If the Birkenstock Fits

rosie.jpg

Shmenn and I were taking the next step in our relationship — because the last one had gone so well. Anyone else remember last time’s proposal mishap? I’ve been trying to wipe it from my memory for years now.

What really led to my moving in with Shmenn was a few things. My lease was up, she was a leasing agent and could get us the “hook up” if you will, and my current roommate/soon to be ex best friend decided to break up with Courtney and me.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

No, you heard me right, break up. She sat us down after seven years of friendship — 1/3 of my life — and said, “You’re just not the type of people I seek out as friends.” I was a little thrown. WHAT DO YOU MEAN? There is no seeking. We did that freshman year of high school. We’d already found each other… Back when I got sat next to this lanky girl with a Naruto backpack, who fell asleep every day in Biology, and wrote crazy Christian fanatic notes about how evolution was a lie and God put dinosaurs on the earth to “test our faith.” Like some big cosmic scavenger hunt. Newsflash, that isn’t a test, a test is when your girlfriend says she “doesn’t want anything for Valentine’s Day” (which is code for, you better get me something for Valentine’s Day and not fuck this up), dinosaurs are science.

I’m not really sure why I saw this weirdo and befriended her, but I did. We were on the basketball team together but honestly I was afraid she was going to murder me as a sacrifice to the One True God and then wear my skin to her birthday. But after all those red flags and things we didn’t have in common, I chose to be her friend — and now she wanted to get rid of me??

Fast forward 7 years. We had been besties throughout high school. She somehow didn’t have an aneurism when Courtney and I both came out as gay (though her mom did offer to pray for me which is the most annoying response ever to coming out, in my oh-so-gay-opinion). And we proceeded to go to college together where we had the same major, lived in the same dorm and went on to share two apartments together. I think we had established that yes, we were EXACTLY the type of people we sought out in friendships, we might’ve actually been pretty damn good at this whole friendship thing.

But here we were, breaking up. I tried to take it in stride, knowing I had always been a good friend to her, but it felt like betrayal, and kind of like losing a family member. Her words were thinly veiled homophobia and code for “I’ve met boys and everyone assumes I’m gay when I’m with you, but I like the D, so I need to hang with a less rainbow crowd.” No really, this was the underlying issue. But we weren’t the issue, the issue was: her avid plaid wearing, her beanie collection that rivaled that of Shawn White, coupled with “boyish” interests in things like video games and sports, come on now… if the Birkenstock fits.

So with no extra roommate it was either Courtney and me against the world or move in with Shmenn — the latter seemed more financially responsible and not altogether like the worst idea ever.

Our apartment was a little ways away from campus, all of our neighbors were gay (the leasing agent totally stereotyped us. Oh wait, Shmenn leased us this place…) and it seemed like despite the rescinded ring exchange me and Shmenn were “fine.”

If you’re ever in a relationship that you describe as “fine” —  get out. “Fine” isn’t your soulmate, “fine” is…well…fine.

Pride was coming up, as was my final semester in school. I had my entire adult life to look forward to.

I got too comfortable.

Next week on Nobody Scissors… when you’re right, you’re right. 

Advertisements

We Fell Apart in New York City

glenda

Shmenn and I went to New York City as a late birthday gift (or Valentine’s gift, I can’t remember) to me. It really was a “convince Chris to move to NYC” trip because Shmenn was ready to be back in the Big Apple, and I was going to be graduating at the end of the year.

I needed no convincing. New York City was the mistress I had yearned for my entire life, I ached for her. When I imagined my life in my twenties and thirties I imagined Manhattan and Brooklyn, small apartments and broken radiators, late night subway commutes, dog parks and gyro stands.

This would be my first adult vacation, just me and a girlfriend, no family flying in tow, and it would be my first time really in New York — I had been once before when I was younger, to take a cruise up to Canada, but really we just flew in to La Guardia and were at the port almost immediately, it hardly counted.

*Theme Music and opening credits play*

Shmenn and I had been together for about a year and I was young and in love and crazy. I planned to propose on this trip. We already practically lived together, she had moved across the country for me about three months into us dating (that should have been a red flag, just saying), and I didn’t think my future had anything else in store besides me and her… and New York. I blindly overlooked her aversion to my transition and that our dynamic wasn’t quite perfect, and that her family didn’t approve, and that… well… we were 21, so odds are, we weren’t getting married. I had a ring in my jacket pocket the entire trip. It wasn’t expensive really, just a couple hundred dollars, all I could afford on my student/cave tour guide (that’s not a joke) *salary*, and more a promise than anything.

We had talked about marriage, raising a family, growing old. But maybe to Shmenn it had been just talk. I must have missed that signal.

Her friends who we were staying with in Bed-Stuy had the same intentions as me. I showed up and Shmayla (her friend from college) pulled me aside, “You’re doing it aren’t you??”

“Doing what?” I stammered.
“Romantic trip. You’re taking her to broadway and dinner tomorrow. You’re proposing! Just tell me if we should get a cheese plate and some wine for after!”
“I’m playing it by ear.” I said, and that was that.

We had three days in the city to explore, Shmenn had gone to school in Brooklyn for a year or so, so she knew her way around. I was wide-eyed, jaw dragging on the ground everywhere we went. We explored DUMBO, Central Park, The High Line, Williamsburg, China Town, Little Italy. We must have walked 10 miles that first day, easily. We took a million pictures, kissed on every street corner, we were on top of the world.

