Know what I hate?

Inconsistency.

It just drives me out of my mind. And that's what's bugging me about me right now.

Maybe I'm the only one who deals with this, but it goes as such:

I'll go for weeks, months even, where I'm convinced I need to do more with my gender identity thingy. Get dressed more. Get out more. Maybe even see about hormones. Maybe take those first steps toward full time status. Or at least come out of the closet.

And then, poof: The whole cross gender spectrum variable identity dealio vanishes, and I'm, dare I say, butch. Manly, even. Let's go shoot something. Or bench press a Chevy V8.

Or, the other way around.

And it's not just gender identity, either. It's sexual identity too. I want a boyfriend, I want a boyfriend, I want a boyfriend. I'm gay. I like man-on-man. Oh... wait a sec. Nope. Girls. Women. That's what turns me on. I just need to find the right person with a set of great double X chromosomes, and everything will be okay. Ah, but, hold on, t-girls. Yeah! That's the ticket! I just need to find another someone like me. Or, no. Even better. We should both be post-op, or at least headed in that direction. Then, I'll have found happiness.

But, I know deep down inside, that no matter how strong the desire, the attraction, the feeling is, it's only temporary. It'll pass in a while, and I'll feel just as strongly about something completely different.

Fine. I get it. Well, I don't get it, but, I'm not making any plans for anything or anyone, because my interest level will likely change, shift, before too long.

And it's getting tiring: For instance, several months ago, I recommitted myself to a life of near solitude. That is to say, I fully accepting living the rest of my life alone. No romantic entanglements. (The whole no-one-night-stand thing has been a standing order for a few years now. There's one consistency.) I was fully prepared to spend the rest of my life solo. Lots of friends, but no lovers. I kinda like being by myself. Doing what I want to do, when I want to do it.

But, wouldn't you know it? I'm starting to get the urge to find someone. To share life, laughter and love with. And I'm afraid to go after anyone, to get involved, because I know this too shall pass.

So, what to do? This all surfaced because tonight I checked my Flickr page (http://www.flickr.com/photos/msronnierho/) for well, what I check Flickr for: hits,views, comments, friending, other people's pics, etc. And after a few minutes, I realized I didn't care. There was little interest in any of it.

Now, usually, I can spend hours on Flickr, looking, reading, commenting, looking. Looking. Looking. But tonight... eh.

I took a few days off, away from the computer, away from Flickr, away from gender identity related thoughts. Did guy stuff. Well, nerd stuff, anyway. And I came back only to have an "eh" feeling.

It'll return, I'm sure. Eventually. But right now, everything inside me just says "eh" to the whole transgender scene. (Well, maybe not everything. After all, I'm posting here.)

Why? Why the violent, I don't want to say mood swings, but I will, why the violent mood swings?

From TGF

Reposted from Transgender Forum:

We couldn’t wait till the new year to open the doors to TGF so this week we ask you to register again using the registration page that will be available on the first page of TGF. (It will be a link that says something informative like “Register.”) When you register you will be able to update your email address (if you have been registered with a tgforum.com address you need to get a Yahoo or gmail address) and you will automatically be a registered TGF reader for 10 years. For free! And, you can tell all your TG pals that they can stop by at tgforum.com and register too. No more problems with telling a friend how cool some post on TGF was and then having them tell you they couldn’t view the page. They have no excuse now — it’s free!

And then, once you've registered, be sure to read my column from October 25: I hate transsexuals. (This is where I do most of my writing.)

Pride

Cincinnati's Pride event, now named Cincinnati Equinox, moved from the Northside neighborhood to Downtown, on Fountain Square, this year.

They also planned it for July 4th this year, so it wouldn't compete with Columbus, Louisville, Indianapolis, etc.

A straight friend of mine loves going to Pride. (Largely so we can make snarky comments.) I wasn't going to go, despite it being about 3 blocks from where I live, but he talked me into it. He also convinced me to go dressed.

And like with all times I get gussied up, and when I go to Pride, I'm always glad I did.

We didn't stay long, because it was hot, my lashes came off, and my feet were hurting. (We walked the 3 blocks, then limped home.)

The concierge in my building was very complimentary, although I think I looked like crap.

My friends from Hamburger Mary's.


One balloon you won't likely see in the Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Jessica Dimon, Cincinnati's reigning DQ, and a competitor in the first season of RuPaul's Drag Races. Met her for the first time last night at Hamburger Mary's. Very nice gal.

Why the purple hair? Why the club wear? I usually go to Pride events and dress down a bit. It's an effort to present the trans "community" as something normal, non-threatening, not strange. We're not (all) perverts.

Well, the hell with that. I wanted to have a bit of fun, and maybe get a bit of attention. If people don't like us, they're not going to change their minds no matter what I wear. Besides, why should drag queens have all the fun?

So, yeah, there were a lot of straight people trying to be discreet as they took my photo. But you know how t-girls are. We can hear a camera at 100 yards.

More importantly, to the fears I've felt about walking out of my apartment, being seen in public, the hell with you. I'm getting too old to be afraid. If someone doesn't like it. Tough. Even went into the Walgreens to get some smokes.

