The Primrose, December 2008
My wife always chides me for how long it takes me to get ready when I’m going out as Greer. Of course she doesn’t have to remove hair from face, arms, chest and legs before even thinking about makeup and dressing. Anyway, after taking (mumble, mumble) hours to get ready, I was on the freeway and late for my meeting with some new friends for a Saturday night on the town. To top things off, I realized that one of my newly attached fingernails was missing. Sigh.
Lisa E was going to be in town that Saturday from downstate Illinois, and she got the ball rolling for a “Girls Night Out”. I should mention that Lisa E is a Goddess on the Transformations Forum (www.transformationsbyrori/forum). This title was earned as a result of posting 896 messages (and still counting). I myself am proud to have reached the level of Duchess, but I digress. After much back and forth, and great persistence by Lisa, it appeared there would be 7 of us for the evening. The plan was to meet at her hotel and carpool to Boys Town for dinner at the Kit Kat Lounge.
Arriving at the hotel late and with a missing fingernail (oh goody, I found it on the floor of the car!), I hurried to get out of the car and go find the others. As I crossed the parking lot, I realized that my skirt, which was short by design, had further shortened itself while entering, riding in, and exiting the car. I’m not certain just what was showing at that moment, but there were 3 men on an overlooking balcony that were either entranced by my delightfully feminine walk or by my pink panties, garters and stocking tops!
At the designated room, I met Lisa, Teri and Jeanette. Diane and Nina were to meet us at the Kit Kat. Everyone was very understanding of my tardiness and dismissed my abject apologies. A few more minutes were taken while I reapplied my errant nail, fussed with my hair, and tried to catch my breath (a bit of a challenge when wearing a corset). Then we were off. By virtue of having the newest and coolest car, Jeanette was elected to drive.
During the drive from Arlington Heights I found that my new friends had all met each other before that night. They had also all been to the Kit Kat and other venues in Boys Town before. For me, everything was new! I had never even heard of Boys Town until a month or so before. At first I thought it was a sly reference to the area, but it even shows up that way on Yahoo! Maps.
We parked next to the police station and made our way through the neighborhood. It was a bit before 8:00, and there were lots of people on the street. It felt very festive. Those who had been to the Kit Kat Lounge were surprised to find many open tables when we were seated. Apparently the place is usually packed on Saturday nights. That soon changed as other parties arrived. Diane joined us before too much time passed, but Nina never arrived.
By the time we had drinks and appetizers the place was full and the entertainment had gotten underway. The main entertainment is provided by the Kit Kat Lounge Divas who are professional female impersonators. Angelica performed for us. Her act was very good, but mostly we hated her because she was slender and gorgeous. (meow)
At the table on one side of us there were 3 guys (a committed couple and a friend). Apart from them and our group, I think everyone in the place was part of a bachelorette party! There were at least 4 separate parties going on. By the time we finished with dinner, we were chatting with the 3 guys and with members of the two nearest bachelorette parties. It was great! Everyone was friendly and enjoying the atmosphere. I had a special chat with the mother of one of the brides-to-be, and gave her some very good advice. I don’t recall exactly what I said, but I think it had to do with drinking heavily until after the ceremony.
After dinner, we were planning to go to Circuits to dance, drink, mingle, whatever. In talking with guys, I was informed that there was probably more action down the street at Sidetrack, or possibly at Roscoe’s. We paid the bill and moved outside to the sidewalk. There we chatted for a while longer with some of the people we had met before walking down Halsted to Sidetrack. Diane was having high heel problems, so she decided to drive down and park closer. Her instinct was good as the 4 blocks must have been about 140 miles in heels. Sadly, she had difficulty parking and we never did meet up with her again that night.
Sidetrack was crowded when we arrived. We hung out near the door for a time hoping that Diane would find us, or that we would get lucky without having to wade into the crowd (definitions of “lucky” vary by participant, individual results may vary, see store for details). Eventually, Jeannette and I ventured into the main bar area to see what we could see. The first thing I noticed, apart from the sea of men, was what I would call the “buyer’s rail” somewhat above the main floor. Along this rail a patron can stand and have a nice view of the whole bar area. The second thing I noticed was that none of the men along this rail were at all interested in the gorgeous t-girls that had just walked in. Oh well.
The third thing I noticed in the main bar area was a pair of very attractive GGs. We were almost immediately accosted by these ladies (why does this only happen when I wear a skirt?) One was a very nice and welcoming young lady. The other was also very nice, but she was also very blasted. Turns out she was from Wales. Have you ever tried to understand what is being said by an inebriated woman from Wales? (Catherine Zeta Jones excluded due to extreme hotness) Anyway, we danced a little, and after we chatted for a time, the non-blasted member of the pair explained that they were part of (are you ready?) a bachelorette party! She told us that their party was moving across the street to Roscoe’s and that we should come over and join them. The incomprehensible member of the duet said something like “fljooeruy sklrul snrowio!” Of course I agreed, and we promised to gather our group and relocate to Roscoe’s.
We gathered ourselves together and headed across the street. At the door to Roscoe’s, we ran into the 3 guys from the Kit Kat Lounge. It was great! Like running into long lost friends! Inside Roscoe’s there was another crowd of people, although this crowd seemed to have a larger proportion of women (still a small minority though). While waiting to order a drink, I saw a guy across the bar area whose t-shirt proclaimed, “Oh, I’m sorry, Unf**ck you.” It was a beautiful sentiment, and I was moved to tears.
We circulated through the various rooms of the establishment until we found the dance floor. The floor was crowded, and not as voyeur friendly as Hunter’s, but we gave it a try. Unfortunately, the heat and the crowd caused the experience to be a bit much, so we retired to the front bar area and met up with the ladies from Sidetrack. “Pytwtr hwlitr gflandy!” exclaimed the still drinking lady from Wales. We were introduced to the entire bridal party and hugs were shared all around (I just love the hugs part of being a girl!).
