Friends always tell me that I need to import my 1100+ entries from my other blogs over here. I merely shrugged and answered, “why recycle when you can create something new?” So here goes:

Needless to say, many introductions falter at the point when my first name is uttered. I love the way it sounds more than what it stands for. But if it’s a point of contention, we can go there too.

First off, with the caricature transgender girls suffer from stand-up comics, we really owe it to ourselves to dispell the stereotype of being wh*res who can’t give it away for free. In many cases, this would include many married men who go to bars in dresses and doth protest too much “I’m not gay!” when their mouths are full.

Even though most of my close friends look like hellraisers, we motivate each other to be true, chaste, and devoted in our relationships. In one of my favorite lines of advice from one of my three best friends: “whenever you get the tingles and your partner is not around, take matters into your own hand, then decide whether it’s worth it or not to do what you’re thinking of doing.”

I guess that should be the beginning line of my story of how I became the all-time Olympian Iron-Man triathlete who dangerously courted carpal tunnel syndrome with near Guinness stats when it came to taking matters into one’s own hand.

To this day, my friends and I laugh scoffingly at the pill-popping folks who peaked in high school, and are presently wilting. We’re like that runaway train Jon Voight was standing on top off with the brakes yanked out. The only difference is that our railroad tracks have Teflon Axle grease and B’laster Penetrating Catalyst Oil on the steel rails.

And you know what? None of us cheat. We hang tight. Sure, I may name drop an occasional Bukkake or Donkey Punch reference here and there for laughs, but deep down inside, the traditional wifely devotion will always be the closest thing to my heart. (just ask the guys who’ve emailed me here. They’ll testify. btw: thanks, it’s terribly flattering, I know I only have a few good years left, but the answer is still no: I got a man.)

I always roll my eyeballs at prim people (without realizing people say that about me behind my back). But somedays, it actually feels quite nice and worthwhile to be chaste: I can look myself in the mirror and say, “somewhere out there in a room, there’s 150 naked guys standing around waiting to unload, and I’m ok being at home alone with Audrey Hepburn movies, my stuff animals, and a book.”

This entry was posted on Sunday, May 24th, 2009 at 1:15 am and is filed under Society, Stepford Wife, Transgender. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.