Gabba Gabba Hey....One of Us, One of Us American Horror Story Season Four and the desire to live a normal life

Television viewing has really evolved in the last few years, no longer communal and no longer on a TV either. I long ago cut my cable ties and if I want to see anything it is through Netflicks or more and more commonly I stream it. Laptop connected to big screen or just my old Apple and I alone in the dark.

It would seem that we live in a new golden age of TV, Mad Men (oh Don. I miss you so...sigh), The Walking Dead, OITNB and quite a few more that I don’t have time to commit to.  

Less stellar but just as compelling was the forth season of the anthology series, American horror Story. Truth be told I haven’t seen seasons one through three but when I read the synopsis for the current season I had to check it out. Freak show in the fifties Florida.

The writers put an interesting spin on a story clearly inspired by Tod Browning’s 1932 shocker Freaks. The proprietress, a Miss Elsa is a Nazi era chanteuse with more than a passing resemblance to Marlene Dietrich, played by Jessica Lang. 

The series successfully walks the tenuous tight rope connecting ultra modern suburban fifties America to the dying tradition of the side show and the decadence of pre war Berlin. Unlikely ingredients but tasty as a poisoned candy apple.

The series has some superfluous story lines and I didn't really care for the use of a modern soundtrack when the fifties offered a wealth of weired and wonderful tunes that would have been right at home in an evil carnival.

There is even one character that could be characterised as intesex if not trans. The freaks are meant to elicit our sympathy and are clearly the heroes of the piece, but they are a realistic mix of good and evil. 

There is much talk of “passing” and the desire to live a normal life that no doubt will be familiar feeling to anyone who is transsexual. Do I consider myself a freak, yes I guess I do but I would be offended by anyone who called me that. 

Enjoy....just remember to look under your bed for killer clowns.

Hugs,

April 

BLAM.....new dress and at target weight (you can never be too rich or too thin - Wallis Simpson).....Bitch Pudding Out!

You'all get a taste of the Bitch Pudding....

Hugs,

April

Hopelessness....sometimes you bear the unbearable....sometimes the bear eats you

Recently I had an interview with a well funded tech startup. I was very excited about the prospect of once again working in Toronto, not to mention such crass concerns as salary and benefits.

And lets not forget to add a sense of self worth and dignity but who is counting.

Despite much research and planning the interview didn’t go anything like I expected, good or bad. Rather it turned out worse than I could have imagined. The interviewer and I seemed to be speaking different languages. I usually do well in interview situations and I am still trying to unpack what went wrong in this case.

I left the interview knowing in no uncertain terms that I did not get the job. I also had the distinct impression that I was old, useless and obsolete.

I have faced disappointment before but this one hit me really hard. I thought I was in a good position with the skills and experience the company needed as well as a positive reference from a friend on the inside. I felt that I had let myself and more importantly my friend down by my poor performance.

Even worse was the feeling of hopelessness. In the aftermath I felt I would never get out of my low paying "transitional” job and my career permanently stalled. I believed that I should be put out on the ice flow and unburden society from my useless presence.

I lay on the floor of my room wanting nothing more than numbness to claim me body and soul. I wanted to swallow all my sleeping pills to run Corvette in the garage. Jeez, I make it sound like my life is kinda dramatic no?

For the first time I had doubts about transition....purley economic ones....Im not that crazy yet.

Sometimes I wish I could just run away, cash in my remaining assets and go live in the South of France till the money runs out then walk into the Mediterranean.

Thankfully both genetic and trans girlfriends were there for me. Alice called, Sasha took me for coffee and Cass and I Skyped late into the night.

The hopelessness faded to be replaced by a deep sadness and anger. I am told I am resilient, fearless, I don’t know if that is true but it seems a curse not being able to give to have no other choice but to keep fighting.

The next day and the day after, I continued to “bear the unbearable” I got up and went to the job that is an utter waste of my talents and later headed to the house that is no longer mine to see my children. 

For better or worse I keep fighting.....

Ding Dong the Witch is Dead......toxic relationship is c'est fini

I finally broke up with the person who was making my life miserable, after a month of sporadic contact I forced the conversation that ended it all.

I wish I could have let all my anger out but I still loved them and could not bring myself to say anything really hurtful. No friends going forward, I am still too weak to see them in any social setting...better out of site and out of mind.

I did in no uncertain terms tell them that they had behaved horribly, cruelly and were the worst sort of coward.

Did my unfortunate history have anything to do with breakup....yes partially

I can't believe how much this toxic relationship damaged my self confidence.

Well it was good to be the normal one in the relationship for a change.

Big thanks to Alice, Cass, Joanne, April and Julie for listening and providing a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.

Music is the best medicine sometimes:

Happy Re-Birthday to Me......Two years since surgery on Canada Day, as a good friend texted this morning, "Happy April Day Canada"

Yeah I'm two but I'm reading at a grade six level....

Two years since surgery on Canada Day, as a good friend texted this morning, "Happy April Day Canada"

Here is Buddy price singing about birthday cake, I think?

As you can see from the photos I marched, the first time I ever marched for or against anything. Although my politics were likely to the right of most of the organizers I still walked the entire route of the trans march, in heels no less. Bright pink top and a very short denim mini skirt.

