sorcyress | Entries tagged with i-write-good-shit: public

Oh hey, I never posted this. It seems pretty readable, so have an essay that's been lying around on my desktop for a couple weeks. I think I wrote it just post-NEFFA or so.

So, I don't shave my legs.

(I don't shave my armpits either, but it's a little easier to hide that --I can wear t-shirts all summer. There is weather where pants *really* aren't an option.)

I've never shaved --never really seen the point. My general feeling about it is that the only thing it really accomplishes is boy attraction, and therefore falls into the same category of "completely fucking useless" as wearing make-up does. When I was of an age to learn how and get into the habit, I was also of an age where boys were useless and relationships impossible. For just post-pubescent Sorcyress, boy chasing was the furthest thing from my mind.

As I've gotten older, actually accepted that maybe this relationship idea is not all bad all the time, and started to (on occasion) do things specifically to attract boys^{1, 2}, I've still never bothered to shave my legs. Between the feministy stance and the much larger "I am lazy and a little bit of a perfectionist and I don't want to waste my time doing that to the degree I'd want to" stance, I've just never gotten around to it.

This would not be a problem, were I not a little bit self conscious of my hairy self. Okay, a lot self conscious. I try really quite hard to love my body just the way it is, but as with the stomach thing (mine is round, not flat), I live in a society that has made it very very clear that my body is NOT PERFECT and I should therefore try to fix it.

This is obviously bullshit. The clearest reason I can see for having a societally perfect body is so I can catch myself a man. Maybe if I get to a point where I can't rattle off without thinking the names of ten guys³ who would happily have sloppy make-outs with me I'll shave and start binge-dieting like it's going out of style⁶, but in the meantime, I think I can live comfortably with my really quite awesomely hot body just as it is.

Now, almost a year ago, something in my attitudes changed. Prior to this, I tended to wear a lot of tights, a lot of pants, yes, all summer long. Tank tops would only be worn with an open button-up shirt over them. Society couldn't make me take a razor to skin⁷, but it could at least make me hide the fact that I didn't.

So, a year ago, I was driving somewhere with my friend Jim. It was recockulously hot out, because it was summer in Maryland, and I was wearing shorts. At one point in the conversation, he commented, and I gave my usual "I am lazy and a feminist and therefore don't bother" answer. His response? Totally without mocking "You go girl."

My brain clicked into place, and more or less all was right with the world. That was about the point of my life where I started actively trying to be better about loving my body like it deserves. I've stopped wearing tights when I know damn well they'll be too warm, short skirts are even less the enemy than before, and while I'm still a little bit self conscious wandering out in the world, I'm getting better and better at just not giving a shit.

I don't get in people's faces about it. I don't rail against my smooth-legged friends. ((Hell, when given the invitation, I will happily run my hands up and down my roommates just shaven legs --all of the niceness without any of the itching or stubble the next day!)) I don't even usually bring it up. I just wear short skirts and bare legs and let people decide for themselves whether that's terrible. If people can't be friends with me just because I don't match that idea of normalcy, well, I don't really want them to stick around to find all the other deviant behaviours I indulge in.

I still can't look in the mirror every day and think I'm gorgeous. Hell, half the time I can't even manage seeing "pretty". But I'm getting a lot better at looking in the mirror and seeing myself, exactly as I'm meant to be, and not someone uncomfortable in her own skin.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: I feel that this is about the point in the essay where I should say I'm only using boys because I am too lazy to constantly write out "folk who like girls" I have no problems with being ogled by members of any gender --at least not when I'm in ogleable mode. It's a weird little exhibitionist line, and would probably take another essay to explain.

2: And I still don't often do things specifically to attract people. Rocky Horror and *some* conventions are the only exceptions, and only to a small extent.

3: This is not an exaggeration, and I've thought of at least two more since I said that. And these are just the folk I *know* want sloppy make-outs --I'll be damned if I can ever remember or keep track of how many of you want to take me home and do naughty things with me.⁴

4: ...or to me, but that's a different post, and one I don't feel like putting here. Suffice to say, I think that sloppy make-outs⁵ should have all parties as active participants. More fun like that.

5: This is a euphanism.

6: Or, you know, I'll just get over it and be happily single. Shock, horror, all that.

7: And that's another thing. Razor blade. Can kill people. Scraping against skin. How the *fuck* is this considered normal for *anyone*?

