Greer's Ramblings

2010-12-01T11:09:00.001-08:00

The Primrose, December 2010

‘Twas the night before Halloween, and all through Boystown, not a creature was stirring, not even a . . . well clown would work I guess, but it is so very not true! You will recall that Halloween fell on Sunday this year. At this point, I shall resist the urge to go off on one of my infamous digressions about how Halloween should always be on Friday or Saturday, and stick to the story at hand. With the annual Halloween Extravaganza being the weekend before Halloween, and Halloween itself being on Sunday (as previously mentioned), I felt strongly that some sort of adventure was called for on the Saturday between these events, that being October 30. Are you still with me? Feel free to go back and reread if necessary, we will wait. . .

OK then, let us resume with another digression. For some months my heel time had consisted of fairly conservative events, venues and outfits. I was definitely feeling the desire to slip into something short and sexy, and to be out and about, perhaps to be admired, maybe even have my fanny patted! So, this would not be a trip to the library or the local family restaurant.
With an adventure to be planned I naturally contacted my sister adventurer and all-around party girl, Sarah. After much consideration, we concluded that Boystown would be our destination and that sexy and sassy would define our outfits for the evening. It might have been Halloween Eve, but there were to be no costumes for us. We also decided that a small group would make the evening just right. Positive responses to our inquiries added Rebecca, Jackie Miller, and Audry to our little adventure. We intended to start with dinner, then hit some of the clubs for drinks, laughter and whatever.

As our evening out approached, I naturally pondered what I would wear (duh!). I quickly decided that it would just have to be my little red sleeveless dress. With just a slight nod toward the reality of colder weather, I planned to add my black jacket to the mix. Thinking that I might wear high heel sandals or peep toes, I painted my toenails for the occasion. But again, the weather steered me toward closed toes. I briefly considered wearing boots, either calf length shiny black or thigh high silver. In the end I decided I did not want to cover my legs that much. Hmmm, have I mentioned that I like to show a lot of leg?

Knowing that parking in Boystown can be difficult and/or expensive, we decided to just take one car in. I volunteered to be the designated driver, so about 7:00 that night I was off to pick up my companions. First up was Rebecca. Being the young and adorable member of our little troupe, Rebecca was running behind schedule when I arrived at her hotel. She ended up applying her nails in the car and lost one during the process. It’s OK though, Sue found it the next day (yikes!). We picked up Jackie at Janna’s Place where I think she was attending a woodworking class (or was it fishing?). Finally we connected with Sarah and Audry at Sally’s Pancake House, and we were all off to Boystown.

I had made a short list of possible locations for dinner. The first was on Halsted and within easy walking distance from the valet parking at Sidetrack. However, when viewed from the street, the place looked more like a brightly lit diner than the cool bistro we thought appropriate for our evening. We drove on to my next choice which was Wilde (as in Oscar) which is a block over on Broadway. From the street it looked good, so we set about the task of finding parking. I managed to pass by the entrance to a small lot just a block from the restaurant. I tried to circle the block, but one-way streets and construction made that a nightmare. After much driving and turning and not finding of anyplace to park, we finally got back to the lot and pulled in. There was no attendant in evidence, and we quickly found that there were no parking places available. Sigh. At that point I belatedly consulted my trusty GPS and found that there was a parking garage just a block away. Pulling into that garage, we were immediately greeted by a friendly attendant who asked us to pull in and leave the keys. Gee, I hope that guy really worked there. Oh well, we were hungry, so we left the keys and with much clicking of high heels, we were off to dinner.

Wilde was a very nice place. We were seated in a prime booth near the front of the establishment. It was raised slightly from the main floor which offered us a nice view of the other patrons, and offered them a nice view of us. I noticed one athletic type guy looking and pointing us out to his girlfriend. I smiled and waved to him. He sheepishly waved back and stopped staring.

Something that we noticed that night was that the Halloween atmosphere seemed to make people much more free to openly look us over. No doubt they saw us as being in costume, rather than as a group of sexy ladies out on the town. A bit disconcerting, but nothing a few drinks wasn’t able to cure.

Now there is a bit of information with which I must make you aware, for it is crucial for proper understanding of a later part of this tale. (Rather like the way that the reader must be aware that Marley was well and truly dead.) Our dear Audrey decided to wear something on the formal side that evening. She wore a tuxedo jacket, shirt and bow tie with a short black skirt. She then ended up being seated in the middle of the group with two of us on each side. Can you picture that? Now hold that thought until after dinner. And don’t think about an elephant. Oops, got you!

Speaking of costumes, there was one guy dressed in white robes and a beard. His costume led to some disagreements among our group. Some (including myself) opted for Rasputin the mad monk of Imperial Russia. Others thought him to be Jesus Christ. He passed by our table a number of times on his way to the front door. Apparently he was going outside for a smoke. This of course seemed improper for JC and further solidified my vote for Rasputin. We were never able to catch his attention as he walked by, but the mystery was later revealed by other means.
At the end of a very good meal, it was time to visit the ladies room. Rebecca had already headed that direction when Jackie and I decided the time had come. As you might expect, the restrooms were at the very back of the restaurant. Getting there required navigating past numerous tables and then along the length of the bar. It definitely was not a route to be taken by a tranny lacking in self-confidence. As if to prove the point, as we passed the bar area, we were treated to wolf whistles and applause. Ah, they noticed that I dressed in my sexy best! That was almost as good as a pat on the bottom, maybe better!

Our business done, we made our way back upstream. It was at that moment when we encountered one of those chance moments that changes everything. We were stopped by an older gentleman sitting at the bar with his date. He looked quite dapper in his beret, and he was very complementary about our appearance that night. He explained that they walked into the restaurant and saw the five of us sitting there with Audry in the middle. He guessed that Audry was supposed to be Hugh Hefner and the rest of us his playmates. It was a bit of a low blow to Audry until she realized that being behind the table she could only be seen from the waist up. So, she looked like a lady in formal drag as Hugh Hefner.

We stood and chatted for a few minutes and our new friends inquired about our post-dinner plans. We explained our vague plans about hitting some clubs, whereupon he suggested that we should go to the little place a few doors down where they had a group playing jazz, with no cover charge. We agreed to consider it and then we took our leave to return to the others at the table. However, before we could take more than a step or two, Rasputin/JC approached us and asked with an Irish accent if we would consent to have our picture taken with him. I readily agreed (another duh!) but insisted on first knowing which historical figure he was portraying. The question was answered when he pointed out that he was wearing a crown of thorns. I can’t remember Rasputin wearing such a crown.

We returned to the table and passed along the intelligence about the jazz club nearby. We were still uncertain, so we all went back to the bar to discuss the situation. In the end, we all headed down the street to Sura to see what we might find.

Inside Sura we found that the 3-piece jazz group was taking a break, and we looked around to find a place to sit. Our new friend exchanged loud greetings with the priest at the bar (yes, that’s what I said) who passed back blessings and approval to push together tables for our group that was now swollen to seven. We sat down and made introductions. Our new friends were Patricia (Pat) and Patrick (Pat). She was pretty quiet and reserved (and probably a bit hammered), he was very outgoing. He graciously bought everyone a drink.

I do not remember exactly how Warren was pulled into the group, but Patrick began doing some verbal sparring with him and soon he was seated with us. Warren was a nice guy, younger than Patrick, and good looking. With the band playing, I found it difficult to hear all the details, but I gathered that he was involved in music, perhaps a DJ or a promoter or something. I found out later that he is actually a jazz recording artist with quite a few albums (yes, I showed my age by calling them albums) to his credit.

After a few drinks with Warren and the Pats, we decided it was time to move on. I gave each of them a card with my email address. I have since traded messages with Warren, but nothing from the Pats. We took our leave and went to retrieve my car. Fortunately, it was waiting for us at the parking garage, so apparently they guy really did work there.

At that point it was just about midnight. We were a bit divided about whether to take in a club or to call it a night. We decided to continue braving the cold wind on our exposed legs and try for a club. We drove West on Belmont and turned North on Halsted. As we turned we saw that there was a long line outside of Spin. Heading further North we found similarly long lines at Berlin, Roscoe’s, and Sidetrack. There were multitudes of people on the sidewalk and cars cruising the street. We turned West on Addison and found that the throngs continued until we passed Wrigley Field. Had it been a warmer evening, I think we would have been happy to park and just walk among the crowds, but the cold wind and the long lines convinced us that it was time to head for the suburbs.

Since it was cold, we naturally decided to end the evening by going into Sally’s Pancake House and having ice cream. Yummy sundaes! We took some photos outside in the cold, and then we took our leave of Sarah and Audry. Rebecca and I dropped Jackie off in the alley behind Janna’s Place and drove away. We found out later that Jackie (1) was “in her cups”, and (2) had failed to take her keys to the establishment with her. This leads to a wonderful image of an inebriated Jackie, wearing a delightful minidress and high heels, climbing through a window.

I dropped Rebecca off at her hotel, and made it home in time to get undressed, remove makeup, and get into bed by 4:00 AM. It was a great night, and quite different from what I expected. My only regret was that no one patted my fanny.
*****
I have been honored to write this column for The Primrose for a little over 2 years now. It has been very gratifying to occasionally meet people who read my words and actually seem to like them (there is no understanding people’s tastes). But my personal journey through Transland has brought me to a point where I am no longer able to deliver a column every month. In the future, I hope to submit occasional articles as the spirit moves me, and it will up to the esteemed Publisher of The Primrose to determine if those articles are worth publishing.
Thank you all for rambling along with me. I hope to see you out and about one of these days.

Hugs,Greer

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-11-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, November 2010

By the time you read this, the saga of the unintended puppies will be over, much to our relief. They have flown off to Idaho where the careless breeder will be careful to pass them on to happy homes. Nine weeks of taking care of nine puppies is about nine times too long and nine times too many!
*****
Sue and I recently returned from a trip to Washington DC where we were celebrating our 29th wedding anniversary. That’s right, I was married while still an infant. Why Washington DC? No particular reason except our first visit together was too short, and we have been wanting to go back. It is a great city in which to be a tourist, since there is so much to see and experience. No heel time, but the fun of taking a moonlight Segway tour pretty much made up for that.
*****
The day after we returned from our trip, it was my great honor to attend a commitment ceremony for my friends Maureen and Dave. Dave has been the driving force behind TNT, the LGBTQ youth group in Joliet. Maureen is the wonderful lady who is willing to put up with Dave. As I previously reported, they decided that they would postpone a “legal” marriage until such time as their many friends in the LGBT community are able to marry freely.

The ceremony was held in a forest preserve down Joliet way. Long-time readers will not be surprised to hear that I had been pondering for weeks just what to wear. The Bride and Groom planned to wear black, while the Maid of Honor and the Best Man would be wearing copper to match beads in the Bride’s dress. Wearing a nice dress seemed inappropriate for a forest preserve ceremony in the fall, so I opted for a woolen, plaid skirt and boots. I had planned to match this with a turtleneck sweater and a camel jacket (a very IN color this fall I understand), but unexpected moderate weather convinced me to wear a short-sleeve blouse instead.

During all my planning, I had firmly in mind that the ceremony was at 3:00 PM. I intended to give myself plenty of time to make all preparations and to make the drive to Joliet in advance of the ceremony. Fortunately as I was thinking about starting my preparations, I double-checked the invitation. Ceremony at 2:00! So much for leisurely preparation and early arrival. Thankfully, I managed to arrive just as the ceremony was about to begin. It was a beautiful ceremony.

After the ceremony I had the opportunity to greet a number of young people that I met during my visits to TNT when I talked about being transgendered. I must say that it was a wonderful feeling to have these young adults greet me with happy words and warm hugs. It makes me think that maybe I helped a little.

I should mention that I was the only MtF crossdresser in attendance (I think), but to be fair, the Best Man was crossdressed for the occasion. Desiree (generally known as Des) has been Dave’s partner in leading the TNT group. In agreeing to be Dave’s Best Man, she felt it was only proper to dress the part. So in addition to black dress slacks, she wore a nice copper dress shirt, and an impecably knotted copper necktie. She was truly a stud.

Maureen and Dave made me feel very special at their ceremony, and I am very grateful for that and for their friendship. These are two people who are thoroughly straight, but who truly support all of us through their love and their open and welcoming approach to life.
Before I move on, let me say this. It is very unlikely that I will ever be a bride. But, I do wonder, will I ever have a chance to be a bridesmaid?

*****
The very next weekend was to be the annual Halloween Extravaganza hosted by Transformations and Skyscraper Heels. I have been attending this party regularly for the last several years, and this year was to be no exception. I was particularly looking forward to seeing my friend Stacey since this is the only time that she gets out each year.

As always, I was in a quandry about what to wear. Believe it or not, I have some scruples about what I wear. I will not wear a sexy female umpire costume because I am hopelessly disinterested in sports. I will not wear a sexy Strawberry Shortcake costume because my daughter used to watch Strawberry Shortcake. I will not wear a sexy taxi driver costume because yellow is not my color. The other problem is that all of the really good looking costumes seem to be the ones that cost over $100, when my budget is 12 shiny pennies and a bit of pocket lint.

So, I decided to take a different approach. I would use some things from my own closet and come as a fantasy; somebody’s fantasy. But that did not quite work out as planned. Just days before the party, Stacey let me know that a family obligation was going to prevent her from attending. I was disappointed and considered not going at all. But rather than waste a Saturday night of prime heel time, I decided to give our friend Sarah a call.

It is time for one of my infamous digressions. Some of you are probably aware that Sarah recently went through facial surgery as a step in aligning the external self with the internal self. Well, the Halloween party was just 3 weeks after the surgery, and she really did not think that she would be ready for a big evening out. Honestly, I saw her the first week after the surgery, and I was afraid it would be many months before she would be ready to resume our plans to terrorize Muggles wherever they could be found.

I called Sarah to see if she was up to some company. I thought perhaps I would take dinner to her house and we could eat, drink and chat. To my surprise, she expressed a desire to get out of the house for a while and have a bit of fun. At that point, the party sounded like it would be a bit much for Sarah’s first appearance with her new look, so we opted to meet for a drink and dinner.
We met at the Melting Pot so we could say hello to our friend Nina (who looks absolutely fabulous and now has a BOYfriend, wow!). I must say that I was stunned by the changes in Sarah’s appearance. She was still a bit swollen in places, but she looked great. I had not really anticipated the reality of the changes. I think she looks like Calista Flockhart (Ally McBeal/Kitty Walker), but with some meat on her bones (pardon the choice of words). As we had drinks and chatted, I could not help gawking at her. Her face truly is more feminine now. Nice job Dr. Z!

To digress again, I told Sarah that an Indian restaurant might be nice for dinner as curry sounded good to me. So she directed me to a place that she said had good curry. It turned out that the restaurant was actually Chinese and there was no curry on the menu. However, the owner seemed to be Indian as did the majority of the customers. Of course our waitress was Russian and the hostess was French. Go figure. Oh, there was an Indian restaurant in the same strip mall. I suspect the owner was Chinese. Diversity is wonderful!

After a very good dinner, Sarah decided she was not ready to go home yet, so we decided to crash the Halloween party. We did not really crash. Rori has been much too special for that. When we arrived, we went to Rori and told her our tale. Since dinner was over, she graciously allowed us to stay, provided that we bought some drinks at the bar. Tough duty, but we do our bit for the cause. Oh barkeep!

There was a good turnout for the party, and most of the guests were in costume. I felt bad that I had worn a skirt suitable for dining at a family restaurant instead of the micro-mini, pleated skirt I had intended to wear. In honor of breast cancer awareness month I had worn my special pink pearl bracelet and a hot pink scarf. But without the ultra short skirt, no one could appreciate my matching hot pink panties. Rats. Of course with the way that eyes were constantly turning to watch the photographer’s assistant, no one would have noticed my panties anyway, even if I left off the skirt entirely! Sigh.

We stayed long enough to see the awarding of the prizes in the costume contest, but by then Sarah had reached her limit. I walked her to her car and intended to go back to the party. But I realized that I too was tired and ready for the drive home. A party pooper again.

*****
Can you believe that we are about to enter the holiday season? Simply amazing how time does manage to fly by. So, be sure to grab hold of opportunities to be happy and to do things that make your life worth living. And if those opportunities should happen to bring us together in the coming days, please share a hug with me. Hugs are one of the best things about being a girl (that and the skirts, and the stockings, and the heels, and lingerie, and . . . )

*****
Hugs, Greer
*****

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com

Greer's Ramblings

2010-10-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, October 2010

Hello again dear reader! It is lovely to have you join me for another of my little rambles through this, that and the other. As always, there is nothing earth shaking to be found in the following paragraphs, but I hope you receive some level of enjoyment in return for your investment of time.

I fear that I have disturbed and disappointed my wonderful editors with yet another late submission for this month’s The Primrose. Alas, the last few weeks have been very busy and stressful at work, and time at home continues to revolve around the puppies that I told you about last month. The result is that I have found it very difficult to devote time to writing. But here I am now. I am sitting in front of my PC, and words are starting to come out of my fevered brain, racing down my arms to the points where my fingers are becoming part of a biological-mechanical interface with the keyboard, and the words are then magically appearing on the screen before me. As usual they are complete drivel, but ain’t it grand!

*****
Let me just digress from all things t-related for a moment, and give a quick puppy update for those who might be interested. The rest of you, take a quick break, and we will meet you in the next section.

You may recall that Sue and I unexpectedly welcomed 10 Irish Terrier puppies into our household on August 20, which just happened to be the deadline for last month’s column. I am sad to report that one of the little guys only made it for 3 days, but he passed quietly in his sleep. Happily, at 5 weeks of age, the other 9 are thriving little eating and pooping machines. In case you are wondering, the answer is no, we will not be keeping any of them. They are adorable, but raising puppies is definitely not what we had planned for our free time.

*****
In the last month, I have had exactly one (1) evening of “heel time”. Time and space permitting, we will discuss the whys and wherefores later. For now let me tell you a bit about my one evening out.

None of my faithful readers will be surprised to read that friend Sarah (aka “S”) has a prominent part in today’s tale. It happened that her birthday was coming up, and I felt that it was essential that we do something to celebrate. Now her actual birthday was to fall on a Tuesday, and on that particular Tuesday, S would be in far off Atlanta for SCC (I think that stands for “Swarms of Crossdressed Cuties”, or something like that).

Since I was not going to be in Atlanta at that time, it seemed like a reasonable idea to celebrate either before or after her trip. Pretty smart eh? So, we decided to get together the Saturday before, wear sexy dresses, go to Boystown, have drinks, have dinner, have drinks, dance a little, have drinks, flirt a little, have drinks . . . well, you get the idea. As we were making plans for when and where, S started to whine.

Now for this next part to work right, you really need to think it (or read aloud if you are so inclined) in a really whiny voice. Like a child would use when they say, “I don’t wanna take a nap, I’m not sleepy!” Go ahead, practice that one and then we will go on. By the way, have I mentioned how unfair it is that we are forced to take unwanted naps as children, but then as soon as we get old enough to appreciate the practice, we are no longer allowed to nap? Moving on . . .

So S says in her best British whiny voice, “I have to drive to Atlanta on Sunday, I don’t wanna stay up late on Saturday! Maybe we should postpone until another time, like January.” What? Postpone our birthday get together? Not a chance! In the end I overcame her objection by agreeing to travel 4,000 miles through uncharted and untamed North country to get to her remote living quarters so she wouldn’t have to stay up late driving home at the end of the evening. Ah, the sacrifices we make for our friends!

The other sacrifice I made was in my selection of outfit for the evening. My sense of propriety (twisted as it may be) tells me that Saturday night in North Muggleland is quite different than Saturday night in Boystown. Therefore, I reluctantly gave up my plans of wearing a sexy little number, and I selected something more age and place appropriate (Publisher Katie would be so proud). Of course having been both a Boy Scout and a Girl Scout, I went prepared with a sexy little skirt I could change into at a moment’s notice, just in case.

Three days before the agreed time of our meeting, I began driving north. Stopping only for fuel, and to transfer from car to dogsled, I managed to arrive safely at S’s new home. Hmm. “S’s” looks sort of goofy doesn’t it? Rather like a snake with the hiccups. S gave me the grand tour, and I can report that her home truly is grand. Of course there is only so much you can do with an igloo. Renovations are still underway, but soon I am sure she will be ready to throw a big party so we can all come and trash the place.

We sat down in the living room for a cocktail while I presented S with gifts for the occasion. These included a house-warming gift (a plastic scarepenguin for the lawn) and then a birthday gift (a pair of panties embroidered “Not tonight chump”). We then sat and stared at the large hole in the wall above the fireplace that S assures me will one day hold a large-format television.

With cocktail hour concluded, we began seriously considering where to have dinner. Short of driving the dogsled back to civilization, we really only had two choices. We could go to Starbuck’s (I understand they secretly opened a store on Mars, just to be ready) or to Outback Steak House. We were hungry, so we decided to go see what the Aussies might have on the barbie (I shall resist the urge to mention Ken).

Now I must freely admit that when I am at my girlie best, I am rather nervous about approaching a place that has country music playing. I know that this is prejudice on my part, and I have never had a cowboy actually say “hey, this little lady is actually a dude in a dress!” and proceed to kick the whatever out of me. In fact, I have never had anyone say anything mean at all. In spite of being just a tad nervous, and knowing that the best defense is a good offense, I flung open the front doors of Outback and yelled, “barkeep, three fingers of rotgut!” Oh wait, I think that was only in my head.

Actually, we walked in serenely and we were greeted with warm and friendly smiles. We were immediately escorted through the semi-crowded dining room to a nice booth in the corner. I suspect the manager thought the corner would keep us contained and as far from the other customers as possible. It actually worked out very nicely because it gave me a great view of all the other patrons. Of course S had to sit with her back to everyone else, so she had to rely upon my descriptions of the angry looks that we were getting. No, I’m kidding again! Apart from the staff, I really don’t think anyone else even noticed us. Darn! I knew I should have worn that short, sexy dress!

You will no doubt recall that my memory is very poor for things like people’s names and how to spell occcasssiooon. I remember how to spell Mississississipppppppi only because of the little sing-song diddy. My mind also tends to wander a bit and I forget what . . . huh?

Oh yeah, names. It is time for me to apologize to the absolutely wonderful ladies who took care of us at Outback that night. Our server was Laurie, but it might have been Lori, or Lauri, or Lowrie. Her partner’s name slipped entirely out of my head, except that I think it started with an “M”. Michelle? Melissa? Marianne? Mississississippppppi? I am pretty sure the manager was Heather, but I might have that wrong too. Anyway, my apologies ladies for not remembering your names properly, but I do remember how nice you were to S and me. And for that, I thank you!

As always, I assume that the staff tumbled to my “secret” almost immediately. Of course this was not a problem and soon we were laughing and joking and using them as models for what proper female cheekbones are supposed to look like. We ended up sitting in Outback until they were ready to close, eating, drinking and chatting. All together, I think we were there for nearly 3 hours.

L&M both had a number of pins on their shirts which we found were awarded for various good deeds, including customer compliments. We immediately summoned Heather the manager and praised the wonderful service and attitude that L&M had brought to our dining experience. When the ladies returned to our table, they had both been awarded new pins that read “I served a Trannie!” Not really, but they did get swell new pins because of our praise, and we had a great time!

When we finally left Outback, all the other customers were gone. It was late, so we headed back to S’s place (that still looks funny) and had a nightcap. Then it was time for me to round up the dogsled team and start the long trek home. Unfortunately I was intercepted by a pack of wolves on the way home. They abducted me and I was held for ransom. All the while I was in captivity, the wolves belittled me for my choice of outfits. “You should have worn something short and sexy you trannie!” To their surprise, Sue refused to pay any ransom. They eventually negotiated a price for my return. They only had to pay Sue $10 to take me back.

*****
I said I would talk a bit about the whys and wherefores of my limited “heel time” this month. Naw, you don’t want to hear all that real world stuff. But I will close with a look at what October will bring for me.

After returning from a vacation trip to Washington DC, I will have the honor of attending a commitment ceremony for two friends in Joliet. Many of Maureen and Dave’s friends are part of the LGBT community (including moi), and they are sensitive to the laws barring their friends from marriage. Consequently, they have decided to commit themselves to one another in the company of their friends, and as Dave put it, “we will get married when our friends can get married.” A toast to Maureen and Dave!

Halloween will get off to an early start on October 23 when Transformations and Skyscraper Heels present “Halloween The Party”. This of course sets of my annual quest to find a costume that is (a) femme, (b) sexy, and (c) inexpensive. Hopefully my understanding Publisher will set the November deadline for some date after the party so that I can report on all the fun.

Halloween itself falls on a Sunday this year. Personally, I think the calendar needs to be changed so that it is always on Saturday. I am thinking that the Saturday night before (October 30 that is) would be a good night to make the long delayed journey to Boystown. Perhaps not in a costume as such, but dressed to party. It might even be a good time for the silver thigh-high boots to make an appearance!

I hope I see you around the bar!

*****
Hugs,Greer

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com

Greer's Ramblings

2010-09-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, September 2010

Hellooooo possum! I really do not know why I started with that, but you probably already figured out that I type pretty much anything that pops into my head (squirrel). Yet you still read on. Very curious. Have you discussed this strange behavior with your therapist?
*****
As per my usual modus operandi, my August calendar of events kicked off with our monthly support group meeting. I have mentioned before that this group is not large, but we always seem to have some interesting discussions both during the official meeting and during our traditional post-meeting cocktail and appetizer session. This month was a bit different because our moderator/co-founder/voice-of-GGness (aka Traci) is getting married soon. To celebrate, we decided to throw her a small wedding shower. We had cake and soda and gifts, and that brings me to the key experience that I would like to share with you.

To digress for just a moment or two (but directly related to my tale), I would like to introduce you to my spouse. I have mentioned her several times in this column, and it occurred to me that if I am going to continue to talk about her (as I undoubtedly will), this would be the polite thing to do. Besides, then I can refer to her by name, rather than using the term “my spouse” or “my wife” (I never did like the fact that it is very cumbersome to refer to a spouse/partner without using the possessive “my”). Therefore dear readers, I would like you to meet my wife “Sue”. OK, that is not her real name, but she remains concerned that being publicly associated with her is liable to cause me to be unintentionally outed. So back to the tale of the wedding shower gifts.
Sarah and I (you remember Sarah of course, partner in craziness, full-speed-ahead TS, ex-patriot Brit, and member of the support group) decided it would be fun to go together on the purchase of some shower gifts. Originally this was envisioned as a Sarah and Greer experience, unfortunately it ended up being Sarah and “whats-his-name, but I will get to that. Anyway, we thought it would be fun to go to our local Lover’s Lane store and buy some fun things for Traci (fun meaning sexy and probably embarrassing).