The ladies of the wedding party seemed to really enjoy chatting, drinking and dancing with the ladies of our party. We certainly enjoyed spending time with them. I think we became very close to the lady from Wales. At one point, with great seriousness and gravity, she asked me, “kjlerul worhhtaar hsgew?” I mean really, what can a t-girl say when asked a question like that? So I smiled, gave her a hug and suggested that she dance with Lisa.
After much standing in heels time, and very little sitting on fanny pads time, we decided it was time to call it a night. Hugs and kisses were again shared all around before we headed out the door. Once we hit the street, we began what shall forever be known as the Death March of Boys Town. The 4 blocks back to the car took us about 34 hours. Jeannette took off her boots and walked in her stockings (cheater!), but the rest of us just walked slower and slower until we drifted off into a blissful walking unconsciousness. Ah, yet another sacrifice for our art!
Thus endeth the saga of Greer’s Saturday Night in Boy’s Town. I may be the only t-girl in Chicago who hadn’t been there, but if there is anybody out there who hasn’t tried this exciting part of town, it’s time to make time!
Hugs,Greer
Monday, December 1, 2008
The Secret Handshake
The Primrose, December 2008
I’ll be the first to admit it, I’m not very observant of people details. Sure, if I walk by someone with 3 heads, my curiosity will probably be alerted. Wearing a gorilla suit in July? My keen sense of observation will pick it up in a flash. But the more subtle things? Mismatched socks? Different colored eyes? (I actually have those.) Prominent adam’s apple? No, no and no. In this way, I suppose I am the everyperson that many of us hope to encounter in our times out and about. All those people who go about their business and don’t notice us as we strive to be happy in our skins, even if those skins aren’t quite as we feel they should be.
As a consequence of my rather myopic view of the people around me, I don’t often run into the situation where I spot a sister t-girl in the wild. Of course it’s not too hard to spot us at a place like Hunter’s where we’re generally the only ones in skirts (including the GG’s), but at the local grocery store, library or coffee shop, I’ve probably walked by hundreds of sisters without knowing it. Rejoice ladies, the majority of people out there are probably just like me in this way. Your secret is safe with us, because we are clueless.
On the other hand, there are those of you who are very observant. You have a keen eye for detail, and a killer fashion sense. It takes you only moments to scan the room when you enter. Immediately you pick up the little things that tell you, “Ah, she is one of us!” You elegantly sway across the room, smiling and brightening the day of all that you pass. When you reach the sister t-girl you stop and offer your hand in a ladylike way. “Hi,” you say in a well-practiced, feminine voice. “I’m . . . (insert your name here).”
If it is me that you have approached, I’ll figure I’m the luckiest guy in the room because this beautiful lady just came on to me. Wait a minute, that’s wrong, tonight I’m a lady myself. I attempt to do a quick change back to feminine mental mode. “Hi, I’m Greer. Nice to meet you.” I might have gotten the first couple of words out in my up-register femme voice, but by the end I’m back down in male voice range. From that point, I’m busy trying to make a good impression, because I’m still clueless.
What I needed was a secret handshake! The unobtrusive sign that says, “hey, I’m trans, how about you?” This matter of recognition of other members of the community has come up several times recently in message forums. For those who aren’t as observation challenged as I am, there is a real concern about how to approach a sister or brother that you spot out and about. There are several things that must be considered. First, if you let them know that you spotted them, will they be crushed to know they were clocked? Second, how do you let them know that you know without letting anyone else know what you know? You know? Fourth (just seeing if you were paying attention), might you out yourself if you approach this person?
So how should we handle this situation? Honestly, the answer in most cases is simple human contact and courtesy. You politely approach and introduce yourself when circumstances permit. You converse politely for 5 minutes (keep an eye on your watch), then you dive into questions about tucking, hair removal methods and preferred fetish attire. OK, I’m just kidding about the last part (well maybe not the fetish attire part, that’s always a good ice breaker).
The point is you don’t have to base your approach to someone on the basis of mutual transness (did I just make that up?). It should just be a person-to-person contact. You see someone interesting, and you decide to try to get to know them. Sounds great. Of course that never worked for me at dances, bars or even church socials (that was before I became a practicing heathen, but that’s another story). I’m much more comfortable introducing myself as Greer than I have ever been as what’s-his-name, but it still feels like an unnatural act. And that brings me back to the secret handshake.
I’m not really suggesting that we have a secret handshake. If you get to the point of using a handshake, secret or otherwise, you’ve already cleared the main hurdle by making contact. No, what we need is a secret recognition signal. Something that can be flashed across a room when you catch the eye of a brother or sister. Something that will be meaningless to those who aren’t part of the community, but carry full meaning to the rest of us. Something that says, “I’m trans, I’m fabulous, and so are you! Aren’t you? If you’re not, please disregard this signal.”
So what kind of signal could we use? We could be very subtle, like tugging on an earlobe. Unfortunately, that might cause half the married couples in the room to go for their coats. Oh, that isn’t your signal for “I’m bored, take me home now”? Oops, forget I ever brought it up. On the other hand, something like jumping up and down while holding a breast in each hand is probably a bit too obvious, especially if the target of your attempted communication across the room returns the signal. Interesting to imagine though isn’t it.
How about this, you look at the recipient of your signal. When you make eye contact, you touch a pinky finger to your temple. It’s fairly subtle, but it’s unusual enough that your maiden aunt probably won’t do it accidentally (oh the repercussions of that!). Note however that you definitely don’t want to use the index finger for this signal. Your recipient is likely to conclude that you have decided to shoot yourself or them, and this isn’t the message you’re trying to convey, at least not until you’re sharing a bank account.
Assuming that the recipient of your signal hasn’t decided to call the police or a large gentleman with strange bulges under his jacket, AND if you have correctly identified the recipient as trans, AND if you appear to be in control of your faculties, AND if you haven’t committed an unforgivable fashion mistake (remember, it is now permissible to wear white year round), then the recipient may return your signal. This indicates you may feel free to approach the recipient for self-introductions. Of course discretion is still expected. Shouting, “Here I come honey!” and doing some broken-field running across the room will not be appreciated.
It occurs to me that establishing a recognition signal is just the start. Any secret organization worth its salt will also have other signals to allow clandestine communication between members. To close this article of dubious literary work, I offer some additional signals that we should consider adopting. I also welcome readers to pass along their ideas for other signals.
