I probably should have posted this awhile ago:
Anyways, this blog is dead. As you noticed, no doubt. And if anyone sees this- hi! Thanks for still checking up! I've changed a bit since writing this, but anyways, I have a new blog:


http://chartreuseflamethrower.wordpress.com/

Thank you for reading this, and I'll leave it here for posterity. Or something.

I don't understand girls.  That's kind of why I'm where I am (well, it's really just a symptom).  I don't understand people who want to get married and feel their life is incomplete without a fence and a dog and a mess of young'ins runnin' round, that feels like too much constraint.  I don't understand religion or folks who think they're better than you because THEY worship [deity].

So I can't help right now.  Every time they say something about their sister getting married, all I want to say is "hope she got a pre-nup".  Every time they say something about how their sister's Bee-Eff-Eff is uncomfortable because they're older than the BFF and unmarried, I want to grin and say she's jealous that somebody wasn't stupid enough to get themselves tied down too soon.  Every time they say that there's no one out there for them, nobody will marry them and they won't get their prince charming, I want to ask why they want one- no, I want to roll my eyes and beat some sense into them that you don't need anyone to be happy and your life shouldn't revolve around someone else's approval.

But I know that's not what they want to hear.  I know that they probably wouldn't like my cynical "marriage never works out, and even if it did- who'd want to be legally stuck to one person forever?" attitude.  Most people probably don't.  I'm sure you can find someone and be happy, but I'm equally sure that the chances of that happen aren't good enough for me to expect that THIS ONE will be hte one that works out.

So, I can't help.  I can't say anything.  Well, I can, but I'd probably make it worse.  So I won't bother.  I'll just sit here digging my toe into the ground and snarling about how you aren't going to be happy if you only like yourself becasue some guy (or girl or other) likes you.

Internet Stealth

You can not google my birth name (current legal name).  You can, really, but you won't get me.  You'll get someone with [last name] and someone else with [first name] and I've even seen my [first middle] as [first last].   As soon as you add in the quotes, there are no results.

I am proud of this.  I knew a girl who would google herself and get a jolt of pride at all the pictures up.  I google myself and get warm fuzzies that there isn't a single site that mentions me.

The current chosen body name (subject to change, although this is unlikely) is not so lucky.  "[first last]"gets over 200 results.  [first middle last] (no quotes) gets a handful.  "[first middle last]" doesn't, but it is a very uncommon middle name that google doesn't think is spelled correctly.   I'm not sure if this is better or worse than having an ungoogle-able name.

Dear World

Sex change operations don't work that way

transgirls aren't boys.

Please stop putting us in the media now, it makes me sad.

kthxbai.

Kitty

I love my cats.  I've had them since before kindergarten and, being a socially awkward only child, ended up caring for them more than I do anyone or thing else.  But this is about my cancer-kitty. 

He's not really a cancer kitty anymore.  For a few years a benign tumor had been growing on the knee of his good back leg (the other had been chomped in 2 and now has a plate).  It eventually got so big that he could barely walk around.  You could tell that it hurt him, but you could also see that if it weren't for that leg he'd be up and about.  The summer before it got to the point were he barely ever got up, he'd managed to climb up the stairs and onto the roof by himself.   I knew that if we could at least find a way to cut the thing down he'd be able to get up again.  So, after what felt like an eternity of asking mom to take him to a freaking vet (I really wanted them to cut it down if they couldn't cut it off), she finally did.   

The oncologist's first question was why we had let it get so bad.  

They of course ran some tests, it didn't look like it had got into the pelvis but they couldn't do anything even if it had (to the pelvis, the leg could be removed but it meant cancer would grow back) and they might not have been able to say that the cancer hadn't spread, I can't remember. 

Then they started talking about surgery.  And cost.  My mom complains about finances so much I was paranoid to spend money or ask for things even before I decided to transition.  During those moments I was terrified she'd say no.  I was forming a mental plan to quit school and get a job if I had to to make the money for Patch to get the damn operation (I hated the place anyways).    Luckily she agreed to it.  

Patch ended up getting rid of my biggest fears about transition.  The first time we were able to visit him, just a few days later,he was doing so much better.  He had lost about 1/2 his body weight (the tumor was that big), was wobbly, had needles for the tubes in him, got stitches, looked funny as heck, probably was still high on pain meds,  and I still think the moron who shaved him scraped him up a bit.  But he was doing better already.  He hop/hobbled around the exam room we ended up visiting him in, and we ended up having to hold the cat who could barely stand comfortably from bolting out the door when someone came in or out.  

This was a limb removed.  He had had cancer and was underweight before it started growing.  All I'm definitely looking at is getting rid of breasts that aren't really vital to anything but growing babes.  Starting in fall I'm going to try and get healthier, in shape, etc, for it so my body'll be in a better place to heal.  If my kitty can deal with all that and still chase flying bugs as if he were a little kitten instead of a 13 yo cancer/dog bite survivor- a little chest surgery better not be able to do too much damage.