As these things go, time passed and we failed to arrange for shopping during any of my usual “heel time”. It happened that Sarah was scheduled to come over and have dinner with Sue and I (see how much space and energy I saved by saying “Sue and I” as opposed to “my spouse and I”) on the Saturday before the wedding shower/group meeting. As this would be our last opportunity to shop before the event, we figured we better go for it. As I have mentioned before, as supportive as Sue is, she is not comfortable spending time with Greer, so I was to be “what’s-his-name” for the evening (sigh). We arranged for Sarah and I to go out and do our shopping and then come back to the house for cocktails and dinner.

Before the weekend and our planned get together with Sarah, Sue casually asked me where we intended to go shopping for our gifts. I told her what we had in mind. Oops! After giving me a verbal knock upside the head, she told me in no uncertain terms that what we had in mind was totally improper, unacceptable, and un-American. She also explained with a bit of an evil smirk that it was a very “guy” idea. Ouch! That was definitely a low blow, especially since she was absolutely right.

But now what were we going to do? What kind of “real” gift would be appropriate for the happy couple? Internet to the rescue. Hmmm, everyone registers at Crate & Barrel. Sure enough, Traci had registered a long list of swell things at C&B, and that is where Sarah and I journeyed that Saturday afternoon before returning home to a marvelous meal prepared by the marvelous (and brilliant) Sue (I made the dessert though).
*****
The tale that I would now like to tell you has only a passing reference to the trans community. Nevertheless, I hope that you, dear reader, will find it to be a worthwhile use of your time. Of course the fact that you spend time reading this column says you place minimal value on your time, but we shall let that pass.

This tale begins with a growing desire on Sue’s part to bring a new bundle of joy into our home. No, not of the human variety, more of a canine bundle. It had been a number of years since we lost our beloved Scottish Terrier (gone to the big ceilidh in the sky), and Sue had always wanted to have another faithful companion in the house. With me spending more time “out and about” in recent months, she expressed a desire to look for a new “puppy”. Actually though, what we really wanted was a dog who was past puppyhood. In particular, one who was already housetrained.

[Note: a “ceilidh” (kay-lee) in Scotland is a gathering that usually includes traditional music and dancing]

Sue spent months investigating the various breeds available. We had fallen in love with the general intelligence and temperament of terriers, so that limited the search. We agreed that we wanted a dog that was smallish, but not a lap dog, and that further narrowed the scope. Ultimately she identified the Irish Terrier as the perfect fit for us.

Next she began scouring the internet for available Irish Terriers. We also started checking with local pet shops. It turns out that this is not a widely available breed. Apparently not currently popular in the dog-purchasing world. Ah, but Sue was not deterred. She kept looking and found a breeder in Missouri with some puppies. During our vacation in April, we paid the breeder a visit and got our first “in person” look at both adult and puppy versions of the Irish Terrier. Sue was sold on the breed, but the timing was not quite right to dive in, and we were not really comfortable with the breeder. After returning home, Sue continued to search for her perfect puppy; a female Irish Terrier, at least 1 year old.

The big break came in June. She found a breeder in Idaho with a 2-year old female Irish Terrier. The breeder had kept this particular dog as a pet, but recently decided she did not have the time to devote to her. After much correspondence, Sue decided that this was the dog for her. Business was taken care of, and arrangements were made for “Marina” to be sent to us by air on June 26. Well, on June 23, we received a call from the breeder. It seems that Marina had gone into heat, so a delay in shipping was necessary. The big day finally arrived, and we met Marina for the first time at the Delta cargo office at O’Hare on July 3.

We can now fast forward through the following weeks. We quickly adapted to having a pup in the house again. We also quickly realized that being a terrier, Marina was happy to ignore our calls regardless of what we might call her, so we changed her name to Molly, which seemed a bit more Irish (and which has just 2 syllables and is therefore perfect for a girl name). Molly was eating well, although she seemed to be putting on a bit of weight (I know, I know, but let us not jump ahead).

On Friday the 13th (honest, I am not making that up), we were watching TV. Molly was laying on her side, legs splayed out, tail toward me, and belly exposed. “Darling,” I said to Sue, “I hate to say this, but I really think that something more than just gaining weight is going on with Molly.” As we both looked more critically at Molly’s belly, we quickly agreed that a trip to the vet was in order. OMG! The next day, our local vet summed up the situation by showing us x-rays of Molly. Ten, yes ten, little puppy forms could be counted. They looked like aliens! The vet assured us that the puppies had been growing for at least 55 days. Now the astute (or very bored) reader will note that this means our adorable little Molly was “seduced” on or before Father’s Day (funny), June 20, which was two weeks before she came to live with us. Oops!

As you might imagine, we talked to the breeder, and we are convinced that she was as surprised as we were. She offered to buy Molly back (no one ever offered to do that when our daughter was going through her dark, gothic teen years) and to pay any other related expenses. She also assured us that the only possible father was another Irish Terrier, and said she would be happy to help us place the puppies through her contacts. So at least we would not be having little German-Irish Sheperriers or Irish-French Terrioodles.

After we did a bit of nesting of our own (whelping bed, puppy food, towels, etc.) we settled in for puppy watch. Fortunately, Sue was able to work from home while Molly continued to grow bigger and become more restless. She kept looking up with those big brown eyes as if to say, “what the heck is happening to me?”

I am very happy to say that the big day arrived along with the deadline for submitting my column to the editors. At about 4:00 AM on Friday, 8/20, puppies started making their way into the big, cold world. The 10th and last puppy made her appearance just before 10:00 AM. Puppies, mother and grandparents are all resting comfortably.
*****
I said that the tale of Molly the Irish Terrier had a small tie to the trans world, and I have left that for the end (the tail end so to speak). A week or two after Molly came to live with us, the time came for me to dress up and go out to enjoy some heel time. As usual, I was sequestered for 10 or 12 hours getting shaved, showered, made up and dressed for the evening. Molly and Sue were in the living room watching TV. Sue had probably told Molly not to laugh at Daddy when he came down the stairs looking funny. When I began to descend the stairs, Molly retreated to her “safe place” (under the dining room table) and began to emit a low growl. When I called to her, she slowly and very cautiously came out and allowed me to pat her head, but it was obvious that she was not at all sure about me.

The next time I went out, Molly was still a bit unsure, but she was much more willing to accept me once I sat down and stroked her wiry coat. It was as though she was thinking, “OK, he is wearing a skirt, but it is Daddy. Humans. Go figure.” The following week, Sue decided to wear a nice white skirt to work along with a pretty blue print blouse. This is not her usual attire, but now and then the femme thing hits her (not as often as for me of course). Molly came into the room as Sue was finishing the look by strapping on some platform sandals. She looked at Sue as though she didn’t know her. Sue called to her, and Molly looked over at me. Sue identified the look and voiced what she thought Molly was trying to say, “Daddy, Mommy is wearing your clothes!”

*****
Hugs,Greer
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-08-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, August 2010

[Sorry about the delay in getting this posted, another sad case of CRS]

Hello again dear reader. You may recall from last month’s Ramblings that this year’s Be All left me with the realization that I felt differently about the experience than I had in previous years. Well, I have since come to realize that this feeling of change in myself is impacting much more than just my time at Be All.

Many of our sisters and brothers have talked and written about being transgendered as a journey. I find this to be a very pleasant analogy (or is it a metaphor?). I picture beautiful cruise ships starting at different ports, cruising through countless islands, making calls at many exotic ports, and all heading for different destinations. And there we are, enjoying on-board entertainment as we cruise, exploring new islands when we are docked, eating and drinking and dancing and partying and occasionally leaning over the rail to feed the fish. We may share parts of our journeys with others. Perhaps we meet old or new friends from other ships while in port. Some may decide to enjoy a prolonged stay at a particularly appealing port. It is lovely to picture myself on a beautiful trans-tropical island, wearing a flowered sarong and a gorgeous hibiscus flower in my hair (which has magically become long and full). Sigh.

Sorry, I think I drifted away there. What was I saying? Oh yeah, the journey. My point is that my cruise ship seems to be cruising to a new port. During a recent dinner with Audrey and Sarah, it was noted that Sarah’s journey has come a long way in a fairly short period of time (I think her cruise ship is a speedboat). Sarah acknowledged that she has changed a great deal during the last year, but she also stated that I have changed during that time too. Really? This definitely gave me pause. (How do you give pause? Should it be accompanied by a gift card?)

[pause]

I realize that she was correct. All the times that I was pushing Sarah to go places and do things, I was there too. In amongst all of the fun times and experiences that helped Sarah bring her true self out into the light, I was finding out more about myself too. And what did I find out? I see you cringing and wondering what that crazy Greer is going to say now, but have no fear. I have not decided to denounce my transness, take testosterone boosters, and become a Sarah Palin supporter. No, what I found out about myself are either things that I have pretty much known all long, or that just indicate I have cruised on to a new port.

First, I love my spouse. You are probably tired of hearing that she is my best friend and the most important person in the world to me, but it is true. Time with her is precious to me, even if all we are doing is watching a Friday night movie on television and eating pizza.

Second, I am somewhere in the middle of the infamous gender spectrum. I wish I would have been born girl, I should have been born a girl, but I was not. Furthermore, I cannot honestly say that I am a female trapped in a male body. My innermost self, my soul if you prefer, has elements of male and female. Of course society has conspired to keep the female elements confined for much of my life, and I believe I would be happy to live out the remainder of that life as a female with the male elements neatly put away.

Third, and somewhat a continuation of the previous point, I am not happy with presenting myself in an androgynous way. When presenting as male, I do so fully. I do not underdress (wear femme foundation garments under male clothing), although I have done so occasionally in the past. Granted, I prefer a male look that is a bit softer and certainly not macho. Likewise, when presenting as female, I do so fully.

Fourth, and again building from point 2, my happiness and sanity continue to require that I be able to express the feminine part of my soul on a regular basis. There may come a day when I can put these female elements quietly away, but that day has not yet arrived. Frankly, I hope it never comes. I would rather put the male elements away, but that just is not as likely.

Fifth, real Champagne is wonderful. It is so much more rich and interesting than the domestic counterparts. Sure this has nothing to do with anything else, but my mind wandered and these are my Ramblings after all!

So now I have laid bare my thoughts about myself, but what does it all mean? What has really changed in the last year? As I sit here wondering the same thing, I realize that the biggest change is not any of the things I said above. Nope. Sorry to have wasted your time there. Tut tut. Carrying on.

I think the biggest change is that I do not think nearly as much about dressing as I used to. A year or two ago, I would spend hours thinking about an upcoming opportunity to dress and go out. I would mull over the clothes I was going to wear and how I was going to look. While I was out, I was almost constantly aware of being out in public en femme. Now I seem to be focused more on who I am with, where we are and what we are doing. Certainly the clothes still matter, and I am just as concerned about looking good (or as good as I can look) as ever before. I suppose I am more confident, more comfortable, more at ease with who I am and how I appear.
Hey now, is that the ship’s horn sounding? Are we entering a new port of call? Come on, let’s go explore!
*****
I will freely admit that I have had a fondness for skirts as long as I can remember. I like dresses also, but they tend to be a lot more tricky to fit to my non-femme body. Anyway, it may be a new blouse that I need, or a pair of shoes, but I always end up looking at skirts. Recently someone asked me how many skirts I own. Hmm, I found that I did not have an answer. I slipped away and went to do a count. I was somewhat surprised to find that I had 49. While 49 is a very nice number (7 squared you know), I strongly felt that an even 50 would be much nicer. But then I remembered, I had purchased a new skirt the day before and had not even hung it in my closet yet (out of skirt hangers you see). So I did (and I do) have 50 skirts. Too many? Can a t-girl have too many skirts? Let me just take a look at what is on sale at Target today!
*****
Having gotten this far through my column this month you may well be asking yourself, “will it be fair to the trash to wrap it in this garbage?” Either that or, “Greer, when are you going to tell us about your latest adventures?” The true of the matter is that adventures have been in short supply since Be All. Point #1 above (love my wife, all that stuff) has actually caused me to pass up some opportunities I would not have missed before.

I cancelled out on plans to ride on the CGS float in the Pride Parade. Thanks to the wonderful coverage provided by channel 7, I got to experience the first third of the parade, or at least what could be seen of the first third over the heads of the commentators while they blathered on about this and that. Of course they pack up and go home before the majority of the parade passes by, including the beautiful CGS float with its cargo of gorgeous friends.

Likewise, I passed on the First Annual CGS/Equality Illinois BBQ on the roof at Sidetrack. This one was really tempting. I like Sidetrack, and Katie Thomas promised in her column last month that the place would be simply crawling with admirers (you do know I enjoy admirers). However, in addition to taking time away on a Saturday night, the BBQ was during the heat of the day (OK, not the middle of the day, but is was over 90!). I just do not do heat very well, and the darling admirers probably would not have had any interest in a little puddle of Greer after I melted down.

I did enjoy meeting with our support group early in the month along with our traditional stop for post-meeting drinks at Rock Bottom. I also attended the CGS meeting where Dr. Campbell talked about voice training.

But the highlight of the month was going out for dinner with Audry and Sarah. We went to Houlihan’s in Schaumburg, and had a delightful time. Nothing extraordinary. Just three gals having dinner together. Delightful.
*****
I removed my brain from my head, I twisted it like a wet sponge, but that is all that I could squeeze out. Perhaps it is the weather. Or the economy. Or the fact that I still have not won the lottery (still have not purchased a ticket either, so it probably is a very long shot).
Before I close, I would like to ask you do something. Well, 2 somethings actually. Do something nice for yourself. You deserve it. Then do something nice for a friend. They deserve it too.
See you next month!
*****
Hugs,Greer
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-07-01T12:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, July 2010

I will be adding my usual (meaning unusual) take on Be All further along, but I would first like to share something that was new to me, and possibly will be to you as well.
My friend Georgia lives in Iowa (I know, but just go with it). For those who are geographically challenged, to find Iowa, just go West on either I-88 or I-80 and cross over the really big river. You can’t miss it. You will know you are there because everyone will be driving 5 MPH under the posted speed limit.
Anyway, I met Georgia in 2008 when we both attended Be All for the first time. Georgia was generally rather quiet that year (except of course for that Tequila incident in the lobby bar of the hotel), and even now she makes lame excuses to avoid going out on the dance floor. However, give the girl a guitar and the music takes over (witness the impromptu jam session in the lobby bar at Be All this year). But there is more to Georgia than just Tequila and guitars.
Recently I received a very formal invitation from Georgia. It was beautifully printed and had the look of a wedding invitation. The front of the invitation read “And now for something completely different . . . .” Inside, the formal script read:
“On Saturday July 3, 2010 Jeff and Barb wish to acquaint you with Jeff's entire self, including the transgender person widely known as Georgia.
“Trannies hardly ever come out. Undoubtedly this will be a unique event. Please join us to celebrate the union of Jeff's Spirit, to offer friendship and support and to answer your questions on a topic completely different.
“A keg of Dark Ale will be tapped no later than 1:00 p.m. Lite American Lager and wine will be available, of course. J&G's grill prowess will be tested. Children are welcome in the discretion of their parents. Resolve any doubt in favor of attendance.”
[Please note: Knowing that the offer of alcohol and food to those of us in the Chicagoland area might overtax the highways and bridges between here and Iowa, I elected to delete Jeff and Barb’s surname and their address from the above text.]
I must admit to being totally blown away! Most of us go to great lengths to keep our neighbors and friends unaware of our trans selves. But Georgia (with the help of a willing spouse) is going the opposite direction. Instead of pushing her “straight” and trans friends apart, she is pulling them together. And, she is doing it with formal invitations! Very, very classy! Brava!
I know that most of us do not feel that we are in a position to come out to the world as Georgia is doing. But, perhaps next year a few more of our trans sisters and brothers will follow her example. And then a few more the year after that. In time, these actions, along with other outreach and education activities, just might take us to the point where no one has to even think about whether or not to be out as a trans person.
Thank you Georgia!
*****
And that brings us to Be All. As I write this, it has been 10 days since the 2010 Be All wrapped up. There have been countless messages communicated through the Be All group about the excellent work done by the organizers and the hotel staff. Photos are being shared by the official event photographers as well as by many individuals, and I suspect that the July version of The Primrose will be/is full of words and pictures that describe and show what a great event it was.
It was indeed a wonderful event. But rather than rehash the same stories, let me take this opportunity to tell you how Be All was different for me this year. No, not just because I actually went to some seminars (that’s right, I managed to miss all of them last year). It was different this year because I was different this year.
My first Be All was 2008. That year I checked in on Thursday and stayed through Sunday. It was too short. In 2009, I checked in on Tuesday. This was better, but it still seemed to be a bit short, especially in terms of time to spend catching up with special friends. So, this year I arranged for some “pre-Be All” activities. As a result, my Be All started the Friday before the official start on the following Tuesday.
As happened last year, my spouse and my daughter scheduled a vacation of their own to coincide with Be All week. This year they arranged to rent a house on the beach in North Carolina. Early in the morning on the Friday before Be All, they left for their two-day drive to the East Coast. I was saddened by their departure, but I was also very excited about the week that was about to unfold.
As a regular reader of my literary drivel, you know that I frequently take a single event and write an entire column by detailing the many little odd and (occasionally) humorous tidbits from said event. What began that Friday was a series of events, any one of which might have made an entire column by itself. Since my both my Editor and my Publisher have these strange notions that The Primrose should not be completely devoted to my deathless prose, I am unable to give you great detail about all of these events. Besides, I had to devote the space in this paragraph to tell you why I could not give more space to other things, so that is less space I have available. Oops. I did it again. Before I get completely silly with this, here is a very condensed description of the noteworthy events that began that Friday after the departure of my little family.
Friday Evening – Sarah and I checked into a hotel on the Miracle Mile where we joined up with my friend Sharon from Baltimore. Our first stop, was Hamburger Mary’s. Traffic delays (I love driving into Chicago on Friday afternoon) caused us to be too late to have dinner at that point, so we had a drink and moved upstairs to Mary’s Attic for a performance of Lady X presented by Hell in a Handbag Productions. One of the great things about this venue is that half of the room is taken up with a bar. So the play was accompanied by both spirits and appetizers. Following the show, we went downstairs to eat. There were probably spirits involved there too, but my memory starts to get a bit cloudy then. I seem to recall getting a cab outside Hamburger Mary’s, but after that I draw a blank.
Saturday Morning/Afternoon – The three of us went forth for manicures and pedicures after a bit of breakfast. Sarah and I had both planned to do either gel or acrylic nails, but we each experienced language difficulties and opted for regular manicure and polish. We were then off for shopping on Michigan Avenue. After a visit to Bloomingdales, lunch became a necessity, so we stopped into Frankie’s Scaloppine for some delicious Italian food (and a glass of wine). Next it was on to some serious, but affordable, shopping at Filene’s Basement (which was on the upper floor) and then the trendy (and very busy) H&M. By mid-afternoon, we were exhausted (or perhaps it was just me), so we retrieved our bags and the car from the hotel, and headed for the suburbs. Sharon and Sarah checked into the Doubletree (Be All hotel), and I headed for home. The plan was to take a little nap, prep for the evening, and go out to dinner. The time was about 4:00 PM.
Saturday Evening – I woke up from my nap just before 9:00 PM. Egad! By the time I got ready, returned to the hotel, repeated my profound apologies in person to Sharon and Sarah, got back in the car and drove to the nearby Yorktown mall, it was about 10:00. Since it was too late for a nice sit-down dinner, we headed over to Rock Bottom Brewery where appetizers are available late, and are half-price after 10:00. After consuming copious amounts of appetizers, we headed off to Temptations to do a bit of dancing. The crowd at Temps was a bit thin, but there were enough people so that there were perhaps a dozen on the dance floor for some songs. Unfortunately, after an hour or so, the DJ went off into her own world of rap music, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she had driven all the dancers off the floor. When it appeared that “good” music was done for the evening (no offense to lovers of rap music), we decided to call it a night.
Sunday Morning/Afternoon - We started with an excellent Sunday brunch at the Redstone Grill in Oakbrook Terrace. Personally, I find that bottomless Mimosas are an excellent way to start the day! Add the wonderful food and a completely delightful server, and you just know you are in heaven. After brunch we went grocery shopping for the party that was to be main event for the evening. The balance of the afternoon was spent on party prep at my house. Sharon was the Executive Chef. Sarah assisted wherever possible. I think I was in charge of alcohol and napping. Late in the day we were joined by my friend Erica from the Twin Cities area. She was in charge of looking fabulous and entertaining Juan (don’t ask).
Sunday Evening - The party was fairly small, but I think everyone had a good time. In addiThe official drink for the evening was the Cosmopolitan. It felt really good to have my friends at my home, sipping drinks, eating good food, and just enjoying our time together.
Monday Morning/Afternoon - In spite of the wonderful job that Sarah, Rebecca and others did in late-night cleanup, there was still quite a bit of cleaning and tidying up to be done the next morning. After that was done, I had to pack so that I could move into the Doubletree for the duration. Unlike previous years, I did not take everything femme that I own. Of course I still ended up taking enough clothes for a month. Two large and two small suitcases later, I got myself ready and it was off to the hotel.
Monday Evening – Erica, Sharon, Sarah and I went out for a wonderful meal at Capital Grille. Apart from the excellent food, wine, service and setting, you have to love a place that assists you with your napkin by giving you white if you are wearing something light colored, and black if you are wearing something dark. Very nice.
Be All officially got started the next day, and I will not begin to try and describe all that went on. However, I did tell you that I would explain why this Be All was different for me. Certainly the great weekend activities that I described above made this Be All new and different. But the things that made it really different for me were more personal. The first had to do with stamina.
In previous years, I was ready, willing and able to party late every night without a problem (OK, so I didn’t go to seminars). This year, I went to bed early a couple nights, including the night of the big Dr. Z party, and I took naps several times during the week. Now it is true that I had hurt my shoulder a few weeks earlier, and that I had been taking muscle relaxers and pain killers. Nevertheless, I see my overall party stamina being reduced from past years. Could it be age? Nah, must be the drugs.
The second factor was (and is) even more personal. I missed my spouse. Sure I missed her last year, but apparently there was a critical point somewhere between the 5 days we were apart last year and the 10 days this year. Yep, I missed her.
I expect that things will be different next year too. Just what Be All will look like for me, I have no idea. I do know that Be All is a great opportunity to get together with old friends and new, and to be happy and comfortable in my femme self for a prolonged period of time. So it might be different, and I might be different, but I will be looking forward to it!
*****
Hugs,Greer
*****Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com

