Hopes for a Better Year

Goodbye 2010.
I hope that 2011 will be a better year for us all.
I hope the troops are pulled out of Afghanistan and end this nonsensical loss of blood as well as money.
I hope America will again, (after about 40 years of stagnation) begin manufacturing something on our own turf. Anything. We'll be buying imported toilet paper soon.
The unemployment rate is not acceptable.
I'm frustrated today, I 've been invited to my departed friend's widow's home to have a few drinks with the family and then to another friend's afterwards.
My porcelain veneer broke off and I can't possibly afford to fix it for some time, it's one of my front teeth, but hell with it, that won't keep me from smiling.
I wish peace, goodwill, love and all those good things that seem only possible in Utopia.

a thing for dresses

Gledwood requested I write about the beginnings of my cross dressing.
As a child, I remember my granny's coat. It had a sheared beaver collar... really soft. I used to reach up and touch the collar and pet it every day before school.
This grew into habitually touching, feeling & petting ladies garments.
She had very beautiful dresses back then, her silks and velvets.Soft cloths. Growing up, she gave my sister a beautiful bottle green velvet robe with crystal buttons which I was a little envious of. Of course, granny didn't think of giving it to me.
At the beach, I used to grab green seaweed from the water and put it on my legs. It reminded me of ladies hose and seeing it semi-transparent against my legs gave me a shiver of happy excitement. I didn't think it was strange, I thought it was wonderful!
More exciting than this was my Ma's lingerie. I loved the transparency of the cloth. I loved holding it against my wrist and seeing that almost nude look. My mother realized I was spending too much time in her closet and finally scolded me for it.
I understood then, that there was something wrong in my wanting to feel and fantasize about ladies clothes. Yeah, it was a bad day.
I continued spending time in Ma's closet, everytime I was alone in the house. It was something I could not resist doing, my own private time, my major indulgence.
When I was about 16, I began trying Ma's things on. It was a sensual pleasure for me, with some sexual notes.
Sooner or later, everyone gets caught in the act of something or other. I never expected it, as I was quite careful and cautious. My sister caught me in the bathroom, as I was in the mirror completely captivated by my reflection in a lovely silk dress with a transparent upper bodice and sleeves. I was exposed! My sister held her hand to her mouth, her expression was terror & shock. She ran out, I followed.
She really wanted to tell my parents cause we'd been quarreling a lot during that time. I was morbidly afraid of her relaying this experience to my parents, particularly my dad.With the dress safely back in the closet, I promised her Anything not to go blabbing to them. She questioned me brutally, I answered honestly. She showed a lot of disappointment, like I wasn't her brother anymore, like a freak had taken over me and she cried.
I think I repaid her trust, loyalty and help. Wearing dresses wasn't lethal, but her heroin addiction was. I found her many a time seemingly critically over-dosed, got her in the car & walked her around & around in commuter parking lots till responsive. Over the years, she let me try on & even borrow her clothes all the while keeping it a secret. She didn't understand me, but she did accept me.
It wasn't until I was living independently that I could fulfill my desire of wearing & having dresses in my closet. And much later still, when I'd wear them in public with legal concerns. I don't mind sneering, but I don't want to get beaten up over it.I find pleasure & excitement in dresses and some sexual arousal (this part turns women off but I don't require dressing for arousal or sexual functioning)
If I could undo my fixation I readily would, but I cannot. I find myself feeling unhappy and deprived if I don't indulge myself. I'm not a woman inside a man's body.I'm a man who lusts in lady's dresses.

Christmas

I got these cookies from a friend,
made stew in my slow cooker (pic looks crappy,but it was good)
decorated the fireplace
hung up a pic I got in NY a few mos. back,
Put up my little Christmas tree on the table,
I remembered Gledwood having like an "open house" on his blog with live chat & went typing for a few moments,somewhat incoherently by then,I guess. I think that was a very nice gesture on his part, making himself available to his readers on the holidays no less.
I ate,drank and was merry as I could be and it wasn't so bad.

this ones for Gled & Anna ................

