Comedic transphobia

With a few vocal exceptions on the far right, it is considered not fashionable to be viewed as discriminating against trans-folk.  Because of that, non-trans people can often get the impression that transphobia is no longer a problem.  What they don't realize is that, much like racism, transphobia is simply going underground.   Workplaces do not fire us and actually give the employee's transgender status as the reason for the dismissal.  There is always some other reason given.  Oddly enough, it is always the same reason.   People think they are being quite clever in disguising their real intent by saying that they simply had a re-organization and the position itself had been eliminated.  The dismissal has nothing to do with the employee's performance.  They don't realize that this is the reason that EVERYONE gives for getting that tranny freak out of their offices.  Transgenders have the highest unemployment and turnover rate of any demographic group besides (I would imagine) sexual offenders.

But those of us who are transgender performers face a different form of persecution.  You can perform all you want in gay venues, but try to branch out to doing sets in straight venues and you hit the same wall you hit when trying to get a job.  Club owners and show promoters do not want us around.  Of course, they rarely ever actually SAY that.  There is always some other excuse, but the result is the same.

One club showed their disdain for me giving me the light (the way owners tell you your time it up) long before my set finished.  And if that wasn't enough, they actually played me off (played music to drown me out and have the announcer tell the audience I was finished.)  This was apparently something that never happened before.

Another show promoter tells me that the audience doesn't like seeing the same comic every month and so can only give me stage time once every three months or so.  The implication is that the show has a regular audience which it very much does not have.  And this is particularly curious since there seems to be a cabal of performers who do shtick at every single show.    When confronted, the promoter simply ignored my requests for stage time.

That is the thing the comedy promoters have in common with employers.  They have a terribly clever excuse that they think no one uses.  They simply don't answer requests for stage time.  I could be having a long conversation with a promoter, but as soon as I mention anything about my going on at his next show...dead silence.  Or the promoter could say that they are really bad at answering emails.   Yeah, like THAT would ever happen.

I know it's not because they think my act is bad.  I was at a recent show in which absolutely every comedian was bombing and bombing bad.  It was so bad that some of them were turning on the audience and saying, "F*** you.  I don't need you to laugh."  I went on last and got good laughs.  One woman came up to me after the show and said I was a riot.  Sure audiences are frightened of me when I first start talking about being a transsexual, but that fear goes away completely when I do the squeaky boob bit.

There are, of course, shows in which I am welcomed with open arms any week I want to perform.  I treasure these promoters.  

It is my mission to do transgender comedy for "cis" audiences.  Whether or not the audience laughs is not the point.  Every time I get on stage and I show people what a real live transsexual looks like, I make life just a little bit better for our people.  I will continue to bang my head against the wall and keep looking for venues at straight clubs.  And I will continue to be snubbed. 

It is my karma.

Schtupping God

Dear Diary,

I like TOTALLY had sex with God today....in the middle of the La Fitness no less.  I was like trying to get some cardio time on the running thingie when She got on the one next to me and pumped it up to ...idk 10 miles per hour going uphill?  It WAS pretty awesome, but kinda obvious.  She kept looking over at me and smiling.  That was just embarrassing.  I mean, I'm not a closet case or anything, but the gym is not a bar.  People could be watching.

She does have dynamite boobs though.  She caught me taking a quick look.  She just like smiled and took a deep breath so I could see them better.  "How are you doing tonight, Sweetie?"

"I'm fine."  I lied, still trying to get a flash of holy boobage and getting a little squishy.

"That's not what your Facebook posting said.  Are you still feeling lonely and down?"

I like pulled the emergency stop on the running thing.  "Oh...my...God.  Did you hack into my account?"

"No. I'm omniscient."

I left for the sauna.  I was like totally mortified...and not just because I didn't know what om-nishunt meant.  But I nearly screamed when I opened the door and found She was already in the sauna waiting for me...with nothing but a towel on.

"God, what are you doing?  What if someone comes in here?"

"No one is going to bother us, Pusscake.  This is just our time together."  She slowly peeled off the towel.

I couldn't say anything.  I couldn't move even.  My god was sitting on the wooden benches totally exposing Herself to me.   Her breasts were spectacular.  And Fuck!...that perfect little ass.  (She was also not shaved...which I thought was a little gross, but She's God and older than dirt, so I guess it's alright.)  

"Sit over here, Sweetie,"  She said, patting the bench next to Her.

I nearly jumped into Her lap and started kissing Her. OK, I'm not ashamed to admit it.  I was totally deep tonguing Her.  "I am lonely."  I said, crying.

"Let it go, Sweetie." She said. Not sure how I heard that so clearly since my tongue in Her mouth like that.  Maybe She was like doing a Spock mind thingie on me.  "Give your pain to me.  That's what I'm here for."