Greer's Ramblings

2010-06-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, June 2010

Before I go anywhere or do anything, I would like to take a few lines to talk seriously about the topic that Emma Vosicky captured in her most insightful poem last month entitled “It’s All the Wives’ Fault”. In a very few lines, Emma reminded us that we often disguise our own fears by blaming others, particularly our spouses, for holding us back. And this made me think. Do I view my wife this way?
I must admit to having had thoughts along these lines. I have thought that if I were not with my wife, I would certainly be using hormones and possibly giving serious thought to surgery. However, I would like to stand up and say very clearly that my wife is not holding me back. The truth of the matter is that she is now, has been for many years, and will continue to be my very best friend and my true soul mate. It is extremely difficult for me to imagine my life without her.
We all know that life is full of trade-offs. While my wife is content (in a bemused and somewhat bewildered way) with me expressing the feminine part of my soul a few nights a week, she would not be able to live with me as a full-time woman. She has gamely accepted removal of body hair (which I have always hated), but the more significant body changes associated with hormones would be too much for her. So, this is my choice. I choose to be happy and content as a part-time girl. I am frequently envious of my friends who are making the changes that I too would like to make. But in the end, I know that being with my wife and sharing the very special love that we have, that is the right choice for me. I make it freely and with great joy.
*****
We now return you to your regularly scheduled ramble with Greer.
*****
We recently made a Tuesday night visit to Hunters for no particularly reason. I only mention it because Christine showed up, and she decided to hoist me up on one of the “strut your stuff” blocks that are in the middle of the dance floor. Of course being a Tuesday night, no one was dancing. Nevertheless, there I was, just like a Go-Go girl (albeit a bit longer in the tooth). Naturally we had fun taking pictures. With luck, my wonderful editor will include some for your amusement.
*****
The first Thursday of the month found a small group of us at Rock Bottom Brewery in Naperville. Seated next to us in the bar area was a group of half a dozen guys who had apparently just been to see Iron Man 2. We decided not to interact with them directly because (1) they had apparently been drinking for a while before we got there, (2) the testosterone level at their table seemed to be fairly high, and (3) several of them had Iron Man 2 masks. Fortunately there was no difficulty at all. Actually the masks were pretty cool! I think I would have had trouble drinking my cosmo while wearing one though.
*****
The big night for the month was the “Dirty Thirty” birthday party for our gorgeous GG (or ciswoman if you prefer) friend Nina from The Melting Pot in Schaumburg. This was to be a three-phase evening and it turned out to include some new and exciting experiences for us. By the way, when I say “us”, I am again referring to Sarah, that droll, English rose with whom I have shared so many adventures in the past few months. She has become pretty much impervious to my efforts to push her into new and possibly uncomfortable situations en femme. Nevertheless, I find her remarkably fun to be with, especially since she seems to actually find my quirky sense of humor amusing (poor deluded girl).
So on with the “Dirty Thirty” party. Have you ever wanted to try bowling in a skirt? Well we did, and this was our chance. The starting venue for the evening was the Lucky Strike Lanes in the River North section of Chicago. I knew that I did not want to wimp out and wear jeans or capris or even (shudder) a “skort”. What can I say. You know I am a bit of a tramp. If there was not at least a chance that my panties would show, what good was it? However, not being enough of a tramp to be too blatant, I left the tight miniskirt for a later time and wore a looser skirt that was just above the knee. Unfortunately, we did not get around to our obligatory “outfit photos” until after I had changed into the tight miniskirt for part 2 of the evening, so you will just have to take my word for the fact that I was actually wearing a fairly modest skirt. Sure, scoff if you like, but I do own such garments. They can be found waaaaayyyy in the back of the closet, with all the dust on them.
Arrival at the bowling alley was great fun. Parking was 2 blocks away, and we had to run the gauntlet of happy, Saturday night, Chicago people who had emerged from their normal weekday, inward focused, tunnelvision, and were actually noticing other people. The were also not yet sufficiently inebriated to be unable to focus on us. Nevertheless, while the eyes of many were upon us (admiring our grace and beauty no doubt), I did not detect even a shred of negativity.
It turns out that Lucky Strike shares a building with an AMC theater. The bowling alley is on the second floor as is the ticket and refreshment counter for the movie theater. The ground floor seemed to house mainly telephone booths, escalators, and had lots of room for young people to hang around waiting to get picked up and to watch trannies come and go. We went up the escalator behind a pair of teenage girls who seemed to be having trouble making up their minds about us. As much as I enjoy striking up conversations in such situations, I was reluctant in this case due to their young age. So I contented myself with a pleasant smile. Behind us on the escalator there was a group of teenage boys, one of whom seemed to have decided to lay down and rest on the way up. I did feel a bit exposed from that angle in my knee-length skirt, but it probably would have been more fun for the young lad if I had worn the tight mini. Ah, it brings back memories from my own past. Hanging around the escalator waiting for girls to ascend wearing miniskirts. Yes dear friends, I was a young pervert. Now I am older. Still a pervert of course, but older.
On the second floor we departed from the theater crowd and approached the upscale bowling emporium that is Lucky Strike Lanes. The friendly hostess quickly gave us directions to find Nina’s party, and we found ourselves walking past a dozen busy pool tables. Ah, now there is another game just made for t-girls wearing short skirts who have exhibitionistic tendencies (like moi)! But no pool for us that night. In spite of the many “come hither” looks on the faces of the dudes we passed playing pool (or were those “what the heck?” looks), we had a date with bowling balls, and of course, those ever so sexy bowling shoes.
We were warmly received by Nina and her family and friends, and we quickly determined that we were the only representatives of the t-community in attendance. In fact, apart from the cocktail servers in their adorable cheerleader type skirts (where can I get one?), we were the only ones in skirts. As usual, the ciswomen were all in jeans or pants. Of course in choosing to wear skirts (even knee length) we really were not intending to blend in were we.
As befits a bowling alley, our first stop was for a drink, and then it was off for bowling shoes. The big question in my mind was how to request an appropriate size. Do I just request my ladies show size and trust that the clerk will be dazzled by my feminine charms and automatically give me ladies shoes? Or, do I save him the uncertainty and specify “ladies size 11”. Or, do I completely captitulate and ask for by men’s size. Actually, asking for a men’s size was really out of the question because I was not about to wear men’s shoes and spoil my whole outfit! So I decided to be trusting and just asked for size 11. Damn, it was a man’s size 11. Fortunately, it turns out that the shoes were unisex, with both men’s and ladies sizes shown. Like many others queued up, I only had to ask for a smaller size and all was well. No harm, no foul (OMG, did I just make a sports reference? Please forgive me. It must have been the setting).
Properly shod, we proceeded to pick out our balls. Yes, I know, but let us just leave that particular herring lying on the ground shall we?
At this point, I need to backtrack on one small point of my tale. When we were invited to Nina’s bowling party, I was certainly enthusiastic about my chance to wear a skirt while bowling. Sarah on the other hand was ecstatic. It turns out that she has been a very accomplished bowler, including a high game of 295 or 298 (that is nearly perfect for all you non-bowlers). For me, on the rare occasion when I try my luck, breaking 100 is always my goal. Sometimes I do, sometimes I do not. I think I managed to bowl 170 at some time in the very dim past, but I claim nothing but luck for that score.
On this particular night for me, it was all about the outfit, and having a fun time. Sarah wanted to pull down a big score, even if she had to sacrifice her beautifully manicured nails to do it. I think I threw 4 gutter balls in the first 5 frames, and when I managed to knock down some pins, I was completely unable to pick up a spare. After she settled into her groove, Sarah was throwing a mixture of good and so-so. After 2 frames she moved into the lead and stayed there. Until the tenth frame. I finally managed to throw a spare in the ninth. And then I stepped up and threw a turkey in the tenth. That would be three strikes in a row. Final score for Greer,127. Dear Sarah, well it was something less than that. And she broke a nail. Very sad.
*****
The second phase of our evening was to be drinks at Hub 51. More specifically, at Sub 51 which is a semi-private club in the basement. This place was packed to the rafters with “beautiful people” most of whom seemed to be a lot younger than me, have a whole lot more money than me, and to be at least an eight on a ten-point scale. I had changed into a new tiered miniskirt from Express and some hot silver stiletto heels, but I knew I was not in the same fashion league as this crowd.
There was a bachelorette party going on, and it would have been a great opportunity for some fun outreach. Alas, the music was much too loud to communicate, so effective outreach (and/or muggle baiting) just was not possible. So the high point was when Nina and friends claimed some space in front of the DJ and broke into some great dancing. They were great, but I must admit to being unable to keep up. So, playing my old age card (honestly acquired I might add), we called it a night and left the marvelous Nina and her friends to close the place down.
*****
The final phase of the evening was unplanned, and fairly uneventful. Rather than just head for home, Sarah and I decided that a final drink was called for. We hoped for someplace quiet where we could chat and laugh and enjoy recalling a fun evening. Somehow that turned into a visit to Temptations. We just had one Gin and Tonic, which took on a beautiful blue glow under the at the bar. The music was still too loud for talking, so we did not hang around for more. But we decided that a return trip is definitely called for. Hopefully one that includes the free drinks that we heard were being poured for t-girls by the owner who is trying to win us back.
*****
Well, that is it for this month. I hope to see you all at Be All. If you find the time, please look me up.
*****
Hugs,Greer
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-05-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, May 2010

Hello dear readers! Happy May! Be All is almost here, are you ready? I am very excited since it gives me the chance to be femme and fun and flirtatious for a whole week! Oh boy!
*****
You may have noticed that I have devoted a goodly portion of my recent columns to what I will now call “The Tranization of Sarah” (pretty good huh, I just made that up). Now it is almost certain that there are additional tortures that I could force upon Sarah (the always gorgeous Jill suggested a tour of the body scanners at O’Hare), but by now, there really is not much left to put her through that would not also be new for me (except the charming visit to the DMV). Since you may be tired of hearing about Sarah and her exploits (or being exploited), I shall henceforth refrain from mentioning Sarah, even though Sarah is my very good friend, and a great deal of fun to spend time with. OK? No more Sarah.
*****
So last Friday, I arranged to go out with a girlfriend. Let me call her, I dunno, how about “S” (tee hee). Anyway, I had been off on vacation (no heel time for 10 days), and of course things piled up at work (yuch) while I was gone so the week was awful, plus I had to take a certification exam (MCSE #5 of 7 for you other t-nerds) on Friday. All in all, I figured I needed to party a bit. S and I decided that we should start off in somewhat modest attire so that we could go out for dinner without having someone call the fashion police, and later we would switch to more “frisky” looks.
Dinner was at TGI Fridays, and it seemed like every family in town had decided to take the kids out for dinner that night. There was a toddler in a high chair just across the aisle from us. He seemed to spend a lot of time staring at me, almost like he was trying to figure it out. “Dad, there is something about that lady . . . “ Taking my usual high road, I ignored everyone else in the room (only fair, since they were ignoring us too) and concentrated on making the evening fun for our server. She was obviously a bit nervous and uncertain at the beginning, but she got immediate style points for call us “ladies” in a friendly way. I broke the ice by ordering the fun Cosmopolitan that they serve over cotton candy. It is a bit sweeter than the usual Cosmo, but very tasty. By the time we paid our bill and departed, our server probably didn’t understand us any better than she did when we walked in, but she knew we were friendly and fun to be around!
Our next stop was a return to The Melting Pot. This time our intention was to sample the bar, and to say hello to Nina, the wonderful, delightful, gorgeous, ball-of-fire hostess that we met at dinner last month. It happened that Nina had just ended her shift, and she was able to sit with us at the bar, chat, and drink to happiness and being ourselves.
When Nina had to head for home, we decided it was time for us to switch from modest to frisky. In the semi-privacy of the car, I removed the almost-knee length skirt that I was wearing over an almost-thigh length dress. S switched from a below the knee number to her black leather miniskirt. Our destination? Hunters.
I know, I know. Their ID policy is blatantly discriminatory, and I have avoided the place for over a year. But S had never been to Hunters, and it is a part of the local t-culture. I did make one tactical error. When IDs were requested at the door, I didn’t think to show my drivers license. You know, the one with the photo of my evil twin. Instead, I proudly presented my state ID with my happy femme self grinning at the world. Of course that means I have no idea whether I would have been admited with the dreaded “photo and presentation don’t match” conundrum. Oh, S had no problem with her ID. I guess it helps to have long hair.
We encountered several other girls while we soaked up the Hunters ambiance. Erica Maurizio looked totally regal from her position at the corner of the bar. Roxy Rockefeller swept into the room with a group, but the music by that time was too loud for introductions. And that brings a question to mind. Why is it that club music never stops? Am I the only one that needs a break of some kind between dances? Another question that we considered, but were unable to really answer, is about the critical mass necessary for dancing to begin on the dance floor. As the number of people around the dance floor increases, spontaneous little dances begin to occur on the edges, and then at some undefined moment, the dance floor almost magically fills up. Of course we did not want to impact our study, so we waited until the floor was busy before we cut loose ourselves.
*****
The April T-party at Big Shot was great. There were quite a few members of the community on hand, but it was the Muggles that made the evening particularly memorable. I must admit that the first time S mentioned “Muggles”, I had a totally uncomprehending (read stupid) expression on my face. My problem is that I am not a follower of Harry Potter. So, for those as ignorant as I was, a Muggle in the Harry Potter world is a person without magical abilities. An ordinary person who is not a wizard or a witch. And now, in our world, a Muggle is a person without our magical gifts. The poor dears!
It happened that we were sharing Big Shot with a group of 15 (or so) ladies who were celebrating birthdays. We found out later that this group was made up of friends who had bonded over the years as they all raised families, and they get together to celebrate their birthdays and have fun. I regret that I am uncertain about the names of this month’s birthday girls, but I think it was Lisa and Fran. Anyway, Lisa in particular was making the rounds of Big Shot and she had been chatting with some of our group, asking questions and getting acquainted. We noticed that most of their group was remaining bunched together (as was our group actually). So, S and Gail and I decided to take our party to them. We split up and sat down amongst the group and made our individual contributions to Muggle Outreach. Great fun, really very touching, and a few more friends for the community.
Later, I was approached by a very attractive lady. Her name was Helen, and she said that it was her husband’s birthday, and would I be willing to let her take a picture of me with her husband. Honey, I am a t-girl. I LOVE to have my picture taken! She introduced me to Jerry, the birthday boy who turned 44 that day. He was a very nice man who seemed a bit confused about the insertion of this t-person into the romantic birthday evening with his lovely wife, but he was most gracious. I posed with Larry, and even gave him a peck on the cheek. Alas, the lighting was insufficient for Helen’s cell phone camera, so I enlisted the services of S and her enhanced megapixel wonder. S quickly turned her camera over to Helen and joined me to become a pair of bookends around the birthday boy. We draped ourselves over him on each side, and I am certain Larry will have a lot of explaining to do if those photos come into the hands of his friends.
Photos completed, S and I sat down at the table with Helen and Larry with the intention of collecting an email address for sending of the photos. But then we failed to leave. Helen asked some of the Muggle questions, but then she ended up giving me some hair and makeup suggestions. While Larry and S were chatting, she told him that they would be most welcome to join us for next month’s T-party, but that he would be required to dress properly. It turned out that he does enjoy costumes at Halloween, but he has not tried femme attire. At least not yet!
Eventually Helen and Larry had to go home to collect their 8-month old daughter from her Grandmother. Hugs exchanged all around. More friends for the community.
Before the chairs were even cold, a lively and adorable lassie swooped in and introduced herself as Cate. She quickly explained that her partner Ally is transgendered. “She is a man trapped in a woman’s body. She sees herself as male, but she doesn’t want to change anything.” Only 30 seconds into the conversation and my proper pronoun detector was beeping furiously. I tried to explain my own feelings about desiring acceptance as I present myself, and I could not begin to understand the Ally that Cate was describing. A bit later I was able to talk to Ally about my confusion. As I suspected, his desire was to present as male, and I was grateful that order had returned to the universe. Like Cate, he was a totally delightful person who had a preference for being male, but was not too hung up about how he was perceived or addressed. A very good attitude indeed!
*****
So there you have it. Another column completed, and having spent a few minutes reading it, you are undoubtedly wondering how you can get back those wasted minutes. Now let me finish up with a couple of plugs.
First: Be sure to get registered for Be All! Come for the whole week! If you can’t do that, come for a few days. If you can’t do that, come for a day or an evening.
Second: In case you are not aware, Temptations is back. Not only that, they are looking for us. They are talking about designating a couple of nights as t-nights at Temptations. Next Tuesday, April 27, stop in and have dinner and say hello at the CGS social, then head over to Temptations and join the t-group. I understand (unoffically) that the owner just might be buying drinks for the girls that show up.
*****
One more thought to end my words for this month (and to use up my allotted word count). I really do have a wonderful time interacting with people (Muggles if you will) when we are out and about. I am not in a place where I feel I can be involved in the important legislative campaigns and working to support the effort to ensure rights for all members of the community. But perhaps this is my small way of trying to bring about change, one person at a time. Besides, it is fun! Give it a try, you might like it!
Hugs,Greer
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-04-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, April 2010

You will recall from last month that our heroine (that would be moi) was left alone for a weekend late in February with cash, credit cards, and no significant chores to be done. We join Greer on Friday as she slips out of work (a bit early) and slips into something much more comfortable. Let the games begin!

As a loyal and faithful reader of The Primrose, I am certain that you will have noticed a certain inclination on my part to push our friend Sarah out of the nest and into the big world. Fly Sarah, fly! This of course is done with only the most pure and honest intentions. I want to help her to be the woman she was meant to be. I certainly take no pleasure in her discomfort or those looks that still say “what am I doing!” Hmm. You’re right. What a crock. I love it! Fortunately, I know she does too! Ha ha ha!!! (she laughed with a maniacal cackle). Sorry, back to business.

My Friday evening festivities were to be shared with the aforementioned Sarah, as well as two other ladies who are both officers of CGS, as well as being fun, stylish, and very special to me, Jackie and Christine. And what better way to start the weekend than with a manicure. So, we all met at ASHA spa/salon at the Streets of Woodfield. Sarah and I arrived together so I was able to appreciate the fun of strolling past the Legoland Discovery Center. Sarah declined my suggestion that we go in and browse, saying that we would be late for our appointments. Maybe next time.
None of us had been in this salon before, and I am happy to report that we were treated wonderfully from the moment we arrived. The spa/salon itself is on the second floor, and we were directed up a flight of stairs from the ground floor shop area (there is also an elevator if needed). We were checked in with warm smiles and gracious hospitality. Our coats were taken, we were offered drinks, and warm neck pillows were brought to us. We were in heaven and we were still in the waiting area! I noted a pleasant smile or two from the other ladies who were waiting, but mostly everyone was quietly relaxing.

After a few minutes, Sarah and I were ushered into the spa manicure area. Christine arrived shortly after that. Jackie had decided that her nails were already beautiful, and she would join us a bit later. Our first critical moment arrived, deciding on nail colors. Argh! Hundreds of colors on a wall. How to choose? I admit freely that I choked and asked my manicurist to help me decide. Her pick was a dark chocolate color that I never would have picked on my own, but that looked very modern. The next day I discovered that when I held my manicured hands underwater in the spa, the color would flash red. Very cool! But I am getting ahead of myself.

Before the manicures really got started, I messed up the seating arrangements by asking to have one nail extension added to make up for a nail I had broken earlier that day (curses!). Naturally the only manicurist who could glue on an extension was just getting started on Sarah, but the switch was made and the manicures moved into high gear.

As we were finishing up at the spa/salon, Jackie arrived to complete our little group for the evening. We got into my car and headed to The Melting Pot (Golf Road in Schaumburg) where we had reservations for a fondue dinner.

Upon entering the restaurant, we were warmly greeted by a delightfully friendly and fun hostess who we later learned was named Nina. I should also mention that Nina is petite and adorable and uber supportive (because of the latter, I shall forgive her the former).

In making our reservation, I had requested a booth since these looked quite cozy on their web site. We were told that there was indeed a booth available for us, but that is was next to a large group that included a number of 13-year-old girls. Looking around the restaurant, I could see that the booths were angled in such a way that being near this group should not be a problem so we followed her to the offered location. It turned out that the booth was not in the rather open and expansive area that I saw from the front and on the website. Instead, it was in an adjoining room that was more traditionally laid out and more confined. Before we even ordered drinks, it was apparent that the noise from the group next to us (13 year-old-girls can be loud!) was going to make it difficult for us to chat.

Nina was most understanding, and we were quickly moved to a table in front of the fireplace in the main room of the restaurant. I should also mention that this table would probably be much in demand by the “A List” types who want to be noticed. Definitely not the table for anyone who wants to be unobtrusive and unnoticed. Yet another “OMG” moment for Sarah. Nevertheless, it was comfortable and permitted conversation, and it came with a wonderful waiter named Nick.

To understand how special Nick was, you need to have a little understanding of the menu at The Melting Pot. It contains many variations, but the “standard” dinner consists of an appetizer cheese fondue, a salad, a main course fondue, and a dessert fondue. The variations are almost endless when you consider the different cheese combinations for the appetizer, the various salads, the different oils to be used for cooking your main course, which is in turn selected from a wide range of meats, fish and vegetables. Finally, there are several choices for the dessert which all sound decadent and delightful. Just to add to the complexity, you are also free to order individual courses rather than working with the options of the 4-course meal.

Nick carefully walked us through the menu options (several times) and was extremely patient as we slowly managed to figure out what we wanted. By the way, did I mention that he was also a very handsome young man? Unfortunately, he ended up taking pictures of our group, but I never managed to get him in one of the photos. Darn. We ended up spending almost 3 hours lingering over the dinner. Nick and Nina both spent time with us, and that helped to make the experience very special.

Before we move on, I will note that everything at The Melting Pot was excellent, but it is not cheap. Our bill averaged a bit over $50 per person. That puts it into the special occasion category for me. However, they also have a small bar at the front, and Nina tells me that they would love to have us drop in and have drinks whenever we are in the neighborhood. Nina generally works Thursday, Friday and Saturday night, and we just might see her visiting some of our events in the future.

To close out our evening, Christine, Sarah and I went to the Hyatt for a nightcap. (I guess Jackie had a better offer elsewhere ;-) The place was pretty busy, and this led to a bit of a lesson for Sarah and me. Before heading to the bar, all three of us stopped at the ladies room near the elevators. One of the two stalls was occupied and Christine utilized the other. Sarah and I were in mid-conversation (about something very weighty I am sure), and neither of us were making any attempt to keep our voices in femme mode. We quickly heard a voice from the first stall say, “am I in the wrong restroom?” I assured her that she was not, and then we beat a retreat to the lobby to wait for Christine. I felt stupid and insensitive. Lesson learned.

For my big Saturday night excursion, I had been working on gathering a group to hit a hot spot or two or three. If I had consulted the calendar more thoroughly, I would have realized that it was the night of the Tri-Ess meeting including their “Queen of Hearts” pageant, and that many of the girls would be unavailable as a result. Anyway, the plan was to meet at the Hideaway, and then later decide whether to move to another venue. As of Saturday my only confirmed companion was my friend Terri. Two other friends, Jackie M and Laura, were going to try to meet us after the Tri-Ess meeting, and Dee from Quincy was going to be in town and would also try to meet us.

My only previous visit to the Hideaway had been on a weeknight, so I had no idea what the place would be like on a Saturday. I picked Terry up from her home and we ended up meeting Dee outside. As it was only about 7:30, the downstairs bar was not real busy, and the upstairs was not yet open. We settled in at a little table and enjoyed the ability to chat without yelling over loud music.

We soon met Steve. He works at the bar and does some drag performances, although that night he was not performing. He invited us to enjoy the food that had been laid out in the pool table area. Steve was very nice and personable, and I was sorry that he was just heading home. We tried some of the food and found it to be very good. The caterer dropped by our table later to introduce herself, and I am chagrined to find that I have lost her card and her name entirely escapes me. Anyway, we had a nice chat with her before she too had to depart herself. It seems it was her anniversary and she thought she should spend some of the evening with her husband. Go figure.

At about 10:00 we relocated to the upstairs bar. In this area the atmosphere was quite different. The music was louder, so casual conversation required more volume and hand gestures. There was a small, but quite usable, dance floor, and a postage stamp sized stage for the entertainers. The bar itself was more trendy than the neighborhood style featured downstairs. We took a table next to the stairs so that we could observe the comings and goings. By 11:00, the upstairs was crowded with a wide range of people having a good time. Male dancers in scanty attire were working the small stage and the dance floor was heating up. Fun times.

I had made arrangements to do lunch and shopping with Sarah on Sunday. To this end, we arranged to meet at Panera around 10:00. The reader may recall that Sarah had avoided actually entering Panera in the past, so I arrived early and went in to prevent any such avoidance this time. I ordered tea for myself and thereby started the first of two minor incidents that would put a small dark cloud over my day and cause me to think again about my femme presentation.

Since it was a Sunday morning and we would be shopping in the Woodfield area, I decided to wear pants for the occasion. I know! My outfit was age appropriate and somewhat sophisticated (Publisher Katie would have been proud). Nevertheless, I thought I looked good and appropriately femme.

After receiving my tea cup, I had to ask for some of the hot water to be poured off so I could add cold water (I am something of a wimp when it comes to hot drinks). The smiling young man was very nice and did as I requested. It was then that he said (are you ready for it?), “Is that OK sir?” Argggh! With no prompting (other than the crestfallen look on my face), he quickly added, “I mean ma’am”. I think I managed a smile and a non-sarcastic “thank-you”, but the damage was done.

When Sarah arrived, she was understanding and supportive, and we went about our shopping, including visits to Nordstrom Rack and into the hallowed halls of Woodfield Mall itself. When lunchtime arrived, we decided to try Ted’s Montana Grill. As I am already over my allotted space, I will not describe our journey to the restaurant. Suffice it to say that our destination was only about 1 block away, but our route was about 15 miles. Remember, when using a GPS device, always perform a reality check.

After our invigorating drive to Palatine and back, we found the restaurant to be quiet and sparsely occupied. We were immediately seated in one of their booths that are very nice for chatting. When our server introduced himself in a businesslike, but not particularly friendly way, I noticed that he did not have the smile in his eyes that tells me that light-hearted banter is likely to ensue. And then it came time to take my order. “What would you like sir?” Egad! Twice in one day? Really? The reality of what came next may never be known for sure. In my head, I saw myself slap the little creep, but what I recall coming out of my mouth was “please don’t call me sir.” Sarah remembers me saying “you may call me ma’am”. Whatever. Damage done.

Looking back on that day, I was a bit surprised at how unhappy those two “sir” incidents made me. Anyone who cares to listen has probably heard me say that when I am out and about, I do not expect to pass. I realized that what I really look for is acceptance. On Friday, Nina and Nick at The Melting Pot knew that I was trans, but they accepted my presentation and treated me accordingly. The servers on Sunday might have just had a slip of the tongue. Heck, I have done it myself. Or, for any number of reasons, they might have rejected my presentation. Whatever the reason, it did make me sad, not because I failed to pass, but because I was not accepted as I was presenting. And really, that is going to happen isn’t it?

So it is time to revise my expectations a bit. I will still not expect to pass, but I will strive to not be disappointed if I am not happily accepted by everyone I encounter in the real world. And most importantly, I will cherish those very special people who do more than just accept, those who support and encourage and rejoice in all the things that make us who we are.

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-03-01T01:00:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, March 2010

February will go down in my personal records as a really great month. OK, there were the snow storms, and some football team lost in that big game they have every year that interrupts the great commercials, and the economy is still struggling to make a comeback, and Congress is still filled with politicians, and all that other negative stuff. But hey, I managed to have some fun times anyway, and it all started with a rare “three nights out” week.

I started the month and the week by having dinner with Kathy, formerly of Tall Girl Shops. She is now managing one of the duty free shops at O’Hare. Before you ask, no, she cannot get you any duty free Scotch (I already asked). Unfortunately her Dad is having severe health problems, so she has been spending much time in Virginia with him. In addition, her computer is sick, so she has been unable to respond to emails. Nevertheless, she asked to be remembered to everyone in the community, and she hopes to make it to one of our events in the near future.
I should mention that Kathy and I had dinner at TGI Fridays. The drink special was a Cosmopolitan poured over a glass full of cotton candy. As you might expect, it was on the sweet side, but I am now officially a Cosmo girl. By the way, TGIF has a delightful bar guide you might want to check out (http://www.tgifridays.com/theBar/theBar.aspx). In particular, go to the “Girl’s Night Out” section. The “do’s and don’ts” are cute and they do seem to apply.

The very next night, it was time to again do my part to push our new friend Sarah out of the comfort of her closet. Once again, we met in the parking lot of a convenient Panera shop. Next time, I am going to march her in the front door, even if she is wearing clubwear (in this case, a delightful black, leather miniskirt). Our assignment for the evening was to reconnoiter the Hideaway in Park Forest and the Velvet Rope in Oak Park. Our first stop, the Hideaway.
Fortunately, I had done a bit of research in advance, so I knew that the Hideaway was difficult to see. It sits right at the corner of Roosevelt Road and Marengo Avenue, but there are no big signs and no bright lights to point the way. So just plan to turn north on Marengo from Roosevelt, and the Hideaway will be right there (or left there, whatever). Now when you turn onto Marengo, you might notice something that I found to be rather perplexing. At this point, Marengo is marked as a one-way street heading north. Half a block north there is an alley running east and west. At that point, you will also encounter something very strange. Signs on both sides of the street, facing you as you drive north on the one-way street say, “Do not enter, one way”. That’s right, after the alley, Marengo apparently is a one-way street heading south. Since Sarah and I were both wearing short skirts (you did not think I would let her outdo me in that regard did you?) and the breeze was rather chilly (ooh, delightful), we chose not to investigate further. But I will have to check next time to see if southbound drivers encounter similar signs also warning them not to proceed on pain of head-on collision. Ultimately, it seems that all drivers are required to turn down the alley to escape this particular trap.

