Thursday, 29th December, 2005

Home Is Where The Hearth Is

photo

(via flickr.com/people/si08han)

Last week, I made the rather uncharacteristic (for me) move to stock up on peat for the coming holidays. I'm rather chuffed with myself as a result Biscuit and I are currently curled up in front of the fire, sucking what warmth we can from it.

Outside, everything is covered in frost — and I suspect it'll be like that all day. I took a peek at the BBC's weather forecast earlier, and apparently the temperature isn't going to get above -3 today.

Brr

Something I haven't stocked up on, however, is wine And food. Which means that a trip to the supermarket is in order at some point today. I have a loathing of taking my car whenever I'm only getting a few things (4 bottles of wine is "a few"), and so I'll have to dig my gloves out from wherever they're buried if I don't want to get frostbite.

(I realise, of course, that for some people across the world, -3 is probably like a heatwave. And don't you just hate it when people bleat on about how much colder/hotter/sunnier/wetter it is where they live? -3, for me, is shitting cold. Cold enough to perform feats of groin-retraction that eliminate the need for "tucking")

...

BTW, my head was not in a good way this morning. I've been delicately pottering around in my pyjamas (which are great ) since I got up, sipping coffee and munching on painkillers. What always seems like a good idea at the time (ie. "ack, go'on. Open the other bottle"), equally always comes back to haunt me after a fitful night's sleep.

I dreamt (she said, losing track of any notion of "plot") last night that I was riding around on a motorbike. Actually, in my dream I was an actual woman riding around on a motorbike. Funny when that happens — switching genders mid-dream that is — one minute I was racing a car and crashing spectacularly as a guy, the next I was a girl, flirting with a motorbike shop owner trying to get him to ignore the fact that I didn't have a bike license.

That's one of my intentions for this coming year BTW. Learning to ride a motorbike I did the first part of the test over two years ago (so it's expired and I have to do it again), but every time I see some guy go past on a bike, I can't help but gush inside and think "You're so cool".

Admirers

Sorry, just going off topic for a second ... picture the scene. Me, sat here in a little black skirt and black shirt (yeah, I know), cats lolling by the fire, me with a glass of wine in one hand (and a bottle in the other), Vivaldi's Four Seasons thrashing out through the stereo (via a mobile->bluetooth->airport cunning setup), with Sherlock Holmes on the telly and a laptop on my lap. Does it get better than this?

I think admirers get a raw deal. Often, when flitting my way through forums and mailing lists (only to see if anyone's talking about me, if I'm honest), I come across threads and discussions about "predatory" admirers and reactions against them that never seem to land on the "positive" side of the fence.

What is the whole deal with tranny-admirers? Or, to be more specific, why is it that trannies tend to give the guys such a hard time?

It must be a really hard thing to admit to yourself — that you're attracted to other guys dressed up as women. And then to have scorn and contempt ladelled on you by the very objects of your affection?

Far too often, I read through these diatribes against men who happen to fancy us and feel a sense of shame at the way we talk about them. They somehow seem to get grouped into some kind of "lower than low" category when being referenced by us.

And the bizarre hypocrisy of it all is that we are just a guilty of being predatory as they are.

I'm often amazed (she said, sounding like a stuck record) at how often the trannies that are the first to declare their "straightness", are the ones who will end up of an evening with their hands down some other trannie's pants. There's some kind of inbuilt self-deception going on as to what our sexualities actually are — a dis-belief that we could possibly be gay.

But, it's OK when we do it — because we're somehow 'different' — is that it?

Like I said, admirers get a raw deal. Granted, I've yet to meet an admirer that made me goey in the knees — but then again, I've never really been approached by that many men. Not when dressed as a girl, anyway.

...

Actually, I find a lot of things about the concept of "admirers" odd. For example, when I used to frequent chatrooms, I used to get untold messages from admirers all over the place. The thing is though, I noticed that these guys got a hard time from all the other girls — whereas the girls would flirt outrageously with each other, and that was OK.

What intrigued me, was why the guys never just adopted the role of a girl and joined in with the flirting. I mean, if you wanted rude-talk with a tranny, it was kinda easy — just pretend that you yourself were a tranny and Bob's your uncle.

Having said that, once or twice a few of the guys did exactly that — and I was the first to take the piss out of them for it.

I mean, if you're going to pretend to be a trannie, at least do it well

...

Dunno what my real point is here though. I think it's something along the lines of "don't be nasty to admirers", or "don't try and justify yourselves by establishing your credentials on the basis of there being some people lower down the scale than you are". Or something.

Anyway, for what it's worth, I'm an admirer. Sometimes I see photos of trannies online and I practically wet my panties. And I think that it's a particularly bizarre world when the idea of a guy lusting after guys in dresses, whilst wearing a dress himself, is considered less perverted than guys dressed as guys lusting after other guys in dresses.

If you get my drift.

What To Wear

So, apparently I'm going to an "eighties-themed" New Year's Eve party. And I'm wondering what the hell I'm going to wear to it...

Currently, my head is in this kind of space:

Velvet dress, big pink bow (and diamante clasps. Very Crystal Carrington)

Two things to note about that picture BTW:

1. I don't quite understand why people like that picture. I look awful in it. I regularly see it being bookmarked and favourited, but to be honest, it's not a great one. I think that sometimes the things that are in the picture take precedence of the picture itself.

2. I have a great story to tell about that picture. But I'l save it for some time when I'm reallyreallyreallyreally drunk

We did, BTW, spend all day today (well, at least an hour) trying to find somewhere in Lancaster that sold crimping tongs. To no avail. Therefore I will have to resort to some kind of hairsrapy-and-backcombing ordeal if I'm truly to achieve that Bonnie Tyler look on Saturday night.

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Fuck, I hope I haven't misread an email BTW. Wouldn't it be awful to turn up at a New Year's bash trussed up like an extra from Pretty In Pink, only to find out that it's not an Eighties-themed night?

Know what Steph? I'm inclined to agree