((That being said, I do have maybe a slight preference for clean shaven men. But I've had perfectly nice kissies with boys with beards before, so really, shaven status is totally up to them. Unless they try to grow a pornstache. I do not give kissies to boys with pornstaches.))

Fetishizing Groups ~~and Human Attractiveness vs Objectification~~((Next essay, I decided to split them up.))
-or-
Sor has a bit of an Existential Crisis night part two! ((Being as this was primarily written last night))

There's a group on livejournal called

ftmvanity. It's where I met

helionaut, and

quare, and a handful of other people along the way. It's basically a community where people who are or were once or have/had the genitals of girls can post pictures of themselves dressed as/as boys¹. There's a little bit of passing advice, the occasional discussion of surgeons or T dosage, but really and primarily the purpose of the community is to post pictures of yourself and get comments telling you how incredibly hot you look.

I like the community a lot, but as Erika Moen points out, I worry that I'm fetishizing them --both the members of the community specifically, and transmen in general.

I'm pretty sure I'm not fetishizing transmen in general. I know a surprisingly high number of transmen² in real life, and if I harbor any deep crushes or fantasies about them, they're secret enough that I don't know about them³. I'll flirt with them all, sure, in varying degrees of seriousness, but then again, I flirt with nearly every person I interact with.

As for the community...well...the place is called ftm vanity. It's not just expected that you'll get wolf whistles and *drooling* from the commenters, it's encouraged that the commenters engage in such flirtations. The posters post pictures because they're feeling pretty. The flattering comments serve to show that yes, they are pretty. To me, it's not really any worse than saying rrow at the half naked men over in

long_hair_guys. Yes, there's a little bit of objectifying, but it's what the posters want. ^{4, 5}.

And so, honestly, I don't think it's wrong to drool over the boys who post there. They are pretty, they know they're pretty, they're posting the pretty, I admire the pretty. Someone else can write the rant about how they're turning themselves into objects and setting transrights back a hundred bajillion years, I don't care. Those are some good looking guys, and I like having a forum where I can actually tell them that.⁶

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Because seriously, if you're a boy, you're a boy. You might have been the result of the gods fucking around, and therefore born with a vajeener, but if you say you're a boy, I'm gonna go ahead and do my best to remember that. That being said, ftm_vanity is home to a fair number of genderqueer folk, and at least a couple people (like me) who are just crossdressers.

2: ie, much higher than the number of transwomen I know. This is largely because I follow ftmvanity and have never bothered to find out if there is such a thing as mtf_vanity, but even without that, on the ftm side of things I have dan4th, Mando, Nathen, Mattie, and Michael, plus little flashes of Ria, Maddie, me, and my sister. On the mtf side, there's Woozle and Stacey. (And that's just the ones I can think of off the top of my head --I could very well be forgetting people.)

3: Well, no, that's not entirely true. I will admit to wanting to know what your average ftm (and mtf) looks like under the hood in the process of transitioning. I'm pretty sure this is merely curiosity, however, and not sexually linked.

4: It's not like I'm, say, going to the much more transition oriented

ftm and drooling over the photos --that would be, how do you say, not polite.

5: I...hesitate at this word choice. Following any negative with "but e wanted it" is not a good sentence. It is rapey, which I try to avoid *so* hard. So, "but that's what the community wants" is not exactly what I'm trying to say here, but I'm floundering a little at what the proper word choice should be.

6: This'll be part of the next post, or the one after that. I can feel it.

One of the many many reasons that I am incredibly unbelievably lucky is that, when I want to put on a pretty skirt and go dancing, no one even gives me a second glance.

I've spent the last couple hours reading assorted blogs and articles and whatnot about transsexuality, transphobia, and cisgendered privilege. Shockingly, it's not a pretty picture. Transfolk¹ do not really have a happy life. They have problems that I don't, and no, it's not, and will never be fair.

I am a woman. Even better, I get to choose what that means --because I was born with a vagina, I get to choose what aspects of femininity apply to me. I don't have to wear skirts, or put on make-up, or shave my legs if I don't want to, and people will still go right ahead and accept that I'm a woman. I can climb trees, and work tech; play DnD and know how to build a fire; fall in love when I see a backhoe and like playing football, and I am still accepted perfectly as a woman.

I don't have to act like a girl to be a girl. Like I said, I am incredibly unbelievably lucky.

One of those little tiny moments where everything clicked was the most recent time I got to see

sheerchaos, a couple years ago. She was wearing blue jeans, a t-shirt, and a bandana. For her, because of the fact that she was born into a male body and wore that sort of outfit every day, she sometimes had trouble passing.

