Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I discovered that my vinyl nun/maid outfit, pictured in the user pic, had started to disintegrate, probably from hanging in the mildew-ridden closet at the old Devil Girl Pad. Sadness. I hadn't worn it in years, but one of the best photos of me ever taken, at SEAF, was in that outfit. RIP. Shall I make another one? I have no plans to. Honestly, I'm just not as enthused about costuming as I used to be.

And the top half of a nice outfit — a burgundy taffeta top with a bat wing hem, appliqués, back laces, and velvet cuffs — has gone from kind of tight to uncomfortably and unattractively tight. I'm not sentimentally attached to it, but it's a nice piece. It needs to go to a good home. Yay boobs? At some point my boobs may force me to get rid of something I really like, and that's going to be some bittersweetness, boy howdy.

I took the bus, whence I saw a rainbow, to the train, whence I saw a gorgeous sunset, to another bus to a Halloween-plus-birthday party at chez J, a lady I've been on exactly one date with. If you've ever been to any events run by the Nerdy Seattle Poly Posse (Acronym? Nispie.) you know what it was like, because it was many of the same people. I hadn't seen some of them since before the pandemic and later had to ask Funny Lady who the hell they were because as ever, they knew me. It was fun, yet mellow and not as hardcore about wardrobe as my beloved People in Black. My party will be less mellow; I've already ordered the sushi.

That was the Halloween part. This is the hormones part: I haven't found a hair on my face or under my chin that I could pluck in about a week. It's been forty years since that happened. I have no complaints, to say the least. The literature, at least the older literature that I read long ago, said that while hormones may change the texture of your hair, they won't make it go away from a significant portion of your body. Maybe I'm a walking refutation of that.

But that isn't the only possibly effect of hormones I've noticed recently. ( It's under a cut for discussion of trans woman bits. )

I had a nightmare about layoffs at work. Arg.

I've mentioned that I have a few nasty, bristly little beard hairs that grow out from under my chin. I watch for them vigilantly, pulling on average between one and two a day with my trusty Tweezerman.

Or at least that was the case until about a week ago. I've found maybe one rogue hair under my chin in the last week, and it was long but not coarse. At the risk of looking a gift horse in the mouth, I wonder what happened.

I do have a hypothesis, though: I, uh, upped my girl 'roid dose by 25% back in September, from 4 mg/week estradiol valerate to 5. Don't tell Dr. Funnyname. Such small increments are easy when you're taking drugs by injection. For context, I started all those years ago at 10 mg/week, or more precisely 20 mg/fortnight.

Might this have had an impact? Maybe. I'm just grateful that the little bastards aren't currently troubling me. The skin under my chin has had time to heal from all the damage I'd done to it with the tweezers.

How's the libido lately? Decidedly meh. But there could be all kinds of explanations for that: shorter days, my mom dying and then my scattering her ashes on the other side of the US. We shall see.

So I hit the Mercury on Friday night for a fetish night ("Sadist Hawkins"). Drinks were drunk, photos were taken, and eyes were batted. Happiness.

One of the recipients of the eye batting was Shiny H. I mentioned Clara my DIY sex toy and showed off my photo because, let's face it, I'm awfully proud of her. She expressed interest in buying (?!) something like that, made to order. I pointed out that since she's cis, her girl bits and mine work pretty differently despite Dr. Snip's* quite respectable best efforts. Shiny H took that in stride, saying, "If I can get off from straight men in Kentucky, I can get off from anything." It is to laugh.

Shallow fashion details: my sleeveless latex LBD from the Stockroom, Fluevog Truth Brittany boots, bare legs, vintage black patent collar from long-gone Sin, jewelry in Pride colors.

That dress has a deep, deep V neck. Friday night was the first night that it looked to me as if I really had the boobs for it; I guess recent tweaks to my hormone regimen** were a good idea, to say the least. Now if only I had wider hips and less bone & cartilage on my face & neck. I can arrange the latter someday, maybe, but the only place I've heard of the former happening is Korea. I think I'll pass on that.

There was a fetish night at Kremwerk last night to which I had tentative plans to go, but my body said, "Nope." I've slept for about twelve of the last twenty-four hours. I guess the annual February insomnia is over, thank Goddess.