I took her to see Wicked on Broadway, that was my 1 year anniversary gift to her. She had never seen Wicked, but as a singer and actress loved musicals of all kinds… this was my third time (though the first in NYC). We dressed up, her in a beautiful new dress, me in a vest and tie, and a leather jacket despite it being May (what even are seasons??). The night was perfect, crisp, I remember every second. We cried at the show, drinking overpriced wine, we had a stranger take our picture in Times Square, we rode the M train home. When we got back Shmayla was waiting, “You didn’t text me… so I got cheese and wine just in case.”

“Get it ready, let’s go to the roof.” I said. I was 21, I was in love, I was certain.

We were overlooking the city, the Brooklyn Bridge lit up like a hundred Christmas trees. Cars honking in what could have been the most beautiful symphony. Shmayla had stolen my camera and pretended to fiddle with it, but really she was taking sly pictures of us. Her other two roommates whose names I can’t pretend to remember were drinking wine from the bottle near the railing, Shmenn turned around and I was down on one knee. She looked geniunely, shocked, I assumed it was a good reaction, sheer surprise.

I’ve never told my mother I proposed to Shmenn, or really that many people for that matter. You see, at first she said, “Yes! Of course!” We made our way to bed, on the pull out couch, and had sex all night. Her friends walked out at one point to tease us, I was too thrilled with the evening to care or be embarrassed. Until Shmenn woke me up at 7am.

“We’ve made a mistake, I can’t do this.” She wasn’t crying, she wasn’t even all that sad sounding, she was just… quiet.

“What do you mean…?”

“My mom doesn’t approve of us, I haven’t spoken to her in months. I won’t be engaged when my family can’t know. I just won’t.”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

We didn’t tell her friends that she had done a take-backsies on my proposal, we had another day or so in the city and we tried to make the best of it. I never recovered from that weekend, it was only downhill from there.

*Next Time on Nobody Scissors… We should totally move in together, because why wouldn’t we?”

 

I have no cue where the keys are

cue.jpg

Shmenn came home like she had just found a lost puppy… which basically she had.

“Chris, there’s this helpless, cute little queer who just moved in and we have to take them out for their birthday. They don’t know anyone.” She pouted her lip, she batted her eyelashes, the whole nine yards. Leave it to Shmenn to befriend a new resident on the property she worked at and think it was our job to show them the town.

“Shmenn, I don’t think that this person is going to want us to take them out. They don’t even know us.”
“Oh no, he does. I already told him we are going.” She skipped off and I had no idea what to expect for the evening.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

The night I’m about to describe to you is one of my favorite nights so far in my existence, I remember it like it was yesterday. And by remember it like it was yesterday I mean, I don’t remember much of it at all. But I have the blurry pictures and a stolen cue ball to remember it by. More on that later.

We made it downtown to the Circle, headed into one of the local bars that was located in a basement and allowed you to still smoke inside like it was 1993, and proceeded to play skee ball until this guy showed up.

Sidenote: When I met this person they went by a different name and ID’ed as a lesbian, but for simplicity’s sake we are going to use he/him pronouns and their later (though changed for privacy) name.

In walks a person very similar looking to me. Similar build, androgynous, possibly trans (but definitely pre-testosterone) individual, with a lot of swagger behind a fairly shy looking face.

I distinctly remember the fact that Shmennifer looked enthralled with this person, but also that she turned and hissed at me, “He’s not your new Shmavis, not everyone is uncomfortable with how they are, so don’t go expecting anything out of him.” Looking back that is a SHITTY fucking thing to say to someone, especially a transgender someone. And also, I know a lot of trans people will disagree (you can’t judge a book by their cover, blah blah blah) but you kind of get a feeling when you meet another gender non-conforming individual, certain vibes just roll off of them, your ears perk up, cartoon birds start to sing in the distance.

I wasn’t sure what to say so I just turned to introduce myself, he extended a fairly tattooed arm and said, “Hi, I’m Shmelly.” The rest was history.

We drank so many shots at the bar we began at that we must have consumed all the vodka in that joint, though that didn’t stop us. There were at least a dozen bars in this strip downtown and we were going to show Shmelly every single one of them.

The night comes and goes for me when I think back on it. Like I’m watching a flip book missing a fuckton of pages. I had a particularly vivid memory (and a nasty bruise) of dancing at the only club in town, getting picked up by Shmelly and toppling to the ground in a heap. We laughed our asses off until a bouncer came over and literally told us to “get our shit together” or we would get kicked out. Shmelly left the dancefloor and leaned against a booth before falling right over the back of the seat into the lap of some other patrons and was picked up by the scruff of his neck like a puppy by the man who had just reprimanded us. We both smiled and toddled away, where we were soon joined by Courtney (who had come to be our sober ride home), and I have no clue where Shmenn was but then again this entire night is imaginary to me.

At some point I think me and Shmelly made out, which became a common occurrence in our soon-to-be friendship (spoiler alert), though usually we did so for free drinks at gay bars or to confuse nosy onlookers. We visited a hookah lounge, lost Shmenn’s wallet at said hookah lounge, went to Jimmy Johns (because it’s open freaky late), and then ended our night at this bar called Zenith.

Zenith is … well I don’t know how it is because I’ve never been inside. As we were showing our IDs and Shmelly and Courtney walked on in the bouncer held me up.

“No fucking way is he going in there.” He said to my friends. And then I lost my mind.
“IT’S BECAUSE I’M GAY ISN’T IT?!” (Reminder: I’m still a very much butch lesbian looking individual at this point and also still teetering between my lesbian and trans identities). The bouncer seemed baffled and glanced from me to Shmelly and back to me. Shmelly looked like someone I’d be put in a police lineup with, but with an even gayer buzzed haircut.