Approaching the doors, the Hideaway looks very much like a tavern that closed down in the recent past. No sign identifies the place, except for the address. Intrepid adventurers that we are, we did not let this slow us down. We stepped around the snow and whisked open the doors. First impression; this is the kind of place where everyone turns around to see who just walked in the door. Gulp, I hope we are in the right place. Yes, the bartender smiles, the admirer sitting at the bar smiles, and the t-girl sitting with him sort of grimaces (in fairness, she had obviously been taking her medication to ward off the February chill, and we were probably a bit blurry to her). We say hello and work our way to the far end of the bar and find a nice high-top table. We remove our coats and take our places on stools, maneuvering to show our legs to best advantage (tee hee).

As we look around, we find the surroundings to be nice, but along the lines of a neighborhood tavern. More beer and pretzels than wine and cheese. However, the advantage was soon evident in the bar tab. Two G&Ts (that’s gin and tonic to you) were only $3.50. Yes, that was $3.50 for both, not for each one. A very nice deal! I understand that there is a second floor with music and dancing on certain nights, but it was not open the night we visited.

As we began to sip our drinks, we were approached by an admirer that I will call Tom (because that was his name). He had apparently grown tired of the overmedicated lady at the end of the bar, and decided to try his luck with us. Now I will freely admit that I enjoy the attentions of a nice admirer. But in this case, I could see that Sarah clearly was not truly prepared for this aspect of her delightfully feminine and attractive presentation. So, being the caring and compassionate friend that I am, one who is always sensitive and attentive to the needs of those around me, I engaged Tom in conversation and thereby encouraged him to continue to hang around. I could tell that this pleased Sarah by the way she smiled through clenched teeth and her knuckles turned white where she gripped the edge of the table.

After we finished our drink, it was time to move to our second target for the evening, the Velvet Rope. We announced that it was time for us to move along, I “accidentally” mentioned where we were going. Our new friend Tom asked if he could meet us there. In spite of Sarah’s sad, puppy dog eyes, I told him that would be fine (I do have a bit of a sadistic streak). Tom walked us out to our car, then jumped in his own and sped away. Somewhat more sedately, we drove the few miles to Oak Park.

The Velvet Rope is located on Lake Street in Oak Park. It is not a large club, but definitely a bit more elegant and sophisticated than the Hideaway (also more pricey). Being a Tuesday night, there was not a great deal of activity, but there was Ce-Ce! She was a delightful lady who assumed the double role of beautiful server and talented entertainer. Apparently a show was not scheduled, but when we expressed a desire to see her perform, she did so with great style.

We thought that Tom had decided against joining us, but about the time my Cosmo arrived and our appetizers appeared, in he walked. The dear boy had apparently interpreted Sarah’s frosty reception correctly, so he chose to stand next to me at our little high-top table. The high-top table and our stools were still good for showing our legs, and they also made it practical for Tom to “accidentally” touch my thigh now and then. Before very long, Tom suddenly remembered he had to go home immediately, and off he went. It was nice of him to pay for a round of drinks, but I wonder just what it was he had to do when he got home? While we did not visit either the Hideaway or the Velvet Rope on a busy night, they were both felt very comfortable and welcoming. I would recommend either one as a night-out destination.

The final night of my hat-trick week was the night of our fledgling support group meeting. Following our meeting, five of us headed out to the Rock Bottom Brewing Company for a nightcap and some additional conversation. There we renewed our acquaintance with the delightful Brigitta who had been our server on a previous version, and we met the wonderful Tanya who had the dubious honor of being our server this time. While some of the group amused themselves by arguing about health care in the United States (I refuse to comment), Brigitta and I considered the likelihood that at least one other person in the establishment was a TG girl in hiding. We did not see any obvious candidates, but I know she was there somewhere (and probably wishing she could join us)!

During the second week of February my only “heel time” (thank you to gorgeous Lowla Valentine for that lovely descriptive phrase) was for the CGS business meeting. That was the meeting where I risked life and limb to drive through a winter weather warning so I could hear the program on voice and participate in the board nominations. Whoops! Program cancelled due to weather. Nominations extended until March due to weather. Oh well, it was still more fun than studying.

The third week of the month managed to eclipse the first week in terms of fun, adventure, and total heel time. Tuesday was the Transformations T-party, with the jet-set Rori in attendance along with the gorgeous Lisa. As usual, they were marvelous hostesses and ensured that everyone had fun. There was a good group, with many red outfits and lips in evidence. I managed to shock Christine by actually ordering an alcoholic beverage (a cosmo, my new favorite girl drink of course).

The weekend turned out to be something very special. My wonderful spouse had to fly to California for a few days, leaving me with the whole weekend to play that exciting reality show, “Unsupervised T-Girl With A Credit Card!” Due to the cruel and unrelenting deadlines and column size imposed by my editor and publisher (they are beautiful, but very mean), details of my weekend adventures (if suitable for the refined tastes of the typical Primrose reader) will have to wait until next month. For now, I will just say that good times were had Friday and Saturday nights, along with Sunday afternoon.

The only heel time I have scheduled for the final week February is the CGS social. that will make a total of 9 days during the month where I was able to slip on my heels and spread my t-girl wings. I know, this is probably nothing special to our sisters and brothers who live full-time, or nearly so. But speaking for those of us for whom being full-time is not in the cards, it is wonderful to be able to be out and about and feeling complete! My thanks to all of you for making up this wonderful community that makes this happiness possible.
Big hugs to all of you!

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-02-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, February 2010

I want to tell you all about a great evening I had recently. But before I can do that, I have to introduce you to my friend Sarah. Now some of you met Sarah at the January CGS meeting. You might recall her English accent (yup, not Australian, not Irish, and not South African) and her oh so English habit of ordering Gin and Tonic with a lemon rather than lime. That was her first CGS meeting, and her first time out in public as Sarah. We all remember that thrilling terror that went with the first steps out of the closet and out the door, and one of these days, Sarah will write and tell us how she felt that first night out, but my story is about her second night out.
Following the CGS meeting, Sarah and I had corresponded about going out early in February. I suggested that we check out the Velvet Rope or the Hideaway. Sarah was anxious to spread her wings, but falling naturally into her new role, she bemoaned her lack of anything to wear. Well it happened that my plans for a Thursday evening fell apart the day before. I asked Sarah if she would be free, and if she would like to take the opportunity to do a little shopping the next evening. She was indeed interested and available, so our plans were made.
Now dear reader, you must try to understand what occurred in my mind and hers. I certainly had no intention of the two of us going forth in drab to pretend to be buying things for our delightfully feminine significant others. Heaven forbid! Of course our Sarah had never considered any other way at this very early stage of her introduction to life in the trans lane. The poor thing. She slept peacefully that Wednesday night, never guessing what it might mean that Greer had entered her life.
On Thursday, I contacted Sarah to coordinate what we were going to wear. The weather was dicey enough that I even considered the option of wearing pants (the spells come over me now and then, but I usual snap out of them in time). Sarah somewhat weakly granted that I was welcome to dress, but that she planned to go in boy-mode. “What?!?!”, said I. “How can you possibly do that? Ridiculous! Silly girl!” That is not what I really said of course, but I did strongly suggest that she should take advantage of the opportunity. She somewhat grimly agreed to try, and we agreed on long skirts. As it happened, she did not have any femme pants, and I certainly was not going to wear pants while she was in a skirt.
We met in a Panera parking lot. True to her word, Sarah was wearing a nice long skirt and heels. She looked good, but definitely nervous. As she got settled into my car, she kept saying, “I can’t believe I’m doing this!” When I inquired if she had any preference about where to go shopping, her only suggestion was someplace where the lights are dim and there are few people. I told her that there is no such place for shopping, so we would start at my favorite place for affordable clothes, Target!
Throughout the short drive that followed, she kept interspersing her comments about not believing she was doing this with whispered hopes that no one would be there and that maybe the store would be closed. No such luck of course. The store was open, the lights were all on, and the parking lot had lots and lots of cars. I ignored Sarah’s last ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable when she offered to wait in the car. With a final “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, she got out of the car and joined me for the long walk to the front door.
I suspect that Sarah was half expecting to be immediately arrested upon entering the store, charged with being a deviant English person (is that redundant?). When no such thing happened, she relaxed a little. We first looked at purses, but quickly decided to move into the clothing area. There I introduced her to the clearance racks. Yes, the wonderful clearance racks. Toward the front, 30% off, then moving deeper into the land of feminine fashion, 40% and 50% off. Then deep in the heart of no-man’s land, the 75% off racks. Ah, so sweet!
Poor Sarah was being a bit shy about taking things off the rack, so I found her a skirt that looked short enough to be interesting (is anyone surprised that is what I picked up first?), and then I told her we needed to find a top that she could try on with it. “Oh no,” she said. “I am not going to try these on here!” Silly thing. She still did not understand.
We wandered through the department, rather like bees going from flower to flower in search of sweet nectar. Actually not like that at all, but we did wander all around. Sarah found some tops she thought might be nice, and I picked up a couple of skirts to try (same style, one in 14 and one in 16, I have gained weight). Sarah was still saying she would just buy the things and try them at home. “Oh pshaw”, I exclaimed, and marched toward the fitting rooms. Sarah tried to hold back, but I waved her on.
As an aside, for those of you that are not familiar with Target, they normally station an employee (sales clerk? associate? team member?) at a desk at the entrance to the fitting rooms. Customers are issued a plastic tag with a number indicating how many items they are taking into the fitting room with them. As luck would have it, just before we moved into the area, the employee went back into the fitting room area to help another customer. Sarah seized the opportunity and grabbed a tag with a “4” on it that someone had left on the counter. As this happened to be the number of items she had, she took her purloined tag and entered the nearest open fitting room. Being a stickler for the rules, I waited for the return of the employee to get my “2” tag before entering another fitting room.
While I was pleased that the size 14 skirt fit, I was not taken with the look so I surrendered my items when I emerged from the fitting room. Happily, Sarah was pleased with all of her choices, including the skirt that I picked for her. We spent few minutes checking out shoes, but nothing looked good. So we were off to the checkout area. About this time, it occurred to Sarah that Target probably was not going to give her the clothes just for the having the courage to come in and try them. She asked if they had a self-check aisle, but no such luck. Then she pondered using cash rather than using a credit card with her “other” name. She ultimately used the card, and the checker thanked us without ever really looking at us.
Our next stop was Ulta. It was getting late, so the assistance we received was somewhat half-hearted, but Sarah managed to end up with a basket full of essential make-up items. At the cash register I forced the cashier to engage us a little by commenting on the photo of the blonde with the blue eyes. Have you seen that picture? Her eyes are amazing!
We then made a quick trip into PayLess Shoes. As we entered, the clerk informed us that their “buy one, get one half off sale” was going on, and that the store would be closing in 5 minutes. We failed to find anything of interest so we left after a few minutes.
By that time, Sarah had stopped muttering “I can’t believe I’m doing this”, and she was fairly relaxed. Of course that all returned when I suggested that we stop somewhere for a drink. The muttering got louder as I marched her into the lobby of the Hyatt and onto a stool at the bar. By the way, for those who haven’t been back since the 2008 Be-All, they have moved the bar from the center of the lobby over to the front of the restaurant, where the coffee bar used to be.
We sat at the bar for an hour or so and had a wonderful chat. The bartenders were very nice, and the 7 or 8 other patrons (all guys) pretty much ignored us (too bad). Much too soon, the fact of early rising the next morning forced us to bring our evening to a close.
I know that the whole experience was special for Sarah, but I am the one who was truly enriched. I have been blessed by the help and kindness and friendship that has been given to me over the last few years by many members of the trans community. These great people have helped me to become comfortable with myself and my place in the world. Now it is a truly wonderful feeling to be able to (try to) fill the role of big sister, and help a new friend spread her wings. It is a joy and an honor. Thank you Sarah.
*****
Back in June, my family and I took in a hilarious production called “Poseidon! An Upside Down Musical” that was staged by Hell in a Handbag Productions. Having thoroughly enjoyed that one, we went to see their production of “Rudolph the Red Hosed Reindeer” in December. We laughed ourselves silly. Next time I think I will see about getting together a theater party. Anyone interested? Check out the website at http://www.handbagproductions.org/.

*****Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2010-01-01T12:01:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, January 2010

Happy New Year! Last year I started off by actually listing some resolutions. Just for fun, let’s see how I did on those:

Go on a diet/lose weight – Unless gaining weight counts, I don’t think I lived up to this one.
Always take purse out of car before locking it – I came close a time or two, but this one was a success. No late night meetings with the nice man from the Auto Club.
Go to new places while dressed – I had some success here. I suppose the ultimate was my visit to the DMV, but I also visited grocery stores, restaurants, night clubs and had my first pedicure/manicure at a salon.
Improve femme voice – I did work on this a bit, but I still have a long way to go.
Organize closet/drawers – Very little change here. I identified a few things to be sold or given away, but they are still taking up space in the closet.
Win a large lottery – Sadly no. Would my odds improve if I actually bought a ticket?

I don’t think I am going to make any resolutions this year, but I will try to continue to do the things that felt right in 2009:

Enjoy being myself.
Make new friends (but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold – sorry, I am a lifetime member of Girl Scouts).
Do what I can to help others on their own journeys of discovery.
Show off my legs at every opportunity.

*****
In my December column, I started a story like this, “There once was a person. Sometimes he was a boy, and sometimes she was a girl.” We left as the person was anticipating a party where his friends would meet her friends.
There were some other important people in the person’s life. There was a spouse. She was always a girl. She did not really understand the person, and she did not particularly like it when the person was a girl. But she did love the person, and she knew that it made the person happy to be a girl sometimes. So she did not spend time with the person when she was a girl, but she encouraged the person to go out and be with her girl-friends.
There was also a child. This was a grown-up child who was also always a girl. She loved the person too. She also did not really understand, but she was supportive, said she was proud of the person, and even went out with the person at times when she was a girl. This made the person very happy and very proud of the child.
For several years, the little family had a party to celebrate the special holidays in December. They would invite neighbors, friends of the spouse, and friends of the child. They would also invite friends of the person, but only those who were friends when he was a boy. But this year, the spouse agreed to let the person invite some new people. Some people who were friends of the person when she was a girl. People who also were sometimes boys and sometimes girls.
When the night of the party came, the person was nervous about what might happen. What would his friends think of her friends? What would her friends think of his friends? The person came to the party as a boy. This was from love and respect for the spouse. The neighbors were there. The friends of the spouse were there. The friends of the child were there. And the girl-friends of the person were there too. They came to the party as girls. This was because it made them happy and because it was right for them.
So what do you think happened? It was a party. His friends met her friends, and her friends met his friends. Everyone ate and drank and talked and had a good time. It was a party. Then everyone went home and talked about what a good time they had.
The person was very happy.
*****
Throughout December, I continued to make one particular mistake. I kept neglecting to take my camera out of my purse. This means that there are no photos to spice up my ramblings. Well, perhaps the editorial staff will include the “after-the-fact” photo of my outfit for the CGS Holiday Party. I took that when I arrived home after the party. What you cannot tell from the photo is that my feet were killing me. Those are my feet, at the bottom of my legs, attached to the painted toenails. I did a fair amount of dancing and my shoes just were not right for such activities. They looked good, but they ended up being what Steve Martin called “cruel shoes”.
While I am talking about the Holiday party, I should mention my arrival at said soiree. As it happened, I had enlisted the help of my friend Tom-Tom to get me to the designated country club. Actually Tom-Tom is a GPS with the female voice of Kathy who is actually English. Kathy is very nice while giving driving instructions. She never gets upset when I repeatedly ignore her and take routes of my own choosing. However, she does get it wrong now and then.
As directed by Kathy, I was cruising southeast on highway 12. Kathy informed me that my destination was just ahead on the right. I spotted a sign that said, “Country Club entrance ahead”. Seeing this entrance on the right, as specified by Kathy, I turned into the driveway. The approach to the club was quite beautiful as it wound for a short distance through some trees. I saw that valet parking was being provided, and I decided to avail myself of this service to avoid the necessity of walking to and from the parking lot in the winter cold. A very nice young man took my car keys and bid me a pleasant evening.
I walked into the club to find one couple sitting in the lobby. I smiled at them and looked around for some evidence of where the CGS party was being held. Seeing no signs, I strolled toward voices coming from what appeared to be a dining room. When I reached the door from which the voices were coming, I realized that it was not our group (too many guys wearing pants). I returned to the lobby and found the coat check room. I asked the lady in coat check if she knew where the CGS function was. She had no idea and directed me to the concierge/valet office by the front door. Approaching this office, I saw a sign for the country club. The name on the sign was definitely not what it was supposed to be. Oops.
The same young man who had taken my car was now in the office. I explained that I seemed to be in the wrong place. He very graciously gave me directions to the proper club, brought my car around, and wished me a pleasant evening. He was cute. Too bad he had to work!
The correct venue for the party ended up being very, very nice. It was a beautiful setting and a delightful evening! I sat between Julie (aka The Terminator at the Halloween Extravaganza) and Jill (this time with her gorgeous blonde hair and a killer minidress). The standout dancer of the evening was a hot guy named Rodney. He had much more energy than I did (of course he was only half my age), and he definitely knew his moves. He was even brave enough to suffer through a close dance with me, but I think his feet may never forgive us.
*****
The dance with Rodney (sorry about your feet) reminds me that something I would like to do is to take some dance lessons where I can wear heels and follow. Anyone out there dance foxtrot or tango and interested in leading?
*****
I recently had the good fortune to spend a fun couple of hours at the Rock Bottom Brewery with Lyseth (known to all I am sure) and two newcomers, Jerzi and Sarah. We sat at a table in the bar area and were served by a delightful young woman with the unexpected name of Brigitta (as in Angela Cartwright’s role in Sound of Music). Jerzi and Sarah were both in drab (poor dears), Lyseth was looking stylish as always, and as shocking as it must be to hear, I was showing a good deal of leg in my red sweaterdress. Anyway, after we had chatted a bit with our server, it was obvious that she had seen through our artful presentations and recognized the wonderful people inside. So while Jerzi used the opportunity to hit on the lovely lass (tee hee), I used the opportunity to ask her when she had tumbled to “the truth”. To her great credit (thank you Brigitta), she at least pretended to have taken awhile to see. Ultimately she said it was my voice that convinced her. Not a surprise, but if I am unable to find my voice, perhaps I should take up signing. Actually I already know some sign language, but it is really only appropriate when someone cuts me off while driving.
*****
The December T-Party at Big Shot was not quite as well attended as it was in November, but there were still about 20 girls celebrating the season. There were several ladies making their debuts that night. One of these was Holly with whom I talked at length, and who is now the Transformations December Calendar Girl (check her out at http://www.transformationsbyrori.com/Calendar%20_Girl_12-09.htm).
*****
One of the perks of being a regular contributor to the Primrose is that I get away with writing just about anything that comes to mind (well, there was that one joke about Katie and Tiger Woods that was edited out, but why quibble). Since I am writing this late in December, I would like to offer a couple of year-end personal observations before I release you from this particular trainwreck.
It is both surprising and delightful when I meet people who read my column. Frankly, I am not sure why anyone would want to waste time with my ramblings, but I am grateful to those of you who do so. Thank you!
I feel that I have blossomed as a full person in the last couple of years, and this is due in no small part to the wonderful people of CGS. I am grateful for the warm and caring reception I have received at every function, starting with my very first meeting. I am also grateful for the diversity of backgrounds and lives that mingle freely within CGS. My thanks to all of you for being a part of this very special organization.

If you have spent any time listening to my bragging, you know that my wife is very special to me. She does not understand why I do what I do (who does?), and she really does not like to see me as Greer. But she accepts that I cannot be a full and happy person if I repress this important part of myself. She willingly shares our master bedroom closet with my whole wardrobe including multiple wigs. She does not flinch when our grocery list includes mascara or lipstick for me. For all this (and much more), I am truly blessed and I am very grateful for her love and support.

Recently though, she really went above and beyond the call. I was complaining about the cost of buying a nice winter coat for my femme self, and she volunteered to make one for me. We selected a pattern and went to Vogue fabrics to pick out the material. She modified the pattern a bit to fit my somewhat unusual shape, and then worked for hours to put everything together. The end result is a beautiful grey, wool herringbone coat that is fully lined and wonderful to wear. Thank you my darling!
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-12-01T00:01:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, December 2009

I do not believe that I did it again. I had a whole month to write my little portion of deathless prose for this column. But what did I do? I wait until the day of the deadline. What is wrong with me? I suppose it is the same thing that was wrong with me in school, and that has been wrong with me for my whole life. Hi, my name is Greer. I am a procrastinator. It has been 10 minutes since I last procrastinated. Sigh.
To cut myself a bit of slack, my “Greer-life” has been pretty normal recently. This is probably good in many ways, but I have not been doing much that is new and adventurous and exciting. That of course leads to a lack of new and adventurous and exciting things to write about. Hmm, it sounds like my “Greer-life” is becoming dangerously like what’s-his-name’s life. OMG! Unacceptable! Panic!
What have I done since my last deadline? Well, there was the Halloween Extravaganza, a very disappointing Halloween weekend, my CD support group, CGS business meeting, and the monthly Transformations T-party. Heck, I should be able to make up some interesting stuff about all of that! I will do just that in the next section. But first, there is still this nagging thought that I need to add a bit of “pizzazz” to things.
What I need are some fresh ideas. Ideas for things to do that will be new and adventurous and exciting! Can you help dear reader? Do you have any ideas that you might care to pass along? Send me an email at greercd@hotmail.com. Oh, please do not bother to suggest skydiving or base jumping or any such falling activity. While this might be interesting in a skirt, my fear of heights would fully negate the excitement.
*****
The Halloween Extravaganza, sponsored by Transformations
and Skyscaper Heels, moved to a new venue this year, it was in a motel banquet room, the name of which completely escapes me. Memory issues aside (and I frequently use asides as you know, although it is sometimes better to stay neutral, that is do not pick a side. Sorry), I believe a great time was had by all. My only quibbles were with the food and drink. Apparently the banquet facilities are just getting started so the bar was not yet properly equipped and some basic things were unavailable. As for the food, it was good, but the variety of past years was absent. Enough of my being picky, on with the fun stuff.
You may recall from last month, after much searching and agony, I ended up with a costume called “Sexy Swashbuckler”. Aye mateys, I shoulda been talkin’ like a pirate and making landlubbers walk d’plank. Alas, lacking an appropriate hat, eye patch, parrot and treasure chest, I looked much more like a serving wench than a swashbuckler. And of course that was fine with me! Another flagon of ale sir?
The standout costumes of the night were The Terminator and Nosferatu. Both were excellent costumes and well deserved their first and second place wins in the contest (they were costumes weren’t they?). I entered the contest at the last moment, but the judges sent me around to the servants entrance and then sent me for more drinks when I tried to step onto the stage. I would have been less disappointed if they would have at least pinched my bottom.
Another standout costume that deserves mention was that of our own VP Christine. Apparently having lived for the last year in her correct gender, she thought it would be amusing to come in drag, that is as a guy. In a suit and tie no less. Personally, I found the effect to be rather disorienting and highly confusing. Where was my BFF? Sensing my discomfort, Christine gave me a hug, and I was much better. But next time dear, please go for “Sexy Whatever”. Much less disturbing.

*****
For some months I had planned to get together with a friend from the Twin Cities over the Halloween weekend. She was going to come in Friday and we were going to party all weekend. Unfortunately, she had to cancel because of work. Very disappointing. So I stayed home and passed out candy to adorable little neighborhood children. I realized that some of the younger ones had no idea why their parents were forcing them to take candy from these strangers. Didn’t they always say you shouldn’t do that? Is life always going to be so whimsical?
*****
Early this year, I helped to start a new support group for crossdressers out in the Western burbs. We meet on the first Thursday of each month in Naperville in the offices of a delightful therapist of my acquaintance (she did what she could for me, but I am still crazy). The group has been growing very slowly, but we are making progress. For me it has been a great opportunity to help some new members of the community find their feet (there they are, in those high heels). We have been taking an unstructured approach in our meetings. Mostly we just chat about whatever is on our minds. Of course I always take this as an opportunity to dress in something conservative (don’t want to scare anyone), and attendees are welcome to come in drab or drag as they wish.
If you or someone you know might be interested in joining us, please drop me an email.

*****

I thought I looked pretty sharp for the November CGS business meeting in my black jacket and short black skirt. But Gina showed me up in her “new” outfit of boots and dress from ebay. Alas, Jill put us both to shame in her very “butch” outfit featuring blue jeans, t-shirt, backwards cap, and 5:00 shadow. Ah, what ever happened to the lovely long blonde hair?
The program for the evening featured Karen Heart talking about relationships and communicating. It seems that grunting and swinging a heavy club (watch it!) is no longer the best way to communicate and to foster a good relationship. Nor should we be using those old reliables, guilt and snide comments. Is it really possible that we can get somewhere by being open and telling our significant others what we want? Nah! Sorry Karen, but honesty just can’t be the answer! Where’s the scheming and conniving? The plotting and keeping of score? Can it really work?

*****
The November T-Party was another crowd-
pleaser. Big Shot in Arlington Heights really is a very nice place to meet. Subdued lighting without being dark (or strobing). Pleasant music without being too loud (and with natural pauses between songs). A little dance floor for those so inclined (and a couple were this time). A drink menu that brings joy to every martini drinker in the community (and a couple of nice single malts for the rest of us). But do you know what really makes Big Shot special? Well, on the third Thursday of the month, you can find the nicest (and best looking) group of people there, sitting and standing around the Southwest corner of the room.

