The Actor, the Drag Queen, and the Tranny Bigot

“Drag is the Black Face of the Transgender Community” ~Nameless self righteous tranny

No doubt I’m part of a community who’s experienced it’s share of bigotry.  For some reason the world still has this black and white view of gender in a way that slams shut any dialogue about any type of non conforming gender expression.

I’m one of those laid back trannies.  I don’t let words or odd looks offend me.  Of course if you are just blatantly rude you’ll get to hear, in a pretty colorful way,  what I think about that rudeness.  But ignorance isn’t bigotry, it’s simply the human condition, and we are all afflicted with it.

As I’ve settled into the tranny community, I’ve met others who also happen to be trans.  I’ve become great friends with some, while I’ve grown completely tired of others.  The thing about trannies is that the only thing that really binds us as a community is that we were born into a gender that we didn’t quite feel comfortable with.  After that, nothing binds us.  Some experience great hatred.  Some, like myself, have had a wonderfully positive experience.

I’m still not convinced that some of the hatred those others may have experienced wasn’t a result of some action by my tranny brother and sister, but that’s another discussion.

The thing I’ve found interesting in this diverse community is the amount of people who feel they are victims, and will cry out at the top of their lungs to fight against any perceived slight to their tranny kind.  On the surface it seems a noble fight, but once you dig deeper you find very quickly that while they scream and shout at the transphobic bigots discriminating against them, they’re also snubbing their nose and bitching about others of us in the community.

Whether you’re a full on transsexual, crossdresser, or in between, we all have a place here.  Of course it’s ok to find certain people, and even groups disagreeable to you, but it’s another to point your fingers at them and try to kick them out of your elite little club as somehow not tranny enough, or even worse, accusing them of spreading a message that we are all perverted, painted clowns, or some other nonsense.

Recently a male actor portrayed a preop trans woman who happened to be stricken with HIV and addicted to drugs.  Immediately the trans elite, the ones who tells the rest of us who and what is offensive, jumped up shouting and screaming “HOW DARE THEY?!?”

They pointed out that a trans woman didn’t get the part, they pointed out that the character in question was the stereotypical caricature of a trans woman while shouting “we aren’t like that”.

The actor in question did a wonderful job, and during his acceptance speech of some hollywood award made the typical comments that any male makes when he dresses as a woman for a part in a film.  The jokes of tucking, pantyhose, and lipstick, however, were followed with an admiration of his character and those like her.

Immediately tranny royalty accused him of being bigoted and transphobic for his speech.

What they refuse to admit is that there are those of us in the tranny community who are exactly in the same place as his character.  They refuse to admit that perhaps a man, a celebrated actor,  was the right choice to play someone so early in their transition, someone who needed to be rough and raw.   Furthermore, they refuse to admit, that by pointing their fingers and accusing him of his misdeeds, they are lumping us all together and putting all of us in his characters place.

In a very spirited facebook debate, I pointed out that many drag performers I know have no problem joking about tucking and panty hose to which I was almost shouted out of the tranny community.

You see, for some reason those who decry the fact, that the non tranny world doesn’t understand us, also will willingly paint a picture that all drag queens are loud, crude, gay men who dress like cartoonish women for laughs.

Sure, some drag is camp, some drag is what Ru Paul so lucratively spot lights on her show.  But drag is also a beautiful artform performed by transsexual women and others who are very serious about this craft competing in pageants that take months of preparation and mind blowing talent.

It’s a celebration of beauty, grace, pride, and showing the world who you are.  This is a perfect example of what I want to be.

My girlfriend performs and competes in these pageants.  Many of my friends do as well.  These are many transsexual women who I look up to as they’ve taught me how to laugh at myself, how to not sweat the small stuff, and how to simply be me.

So while many in the transgender community rush off to get their vagina in a round the world trek to prove they are women, then stand at the grocery store with their 5 o clock shadow and bad wig getting all huffy because some poor clerk, who didn’t realize they had their little kitty hidden deep in their levis, called them sir, I’ll be happy in my pursuit of beauty, passability ,and self expression.

Lets not attack other’s ignorance by battering them with our own.


My Little Big Man



Being a tranny, I love being a woman.  I love when the world treats me that way, the polite smiles, the doors held open.  I even love how the guy at the auto parts store talks to me like I’m an idiot.

It’s about more than how you look.  It’s about how the world reacts to you.  It envelops you in this bubble of femininity, and you feel safe, secure, and just plain right.

Those that knew me before still hold on to a fading mental picture of the person they used to know.  Some call me he, some call me by my birth name, yet others can feel that image slipping away like the memory of a dream just after waking..

Those that never met me before the “big life change” see me as a woman, never questioning pronouns, and even have a hard time seeing me as anything but female.  The image they have in their mind is such that they can’t interact with me in any other way, than how they would interact with any woman they knew.  This is a feeling that evokes happiness and much content.  I know my other friends and family won’t be far behind, and soon, they won’t remember me as anything different than who they see today.

I think trannies appreciate their gender role in life much better than born girls, or born boys.  It’s something we’ve fought for, it’s something we’ve cried for, and it’s something we celebrate with each win that is a step in the ascending staircase of confidence.

I have a friend, a dear dear friend, who has become so special to me in a way that few will ever get to experience.  This friend of mine, my special little man, is someone who wasn’t always a man, and understands me, and the things I’m going through in a way that few can.  His experience as a woman, and as a transgender man, provides him insight into how I’m feeling and what I need in the dynamic of my life.