The signal: With your arms at your sides, turn your hands so the palms face to the rear. Touch your thumbs and forefingers together (like an OK sign), then repeatedly bend your wrists so your fingers move back and forth.
The meaning: Your panties are slipping down and you’re in danger of tripping. (Of course this is a warning to another sister in a skirt or a dress. If your own panties are slipping, pull the darn things up.)
The signal: Stand in one spot while wearing high heels, sway your upper body while displaying a pained look on your face. (The last step is necessary to avoid confusion with dancing.)
The meaning: I can no longer stand in my heels. Please bring me a swooning couch and a Mint Julep.
The signal: Hike your skirt up and run like mad to the serving area.
The meaning: The buffet line is now open. (OK, this one isn’t strictly limited to our community, but we girls can put away the food like a bunch of guys, so you don’t want to be late getting in line.)
The meaning: Thank you for being yourself, and for helping me be myself.
The signal: A hug and air kisses.
Hugs,
Greer
I’ll be the first to admit it, I’m not very observant of people details. Sure, if I walk by someone with 3 heads, my curiosity will probably be alerted. Wearing a gorilla suit in July? My keen sense of observation will pick it up in a flash. But the more subtle things? Mismatched socks? Different colored eyes? (I actually have those.) Prominent adam’s apple? No, no and no. In this way, I suppose I am the everyperson that many of us hope to encounter in our times out and about. All those people who go about their business and don’t notice us as we strive to be happy in our skins, even if those skins aren’t quite as we feel they should be.
As a consequence of my rather myopic view of the people around me, I don’t often run into the situation where I spot a sister t-girl in the wild. Of course it’s not too hard to spot us at a place like Hunter’s where we’re generally the only ones in skirts (including the GG’s), but at the local grocery store, library or coffee shop, I’ve probably walked by hundreds of sisters without knowing it. Rejoice ladies, the majority of people out there are probably just like me in this way. Your secret is safe with us, because we are clueless.
On the other hand, there are those of you who are very observant. You have a keen eye for detail, and a killer fashion sense. It takes you only moments to scan the room when you enter. Immediately you pick up the little things that tell you, “Ah, she is one of us!” You elegantly sway across the room, smiling and brightening the day of all that you pass. When you reach the sister t-girl you stop and offer your hand in a ladylike way. “Hi,” you say in a well-practiced, feminine voice. “I’m . . . (insert your name here).”
If it is me that you have approached, I’ll figure I’m the luckiest guy in the room because this beautiful lady just came on to me. Wait a minute, that’s wrong, tonight I’m a lady myself. I attempt to do a quick change back to feminine mental mode. “Hi, I’m Greer. Nice to meet you.” I might have gotten the first couple of words out in my up-register femme voice, but by the end I’m back down in male voice range. From that point, I’m busy trying to make a good impression, because I’m still clueless.
What I needed was a secret handshake! The unobtrusive sign that says, “hey, I’m trans, how about you?” This matter of recognition of other members of the community has come up several times recently in message forums. For those who aren’t as observation challenged as I am, there is a real concern about how to approach a sister or brother that you spot out and about. There are several things that must be considered. First, if you let them know that you spotted them, will they be crushed to know they were clocked? Second, how do you let them know that you know without letting anyone else know what you know? You know? Fourth (just seeing if you were paying attention), might you out yourself if you approach this person?
So how should we handle this situation? Honestly, the answer in most cases is simple human contact and courtesy. You politely approach and introduce yourself when circumstances permit. You converse politely for 5 minutes (keep an eye on your watch), then you dive into questions about tucking, hair removal methods and preferred fetish attire. OK, I’m just kidding about the last part (well maybe not the fetish attire part, that’s always a good ice breaker).
The point is you don’t have to base your approach to someone on the basis of mutual transness (did I just make that up?). It should just be a person-to-person contact. You see someone interesting, and you decide to try to get to know them. Sounds great. Of course that never worked for me at dances, bars or even church socials (that was before I became a practicing heathen, but that’s another story). I’m much more comfortable introducing myself as Greer than I have ever been as what’s-his-name, but it still feels like an unnatural act. And that brings me back to the secret handshake.
I’m not really suggesting that we have a secret handshake. If you get to the point of using a handshake, secret or otherwise, you’ve already cleared the main hurdle by making contact. No, what we need is a secret recognition signal. Something that can be flashed across a room when you catch the eye of a brother or sister. Something that will be meaningless to those who aren’t part of the community, but carry full meaning to the rest of us. Something that says, “I’m trans, I’m fabulous, and so are you! Aren’t you? If you’re not, please disregard this signal.”
So what kind of signal could we use? We could be very subtle, like tugging on an earlobe. Unfortunately, that might cause half the married couples in the room to go for their coats. Oh, that isn’t your signal for “I’m bored, take me home now”? Oops, forget I ever brought it up. On the other hand, something like jumping up and down while holding a breast in each hand is probably a bit too obvious, especially if the target of your attempted communication across the room returns the signal. Interesting to imagine though isn’t it.
How about this, you look at the recipient of your signal. When you make eye contact, you touch a pinky finger to your temple. It’s fairly subtle, but it’s unusual enough that your maiden aunt probably won’t do it accidentally (oh the repercussions of that!). Note however that you definitely don’t want to use the index finger for this signal. Your recipient is likely to conclude that you have decided to shoot yourself or them, and this isn’t the message you’re trying to convey, at least not until you’re sharing a bank account.
Assuming that the recipient of your signal hasn’t decided to call the police or a large gentleman with strange bulges under his jacket, AND if you have correctly identified the recipient as trans, AND if you appear to be in control of your faculties, AND if you haven’t committed an unforgivable fashion mistake (remember, it is now permissible to wear white year round), then the recipient may return your signal. This indicates you may feel free to approach the recipient for self-introductions. Of course discretion is still expected. Shouting, “Here I come honey!” and doing some broken-field running across the room will not be appreciated.
