It's okay," the jean-skirted girl told me.

The guy, without another word, used the urinal, in plain view of the jean-skirted girl and myself. To my alcohol-disoriented mind, this seemed a direct insult. He was just showing off! He could use the urinal and I was still resigned to using a damn stall, even in the sacred men's room.

I stormed out of the bathroom and held my bladder until Super Genius Friend and I went to another bar, the bathroom of which was located in a crowded game room and I couldn't get to the men's room without a thousand and two people seeing me. I was sentenced to the women's room for the rest of the night.

This is why I shouldn't be out allowed in public when I've been drinking.

Actually, I probably just shouldn't be allowed out in public in general.

Interesting Experience #2

My parents are currently on vacation with Little Sister and Youngest Little Brother. I've spent the last day or two at their house, taking care of their liberal supply of pets (I am not the only one who loves animals! They can't judge me for taking on a third cat!). Oldest Little Brother and I are dividing up the job, him taking care of the animals one day and me doing it the next.

A few days ago, I gathered up all of Marine's beer cans from my apartment, loaded them in my car, and decided to keep the money for myself since he hasn't been home in over a week and he no longer qualifies as a resident, to my mind. In fact, I've gone so far as to decide that Marine is really like Santa Claus and I just don't believe he exists anymore.

So, while on my way to my parents' house, I stopped by the grocery store in the town I grew up in. I'm familiar with their bottle and can return machines, and I hate going to places where I have to complete a task with machinery/devices that I'm not familiar with. Seriously. I hate going to gas stations I haven't been to before, because I like to use gas pumps that I know I can use and not f*ck them up. It's the same with can and bottle returns.

I managed to return most of Marine's cans and bottles, except that for some reason the machine didn't like ten specific cans. It kept spitting them back out at me. I tried reminding the machine that it had just taken a can of the same size and the same brand, but the machine still decided to play its little "game" with me. I was getting inordinately frustrated. But, as I had the nagging suspicion that the store's owners would not be pleased if I destroyed the machine, I resorted to speaking with the nearest store employee.

This particular grocery store employs a lot of disabled people. A friend of mine has an older brother with Down's syndrome, and this grocery store employed him for a long time. The employee that I spoke to also happened to have Down's syndrome.

He was very polite. He got me store credit for the cans that the stupid machine wouldn't let me return.

We got to talking more in depth. I love meeting new people and he was very friendly. I asked him his name. It happened to be Peter.

"That's my name, too," I told him.

Peter: Oh! I didn't know it could be a girl's name, too.

Me (unbothered by the mistake): I look like a girl, but I'm really not.

Peter: I'm looking for a girlfriend. Do you want to maybe hang out sometime?

Me: Hanging out would be fun.

Peter: Maybe we could go on a few dates.

Me: Well, I'm a boy.

Peter: Oh! I'm sorry. I thought you were a girl.

Me: No problem. A lot of people think that.

I took the situation lightheartedly, as the guy clearly meant no harm. He wasn't deliberately insulting me. In fact, I was flattered by his interest. Seeing as I'm not exactly a romance king, it's unusual when someone expresses interest in me. But, as it was clear to me that the guy was straight and he didn't quite wrap his head around my transition, I politely turned him down.

An experience like that might normally make people uncomfortable, but oddly enough, I left the grocery store feeling pretty good about myself.

Once again, maybe I just shouldn't go out in public.