I remember seeing the film Trainspotting when it first came out.
Some blogs that I've subscribed to are on a similar subject.They fascinate me. I can feel their pain & their joy.I love people.
I'm attracted to things I know absolutely nothing about.
I went to see Trainspotting only because of the trailer with Iggy Pop in it. A long time fan, I'd seen Iggy Pop at Toad's Place. A guy beside me, an Austrian student convinced me after the show to try sneaking into Iggy's bus with him. I had on my black leather dress.Of course we were ushered straight out.
It's not that I want to try the drug myself.Curiosity killed the cat and I know pain, my hands were caught in many a mouse trap.
The only drug/medication I take long term is Xanax. I've been on it 20 years.
When I was taken off Xanax in a facility of the hospital I suffered 3 grand mal seizures & amnesia. I never felt as helpless.
I never again want to be at the mercy of psychiatrists.
I tapered down myself to 2mg daily.
I'm sure Xanax withdrawal is nothing like Heroin's.
My sister was a heroin addict. She no longer is. She never used needles, she snorted.
Here's a great song of Iggy 's.
This ones for you Gledwood and 4 Anna.

Holiday greetings

A friend suffered terrible misfortune, without going into details of his untimely passing,(only to say it was extremely sudden) I'd rather mention the way his demise has affected his family & friends.
There was to be a glitzy New Years party, instead one of his family is burning her calender from 2010.
I cannot imagine the pain of his family unwrapping the gifts he'd bought them, nor the pain in seeing the gifts they'd gotten for him sitting beneath the tree after Christmas is over. I imagine these gifts will be given to Goodwill.
His wife and children, sat in the ICU for 1 long week, clinging steadfast to hopes that he may pull through. He was removed from life support on the 18th, when all hope died.
Those 8 days of hope and prayer are over, the grieving is just beginning.
(I hate writing such a glum post,but needed to express this)
Wishing you a merry Christmas and a happy, healthy, prosperous New Year.

Granny said it was "okay"

The first time my granny saw me in a dress she stared at me quite awhile.
I was putting myself up for ridicule and severe judgment.
After a while, she said "You know, you're different than other guys."
"How's that, granny?"
I was prepared to listen to some heavy duty stuff, then she said "You seem like you got money."

Is it any wonder why I loved & respected her so much?
This is an old newspaper clipping I saved for so many years and it's for Laura who was at the same show.
If you'd seen the worst looking creature ever, in a black leather dress and holding 4 beers , squished up right by the stage it was me!LOL

Girls and other riddles

I got an email from my ex, Jane.
It was a poem.
Too sentimental coming from a girl who could not tolerate my wearing dresses. My closet has both guy clothes and dresses. I keep the dresses on one side and suits and pants on the other.
I don't see her as pining away for me.
Here are a few verses from the poem she sent,
"You and I, close as twins in the womb,
and our love, a rosebud never to bloom."
Why are we like twins in a womb?? Maybe because we both liked pretty dresses.(that's not enough to feel separated at birth)
"Awakening under the moon's cold gleam,
I had been with you again in a dream" Okay, that really says "DRUNK" to me.
"A few moments took me to lost years ago,
and I know my darling, I still love you so." ...Lost years, interesting as she was the one who told me to get lost.
"Fading fire flies in our hands to see,
would awaken and shine as we set them free." Now I'm thinking hallucinogenics, maybe.
"Would it be this way for you and me,
or would our souls die in liberty?" She's depressed.
I'm wondering how to respond and if it's me she's really sending these feelings to.
Heck, by the weekend, she'll probably have forgotten the whole thing.
I was just pretty surprised to read words like this coming from her.
Relationships, they're so difficult.
I know I have a habit of taking words apart. I'm very curious, by nature and I examine all kinds of things.
I like the poem and yet I feel it wasn't truly intended for me alone.
Thank you, Laura for your email and kind words, but no, I didn't grow up in CT.I was at the concert but just happened to be there then. Though I did move to CT a few years ago. Thanks again for writing.
A child, therefore...

