The Fanstastic Ms. Fox

It's called "A ceasar with a #2 fade on the side and a #4 in the back."

This is often not the haircut I intend to get. But, after realizing that I really do want it short again, it's more or less the haircut I wind up getting.



Usually I book an appointment days in advance and going through the dance of

"Do you have pictures of short cuts on women?"
"Thank you, but these pictures are 'short' as in 'above the shoulders.'"
"I mean 'short' .... as in 'it sticks up on its own.' As in 'too short for my date to grab.'"
"Hmm. Well, I guess we'll walk through it."
"That looks good, but shorter."
"Yes, I understand it will be very short then. Please go ahead."
"Shorter still."
"Shorter please."
"Yes I'm sure."
"Keep cutting."
"Stubble."
"When it's stubble on the sides,  it's good."
"Yes I'm sure."
"This is what always happens. Stubble. Please."
"You don't have a trimmer guide that short?"

And then I feel awkward about taking an hour and a half of the hairdresser's time.


But now I can drop in on a butch-friendly barber, say "A ceasar with a #2 fade on the side and a #4 in the back" and walk out again fifteen-to-twenty-five minutes later with a haircut and enough extra money for a couple meals out.


It does, however, make me look like a teenage boi - the kind who is obviously not wearing a bra.

Unfortunately, the circumstaces leading up to my peeling beeswax off of my naked chest were accidental, not intentional.

Fortunately, I have successfully just made a large amount of scent-free hair pomade. I got the recipe from an article on chemical sensitivity.

If you want some, or know someone who would like to try it, let me know.

(So now, to avoid wax-splashes, I am wearing an old apron that says "Graham" on it)

I'm getting genital electrolysis done as a prior-to for surgery. And I gotta tell you, it sucks.

I'm using Lydocane, a by-prescription-only topical analgesic: it numbs the surface of my skin and it still hurts. Aftewards the combination of hot needles and hair removal and genitals and a topical analgesic (Is it strong? Well, high doses "can interfere with resperation") and after an hour, this leaves me wandering around in a half-associated daze, moreso than any playing I've done before.

Then it's off to class.


Every Tuesday.

It's worth it though.

1. I am now mostly done my post-bachelor's. I'm taking a grad course next semester, and then any two upper division or grad classes.

2. There's a wallpaper store just West of the Astoria on hastings. It has a giant neon sign that reads "PAINT" on both sides. The "T" on one side is busted.

3. Speaking of the above, some worthwhile things require pain and sacrifice. While blend electrolysis stings like a bitch and drains my wallet, the real loss is this: I will never again be able to even try to grow a goatee. This will remain a dim memory - and a blurry photo. Except when the inflammation from electrolysis forms into a musketeer-beard-shaped rash.

4. Journal mostly locked down until CFS shit is over

5. Results of the experiment with inducing menses are as follows
- feels right - cycling hormones linked to feelings of embodiment and self-comfort (yay!)
- breasts no longer hurt all the time (yay again!)
- PMS sucks (expected)

6. Healthier psychological stage reached. Capable of retrospect without anger. Feel strong need for community.

7. Will not be running for another Executive term at Student Society. May run for part-time at-large position. I will avoid full-time work plus part-time classes or vice-versa in the future.

8. You know what's tasty and easy to make? Potatoes boiled in coconut milk and a bit of yellow curry. What's easy and healthy? Aloo gobi made with canned mashed spinach and potatoes not boiled in yellow curry and coconut milk, plus a little mustard. You know what's a cheap fast-food snack? Veggie "French" sandwiches at either Ba Le Vietnamese Deli (around 700 main and 120 Kingsway). You know where's a good place to go for a meal? The Cafeteria at the downtown campus of Vancouver Community College.

9. Losing your passport and then your citizenship card sucks. I cannot leave the country - and getting a new passport requires a citizenship card. Dammit. Forms printed out.

10. Speaking of healthier states and embodiment, I feel much more comfortable doing exertion now. I enjoyed my time in the weight room. And I want to go dancing - especially somewhere sly* (a Firefly term meaning "Queer"), or maybe kinky, or even better, anywhere with music that's actually to my tastes. I'm not that picky.