I did.  I rested my head on Her naked shoulder and bawled like a baby.  She put Her arm around me and patted me while I totally nutballed on Her shoulder.  "Everything will be all right." she said.  "Everything will be all right."  She just kept saying it, over and over.  I thought it was a little weird, but it did kinda make me feel better.  It felt like She was sucking the pain out of me and replacing it with love. 

By the time we hit the spa, I was completely relaxed.  I sat on the edge with my arms spread out on the edge of the pool.  She was right in front of me, her head barely above the swirling water.  I just sat with my eyes closed and hummed a little.

"Still feeling lonely?"  She asked.

"Little bit."

"Sweetie, a girl would just get in the way of our love.  She'd be a distraction.  You're mine.   What could a lover give you that I can't?"

"Oh, I don't know.  Head?"

"Oh really?" she said, slipping slowly down under the water.

She could sure stay under water for a long time.  I'm not going to give details about the talents of a beatific tongue.  Let's just say that eventually, I was clutching the rim of the spa and practically shouting out, "Oh my God!  Oh my God!"

She popped up out of the water.  "Yes?"

"Cute."  I said.

"Sorry.  Couldn't resist."

I gently pushed Her head back down under the foamy water.

I barely noticed when She left.  By that time I was totally at peace.  I felt loved.  I felt beautiful.  I felt strong.  I couldn't see Her any more, but I knew She hadn't really left.   My at-one-ment was complete.  I got my connection with Her back.   One in the flesh and all that hetero crap.  When I got out of the spa, I was flying and had the stupidest grin on my face.  I smiled at everyone I saw.  I bet they thought I was high. 

Self-love (not the fun kind)

Many years ago, in the middle of a horrific divorce, my ex accused me of molesting my children.  I knew I had never done anything even remotely close to what she accused me of doing, but she was persistent and even got therapists in on calling me a monstrous abuser.    The accusations were so relentless and so passionate that eventually I began to doubt my own memory.  I wondered if it were possible that I could abuse my children and not know it.

I discovered eventually that my ex and her partner's accusations were an attempt to draw attention away from horrific physical abuse that THEY were committing. But by that time, the damage to my psyche and self confidence had already been done. 

Recent experiences vaguely mirror those events from twenty five years ago.  I've lost several friends this past year.  In every case, the shunning began as a sudden anger that seemed to come from nowhere or as an huge over-reaction to a minor criticism.  Sooner or later in all these tirades, the people that I used to know make new accusations...that I am a self-absorbed narcissist.

I don't think I'm a narcissist.  I am not aware of any abusive self-love tendency on my part.   I in no way feel that everything is about "me me me."  But with each new accusation that comes in, I find myself once again doubting the veracity of my own memory. If everyone who is angry with me winds up saying that I'm self-absorbed, it must be true.

Each time I get another accusation which doesn't seem to correspond to any experience of mine, my self confidence is shattered.  One such angry accusation came from one of the two people I most love in this world.  I was told that I was self-centered, that no one thought I was funny, and that everyone considered me a pretentious buffoon and was laughing at me behind my back.  This was soul crushing condemnation.  For weeks I shambled around like a zombie, trying to make sense of the idea that everything I knew about myself was wrong.

My most recent ex-wife has been my most vocal detractor.  For a time, she was posting video after video of an expert in malignant self-love in order to prove to the world what a narcissist I was.  She has since backed away from this considerably, but for a time her mission to expose my monstrosity rivaled the accusations of my first wife in its persistence and passion.  

I turned to what Facebook friends I have left.  I'm sure it seemed as though I was fishing for verification that I was not a monster, but that isn't at all what I intended.  I was actually looking for cool-headed validation of the accusations.   But none came.  All I got were suggestions that I should get the negative people out of my life. 

I thought about my detractors.  I noticed a pattern that had eluded me before.  Most of them suffered from Borderline Personality Disorder  (it seems I draw these people to me like a magnet.)  But every one of them had a horrible self image. 

I used to have a horrible self image.  When I was a man, I so detested my own existence that the day didn't go by that I didn't think about killing myself at least once.  I considered it a public service.  I used to hang out a lot with people who hated themselves as much as I hated myself.  But those days are gone.  Now that I'm a woman,  I actually like myself and think my life is wonderful. 

People who dislike themselves cannot, it seems, tolerate someone who doesn't share their disgust.  They are like alcoholics who cannot tolerate a friend who tries to dry out and works incessantly to sabotage their efforts and bring them back to the fold.  I'm sure to them, those who actually like themselves appear to be narcissists.

So until some friend comes to tell me coolly and totally outside of an argument that I am self-centered, I will assume that it is not so.  If they shun me or hunt me down when I shun them to accuse me of thinking that everything revolves around me, I will merely assume that I am getting yet another crazy person out of my life.  