kiss

I did get to kiss the bare breasted & beaten girl one cold, rainy night. She put her t-shirt back on after again getting punched. She walked away in the dark away from all of us.
Opportunity!
She was just leaning against a car, shivering and soaking wet. I took off my ratty jacket and put in on her shoulders to warm her and comfort her. To make a long story short I put my fingers on her nipples (surprised she had let me) and since she did, I planted a big, long sexy, French kiss on her.
The bf saw me but he was so pissed at her by now, he didn't seem to care. The bf never let me outta his sight after that, not with her around. He knew we had a chemistry. I liked her, I loved her,I lost her (though I never really had her) She remained with him for years and every time I saw her I though of our kiss.
Opportunity#2 I got off the bus and spotted her walking down the street with a huge teddy bear & box of chocolates.I was heading for Boston until I'd seen her, then my plans disappeared.
It was Valentine's Day. I had no one to celebrate with.
The bear in her arm was for the bf. We stopped and talked. I gave some guy 10 bucks to get himself a pint and a quart for us. (I was underage) She had time for a few nips or more. We drank in the park and we poured it in soda cans to head into a restaurant for warmth. The more we drank the more my hands roamed and the more freely she allowed them to. I touched her everywhere I'd always wanted a good feel. I was in sexual bliss, my hands moving more slowly wanting to memorize everything.
If ever I could freeze time and go back for 1 hour in my life, that's where I'd chose to be. Cause this was much more than a kiss (at least to me)
My lust just grew from that night forward. I was 16 and it'd be a couple years before I really got a full grasp of being a man. I don't know how I managed to pass the time until then, but somehow I did
Then Bf shows up, we're by now stumbling drunk. Nothing made sense. In a flash he had her out the door. I never saw either one again, but longed to see her. Did it mean as much to her as it did to me??? I always wondered.
I did give her my addy in Boston and got one strange letter from her but written by 2 people. There were both sweet endearing words crossed out in bold pen and in a different script, snarly profanities telling me where to go and what to do.......

riled up about love

I've gotten 4 recent emails. One was from a stranger and the other another poem from my ex.
I removed her name from above her photo to give some privacy, should she be reading this.
I loved her very much because she was 1 of the kindest people I ever met. I also understood her cause I've dealt with pain too. She was one of the most selfless people. She didn't own much and had no desire to. She was oh so gentle, oh so warm and oh so misunderstood.
She struggled. She had "fears". "What are you afraid of?", I'd say and she'd reply "of nothingness." Her hands were always warm, her eyes always dilated. Her pulse sped and her mind was always just short of complete breakdown.
She was opinionated. She could not have a boyfriend in dresses.Her mind couldn't accept or adjust to anything that seemed like a contradiction.
I remember her crying. In stores, anywhere, she'd pop on her sunglasses because so much Xanax over use caused her extreme photo-sensitivity. So badly, she began only going out at night. Without her sunglasses, the combination of dilated pupils and near sightedness made her vision distorted.
She liked dark, rainy days and really despised sunlight. She took less Xanax when days were dark and she felt more relaxed. She drank Coke all night and painted. In the day she became a very weak,helpless, hopeless and forlorn little thing.
Her emotional pain threshold was very low.
Anyway, she wrote me another poem filled with what seems like nostalgia for something she's lost. And I know she's still lost.
Honey, won't you pass the bottle,
you know we ain't talkin' perfume,
makes you think like Aristotle,
lets you fly up to the moon.
We could dance neath the thunder,
hear Mozart from the sea,
Do it without wonder,
with our ermine tea.
But no! You had to spill it,
It's spirit underground.
Spoilt the midnight rainbow,
the magic to be found.
If I could give this girl any gift in the world, it would be the feeling of safety in the sunlight.

My first impression of Anna

My first impression of Anna was that of a beautiful girl with a pretty badly distorted self image.
The reason being that her photos are right there, (obviously attractive) yet she writes about being "ugly."
She has exceptionally blue, fiery eyes. They have a spark in them and are expressive, intense and sweet.
I think she must be a very funny girl who does not take herself too seriously. A girl who is not uptight in the least. A fun one (not just sexually)but in all ways.
(most girls take themselves seriously and would not pose picking their noses)
I liked her immediately.
From her writing, she seems to hide nothing.
Reading very personal details of her life, I felt I'd known her for a long time, almost forever.
Her accounts are brazen, factual and intelligent.
She's still confuses me though.
She's very street smart and has put a lot of living in a short time span. She's fearless and yet sometimes naive and often vulnerable. (especially in matters of love) She's very congenial, though a complex individual.
She could be the girl next door who's just gotten herself off heroin. Though, of course, the typical girl next door is never an ex heroin addict.
It's hard for me to be serious with her for some reason, something I can't pin point.
I may be very wrong, she seems like a very happy-go-lucky personality.
A natural comedienne with a heart of gold.
I am still learning about her and heck yes, I'm fascinated.
(no relevance to the above, just an old watercolor & ink of Sid Vicious I felt like throwing in)