I know, I know. For most of you, this won't be a big deal, but after my outing scare last January, it was huge for me. Besides, it's a sick irony to be afraid about getting seen on the way to Pride.

Hi, I'm Ronnie

And I'm a hermit.

(Hi Ronnie.)

I've found myself either pushing people away lately, or just avoiding human contact as much as I can.

I broke up with an amazing woman, because, well, I got irritated when she was around for too long. I don't go out much anymore, if I can help it. (That covers both gender identities.)

Although, I was invited by the boss to a guys' night out last weekend, for an evening of an ultra-violent movie, beer, and poker. (To my surprise, I walked out with $25 I didn't walk in with.) It was a good night, but I only went because I couldn't find a sufficient excuse to ditch.

The reason I'm ducking interaction? On one hand, I'm tired of meeting new people and being disappointed. There are so many crazies out there, and they all seem to find themselves in my general vicinity. On the other hand, I'm shy anyway. (Although that may be a symptom and not an actual disease.) I don't have the patience for small talk. Either give me something to chew on, or move along with your discussion of what happened on "Dancing with the Stars." On yet another hand, there's a part that's afraid my Ronnie life will surface somehow in an otherwise innoculous conversation with those outside the know. (Ridiculous and lame.)

But let's cut to the crux of this rambling...

Gender identity. Yet again. (Or... is it?)

I've done some dressing and photo-taking, and bad photo-shopping over the last two weekends; the first since... December? New Year's Eve? Just said the hell with all the excuses for not shaving my legs, and not shaving my goatee, and did it. (Did it big time, if you care.)

It felt good, it felt nice. It let off some steam. But it didn't cure this overall anxiety, this angry ennui.

I'm happy to report that I didn't come out of it thinking "oh, I need to be on hormones, I need to be full-time", as sometimes happens.

So, let's drop the "gender" from the earlier declaration of what the crux is...

That leaves us with "identity".

And I don't feel comfortable with any which I've adopted. (And to be honest, what I've tried to construct online probably isn't much closer to the "real me" than anything portrayed in real life.)

Yeah, I don't know who I am. I don't know what I am. (The whole TG thing probably just complicates rather than causes.) I don't feel like I have anything I can hang my hat on. It's probably been exacerbated by the '08 divorce, and my dumping of my GF. I always feel like I'm defined more by whom I'm around. And now that I'm avoiding people, well...

I dunno, maybe no-one feels like they know who they are. Maybe I'm just whining. Probably just thinking about it too much. Need a project. Need something substantial, that's also almost a sure thing.

I produced a project for RiffTrax over the last few months, and now, I'm afraid to post it, because I'm afraid of the underwhelming response. (Kinda like the Ronnie Rho Show.) I may be happy with it (them) but apparently what I have to offer isn't what the market is interested in.

Here's a thought: The album "Flood" by They Might Be Giants is 20 years old this year. Sorry, but one of their tunes just came up on random, and that's been floating in my mind lately.

Really? Could this be simply a mid-life crisis? I am knocking on 40. Could I just be looking back, wondering what I've accomplished over the last four decades, and questioning the worth of my existence? Yup.




I should probably find myself a good therapist, but I'm not in a financial positition to spend money on someone who simply listens to me ramble. I can do that for free online. (And yes, here I am, nearly 40 and a couple of paychecks away from bankruptcy. But I try not to think about that.)

Where was I?

Oh, I got onto Twitter, from my guy personae, and was pretty well received, based in part upon my occupation. In fact, the following was so encouraging, I briefly considered reinventing this blog as one from "him" with more of a local angle, as those seem to do well in this market. But, I got in trouble at work, because I was tweeting so much it was distracting from what they pay me to do. Since then, I've essentially abandoned Twitter. That may have contributed to this anchorless state I find myself in. And truth be told, while I really, really liked Twitter, (it lent itself well to my bon mots), I haven't missed it.




Ummm.... run out of steam. So let me end with this: I'm drinking heavily 6 nights a week. Smoking about a pack a day, and I'm supposed to run a portion of the local marathon this weekend. Not good.

An Andy Rooney Moment

Ever notice how when people say they're going to blog more often...

They don't?

Happy 2010

I'm hereby resolving two things: to write more often, and to worry less about whether or not anyone reads it or not.

You'll note I used the word "write" instead of "blog". I was a prolific blogger previously, at Yahoo 360, in part because of the feedback: I got jazzed on all the responses. They were verification, affirmation. And one big reason I didn't do much with this thing was because the response wasn't what I expected/anticipated/needed.

Yeah, I'll admit it: I need others to shore me up, because I'm not all that impressed with myself.

So, anyhoo... in short: A blog is something I do for others, writing is something I do for myself, but am willing to share with others.

**********

A quick overview since my last entry here, in case you're curious:

It's been a snowier winter than usual here, and I wish I could blame this despair I've been feeling on the weather, but, alas... winter here is still much milder than what I grew up with.