I wasn't sure if I would when I went to Toronto on the train that afternoon. I still believe in being stealth and only tell those I care about. I was a little worried about TV cameras and press but I rationalized that I would be pretty invisible in the crowd.

I would have held myself cheap had I not marched when I had the opportunity, such a small gesture compared to the courage of those trans women and men who threw the first punches at Stonewall.

The same trans people who were written out of the history books but that is a story for another time.

LIFE WITH VERONICA No I didn’t pine away for lost love and expire like some Victorian tubercular poet...but damn it was a close thing.

No, I didn’t pine away for lost love and expire like some Victorian tubercular poet...but damn it was a close thing.

So many tears shed, so many Ravonettes song listened to over someone who was pursuing their own mysterious agenda with my heart.

I don’t enjoy daily access to my extended fleet and lack the garage space to continue with my Stutz project (working on cars is my preferred means to combat depression) so I must seek solace in Bettie and Veronica. 

It is an international ménage à trois,  Veronica is a bad girl from St. Louis, Missouri, 3809 Union blvd. to be precise and Bettie, conceived in California at the Calty Design Centre and brought to life at the Higashi Fuji plant, 1200 Mishuku, Susono City, Shizuoka Prefecture.

More about good girl Bettie next post, we are here to gossip about Veronica.

She is only happy going fast on smooth surfaces, the Sharkbite coil overs make the deplorable side roads between Hamilton and Toronto (well to be honest most places in Ontario) an exercise in noise, harshness and vibration.

Veronica likes to drink to excess but is happy to swig unleaded regular grade unlike Bettie who can only stomach high test.  The t-tops leak in the rain, the AC stopped working during the second Reagan administration...I assume and the lumpy cam L82 motor generates enough heat to melt the soles of  my pumps.

I had lunch with my father today, he picked me up in a V8 supercharged Jaguar sedan, OMG I missed riding in a long wheelbase car. Having owned many a sports car his zen advice on driving a slammed ride was “you just have to look ahead and know where to put your wheels”. 

Veronica might be a bitch to live with on a daily basis but she looks sooooo damn hot. The C3 body style is better looking than any Ferrari and is rivalled only by the Lamborghini Miura in exuding pure feminine sex appeal. The less said about her agricultural underpinnings the better.

On days I don’t have my daughters I will even drive her to work, nothing beats the kick from showing up in a Stingray, the Ramones or Sylvie Vartan blasting and the smell of a hot car, the heady mixture of gas, oil and rubber. 

The picture above captures pure unadulterated automotive joy at getting Veronica out of storage....true love....or the closest I can find.

This summer I haven’t taken her to any shows or cruise nights but I have flown home in the wee hours with the t-roofs off (tangling my fine hair into knots in the process), been caught in a near tropical storm where I couldn’t see past the length of her hood, sat at one am blissfully content listening to her hot engine tick and cool in the still evening air.   

God help me I love her.

Here is the latest from the Dahlmanns, "He's A Drag"  I tell you I lived this song!

Hugs,

April

This Photo is a Lie. Have you ever had a love affair that makes you miserable?

Have you ever had a love affair that makes you miserable?

Have you ever had a love affair (sounds more adult than dating) that makes you miserable? I do not mean after it is over and you are trying to mend a broken heart but when that affair is actually ongoing.

I might be smiling in the above photo but inside I am miserable and lonely.

I have been dating someone for a while and everything seemed to be going well. In fact I fell for them hard. Don't ask me to explain it, looks, personality, I don't know, except that I was hooked. Eventually I even confessed my secret and they didn't freak out or run away. 

At this point it should have been all sunshine and lollipops but they are elusive, a week may go by with only handful of texts despite us living minutes apart. Plans to get together almost invariably are cancelled at their request, sometimes at the last minute.

At first this behaviour would drive me to distraction and then tears. We talked about my concerns all they made all the right noises but little has changed....gotten worse?

I decided to step back and to let them initiate any future contact and if it were not forthcoming I would have a clear answer to my fears.

I am finding it very difficult to maintain the I don't care attitude. I hear the phone alerting me to a text message or phone call and I lunge for my cell like a drowning sailor. I want to call or text but I stay my hand as not to appear any more desperate than I am.

When they call or heaven forbid when we get together I am on cloud nine. Invariably our time together is short and the day ends is disappointment. The uncertainty of when we will meet again is the worst and I have literally made myself sick. For the last two weeks everything I eat tastes like I have been sucking on a leaky Eveready battery. A quick on line search links such a symptom to everything from depression (doh) to diabetes.

You might ask, “if this person knows all about you, they will know of this blog and will end up reading this very post” I did show them the blog but they haven't read it and will likely never see this.

I hear you say dear constant reader, “why don't you bug out?” Believe me I have asked myself the same question ad nauseam but I am enamoured (oh gods even worse I might be in love) and they give me just enough attention to keep me hanging on, like a damn fool.

Now on the plus side today at work I was helping two women who remarked on my sultry voice. Later I overheard them remark, “look at her she could do anything why is she working here”.  A co-worked said that they told him that I looked like a Bond girl. Now that is high praise indeed.

I hope they were thinking of Tatiana Romanova from Russia With Love.

A delightful older lady, a regular customer, (she was wearing a gorgeous pink Chanel suit) told me that I should be a model with my figure.

Thanks ladies you helped make a bad day feel a little better.