Greer's Ramblings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.