“I don’t think that’s it.” Shmelly laughed, and Courtney came back outside of the bar to help Shmenn move me along as I continued to yell about discrimination at the Zenith Bar. At some point I decided that walking was too hard and I laid down on the pavement, right next to a cop car.

Courtney was having none of my shit and pulled a mom, and by that I mean she started counting down from 3 and my ass was upright before she got to 1 because nobody ever wants to find out what happens at the end of one of those countdowns. When we reached the car Courtney asked me for the keys (WHY WAS I IN CHARGE OF THE KEYS YOU ASK?? WHAT AN EXCELLENT QUESTION). I reached into my front pocked and pulled out a cue ball.

*Is that a pool ball in your pocket or do you just have a really round engorged penis?*

“What the fuck is that and where are the keys?” Courtney was pissed.
“That’s not mine.” I said confidently, as if someone had framed me, or as if I was any teenager ever found with weed that was definitely theirs.

Courtney and Shmenn left me on the sidewalk with Shmelly as they retraced our steps in search of the keys. They eventually found them (inside Jimmy Johns) and we were headed home. After we dropped Shmelly off (which was at the apartment building next to ours) I do have a vague recollection of one-eyed texting him, “I understand if you never wanna hang out with us again. What a shit show.”

*Next time on Nobody Scissors, turns our Shmelly did want to hang out again.*

What happens in Vegas gets you put in gender therapy for a year

vegas.jpg

Being trans is fun, because more than likely you’ve already come out as gay, or bi, or curious, or just not heteronormative…. but now you get to come out again. I know! Us LGBTQ people get to have all the fun. If I have straight kids I’m going to require them to come out as well, because you know what they say about assuming.

We were headed to Vegas to celebrate me and Courtney’s 21st birthday. It was just her and me and my mom and my mom’s best friend, Smucy. It was a “girl’s weekend” except I was about to fuck that one up real bad.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

Vegas was fun, great even. My mom is not like a lot of other people’s moms, she’s a “cool” mom. Okay but I mean that, she can drink you under a table, she’ll go to any burlesque show and it won’t be (too) awkward, and she’s just a riot. Mostly because she’s a great sport and lets me and Courtney make fun of her so it’s endless entertainment. Shmucy is also a good time, even if on a surface level she might not seem like she would be. To me she looks like a redheaded, older, Shmellen Shmompeo, with the exact same voice. She used to be a smoker so her voice is husky and fantastic, but besides that she is a Vegas Veteran. She makes at least one (usually two) trips to Sin City a year, and has the gambling game down. She promised my sister and I that she would take us the year we could legally gamble back when we were like 4 years old, and she made good on that promise.

So how could this go poorly, you ask?

I was not by any means ready to come out to my mother as trans. Though I had been aware of the fact that I wanted to transition for several months now I wasn’t out to anyone but my girlfriend who was on and off again about the whole thing like Rachel and Ross on FRIENDS except way worse. I was also still trying to figure out the process of how to start testosterone, if I needed to see a therapist, what was actually required of me, did Texas even believe in trans people?? etc. But even though I wasn’t ready to come out I had also told myself that if my mom ever outright asked me about how I identified I wouldn’t lie. I didn’t want to have this fake conversation denying how i really felt and then years later come out and begin my transition and my mom be like, “REMEMBER WHEN  YOU LIED TO MY FACE ABOUT THIS 546 DAYS AGO?? BECAUSE I REMEMBER!!” Moms remember that shit and I wasn’t about to let her hold that against me on top of everything else.

So we are in our hotel room getting ready to go to dinner, we had already had a few drinks (to my knowledge about a dozen mimosas, because if you start with a mimosa and drink only mimosas and end the day with a mimosa you will meet your daily required intake of fruits/veggies — you will also ingest about 3 bottles of champagne, but who’s counting). My mom was fairly drunk, I was feeling pretty vitamin-C sufficient and something possessed my mom to say something along the lines of, “I know y’all are gay, just as long as nobody wants to be a boy.”

My silence was deafening.

Courtney was cluelessly getting ready across the room as I was trying to make eye contact with every Dragon Statue in the room and not my mother. This might seem like an odd detail, but it’s not if I had told you which hotel we were staying in…but I guess it’s too late now. Anyways, Mushu wasn’t coming to life like in Mulan and saving my ass from my mother and her Hun-like rage, so she yanked me into the bathroom with a crazed look in her eyes. Honestly, she looked just like that terrifying yellow-eyed Li Shang dude except she didn’t have a falcon henchman but she did have her mom-talons clenched into my arm with all the strength of a raging fire and all the force of a great typhoon. (“I’ll Make a Man Out of You” lyrics anyone? Appropriate if you ask me).

“What do you mean?” She hissed.
“Uh… I didn’t say anything.” I shrugged.
“Exactly.” She had arms hands crossed so tightly that I got the impression that she was trying to keep a grip on something that sure as shit wasn’t this situation.
“Look, this isn’t the time or the place or the sobriety level for this conversation to be had.”

My  mom was instantly bawling. I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t even said anything but I had said enough and she looked crushed. If I hadn’t been scared to actually come out and transition before, my girlfriend’s general apprehension about the situation and my mother’s sudden crisis/transformation into a simultaneous Disney villain and weeping mess was more than enough to send me into a tailspin. Mulan had failed me. Mimosas had failed me. My cool mom had failed me. Life sure wasn’t as simple as Walter Disney made it seem when we were younger — why couldn’t I just dress up like the boy I was and take my father’s place in the Chinese army and then, y’know, not go back to living life as an AFAB person. What was so hard about that? Why couldn’t I bring honor to my family and make a man out of myself. (Okay, I promise I’m done with Mulan references).