*****

The holiday season has arrived. As I write this, it is just a few days before Thanksgiving. Of course that also signals the official start of the shopping season. That wonderful time when even the most shy and closeted of us can buy those special things and pretend they are for the wife or girlfriend. Seriously though, like many of you, this has always been my favorite time of year. The gifts and the parties are fun of course, but what I really like is the way that everyone seems a bit more cheerful, a bit more friendly, a bit more approachable, perhaps even a bit more tolerant. With that in mind, let me tell you a very small story.
There once was a person. Sometimes he was a boy, and sometimes she was a girl. When he was a boy, he had some friends who knew him only as a boy. They would talk and laugh and enjoy life together. When she was a girl, she had some friends who knew her only as a girl. They would talk and laugh and enjoy life together. The person enjoyed all of the friends. But at times, the person was sad. The person didn’t really understand why his friends and her friends couldn’t all be friends together. Why indeed the person thought. So the person decided to bring some of his friends and some of her friends together for a party. They will all have fun and get along together famously, the person said. So the party was planned, and the invitations were sent. But deep inside the person was worried. What if his friends thought her friends were stupid? What if her friends thought his friends were weird? What if all of the friends got mad at the person for having such a bad idea? But on the other hand, what if they really do get along and talk and laugh and enjoy life together? Wouldn’t that be wonderful!
How do you think the story will end? To be continued next month . . .

*****

As we enjoy this special time of year, I am grateful for the gift of friendship. The gift that I have come to share with many of you over the last year or two, and the gift that I hope to share with all of you in the future. Thank you for sharing yourselves with me, and for helping me to enjoy all of who I am.

Hugs,
Greer

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-11-01T14:50:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, November 2009

Deadline! Pressure! Stress! Argh! I usually write and submit my column to the tender mercies of The Primrose editorial staff well in advance of the deadline. But this month, circumstances have caused me to wait until the very last minute. I can feel beads of sweat gathering under my wig. They break free and run down my face leaving furrows in my foundation and beard cover. Will I be able to write? Can I create yet another literary masterpiece under these intolerable conditions? Let us see . . .
*****
October is a special month around our home. This is the month of our wedding anniversary, and we usually take some sort of trip to celebrate the occasion. Unfortunately, Greer is only present on these trips in spirit. Nevertheless, I would like to devote a few words to the subject even though there is no “T” in this rip (that’s trip without the T). We spent a few days in Las Vegas at the beginning and end of the trip, but the real destinations were the national parks at Zion and Bryce Canyon. We stayed a couple nights at the lodges at each of these parks, and it was wonderful. No televisions, no telephones, just an abundance of natural beauty. Much like a CGS meeting!
*****
October is also special because of Halloween. That wonderful day when everyone who has a secret urge to crossdress can do so with some degree of impunity. I certainly planned to attend the big Halloween Extravaganza presented by Transformations and Skyscraper Heels on the 24th, but that also left the night of Halloween itself to celebrate. A friend from Minnesota was going to be in town for that weekend, so we were planning on doing a Halloween bar/club crawl. I was quite undecided about wearing a costume. Should I just dress and look fabulous, or should I get into the costume thing? I hesitated and let time pass. I began looking at web sites to see what sort of costume would work for me. OK now, you know me. What sort of costume would I be looking for? Of course, something short that shows off my legs. I am rather predictable I guess. Anyway, I zeroed in on the “Women’s Sexy Costumes” sections.
In my search for an acceptible costume, I first eliminated anthing with pants or a long skirt (that’s a given). Next I eliminated having to do with sports (sexy referee, sexy football player, sexy race car driver, sexy jock strap). I’m just not a sports person. Then I eliminated those taken from things about which I know nothing (sexy Harry Potter, sexy Twilight person, sexy Octomom). Next I eliminated anything with wings, since I did wings last year (sexy bee, sexy angel, sexy fairy). Finally I eliminated anything with a plunging neckline or an exposed midriff (on me, the former is boring and the latter is plain scary).
I ended up buying a sexy geisha costume with a very short skirt (grin). Unfortunately, size large was too small (rats). It was also missing several costume pieces such as chopsticks for my hair and the obi belt. Back to the store. Alas, no larger size available for my chosen costume. Looking closer, I saw that most of the available costumes come in sizes medium, small, extra small, and teeny tiny. A few come in large, and even fewer come in extra large or plus sizes. Those that come in the larger sizes seem to be more interested in covering up my legs rather than showing them off. Where is the Tranny Costume Store when you need it? As always, if I would have planned better, I could have ordered something in advance and done just fine. Another lesson that I will ignore in the future.
So what did I end up with? Well, after checking availability at every Halloween costume store I could find, I ended up with Sexy Swashbuckler. However, it doesn’t look particularly pirate-like, so it can also be used as a Sexy Wench costume. The party isn’t until after the deadline, so I will have to report back later with reactions and photos.
*****
A very sad happening in October was the announcement that the Tall Girl shops were closing. It has been less than a year since I first walked into the shop in Schaumburg, but in that short time the ladies of Tall Girl have become supporters and very good friends.
It was my great pleasure to attend the impromptu going-away party for Sarah (formerly manager of the Chicago store) that took place at Big Shot in Arlington Heights. There was a good turnout considering that it was strictly a word-of-mouth event. Other honored attendees including Kathy (manager of the Schaumburg store), Carmen (area manager), and Shentel (beautiful daughter of Carmen). Transformations was fully represented by Rori, Olivia and Soto (I think Lisa had a date or something). Prez Jackie was there wearing a stunning new animal-print dress with exposed shoulders (oh la la!), and VP Christine also showed up apparently by accident (out trolling for a party I guess). Other luminaries were ex-Prez Katie and web-mistress Audry, both of whom didn’t look too bad (tee hee).
So what is in the future for the ladies of Tall Girl? Sarah is moving back to North Dakota where she was raised. No doubt she will soon be missing the warm 20 degree days here in Chicagoland. Kathy is looking at other retail management opportunities in the area. I am still trying to figure out what sort of “T” event we could have at the duty-free shop at the airport. Carmen briefly considered supporting herself by selling her hair, but that didn’t work out. For now, she is content to be a mom and give Shentel good advice like, “Don’t you cry” and “Man up!”
I have no doubt that we will see these ladies at community events, or anytime the bar is open. Heck, for all I know, they might still be sitting at Big Shot drinking martinis.
*****
The other big event during October was Chicago Illusions night at the CGS business meeting. The lovely and provocative ladies of Illusions presented another original show featuring audience participation, great costumes, and corsets. Yes, I was indeed called upon to don a corset along with Christine and Jenny. Unfortunately, mine wasn’t nearly tight enough, so I missed out on all the squeezing that the other two enjoyed so much. To make up for that, I was given the opportunity to help wipe down the leather suit worn by Miss Lola.
Thanks to Senior Mistress Luna, Mistress Celeste, and Miss Lola for a fun evening!

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-10-01T04:49:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, October 2009

At the September CGS business meeting, Prez Jackie brought up the subject of drivers licenses and ID cards. Fortunately she was wearing her designer flak jacket as the topic elicited a great deal of discussion which led to a cat fight and then to gunshots, apparently with large bore shotguns. Someone yelled “You lie!” and someone else screamed “It’s the cops!”, then the lights went out and everyone ran for the doors.
Wow! That Christine plans some exciting meetings doesn’t she! OK, so I made most of that up, but I could hardly wait to see what happened next. In reality, there was a high level of interest expressed about state ID cards and driver’s licenses. Naturally I figured I better throw my unsolicited opinions into the fray.
In my mind (feeble as it may be), there are two different sets of questions involved here. One set for those who split their time between different presentation genders, and another set for those who are transitioning on a full-time basis. Jackie is making official inquiries about the requirements and processes for those who are transitioning, and she will report her findings elsewhere. For my part, I decided to take on the questions facing those of us who are “part time”. So gather round the fire my friends, and I will tell you of my adventures at the Secretary of State facility in Lombard.
To set the scene, a number of years ago, the great state of Illinois made the questionable decision to bestow upon me the title of “licensed driver”. In spite of an occasional difference of opinion with law enforcement officers, I have happily maintained my right to operate a motor vehicle (single vehicle, GVWR 16,000 or less, except cycles, corrective lenses required) ever since. To obtain the laminated card that is the expression of the state’s trust in my driving skills (hereafter referred to as a driver’s license or DL), I was required to present proof of several things: (A) my date of birth, (B) my signature, (C) my social security number, and (D) my residence. There was also the minor issue of whether I could drive, but we won’t open that bucket of worms just now. I satisfied the requirements by presenting my Colorado state drivers license, my social security card, and a utility bill showing my new address. Since then, I have managed to continue to confuse officialdom, and my DL has been renewed a number of times. The hair in the photo has become progressively more grey, and the weight shown has inched up. But each time, the word “Male” has been included along with my full name as spelled out in my birth certificate (which neither looks nor sounds at all femme).
Like many of you, I have never much liked having to show my “boy” DL to get into clubs or to establish that I am of legal drinking age (I am, but only barely). Since I spend the majority of my time in boy mode (a pity), changing my DL to femme is impractical. However, I had heard and read that one could also get an ID card with a different photo. I must admit to being dubious about this, but I decided to dive in and see what was truly possible.
I checked out the Secretary of State website (http://www.sos.state.il.us/), and found nothing that said that I couldn’t have both an ID card and a DL. So, I checked out the office hours for my local facilities. My preferred location (Lombard) is closed on Sunday and Monday, open 9 to 7 on Tuesdays, 8 to 12 on Saturdays, and 8 to 5:30 on the other days. As it happened, it was Tuesday, and I was planning to go to the Transformations T-Party that night. So I decided that I would hit the DMV on my way that very day! Everybody say, “you go girl!”
A side note here if I may. I was raised in California (yeah, yeah, I know), and the place where you go for everything related to driving in California was the Department of Motor Vehicles, aka “the DMV”. What do you Illinois natives call it? Perhaps you could all get together and elect a spokesperson to inform me. For now, I will use the term DMV. By the way, I have also lived and had DLs in the states of Washington and Colorado, and I don’t recall what they called the DMV either. Do you care? Nah!
Like most of you, my many experiences with the DMV have always been friendly, helpful, positive and emotionally uplifting. What? Really? Not so much? You would rather read my column than go to the DMV? Wow, that’s pretty bad. As I recall, the experience was actually pretty much the same in each of the 4 states where I have been licensed.
Anyway, I tried not to think too much about what my DMV experience en femme would be like as I prepared myself for the evening. Those of you who saw me later at the T-party at Big Shot know that I decided to present myself a bit more conservatively than I sometimes do. Now, now. Let’s be nice and not start throwing around words like slutty and trampy. Can I help it if all my skirts shrunk in the wash? I have resisted the urge to shrink or otherwise raise the hem on my new, black, knee-length, pencil skirt from Tall Girl (Kathy shook her finger at me and said it was supposed to be that long), so I thought it would be a good opportunity to wear it. I paired the skirt with a feminine, but understated short-sleeved blouse, and my black pumps. I thought I looked every inch the career girl after work.
In spite of the sadistic efforts of Tom Tom (my GPS with a female voice named Kathy who speaks with a British accent) to take me someplace else entirely, I managed to arrive at the DMV in Lombard about 6:30 PM. There were quite a few cars in the parking lot and I envisioned a long wait in line, all the while being sneered at by dozens of trans-phobic working men and women who also enjoy spending time at the DMV. But on the positive side, it was a beautiful day, work had been tolerable, and I was en femme and feeling excellent. Let them sneer! Let them laugh! I say “Hah!” For I am trans, hear me roar! (Damn, that sounded good, I wish I really was that confident.)
My first surprise was pleasant. In spite of the number of cars in the parking lot, the crowd in the office was actually pretty light. There were perhaps 6 people in the initial waiting area. My second surprise was the very cordial greeting I received from the man at the “welcome” desk. I told him I was there for an ID card. He nicely asked if I had a DL, then used it to enter initial information in their system. He didn’t bat an eye as he looked over my boy photo and information. With a nice smile, he handed my DL back along with a slip of paper showing my waiting list number and told me it would just be a few minutes.
I selected just the right place to sit in the waiting area (not so close to the front that I appear pushy, far enough back so that I can look around at other people, not to close to the back so that I look timid, and on the main aisle so that when I cross my legs they can be properly admired). Sitting there I was able to relax and look around at my fellow supplicants. In addition to those of us in the waiting area, there were about 8 at the various windows (all seeming a bit nervous and agitated), perhaps a dozen in the testing area (poor sods), and 4 people in the photo area (all breathing big sighs of relief). I had to smile when a young lady and her Dad went up to the first window while I waited. Remember being that young and going for your first DL? No really. Do you remember, because that is way to far back for me to remember!
I only had to wait about 5 minutes before my number was called. I had a moment of panic as I tried to figure out where window 8 might be. Between windows 1 and 3? Possibly after window 12? OMG! Oh, there it is. Right between windows 7 and 9. How clever. Like in numeric order or something. Now remember to walk like a lady, short steps, slight swing to the hips, non-believers are watching.
I managed to make it to the window without falling off my heels, and there I met Ms. DMV worker of 2009. She was everything that we all love about this special breed of people. Unsmiling, abrupt, cold, all business. To her credit, she didn’t react to my boy DL, although she did sound a bit confused when she confirmed that I was applying for an ID but already had a DL. She proceeded in a businesslike way to complete the paperwork which required my signature in two places, and then she sent me along to the cashier.
There was one interesting thing that happened while I was at window 8. A “suit” with a name tag that identified him as a manager of some sort placed a small note in front of my clerk. The note was held in such a way that I couldn’t read it. After reading it, my clerk said something affirmative to the suit who then walked away. I suspect the note said, “Did you notice that it’s a guy?” Or maybe it was “Be careful with the tranny, he/she’s a reporter for The Primrose.”
While the clerk at window 8 had been a member of the all-DMV team, at least she didn’t flinch. The cashier however, was a bit older and less able to hide her reactions. From her I got a serious double-take, and another question verifying that I wanted an ID card when I already had a DL. I gave her $20 and a smile. She then mumbled, “Put the fraggin in gra slaggen and tovin out the phwten.” Sensing my confusion, she let out a sigh that was fine-tuned by years of DMV experience to express disdain for all outsiders, and she then repeated that the form was to go into the red box and I was to go to the photo area.
In the photo area it occurred to me that my name would be called to have my picture taken. Oh goody. Everyone’s curiosity to be satisfied with one yell of “Joe Lunchbox?” I know, I will ignore my name when it is called. After a moment I will look around as if to ask, “so where is this guy that’s holding up the process?” Then I would go up casually as if to ask a question. Yeah. That will fool them. Ah, but then years of training took over. My name was called and I jumped to my feet. Rats. Outed by old habits.
The lady doing the photos ended up being another pleasant surprise. She gave me a nice, genuine smile and very politely told me it would be just a moment while her machine cycled or something. She then had me sign and sit for my picture. Unfortunately she wouldn’t let me tilt and turn my head slightly for my preferred look. I also forgot to touch up my hair and remove my glasses. Darn. Lost opportunities.
I returned to the seating area to wait for my new ID card, and for the last public announcement of my boy name. However, my final pleasant surprise came when the nice photo lady only announced my last name. Bless her heart.
And that was it! I was out the door with my brand new Illinois state ID card that featured a tolerable photo of me en femme. Of course my new ID still has the boy name and information, and that big notation “Male”, but at least my femme face is now official.
I have used my allotted space, so it is time to close. But before I go, here are a couple of final serious observations.
First, if you are considering obtaining a new or changed DL or ID, remember that the state really doesn’t care what you look like, but they do care that they are not a party to any attempt at fraud. You must provide documentation to establish your legal identity. And it is only that legal identity that will be permitted on your DL or ID.
Second, please do not let my story frighten you away from the DMV. There were no impediments placed in my way because I am trans. The process was simple, no one was at all antagonistic (just typically DMVish), and half the people I encountered were very nice.
Now, what kind of trouble can I get into for next month?

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-09-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, September 2009

The life of Greer is one that is generally made up of a few pleasant hours during one night a week. Say 6 hours out of about 112 waking hours a week, or about 5% (those seeking extra credit must show their work). Of course this does not include the countless hours I spend thinking about what I will wear, when I can go shopping, whether my butt looks big in this (I wish), and whether breast forms should be replaced after 10 years of faithful service.
However, there are some weeks where my Greer cup truly runneth over (I’m speaking metaphorically here, so please don’t even go there). During the first week of August, I was out and about on 3 occasions, and each involved some new experiences and meeting new people. Total time en Greer? About 22 hours, or almost 20% (can you show that as a fraction?). Let me tell you more about those experiences, plus a couple others from later in the month. Please try to keep the groans to yourself. Remember, you chose to read this rather than do something amusing, like sticking a fork in your eye.
*****
On Sunday I attended the Pamper Party at Chicago Illusions. I know, there are some who have concerns about the goings on at Chicago Illusions, but I can tell you categorically that the Pamper Party had nothing to do with infant wearing apparel. What it was about was being pampered by the wonderful ladies of Lush Cosmetics as they demonstrated many of their products, and by our good friends at Chicago Illusions who made us all feel very welcome. I can also say that the party attendees included a current CGS VP, and at least one former CGS President (there are so many of them it is difficult to keep track), so this was obviously a high class event.
The festivities began with everyone getting liquored up so we would enjoy seeing each other with strange green stuff on our faces. Well, liquored up might be overstating it, but we did enjoy a glass of wine while we were introduced to Lush, and the ladies began preparing for our first pampering, a delightful foot soak. A side note here. I excused myself and went to the ladies room to remove my thigh highs, but my new friends Anabelle and Noelle demonstrated that young GGs are comfortable with whipping theirs off while sitting on the sofa. Perhaps it is because the legs thus exposed are so much smoother and attractive than mine. In any event, not only did I brand myself as being “older”, but I also missed seeing the young lovelies in the act of becoming bare legged. Where’s the fairness in that?
Once our tootsies were all soaking deliciously in warm baths of various colors, the facial mask segment of our pampering began. Now I will freely admit that green is a lovely color, but I have made a note not to consider it as a foundation color for my personal makeup regime. I must also admit that I pretty much wimped out on the facial mask. I had nothing against the mask itself, but I just was not keen on spending the rest of the evening with my natural face showing through sans makeup. Besides, it made it much easier to be amused at the alien faces that appeared all around me.
Following the face masks came my favorite part of the pampering, a (much too brief) hand massage. This is always a delightfully relaxing experience, and I recommend it highly.
Our evening at Chicago Illusions ended with a complete tour of the facilities before we said good night to our hostesses. (Those still interested in extra credit should calculate the ratio of the letter “s” in the word “hostesses”.)

*****
Tuesday was my much-anticipated visit to the teen drop-in center at CAAN in Joliet. I had been asked to speak to the young people about being trans, and I was very excited as this was my first attempt at community outreach. What a wonderful experience!
At the time of my visit, the drop-in center was officially open to teens in high school. This has recently been changed to all between the ages of 15 and 20. The emphasis is on providing a safe and comfortable location for those who are LGBT or just questioning.
The center is supervised by Dave (whom you might remember from last month) and Desiree. The drop-in center has been operating for about a year, and attendance has been steadily increasing, with as many as 15 teens in at a time. Of course summer takes its toll, and there were only 4 members there during my visit. Because of the very appropriate rules of the center, I can only introduce you to Jake and Mark who were both over 18. For the other 2, I will put fake noses and glasses over their names to protect their privacy, and call them Beauty 1 and Beauty 2.
Everyone sat through the agony of my Powerpoint presentation with only minimal snoring and spitwad throwing, but then the Q&A began and the fun really started. They asked some good and probing questions, and I am proud to say that I answered all of them. Even when I had to make up answers. Once the serious topics were exhausted, the conversation took a downward spiral as the relative merits of “The L Word” and “Queer as Folk” were discussed along with several other MTV shows that I have never even heard of. My personal guilty TV pleasure, “Army Wives”, evoked a bit of interest from one of the Beauties, but everyone else was too focused on “Real World” to care.

*****
Thursday was my monthly support “group” meeting in Naperville. The quotes are because we have yet to have enough people in attendance to really call it a group, but “support couple” sounds wrong. Perhaps “support pod”? Anyway, it was a worthwhile get together since there was a new person in attendance who needed some support to help her begin to express herself outside the closet.
Afterwards we went to Le Chocolat du Bouchard in Naperville, had a wonderful cup of hot chocolate and continued our talk. This is an excellent place to relax and enjoy some of their tempting treats. It was my first visit while dressed, and the staff were very friendly and welcoming. It made for a delightful end to the evening, and I will definitely be going back.

*****
The next week was the regular monthly CGS meeting. Others will cover the details of the meeting, but I wanted to share some personal observations. As you know, the program was a presentation by Doctor Schechter on GRS. As usual, I was sitting right at the front of the room so that I could heckle the board with a minimum of yelling. When I realized that Doctor S was going to be showing photos, it was too late to get up and find a place way in the back. Great. I will probably get queasy and hurl right there on the dance floor (I don’t do blood and guts very well). As it turned out, the presentation was very interesting, and Doctor S didn’t allow the more graphic photos to linger too long on the screen. In a couple of cases, I couldn’t even figure out just what I was seeing (why does he have a photo of a 4 legged octopus?). So, crisis averted.
I should mention that our friends from Tall Girl shops were in attendance, as were several ladies from MB Bank (thank you for letting us use your parking lot!). What must they have been thinking during the presentation?

*****
This year was my first time at Sheila D’s picnic. Is it always so damp? Pres Jackie swears that she specifically ordered sunshine, but I think she should demand a refund. It was great that so many people came out in spite of the drippy weather. The thunder and driving rain gave us all something new to talk about.
For those of you that were concerned that my skirt shrank in the rain, it’s true. No, not really. I wore a longish skirt thinking that it would be comfortable and allow the air to circulate. Surprise! After the first downpour, the air got steamy, and the long skirt was just too much. Besides, everyone kept asking if I was sick or something. So, I pulled my emergency miniskirt out of my purse (don’t leave home without one) and changed in the ‘loo. Ah, much better. Of course during the next major drenching, the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, but there was no way I was changing again.

*****
Another first in August was the first Transformations T-Party at Big Shots in Arlington Heights. It was an excellent party and an excellent new location. The staff were very friendly and we felt right at home. Kudos to Robin who was our server. Every time I ordered a drink I was sitting at a different table (social butterfly or possibly ADD), but Robin always knew what I was drinking and put it on the right tab (Christine’s actually, I sure can’t afford to pay for 30 year Laphroaig myself). We ran her ragged, but she took great care of us and never lost her smile or her enthusiasm. Thank you Robin!
The highlight of the evening was the singing of “Happy Birthday” to Lisa on the occasion of her 21st birthday (or was it 18th?). The piano player accompanied and the whole bar joined in.
The only negative that I heard expressed about Big Shots was getting to the door. There is plenty of free parking in a parking garage just ½ block down the street, but for the more reserved, walking that ½ block was a bit unnerving. Right across the street is a park area and there were lots of people out and about. Of course I had decided to wear my new red minidress from Fredericks for the occasion and I thought I looked pretty hot. I just had to remind myself to walk carefully. Tripping on a high heel is always bad, but doing so in that dress and at that time would have been unfortunate.
Anyway, in spite of the somewhat exposed runway to the door, Big Shots was fun and it is another place I intend to return to soon.
*****
Before I close and let you return to your normally scheduled life, I would like to comment on an interesting (well, interesting to me at least) question of language. And that is the use of the term “guys”, as in “I just wanted to tell you guys that . . .” Concern over the use of this term has come up several times recently, particularly from friends of our community who strive to be aware of our sensitivity to correct pronoun usage.
In my always humble (and unsolicited) opinion, there is nothing wrong with using this term when talking to any group of people (men, women, t-girls, t-men, etc.). It is a bit more casual and friendly than saying “you people” and not as regional as “y’all”. Certainly we (t-girls that is) love to be included in a group as “you ladies” or even “you girls”, but in a mixed group that doesn’t necessarily work either.
I think the key is that the term is being used as a form of address for a group, rather than as a label for individuals in that group.
So go ahead, say “you guys” as appropriate. Just don’t say “a bunch of guys in dresses” or I will be forced to hit you with my purse.

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

A Change of Label

2009-08-11T13:12:00.000-07:00

We frequently talk about being on a voyage of personal discovery. We each take different routes, we may spend time in ports along the way, blah, blah, blah. It is a fine analogy although I tend to get a bit seasick on the open sea. I bring it up because I just realized that my attitude about myself has changed a bit, and I thought I would use this forum to make this change known. But let me digress for just a moment.

During an earlier part of my voyage (sorry), I considered myself to be a transvestite or TV. At that time, it was all about the clothing. Wearing the clothes was exciting and an end in itself. Over the last few years, I began to go out more and I realized that things had changed. It was no longer just about the clothes, but rather about being out while dressed. I then began to thing of myself as a crossdresser or CD.

Of course, things continue to change. Recently I have come to realize that I am no longer a male who is dressing or presenting as a female. I am actually somewhere in the middle on that spectrum that has "male" on one end and "female" on the other. I am not uncomfortable presenting and living as male, and I expect I will continue to do so for the majority of the time. But happiness in my life requires that I spend part of it presenting as female and enjoying that portion of my being that is feminine.

So, I have decided that crossdresser is no longer the appropriate term to apply to myself. I think for now that I will use the term T-girl. It sounds cute, and it implies a certain minimal level of experience and knowledge. Perhaps someday I will be wise enough to be a T-woman.

By the way, it might no longer be ALL about the clothes, but I love 'em! Shopping anyone?

