Friday 13 April 2012

Frustration

I wanted to get around to posting this old blog from March of 2008. I lost it when my old blog site went down. The reason why I am bringing it back is because I am having a bad week with my house and I am trying to keep sane about it. It brought back this old memory from St Patricks day of 2008 when I totally lost it after a bad night out. It gives me perspective. I learned a lesson from the experience. I will add to this at the end but for now, here is the old post....

Originally from March 2008, entitled "Quitting"

Where to begin?....How about with, ’This is the end.’

    For six years now I have been actively dressing up. I know that it started way before that but I am talking about the period where I started taking my photos, shaving off all my body hair, growing my nails out, wearing makeup, wigs, breast forms, clothes, shoes, et all.  It has not been an easy time for me. There has been turmoil at home. I have endured harsh criticisms from friends and coworkers. I am not completely out about it. I like my family and I already know the price I would pay if I wanted to take this beyond recreational. That’s not what I want.
    The sacrifices I make and risks I have to take every time I dress up are food for stress. I must plan each outing well in advance. I have to book a night off of work or call in sick. I then have to make sure I am smooth, manicured, etc leading up to the event. I usually book an hotel room. Once I leave the house I go and arrange my stuff and then I can actually get started. Then there is the risk of getting caught at any time. I put myself through a lot, and for what?
    What do I get from all this? The satisfaction of being female for a few hours? In the beginning it was simple. I just liked the feel of the clothes on my skin. Then it was the desire to look more feminine. Then it was the thrill of being in public en femme. Then I wanted to make friends. Lately, it has been the social aspects that fuel my ambition. I make my plans around meeting with others. For it to be worthwhile to me I want to go out, hang out with friends or meet new ones that I have met online. I can’t say that I have too successful in this endeavour.
    It is tough organising a night out. I know how difficult it is to make commitments when your in circumstances like mine. However, I really didn’t think it would this bad. For every successful meeting there have been four unsuccessful. I am in the odds business and I can tell you 3:1 odds are poor when you are risking as much as me. For a couple of years now I have felt a lot of disappointment. I am not feeling the risk vs reward ratio is worth it. Why continue to do this?
    Take this past weekend for an example. For a few months I have been trying to put something together. I have put the buzz out there. I told everybody I had sat off.  A month ago I had about 10 people committing or showing genuine interest. So I made plans. I got the night off work, picked a place in Toronto by request of others. I booked an hotel room close to Church St. I told everybody and then watched the commitments dry up.  I never expected everyone to make it but 1 or 2 surely.
    I followed through with my plan. I drove an hour and a half down the QEW to Toronto. Besides giving up a night of pay, the hotel cost me $140 plus parking. When I arrived I could not find a place to park. The hotel clerk told me it was a block away. When I got there the lot was full so I had to bribe the attendant with a $20 and he moved his car for me. Then I hauled my stuff over to hotel and got started. After makeup and dressing up I was ready to head out. I had never been to this place but I thought it was up a couple blocks near Church and Gerrard. I am usually much more efficient in navigation but not that night.
    I didn’t fear walking it because this was the village, the ’gaybourhood ’of Toronto. I walked up through Ryerson U campus and was first stopped but a frat boy who asked me for the time. Then I was stopped a couple blocks later by a bum who complimented me at first then asked for a smoke and was seriously upset when I told him I didn’t smoke. I kept walking and not finding my club. I past a few other gay bars with huge lineups to get in. I saw a few other tranny girls on the sidewalk and having had walked eight blocks I finally stopped and asked a girl where Goodhandys was. She told me it was twelve blocks south. I was walking north. Must have been the blond wig. I grabbed a taxi because my feet were killing me.
    I got to Goodhandys around 12:30 and started looking for my acquaintances. I didn’t find anyone so I went to the bar and got a drink. I was easily the oldest person in the place by a lot, and the most overdressed. I was sitting to rest my feet and when I got up for a second drink, my heel caught the stool leg and I did a face plant on the floor. I was embarrassed and thought about leaving but I took a deep breath, smiled, brushed myself off and said, "It usually takes me another nine drinks before I do that."
    I made the best of the night anyway. I danced. I introduced myself. I was not pleased about the night in whole but it was St Pat’s and I was going to have some fun. At 3am, closing time I left and was starting to walk the four blocks back to the hotel. A car stopped along side me and the driver honked its horn. Someone yelled, "Hey baby!" I felt pretty good about that and politely turned and smiled. I wasn’t worried because after all it was the ’gaybourhood’ on Church St. and anyone dressed like me was obviously a tranny. Everyone in Toronto knows that, or so I thought.
    The car had about four or five twenty year old Italian guys in it. One of them then shouted, "Holy shit, that’s a fucking man." There was some laughter and more slurs started flying. They were yelling "Faggot" a lot. My better sense was telling me to go back into the club or to turn down the cross street and walk away but I didn’t. I don’t know if it was the disappointment in me about the night or my Irish coming out on St Pat’s but my sense of ’I don’t give a fuck anymore’ took over. I stood my ground and called them out. I challenged them to come out and do something about it. I was ready. I had worked it out in my head. Luckily for everyone, the driver had some sense and drove away quickly before anything developed.
    Back at the hotel I drew a sigh and asked myself, "What the fuck am I doing?" It’s just not worth the sacrifices and the risks.  I made a firm and conscious decision. I have to quit. Mary-Margret has to retire. We have all at one point or another been through this. I have. Before it was more imposed on me but this time it is because I want to. I know the sayings, "You can never quit 100%", "You can undress but you will always be a dresser," "Never say never," etc. I believe those too. I know I can’t break clean. I have too much involved. I will scale back. I will keep my personality on line through yahoo 360, Flickr photos and I may still write. However, I can not think of anything right now that will motivate me back into dressing again.
    I want to thank everyone who has supported and encouraged me. There are a lot of great people out there. I am hanging up the wigs. Enjoy my last set of photos, they are probably the last ones you will see of Mary-Margret Callahan. Good-bye.    
..... end of original post.