It would still take me another year and half or so to come out completely to everyone, including my mom, again. But now the seeds of this idea were planted in her brain and she was going to obsess over it for the next 18 months until one day she would call me when I lived in Brooklyn and tell me that she was scheduling a therapy consultation, just in casies. That’s the best kind of therapy, in case you were wondering, the naive hopefully preventative kind of therapy. Luckily, my therapist turned out to be super helpful and understanding and honestly a great resource at the beginning of my transition — but we won’t be meeting her until a good amount of blog entries from now. Until then, the moral of this story is that I need to work on my Poker face and I really should have picked up on why I liked Mulan so much as a kid.

*Next week on Nobody Scissors I take a complete stranger out on the town for their birthday*

Between a Rock and a Bar Bouncer

The Rock

While Shmenn was busy coming out and we were dealing with all that drama, Shmavis had gone off to Basic Training for the Army. This made me feel more isolated than ever, he was my one real ally in my transition, my rock, my Dwayne Johnson if you will.

Nothing much happened in those first few Spring months, except that I turned 21, but I don’t remember that night so the blog post would just be a bunch of:

4544827697_6f73866999_b.jpg
4544827697_6f73866999_b.jpg4544827697_6f73866999_b.jpg

You get the picture.

Shmavis came back in April (or it could have been May, I don’t know, time isn’t real) for a brief break after his training and before getting shipped off for more training. So obvi we had to celebrate me finally being legal and him being back by going out to the strip of bars in our college town (locally known as The Circle, because they formed a circle around the town hall) and getting Shwasted. We got dolled up (who says that?), went out and were having a great time, until we weren’t.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I’ve been in two bar fights in my lifetime, and both have been in the presence of Shmavis and Shmavery, which is ironic because these two honestly look like the cutest couple next door you’ve ever seen. This is like saying that every barfight you’ve ever been in involved that Barefoot Contessa lady and her husband (does she have a husband?).

I was off chatting with Shmavis, smoking a cigarette, Shmenn was DD for the night and had just gone off to the bathroom, and Shmavery was at the bar socializing with everyone that came within a ten foot radius of her. She was pretty drunk because the girl is about the weight of a dandelion and drinks like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson (hey! Second “The Rock” reference…he was just named Sexiest Man of the Year, after all). Out of the corner of my eye I saw her reach up and take the sunglasses off the bartender’s face and put them on, and next thing I know this 12-foot-tall sasquatch of a frat daddy was vaulting over the bar and screaming in Shmavery’s surprised, blonde, little face. As me and Shmavis made our way toward the altercation Shmenn stepped between the bartender and our friend, as she had walked up just as this had started to go down. She raised her hands in a calming motion, the way you might do to a feisty moutain lion (or are you supposed to play dead with a mountain lion? Mental note to google that later in case I ever meet a mountain lion).

Out of nowhere I see this off duty bouncer with traps wider than I am tall jumping into the scene, chokeholding my girlfriend and dragging her from the bar. Shmenn is not a small girl, smaller than this guy yes, but not petite by any means, and he was dragging her like she was one of those dogs in those hilarious videos where they refuse to walk on their leash and they just get dragged along by their owner, except it wasn’t hilarious.

My fighting instincts kicked in and I resorted to the first defense mechanism I could think of — which was apparently to mimic a baby monkey and jump on this mean momma gorilla’s  back. I don’t know what else I was supposed to do because this man’s biceps literally outweighed my entire body, and all I could think was maybe I could beat him in the head enough times that he stopped choking my girlfriend out. So I did exactly that, I pummeled him in the back of the head with my fists until he threw me down the stairs. (Before you get too worried, I was both drunk and a rugby player so I was loose and knew how to fall properly, I didn’t end up more than bruised. If you’re thinking, Chris, we weren’t worried, you picked a fight with a slab of meat, you had this coming… well, you can fuck right on off).

The good thing was, he was like an enraged bull and after hurling me down the stairs all he could see was a big ol’ red version of me, so he dropped my girlfriend on her head back at the last barstool and was bounding down the stairs at me screaming, “I don’t care if you’re a guy or a girl or whatever the fuck, I will beat your ass!” I made some jerking off motion (you know the one) and he kept hurling the “he-she” insults because we were apparently on an elementary school playground. I replied with some comment about how ill-endowed he must be to want to fight someone my size AFTER fighting with a woman. Maybe it wasn’t my best insult ever, or the most politically correct, but the steroids this guy must have been on had theoretically speaking shrunk his manhood (I mean, that’s just science) and he replenished his XP by beating up on drunk (and not at all drunk, in the case of Shmenn) people at a college bar, regardless of their size, gender, or innocence. Speaking of XP, imagine the Pokemon Machamp and that’s a spitting image of this man, four arms and all.

While I’m laughing and taunting this dude who’s name was probably Rod or Tank or Protein Shake, my friends who somehow caused the incident were walking out the front door unscathed. Shmenn was dizzy, had a large bump on her head, and I was honest to god running for my life. So maybe this wasn’t really a fight, per say, more like a hit and run. Either way, the laundry bag full of roiling testosterone fueled meat couldn’t catch me and we were across the street filing an incident report with the nearest cop on patrol.

Luckily we really weren’t that drunk so we are coherent, and double luckily the bouncer was off duty and had vocalized opinions that were easily considered hate speech so the officer was actually giving us the time of day. Our luck ran out, however, because the bar ended up tipping the guy out that night to cover their asses, and the most we could do was leave shitty reviews on YELP because bouncers can basically do whatever the fuck they want (which is appalling).