It occurs to me that establishing a recognition signal is just the start. Any secret organization worth its salt will also have other signals to allow clandestine communication between members. To close this article of dubious literary work, I offer some additional signals that we should consider adopting. I also welcome readers to pass along their ideas for other signals.
The signal: With your arms at your sides, turn your hands so the palms face to the rear. Touch your thumbs and forefingers together (like an OK sign), then repeatedly bend your wrists so your fingers move back and forth.
The meaning: Your panties are slipping down and you’re in danger of tripping. (Of course this is a warning to another sister in a skirt or a dress. If your own panties are slipping, pull the darn things up.)
The signal: Stand in one spot while wearing high heels, sway your upper body while displaying a pained look on your face. (The last step is necessary to avoid confusion with dancing.)
The meaning: I can no longer stand in my heels. Please bring me a swooning couch and a Mint Julep.
The signal: Hike your skirt up and run like mad to the serving area.
The meaning: The buffet line is now open. (OK, this one isn’t strictly limited to our community, but we girls can put away the food like a bunch of guys, so you don’t want to be late getting in line.)
The meaning: Thank you for being yourself, and for helping me be myself.
The signal: A hug and air kisses.
Hugs,
Greer
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Dressing for the Queen’s Dinner
The Primrose, October 2008
[This was my first contribution to The Primrose, which is the monthly newsletter of the Chicago Gender Society (CGS)]
Recently it was my very good fortune to have dinner with the members of the CGS board. This had been my request as a result of being honored as “Queen for a Day”. I was curious to know more about the ladies who have the responsibility for running CGS, and who seem to be so comfortable with their very visible positions in our community.
Those who have spent 30 seconds around me know that my personal style of dress tends to focus on answering 3 questions: First, is my skirt short enough? Second, is enough leg showing? And third, would my new thigh-high boots look better I hiked this skirt up a bit? It’s not that I want to look like a tramp . . . well, maybe it is that. Nevertheless, I realized that I would need to clean my act up a bit if I was going to a nice restaurant with the luminaries of CGS. You know what that means, shopping!
It is with a certain amount of embarrassment that I must admit to being less than totally comfortable going out shopping by myself en femme. I have done so, but I’m not to a point where I can really enjoy it (going with a group is fun, but that’s another story). I also have to state that I don’t feel free spending much money on my femme wardrobe. My wonderful wife is tolerant, but if I presented credit card receipts for pricey outfits from (select your favorite upscale women’s clothing store), it wouldn’t go over very well.
When preparing for this year’s Be-All (my first), I discovered that my local Target store will happily take part in a game that I call “off-site fitting”. In this game, I go into the store in drab, find a potentially useful article of women’s clothing, purchase it, take it home, try it on, then return it to the store for a full refund (certain articles of personal attire not returnable, see store for details). My personal development has moved beyond the early stage of actually having to say “I’m buying this for my wife”, but I haven’t come to the point of telling them that I’m trans and that the adorable short skirt is for me! Of course if I was to that point I would just go to the store en femme and let the garters fall where they may! The result was that after only 3 rounds of the game I ended up with a pair of size 13, low-rise jeans for the Be-All. Of course I never wore them at Be-All because of my all-consuming need to show my legs in cute little skirts.
Anyway, as I was pondering what sort of outfit I would need for my upcoming special dinner, I happened to check online at Target.com. I found that they have a marvelous little corner called “75% Off, Last Chance Clearance”. (Cute little miniskirts for $4! Be still my heart, that’s not why we’re here.) What I found were some nice looking, more conservative (aka longer) skirts that just might allow me to present a more sophisticated look (less trampy that is). The price tags were in the $8 to $12 range, so I could even pick up a couple and allow for future “looking nice” events without wearing the same thing over and over. Besides, spend at least $50 and shipping is free!
The next issue was size. If you are shaped anything like me, you know that the sizing charts for women’s clothes are pretty much useless. I have generally avoided the issue of precise sizing by purchasing knit tops and skirts made of stretchy materials with elastic waistbands. Alas, the skirts and dresses I was looking at were precisely sized with little give. “Off-site fitting” to the rescue!
Actually, let’s call this “on-line fitting” as it is a somewhat different game that the Target organization is also happy to play. It works like this: load up your shopping cart on-line with at least $50 worth of cute clothes, pay no shipping fees, wait for USPS to deliver (this is the very hardest part), check your account every day to see when the cute clothes will arrive, try on the cute clothes at home (or while standing by your mailbox if you prefer), go online to obtain a return receipt for anything that has to go back, take the returns and the receipt to the local Target store and get your cheerful refund. Of course you can pretend the stuff was for your wife and moan about being there, but that’s a personal call.
After a couple rounds of playing “on-line fitting” I found that a size 14 skirt is about right for me, as long as it’s fairly straight through the hips. I ended up with a really nice looking “tulip” skirt (new term for me) in “Silver Birch Heather” (new color for me) that I thought fit me very well.
It happens that this particular skirt was part of a collection that included matching pants and two different jackets. Great! I would look especially sophisticated in a suit! Back to the sizing charts. Still not completely helpful, but I took a shot and ordered a jacket in size 16, only $12. This shipment took a bit longer than others, and it arrived just a few days before the big dinner. To my chagrin, the jacket proved to be large enough to wear comfortably, but it was too tight when buttoned. Rats!
My dilemma at that point was that there wouldn’t be enough time to order the jacket in a larger size and have it arrive in time for the dinner. I considered wearing the jacket unbuttoned, but then I couldn’t return it. So I wrapped it up to return. But then I didn’t have anything else to wear, so I took it out again. No you silly, take it back. So I wrapped it up to return. Argh! No, I want to wear it! So I took it out and snipped the tags! There, no more changing my mind. Besides, it was only $12. I’ll wear it unbuttoned then donate it and buy a larger size. And that is just what I did!Now, what about a blouse? And shoes! Jewelry! No dear reader, I won’t inflict the rest of my clothing conflict upon you. Suffice it to say that I was ultimately happy with my appearance. Furthermore, I don’t think I embarrassed the board with either my outfit or my deportment in public. And for their part, the board did a wonderful job of making me feel like a Queen for a Day.