11. If you have not done so, register for Phamacare, preferably online. If you were on the lower end of the income scale to years ago, and have spent over $300 on medication, the BC government-people will send you a cheque next Spring - but only if you register before January. You can do this online. All you need is your care-card (which I have not lost) and your taxable income from two years past (which I did, but I phoned in and they were helpful).

12. Dating is now more awkward, as you can imagine. But it's easier now too. Better to get shot down than never know.

13. It's hard to isolate the source of heat-loss in one's apartment.

That is all

To zap facial hairs with L.A.S.E.R. pulses, you have to grow out your stubble for one to three days first. As you can imagine, this is just fucking wonderful if you're transitioning and presenting as female.

I took advantage of this bearded opportunity, and decided to have a "Sasha is a boy" day - and failed.

My attempts to be in a male role left me feeling like a drag king with a poor work ethic

Did you put that costume together by reaching into your wardrobe? Why not add a tie, and some nice pants?
What's wrong with your facial hair?
What is this, the early 80's in Kinging - where the Kings just went up on stage and slouched  in front of an audience?
And what's that in your pants? It doesn't feel like a packer.

I need a drag king name.

In other news, Estrogen is not supposed to change the shape of the bones in your face, but something is going on with my cheekbones - they're way more prominent than they before, and I'm pretty sure it's not just the changes in body-fat.

It does often change your perception of bodily odors though, and I seem to be smelling other people and myself differently than before.

Sniff-sniff?

    I went to see the laser hair removal people.
    I gotta say, this laser business is cool: you wear goggles with the same salmon colour as the dress I'm in (more on this later), and they put the tip about five centimeters from your skin. Then there are two simultaneousish flashes on your skin: one's the colour of frost, 'cause that's what it is - a wee patch of frost forming as a jet sprays coolant on your skin - and the other is about the same shade as sunset. Or at least this is what the goggles let through - I imagine that if you weren't wearing them, it'd be none too good for your eyes.
    Anyhow, the hairs on your skin shrivel and let off a puff of smoke which smells, unsurprisingly, like burnt hair. And your skin feels all tingly - or at least mine does: other people say, "your skin feels all FUCK THAT HURTS!" but it doesn't seem to bother me; but neither does electrolysis, nor do I bruise easily come to think of it.
    What's impressive is that all this happens in about seven deciseconds.
    All the little coloured hairs are curled up, and should fall out in a couple of days, then stay dead for four weeks, then come back lighter and thinner or not at all.
    If I'm satisfied, I go back for a full run, instead of little test patches.

    The dress. Right. Like I said: salmon-coloured. I found on SFP!RG's shelf of reciprocity - where you can ditch old stuff that someone'll probably want and pick up the same from others. It fits. I'm wearing it, but have the curtains drawn. Am I actually scared of some sort of negative reaction and subsequent violence, or is there something else going on here? Screw rhetoricial questions: there is something else going on here, and that's a deeply rooted fear of ostracism. I realized this was a bit silly when I was afraid to dress funny even when no-one was watching. This behaviour is silly; the underlying fear of ostracism is most definitely not.
    Ostracism isn't the worse thing that you can do to a person, but it's pretty bad. Consider: isolated people go crazy, and people will do really stupid shit to be accepted. So we obviously need an accepting social environment (also known as friendship and love), not in the same way we need food, but in a similar way to how we need nutritious food.
    The really fucked up thing is that our society doesn't get this. It forgets that we are both an individualistic and collectivist (and subindividualistic, but that's another story) species and concludes that social contact is a luxury (and that social management is either unconscious or an oxymoron). Therefore it sees nothing wrong with encouraging a social system where we are raised to fear the scorn of jocks and cheerleaders, and hence, to fear being anything other than mediocre - it's not like we're being threatened with violence is it?
    Actually, I remember preferring the violence, I think it was not so much because at least I knew how to kick whereas responding to even jovial taunting still eludes me, but because it made sense as a form of unfair externally-inflicted punsihment. The pain was not a reflection of some failing in myself - it was someone else being an asshole. Not so with being hated, which we often blame on ourselves - soon we learn to take our turn and surveil and hate each-other and ourselves, and fear the salmon dress even whon no-one is watching.
    Not a good system: it needs a sociological mechanic. And a nice dress.

Also: I'm watching Firefly and coming up with crazy aesthetic ideas. More on this later.