I wish I could say this was my last shitshow of a night out at those particular bars, but that would be the biggest lie I’ve told so far in this blog and I’ve told some pretty good ones so far. Just kidding this is all totally the truth. Except it’s not. Or maybe it is. You’ll never know.

*Next Week on Nobody Scissors… We celebrate my 21st in Vegas and I come out to my mom (again) on accident*

Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

chris_ellen.jpg

It was Valentine’s Day and Shmenn had gone back to the midwest to visit her parents. I know, I know, on the most romantic day of the year? I’m just kidding, we all know the most romantic day of the year is Thanksgiving — nothing quite like the alluring aroma of pumpkin spice and a full belly to get you going.

Shmenn decided that with love in the air and all that jazz it was time to come out to her parents… as a lesbian. Do you remember how a few posts back I had officially come out to her as transgender? Well, get ready for me to be shoved right back into that closet. Shmenn was ready to be an out and proud gay and I was mostly a doormat that didn’t want her to leave me so I hoped I could be okay with this. *spoiler alert, I wouldn’t be*

*Theme music and opening credits play*

I got to hear about the coming out via text message mostly, because Shmenn’s parents wouldn’t leave her alone long enough to call me because according to them I was the devil reincarnate. They were Catholic, and the pick and choosy kind Catholics, A.K.A. the worst kind, A.K.A. most Catholics. They told Shmenn how they had known all along that I was a terrible person, influence, human, etc. That my tattoos were atrocious, my short hair was bad…

…and that I was clearly not raised right. The only bright side to this coming out was that Shmenn’s dog threw up on her dad right in the middle of the drama, I couldn’t help but laugh when she relayed that detail.

Shmenn was headed back to Texas the next day and she was a mess. Her parents had told her that they had no interest in talking about me ever, and really had no interest in talking to her until she decided that her and I were no longer talking, or dating, or especially fucking (I don’t think they actually said that, but we all know that’s what they meant).

This was probably the beginning of the end of me and Shmenn, even if I didn’t want to admit it. I had dealt with terrible parents before… I mean Shmashley 1’s parents pretended I didn’t exist like Donald Trump pretends that Global Warming doesn’t exist and I survived that shit for 2 years. I never had to see these people, I couldn’t care less — but Shmenn cared deep down and it was going to eat at her slowly, like the slow and painful process that was that dude chewing his arm off in that one movie starring Shmames Shmanco (and presumably the real life one-armed dude who inspired that story). Yum, anyone else craving a turkey leg?

Smenn’s dad, let’s call him, Shmuy Shmieri, in case you forgot, he looks just like a certain Food Network Star — decided that he was going to be my new biggest fan and stalked all my social media. Welcome to the club, Shmuy, I’ve got quite a couple fan girls and boys you’ll have to share that internet stalker-dom with. (JK, I wouldn’t be propelled to D-List internet fame for about another year or so). He would send Shmenn emails every morning containing screenshots of my posts about her and what a nasty woman that made her (one of them read “I’m so happy to come home to my gf today” Nasty, N-A-S-T-Y, isn’t there a black eyed peas song about that?) Anyway, something tells me that he might be Donald Trump’s speech writer this year. Jeez, that’s my third Trump reference in this post, wonder why…oh yeah, GO VOTE AMERICA! DO YOUR CIVIC DUTY AND SAVE US FROM THAT ORANGE MONSTER.

*Hillary Clinton approved this message and this blog, we’re besties, I promise*

Anyways, back to our regularly scheduled programming — Shmenn’s dad got real good at the internets and stalking my shit, but no way was I going to censor myself to make him feel comfortable or sacrifice my growing follower count by making my instagram private. In all seriousness though, I do not believe in changing your own behavior to make someone more comfortable when they go looking for something to make themselves uncomfortable. Shmenn would get messages from ol’ Daddy-O talking about how we were throwing our heathenism in his face and all I could do was scoff and tell him to hold the phone. It’s not shoving anything in anyone’s face when they had to head to that little search bar on whatever social media they fancied and typed my name in. That’s their issue. That’s actually harassment. If he didn’t want to see me in real life, he wouldn’t go to my house and peek in my windows. And, better yet, if I didn’t want him seeing my shit in real life I could put a restraining order on him or block his phone number and rely on the long arm of the law to keep his creepy goldilocks lookin’ self away from me. (This same thing goes for anyone who I’ve ever blocked online — if you don’t want to see me, the internet makes it real easy, stop LOOKING).

Between the screenshots and the bible verses, things got to the point where we just stopped talking about Shmenn’s family and I actually encouraged her to keep those annoying little red notification bubbles on her email. Those emails don’t need read now, Shmenn, not now, not ever.

*Next week on Nobody Scissors, you might be reading my last blog entry ever if The Donald gets elected and all Queer people are removed of their rights to queer blogging and free expression*

 

Hell Hath No Fury

devil_art_what.jpg

I am about to tell you one of my favorite stories from when I was dating Shmenn. I tell this story ALL THE TIME.

Shmenn’s middle name should have been Petty, I mean she makes Tom Petty look like Tom Not-So-Petty if you know what I mean. And honestly it was very hilarious, except when it was directed at me of course.

One time Shmenn, me, Courtney, and her girlfriend at the time decided to hit up a Spurs game, because we love basketball and the girlfriends loved any reason to scream at grown men while eating cotton candy.