My childhood (request by Anna)

This was requested by Anna and I thank you, Anna for giving me something to write about.
How about a couch to lye on? Hmm and maybe you could put on a white lab coat and eye glasses.?
Could you please take some notes down in my file? Because the request comes from Anna, I'm smiling and feeling giggly. She has this effect on me.
Okay, enough, my childhood...just promise me, no more MRI's of my brain afterwards. I had 3 in 1 year, that's enough for me. no EEGs of my brain either, It's tough washing that toothpaste outta my hair.
Anna, lol, ahem,
My Childhood,
My Gramps and Granny raised me from age 2 through 8. Gramps was aloof and tough, no messing around with him.
Granny was sweet but too overly protective.
The youngest of three children, she favored me. She dressed me is sissy clothes, not dresses, but still pretty sissified. She got me white shoes and expected them to stay white but I was a boy, I liked to play rough. I got my ears chewed off for not keeping them white and pristine. So she got me another pair,these were to be my regular pair and the dirty ones, my "play shoes."
My memories of my parents during this time are fuzzy. I figured I was Gramp's and Granny's kid.
Granny bought me a coloring book. I didn't color beyond the lines but I did one catastrophic thing, I colored the oranges yellow cause I thought they were grapefruits. Ouch! Granny barked through my ears no end.
Anna.... where has she gone now????
She enticed me with more coloring books after that barking session, but I was DONE. No way could she ever get me into those coloring books again. She expected perfection in every facet of a young child's life.
Granny liked curly hair and began fussing and "training" mine into a wavier texture, again more sissification, but I loved my Granny despite the ridiculous do.
Grades K-7 were fun, fond years. I had many friends, boys & girls. I was pretty much a clown with a smart-alec attitude. I was very mischievous and curious. My grades were a mixed bag except in language, spelling and art where I got As and the usual (for me) F in math among the Cs & Ds.
When my parent moved before 8th grade, I felt misplaced. I was sent to parochial school and taught by nuns. My knowledge of Catholicism was extremely limited. I found the nuns in their black & white habits very intimidating. I didn't fit in, on the contrary, I became very withdrawn and sullen. During recess, I'd stay alone in the classroom, trying to teach myself arithmetic.
We moved again. I became even more introverted.
...Anna, wake up, please. You're falling asleep on me......Anna!
I was now a freshman and outcast in High School. I was in pain (emotional) during my attendance. I wanted to disappear. I fantasied a lot during school. I fantasied about utopia a lot, somewhere where I'd be happy and fit in.
My parents were worried in my shift in behavior. I was taken to a psyche doc who after several sessions found me so pitiable, he took it upon himself to release me from school for one year. I was tutored at home and finally learned math.
Anna..Anna, Wake up, Anna. After all you asked! lol.
Now I was a sophomore back at school. Unwilling to accept torment any longer, I carried a flask of whiskey with me to school and some Darvons I found. Between the 2 of them I got through the school day in a cloudy, happy, dazed kind of way. I learned nothing. I'd lost interest in learning and only looked forward to turning 16 and dropping out. I did make some friends with some very kind colored girls. Tracy, she had a certain walk, catlike..I looked up to her and she shared her cigarettes with me as we walked home together.
I didn't find my niche yet but was searching. I had high admiration for the homeless people sleeping in the park, all they possessed inside ratty bags beside them.
I liked their defiance of society. I liked their dignity. I admired their being dignified. I got to know them individually. I'd bring them pints of alcohol. They were always very happy to see me for that reason. They told me their life stories, the good the bad, everything. Now finally I was a disciplined student, studying LIFE, the realities of life on the streets. If they had graded me I'd probably be an A student. At this same time I met ..
Anna, you've fallen asleep on me,... Anna...ANNA!!!
Okay, that's better, try to stay awake, please.
I met Alf. Not the "alien life form" but a human life form. He was 4 yrs older than me, slept on a bench and ate from dumpsters. I got to know him, indeed a character. I taught him how to get free food from McDonalds and he educated me about a revolution in music.
He was so tall and reed thin and the way he dressed was a sight. He had huge, lifeless, sad blue orbs that were always sleep deprived.
He had friends who became my friends. We went to concerts, hung out,smoked pot. Pot made me laugh and then hallucinate with paranoia. I remember asking my friend Dave if he wasn't really a spy from outerspace getting information on Earthlings. I got suspicious. Passerbies too were spies. I'd be in outer space first level, then in middle ground somewhere if there was one and then back to reality and the park bench. I'd stall forever before going home because I didn't want my parent to see me so incoherent as I was.
No more pot for me. I bought The Plasmatics albums, The Ramones, Sex Pistols, Iggy Pop, Black Flag, Anti-Nowhere League. I loved music and my friends. They liked dressing outrageously but I was pretty conservative except for some chains and my ratty leather jacket. It was around this time I began a preoccupation with dresses. I hid it.
They were older than me. A couple had girlfriends. One guy's girl was very boyish and flat chested and somehow got away with being bare chested like the guys. She's get punched out by her bf and it drove me insane. I socked him right back sometimes. She was sad and troubled. Once I really wanted to kiss her, though the bf was right there. She was crying after being punched for taking off her shirt by her bullying bf. Looking at her bare chested and crying, she looked so beautiful to me, but at 16 I was sexually innocent, sexually shy.
At a club, I sat beside a girl who just sprang over to me and asked for a kiss. OOOOooweeeeee! Now I was nearly there. But what would she think of my dresses?
Pass the tissues please.LOL!
She whispered things in my ears I'd dreamt about. Wow! Still I was too awkward & shy to take her up on it.
I'd need a dozen more hands to count the number of times I passed out on the dance floor, I couldn't keep track of the number of drinks I had once I was drunk and no desire to count them. I was reckless.
Anna's gone to sleep again. I've bored her to sleep. That's the effect I have on girls.
This ones for you Anna, cause "She's the kind of girl who wants to know your deepest secret world."