Greer's Ramblings

2009-08-02T00:00:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, August 2009

My very first parade was at the age of 19, when I was the Rose Queen for the Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. On the float I was surrounded by roses and by my royal court. I wore my tiara crown and waved at thousands of adoring fans as we made our way down Colorado Boulevard.
OK, so you aren’t buying that. Would you believe that my very first parade was the recent Pride Parade? Of course I have seen many parades, both in person and on television, but this was the first time that I was actually a participant. I rode on the CGS float, and I have to tell you, it was a fantastic experience! To make it even better, I was accompanied by my wonderfully supportive daughter.
The parade was scheduled to begin at noon, and we arrived in the area of Halsted and Diversey about 11:00. It was a beautiful day for a parade and everyone we encountered seemed happy and excited. When we found the CGS float, several members were in the process of adding some finishing touches. There wasn’t much left to be done, so we decided to stroll up Halsted to see what we could see (sort of like the bear and the mountain, only there was no bear, and no mountain).
We saw floats for commercial ventures, night clubs, radio stations, and all sorts of organizations. There was music blaring from all sides, and people of all descriptions were milling around. Now the theme for the CGS float was “Pride Colors”. So, I had worn a shirt that was pink with the pride color rainbow splashed across it, along with a yellow skirt (mini of course). After a while, I realized that I looked pretty average, perhaps even dull in comparison to many of the beautiful people on the parade route. Nevertheless, a nice lady stopped me and asked if she could have her picture taken with me. I stood about a head and a half taller than she. I imagine the photo is now in her album with the caption, “Me with an amazon tranny I met in Chicago.”
With the clock edging toward 12:00, we went back and took our places on the float. We made sure that we had on sun screen and we warmed up our waving arms (to avoid injuries you know). And then we waited. And we waited. And we waited. Gosh, the sun is nice, but it is getting warm. Any movement up ahead? No? So we waited. And we waited. And we waited.
To skip ahead for a moment, I understand that there were about 250 entries in the parade this year. The CGS float was number 121, so we were about in the middle of the pack. The parade officially started at noon at Belmont and Halsted. We didn’t begin moving until a bit after 1:00, and it took us almost 30 minutes to go the first half mile to Belmont (the official start point). The parade continued north on Halsted, then made a hard right and went south on Broadway to Diversey. There it turned left and went east to Lincoln Park and Cannon Drive. We travelled about 3 miles in 2 hours. Just like normal rush hour in Chicago!
Anyway, a little after 1:00, we saw movement ahead of us, and then it was time for us to move out! For the first block or two there a fair number of people watching from the sidewalk and from buildings along the route. But then, as we got closer to the official starting point, the crowds really starting getting larger. At the starting line, I could see that Belmont was wall-to-wall people for at least 2 whole blocks back from the parade route! It was amazing! All of these people were cheering and waving and yelling. I hope it doesn’t sound too sappy, but my daughter expressed it best when she said you could feel the love, and the pride. And to make it even better, the crowds and the cheering and the happiness continued for most of the parade. Absolutely fantastic!
Several of our members walked along with the float. They passed out stickers and coupons and generally encouraged the already enthusiastic attitude of the crowds. Jennifer had a contest going with herself to see how many Chicago PD officers would let her put a pride rainbow sticker on their uniforms. She told me that 21 officers accepted, and only one turned her down.
Riding on the float and waving at all the people who were yelling and smiling and waving and cheering, I couldn’t help but feel like they were cheering for me. In reality (a place I generally avoid), they were cheering for themselves, for their pride, and for the opportunity to publicly express that pride. It was a great day!
If you would like to see a bit of the parade from where I was sitting, go to my Flickr site at http://www.flickr.com/photos/39350149@N06/sets/ and select the 2009 Pride Parade photostream. The last item in that stream is a video clip I made during the parade.
*****
I recently made a visit to the Community Alliance & Action Network, better known as CAAN, at their community center in Joliet (http://www.caanmidwest.org/home.html). I went primarily to attend the initial meeting of a new TG support group that they are starting, but I thought I should take the opportunity to find out a bit more about the center and the organization.
My guides were our own Donna Greer (no relation) and Dave Sharp. Dave is the organizer of the support group and one of the driving forces of CAAN’s teen drop-in center that I will come back to later.
The CAAN community center is located right in the heart of downtown Joliet. This is a thriving metropolis that is known for it’s enlightened attitudes and highly visible and respected LGBT population. What? Not so much? Oh. Sorry, I must have been thinking of some other Utopia. Seriously, Joliet sure isn’t Boys Town, and the CAAN community center isn’t The Center on Halsted. But for the last 6 years, CAAN has been working to provide services and support to the members of the LGBTQ community in and around Joliet, and at the same time to provide some outreach to the community as a whole. A tip of the wig to them for their spirit and dedication.
I must admit to being somewhat apprehensive about visiting downtown Joliet on a Thursday evening. Of course I didn’t let that stop me from wearing a skirt and sleeveless blouse, but I did bow to a sense of caution and decorum and went for just above the knee rather than mid-thigh. I parked on the street just around the corner from the center, took a deep breath, and opened the door. I double-checked that I had my keys in my purse (and that I had my purse) before I locked the car door. As I walked toward the center, I passed several people including a family group with young kids. I can report that I had no bad vibes at all.
The CAAN community center is on the 4th floor of an older office building. There is no outside signage, so visitors will want to be sure they have the exact address. The door to the suite was open and I was immediately greeted by the smiling face of Donna Greer. Donna is 2nd Vice President of CAAN, a community activist, and founding member of the Island Girls. She gave me the grand tour of the center. The place isn’t big, but they have what they need to bring their services to the community. There is a reception area with helpful literature, a library (CAAN members can check materials out), an office, and a meeting room. Many of the walls have photos and bios of interesting people who have some relationship to the LGBT community.
Toward the end of the tour, we were joined by Dave Sharp. Dave is one of the leaders of the teen drop-in center and the coordinator for the new TG support group. The drop-in center is open one afternoon a week at the CAAN center. Dave told me that they average about 15 teens each week. He reports that most of the teens are questioning, and some just come because their friends do. I am pleased to report that Dave has offered me my first chance to do some outreach with this group. I will be talking to them about my experience as a t-girl. Assuming that I survive the experience, I think it will be very interesting. More on this next month.
By the time the tour was over, we were joined by a couple more people and we got on with the scheduled business of the evening, the new support group. It would be inappropriate for me to report on the content of our discussions, and you know that I am never inappropriate. All right, all right, other than in my choice of outfits I am never inappropriate. Yeah, yeah, and my occasional off-color comments, but apart from that I am never inappropriate. No, don’t even bring that up. What happens at Be All, stays at Be All. Moving on now.
Following our support group meeting, we adjourned to Maneuvers for a nightcap. I had heard that Maneuvers was the designated trans watering hole in Joliet, but I had never been inside. Apparently being a gay bar right across the street from the city’s baseball stadium caused some upstanding citizens a bit of heartburn, but from the outside, Maneuvers looks more like a little pizza place than a bar, let alone a gay bar. Inside, the place looks pretty much like any other neighborhood bar. The other patrons didn’t pay much attention to us when we walked in, but the bartender was cheerful and very nice. I didn’t go up, but I understand that there is a dance floor upstairs where a DJ or other acts entertain on weekends.
All things considered, if you find yourself in Joliet, Maneuvers is a comfortable place to spend some quality time with the beverage of your choice, and it is just a few blocks from CAAN.
*****
I attended my first CGS Garden Party in July. Well actually it was my first garden party at all, unless of course you count listening to Ricky Nelson, but probably not since that wasn’t really a garden, it was more of an arena, but I digress. Many thanks to Julie Johnson for opening her home for the party. The weather was quite nice, (apart from a few bugs), the food was good, the drinks were good, and the company was excellent. My only complaint was the dance floor. Asphalt, heels and the twist just don’t work well together. By the way, be sure to ask former Pres Katie where she carries her cell phone when not carrying a purse.
*****
I want to throw in a little plug for a couple of upcoming events involving our friends at Tall Girl Shops. First, they will be having a special shopping night for us at the store in Schaumburg on Saturday, August 22, from 6:00 to 9:00. The store will be open to the public until 7:00, but after that it will be just us and a whole store full of goodies! For anyone who is reluctant to mingle with the general public, come after 7:00 and you can change at the store. If you wish to attend, please RSVP to Kathy at kathystolarek@yahoo.com or call the store at 847-413-8631.
Next, at the CGS meeting on September 8, Tall Girl will be presenting a fashion show, and we get to be the models! If you are interested in being a model, you need to contact VP Christine Heermann (or me if you can’t reach Christine). You will be asked to attend the shopping night on August 22 for outfit selection and fitting. If you want to participate, but can’t make the shopping night, arrangements can be made for a fitting at another time or at the Chicago store.
OK? Have you got all that? If you have any questions, contact Christine or myself.
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.
Greer’s Ramblings can also be seen online at http://greercd.blogspot.com/

Greer's Ramblings

2009-07-01T08:40:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, July 2009

As I sit thinking about my 5 days at Be All this year, I am tempted to draw a comparison to the fabled Woodstock music festival. Music, love, fun . . . but wait, that was 40 years ago (August 1969). We all know that I am not old enough to have even heard of it, so forget it was ever mentioned. Here, look into this flashy thing and you will forget having read this paragraph . . .
Hi, welcome to my column! Last year, Be All 2008 was a wonderful experience. I made some very special new friends, danced a lot, drank a bit, and just completely enjoyed being able to devote myself fully to my femme side for 3 days. Recently, I had moments when I worried that perhaps the planets were all in alignment last year, and that it might not be as special this year. Well, I shouldn’t have worried. Be All 2009 was fantastic! In the following paragraphs, I will share my experiences and my perspective of this event. Feel free to take your stimulant/depressant of choice to enhance your enjoyment of my ramblings.
In a sense, Be All 2009 started for me at the end of Be All 2008. At that time, I decided that I just had to come back again. I also decided that I had to be there from the beginning and not arrive late in the week. I think it was also about that time that I started thinking about what I should wear. More clothes! I need more clothes!
The one outfit that I thought the most about was a bathing suit. I had no intention of going in the water of course, but I was determined to find something to wear to the luau that would be cute and wouldn’t cause the poi to go bad. When I actually began shopping, I quickly experienced bathing suit sticker shock. Why is it that the less material that is included, the more it costs? In the end, my daughter unknowingly pointed the way. She mentioned that Old Navy had some great prices, and she was right. I was able to mix-and-match a tankini top and bikini bottom for $25. Unfortunately, they don’t have dressing rooms. Fortunately, they have a very easy return policy.
The bikini bottom that I started with was cute in the extreme. It was black (helps to hide . . . uh, you know), fairly small (blush), and with side ties (I guess that made it a string bikini, oh my). The side ties were the problem. To present my girlish best (and to hide . . . uh, you know), I needed to wear the appropriate garment underneath (more blush). The side ties were insufficient to cover the sides of my undergarment (why am I telling you this?). So the bottoms went back to Old Navy to be exchanged for a basic bikini bottom. Stupidly, I got an extra large, mostly because that was the size of the top. Not too bright. Back to Old Navy for exchange #2. Considering how huge the extra large was on me, I went for a medium. Are we surprised to hear that these were too small? What a sap! Anyway, exchange #3 finally left me with a bikini bottom that I could wear with some degree of confidence. Of course I covered it with a short wrap skirt, and almost no one saw the bikini bottom anyway. But darn it, I wore it!
On Sunday before the official Be All kickoff, I had an appointment with Gina, my favorite esthetician for a full body wax. I decided it was bad enough that I would have to shave my face twice a day for the duration, I didn’t want to have to devote the time necessary to deforest my body every day too. So, Gina tore out all of those little hair follicles from my skin. I love the smoothness of the skin after being waxed. I also love the pretty red welts I get all over my body. Fortunately, they only last a day or two. If you haven’t done it, full body waxing sounds painful. But if you have it done by someone who is skilled and quick, the process isn’t bad once you learn to relax and just go with it. It’s like a zen thing. You know, first she pulls the hair off and zen you scream.
I had to go into work Monday morning, but about noon, my vacation began. My good friend Erica was flying in from the twin cities that afternoon. After picking her up and getting her checked into the hotel, we went out to dinner with my wife and daughter. We had a great time, but I was in drab and terribly jealous of the lovely ladies. Besides, they picked on me!
Tuesday morning, finally arrived! My wife and daughter were heading to Boston for the week, so I first drove them to the airport, and then dashed home to pack and dress. My philosophy on packing this year was “If there is a chance I will wear it, bring it!” The result was 2 large suitcases, 2 smaller suitcases, a couple of smaller bags, and the laptop. Fortunately the trunk on the t-car is large. Oh, it’s actually a new Taurus, but Erica christened it the t-car. I like it!
Erica and I had 1:00 appointments at Mario Tricoci for manicures and pedicures. It was my first time for such treatment, and I must say that it was delightful. Apart from the obvious pleasure of having someone pamper you, I have never been able to do my nails so beautifully. I have since had to remove the fingernail polish, but as of 3 weeks later, my toenails are still gloriously red!
After a bit of shopping (see above for Old Navy exchange #3), it was time to check in to the hotel and unpack. Of course I first had to get my luggage to my room, and that made my back ache just thinking about it. Dear Erica went inside and wiggled her rear or something, because she quickly returned with the marvelous and macho Vincent. Vincent didn’t even bother with a luggage cart or suitcase wheels. He just picked everything up and whisked it away and up to my room. Thank you Vincent!
Once everything was unpacked, I found that I had filled the closet, filled the 6-drawer dresser, and filled the floor and shelf of the closet with shoes. My jewelry and wigs covered the top of the dresser, my makeup covered the top of the bedroom table, and my laptop and conference papers covered the top of the desk. I was ready to party! Oops, not quite yet. First I had to complete my daily afternoon ritual of removing part of my makeup, shaving for the second time of the day, and reapplying my makeup. This ritual also involves one of my obligatory outfit changes. Then I was ready to party!
Speaking of outfit changes . . . It was my intention to wear at least 3 different outfits each day, more if possible. I am happy to report that I met this goal, and managed to surpass it on several days. Ah, it is nice to be able to report positively about solid and important accomplishments. I should have such results at work!
My first stop was the hospitality suite. This was a very important stop because that night the bar was hosted by our friends at Sidetrack. Thank you Sidetrack! After meeting, chatting and drinking for a while, we were off to dinner. Lexi and Luna of Chicago Illusions had engineered a group dinner, and about 10 of us piled into the Doubletree van and headed off to D.O.C. Wine Bar at Yorktown Mall. This place is a personal favorite of mine and I think a good time was had by all. It was my distinct pleasure to sit beside Lady Celeste, also of Chicago Illusions. Delightful!
After dinner, I was reminded that Chicago weather is always unpredictable, even in June. I had worn a short dress (surprise!) and I was trying to be fashionable by not wearing hosiery. Ah, the wind was a bit nippy as we waited for the hotel van (and waited, and waited, and waited . . .)
Hmm, according to the word count tool on my trusty word processor, I have already used almost 1,500 of my allotted 2,000 words for this column. Yikes! I’ve only gotten through the first half day! Any self-respecting writer would go back and edit what was already written as part of an overall plan to provide the reader with . . . blah, blah, blah. Since that sounds like a lot of work, I am just going to shift gears and tell you about the highlights of the week.
The hotel itself was wonderful. All the rooms were suites, so there was a kitchenette and plenty of room to spread out. Having the vendor area in the atrium gave it a small town feel. You could sit at a table in the center chatting with friends, stroll over to the cafe for a donut, then wander into one of the little shops. All of this without having to be concerned about the weather. Makes me want to sing Camelot! To bad I can’t sing. I should also mention that the members of the hotel staff were great. Universally friendly and helpful.
I heard very positive comments about the seminars, but I hereby humbly confess that I did not attend a single one. My intentions were good. I had studied the schedule and noted the seminar I wanted to attend in each time slot. However, staying up late every night caused me to sleep in (sort of) every morning, then there were late lunches and emergency shopping trips. I throw myself on the mercy of the court.
The keynote presentation by Les and Leith was delightful. They make the cutest couple. The humor was great, but the love and affection that they share really got to me. I felt blessed that they shared those feelings with us.
The “pool” party was fun although having an actual pool would have been nice. Unfortunately, the weather made it prudent to move the party indoors to avoid ice forming on bare skin, especially on those of us in pool attire. (After all the effort that went into getting the darn swimsuit, I was sure as heck going to wear it!)
I must mention that in my soul, I am a foxtrot/tango kind of girl. But since no handsome gentleman asked me to dance on the very rare occasion that such music was played, I throughly enjoyed dancing to whatever was fast and rhythmic (I gave it a 65 because it has a good beat . . .) My first opportunity for dancing during Be All was at the party at the North Beach Club (thank you Dr. Z!). In spite of the permanent damage done to my ears (thank you Stevie!), it was a great party. One very special moment came when my new friend Sharon gave in to the music, put aside her remaining inhibitions, took off her jacket and embraced being a girl. It was a wonderful thing to see.
Oops! The stage manager is signaling that I am almost out of time, and I haven’t even mentioned the fashion show (that was me that came out first), dinner/theater at Tommy Guns, the variety show, the fabulous fireworks, or so many of the other things that made Be All such a special event.
Overall, the absolute best part of Be All for me was reconnecting with old friends and making new ones. The worst part? That would be parting from those friends and going home on Sunday. Perhaps the committee can find a way to avoid having it end next year?

*****Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com

A Visit to Chicago Illusions

2009-06-01T18:27:00.000-07:00

[This is the piece that I originally submitted for the June issue of The Primrose. We went through several rewrites before it was ultimately rejected for publication. See below for what was actually published.]

“The plane! The plane! Gee Boss, what are you wearing?”
“Shut up Tattoo, I don’t want to attract attention to the fact that today my white suit includes a cute pencil skirt rather than trousers. And please, call me Miss Boss.”
That’s right, this month I want to talk about fantasy, and a place where fantasies can come true. No, not at a mythical island in the South Pacific, but at an unassuming building just west of the Loop in Chicago.
Several months back, those in attendance at the monthly CGS business meeting were treated to a play that was written and produced by some of the very special ladies of Chicago Illusions. The stars included these ladies along with the officers and members of CGS. I am certain that everyone present would agree that the play was a high point of 2008. It might also be the only chance we will ever have of seeing Sheila D in a strait jacket or of hearing a crowd chanting for Jackie to show her panties (well, THAT could happen again I suppose, in fact, it could be a good program idea Christine).
In the months prior to the play, it had been my great pleasure to meet some of the Chicago Illusions ladies at Be All and CGS functions. But I really did not have a clear picture of what Chicago Illusions was all about. After seeing the play, I decided that I would like to learn more, and that I would like to share what I might learn with you. Lexi, the founder and Head Mistress at Chicago Illusions, was very receptive to the idea of giving me a tour and an interview, and we made arrangements to meet. Sadly, personal circumstances curtailed Lexi’s availability for several months. Then Senior Mistress Luna jumped in and volunteered to be my tour guide and interview focus. So, dear readers, let me tell you about my recent visit to Chicago Illusions!
The first stop for any visitor to Chicago Illusions should be their web site (http://www.chicagoillusions.com/). Do note that if your business uses filters to prevent access to adult-themed sites, you might have to wait until you get home (of course I only heard about this from other slackards who web surf when they should be working). The web site provides a basic description of some of the types of fantasies that Chicago Illusions can help a visitor explore. The site also introduces the visitor to some of the people that make Chicago Illusions the special place that it is. What the site does NOT say is exactly where they are located. So, you will need to make a call to set up your visit.
I arrived in the area well in advance of the agreed time (3 minutes). As I had been told, there was plenty of street parking around the building. Unfortunately, all of the parking spaces were filled with cars that didn’t seem to understand that I had a very important appointment! After circling the area 3 times, I was able to snag a spot about 2 blocks away. Happily, the street parking is free in the area, so I didn’t need the sack of quarters that I carefully laid out at home, and proceeded to forget to bring with me. I used the 2 blocks between my car and building to practice swaying my hips, negotiating puddles, and walking in heels on uneven pavement. I was wearing my dark brown outfit, that I felt conveyed my status as enthusiastic yet vulnerable young reporter. Surprising on one I’m sure, the skirt was short and form fitting.
Turning onto the semi-busy street that contained my destination, I began looking for the right door. I had the street number and I had been told what to look for on the door (it doesn’t say “Lexi’s Whips Are Us”), but I still managed to walk right past it. I heard a door click behind me. I turned and retraced my steps and the door clicked again. I pushed the door open and was greeted by the open arms of Mistress Luna!
The security arrangements at Chicago Illusions start with a camera above the front door. So, several of the staff were watching my approach, and no doubt laughing hysterically as I tried to find the door. Hmm, they didn’t tell me what they thought of my walk. Anyway, the entering guest finds a very nice reception area and a warm welcome. Typically, a guest would first meet privately with a member of the staff to discuss the guest’s needs and other important matters like safe words and signs. For me, there was to be no such rest, for my tour involved climbing up and down endless stairs, probably with the intention of wearing me out so I couldn’t ask too many questions. In fact, let me rest for a moment now and giving you some overall impressions and information before we begin the tour itself.
Chicago Illusions has been in business for 17 years. They proudly display their City of Chicago business license, and they are an integral part of their local community. They make an effort to be somewhat unobtrusive, so guests are very rarely thrown out onto the street bound, gagged and naked. I suspect that many of their neighbors have no idea that their neighbor is known as the Premier Dungeon of the Midwest. There certainly are no signs to advertise their presence.
The whole idea is to provide a very safe and discrete setting for making fantasies come true. As my tour moved from room to room, there was always a positive check to ensure that the way ahead was clear of any other guests. Unless arrangements are made to meet with another guest, the only people that a guest will encounter are members of the staff. Very discrete. I should also mention that the staff is obviously very concerned about keeping the building, the furnishings and the equipment clean and well maintained. The place was spotless. I didn’t ask, but I wonder if they keep cleaning costs down by using slaves? Hmm.
On with the tour and with some introductions! As I mentioned, I was initially greeted by Senior Mistress Luna, who was to be my principal tour guide, and by Miss Lola who was in charge of the reception desk.
I must digress for just a moment before I continue with introductions. By all that is good and right, I should attempt to convey the individual beauty, charm, and infectious enthusiasm that I saw in every single one of the wonderful ladies that I met at Chicago Illusions. Unfortunately, my talents as a writer, and the space allotted to me by our beloved editor-published, are insufficient for the task. I pray you and the ladies will forgive me for not providing more superlatives in the introductions (except for Luna, about who I am about to gush, and one other particular person whom you will meet shortly).
As the tour begins, I follow Mistress Luna down to the basement. As for gushing, I hope I will be forgiven for saying that it would always be a pleasure to follow Mistress Luna, but in the gold gown that she was wearing that day, it was particularly delightful. Anyway, on to the basement.
Ah! This I suspected would be the location for the most diabolical of bondage and torture devices! Dripping ceilings and cold stone walls to contain the screams of the unwary who wandered in. Well, not so much. In a space planning and decorating decision that must be fiendishly clever (because I don’t get it), the basement holds the nursery and the school room. Go figure.
Before inspecting these seemingly ill-placed rooms, we entered the one room in the basement that truly seems to fit the basement image. This room is dubbed the “suspension” room. The central piece of equipment here is a chain hoist that could probably be used to pull the engine out of a muscle car. This hoist is permanently mounted through the ceiling and, one assumes, to strong structural elements of the building. It sounds perfect for my Tinkerbell fantasies! Alas, we moved on to the next room by walking rather than flying.
Outside the nursery I met Mistress Noelle. She is fairly new to Chicago Illusions, but as a fan of my writings in spite of her education (poor deluded girl) she deserves special recognition (Hi Noelle!). Inside, the nursery is equipped as a child’s bedroom. A small bed, a toy chest, diaper changing table, bondage device on the wall . . . what? Your child’s room doesn’t have a bondage device on the wall? Well our motto was always “spare the restraints and thumbscrews, spoil the child”. I was told that this room appeals to those who would like to have a chance to go back and relive their early days.
Since it was occupied during our initial visit to the basement, I didn’t actually see the school room until the end of the tour, but I shall mention it now so that you will be less confused than I was/am (this disclaimer made because of my high journalistic standards and integrity – note how I said that with a straight face). The school room is equipped with a desk, bookshelves, blackboard, cage, and a bondage device on the wall (see above, same basic motto). This room is used for any number of teacher/student scenarios. It is also used as an office setting for things like secretary/boss interactions. Here I met Mistress Leona, who thoughtfully took some photos of me trying to look like a teacher. I should mention that not enough of my teachers wore short skirts and perched on the edge of their desks.
Next, I followed Mistress Luna up 3 flights of stairs to the 3rd floor kitchen (see comment above about following Mistress Luna, but greatly increase emphasis as a result of following her UP the stairs). Fortunately, we stopped there for some introductions because I seem to have skipped my stairmaster workouts for the last 30 years (sorry, make that 5 years since I’m only 25) and someone had sucked the oxygen out of the air around me. While recovering, I was introduced to Mistress Gianna, who is another recent addition to the staff.
At this time, Head Mistress Lexi joined us long enough to add another participant to the tour. Mistress Lexi explained that Sophie is her slavegirl, and that Mistress Luna could use her to demonstrate some of the facilities. In a very soft voice, Miss Sophie asked Mistress Lexi if she could greet their guest (meaning me). When given permission, Miss Sophie knelt down at my feet, spread her arms to her sides, and bowed her head. I truly don’t recall that last time a beautiful woman did that for me. Oh, that’s because they never did! Having no idea how one should properly respond to such a greeting, I am certain that I stammered and stuttered like an idiot. When she rose, my power of speech seemed to return, and I was able to absorb a few more details. I found out later that Miss Sophie is also a member of the staff, but where the other ladies I met were garbed in gowns or other finery, Miss Sophie wore a short, black skirt, black boots, stockings with exposed garters, a sleeveless black crop top, and a collar with leash attached.
Mistress Luna accepted the leash from Mistress Lexi, and we headed off to see the 3rd floor. There was a moment of logistical confusion at the door to the first room. Mistress Luna was leading the way and holding Miss Sophie’s leash. Miss Sophie graciously (and properly for a slave) waved me through the door ahead of her. Oops! The leash was a bit short for that to work well, but after a bit of fumbling we made it into the room.
I didn’t find out if there is a formal name for this room, so I will just call it the bondage room. The prominent features of the room are a 7 foot diameter, upright wheel and a device that everyone would recognize as a rack (as in torture, not as in spice). The wheel allows the participant to be attached in spread-eagle fashion, and then be rotated like a wagon wheel to an inverted position (I might loose my lunch if I think too much about that). The rack features stationary cuffs for the feet, and a turnable drum where cuffs for the hands can be attached and tightened. Do you suppose that’s why so many of the ladies at Chicago Illusions are tall?
The room also features a rather small cage (large enough for Miss Sophie I was told but not shown), and a trio of devices that Mistress Luna demonstrated using Miss Sophie as the center of attention. The first was a stock that held Miss Sophie’s head and arms securely so that Mistress Luna could administer some punishment to Sophie’s undefended derriere (Miss Sophie counted as she was lashed, and I do believe I heard a contented moan as well). Next was a device that I was told is occasionally used for serving appetizers at parties. The unit is essentially a box on wheels with a bottom, open sides and a lockable, two-part, hinged top with neck sized opening. Miss Sophie sat on the bottom shelf and just her head showed out of the top. I understand that the appetizers are placed on the table top around the head for the enjoyment and amusement of guests. The last device was a diabolical device, but only effective for those with male equipment. The device was shaped like a chair, except the lucky participant would sit backwards with his legs on either side of the back. Strategically placed in the center of the back was an opening with a sliding door that could be clamped in place to hold the aforementioned male equipment. If I weren’t a girl it would make me shudder. Miss Sophie demonstrated the position of the participant, but she was not equipped to demonstrate the use of the restraint.
As we prepared to move to the next room on the tour, Mistress Luna handed Miss Sophie’s leash to me so that we might avoid additional problems going through doors. I accepted, although being a submissive in my heart, I found the role of dominant to be a bit uncomfortable, even if it just meant holding the leash.
Our next stop was the medical room. The focus of this room was a regulation hospital gurney. Mistress Lexi joined us long enough to point out that this particular item is a particular favorite of Mistress Luna, who apparently has more than one of her own at home. Hmmm, perhaps she runs a charity clinic in her off hours? I was invited to lay down on the gurney to see just how comfortable it was. Now I must admit that I hesitated. Once on the gurney, would Mistress Luna force me to undergo some undefined, but worrisome, medical procedure? What the heck, I climbed on and reclined on the gurney. In the movies, I would have been instantly restrained, and an evil smile would have crossed Mistress Luna’s face. An equally devilish Miss Sophie would have said something like, “May I get the knives now Mistress?” Instead, she squealed with delight when my short skirt rode up revealing that I was wearing thigh-highs and black panties. Of course I feigned embarrassment, but I doubt that anyone was fooled.
Rising from the gurney with all of my organs still in place (no wisecracks please), I took leash in hand and we set off for the last room on the 3rd floor. This might best be described as the bondage bedroom. It contained a very comfortable water bed that was conveniently equipped with eye bolts around the headboard as well as on the wall above and around the bed. There was a large board in the rough shape of a person. All around the perimeter of the board were eye bolts so that a lucky participant could be lashed down much like Gulliver in the land of the Liliputians. There was also a device that I will call a bondage chair. At Mistress Luna’s direction, Miss Sophie happily demonstrated how one sits on the chair and then can have her arms secured either outstretched to the sides or above her head. There was a bit of short-skirt payback when Miss Sophie was required to spread her legs to be secured to the chair, thus exposing her own unmentionables. Like me, she pretended to be embarrassed.
We then moved down to the 2nd floor. Here we found a wonderful open space in the front of the building that includes another kitchen and a large living room area. But before we could enjoy the living room, we headed down the hall to the spa.
The spa room contains a beautiful old barber chair where guests can sit for makeovers, facials, and so on. There is also a manicure station and a pedicure chair. The room has shelves filled with wigs and various beauty products. Sounds wonderful doesn’t it? Well just wait until you go next door. There we find a bedroom with a large closet that is just filled with clothes and shoes. Close the door honey, it is time to try on clothes! Miss Lola tore herself away from the front desk to pose for a picture with Mistress Luna and the cornucopia of goodies. Alas, our schedule did not allow time to truly appreciate this treasure trove of sparkly, frilly and sexy things. Sigh.
Back in the living room we were joined by Lady Celeste, Mistress Gianna, and Mistress Noelle for some photos and a bit of chatting. Unfortunately, it was discovered that I had a run in my stocking, and it was deemed appropriate that Miss Sophie should be punished for allowing this to happen while admiring my legs. Mistress Luna administered 10 spanks as Miss Sophie bent over a chair (she was innocent of the alleged infraction, but enjoyed the punishment too much to protest).
Sadly, that was the end of the tour. Happily, I was asked to join Mistress Luna and Miss Sophie at Pops For Champagne to conclude the interview and to top off a wonderful visit. I took my leave of all the other wonderful ladies of Chicago Illusions and we made our way to State and Ohio for a bit of the bubbly.
I should mention that both Luna and Sophie changed for the visit to Pops. They ceased to be Mistress and Slave Girl, and reverted to being the beautiful and sexy ladies who make me extraordinarily jealous!
As we sipped champagne and flirted with the waiter (he liked Luna’s taste in oysters, but I think he was more attracted to me), Luna told me about meeting Lexi around 8 years ago. Recognizing that they were kindred spirits, they became friends. A year or so later, Luna joined Chicago Illusions. Much as Sophie is doing now, Luna passed through a period of slave training herself before being accepted as a Mistress. She confessed that she was much more stubborn and difficult to train than Sophie has been.
There remained a couple of topics that I was reluctant to bring up, but which Luna was happy to discuss. These are money and sex. To be a guest at Chicago Illusions, you need the former, but don’t expect the latter. The staff at Chicago Illusions are Mistresses (and one Master) of fantasy, and they will help the guest to fulfill their fantasies, but any sexual contact will be mental, not physical.
Based upon your needs in terms of time, staff and facilities, you will be asked to provide a “tribute” in an appropriate (and not insignificant) amount. For those of us who, to paraphrase Robin Leach, have champagne fantasies and tonic water budgets, visits to Chicago Illusions are not likely to be frequent occurrences (rats!). But it would certainly be a great way to celebrate a special occasion or to spend that inheritance you don’t know what to do with.
On a personal note, I would like to say that I had a thoroughly wonderful time visiting Chicago Illusions. I was welcomed as a friend and a sister by everyone that I met, and I extend my thanks to all of you all being so very gracious. Special thanks to Lexi and Luna for devoting your time to the tour and for the excellent champagne! Finally, extra special thanks to Miss Sophie who was a delight and who liked my legs (maybe I can be YOUR slave girl one day).