After the game was over is when this story really begins… We were in the parking lot, in that usual shitshow that is everyone trying to leave an arena at one time and is a literal look into what Hell must be like.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

It comes to be our turn to merge into the exit line from the parking lot and the joker who knows it’s our turn to come over is refusing to make eye contact and edging his Mercedes SUV closer and closer to the car in front of him, blocking us out. This is when Shmenn and Courtney, the two pettiest bitches I know, without even speaking must have telepathically communicated what was going to come next. Courtney hopped out of the passenger seat and stood right in front of this fucker’s car, arms crossed, the smuggest (most smug? English nerds, weigh in!) grin on her face.

Now I know what you’re thinking — Texas is an open carry state, she could have gotten her ass shot. Additionally she was standing in front of a CAR for god’s sake, and this person could be a homicidal maniac, he didn’t even understand the basic human practice of merging traffic lanes so clearly he was a sociopath. But, you know, we were young and broke so getting hit by a car seemed like a reasonably okay path to put one’s life on.

This guy lost his mind, but I guess not enough to run Courtney over, so we edged our car in front of him as he laid on his horn, flipped us off, and screamed a plethora of obscenities our way. Now, keep in mind this was a middle-aged man, with his wife in the passenger seat, who if he had just let us merge would have been well on his way. Courtney made sure to let the guy know what a stand-up guy he was being by laughing and giving him a retaliatory middle finger (or two). This was when the wife started to get into the mix and rolled down her window to start yelling at Courtney, so she turned on her and yelled something along the lines of “What a winner you’ve got there! But it looks like you two are made for each other!” Before blowing a kiss and running back to the car. Now, this was all very ill-conceived from a planning standpoint because this guy really could have hurt any of us or rammed our car or worse, but we were working with the advantage of driving a WAY shittier car than he was. That’s the key to starting parking lot/road rage fights, always (and I mean ALWAYS) have the shittier vehicle. You want them to know that you wouldn’t give a motherfuck if your car became a casualty in this situation, your car isn’t worth caring about — your car sounds like a lawnmower. BRING IT.

Courtney made her way safely back onto our riding lawnmower, but Shmenn wasn’t done yet. Once we were in line in front of this douchehole, Shmenn put the car in park, rolled down the driver’s side window and waved in EVERY SINGLE CAR in the merge lane. Hundreds of cars, and we were just laughing our asses off. We had nowhere to be, and this guy needed to learn his lesson in basic human decency. He was laying on his horn and throwing even more middle fingers in the air, because apparently he didn’t understand that being a jackass was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place; you catch more flies with honey than vinegar after all.

People were a little confused by our actions, several rolled down their windows asking why we were letting everyone go in front of us.

Shmenn smiled as she waved them on, “This guy behind us is an asshole, so he’s learning a lesson.” At the end of all of the drama and after letting the entire rest of the parking lot out of the crowd before us, we left the scene with a hilarious story about good triumphing over evil (or petty triumphing over douche-baggery) and with at least two new enemies.

*Next Time on Nobody Scissors Shmenn finally comes out to her parents*

 

Congratulations: It’s a Boy!

babychris.jpg

Shmenn knew I was questioning my gender for some time but we avoided it like I’ve avoided calling my old University’s registrar’s office to handle the holds on my account keeping my diploma from me. No seriously, 1 – if you didn’t know, your University will withhold your diploma if you owe them for a $40 parking ticket, EVEN THOUGH you paid them $20k a year in tuition. Additionally calling the registrar’s office is hell on a good day, let alone 3 years after you’ve graduated — no i don’t remember my student ID number! Annnnnnywayyy,  she would often call me her boy, use masculine adjectives for me, and she called me our dogs’ dad, stuff like that… but we never touched on why she said those things, or why I liked it so much.

On the nights that she wasn’t sleeping over (which wasn’t very often) I would spend my nights watching transition video after transition video, crying and aching to be as true to myself as these people were. I was obsessed, I had finally found my truth. Also I have a very obsessive personality, I probably watched every single video available. The same way I will buy every single book by an author I’m currently reading, or the way I have watched every single movie starring Kristen Stewart even if it’s Jumper where she merely opens a door and speaks like 3 words. This is why I’ve not dabbled too deeply into drugs, I would be a goner.

I bought a binder, a packer, more masculine clothes. I brought up the use of a strap-on in the bedroom and Shmenn was on board, she had been with men in the past and thought it would be enjoyable for both of us. We picked out the prosthetic together, I insisted on something realistic (It even had balls! You’re welcome for that bit of information! — Courtney is cringing as she edits this.) and I remember the first time I wore it feeling absolutely horrifyingly self conscious but also, whole.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

The first time I spoke the words aloud that I wanted to transition I was black out drunk so I don’t actually remember it. A lot of my stories begin this way… like hey, do you remember that time we blah blah blah, me neither! It was relayed to me the next day that I was crying on the floor (I’m a winner) after Shmenn and I had attempted to have sex and I broke down over being touched a certain way and had closed myself in the bathroom. She came in to comfort me and I apparently told her something along the lines of, “I just want to be a boy, okay?”

Now I know that’s not the right wording, and it’s a very simplistic way to put my feelings, but as a distraught gender-confused masculine-of-center person (say that 5 times fast) that’s the best I could muster in my alcohol-induced state.

The next day Shmenn came to me and asked if I remembered our discussion the night before, I had no idea what she was talking about and she told me what had gone down. I instantly felt guilty. Shmenn had just come to terms with the idea of being a lesbian, and here I was, telling her that I wasn’t a woman.

At first she was so supportive, I couldn’t have asked for someone better. She helped me pick out a new name, switched to he/him pronouns, encouraged me to work out, told me how good I looked in my new clothes, in my new binder, etc. She even played into some very masc/femme roles in the bedroom that boosted my confidence in ways I had never felt in sexual situations.