That's the sort of outfit I've worn almost every day for the last ten years or something, and I've been accidentally called a boy once --when I had my head down, and books pressed to my chest. The second I looked the woman who made the mistake in the eye, she fell over herself apologizing.²

It was similarly brought home in something

woozle said, about one of the reasons she's scared she won't be able to actually transition her body to match her mind. One of the things therepists like you to do is to live for a time dressing and behaving in the manner of your desired outcome. Woozle dresses and acts like a tomboy. She *is* a tomboy. She doesn't like wearing skirts, or make-up, or being otherwise feminine. She's scared she won't be allowed to be a girl because she's too much of a boy.

Honestly, that's fucking bullshit on someone's part. Not every girl is a princess. That doesn't stop them from being girls.

We had a speaker for my education class, who talked about Who You Are, and how the world perceives you, and about racism and sexism and all the other isms in general. One of the things he talked about was the idea of your Colour³ --everything about you that other people can instantly see. The shade of your skin is a part of your Colour. Your gender. Your age. Your build.

That helped to spark the idea in me of just what to fight for. Yes, it's important to fight for your race, your gender, your ability level, your size. But people can't look at you and tell you're gay, or poly. They can't look at you and tell you've got a mental disorder. If you pass consistently, they can't look at you and tell you're trans. To me, those are almost the things that are *more* important to fight for⁴, because it's so easy to just lock them away and pretend they're not there.

Hell, even as basic as fighting for my right to be a geek. Because there are stereotypes, for all of them, and I think the only way to fight these stereotypes is to rise above them. "All cheerleaders are idiots... but that girl on the cheering squad consistently trounces my score on the math tests." It's not fair that we're all examples, but it's true. Stereotypes are based on what we see, and if the people we see shatter the negative (and hell, even the positive!) stereotypes to smithereens, we're gonna have to accept that maybe those stereotypes are wrong. Maybe not every black folk is lazy. Maybe not every bisexual girl is a slut. Maybe not every geek is unwashed, and maybe not every mtf is a drag queen.

Maybe they're all just people.

I dunno. I'll probably have more to post here, later. For now though, I'm gonna go put on a pretty skirt. I'm gonna catch a bus, and ride to dance.

And I'm gonna dance the guy's part the entire damn night.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: And this is where I feel I must check that I'm not being a jackass. I like the word folk to define groups of people --it feels nongendered to me, which I do try for when I remember. If it's actually deeply offensive, someone let me know, yes?

2: I have girlish features. I can't help it, and because I look so solidly like a girl, I can't assume that I could ever properly pass as a boy, which depresses me a little. I like androgony, and genderfuck, and the ability to play sometimes. But that's a separate rant.

3: He...had this whole 5 C's thing --colour, class, character, um...calliope...and...uh...careening? Okay, so I'm too lazy to grab my notes and find the other two. Butyeah.

4: And I think that a *huge* part of the reason why I consider those more important is because almost all the discrimination I have to deal with is a part of those hidden things. If I were black, or confined to a wheelchair, I'd probably be more centered on fighting for those things. Yes, discriminating against one is discriminating against all, and I believe that we all gotta stick up for each other, but I will be honest, and the things that affect me directly tend to hit a little bit harder.

You know what's annoying as hell?

I'm in a short skirt mood --bouncy, bubbly, DANCEY, and flirty.¹

And it's -if not fucking freezing- really damn cold outside. There is so not a chance, and I *so* don't feel like being cooped up in my room right now.

***

Of course, there's this one other problem with the situation --I am not a short skirt person. Or really, not meant to be. The Sorcyress does not put on a short skirt and heels that make her legs go up to there and bounce her way around the room. I still pause when I realize I'm being -specifically- sexy.

I'm largely comfortable with who, and how unfuckingcredibly hot, I am, but still. Every once in a while, this little whimpering fifteen year old self pokes me in the arm and thrashes about and eventually manages to sputter some variation on "Christ, WHY?!" She winces at the five inch heels and the four inch heels, and the three inch heels, and yes, even at the two inches on my boots. "Converses?" she whispers faintly, holding them out as if she knows I won't take them.

The blush at the sight of my skirt is enough to make me giggle at her. "Oh sweetie, I have it on very good authority that this is not nearly as dangerously short as you claim." "You mean you've let people SEE you in that?!