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-06-01T18:23:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, June 2009

[There was a bit of an editorial difference of opinion about the column that I wrote for the June Primrose. The final decision to not print the column was made too late for me to put together anything substantial, so this is what I submitted and was published.]

First an important correction – The photo with my column last month incorrectly identified the lovely lass on my right (your left). Actually this was the always delightful Gina, and we apologize for the error. We promise that such an error will never happen again, at least until it does, and then we will be sorry again.

*****
Speaking of being sorry, you will note that my column is short this month. OK, that’s an overstatement. It’s actually darn near non-existent. I had a story in mind, but that fell through, and in my excitement about the upcoming Be All, nothing else got done. That seems to be the story of my life these days. I understand they have added my photo to the Wikipedia entry for “sloth”.
Next month I am sure to bore you with tales of the Be All, so I hope you will come back and see what kind of tripe and dribble I can come up with. Until then, happy birthday to Jefferson Davis (6/3/1808) and George Bush the elder (6/12/1924), happy Flag Day, and happy Father’s Day/first day of summer.

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-05-01T18:21:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, May 2009

This month my ramblings will be more mental than physical. Fear not, dear reader. I have been getting out and about, and very much enjoying my opportunities to do so. However, none of my travels over the last few weeks have been such that I can generate 2,000 words to describe them. At least not 2,000 words that you would want to devote time to reading. Of course there is the question of why you would ever want to devote time to my rambling words, but we shall save the discussion of such mental aberrations for another time. For now, let us ramble through some random thoughts together. Do be sure to watch your step, avoid steaming divots, mind the gap, don’t run in the parking lot, and keep your arms and legs inside while the ramble is in motion.
*****
The April business meeting of CGS saw the annual exercise of democracy in action. While my membership in CGS began just before the 2008 election, I was not present for that event. So the 2009 event was a new and exciting occasion for me. I shall leave it to the sober and mentally stable members of The Primrose staff to report the important details, and I will confine myself to bits of related fluff and nonsense that might pop into my head. Actually, there is plenty of space in my head for fluff and nonsense. That’s because I employ a special archive filtering mechanism that routinely deletes anything that might be wasting precious memory space, like my name, where I left my car, and whatever it was I was talking about. What?
Apart from the election itself, the main focus of the April meeting was pizza. Now based strictly on the appearance of our group, a casual observer might expect us to prefer a nice salad which we would pick at while sipping a chilled white wine. Surprise! A good rule to remember is that it can be very dangerous to stand between us and the food. It didn’t take long for the pizza and the delicious kringle to be devoured, with the exception of that one pizza. That one sad and misunderstood pizza. The pizza that caused Gina and I to conduct an exhaustive and scientific opinion poll in which we found that 100% of the two of us cannot understand why anyone would want to eat little fish on pizza.
*****
Speaking of people who like little fish on pizza, I was thinking about what it is going to be like to be at a CGS meeting without Katie presiding. I know that Jackie will do a wonderful job leading us, but I am a bit thrown by the image of Katie just being one of US! Where will she sit? Will she sit in the front row and be quiet and attentive, or will she sit way in the back of the room and be a persistent heckler? Without the responsibilities of office, will she sink into the pits of little fish addiction? Will Shirley have to make embarrassed excuses for the fish scales clinging to her lips? Will Katie continue to be the model of age-appropriate fashion, or will she finally wear that see-through miniskirt that she has been saving for a special occasion? Will she begin borrowing from my wardrobe? Will she ever find out that Shirley is occasionally seen in the company of an older man, always when Katie isn’t around? Time will reveal the answers to these perplexing questions, but for now, let us move away from the image of Katie snacking from a pail of little fish while wearing a tarty little miniskirt (Katie wearing the miniskirt, not the little fish).
*****
And now, buried here where no one will ever find it, I would like to add my own little “thank you” to Katie. Thank you for helping to make CGS an organization that I truly enjoy. Thank you for being a warm, open, and welcoming human being. Thank you for being an excellent role model. Thank you for helping me to accept that I should dress for my age, at least some of the time. Thank you for appreciating it when I wear a mini in spite of my age. Thank you for sharing yourself with us.
*****
On a more serious note (really), I suppose I was not alone in being very pleasantly surprised by the recent Iowa Supreme Court ruling that overturned the ban on same-sex marriage in that state. I was particularly struck by the statements that read, “We are firmly convinced that the exclusion of gay and lesbian people from the institution of civil marriage does not substantially further any important governmental objective”, and, “Our constitution does not permit any branch of government to resolve these types of religious debates and entrusts to courts the task of ensuring that government avoids them”. I was further struck by the fact that the ruling was agreed to by all seven members of the court. I will hope that this type of rational thinking continues to spread throughout our society. For now, I continue to wonder how the marriage of any two loving people has a negative impact on someone else’s marriage, or how it erodes someone else’s family values. I also wonder how it is that people seem to forget that our core principles are supposed to be about protecting the rights of everyone, not about imposing the beliefs of the majority on everyone.
Now that I have used up my quota of words that can be devoted to serious subjects, let us return to my usual light-hearted rambling.
*****
Why is that when we immerse ourselves in water for a prolonged period of time (for example a pool, hot tub, or immense martini glass at a naughty motel), our skin tends to become wrinkled (more than usual) or “pruney”. But, when a prune is immersed in water for a prolonged period of time, it gets smooth. Perhaps “peopley”?
*****
Have I mentioned that I am 50% Scottish? I think that means that I love to spend money, but I hate myself later for doing it. More to the point, it means I can (and do) lay claim to the right to wear the national costume of Scotland, the kilt. I own a kilt and I wear it to occasional Scottish and formal events. It is important to note that wearing a kilt is nothing like wearing a femme skirt. To begin with, the thing contains 8 yards of 13 oz. wool, and it weighs about 80 pounds (well, maybe a little less, but it is pretty heavy). Normally, one wears knee-length wool socks with the kilt, and of course it is traditional to allow the breeze to blow through unhampered by undergarments (apart from the Scottish regiments, the undergarment question is a matter of personal choice, and one just doesn’t ask). The end result can be a real itch-fest, especially when it is warm.
Now quite distinct from the true kilt, which is traditionally worn only by men, there are the delightful kilted skirts for women made of beautiful tartan plaids. You have probably seen women wearing these wonderful skirts in all lengths, from floor length all the way up to the reason I brought this topic up to begin with.
Last weekend I had lunch at a new pub that just opened in Woodridge (in the Seven Bridges area) called The Tilted Kilt. The food and the locally brewed lager were quite good, but it is the server’s uniforms that I would like to mention. I must admit to loving and being extremely jealous of the adorable little kilts that the servers wear. I want one! Of course I couldn’t wear it with bare midriff as they do (not a pretty sight; me with a bare midriff that is), and rather than white knee socks, I would probably go with suntan thigh-highs, and the chunky heels would have to be replaced with stilettos, and . . . well, you understand I’m sure. We end up with the counterpoint to the traditional masculine highlander. The totally age-inappropriate microminiskirted t-t-girl (that’s tarty t-girl). Come to think of it, I already have such a skirt hiding in the back of my closet. I guess I had forgotten because when I wear it I don’t look anything like the 20-something servers at the Tilted Kilt. Sigh.
*****
Hey, I received a telephone call from Lisa “the devil woman” at Tall Girl shop. It seems that the delightful little black and white dress that I resisted buying last time is now on sale. Ah ha! That’s one for Greer! Patience and a frugal attitude paid off. But wait, someone might buy it before I get there! Eh gads! Quick, warm up the t-car while I put on my face, it’s time for a shopping trip!
*****
Note to readers: sorry, I am unable to refund the time that you have just wasted while reading my pointless ramblings. However, I can offer you a store credit that will allow you to read next month’s column in half the time!
*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-04-01T18:19:00.000-07:00

The Primrose, April 2009

I had a wonderfully marvelous evening last night, and I am so anxious to tell you about it that I am beginning to write this almost 3 weeks before the relentless deadline so cruelly imposed by the editor and publisher of The Primrose. But let me tell the story from the start (telling a story from the end is an interesting exercise, but readers tend to lose interest toward the end; or is that the beginning?).
President Katie recently suggested that the members of CGS consider a visit to the Tall Girl shop in The Streets of Woodfield. While I wasn’t going to be in town for their big 50th Anniversary sale (Happy Anniversary Tall Girl!!!), I made a mental note (that’s a post-it stuck to my forehead) to give them a try after vacation. After a very enjoyable week spent with Mickey and friends in Florida, and a thoroughly awful first week back at work, the time was right to set off for some shopping!
It is true that some of the most enjoyable shopping occurs when you just go out for the sheer joy of it. No plans, no goals, just you and the shopping goddesses. But in this case, I actually had a couple of things I wanted.
First, I was still in pursuit of the perfect pair of jeans. I very much enjoy low-rise jeans on lovely ladies. I admit that the occasional sight of a thong peaking out of those pants is delightful. I have done my part to encourage the sale of such jeans by purchasing and wearing some myself. However, there is an ongoing struggle to pull those babies up every time I stand. So, I wanted to find jeans with a high rise to eliminate this problem. Of course they still needed to be tightly form-fitting from my waist to my knees (see “Greer’s Ramblings” in the January issue for the universal, iron-clad, don’t-bend-‘em rules regarding jeans for MTF crossdressers). I also wanted them to be either boot-cut or flared, and to be long enough to look sexy with heels.
The second thing I was looking for was a long-sleeve, white blouse. Something feminine, but with sleeves that actually fit my arms. Perhaps something in a yummy, silky material.
So with my shopping goals in mind, I prepared myself for the journey. Now, I know there are always readers who are disappointed if I don’t wear a short skirt, but cold weather was still upon us. Yes, yes, I am the one who always says that we must suffer for our art, and I promise to wear a skirt next time I go, but this time I wore jeans (low rise, with a thong, sorry TMI). I did wear pumps rather than boots so I could see how my new perfect pants would look with them. Besides, the pumps just sound so good when I walk!
I looked up Tall Girl online, and made a careful note of the address. I made sure the GPS unit was in the car for the trip, and then I very carefully drove away from home without having put the address into the GPS and without bringing the paper with the address. Sigh. Fortunately, I knew roughly where to find the shop, so I proceeded with confidence.
For those who are unfamiliar with The Streets of Woodfield, it is a separate indoor/outdoor shopping mall to the Southeast of Woodfield mall. The Tall Girl shop is hidden from the sight of a potential customer who does a quick drive by. It is found on a little crescent of a road that wraps around the likes of Starbucks, Jamba Juice and Chipotle. I parked just opposite Jamba Juice and headed off to shop (Keys in purse? Check. Purse in hand? Check. Car locked? Check. Pants pulled up to cover butt? Check. High heels making cool clicking sound on pavement? Check. Driver checking me out as I cross the street at a stop sign? Don’t know, too chicken to look.)
My first impression as I walked into the tall girl was, “hey, watch where you’re going!” But my first impression as I walked into the Tall Girl shop was of a clean, neatly arranged, well stock, well lighted, moderately upscale shop. I found out later that they stock over 4,000 pieces from over 20 brands, and I think I tried on every one. But I’m getting ahead of myself (hmm, nice butt on that old broad up there).
Shortly after entering the shop, I was cheerfully greeted by the ladies behind the counter. They did not “swoop” down on me, but gently asked if there was anything they could help me find.
To digress for a moment, have you ever shopped at Lovers Lane? The clerks there seemed to be specially trained to swoop in, force you to hear about all of their specials, and to then pick incessantly at the secret reasons for your visit no matter how many times you say you just want to browse (Please stop! I confess! I’m here to buy panties for myself!) I complained to a manager once and I was told that their corporate leaders expect this aggressive behavior and that “secret shoppers” will rat them out if they don’t do it. Argh!!!
Since I had some specific things I was looking for, I passed along my interests to the ladies. At this point they introduced themselves as Kathy and Lisa. Kathy is the manager of the store, and Lisa is the designated pants expert (she is also a very dangerous person, but we’ll get back to that). At this time I told them about my affiliation with CGS. Kathy shook her head sadly and said that she was indeed familiar with Katie, but that I was welcome to shop there anyway (just kidding!). Actually, they were excited to be establishing a relationship with our community in general and CGS in particular.
Then it was off to find pants. Lisa asked me about size and style. I gave her my information and she started pulling pants off the rack. In moments she had an armful, and she cheerfully led me to a dressing room. With great hope I shed my own pants and picked up the first pair to try on. Lisa announced that she was putting more outside the door. I put one leg in the first pair to try on. Lisa announced that she was putting more outside the door. I put my other leg (watch it now) in the first pair to try on. Lisa announced that she was putting more outside the door. I pulled the first pair up to my waist. Kathy asked how I was doing so far, and Lisa announced that she was putting more outside the door.
Having zipped the first pair up, I used a stepladder to get over the stacks of pants now piled outside the dressing room and stepped over to the 3-way mirror for a better look. There was actually a mirror in the dressing room, but I wanted to test to see if I could still get out. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lisa unloading a semi full of pants into my dressing room. Kathy agreed with my assessment that the first pants weren’t quite right and told Lisa to bring more pants, lots more pants.
Eventually, they forced me to try on 8,456 pairs of pants that night (there may have been a gun involved and threats made, but my memories are foggy). I am convinced that they were borrowing pants from other stores.
You have hopefully realized that I made most of that up. The truth is that they didn’t bring me thousands of pairs of pants, only hundreds. OK, OK, it was probably closer to 20. Sadly, in spite of a literal plethora of shapes, styles and makers, I didn’t find my perfect pants. Obviously this was not due to any lack of effort on Lisa’s part.
While Lisa was concentrating on pants, Kathy went in search of my perfect blouse. I am happy to say that she did find some very, very nice blouses (Shelley Berman suggested that the plural of blouse should be blice, but we’ll leave that alone for now). It was wonderful to put on a very feminine blouse with sleeves that actually matched my arm length! One of the blouses was made by Haggar, which made me laugh considering how many times I have worn their clothing made for that other gender.
While I was slaving away trying on pants, I heard Kathy and Lisa talking about skirts and dresses. I did my very best to remain focused, but I just couldn’t help from speaking out, “I would much prefer to be trying on skirts and dresses!” I freely admit to opening the door, and my new friends were happy to use that door to deliver more to my dressing room. Before I knew it, I was trying on some delicious skirts and coordinating tops, and wondering why I had wasted time on pants anyway. For these outfits, I just had to come out and show Kathy and Lisa how each one looked. They would occasionally fuss with a belt, or have me try a different top, or move that stray bit of hair on the top of my head. Oh what fun! They agreed that it was like they were playing with a big Barbie doll!
It was well after their official closing time when I reluctantly called a halt, and attempted to assess what I could actually buy out of all of the wonderful things I found. I had pretty much decided on a group of items that were all on sale (aye, we Scots are frugal) when Lisa (remember I said she was dangerous?) brought me this luscious black and white, asymmetrical hemline dress. Against my better judgment I tried it on. It was made for me. It was gorgeous. It was NOT on sale. Argh! No. I was strong, and I told her to put it back (as I wept softly). (see postscript below)
I got dressed and took my selections to the counter, but then I made another tactical error. I believe I mentioned that I had selected a long skirt and one that was knee-length, but that I usually wore shorter skirts and dresses. With that Lisa (oh, she truly is dangerous) led me to a rack and pulled off another cute dress in black and white. This one was shorter, sleeveless, and with a fetching little tie around the neck. Powerless to resist, I returned to the dressing room to try on the new temptation. It was delightful. I impressed Kathy and Lisa by putting a belt around the waist and shortening the hemline by blousing out the top. They thought it showed good fashion sense. Nah, just a cheap ploy to show off more leg.
Somehow, I didn’t buy that dress either. I ended up with a classy, brown, tulip skirt, a colorful, long skirt, a cream colored, lacey, short-sleeve top, and a black top with lace sleeves and a cowl neck. No pants and no long-sleeve top. So much for shopping plans.
I found the clothing at Tall Girl to be of high quality. Their prices seemed quite reasonable for the level of quality provided, and they had some excellent deals in their clearance racks. But to return to my original statement, I had a wonderfully marvelous time visiting Tall Girl and that was mostly because of Kathy and Lisa. They were helpful, warm, funny and very welcoming. I would strongly suggest giving them a try!
*****
Postscript – When I arrived home, I found that Kathy and Lisa had “thoughtfully” provided me a copy of their spring catalog. What did I find on page x? The lovely black and white, asymmetrical hem dress that Lisa forced me to try on! How mean is that? I looked at it in the catalog for several days before deciding I just had to have it. Lisa had beaten me. I went back to Tall Girl and met Lucille (aka Assistant Manager in Training – really, that’s what her name tag says) and Barb. The dress was still there, but my eyes also landed on an LBD in a ruffle knit. I tried on both. Lucille thought the LBD looked better on me, and ultimately I agreed and bought it. Take that Lisa! I think I need to raise the hem though. My new favorite LBD must show more leg!
*****
The Tall Girl shop is located in the Streets of Woodfield at 601 North Martingale Road, Suite #324 in Schaumburg. There is also a Tall Girl shop in downtown Chicago at 700 North Michigan. The clothes generally run from size 8 to 20, but in some styles they have sizes 4, 6 and/or 22.
*****
New Years Resolution Watch – How am I doing on my resolutions?
Go on a diet/lose weight – A week at Disney World wiped me out again. Too depressing to talk about now. I’ll be sobbing in the corner, and eating a box of Twinkies.
Always take purse out of car before locking it – Still good. No late night calls to the auto club while I stand around in a miniskirt.
Go to new places while dressed – I’m doing pretty good with this one.
Improve femme voice – I purchased a downloadable audio package from the Transgender Guide (http://www.tgguide.com/female-voice.htm), and I have been doing some sporadic practicing. I think I have the beginnings of a voice, but it’s still weak, and it’s easy for me to slip out.
Organize closet/drawers – No more action since doing the jewelry. Really need to do something with the clothes.
Win a large lottery – Yes, the way my 401k has gone, the lottery is my best bet at retirement.

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-03-01T17:46:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, March 2009

By and large, I’m not a big fan of labels for people. In the glorious history of the human race, there have been far too many times when people were mistreated because of the labels applied to them. In addition, labels don’t tend to fit well on individuals since no two of us are exactly the same. Nevertheless, there is a beguiling convenience to applying labels, and I am about to apply a couple to myself to assist in communicating with you, my esteemed reader. I shall limit myself in this instance to those labels that relate to the transgender community, and ignore those labels that are applied to me as I drive with my legs (in stockings of course) in heavy traffic while applying mascara. I shall also leave out those labels that might be applied to me when I walk into Hunter’s in a micro-mini that is only a deep breath away from indecent.
When labels are useful, I consider myself to be transgender or trans. To be somewhat more specific, I think of myself as a t-girl (I’m not mature enough to be a t-woman). Even more specifically, I identify as a crossdresser (MTF if further definition is required). Now I bring all of this up because I’m about to get all excited about dressing and going to the library. For my wonderful sisters and brothers who are at different places in their personal journeys and who must consider things like workplace discrimination and medical procedures, such a mundane outing (pardon the phrase) is hardly the stuff of exciting journalism. But for me, crossdressed t-girl that I am, it is a great adventure!
On a recent Friday, I got off work at noon. I decided that this would be a good opportunity to work on one of my New Year’s resolutions, namely to go to new places while dressed. So, where to go? I would only have 5 hours to get made-up, dress, go somewhere, come home, undress and get unmade-up. Fortunately, the last few months of practice have cut my “getting ready” time from 3 days, 2 hours and 24 minutes to . . . well, to a lot less. My wife has stopped asking “are you EVER going to leave”, but she still snickers when I tell her at 5:00 that I’ll be leaving at 6:30.
I considered going to the M&M museum in Las Vegas, but the drive time would be a killer for that one. The local quickie mart was an option, but how many times can you stroll by the cooler before total boredom sets in. Then I remembered hearing that the Oak Park library was the recipient of a significant transgender collection. I had never been to a public library while dressed, so this would certainly satisfy the criteria for my resolution. Allowing a realistic amount of time for getting made-up and unmade-up, dressing and undressing, and traveling to and fro, my schedule would leave me plenty of time to look around and thumb through a few books (hopefully with pictures).
To minimize my prep time after getting home from work, I took care of most of my body shaving needs in the morning. As a side note, when my wife laughs about the amount of time it takes me to get ready to go out en femme, she really doesn’t consider that some major follicle demolition is required. She might shave her legs a couple times a week to remove barely noticeable peachfuzz. For me, it’s necessary to start with a logging permit from the Bureau of Land Management before I can begin clear-cutting on my legs, arms and chest. Timber!
After work, I rushed home, reshaved my face (a necessity since 6 hours had passed since the last deforestation), made up and got dressed in near record time. As usual, I changed my mind about what to wear at least 4 times, and that negatively impacted my official time. Ultimately, I decided to forego the miniskirt and crop top in favor of jeans and a sweater. My apologies to miniskirt fans, but in this case I thought that trying to blend in would be the way to go.
For those who might want to visit the library themselves, let me provide a few facts and tips. The Oak Park Library has a very good website that you should visit first (http://www.oppl.org/). The Transgender Collection is held at the Main Library at 834 Lake Street. There is a parking garage in the basement under the library. Note that this garage can ONLY be accessed from the front of the building (Lake Street), and that the building is on the North side of the street. There is no charge for the first 2 hours, $1 for 2 to 3 hours, and $5 for 3 to 4 hours. Street parking is available but tightly controlled and apparently at a premium, so I would recommend the garage if possible.
As I was heading east on Lake Street, the library was on my left. Naturally I thought it would be on the right, so I was almost past it before I spotted it. Since I didn’t see the entrance to the parking garage in front, I circled around the park and tried to enter the garage from the back. Sorry, can’t be done. Since I was there, I thought I would park at a conveniently located and available meter. Not surprisingly, there were no quarters in my purse to feed the meter, so I circled the block looking for the garage or an open parking space. Hark! There was the garage entrance right in front. After taking a ticket, I found the garage to be pretty full, but there were spaces available.
On the garage level, there is a small lobby with a machine for paying for parking before leaving. In this lobby area there is an elevator to the first floor of the library. I tried to open the door into the lobby area, but it wouldn’t open. Fortunately, there were 2 nice ladies coming out. After going in I realized there was a button to push to activate the door (read the sign dummy! Oh, another label). I walked up the steps to the main level and then went through metal detectors and into the main part of the library.
Checking the directory, I found that special collections are on the 3rd floor. I shared the elevator up with a gentleman who politely stood aside to allow me to exit first (I’m a lady I am). I confidently strode up to the reference librarian and asked where I would find the Transgender Collection. The librarian was very nice, but informed me that the collection is actually shelved along with all other materials. That is, it’s not in a special area by itself. She then proceeded to show me that the online catalog can be used to find the materials by entering “Transgender Collection” in the search field. This search yielded 150 books. She also took the trouble to print a copy of their brochure about the collection which includes a sampling of the works in the collection. What a wonderful and helpful person she was! By the way, this brochure and the catalog can be accessed through the library’s website.
After noting a few titles that I wanted to peruse, I set off for the shelves. I had worn boots with chunky heels that day. These were not quite as good as stiletto heels might have been, but they still provided a very satisfying sound as I walked across the hard floors around the shelves. I do love that sound!
I found some books and carried them to a table. Sadly, no one asked to carry my books for me, and I didn’t get any notes asking me to meet after study hall. In fact, other than the librarian (who heard my voice), I don’t think anyone gave me a second glance. Maybe I should have worn that miniskirt after all!
So perhaps going to the library isn’t as exciting as having a handsome guy chat you up at a club, but nevertheless, it was an exciting experience for a crossdresser spreading her wings! A big thank you to the wonderful librarian who helped me that day!