Naming yourself as an adult is a weird thing to do. You’ve already known yourself as something else for literally your entire life, it’s easy to name a baby, they all look like babies. I mean when someone says “Aw she does look like a Shmemma” they’re lying. Your baby looks like a baby. Your baby also looks like an old man. Your baby looks like a Shmarence if anything.

The thing about choosing a name is you probably have heard every name ever named in your lifetime, so you have some bias attached to that name. I know that’s how it was for me. Like ugh no, I have a cousin named Shmark, there was that boy on that camping trip named Shmike who had a crush on me, and I can think of at least 5 famous Shmarles’ who murdered people.

I toyed around with the name Blaine for a long time, Shmenn really like it for some reason. I had really wanted to stick with a “C” name to keep similar to my birthname, but my brother has a “B” name so it seemed like maybe that would be cool too. The only problem is that to me Blaine was very gay boy, and I know, I know, certain names can’t be GAY, but maybe I had been watching too much glee (don’t scroll back to the beginning of my tumblr, it’s all glee fandom bullshit, I can’t even pretend to deny that, we all have skeletons in our closet).

Eventually I decided on Chris, and we were using that name for me on a daily basis. I wasn’t Chris to anyone but Shmenn but I was happy to have found a name that felt like my own. Like I said, naming yourself is a weird thing, but when you find a name you connect with after a lifetime of disconnect things are suddenly so clear. Everyone else around you probably never disliked their name, unless their name was Sheunice, that’s a terrible name. But you, you’re finally seeing what it’s like to go by what you want/need to go by, and that’s a nice feeling.

At the time I was also living with my “best friend” Shmordan (I know, I slept with a Shmordan, right? I can’t keep up), but we had been best friends for 7 years and roommates for 3 and I thought for sure she would support my desire to transition.

WRONG.

Shmordan told me that I would never be a boy and she would for the rest of time call me by my birthname. Luckily we stopped being friends a few short weeks after that because she’s the literal WORST and I’ve not heard from her since. Just a tip from me to you, even if that’s your best friend of a half your lifetime, you do not deserve that shit, cut them off like the 11th finger that they are. Fun fact, my little sister had 11 fingers — they just tied a string around that shit and it fell right off.

*Next time on Nobody Scissors, Shmenn’s lack of acceptance takes a nosedive*

Party Foul

aaron-chris

I returned home to what I thought would be my everyday, normal, relationship. I mean as normal as any relationship could be, but when I left things were okay, and when I got back they just… weren’t. Have you ever just had a terrible feeling about something and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it? Well that’s how I felt when I got back and Shmenn really wasn’t helping things.

I knew she had hung out with one of my teammates while I was gone, but soon I noticed her texting her all the time, coming home late, and just all around being sketchy. She claimed nothing had happened between them while I was South of the Border, but I knew better, and  my suspicions were confirmed at the next rugby party we went to.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

There was a party going on at Shmellen’s house and it was hopping as per ush (uje?). Every gay worth knowing was there at their 3 bedroom apartment and all seemed fun until I noticed Shmenn hanging around the teammate I had a bad feeling about, let’s call her, Shmanet. I was playing beer pong with Courtney and my best friend, probably getting my ass kicked because Courtney always beats me at beer pong, but mostly my eyes and ears were trained on Shmenn, touching Shmanet’s arm, leaning on her shoulder, making all sorts of eyes at her. I could feel my temper boiling over but thought maybe I was just being crazy.

Shortly thereafter Shmenn came over and told me she was leaving because she didn’t feel well, mostly I think she could tell that I was uncomfortable. I told her I would get a ride home and I would see her later. Not ten minutes later I received a text from her:

Can you come outside? 

Why did everything have to be so dramatic with girls? I just wanted to have a fun night and to not feel weird about my girlfriend being into someone else, and now I was leaving the party at the beckoning of an ominous text. She was sitting on the stairs of the neighboring apartment building waiting for me, I could tell something was up.

“Look, I have to tell you something.” She started off, and I stood across from her, arms folded sipping my trashcan punch from a red solo cup.

“Go on…”

“When you were in Mexico something did happen, you’ve been right to feel so weird.” She was very calm, but also her voice was shaking. Remember when I mentioned last time that Shmenn had an adult sleepover while I was gone? Yeah, shit’s about to hit the fan.

“Did you sleep with her?” I asked.

“Well, yes and no.” She said, and her coyness didn’t help ease my concern which I guess she read on my face. “We didn’t fuck, but we did kiss, and she slept over.”

Before the words had left her mouth I had thrown my drink and was running up the three flights of stairs back to the party. I flew through the door like a bat out of hell and saw Shmanet on the back porch smoking. I don’t even know what I yelled at her besides that if she ever touched my girlfriend again I would kick her ass (humorous being that this girl was quite a bit bigger than me) before I felt arms around me pulling me away from the balcony. Shmenn was crying at the front door, Shmellen and another teammate had wrangled me into the nearest bedroom and were trying to calm me down. I heard someone tell Shmanet that she should leave, I didn’t hear her protest but I did hear the faint sound of laughter.

This should have been the end of me and Shmennifer. Not because this was unforgivable, not by any means, but because it was basically only downhill from here and the things to come would be much more detrimental to both of us emotionally. Of course we couldn’t possibly know that, and we were in love, so we continued on — also we were dumb. As most 21-year-olds are.