What's lost is gained...

I thought my post below was missing something, but as boring as it is, I thought "Heck,just skip it" Losing my virginity was The Best thing I'd ever lost my whole life.
Much more fun than when I'd lost my mind during Xanax withdrawal. Plus when I'd lost my mind I had to go searching for it. I thought about putting an ad in the Lost & Found. No one on earth would have any use for it. It didn't even serve me very well.
I think losing one's mind is not as painful as losing their soul and I have that intact, at least.
I don't have much faith in the relatively new science of psychiatry. I was diagnosed with clinical depression after the death of a close family member. The loss was deep and agonizing to me.
I couldn't bare the pain. My frail way of dealing with it was to NOT deal with it at all. Not coping at all, with the assistance of 10-15 mgs of Xanax and 100 mg of Limbitrol. I existed without suffering.
In a constant blurred, catatonic state, I kept track of my pill taking in a small note book I carried with me at all times. Because it was easy to pass out at any time, I scribbled the time and number of pills in my notes, (very illegibly, in case someone found me passed out and retrieved my pill info) I was (before this loss) stable enough never to abuse my meds. I was considered a responsible and reliable person. Now I went from doc to doc acquiring as much pills possible. Docs like playing it Their way. Some would deny the Xanax in favor of Valium, or with Paxil and Ativan, etc.... For about a year, I stumbled through the grieving period in a dense fog.
Apparently my keeping record of the pills was also impaired. I woke up a year later with tubes connected to all places on my body with tape holding them in place. I was in a coma for 3 days and unfortunately the psych docs found me very interesting and kept me 3 weeks as they rushed me through withdrawal from Xanax, Limbitrol and various other sedatives.
They seemed quite merciless, sadistic even as they watched people having seizures, biting their tongues and banging their heads on the floor. Watching someone having withdrawal seizures is just like watching a fish out of water. They flip and flop involuntarily at the same time getting themselves banged and bruised up.
It's a thing that's painful to watch and your first reaction is to put the fish back in the water. Such isn't the case by these psych docs. They prefer patients flopping on the floor and letting the cells of the brain weaken & wither away. I considered the entire process barbaric and cruel & unusual punishment. I've no respect whatsoever for such rushed means of taking chemically dependent people off their drugs. I was in a vegetative state, but can't forget the sight of people with the sides of their heads bruised and bleeding and the oral bleeding from tongue biting.
And yet, had I never experienced this game of "let's torture these guinea pigs" I'd never have gotten myself down to a dose of 2mg of Xanax a day! Something I'm very proud of having done.... and by myself too!
Slowly my brain's mechanism began restoring itself.
I would never again be at their mercy, I promised myself that much.
I'd accomplish this at my own pace.The prospect of going through that "professional," torturous ordeal again is way too threatening to me, even though I'm all too familiar with..pain.
I think, like the girl who couldn't keep her shirt on, that I really Needed to get this off my chest.
(no musical or visual accompaniment with this post, but I'd pick the song "Dirt" for this one after having been down so low)