[This was my first contribution to The Primrose, which is the monthly newsletter of the Chicago Gender Society (CGS)]
Recently it was my very good fortune to have dinner with the members of the CGS board. This had been my request as a result of being honored as “Queen for a Day”. I was curious to know more about the ladies who have the responsibility for running CGS, and who seem to be so comfortable with their very visible positions in our community.
Those who have spent 30 seconds around me know that my personal style of dress tends to focus on answering 3 questions: First, is my skirt short enough? Second, is enough leg showing? And third, would my new thigh-high boots look better I hiked this skirt up a bit? It’s not that I want to look like a tramp . . . well, maybe it is that. Nevertheless, I realized that I would need to clean my act up a bit if I was going to a nice restaurant with the luminaries of CGS. You know what that means, shopping!
It is with a certain amount of embarrassment that I must admit to being less than totally comfortable going out shopping by myself en femme. I have done so, but I’m not to a point where I can really enjoy it (going with a group is fun, but that’s another story). I also have to state that I don’t feel free spending much money on my femme wardrobe. My wonderful wife is tolerant, but if I presented credit card receipts for pricey outfits from (select your favorite upscale women’s clothing store), it wouldn’t go over very well.
When preparing for this year’s Be-All (my first), I discovered that my local Target store will happily take part in a game that I call “off-site fitting”. In this game, I go into the store in drab, find a potentially useful article of women’s clothing, purchase it, take it home, try it on, then return it to the store for a full refund (certain articles of personal attire not returnable, see store for details). My personal development has moved beyond the early stage of actually having to say “I’m buying this for my wife”, but I haven’t come to the point of telling them that I’m trans and that the adorable short skirt is for me! Of course if I was to that point I would just go to the store en femme and let the garters fall where they may! The result was that after only 3 rounds of the game I ended up with a pair of size 13, low-rise jeans for the Be-All. Of course I never wore them at Be-All because of my all-consuming need to show my legs in cute little skirts.
Anyway, as I was pondering what sort of outfit I would need for my upcoming special dinner, I happened to check online at Target.com. I found that they have a marvelous little corner called “75% Off, Last Chance Clearance”. (Cute little miniskirts for $4! Be still my heart, that’s not why we’re here.) What I found were some nice looking, more conservative (aka longer) skirts that just might allow me to present a more sophisticated look (less trampy that is). The price tags were in the $8 to $12 range, so I could even pick up a couple and allow for future “looking nice” events without wearing the same thing over and over. Besides, spend at least $50 and shipping is free!
The next issue was size. If you are shaped anything like me, you know that the sizing charts for women’s clothes are pretty much useless. I have generally avoided the issue of precise sizing by purchasing knit tops and skirts made of stretchy materials with elastic waistbands. Alas, the skirts and dresses I was looking at were precisely sized with little give. “Off-site fitting” to the rescue!
Actually, let’s call this “on-line fitting” as it is a somewhat different game that the Target organization is also happy to play. It works like this: load up your shopping cart on-line with at least $50 worth of cute clothes, pay no shipping fees, wait for USPS to deliver (this is the very hardest part), check your account every day to see when the cute clothes will arrive, try on the cute clothes at home (or while standing by your mailbox if you prefer), go online to obtain a return receipt for anything that has to go back, take the returns and the receipt to the local Target store and get your cheerful refund. Of course you can pretend the stuff was for your wife and moan about being there, but that’s a personal call.
After a couple rounds of playing “on-line fitting” I found that a size 14 skirt is about right for me, as long as it’s fairly straight through the hips. I ended up with a really nice looking “tulip” skirt (new term for me) in “Silver Birch Heather” (new color for me) that I thought fit me very well.
It happens that this particular skirt was part of a collection that included matching pants and two different jackets. Great! I would look especially sophisticated in a suit! Back to the sizing charts. Still not completely helpful, but I took a shot and ordered a jacket in size 16, only $12. This shipment took a bit longer than others, and it arrived just a few days before the big dinner. To my chagrin, the jacket proved to be large enough to wear comfortably, but it was too tight when buttoned. Rats!
My dilemma at that point was that there wouldn’t be enough time to order the jacket in a larger size and have it arrive in time for the dinner. I considered wearing the jacket unbuttoned, but then I couldn’t return it. So I wrapped it up to return. But then I didn’t have anything else to wear, so I took it out again. No you silly, take it back. So I wrapped it up to return. Argh! No, I want to wear it! So I took it out and snipped the tags! There, no more changing my mind. Besides, it was only $12. I’ll wear it unbuttoned then donate it and buy a larger size. And that is just what I did!Now, what about a blouse? And shoes! Jewelry! No dear reader, I won’t inflict the rest of my clothing conflict upon you. Suffice it to say that I was ultimately happy with my appearance. Furthermore, I don’t think I embarrassed the board with either my outfit or my deportment in public. And for their part, the board did a wonderful job of making me feel like a Queen for a Day.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Be All Chicago 2008
This year (2008) I attended the Chicago Be All conference for the first time. Before the event, I had tried to find comments and descriptions from previous attendees. This was pretty much unsuccessful, so I decided that I would make my own impressions available for those who might attend in the future. I also thought it would be fun for those who had attended this year. To avoid boring you totally, what follows are comments only about those things that were highlights for me. Of course these are probably still boring, but that’s the way the makeup crumbles!
Naturally the comments, thoughts, and opinions here are strictly my own, and not necessarily those of the hard-working organizers and staff of the event.
Preparation
To put my comments into perspective, I consider myself to be a crossdresser, transvestite or t-girl. I am not currently considering transitioning. I have some experience with being dressed in public, but mostly at t-friendly venues. I see myself as being semi-passable in a dark room full of people with impaired hearing.
Soon after making the decision to attend Be All, I made the further decision that I would make it a “total immersion” event. I would stay at the event hotel. I would arrive and depart in girl mode and take along no boy clothes at all. I quickly realized that my collection of scandalous mini-skirts and dresses probably wouldn’t be acceptable for daytime wear at a nice hotel, so I purchased some femme pants and tops for my wardrobe. I also purchased a scandalous nightgown, but I didn’t think I would be wearing it in the hallways, so that was OK.