Shmenn was apologetic and remorseful, I was peeved beyond belief that I had been cheated on but also because I had been made to feel crazy for thinking something had happened — one of the worst things you can do to a person is invalidate their feelings and make them feel crazy for something they’re actually right about. It really just fucks with their head. Also to this day Shmenn is the only person I have been 100% faithful to in a relationship (I know, I’m the worst) despite this particular mishap. The moral of this story is: it doesn’t matter how good you are, sometimes people will find a way to be shitty even if you haven’t given them a reason to. Also, always trust your gut. Also also, never waste alcohol. What was I thinking throwing down that punch?? Party foul, Chris.

*Next week on Nobody Scissors, I come to terms with a few things*

Baby Birding Boston

baby_bird.jpg

Our country was officially in the hands of Obama and I was on a flight to Mexico for an elite rugby tournament. Shmenn was staying home watching my dog and probably cheating on me, spoiler alert: she ended up cheating on me.

I was prettttty pumped, being that this tournament was at an all-inclusive resort and I was only 20 but I could drink in Mexico, so it was gonna be a real fiesta! I mean, mostly I was excited to play rugby with really talented individuals and be in Mexico for a week in November rather than in school.

As we were boarding the plane, an older girl with a strong Boston accent walked up and immediately took a liking to Courtney. And by took a liking to her I mean that she saw a very noticeable hickey on Courtney’s neck and decided to make her life a walking joke.

“Your name is hickey now. Hickson, Hicks, Hick. I don’t care what your real name is, but you don’t show up with a hickey and make that your first impression.” Courtney was doomed for this tournament, and let me tell you, nobody called her anything but a variation of Hickey for the whole time. We were off to a great start.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

Boston girl sat next to Courtney on the plane and was going on and on about her personal life. From the row in front of her I learned: she was a dental hygienist, she referred to her vagina as a “box” and she had “dabbled in being gay, but it just never stuck.” (That’s a direct quote and my most favorite description of anyone’s sexuality ever).

When we landed in Mexico the most beautiful man any of us had ever seen walked up, and was apparently going to be staying in our resort and playing with our men’s team. To give you an idea of what he looked like, imagine Shmis Shmemsworth, okay that’s it. He was literally Shmis Shmemsworth, Australian accent and all. All of us queer people were even swooning over his good looks, it was pretty confusing.

Being that we were at a resort where all the alcohol was free, obvi we were taking shots the minute we set foot in that bitch. And being that we were in Mexico we were double obvi going to be taking tequila shots and tequila shots only. We were partying like there was no manana. But if you know anything about all-inclusive resorts, just because something’s free doesn’t mean it’s good, quite the opposite actually. Fo Free is Fo me, but Fo free is also usually shitty quality.

Needless to say we were all hungover af the next day during our tournament, I may or may not have vomited right on the rugby pitch (next to a tarantula the size of my hand, I shit you not). To this day me and tequila are on shaky terms because of how miserably ill I was during this day, playing one of the most intense sports ever in some extreme Mexican heat — there are few worse scenarios to be hungover in, off the top of my head I can only think of a few: giving birth hungover, beginning a year long voyage into space aboard a rocket ship hungover, and attending a Catholic wedding hungover (all that kneeling and standing up, the worst!).

We won our tournament and so everybody wanted to celebrate and go out on the town. We were in a tourist city so it was pretty safe night life and our coaches gave us the go ahead, but I would be sitting this shindig (who says that?) out because my girlfriend back home did not trust me with foreign ladies in a foreign country. Here’s a bit of advice from me to you; do not let your significant other control your actions, especially if they’re based in a lack of trust that’s completely on them. You’re an adult person and you are ALLOWED to do things, if your partner keeps you from doing things then the power distribution amongst the two of you might need some reevaluating, because it will lead to resentment. I digress.

Little did I know that Shmenn was back home hanging out with a mutual friend, drinking wine and having an adult sleepover. You know, the type that lots of adults have that are totally platonic that involve lots of drinking and sharing a bed with someone who isn’t your significant other but is also neither a best friend nor a relative. No? None of you have heard of those situations that are totally cool? Me neither. Turns out that she was making some less than awesome choices back home and I would find out when I got back to the states, but that’s a story for another blog post.

I was fast asleep when Courtney and a few teammates burst into my room, shouting about Mexican police and someone being arrested. From what I could gather of their drunken retelling of the story, a police man had attempted to rob one of the Canadian rugby players at an ATM, so Shmis Shmemsworth used his rugby brain and skills and decided to tackle said police man. Then, realizing the gravity of his actions he took off running for his life before being apprehended by another cop, who loaded him into the back of a squad car. The cops then approached our group and informed them that they would let Shmis go for a small fee of $1,000 American dollars, we aren’t talking pesos here. The original Canadian rugby player only had $500 in his bank account but the cops took that and decided it was enough and let them all go. I guess my decision to stay in was possibly for the best, being that the night was cut short and I don’t particularly enjoy run-ins with the law, especially with corrupt foreign law enforcement.

Don’t be fooled, however, that was not the end of our night. Since everyone was back and still riled up we headed to the pool bar and kept drinking through the night. This night I learned about baby-birding. What’s baby birding you ask? Well, if you use your imagination you may be on the right track in thinking that it’s when someone feeds another someone food regurgitated mouth to mouth. Boston loved to baby bird people, which I found to be both interesting and disgusting being that she worked in the dental field. But she didn’t baby-bird food, she liked to baby-bird her favorite drink, tequila water, nice and warm, from her mouth to a super lucky someone. The trick here was that Boston was wicked hot, so most of her victims thought she was going in for a kiss, only to be force-fed warm tequila and saliva. If you just threw up in your mouth a little bit then you got a brief taste of what that probably was like. Yum.

*Next week on Nobody Scissors I return from paradise to some trouble in paradise*