In January, someone tried to ruin my life by outing me online; someone who found out both my professional life, and my T life, despite my best efforts to keep the two separated. I pulled back and shored up my defenses in response. After a discussion with my boss, I'm happy to report I'm safe at work. (Go see my column at TGForum from a couple of weeks ago for the full story.) And John Q. Law is working on my side to track down the "anonymous" culprit who perpetrated the offense. I was pleasantly surprised to find the law, especially agencies like the Secret Service and FBI, are taking a bigger interest in online stalkers and menacers.

So, on the off chance the faceless, cowardly, bully happens to find this: Better be looking over your shoulder. We already know who you are, we're just laying the groundwork to prove it to a neutral third party. (A judge)

I did mention despair, didn't I? Oh yeah...

A couple of weeks ago, I woke up wracked with it. I lay there rather hoping I'd have a heart attack and just die. (You'll note I failed at that.) Don't know where it came from. (It wasn't from the stalker. Believe me.)

Since then, I've kept it at bay by distracting myself as much as possible. It's still there, hiding in the shadows, and it peeks through in my interest in post-apocalyptic fiction, I think. I've been reading a lot of novels, and crappy paperbacks, and watching zombie films and Mad Max flicks galore. And I think the attraction is because the underlying theme in all of them is survival, and rebirth: Get away from the status quo, and rebuild, hopefully in a better way.

(I'm rambling, and I don't care, as this is for me. Not you. You can read if you'd like, but you are not my audience. Don't mean to be rude, but that's that.)

I'm 39 years old. 40 is supposed to be the year of the midlife crisis, right? (Let's ignore the fact that I declared having a midlife crisis in my 20s, and later heard from a psychic that I would die at age 42. Because that's just bullshit.)

Anyhoo, another recurring theme in my life for the last couple of years has been "where did I go wrong?"; reviewing those turning points, those junctions.

But, let's get something straight too: I don't have an awful life. Things aren't terrible. A lot of people have things much worse. It's just that... I dunno.



Okay, bored with this.... but let me sign off with this line that's been rolling around my head lately. (I've got a Twitter account, and it'd be perfect for there, only I'm too lazy to log on.)

I finally know what I want from life: A do-over.

A slow decline before a precipitous fall...

And then a revival.

(This is a continuation of a blog posted at MySpace.)

I kinda got carried away this Labor Day Weekend. Friday night, I set up my apartment for a photo shoot. Saturday, I figured everything was still out, so I might as well take more pictures. Sunday, I was busy. No pictures. Monday, I didn't have to go into work until 5pm, so getting up at 9, I decided I had time for a few more pics.

And tonight, I look around, and my apartment looks like a Goodwill truck overturned.And I'm tempted to get dolled up for yet more pictures.

And why not? It's been seven months since I got dressed. It can be expected that when one pens something up, it'll come roaring back.So, that raises the question: Where have I been?

(That's from the MySpace blog. The deeper stuff starts now.)

About a year ago, I attended my first Southern Comfort Convention. I drank too much each night I was there, and was hungover each day, so I missed pretty much every seminar. I also met a lot of people, and instantly forgot many of them.

The day of the swimming pool party, I awoke to find myself feeling vaguely out of sorts. I wandered around the lobby for much of the day, but it seemed like no-one was around. Everyone was in the seminars, (most of which were TS oriented), or at the pool party. Eventually, I made my way to the pool, and my uncomfortableness was only intensified.

Yeah, I was jealous of the full-time girls, whether or not they were "hot". (There were a few who did look fantastic, and a few others who... well, shall we just say, I admired them for being comfortable in their own bodies.) I could have brought a swimsuit and joined in the fun, but I'm not comfy with my physique. Granted, I lost a lot of weight over the course of the previous year, but, that wasn't the only thing that bothered me.

I wanted to be smaller, as in shorter. I wanted to have narrower shoulders. I wanted to have a smaller face. Be less hairy. Summing up, I really started to despise being manly. (Which is not to say I'm incredibly macho.)

Generally, I'm happy with being a guy. I'm not transsexual. I'm pretty sure of that. But I didn't feel like I fit in at all at SCC and specifically at the pool party.

And it's not just the physique: It's the whole social standing. Being a simple crossdresser feels so shallow sometimes. While TS's are talking about hormones and laser, coming out to family, and fears about job security, all I can contribute to a conversation is talk about clothes and photos. (Heh, that's ironic.)

It's as if TS's are adults, and as a crossdresser, I'm stuck in adolescence. And I don't like feeling shallow and simple. But, as they say, "college isn't for everyone", so if to "graduate" and grow, I have to go full-time, I'd rather skip even community college and stay in junior high. (How's that metaphor grab ya?)

But what to do? I can't stay in this arrested development forever, can I?

Okay, overstretched the metaphor, and probably insulted a few people in the process. But I don't know where else to go with all of this: this vacation from dressing was kind of nice, because it allowed me to rediscover some of the simple pleasures. And I do have some very intelligent crossdressing friends with whom I can have intelligent conversations. But, a deep conversation on many CD topics is still in shallow waters.

(Watch for the conclusion to this line of thought at TGForum.)