Thursday
I had intended to start conservatively by wearing my new femme jeans or pants. But I ended up deciding that I just didn’t want to wear pants, so instead I wore one of my new, “proper”, knee-length skirts. I packed everything I thought I might need for 3 nights and 4 days which included approximately 10 skirts, 6 dresses, 12 tops, 20 panties, 15 pairs of stockings and 12 pairs of shoes. Thank goodness my steamer trunk has wheels. Of course getting it in and out of the trunk in a skirt and heels was amusing, but I was on my way!
I had made arrangements with the hotel for early check-in and I gave them my femme name (along with my boy name since that’s what the credit card shows). Sad to say that the room wasn’t ready when requested, but even more disheartening was being “Mistered” and “sired” by the people at the front desk even though I was wonderfully made up, wigged, and dressed. On the positive side, this was the only time this happened during my entire stay. On every other occasion, the hotel staff was very nice, very helpful, and generous with “ladies” and “Miss”.
I only had vague plans to meet some on-line friends at some point during the weekend, but I had definite plans to meet with a friend for dinner and a visit to Hunters on Thursday night. So, a change in makeup from daytime conservative to evening trampy was in order. Looking at myself in the mirror, I confirmed what I had suspected. Remaining in girl mode for the weekend would require the “shave, apply makeup, remove makeup” sequence to be performed twice a day. But a small price to pay for living the fantasy! So off with the old, and on with the new. I had myself all made up and dressed in sufficiently tarty attire for clubbing, when my friend called to cancel due to business needs. Rats!
Being without evening plans, I decided to join the group going to Durty Nellie’s for music, dancing and drinking. I changed into a somewhat less trampy outfit and went down to the hospitality suite for a drink and to wait for the bus. There it was my very good fortune to meet Erica and Erin. Both were first-timers at the Be All as I was. The bus was a bit late and I realized that the heels I was wearing were going to torture my feet, so I hurried back to my room to change. Naturally the bus came while I was gone, but it was Erin to the rescue! She drove us to Durty Nellie’s, and we even beat the bus that I had missed.
Durty Nellie’s was already in full swing when we arrived. A private room was in use and drinks were courtesy of the famous Doctor Z. Well, I had never heard of him before then, but anyone willing to buy drinks is OK in my book! The band was Barely Standing, and most everyone seemed to enjoy them. Naturally, I couldn’t understand any lyrics, but they sounded good.
Friday
I attended a seminar on feminine voice that was standing room only. The presenter gave an overview of the many things that should be done if you want to sound like you want to sound. The bottom line is that you have to understand what you’re trying to do and you have to practice and work at it. She has a series of CDs available to help with all of this.
After the seminar, my goal for the day was to go shopping for a long gown to wear to the final dinner on Saturday. I hadn’t had any luck up until then, and I considered this to be my final opportunity. Once again, I considered wearing jeans to better blend with shoppers, but again, I preferred to wear a skirt and heels. So I did! Still a conservative skirt, but a skirt nonetheless. Suitably attired, my first stop was Nordstrom Rack. I went through all the long racks and found 3 possible gowns. To the delightful sound of my heels clicking on the hard floor, I proudly carried my selections to the boldly marked “Women’s Fitting Room”. The security person didn’t bat an eyelash when I told her I had 3 items in my best femme voice. Having received the coveted security tag for 3 items, I strolled proudly to my fitting room. Alas, none of the things I tried was right for me. So it was off to the Sak’s outlet store. They had some lovely gowns that felt delicious, but their idea of a discount is marking down from astronomically expensive to just insanely expensive. I didn’t think I could justify over $500 for a gown I might never wear again. Sadly, I returned to the hotel to begin preparing for dinner. I decided that I would give up on the idea of wearing a long gown to the big dinner. Instead, I would wear the hot number I had originally planned to wear to the Friday night dinner, but more about that later.
After removing makeup, shaving, and reapplying makeup, I slipped into a cute dark brown outfit of medium short skirt with matching camisole and jacket. Heels and stockings of course. While not quite as glamorous as the Saturday dinner, the Friday dinner was first class. A photographer was taking photos in the reception area, and 2 bars were in full operation. Dinner itself was delicious. I sat with my friend Linda whom I had met at RedMoon. She and Emma, a new friend, found a common interest in music in general and the Beatles and the Beach Boys in particular. They started quizzing each other on trivia, and I was amazed at the depth of knowledge that they both had (seriously girls, get a life ;-) Also sitting at the table were Raina and Georgia, both from Iowa, and Kristin from Wisconsin. These very special ladies were to figure prominently in the remainder of the weekend.
Following dinner, a band started playing. The music was primarily from the 50’s and 60’s, and it was definitely danceable. I found Erica who had come in a bit late and ended up at a “power” table in front. We refilled our glasses at the bar (Scotch and soda for her, Scotch with just a splash of water for me), and she joined us at the table. Very soon, I found the need to dance to be irresistible. Erica tried to resist, but she caved and followed me to the floor. Soon we also dragged Raina, Georgia, and Kristin to the floor, and a great time was had by all! While dancing, I met Dana (Mistress of the Dance Floor) who was working the whole dance floor and having as much fun as I was. We danced and laughed until the band stopped playing at midnight. Then we made our plans for Saturday morning, an assault on Woodfield Mall!
Saturday
Raina, Georgia, Kristine and I all met in the lobby at 10:00 AM as we agreed. Erica was 10 minutes late as we eventually found was normal for her ;-) The “uniform of the day” was to be casual clothes, probably pants. Of course, I was again unable to bring myself to miss an opportunity to wear a skirt. However, in deference to my feet that were still sore from dancing in heels all night, I wore flats. Nevertheless, I thought I looked pretty good in a black skirt with some pretty flower embroidery on one side and a knit top that matched the light blue color of the flowers on the skirt. We caught the hotel shuttle bus to Woodfield, which was only about 2 minutes away. I suppose that any 1 or 2 of us might have been able to pass, but with 5 of us, we must have been pretty obvious. That didn't stop us from having a wonderful time. The people working at the shops we went into were consistently welcoming, friendly and helpful. Most of the other people either didn't notice us or didn't care. I caught the eye of a few who gave me friendly smiles. There were absolutely no negative comments or looks. Of course there was the pair of teenage girls we passed in Victoria's Secret. After we passed I heard one say in a rather breathless stage whisper, "They're GUYS!" I really wanted to congratulate her for her observational powers, but it was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing. We were at the mall for about 4 hours. It was great fun, and a very liberating experience.