She shoos me out, and I change, slithering into a flighty little sundress. "Um, bra?" "Why, it's not like I'm planning to wear it for long!" Her shriek of horror (a bit like Alys sounds, I note) is completely worth the lie.

A casual black dress. "That needs a shirt!" she insists, as she sees the dangerous plunge of the neckline. And, at the missing buttons, "And pants." I pull on a pair of black jeans, sure, red and black is overdone, but then again, it's a good combination. I frown at my reflection, and change into a different pair of jeans.

"What was wrong with the first, then?"
"Not tight enough."

My fifteen year old self visibly breaks. "Not...tight...enough?"
"That's what she said! OH!" At her scowl, "Er...sorry. Couldn't resist."

At this, she of course launches into an angry diatribe about how there are far too many things that my tawdry self can't seem to resist, and how all the boys are going to think I'm a slut. She does not appreciate my laughing gaily² at her word choice. She *really* doesn't appreciate it when I point out the copy of 'The Ethical Slut' on my reading list to explain.

I toss a t-shirt and a bra into my bag for tomorrow, and go dig out the eight bit skull Chucks. She relaxes as I lace them, perhaps even smiles. The sight of a book in my bag, and my ipod synced to be bouncy makes the smile definite.

And then she actually looks at the bag. And at the clock. At the toothbrush and pills and homework and games and clothing and computer and pony.

"Where are you going?"

Laughing at my fifteen year old self would probably be cruel. I should give her a few months, let her have her heart broken, break a heart or two. Discover the poly thing, and maybe even get it. At least let her remeet the relevant parties.

"You don't want to know."
"Where are you going?"
"Trust me."
"I think I have a right to know."
"You're just gonna get pissed."
"Oh?"

(Always a loaded word, that oh. I use it a lot, because it can be interpreted so many different ways.)

"Yeah, probably."
"How far we fall."
"Oh come on. Like you wouldn't..."

I realize what I'm saying, and shrug. Another year, another boy, and maybe. Right now? She wouldn't. Ever. Kid's got spunk, you have to admire that, at least. And she's as stubborn as I ever can be. Kissing's a foreign concept, for Athe's sake. She likes cuddling, sure, but the idea of lying in bed all night, curled up with a boy she loves, who loves her?

"Can you at least tell me who?" She is very quiet, sad. I wince --I like who I am, but it is so very very far from who I was going to be sometimes.
"You don't know..." She does know him, in her own strange way. "If I told you, you'd wet yourself, I swear." Her confused look reminds me that she's still three and a half years from ever hearing the song Oasis. "Just...wait. It's better that way."

"Maybe it's better my way."
I sigh. "Maybe."
She sees my fidget, a sideways glance at my bag. "He's waiting for you?"
"Yeah, kinda."
"Go." Is all she says. There is sadness in her face --not for me, but for herself. So, I guess, for me.

There's so much I want to say --how to be good, who to be good to. Reassure her. Warn her about October of her Junior year, all the little mistakes she's gonna make. But more importantly, tell her to keep hope. There's good coming up, and as far as I'm concerned, she does almost everything right.

"Hey kid?"
She's staring at the skirt I was prancing about in earlier, but I know she's listening. I can listen sometimes.
"You're fantastic."
Again, too young to catch the reference. But the words still have power, and she smiles wanly. She looks at me, actually and truly at me, for the first time.

"Thanks. I suspect you are too."

~Sorceress (circa February 2005, 15 years of age)
~Sorcyress (circa February 2009, 19 years of age)
MOOP!

^{1: Go listen to the song "Around the World" by ATC. Now, this may be tricky if you're not a Conservatory regular, but picture dancing to it --mixing together one-step, polka, swing, and just enough of the general club dancing thing to keep it fun.

That is exactly my damn mood right now. I want to dance, I want to bounce, and I want to be the center of damn attention.

2: Gaily is a legitimate word, I love it, I love what it means and what it summons, and it has nothing to do with homosexuality. I know that it's gonna be impossible to take back the word gay itself, but to do things gaily implies a lightness that I adore.}

Current Music: Around the World, ATC

Alright, so, at the bottom of the barrel, you've got your granola bars. Bananas. Fruit roll-ups. Stuff that the only preparation involved is just opening the package and chowing down.

Next up is the stuff that takes the bare minimum of preperation --Individually wrapped applesauce (you have to get a spoon). Cheese and crackers (You have to go to the pantry *and* the fridge). Uncooked ramen (You have to crunch it up and dump the packet all over it to make it taste good). You know, the stuff that you're usually willing to put in the effort for if you're not running right out the door.

