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.