*Dr. Snip is Dr. Marci Bowers, the first trans woman to do sex reassignment for other trans women.
**I went from 8 mg estradiol by injection every two weeks to 4 mg a week. Dr. Leather Bear suggested it long ago.

Remember fifteen months ago when I started progesterone? Well, I have three weeks' supply left, and I'm thinking I won't trouble Dr. Funnyname for a new prescription. Why not?

1. It's pretty much done what I wanted it to do. I haven't had to go bra shopping yet, but my breasts are a much nicer shape now: rounder, less pointy and flappy.
2. Waking up in the wee hours to pee like a horse is a drag. Progesterone makes you excrete salt.
3. Progesterone isn't without its risks, namely clotting and blood pressure. The sooner I'm off of it, the safer I'll probably be. It isn't meant to be a maintenance medication for anyone.
4. I don't know for sure if Dr. Funnyname would sign off on a new prescription, and he readily admits that he hasn't had experience managing trans women's hormone regimens.
5. One of the nice things about being a lesbian is that my sexual partners have realistic expectations about breasts. I'm just not a curvy gal, so I fit those expectations these days. Barely.
6. I have no ambitions in the adult entertainment industry.

I have a working heater in my bathroom! It even has a fan! I am not going to get eaten alive by sentient mildew while I take a shower! It's the successful end to a months-long quest.

What don't I have? Much salt in my cornbread. This is deliberate: I keep salted butter on hand because my son prefers it over the unsalted kind. That means I use it for baking, though, and it occurred to me that my mother's fabulous cornbread recipe calls for salt. So I decided to skip it this time and rely on what was already in the butter.

Is it enough? Well, not for my taste, but I will admit to not waking up way too early for my near-daily progesterone pee, which is known to contain more than the usual amount of sodium. I may split the difference next week.

Remember not quite a month ago when I started progesterone? Well, I'm on my last daily dose of 100 μg orally from the first bottle of thirty. (I got my second of three earlier this week.) Observations:

• My rate of breast growth does seem to have picked up noticeably. Would I be satisfied with the growth if I stayed at this dose for six to twelve months? Quite possibly. Dr. Gaydude says I do have the option of doubling it, but I'm not sure that's necessary.
• Progesterone can give you a funky tummy. That happened to me for about half an hour after the very first dose, and it hasn't happened since.
• Progesterone can make you drowsy — think pregnancy symptoms. Yes, that's definitely a thing for me, which is why I'm following the pharmacist's advice and taking it right before I go to bed.
• Other side effects? Nah, not really. My mood is fairly steady, and my weight is steady. I'd say that this new kind of girl 'roid agrees with me as much as estradiol does.

My employer was planning on moving into a smaller, cheaper office space starting last year and finally executing this year. In the meantime, COVID-19 happened. Well, the move completed last week. I took all the knickknacks and office supplies that I took home in the spring and put them on my new desk. Mind you, I'm not planning on using it until All This is over, but still I had to see the new space.

It's nice! It looks spiffy, and much like a smaller, less extravagant version of the old space. It's also on the 17th floor, so the common areas have a stunning view of Elliott Bay, which is Seattle's harbor. It should someday be a more comfortable place to work: less glare, less walking.

While I was in the center of the city I went in for my third ever mammogram. My boobs, they have been squashed, and it still isn't uncomfortable. Depending on the results I may get my hands on progesterone.

Birthday pizza, beers, and gelato courtesy of my son was lovely, but on the way home down the steepest part of the ridge I didn’t pay attention to Seattle’s ubiquitous green slime - beers, plural - and wiped out. I twisted my ankle, and I felt it swelling as I limped the five blocks home. So now it’s ice, ibuprofen, and elevation. I’m lucky the Wendling is here to help out.

Oh, and the AirBnB I reserved in London? Cancelled & refunded. Shenanigans? As a trans woman I have to wonder.

On to the good stuff: Yesterday was also the tenth anniversary of getting my first hormone prescription. It’s hard for me to describe how profound my joy & relief were as I sat staring at the slip in my hand at the pharmacy. I’d waited twenty-five years for that moment.

I continue to look forward to shot night every two weeks, and I’m pretty sure my boobs are still growing. Sometimes happiness comes in a vial.