The level after that, well, that's for actual meals. Hot Pockets, Chef Boy-ar-dee, Spaghettios, cereal with milk. Still not an unreasonable amount of work --you just have to dump it in a bowl and microwave it- but beginning to make the lazier among us nervous.

Next up. Woah. Now we're starting to get to meals. Macaroni and cheese (the kind from the box). Instant pudding. Tuna fish, prepared properly. Sometimes the ends justify the means, but for the lazier among us, that's beginning to look like the sort of thing we want our younger siblings to do.

Pretty much anything beyond that, you're getting into actual cooking, and that's just strictly out. Pasta? Who wants to keep an eye on two things heating up at once. Meatloaf? Sure, if you're willing to spend ages chopping things up and mixing them together. Tator tot casserole? Um....yeeeeah. Moving along.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is maybe I'd eat better if it wasn't so labor-intensive to make the foods that are good for me. There's a good reason for me to be so lazy though --I went out on a limb today and made myself a peanut butter and jelly on toast. The toast overdid it --I didn't have enough energy left to eat my sandwich.

~Sor
MOOP!

This bit may very well be important: This is my livejournal. It is for me posting my own thoughts, however often I would like, on whichever topics I see fit.

From this point forth, no one is allowed to attempt to censor my entries in any way¹, and if they try, I will just laugh, and continue to write as I see fit. ~~Fuck you, Curry~~, It's my ~~movie~~journal, and I'll ~~pout~~post if I want to.²

( That said, let's talk censorship! )

That being said, I might as well end this post by shooting myself in the foot and opening an honestybox.⁹ Ask me a question! I promise an honest answer. Answer not guranteed to be posted in livejournal, the Sorcyress reserves the right to answer with "I don't feel comfortable telling you that because...", NOT limited to one per customer, Reading small print has been proven hazerdous to your eyes

~Sor
MOOP!

1: There is actually an exception to this rule --if I give out information about you and you alone that you would rather not be public, you may contact me and tell me I'm an insensitive bitch. (This has happened before, with Aly's last name, Alex's school, Erika's age, stuff like that) You can't make me take down anything else without a damn good defense

2: To be perfectly honest, about ninety percent of all my references ever are Rocky Horror call lines. So, yes, I know that this was a song first, but when I reference it, I'm not referring to the song, I'm referring to Riff-Raff glaring at Frank.

3: Your big gun...IfyouknowwhatImean. C'mon, I can't have been the only one who thought that, can I? (Answer: Yes. Yes I can.)

4: Mature, reasonably intelligent, adults who still use words like 'sucky' to describe things. Sigh. One of these days I'll get around to make an active attempt to betterify my vocabulary. Until then, I think I'm stuck with things like faboo, and zohmgar, and boyf⁵

5: Boyf, pronounced...uh...boy-fff. Shortening of boyfriend that my brain has determined is totally awesome. Have not yet slipped up and said it in real life. Yet.

6: There is no footnote six

7: Teenaged and earlier sexuality is a different essay, which I won't go into here, to save space.

8: Well, first after going "zohmygod, *blushes fiercely* really?!" and smiling like my face was going to break.

9: This is half just because I'm a huge comment whore.¹⁰

10: ...also, a huge footnote whore.

A/N: The events and things and thoughts and feelings leading up to this particular thoughtstream have been sorted out and reasoned with and talked over and etc. In short, please don't read too deeply into this post, I'm not trying to put it out there as a hint to anyone*, it is merely some words that I think sound good strung together.

***

( friendship privileges )

~Sor
MOOP!

*...anymore.
**This may be less true than I think. I'm not sure how body shy I am at the moment, it tends to vary across a long range, even within the same people.
***Well, technically, I don't want to stoink anybody. Replace with snog/date/pet as appropriate.

Not private because I'm better than that.

Okay, so I know I just posted. (and please go reply to that post!) But I made a Public Service Announcement regarding the fact that my Sonic Screwdriver is NOT a vibrator, and as it keeps making me giggle, I have to post it here.

I'm sure mum's gonna be just THRILLED at what a wonderful student I am and how well I am managing my time.

Thank you for your time.

~Sor
MOOP!

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MOOP!

The Rantings of a Terminal Optimist

Entries tagged with i-write-good-shit: public

On Hair, and loving my body

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Privilege

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Cleaning up my desktop --I always find SOMETHING!

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