I pass, or blend, or assimilate, or present, or whatever word it is that I'm supposed to use, well. I don't get clocked based on my appearance anymore. So you'd think that I'd be past fretting about it, no? Au contraire, ma soeur.

I had delivery guys coming over yesterday afternoon to deliver my New-Years-Cliche-Treadmill (NYCT). The guy called me to confirm the time and I tried my best voice, but on the phone, it's tough. They looked somewhat surprised when they saw me. I had a couch that I needed help moving. I offered to tip them extra, but they refused to move it. They said it was for insurance reasons, but of course I wondered if they had clocked me and that was the real reason they wouldn't help. Probably not, but I just can't help myself with these thoughts.

Then I had to make a grocery run. The checkout woman was around 60. She didn't read me. We chatted about our kids, about good things to put on a Coco Pop, and about the fact that she accidentally rang up 178 yogurts, when I only bought 7. I told her about the NYCT and she asked me if I watched what I ate. She then looked at me and said, "Well, of course you watch what you eat. Look at you, you're skinny." I am *not* skinny. I weigh 163. That's not skinny. I'd like to weigh 145. That'd be skinny for my frame. Anyway, it was such a nice little conversation. Loved it. Of course, as I walked away, the devil over my shoulder was telling me that it would have been different if she "knew."

Finally, I had dinner with a friend at this place called Jimmy's. Jimmy's is a well-known local watering hole/wing place. They have poker nights, football nights, etc. For whatever reason, when I first transitioned, I thought to myself, "Well, there's one place I'll never be able to go into again." Why I thought I'd never be able to go into this specific place anymore, I don't know. It's a very guy-ish place. Perhaps I feared being a trans woman in a space that caters to men.

I arrived at Jimmy's first and when I came in, one of the wait staff looked very hard at me, gave me the once-over, twice-over. And of course you know what went through my head.

"Omg. Goddamnit. I look cute today. How did she read me? You've got to be kidding me. Wow, I can't believe she read me from looking at me for five seconds. Damnit. Now I have to go to the bathroom and she's probably going to chase me down and ask me exactly what I think I'm doing in the ladies' room. I knew I shouldn't have come in here. Ugh."

I finished up in the ladies' room and came out. There was the waitress again. Uh oh, here it comes.

"Ha ha! You know who you look like? You look just like my friend Sophie. I couldn't imagine why Sophie was in here, that's why I looked at you so quizzically. Ha ha!!"

Ha ha, indeed. *exhale*

So then my friend comes in and sits down. She's not one that gets read, either. She looks great. Same waitress comes over and says to her, "ha! When you came in here, I knew that's who you were looking for." (me) My friend and I give each other these looks like, "what? because we're both trans?" At this point, I'm completely confused. I have no idea whether she read us, or not. It doesn't really matter, of course, she was nothing but nice to us the whole time. If I had to guess, I'd say that she didn't read us.

This is exhausting. I will be so glad when I get to a point where success or failure is not measured by "Did I get clocked?" The funny thing is, in all those interactions above, if I was a betting woman, I'd bet that no one clocked me all day. And look at all this mental energy I am expending.

Anyway, now I need to get my looks-skinny-but-isn't body downstairs on the NYCT and work off some of the wings, beer, and Beef-on-Weck that I consumed last night.

Oh, crap. Wings, beer, Beef-on-Weck. Girls don't order wings, beer, and Beef-on-Weck!! *That* must be how she read us.

Kidding, sort of. :)


It's funny, last night we went out to eat and I was presenting fairly androgynous. It was this almost okay Asian buffet and as I was sitting at the table with the kids, this woman who must have made ten trips kept walking past me and giving me the stink eye. My wife said that it must have been because of my pony tail (which is now long and bushy) and pierced ears. I thought perhaps because I had the additional woman's glasses on. It was just one of those feelings I got that she knew something was "off" about me and I displeased her. I wondered how she would have stared if I had none of the male about me...she probably would have pelted me with chicken feet (an awful thing to eat, btw).

I actually find that I am more conscious of people when I am dressed like I was last night than when I am just me. I have developed this invisible wall that I put up so as not to try to read what other people are thinking because just about all of them are thinking something else. A waitress serving my wife and I repeatedly called us ladies and for a moment, I thought she was being too emphatic. But what I concluded was that I just wasn't used to the term being applied to me nor the experience of being out as a woman in the sole presence of women and this just may be the regular way things are, because it has been pretty much the same whenever we go out (before being offered separate checks...when I go out with a guy friend as a guy, we are never offered separate checks, but when I'm just with my wife, it seems to be the standard. weird.).

So in my long winded way, don't worry about it. Live and enjoy your wings, beer and whatever in the world Beef-on-Weck might be.


Yeah I know the feeling. You'd think after almost a year full time that I wouldn't be worrying about this kind of thing. And in truth, most of the time, I don't. But still, it kind of peeks thru the surface of my thoughts sometimes.

BADASS chicks order wings and beer.

You're already at the point where you know in your head that you won't get clocked. Before long you'll know it in your heart too. And you won't. And if by some weird chance you do, you'll be surprised. Because you'll know then that you're a woman, and you'll wonder how the clocker could not know that. It's a good feeling!

I am 5'9" and weigh about 160. That seems big for a woman, right? But I was told last night that I have no body fat. And he was right. Well, not none, but not very much. "Built like a model," I say, except models are size 2, not size 10.

Okay, i don't have a whole lot to say about clocking, but i order beer and wings all the time, and i don't know what Beef-on-Weck is, but if it involves cow, i'm there. :)

A Beef-on-Weck is like a French dip sandwich, but it's on a specific type of bun, a bun that ends with W-E-C-K. It's yummy. The bun has sea salt on top of it which makes it all the more yummy. :)


Ok T, Real women love what they love -- just like you do! I ADORE wings, more beer than I should and anything that is beef -- steak, pot roast, beef-on-weck, you name it. xo, lb

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When I transitioned, there just weren't too many blogs out there written by straight, transitioned women. Well, here's one.

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