 
  Of course... this was not the end.  There was a break but I came back. The lesson I learned was about keeping a calm and level head and not let any circumstances, situations or problems get the best of me. Seeing the bigger picture always helps and it has helped me since that night. I don't put that kind of pressure on myself or others anymore and learn to laugh when things don't go as planned.

Wednesday 4 April 2012

Canadian pride restored



    Just when you loose your faith in Canada....we bounce back. In a reversal of fortunes, Transgendered beauty contestant Jenna Talackova was told that she will be able to compete in the Miss Universe-Canada competition in May just days after the competition organisers and CEO Donald Trump had banned her. Jenna secured one of the leading human rights lawyers to champion her cause and as far as Canada is concerned, she is by every definition, a female. It is great to see that Jenna has fought back against a blatant display of ignorant prejudice. This will no doubt continue to spark debate, controversy, and criticism but it will definitely be a groundbreaking moment. Jenna follows in the footsteps of Jackie Robinson and will certainly have as many hurdles and obstacles to face. Donald Trump is still wishy-washy about the whole ordeal but is feeling the legal and social pressure. Jenna may not win the competition, although she is very capable of it, but the odds are slim for any competitor. I just hope that she receives the respect and fair treatment that she rightfully deserves. I can once again be proud to be Canadian.

Monday 2 April 2012

The Glimpse

   What is the glimpse? It is that small, quick view of the forbidden that leaves an image engraved into your memory and lasts as a point of reference to future fantasies.
   To me, the female body from head to toe is full of alluring, images that spark fantasies. It seems that whatever it is that the woman hides is what we most want to see. In Victorian times, the glimpse of a woman's ankles (with boots on, for that matter) or of the nape of her neck could start a frenzy of drool and gossip. In the time since, what goes for forbidden flesh has drastically changed.
   For many, the female breast is still the ultimate viewing prize. A woman teases this by displaying the edges, or cleavage, of her breasts but keeps the nipples covered. That becomes the prize. A "nip slip" becomes a covetted moment.
   For me, the ultimate glimpse is small patch of exposed thigh just above a stocking top. I have always been more attracted to legs than to boobs. A meaty but firm pair of legs are my version of a double D rack. Nothing enhances a nice pair of legs better than nylon stockings. Stockings amplify the visual appeal of legs in a mysterious way. For some reason I find vintage stockings, with seams, reinforced feet, and dark welts the most exciting kind. It gives the legs some character which says, "I want you to look at me," and "you are definitely going to want to feel these." The fact that someone has taken the effort to put on these 'busy' items which are not very practical for everyday, mundane chores but very practical for sex also gives the viewer the hope of things to come, much like a push-up bra does for boobs.


   Then at the top of all, as those thighs get thicker, the welt of the stocking, taught from garter straps, appears. When the hem of the skirt or dress reveals this spot, it becomes impossible to look away. It's so close! Then, with a sudden stride, a pull of fabric or a gust of wind....Voila! A small and brief flash of skin, bare and natural comes to view. That is the moment. That is the "nip slip." That is the glimpse.