I’ve finally succumbed to partially decorating the office. Not that I’m a Scrooge like character, far from it. I draw the line at enforcing festivities on other folk….. as a rule. 😉 The office was looking very grim with the dark windows and sometimes, a bit of tinsel lifts the spirits. All I need to do now is smuggle in some baubles and a tree or two. Sorted. 😛
Earlier this week, I was daydreaming (Ed: as per) while waiting for a batch process to complete. Yes, in IT, part of your worth seems to revolve around the ability for the percentage bar to creep across the screen until…. you run another installation to patch the first one… and the second one. Then the software starts…. without you having to switch the machine off and back on again. 🙂 But this is what was in my head. Oh and those of you who don’t dig wordy stuff, just skip down to the Thursday bit 😉
It starts with the view in the mirror. The male face staring back. A cleanly shaven jaw. A make-up bag rests by the side. Sometimes, there is a sigh as the would be transformer doubts themselves for a moment. Wondering, even after all this primping, will what is shown on the outside, will it match the inside? Then, out come the brushes, the compacts and pots & packets of glamorous goodness. It’s a level of effort rarely applied to traditional male grooming: ex foliation, moisturising, brow trimming.
Concealer is dabbed around the eyes. The pale greyness under the new colour, while a wide brush softens the lines, blends. Foundation is tipped out to the lid of a waiting pot. The male face changes, the tone softening as the brush is worked across the features. Nose, cheeks, brow, jaw and down the neck. Powder is whisked across the new skin. The cast lightens.
Items are taken from the open bag and the half done face looks back. Too much of the old look remains. Elbow and lid are steadied as eye-liner is worked on. Upper line and lower corners are smudged with a practised finger. The eyes begin to take shape: colour under the brow, a mid colour along the lid and the darkest at the edges. One eye done. It seems okay. The second eye done and now mascara. No party look this evening: the false lashes remain boxed. Now blusher and lip gloss complete the shift. The face is the same, yet different.
Lastly, the wig – that old enabling glory – is raised. The fibres are combed and teased into shape. The head dips forward and with a backwards flick, returns its gaze to the mirror. All is not as it was. The structure has not altered, only now the eyes are brighter and a small smile plays at the lips as the wig is combed. The image blinks. It is also time to go.
This week, it was actually time for Chams. I was later than usual as I had to pick Wee Man up from his school play. He didn’t have a big part to do, but what he did – and yeah, being his dad, I’m biased 🙂 – he did very well. Funny thing was, a number of other people – and I didn’t know all of them – said that same thing too. Well done Jones Junior. Clearly those DVD lessons on comic timing are paying off. 😉
Chams itself was by turns fairly quiet and oddly, rather lively. Quiet on numbers, loud on presence. We had a visit from a gent from Nottinghamshire Constabulary. I had been under the impression that it was a fact finding mission to see how we – we being trans folk – fitted in with Police policies etc. It seemed to be more a fact finding mission to see what we thought of the police, political policies around them and what we thought contributed to criminal activity.
I won’t go into the points that were raised. What I will say is that the opinions were varied and I found it very interesting to hear the various different views that people held. Some I agreed with, some I didn’t. But I dare say that the same could be said for the comments I made too. We did, sadly, get stuck on the political bandwagon and government bashing. I didn’t see the point of the latter as that ship has sailed. Weather you agree with this government’s policies or not, this wasn’t the place for lobbying IMO.
Later on, we headed off to the pub and carried on talking – as we seem to spend a lot of time doing. Then again, sitting down, looking at each other and not talking would be far weirder IMO. 😉 Anyway, the owner, Debbie (lovely lady BTW) was chatting with Sam as Soph and I took our seats. The conversation came around to visit at Chams. There was a discussion about the concept of LGB or LGBT (Ed: Lesbian gay, bisexual and transgender; if you’re none-the-wiser). One of the points raised was that each group has its own needs. Sometimes I wonder if we trans-folk stand out more, but then being straight, I don’t really know what issues gay people have to deal with. I can hazard a guess, but it’ll always be that. Maybe I should ask, or maybe I should just follow the sage advice of my gran: “Just be nice.” The latter seems to cover a lot of bases.
Anyhoo, the conversation with Debbie and Sam rolled on and we seemed to draw to the conclusion that from a policing point of view, it didn’t really matter about a person’s race, sexuality or gender: no-one wants to be discriminated against. That and for those folk who are not out, meeting in a neutral place and keeping that person’s secret would really help. I know that if I (heaven forfend) had a crime to report and it was related to my trans life, I know I’d want to keep it quiet.
In the main, society is pretty good to us. I think I’ve only had one iffy comment in the time I’ve been out and about. It was from three youths as I walked to my car. “Oi. It’s a transvestite. F*** dat sh**.” Well done, Sherlock. You spotted me. 😛 Now, I’m not down with the kids, but I’m guessing the latter part of the lad’s sentence isn’t not a term of respect. 🙂 Still, bonus points for not saying ‘tranny’. Part of me wanted to stop and ask the lad why he said that. Not in an accusatory way; more just curiosity Maybe it is as the rather talented Andrew O’Neill quipped: “I’m an alpha male shout generator.” The young chap was black and I wondered how he would have felt if a couple of white blokes had said something insensitive / politically incorrect to him. For the record, neither is acceptable. Would he have seen the link? Should I have attempted to talk to them or would I have been setting myself up for some oh-so witty comeback from his mates? I guess, we’ll never know. Still, in the long swing of things, that’s very minor stuff.
In other news, it’s Invasion next week and the Ever Lovely Mrs Jones is cool with me heading off. I know, two nights out on the trot. Dirty stop out. Now…. what to wear? Hmm. I think a week should just about give me enough time. 😉
[ Today’s lyric: Born this Way by Lady GaGa ]