Hello 
I'm Siobhan Curran/Kisa Naumova, and this is my weblog. I tend to write about stuff like crossdressing, Macs, code, cats, wine and Second Life, but in general it's just an ongoing conversation about all sorts of stuff. If you'd like to know a little bit more about what this all is, I recommend starting on this page which has a little bit of info on who I am, and what I'm trying to do — or you could dive into my five years worth of archives if you like.
Otherwise, feel free to close this box and explore...
Don't (get your) Hopes (up), Luv
I've been waiting for things to arrive recently — stuff Ive bought online, and stuff that people have sent. This state of limbo — this enforced tenterhooks — has the singular effect of rendering any form of Normal Trannie Behaviour™ completely prone to interruption.
I was lying in bed earlier, taking full advantage of a lull in the incessant pnematic-drilling that's been going on since 8.30 this morning ("Guys! C'mon FFS! It's Saturday! And the morning after St Paddy's Day! Have some compassion"), watching Bill Bailey who was on More4 last night, when I became aware of a big yellow vehicle outside my window.
Call it an Arthur Dent Moment, if you like.
I peeked through the rip in the tracing paper over my window (don't ask), and saw that it wasn't a JCB, it was a DHL van...
"Oooooooooooh! My stuff!"
And so, the DePrincessing starts — I tear off the nightie I'm wearing, and rummage through my washing basket for the jeans I was wearing yesterday, all the time listening to the sound of van doors sliding, parcels being picked up, and footsteps.
I pull a t-shirt over my head, and wait for the knock.
And wait.
And wait.
Bugger — it was for my neighbour 
Not only do I have the crushing disappointment that fun things are not arriving at my house today, I also have the sudden lack of Saturday Morning Silky Lovliness™.
'Spose I'd better get up then.
Um, I can't see anything wrong with it It's supposed to be a contrived anacronym for DHL...
I had assumed (Incorrectly, natch) that it was meant to be contrived around "Don't get Up" since you didn't need to. Hence it could have been Don't Get (your hopes) up (, Luv)
An anonymous coward
Ah. Never (thee) mind, chuck 
Idiotrannies
Making up new words is fun!
I was having a little browse through my archives earlier. Not a major reading-session, just a little flick here and there. Sometimes, truth be told (although less often these days — it's becoming a much bigger task of late) I jump right in at the beginning, and work my way right through the whole four years.
Apart from meaningless gumpf, and a vague nostaglia trip, I do find it quite interesting to go back and read my earlier stuff — stuff from when I was a lot more shouty, a lot more ranty, and hadn't already run out of things to talk about.
(Actually, in all seriousness, sometimes I do wonder if I've managed to get out every single thought, theory and feeling about transvestism and its role in society — and all I'm doing is treading water these days. The problem is, this being a 'daily' blog, everything gets lost in the mists of time. I should compose some sort of 'Best Of' list and make it a permanent link.)
(Or something)
Reading back through some of the rantage, I felt a wave of loss at an angrier self that I used to be — a self less worried about 'readership', and Technorati rankings, and awards, and links, and how many people have me as a contact on Flickr. A self more concerned with how my day to day life as a transvestite just trying to muddle through life constantly felt misrepresented by the public (and media, natch) perception of what it meant to be a trannie.
My favourite old rant, is my earliest diatribe on the subject of passing. I really miss the anger I felt when I was writing that — an anger inspired by seeing a completely hideous apparition of a badly-dressed tranny walking down the main street in Lancaster, and an anger that grew when I thought about the implications of that for me.
Anyway, I thought that maybe, I'd try and regain some of that anger, and try to put into words a feeling that I've had for a while — bundled up quite nicely in a package that introduces a new word to our community:
(via http://www.wearetheprettyones.com/tranisaurus/)
I'm really gobsmacked sometimes, just how insensitive some of us can be. I'm equally gobsmacked by how out of touch with reality we can be too.
I'm not going to give specific examples, but sometimes I shake my head when reading through forum threads and other blogs just how much some people (a) don't give a toss about the conversations that are going on around them, and (b) are so self-centred and blind to the feelings of everyone else around them, they end up reinforcing the stereotype of transvestites as being dim-witted, self-delusional, self-centred air-heads.
*pah*
One of the phrases I see trannies using a lot is the old "I'm in touch with my feminine side" chestnut.
"Empathy" is a feminine trait isn't it?
Sometimes I wonder if people come off as idiotrannies (as you put it), when that's really their last intention? Maybe they're just trying to join in a conversation — finally deciding to stop lurking and jump in with a short little comment. Maybe they're trying to open up, but it comes across all wrong? Maybe I'm missing your real point, and just projecting my own insecurities.
About passing — read it, agreed. When I started thinking about going out (when, where) — I started worrying... Oh shit, I need to learn how to walk, then there's the voice, blah, blah, blah... I was making all these lists of things I had to accomplish before I could go out. Know what? I finally said "forget this going out crap, I'll never pass...". Later on, as the opportunity to go out came and went, then all things trans* went down the chute in my relationship — I decided that I was thinking about it all wrong. Right, I'll never pass — and I don't really care. I may never have the opportunity to find out anyway.
Maybe they're trying to open up, but it comes across all wrong?
Maybe, but if that's the case, then I don't really care. What I care about, is the ones that think they're being all insightful, when, in actual fact, they're just exposing themselves as brainless fools masquerading as insightful-wannabes.
I (think) you (got) your (parentheses) in (a) muddle (too) — do you want to have another look at that title?