Posts Tagged ‘dating

10
Dec
13

Barstool Snapshot

If you want 'top shelf' go somewhere else.Lorelei sat at the bar dreaming of past glories. Neil Young playing on the jukebox. Heart of Gold.
Harmonica blending nicely with the chatter of bar life.
She opened her ears to hear the crowd. Trying to let it all in. Distinguish voices, isolate conversations. All so she could feel connected.
The Ramones playing.
Sheena is a Punk Rocker. “So was I.” Thought Lorelei.
A 16oz, 3 dollar can of PBR sitting in front of her.
She wished desperately that someone, preferably one of the big, male bodied someones, would talk to her. Ask if they could buy her a drink.
She’d smile, say, “Of course.” Then, “Jameson’s, neat, please.”
She’d nervously play with her hair.
Not because Jane Says, but because it’s an old habit. Because despite all her vaunted confidence she doesn’t have any idea how to effectively talk to men she’s attracted to.
Typically, she’ll default to trying to make herself sound important. Talk about how many people she knows. Things she’s doing to help people. Trans stuff.
Boring herself to tears.
She won’t know how to say how nervous she is.
And she’ll blow it, like she usually does. Blame her lack of success on, “Men being scared of her.”
So she keeps drinking her PBR. The jukebox keeps spitting out tunes. And she tunes back out into the chatter of the crowd.

24
May
12

To the boy I met tonight at Jacques.

Thank you.  I mean that absolutely sincerely.  As I meant also the compliments I paid to you.

You managed to do something for me tonight that almost no one male-indentified so far has managed to pull off.  Despite the fact that you claimed to be shy.  Despite your nervousness and your apparent lack of experience in places like we were at tonight or with girls like me.  Or perhaps because of those things….

You were brave.  You were polite.  You were cute and you made me smile.

I lead an unusual life, which you might easily have surmised.  I was perhaps stretching my star to refer to myself as “famous”.  But not by much.  I am at least internet famous.  Locally so as well.  I’m possibly even infamous in certain circles.  I am at least recognizable enough to know the experience of strangers approaching me in the street who already know my name and who I am….

And I am bold enough to be able to stand alone in front of a crowd of 10,000 people and presume that they might find me entertaining.  I am even bold enough to live my life quite in the open and very publicly as an Out Transgender Woman.  To be the woman I am, wherever I go.

It does not change the fact that I am also a shy, nervous girl.  Able to address a crowd in an urgent and powerful voice.  But afraid to speak to a cute boy at the bar.

Sometimes I just want that cute boy to take some part of the initiative.  Offer to buy me a drink.  Flirt.

And it’s not that there aren’t boys who don’t.  As I mentioned, there is a type.  The kind that is flattering enough, but that can’t ever get past my transsexual status.  Can’t just see me as an attractive woman.  Who is also trans.  They’ve got such a standard script, it’s hard not to finish their lines before they speak them themselves.

But you pulled it off.  You were able to find that line, despite your own nervousness and (I think…) inexperience with transwomen.  You were able to speak about my transness, ask your questions even.  All the while making me feel like just any average pretty girl with a handsome boy flirting with her at the bar.

It’s a fine line I ride you see.  For all my famous “queer transwoman-ness”, when it comes to boys, I’m just kind of a nervous straight girl.  Going through puberty for a second time.

I live in a weird in-between.  In a lot of ways, I have no place trying to meet men in a gay bar.  I’m a woman looking for a man.  Pretty surprisingly heterosexual for such a militantly queer woman.

And yet, “straight” bars have little more than frustration for me.  I’m too gay.  Too openly trans.  Not that I think there aren’t boys there who might find me attractive (I always hope…).  But almost all of them seem to be too afraid to even approach me.  Too afraid of their own sexuality perhaps.  Or maybe mine.  Or maybe I’m not “enough” of a woman for their friends…  Or.  Or….

I’m too straight for gay boys.  And too gay for straight boys.

It’s frustrating to put it mildly.  These are the thoughts that tear me to shreds before I fall fitfully asleep some nights.

But you pulled it off.  You found that balance.  You managed to make me feel like a beautiful woman while acknowledging me as a transwoman.