To say we’re an odd pair is a little of an understatement.  I, standing 6 foot in flats, having played college football, he standing 5.6 will gladly show you pictures of his quincenera, with his porcelain skin and a gown that would make any little Mexican girl from the east side of Houston jealous.

He would sooner die than have me lift anything even moderately heavy, he brings me food when I’m hungry, and he tells me I’m beautiful when I don’t even realize how much I needed to hear it.

I help him with perspective, and the finer points of fitness, and fill a void that every man needs, a doting woman, feeding his ego with genuine words of admiration.

We fit in a friendship that helps us experience what life is like for those who are born into a gender that matches their brain.  It’s something we seek, it’s something we treasure, and it’s something we’ll fight until the bitter end to retain.  

He’s quickly becoming the standard at which a woman should measure a man.  What he lacks in height he more then makes up for in heart, and I know he would give his last breath to protect me.

My little man has shown me how a woman should feel, protected, cared for, loved, and through it all, important.


The Battle of Silicon Valley

I know it’s been a long time since I posted a blog update.  I’m sorry for that.  Work has gotten way crazy, and honestly, I was sick of computers.

So, here I am.  I’ve just gotten back from a trip to our corporate office in California, and I’ve never been happier.

I work remotely, and this has really allowed me to transition at home without having to really face other people at work.  It creates a lot of anxiety when trips are scheduled, and I usually spend a few weeks wringing my hands and almost giving myself a heart attack because each time I’ve changed just that much more.

I live my life as Veronika while I’m home, and I’m not in the closet with anyone.  But, I haven’t really had that talk of talks with work just yet.

After my last trip to Israel, I decided that with no foreseeable travel, I was going to do some things that I’ve been putting off.  Hair color, extensions, earrings, and my first surgery were definitely in my sights.  My appearance has changed a lot since that trip, and I was hoping the break from travel would solidify my grasp on transition and really push me through the point of no return.

My break from travel was short lived, and shortly after this, like the very next week, I was told that a group who I’ve had some really rough times with wanted a face to face meeting in a couple of weeks.  At this point I was so over my job, and quite frankly didn’t care if they fired me, I told them it wasn’t possible until at least February.

Lucky for me, we just had a reorg and one of my best friends, who knows about me, became my boss, and I was able to fill him in on some things.  He’s great, and understood and we put the team off for a few months.  It really worked out great as a lot of things got solved even before the trip.

So there I was, the trip inching closer, even got moved up two weeks, and I was faced with the very real necessity to tell HR.

My HR rep has been awesome, and they almost seemed excited about the transition.  They let me know that someone else had been through this, and I could talk to her if I wanted, and honestly, that made me feel great.

I bought my tickets, and packed my clothes, and made an attempt at butching up before I left for the airport.

Any idea I had that people saw me as a guy was quickly ruined by the ever so nice TSA people as they called me ma’am, miss, young lady, sweetie, and all the like.  My sudden panic about bathrooms almost consumed me as I was trying not to be a girl, but still didn’t pass as a guy.  Suddenly both sets of bathrooms were a no man’s land…. or no woman’s land…. I guess it depends on how you look at it.
Lucky for me, the airports had some really nice unisex bathrooms, so that crisis was averted.  My bladder was loving me again, and I could relax a little as I flew from Houston, to Dallas, to California.

About two weeks prior to the trip, I had surgery on my midsection, and flying in a compression garment that crowds your intestines can make for a miserable trip.  It pressed so hard into me, that any movement in my bowels came to a complete halt, and I really didn’t know how I was going to get things working again.  Umm…. Yeah, like that.

This surgery which was lipo and a tummy tuck with fat injection in my hips gave me a new feminine body that didn’t quite fit into my male pants anymore.  So there I am, with my pants up to my armpits, my bowels kinked to no end, and totally scared that my long blonde hair was going to evoke some type of reaction that I wouldn’t be able to deal with.

I arrived at the hotel around 2 am, pulled my garment off, laid on the bed, and prayed things would work right before the morning.  Thank God they did, or I would have exploded all over the meeting rooms and I’m sure that would have really given the wrong impression.

The next day, I had planned on slipping into the room before anyone else, but that jerk Murphy had other ideas.  I was 10 minutes late, and I had to walk into the room as people were giving their personal bios, and all eyes landed on me.

Yep, Hello spotlight! So there I am my hair in a ponytail, my beautiful face ;), holes in my ears that had previously been home to some cute earrings, and my male pants up so high because of my new luxurious hips.  It was almost as if time stood still for an instance like in those twix commercials.  Only thing Is I couldn’t go back and change it.

There I was center stage, searching for something to say.  What was only a few seconds felt like forever, and my forehead turned into a waterfall of sweat, before I simply smiled, and said “Hello everybody!”

Before my trip, HR had asked if I was going to be presenting.  And of course I was.  It wouldn’t have been a problem if I was going to sit quietly in the corner.  It wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t charging into battle in a room full of people who’s had their entire job duties turned upside down by someone coming in and redesigning their solution.

Of course Murphy’s a bitch, but the funny thing about Murphy, he pushes you through uncomfortable situations.  He makes you face a task with no where to run. He makes you plan for what could be.  Murphy kicked me in the ass that day.  He pushed me into enemy territory screaming my battle cry, leaving my insecurities dead or dying in my wake.

Maybe it’s fight or flight, but when you’re faced with a pivotal point in your life, it changes you just a little.  Needless to say, I proved my worth.  I defended my decisions, I suggested new changes, and in the end, a room full of techno nerds that may have started out with their own idea of me, found out who I really was.