thanks for......

Thanks for ENRICHMENT, the people who'll spare a smile in my direction,share a story with me though we're strangers.
Thanks for SINCERITY, I love that and even the word itself.
Thanks for not giving up on me when I already had.
Thanks for allowing me in your life.
Thank you for your concern, caring.
Thank you to the folks who may not know it but give me a sense of purpose.
Thanks for the guy on the corner who asks me for a buck every time I cross, you think you're just taking. But you're giving. I see your smile and it gives back to me tenfold.
Thanks for the people who do not judge.
Thanks for the people who touch my heart and give me my tears, you make me feel so human.
The list goes on and on.Practically endlessly.

Shelley Winters

I just finished reading Shelley's 2nd autobiography. What impressed me about it it most was, yeah, it was pretty funny and I like that she didn't ever seem to take herself too seriously. But the main thing was how she lived, that she was still frugal even with so much money. Also that she didn't play parts just for mega bucks. She preferred doing plays and traveling with whatever play she was into at the time and refusing big money offers for her passion of plays. That's pretty admirable!
Last week I got done with Soul of a Lion about the rancher turned animal guardian,owner of Harnas in Namibia, Marieta van der Merwe.That was also a good book but maybe not so much as Born Free, or Gorillas in the Mist.It's interesting how these women go to such primitive, isolated places in the world to look after wild animals.I guess women need to take care of things, be it dog, cat, baby or gorillas or lions.
Getting back to Shelley. Some of her dresses are breath taking, but I noticed she seems to have favored a simple tailored suit for many, many years.I can understand that too.

Good Song

Dresses vs. men's wear

I don't mind dressing like a guy.I am a guy.
I'm not fussy about men's wear. As long as it fits, I'll wear just about anything except for bell bottoms or high waters.(I don't want to look like the nerd that I am)
When it comes to buying dresses, I am very fussy.
What saddens me in department stores is that I'm always the only guy in the fitting room with a bunch of dresses. I'd be much more comfortable in the lady's fitting room, but I know the ladies might not be comfortable with me.
I know my size so I don't always try on the dress before buying.
I get some dirty looks but there's usually at least one person with a sense of humor and I'll get a smile from them.
I have to make chili.Those beans have been soaking for 2 days.I didn't get time to make it yesterday because a friend called to have dinner with him.

Speigal Catolog

I had a date for a dance I was invited to last weekend.
I decided to just stay home.
I looked through my closet over and over last week.Nothing I found suited the occasion.
I needed something with a little more elegance than anything I own.
Something with sequins or beads.
I called my Ma on the phone and told her about my dilemma. She said I should go on the date anyway.She also said she didn't have any sequined gowns.
A few nights ago I found the perfect ball gown in a Speigal catalog.
I ordered it immediately and have tried it on several times since, then I reluctantly put it away in my closet.
Hopefully, I'll get an invitation to another extravaganza soon.