Saturday night was the big dinner. I wore a new dress that I got from Frederick's. It was a slinky black number done with asymetrical neck and hemlines. The right side had a sleeve from shoulder to just above the wrist. From the right shoulder, the neck line dropped across my chest and went under my left arm. My left arm and shoulder were bare. The hem followed the same line. On the left, the hem was about knee length. On the right, it was at the very top of my thigh. As I mentioned before, I had intended to wear a long gown as most of the ladies did, but I must admit that I felt pretty sexy in my LBD.
We had intended to revisit the dance floor after dinner, but the music just wasn't what we were looking for. Along with many of the others, we congregated in the lobby area drinking and talking. We talked about going to Hunters, but we had trouble tearing ourselves away. Finally about midnight, Kristine managed to herd us to her car (thank you to Kristine for being our non-drinking, designated driver). We were joined by Erica, Dana and Georgia. As I recall, it was the first visit to Hunters for everyone but Dana and I. There was good crowd that night and the dance floor was full. Of course that didn’t stop Dana and I from joining the crowd. Of course, we were wearing the only dancers on the floor in dresses!
Sunday
A somewhat sad day for most of the ladies. My new friends were all in boy mode for the trip home. Happily for me, I was holding off on boy mode until I actually arrived home. So I wore a cute little taupe skirt that Charlot gave me along with a pair of lavender ankle boots that were also courtesy of this generous lady. I felt very special sitting in the lobby area in girl mode while saying goodbye to my new friends. But too soon, I had to hit the road myself.
Afterward
The week following the Be All was depressing. I realized that those couple of days with friends were without doubt the most fun I have ever had dressing. And now that the time was over, I felt a very real emptiness. Erica found just the right words when she said, “I have been craving the camaraderie we had in Chicago.”
It became obvious over the weekend that the Be All means different things to different people. Some were very focused on learning all they could at the seminars. For others it was an opportunity renew old friendships. Still others enjoyed a 3 or 4 day party. But I will remember how good it felt to share this part of myself that is kept mostly hidden, and to share it with people who are fun, supportive, and who get it!
Hugs,Greer
P.S. A note to myself (and advice to future attendees): take more pictures!
Naturally the comments, thoughts, and opinions here are strictly my own, and not necessarily those of the hard-working organizers and staff of the event.
Preparation
To put my comments into perspective, I consider myself to be a crossdresser, transvestite or t-girl. I am not currently considering transitioning. I have some experience with being dressed in public, but mostly at t-friendly venues. I see myself as being semi-passable in a dark room full of people with impaired hearing.
Soon after making the decision to attend Be All, I made the further decision that I would make it a “total immersion” event. I would stay at the event hotel. I would arrive and depart in girl mode and take along no boy clothes at all. I quickly realized that my collection of scandalous mini-skirts and dresses probably wouldn’t be acceptable for daytime wear at a nice hotel, so I purchased some femme pants and tops for my wardrobe. I also purchased a scandalous nightgown, but I didn’t think I would be wearing it in the hallways, so that was OK.
Thursday
I had intended to start conservatively by wearing my new femme jeans or pants. But I ended up deciding that I just didn’t want to wear pants, so instead I wore one of my new, “proper”, knee-length skirts. I packed everything I thought I might need for 3 nights and 4 days which included approximately 10 skirts, 6 dresses, 12 tops, 20 panties, 15 pairs of stockings and 12 pairs of shoes. Thank goodness my steamer trunk has wheels. Of course getting it in and out of the trunk in a skirt and heels was amusing, but I was on my way!
I had made arrangements with the hotel for early check-in and I gave them my femme name (along with my boy name since that’s what the credit card shows). Sad to say that the room wasn’t ready when requested, but even more disheartening was being “Mistered” and “sired” by the people at the front desk even though I was wonderfully made up, wigged, and dressed. On the positive side, this was the only time this happened during my entire stay. On every other occasion, the hotel staff was very nice, very helpful, and generous with “ladies” and “Miss”.
I only had vague plans to meet some on-line friends at some point during the weekend, but I had definite plans to meet with a friend for dinner and a visit to Hunters on Thursday night. So, a change in makeup from daytime conservative to evening trampy was in order. Looking at myself in the mirror, I confirmed what I had suspected. Remaining in girl mode for the weekend would require the “shave, apply makeup, remove makeup” sequence to be performed twice a day. But a small price to pay for living the fantasy! So off with the old, and on with the new. I had myself all made up and dressed in sufficiently tarty attire for clubbing, when my friend called to cancel due to business needs. Rats!
Being without evening plans, I decided to join the group going to Durty Nellie’s for music, dancing and drinking. I changed into a somewhat less trampy outfit and went down to the hospitality suite for a drink and to wait for the bus. There it was my very good fortune to meet Erica and Erin. Both were first-timers at the Be All as I was. The bus was a bit late and I realized that the heels I was wearing were going to torture my feet, so I hurried back to my room to change. Naturally the bus came while I was gone, but it was Erin to the rescue! She drove us to Durty Nellie’s, and we even beat the bus that I had missed.
Durty Nellie’s was already in full swing when we arrived. A private room was in use and drinks were courtesy of the famous Doctor Z. Well, I had never heard of him before then, but anyone willing to buy drinks is OK in my book! The band was Barely Standing, and most everyone seemed to enjoy them. Naturally, I couldn’t understand any lyrics, but they sounded good.
Friday
I attended a seminar on feminine voice that was standing room only. The presenter gave an overview of the many things that should be done if you want to sound like you want to sound. The bottom line is that you have to understand what you’re trying to do and you have to practice and work at it. She has a series of CDs available to help with all of this.
