peregrinations on Capitol Hill

After months or maybe years of not being able or willing to make it, I finally went to Pho Goth & Die near Broadway. I got to meet Goths I'd never met before - who promptly tried to get me involved in running the Gothic Pride organization. I didn't commit, but they seem like a perfectly nice bunch. Yeah, about half of us started merrily discussing our kinks; waddaya want in a group like that?

Went to Frankie & Jo's vegan ice cream across from the Merc. The cardamom flavor is even better than what I had in Sydney. If the Tickler doesn't know about this, she needs to, because she can't do dairy without unpleasant consequences.

The highlight of the evening, though, was on the way out of Capitol Hill station. There was a stunning, much younger woman in front of me on the escalator. I may have stopped climbing because oh my. I'd describe her look as Conventionally Pretty Corporate Straight Woman. Her SFDs: longish eggshell jacket, short straight matching skirt, bare legs, natural-colored suede strappy heels, carefully waved dark hair. My SFDs: Fluevog Half Truths, black hoodie with tails from Mishu, big black Chrome bag, and my Pride flag leggings from Bombsheller. She smiled at me and said, "I love your pants." Turning fifty is working out OK so far.

What to do with my face?

There's something I keep thinking about occasionally since my appointment with Dr. Faceknife on Monday. When he was doing the live Photoshopping of my jaw and asking me what I wanted my jaw to look like, it was surprisingly hard for me to say. At my first appointment I told him in jest that if I end up looking more like my mother than I do already, that's a win, but seriously, even if I had a picture of my mom from thirty years ago to give him, I wouldn't. I want to look like how I think I look.

The trouble is, what I usually see in the mirror and what every one else sees aren't the same. What I see in the mirror and what I see even in professional photographs (*waves at leenerella*) aren't the same. I see a woman; that's why I live as one now. Part of this is that I'm seeing myself from two thirds of the way up my face, which definitely helps me feel better day to day, but it doesn't explain everything. This disconnect between my usual perception and most of the goddamn planet's is the very heart of being trans.

You can tell me that most of the goddamn planet's perception doesn't matter at all, or that "usual" is good enough. I'm here to tell you that isn't true, not if I can do anything about it.

Dr. Faceknife's first suggestions - to his credit, I thought - were subtle. What I thought looked right was... less so. He says we're going to go through the same exercise again (!) on surgery day. How my mind is going to work after six hours of no food or fluids I'm not sure, but I'm grateful for the second chance.