Even in the middle of a bar full of stunningly coiffed and elaborately made-up drag queens.  You made me feel fabulous.  Even though I had no makeup on, no painted armour to hide under.  You made me feel pretty.

You were brave.  You were polite.  You were cute and you made me smile.

You bought me drinks without my having to prompt you and without an overt agenda.  At least no more so than any guy buying drinks for an attractive woman!

Thank you for walking with me and thank you for your nervous banter.  I was nervous too.  And it helped.

And thank you for the sweetest goodnight kiss outside the T station so I could get back to my car.  You made me feel like the woman most boys seem to forget that I am.  Like the woman, I myself sometimes forget I am.

We might not meet again.  I can’t be sure the name you gave me was real or just yours for tonight.  But you have my card, and as you can see, if you’ve gone surfing, I really am this person I said I was.  If you’ve come this far, then these words have made their way through the 1s And 0s Post.

And so, boy I met tonight, thank you for being not a boy, but an actual man.  It’s nice to meet one.  It gives me hope.

I was really pretty desperately needing that.

Slainte!

08
Mar
10

Saturday Night At The Club

Really needed a little loud music tonight. Beautiful people sway and sweat. Youth doing what youth do. Blithely unconcerned just dancing, grinding, drinking. I seek solace myself in the overwhelming numbness of the beat, the bass. I am pushed to extremes and my mind races.  I see old solutions in new places.  Try and find myself in who I was.  The writer in the dark. I’m not much for dancing tonight just need to be washed in the energy of the crowd. I want to be recognized and remain anonymous. The writer in the night.  I wonder why I never meet cute boys at the gay bar. They’re not here to meet me they’re here to meet themselves. I’m a woman! But where do I meet a boy who can sweep me off my feet. Accept me, be attracted to me for who I am. It never seems to happen at the nightclub but that’s where I go anyway. Where is the boy who can appreciate me, not be afraid of me?

So I’m talking to a cute boy at the bar. Dangerous hot and teaches Latin!!  I’m maybe making way managing small talk forcing myself to not be shy. Then some girl takes a slow dive to the floor in front of us. Next thing I know hot boy is helping her up and he’s gone.

All I can think is, “bitch”.

I wish I knew some smooth lines or could make myself not be so fucking shy. Maybe have a few less stupid morals. Pain in the ass standards.

I just want to get fucked. Why should that be so hard?

Oh I see, not giving a fuck is apparently the trick!! Just don’t try, don’t care and maybe I’ll hook up.

The cute boy is back “whenare yougonna buy me a drink” in a hot east Boston accent.  Demanding in charge and dangerous.

I buy the drink I don’t hesitate even. Captain and Coke.

Like I said hot boy. Big muscles not short either. He asks what I do. I tell him pageant queen writer. He says he writes poetry. I ask him his favorite Latin poet. Catullus. I’ve heard of him and all the other Latin poets he names. Fave non Latin poet? Elizabeth Browning. Holy shit umm I’m floored. Like I said dangerous hot looking like the kind of Boston guy that might follow me into an alley. Masshole bent Sox cap even. Camo tshirt. But smart and forward as fuck. He asks if I want to come back to his place with the girl who’s been puppydogging him around the club. I decline. I’m feeling a little self-conscious about my body tonight. Didn’t bother with any shaving so I have a fine fuzz on my chest. Plus I’m in no mood to share this one with some little alt girl. I want this boy all to myself if I’m going to fuck him.

Let him think about me for a while. Take out my card occasionally. Think about calling me.

He drifts away into other convos and I dance with some friend’s friends. Two beautiful girls. Mocha and milk chocolate. I joke about being too hot. They encourage me to take off my sweater so I show them my new tits. Little perky and sensitve when mocha beautiful tests their tweak!  I dance and abandon.

Life is good. Apparently the only thing I need to do is simply not give fuck. Simply stop trying. Stop caring.

Huh. Whatever works.




Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 747 other followers

Erisis RIGHT NOW!!!

August 2017
M T W T F S S
« Mar    
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031  

Flickr Photos

Transprov Time Machine