After the seminar, my goal for the day was to go shopping for a long gown to wear to the final dinner on Saturday. I hadn’t had any luck up until then, and I considered this to be my final opportunity. Once again, I considered wearing jeans to better blend with shoppers, but again, I preferred to wear a skirt and heels. So I did! Still a conservative skirt, but a skirt nonetheless. Suitably attired, my first stop was Nordstrom Rack. I went through all the long racks and found 3 possible gowns. To the delightful sound of my heels clicking on the hard floor, I proudly carried my selections to the boldly marked “Women’s Fitting Room”. The security person didn’t bat an eyelash when I told her I had 3 items in my best femme voice. Having received the coveted security tag for 3 items, I strolled proudly to my fitting room. Alas, none of the things I tried was right for me. So it was off to the Sak’s outlet store. They had some lovely gowns that felt delicious, but their idea of a discount is marking down from astronomically expensive to just insanely expensive. I didn’t think I could justify over $500 for a gown I might never wear again. Sadly, I returned to the hotel to begin preparing for dinner. I decided that I would give up on the idea of wearing a long gown to the big dinner. Instead, I would wear the hot number I had originally planned to wear to the Friday night dinner, but more about that later.
After removing makeup, shaving, and reapplying makeup, I slipped into a cute dark brown outfit of medium short skirt with matching camisole and jacket. Heels and stockings of course. While not quite as glamorous as the Saturday dinner, the Friday dinner was first class. A photographer was taking photos in the reception area, and 2 bars were in full operation. Dinner itself was delicious. I sat with my friend Linda whom I had met at RedMoon. She and Emma, a new friend, found a common interest in music in general and the Beatles and the Beach Boys in particular. They started quizzing each other on trivia, and I was amazed at the depth of knowledge that they both had (seriously girls, get a life ;-) Also sitting at the table were Raina and Georgia, both from Iowa, and Kristin from Wisconsin. These very special ladies were to figure prominently in the remainder of the weekend.
Following dinner, a band started playing. The music was primarily from the 50’s and 60’s, and it was definitely danceable. I found Erica who had come in a bit late and ended up at a “power” table in front. We refilled our glasses at the bar (Scotch and soda for her, Scotch with just a splash of water for me), and she joined us at the table. Very soon, I found the need to dance to be irresistible. Erica tried to resist, but she caved and followed me to the floor. Soon we also dragged Raina, Georgia, and Kristin to the floor, and a great time was had by all! While dancing, I met Dana (Mistress of the Dance Floor) who was working the whole dance floor and having as much fun as I was. We danced and laughed until the band stopped playing at midnight. Then we made our plans for Saturday morning, an assault on Woodfield Mall!
Saturday
Raina, Georgia, Kristine and I all met in the lobby at 10:00 AM as we agreed. Erica was 10 minutes late as we eventually found was normal for her ;-) The “uniform of the day” was to be casual clothes, probably pants. Of course, I was again unable to bring myself to miss an opportunity to wear a skirt. However, in deference to my feet that were still sore from dancing in heels all night, I wore flats. Nevertheless, I thought I looked pretty good in a black skirt with some pretty flower embroidery on one side and a knit top that matched the light blue color of the flowers on the skirt. We caught the hotel shuttle bus to Woodfield, which was only about 2 minutes away. I suppose that any 1 or 2 of us might have been able to pass, but with 5 of us, we must have been pretty obvious. That didn't stop us from having a wonderful time. The people working at the shops we went into were consistently welcoming, friendly and helpful. Most of the other people either didn't notice us or didn't care. I caught the eye of a few who gave me friendly smiles. There were absolutely no negative comments or looks. Of course there was the pair of teenage girls we passed in Victoria's Secret. After we passed I heard one say in a rather breathless stage whisper, "They're GUYS!" I really wanted to congratulate her for her observational powers, but it was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing. We were at the mall for about 4 hours. It was great fun, and a very liberating experience.
Saturday night was the big dinner. I wore a new dress that I got from Frederick's. It was a slinky black number done with asymetrical neck and hemlines. The right side had a sleeve from shoulder to just above the wrist. From the right shoulder, the neck line dropped across my chest and went under my left arm. My left arm and shoulder were bare. The hem followed the same line. On the left, the hem was about knee length. On the right, it was at the very top of my thigh. As I mentioned before, I had intended to wear a long gown as most of the ladies did, but I must admit that I felt pretty sexy in my LBD.
We had intended to revisit the dance floor after dinner, but the music just wasn't what we were looking for. Along with many of the others, we congregated in the lobby area drinking and talking. We talked about going to Hunters, but we had trouble tearing ourselves away. Finally about midnight, Kristine managed to herd us to her car (thank you to Kristine for being our non-drinking, designated driver). We were joined by Erica, Dana and Georgia. As I recall, it was the first visit to Hunters for everyone but Dana and I. There was good crowd that night and the dance floor was full. Of course that didn’t stop Dana and I from joining the crowd. Of course, we were wearing the only dancers on the floor in dresses!
Sunday
A somewhat sad day for most of the ladies. My new friends were all in boy mode for the trip home. Happily for me, I was holding off on boy mode until I actually arrived home. So I wore a cute little taupe skirt that Charlot gave me along with a pair of lavender ankle boots that were also courtesy of this generous lady. I felt very special sitting in the lobby area in girl mode while saying goodbye to my new friends. But too soon, I had to hit the road myself.
Afterward
The week following the Be All was depressing. I realized that those couple of days with friends were without doubt the most fun I have ever had dressing. And now that the time was over, I felt a very real emptiness. Erica found just the right words when she said, “I have been craving the camaraderie we had in Chicago.”
It became obvious over the weekend that the Be All means different things to different people. Some were very focused on learning all they could at the seminars. For others it was an opportunity renew old friendships. Still others enjoyed a 3 or 4 day party. But I will remember how good it felt to share this part of myself that is kept mostly hidden, and to share it with people who are fun, supportive, and who get it!
Hugs,Greer
P.S. A note to myself (and advice to future attendees): take more pictures!
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