*****
After my visit to the Oak Park Library, I wasn’t quite ready to go home and revert to drab. So I decided to stop at Target and do a little clearance sale shopping. Going into a Target store while dressed was actually another first for me. Hooray!
I browsed through the clearance racks and selected 5 items to try on (note that 6 is the maximum they allow you to take into their dressing rooms). I presented myself and my items to the associate guarding the dressing rooms. She didn’t bat an eye when I used my best femme voice (not very good) to say that I had 5 items. She handed me my tag with a big “5” on it, and I was off to the dressing room. When I came out, the young lady was very helpful and polite in retrieving my tag and taking my unwanted items.
Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to make multiple runs to the dressing rooms, but I did end up buying a cute dress for less than $9. Sweet!

*****
It doesn’t qualify as going to a new placed while dressed, rather it should be listed as dressing at an old place. I have been looking for something femme to wear to bed while at Be-All. Now hold it right there! I’m talking about sleeping. Those of you with naughty minds who were thinking of thinks like a bustier with a garter belt and sexy stockings, shame on you (and please meet me after class).
Anyway, I had seen some cute, satiny things (I’m a sucker for satin) in the Frederick’s catalog. It happens that I was alone and driving by Woodfield Mall, so I thought I would stop in and see what they had in stock. The clerk was very welcoming and helpful, but unfortunately two of the particular styles I saw in the catalog weren’t available in their stores. Darn. Not accepting defeat lightly, I browsed around and came up with 3 possible alternatives, 2 of which were on sale. Cool! Oops, spoke too soon. None of the sets came in extra large. What the heck I decided, I took each of the sets in large and strode confidently to the clerk and asked to try them on.
Now, to put this in perspective, I was very much in boy mode including my manly blue jeans, heavy winter boots, and heavy winter coat. Nevertheless, the clerk was totally accommodating. “Of course, right this way!” Not even a shadow of surprise crossed her face. As she let me into the dressing room, she offered to bring different sizes if I needed them.
After shucking all of my boy clothes, I did manage to get into each of the lingerie sets. Not surprisingly, 2 of the sets were much too small. In fact XL probably wouldn’t have been big enough. One of these was actually quite a puzzle to figure out. It had spaghetti straps that came over the shoulders then proceeded to the middle of the back and criss-crossed about 8 times before tying off in the small of the back. It was a challenge to put on, and I thought I might never get it off (oh miss, I seem to be tied up in this chemise).
The one item that came close to fitting was a satin chemise that tied behind the neck. I could have worn it, but it was just a bit too small. Curses.
I came away empty-handed, but it was a fun way to spend a little time. In addition, it reinforced what I know in my head (but am secretly afraid of in my heart), that merchants aren’t in business to pass judgment on customers. Especially in these times, a customer is a customer. And my friends, we ARE customers!
Now, where can I find a cute, satin nightie cheap?

*****
Does ex-Governor Rod do drag? Fortunately, I didn’t hear a nomination for him at the last CGS meeting. Just to be safe, I think we should vote to permanently bar him from holding an office in CGS.

*****
New Years Resolution Watch – How am I doing on my resolutions?
Go on a diet/lose weight – The high-protein, low-carb diet continues. My birthday weekend was declared a “free” time and I overdid it to the tune of adding almost 5 pounds. Gads! I recovered from that lapse, but we have a week at Disney World coming up, so I’m sure I’ll be working on recovery after that.
Always take purse out of car before locking it – No problems (so far).
Go to new places while dressed – See the story above.
Improve femme voice – I’m looking at several sources of help including the Transgender Guide (http://www.tgguide.com/female-voice.htm), FemImage (http://www.femimage.com/voicecoach.htm), and Exceptional Voice (http://www.exceptionalvoice.com/voicefeminization.html).
Organize closet/drawers – I started with jewelry. I don’t have a jewelry box as such, but I sorted the mass of tangled silver and gold (well, silver color metal and gold color metal) into separate piles of necklaces (by color), bracelets, earrings, etc. These groups were then placed into zip-lock bags with the more delicate items being put into smaller bags first. Not optimal storage of course, but it should make it easier to find things.
Win a large lottery – I came close on this. Some of the numbers that I use to complete my tax return were in a winning draw. I don’t think the lottery commission will pay out on that though.

*****Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-02-01T17:44:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, February 2009

We could be in trouble. I have now started writing this month’s column, and I haven’t decided just what I want to write about. Well, that’s not entirely true. I want to write about my evening out last Saturday night. But I don’t know just what I want to say about the evening. Well that’s not entirely true either. I want to tell you about having fun with old friends and new friends, about good jokes and bad jokes, and about dancing solo and dancing with ardent (if very short) admirers. I guess what I really don’t know is how to tell you without being boring. Let’s see if I can manage. Let me know if you start to nod off.
First let me introduce you to the cast of characters. In the interest of fairness and even-handed journalism, this shall be done alphabetically. Let no one even think that the first person I name is any more guilty than the others (although “innocent” might not fit either). Without further ado, our first participant is Christine. An active member of CGS, many of you will remember her part in the recent Chicago Illusions play. Well, at least you will remember the dress that she (almost) wore along with her paddle.
Our second participant is Dawn. It was actually Dawn that initiated our little night out through the Transformations Forum. Most of you don’t know her as she usually remains hidden away disguised as a suburban male. So good is this disguise that no one has ever read her (or rather him). Thanks to Dawn there were some photos available to accompany this column. I forgot my camera at home, again!
Alphabetically, Greer would be next, but you already have the good/bad (choose one) fortune of knowing her, so we shall move on.
The final principal character was a visitor from England, whom I shall refer to as “L”. For fear of being exposed and having her passport revoked along with her garter belt, L asked that her identity not be exposed. Consequently I won’t mention her “other” name (Archibald Fotheringham) or where she lives (Oxford) or her profession (condom street-vendor) so that no one can connect the dots and find a cute bunny rabbit that points to our new friend L.
OK, everybody ready? Here we go! (I hope to hell this gets more exciting, I can even feel MY eyes getting heavy.)
Our adventure began at Hunter’s, as so many interesting adventures do. It was early yet, only 7:00 and therefore at least 3 hours away from anything exciting happening. I walked in the door a few minutes late (of course), and my companions for the evening had already gathered. I suspect they had been keeping the bartender busy because they had already progressed to talking about most embarrassing moments. Christine introduced me to L whom she had met at Transformations that very evening. Apparently the nicely styled hair, excellent makeup (courtesy of the ever fabulous Olivia) and English accent convinced Christine that L was not an axe murderer and might enjoy a night on the town. Personally I try to always ask point blank if someone I have just met is an axe murderer. If they say no, I can relax immediately without having to fret about it all evening.
Now, for those of you who know me, what would be your guess about what I will be wearing at any given time? Sorry, no prizes for the obvious. You all know that I love miniskirts and showing off my legs. For this night, the forecast was for temps in the low 20’s with scattered snow showers. Having not yet thoroughly warmed up after the significantly sub-zero temperatures of the days before, I decided to be rational and adult and wear a long skirt and boots. Sure, the chosen skirt had side slits to mid-thigh, but it was long! (I think it makes my butt look great, but we’ll let that go for the moment. Hey that means you, let go of that!)
So there I am, the queen (or at least a princess) of the miniskirt, wearing a long skirt, and I look at how my companions are dressed. Wouldn’t you know. Not a knee covered in the whole group. Life can be so unfair. Heck, just look at how heavy my beard is and you’ll know that’s true. After I pout and whimper for a few moments, we move to a table by the dance floor to chat and finish drinks. I was the designated driver, so I was only doing straight shots of Everclear. Actually that’s not true, I take my duties as designated driver very seriously. Ever since my license was permanently revoked for reckless endangerment, I try to be very careful.
After some initial chit-chat, taking of photos, visits to the ladies room (that’s the loo for our friend L), and getting bundled up against the cold, we all head out and pile into my car. Christine discovered that she lost her hat, so we all piled out, formed a femme skirmish line, and swept the parking lot for the errant chapeau. The bonnet was recovered and we were off to Boys Town.
Our first stop was Sidetrack. Since it was cold and snowy, I took advantage of the valet parking. Meaning of course that I paid the valet $10 (plus tip) to park my car in front of a fire hydrant nearby so that I’ll later get a $150 ticket in the mail. But hey, we didn’t’ have to walk far!
Inside Sidetrack, L was momentarily concerned because she had to show ID to get in. We convinced her that she could use her passport even though it is on the Homeland Security “Shoot on Sight” list. We figured that the chances of Sidetrack checking the list were slim. Nevertheless, the rest of us moved well away from her as we entered, just to be sure.
My previous visits to Sidetrack were limited to the main bar area (and of course the adjacent ladies room). Christine steered us quickly through this area and into the Crystal Bar. We found a delightful table in the corner and settled in with a round of drinks.
It was about this time that L began to regale us with jokes, both good and bad. As a side note, I must state that I have a very hard time hearing all that is said in a bar or club. So I usually smile and nod even though I have absolutely no idea what is being said. At some time in the past I got tired of repeatedly asking for repeats. The result is that I caught some setups and some punch lines, but they don’t necessarily go together. Besides which, English humor seems to always require knowing some obscure historical facts, like who Winston Churchill was or what Big Ben is (sounds kinky though). So, a lot of the jokes went over my head, or perhaps in a zigzag path around it. I do recall a number of references to some sort of relationship between farmers and their sheep, but that sounds unnatural so I probably misunderstood.
To demonstrate the universal appeal of some jokes, L told one in French saying that we would probably get it even though we couldn’t understand all the words. It is true that we understood several of the French words, and that we laughed politely at the end. But I’m sorry to say that we mono-lingual Americans didn’t really get it until L retold the joke in English. Unfortunately, I can’t share it with you here as it involves the improper use of a policeman’s baton. Mercy!
Having never explored Sidetrack, I took Dawn in tow and we looked around. Up the stairs in back they have a delightful little rooftop bar which includes open air seating. We couldn’t get into the outdoor seating that night as all of the chairs and benches were occupied by snow. Just downstairs is a hideaway bar with pool tables and such. We then circled back around through the main bar and back to the Crystal Bar.
A little later, I took the same tour with Christine. There hadn’t been any significant changes in architecture in the preceding few minutes, but we did encounter a fun drunk guy on our circuit. He was apparently rather short, but he stood on a step and was able to look both of us in the eye. It seems that he was upset because he had been criticized for his attire. He was wearing a black t-shirt that said “NYC” on it along with a black leather jacket. I thought he looked fine, but apparently it wasn’t appropriate Chicago club wear. I could have understood if he wasn’t wearing pants, but fortunately a different set of rules apply to us.
By the time we returned to our table, my steel trap mind identified the key problem with Sidetrack, no dance floor! That means it was time to bundle up and cross the street to Roscoe’s!
To digress for just a moment . . . Let me say how very fun and exciting it is to cross a busy urban street when there is a bit of accumulated snow and ice and you’re wearing heels. Fortunately there was a traffic light so we were able to cross cautiously and safely.
Having reached Roscoe’s, we paused in the front area to get a round of drinks. Then I led off to the back where I knew the dance floor sat in dark, loud splendor. Surprise! We found the dance area to be completely boarded up. Horrors! Entering a small (and empty) bar area adjacent, I queried the bartender about this unacceptable situation. He nicely explained that they were doing some remodeling. Gak!
We settled into a table in the little empty bar area and continued with chatting, joking and drinking (except for me of course, I had gotten tired of the effort involved in shots and switched to an IV). Before I was aware of what was happening, Dawn and Christine moved to an open area of the floor and began dancing. Right there in the aisle! I was shocked! I was appalled! I was soon on my feet to wiggle my behind too! L joined in too and we just shook our booties until we were all exhausted (about 2 minutes I think).
As the evening progressed, some other groups discovered our little hideaway. As the hour was growing later (it was after my bedtime for goodness sakes), I suggested we return to Hunter’s (1) where everyone else’s cars were parked, and (2) where there was a known dance floor that would by now be in full action. So we once again bundled up, crossed the street, retrieved the car from the valet (no apparent damage from street racing), and headed back to Hunter’s.
Hunter’s was indeed now in full swing. We deftly bypassed the cover charge table with the rationale that we were there earlier, and we made our way to the pool room and a quick warm up by the fire (a very nice touch on these cold nights, especially when wearing a mini). Unfortunately, our friend Dawn announced that it was time for her to head home. Saddened by her departure, but mindful of our responsibilities, Christine, L and I headed for the dance floor.
The dance floor was busy, although not packed shoulder-to-shoulder as it is at times. We dove in and worked on our moves. Christine’s were apparently working. After we had been dancing for a few minutes, I saw that she had attracted a dance partner. It would be unfair to say that he was short. After all, he was tall enough so that his eyes could remain on Christine’s chest while they danced. I won’t even contemplate what else might have been occurring in the dark of the dance floor. When quizzed about it later, Christine would only smile and giggle. You go girl!
To bring the evening to a close, I drove L back to her hotel by the airport. Now the poor deluded dear had been prancing around Chicago in a lovely frock, shaking her tail, and generally having a wild, girly time all evening, but she was concerned that the desk clerk at the hotel would . . . what? I’m not sure, but L saw it as potential devastation. So the plan was to deliver her to the back door of the hotel so she could make a clandestine entry and sneak up the back stairs unnoticed. Of course as all such plans do, this one went awry when we found the back door locked. Ah well, our L pulled herself together (the tears were a bit much) and bravely headed for the front door under the watchful eye of the desk clerk. As I sped away from the scene, the first police car arrived, and I could see L being spread-eagled against a wall and frisked by a security man. I think L was smiling.

*****
New Years Resolution Watch – How am I doing on my resolutions?
Go on a diet/lose weight – I actually kicked off a high-protein, low-carb diet after the new year, and I have been sticking to it (surprise, surprise). I dropped the “holiday” weight quickly, and I’m now working on the 15 pounds that took me years to accumulate.
Always take purse out of car before locking it – So far, so good. Although I did have a momentary panic at Hunters when I thought my purse walked away all by itself (or with help). But no, I was just having another senior moment.
Go to new places while dressed – No movement on this one yet. Unfortunately I didn’t get an invite to any of the inaugural balls.
Improve femme voice – No movement here either. Scared 3 children and a small puppy when I said hello.
Organize closet/drawers – Another one with no movement. If I can’t just put my male clothes in a duffle bag, maybe I should buy a house with more closets.
Win a large lottery – No luck so far. Of course I would probably improve my odds if I bought a ticket.

*****
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Please send to me at greercd@hotmail.com.

Greer's Ramblings

2009-01-01T17:39:00.000-08:00

The Primrose, January 2009

Ramble (from Merriam-Webster Online): “(1a) to walk aimlessly from point to point, (1b) to explore idly, (2) to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion, (3) to grow or extend irregularly.”
Don’t you just hate articles that start off with a definition? Sorry about that, but it makes me feel that at least I have some grammatical legitimacy, even if my abilities as a writer are questionable. Regardless of how you feel about the literary ploy, let us briefly consider why I have chosen to call this column “Ramblings”.
Part 1a of the definition of ramble doesn’t really apply. Especially when wearing high heels, walking aimlessly is something I don’t tend to do. Of course walking around Hunters showing off a short skirt isn’t really aimless now is it? It certainly has a purpose, but perhaps this isn’t the time or place to discuss that.
Now part 1b, to “explore idly”, is more like it. I certainly don’t have any grand plan for what this column might contain in any given month. In fact, I frequently have no idea what it will contain even as I’m writing. Who knows when something totally unexpected will pop “Frosted Flakes” up. See what I mean? So my own plan is to idly explore whatever pops into my head. If we’re all lucky, it will have some relevance and be at least mildly interesting. Of course I’m not making any promises.
If part 1b defined the what, part 2 hits the how nail right on the head, especially the part about being long-winded. I am of an age where I have gained a fair amount of life experience. And, like many of us in the “my AARP card is yellowed with age” club, I figure it is my duty to share those experiences with young whippersnappers even if it kills them from boredom. By the way, and to prove the point, a whippersnapper is defined as a diminutive, insignificant, or presumptuous person. Oddly, it came from the word “snippersnapper” the origin of which is unknown, but which just had to be uttered by someone with a great deal of life experience, and very little humor. “Damn little snippersnapper!”
Then there is part 3 of the definition of ramble. Frankly, I’m not sure I want to explore how the concept of “growing or extending irregularly” might apply to me or this column. Instead, I shall allow my idle exploration to change topics entirely.
*****
Happy New Year! Have you made any resolutions for 2009? Normally I avoid such commitments that I know are doomed to failure from the start. Agreeing to write this column for example. I just know the pressure of having to write something every month is going to drive me to drink. Hmm. I guess it’s a good cause after all.
Anyway, like 95% of the people reading this, I have placed “Go on diet/lose weight” as #1 on my list of resolutions. Actually, it’s the only thing on the list so far, so I thought I should consider some other very personal and intimate things. And what better place to consider personal and intimate things than in a column that is likely to be perused by millions of strangers. Well, maybe tens of my favorite people. So here goes.
Go on a diet/lose weight – I suspect that anyone who sells prenumbered New Years resolution paper could preprint this one in slot #1. I don’t remember anyone ever saying, “Yeah, I gotta gain me some weight next year. I damn near blew away in that last big windstorm.” Of course there are you crazies out there who run marathons and have the slim bodies and great legs to prove it (you know who you are), and the rest of us would like to see you gain a lot of weight this year.
Always take purse out of car before locking it – It was a fun new experience to deal with an Auto Club tow truck driver while dressed. I’m only sorry I was wearing jeans instead of a cute mini. It would have been interesting to see if I could distract the driver from the task of breaking into my car. Of course it was cold and sleeting at the time, so it was probably for the best.
Go to new places while dressed – While I would like to expand my list of comfortable “T-friendly” places, what I’m talking about here is trying new categories of places. These don’t have to be exotic. Things like grocery stores, movie theaters, and dry cleaners would all work. Although some out-of-the-ordinary places might be fun like the county morgue, a Friends of Blagojevich fundraiser, or maybe a monster truck rally.
Improve femme voice – Even when I concentrate on it, I don’t do a very good job with this. I generally start a sentence in a soft, sing-song, semi-feminine voice, but by the end of the sentence I’ve lost my concentration and I’m back down in my usual deeper, louder, semi-masculine voice. It tends to make small children cry.
Organize closet/drawers – Several months ago, I was granted the right to move my femme wardrobe out of a duffle bag and a box and into the closet and the dresser in the bedroom. In this case, being in the closet was a great improvement. Suddenly it was possible to see my collection of miniskirts without having to throw them all onto the bed. Dresses and blouses could remain relatively wrinkle-free by virtue of being on hangers. There was even a shelf for my wigs on foam heads. I had reached crossdresser Nirvana! Of course we all know that nature abhors a vacuum, so it became critical that I buy more clothes to fill every possible inch of closet and drawer space. And now? Well tempting as it is to send all of my boy clothes to Goodwill, I really do need to organize things a bit. Perhaps if I put my boy clothes in a duffel bag?
Win a large lottery – I think I could live out my life comfortably with just $2 million, but this would not be luxury living and the benefits would really be limited to, well to me. Now with $20 million, I could provide a small stipend to other members of the family, and I could live closer to the style that I was born to enjoy. $200 million should provide a decent living for me, a greater level of generosity for the family, and perhaps even some philanthropic pursuits. Perhaps as much as a one-year membership in CGS for a deserving t-person! $2 billion would get me onto the list of the 500 wealthiest people in the world (near the bottom). I could probably support the whole family and throw a nice little party for all my friends at CGS. Heck, I could probably even buy myself a Senate seat and walk into the Senate chamber wearing a killer mini!
*****
Speaking of wearing pants . . . yes, actually I was in item #2 above. Since we form a very cerebral and introspective group, I’m sure you know all of the deeply philosophical questions like, “if a tree falls in the woods and there is no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?” I think these questions also include those about the Pope’s religious practices, a bear’s personal habits, and possibly something about being glad that cows don’t fly, but I digress (ramble?).
As a person who is generally a crossdresser (as opposed to a ), the recent spate of cold and nasty weather causes me to ask myself the following question. “Self,” I ask boldly, “is a MTF crossdresser in pants really a crossdresser?” Unfortunately, self then slapped I for having the temerity to imply that self is a crossdresser. Self can be such a b***h. Happily self doesn’t pack much of a wallop due to poor upper body strength.
Now for me (as opposed to self or I, who are now sulking and refuse to talk to me), it is much less fun to wear pants than to wear a skirt or a dress. Of course my loyal readers (who are all known to be certifiable) also know that for me it is much less fun to wear a longer dress or skirt than to wear a shorter dress or skirt, but that isn’t the question before us now. Nevertheless, wearing pants should certainly be a fashion option for the well-rounded crossdresser (regardless of where the rounded places are and whether the are purchased or naturally occurring). However, to be properly considered appropriate for the MTF crossdresser, the pants in question must meet certain criteria:
They can’t have been purchased in the men’s or boy’s department. You might be able to fool some observers with those tight, designer jeans made for men when you don a wig, heels and a cute sweater, but deep inside you’ll know.
If they are jeans, they must be skin-tight from the waist to the knee. Oh, a reminder here, the wearer should be sure to tuck to avoid questions about that growth on the upper thigh. A GG may wear loose jeans, but that’s only because they are crossdressing themselves in boy clothes. We must resist the temptation to pass by presenting ourselves as girls who are presenting as boys. Down that road lies madness.
If they are jeans, they must have femme touches. For example, cute designs on the back pockets, or jewels and studs arranged in a heart shape or spelling out “Property of the Hell’s Angels”. This requirement can also me met by sticking with “lowest rise” jeans and wearing a black thong and a crop top, but this is a very advanced move and not for the indecisive (or for plumbers).
If they are slacks, they must be part of an “outfit”. It is a known fact that men do not wear “outfits”, so pants that are part of an “outfit” are automatically given the presumption of being femme. As I understand it, if the top and bottom are made of the same material, it’s an “outfit”. Apparently this stricture doesn’t apply to men’s suits, but we’ll ignore that for now.
They must be worn with heels, or other obviously femme shoes. Strictly as a safety issue, a winter season exception will be granted to allow the wearing of androgynous boots. However, this exception only applies if the pants are of the “skinny” variety and are tucked into the tops of the boots.

*****
I was checking out the CVS Pharmacy website in search of some concealer. There were several pages of products listed, and I was calmly scrolling through them looking for the right sort of thing (you know, something that would cover all the ugly male and show only the beautiful female). Right after “Revlon Blemish Concealer Light/Medium” were listings for “Revlon Blemish Concealer Medium” and “Revlon Blemish Concealer Medium/Deep”. These two products were prominently marked “This item cannot ship by air.” No other products in the list were so marked. So what is in these two items that makes them special? And why isn’t it in the Light/Medium variety? What happens if they go by air? Do they blow up? Are they known to carry dangerous weapons? Perhaps they just have a fear of heights.
*****
Those of you who have actually read this column obviously have way too much spare time on your hands, and there is serious question about your mental health and your taste in reading material. Nevertheless, I would love to hear from you. Please email me at greercd@hotmail.com. I will also accept written correspondence if it is neatly folded and quietly passed to me in class or during recess. Please note that I will not forward notes to X saying that Y likes her. Put on a sexy dress and tell her yourself.
Future columns may feature selections from the complimentary messages that I receive. Negative or insulting messages will be forwarded to the FBI for analysis and possible identification of the sender as a dangerous menace to the security of the USA.

Saturday Night in Boys Town

2008-12-01T17:32:00.001-08:00

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

The Secret Handshake

2008-12-01T17:32:00.000-08:00

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

Dressing for the Queen’s Dinner

2008-10-01T17:22:00.000-07:00

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.

Be All Chicago 2008

2008-07-01T12:56:00.000-07:00

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!