Foster's Failure

People seem to be talking about Jodie Foster's coming out speech. They're saying she is so brave to say it out loud. What a coup for the LGBT community. I don't see it. This is a horrible blow to the community. I know she officially came out in 2007, but to bring up the topic and then dance around it so much and never actually say the words "I am gay" made it seem like she was ashamed of it.

The comedian ANT once told me that the secret to doing gay comedy for straight audiences is to NEVER apologize for what you are. When I go on stage, the first thing I say is "I am a transsexual and I am gay." Sure it shocks a lot of people. But that shock goes away when they laugh at the squeaky boob bit. We go on from there.

This was a horrible dissembling on Foster's part. Gays everywhere have a model for how to be ashamed of who they are.  Homophobes everywhere can say, "Yeah, you better shuffle there, Girl. You know your place. No one wants to hear that shit."

Naming Conventions

I should explain a little about my name because that does seem to confuse people.  First of all, let me assure you that I AM aware that Jimmye is a boy's name.  Problem is that when I was picking out a new name, I didn't have a choice.  I had to pick a boy's name because all of the women in my family have boys' names.    Consider this:

Mother: Billye
Aunt:    Tommye
Sister:   Cydnye
Niece:   Joeye
Twin Nieces: Arnoldye and Schwatzeneggerye

(Ok, those last two are a joke.....they're not twins.)

This habit of giving boy names to girls seems to be a southern tradition.  What could I do?  Do I seem like someone who would break with tradition?  With a given name of "James," (which I consider my slave name,) "Jimmye" HAD to be my femme name.  I suppose I could have chosen the name "Jaime,"  but it didn't seem right.  When I was a kid, pretty much everyone called me "Jimmy" anyway.  I became known as "James" about the time puberty hit.  By going back and re-claiming the name "Jimmy,"  I felt like I went back to just before my body went horribly horribly wrong and said,  "Yeah, you don't want to go down that road.  It's a dead end. Stick with 'Jimmye.'"

But do you see the pattern in the familial gynoconyms?  They all end in "YE."   You would think that because I follow the tradition and spell my name "j-i-m-m-Y-E," people would realize that it's supposed to be a girl's name.  But no.  Now they just don't know how to pronounce it.  I get everything from "Jim-may" to "Jim-eye."  I even get "Jemima" sometimes.  (I don't know how they get that.)

I have this beautiful Chinese friend who I dearly love but who can't pronounce my first name to save her life.  The closest she can come is something like "chim-ye."   She just gave up after a while and gave me a Chinese name:  "Wu Kong"

I actually liked that name a lot, especially when my dear friend told me that in Mandarin, Wu Kong means "She has no Emptyness."  I was so floored by the honor she was giving me that I said, "Oh, I gotta get a tattoo of this right away."

I went down to the corner tattoo parlor and talked to a man who said to refer to him as "Spotted
Dick."  To this day, I don't know if that was supposed to be a name or a description.

Mr. Dick inspected the sheet of paper I handed him and finally said, "I can do this.  You do know what these characters mean, though, right?"

"Oh yes."  I said, still enthralled by the great honor that had been given me by my wonderful Asian friend.  "It means, She has no Emptyness."

"Close," he said, handing the paper back.  "It actually means, 'She has no hole.'"

Why, that stupid little chink bitch.

A tryke is not a gay man

I don't have a problem with people not understanding how I could be both transgender and gay.  After all, it took me fifty years to understand it myself.  I do, however, grow weary of those who think they understand but don't have a clue.  I hate it when guys come up to me after a show and say, "Oh hell, I get it.  Yeah.  Yer a faggot."

OK, I'll admit there was a time ...many years ago...when I actually tried to have sex with a man.
 In fact, this man:


Yes, he was a female impersonator. So as far as testing how gay I was, I don't think I get full credit.  I did learn something though.  Gay sex is the ultimate expression of masculinity.  You could have two of the campiest, flamingest queens getting together, but when the door is closed and the Madonna cones come off, you will just have two guys going at it.  Sex between two men is all about "fucking."  There is really no other word for it.  It's just two men ... obsessed with all things manly and worshipping cock.  Absolutely the last thing they want in that room is anything feminine or (cringe) girl parts.



Consequently, there was nothing for me there.  Whenever I tried to fit in (so to speak,) while he seemed to enjoy himself, all I could think of was, "Great.  Now I have two penises I don't know what to do with."

Introitus

I was at a comedy open mike a couple of weeks ago.  When one of the comedians got up, it was very clear that this was his very first time on stage.  He was terrified.  He needn't have been because he had some interesting material.   But at one point in his routine, he started talking about "lesbians with dicks."  After the show I asked him if he had ever met a lesbian with a penis.  He said, "Oh no,. That was just meant to be something stupid.  Something that didn't make sense.  Something that couldn't possibly exist."

I said simply, "Oh,. Well, um....surprise."

I explained to him that I actually was a lesbian with a penis.  He didn't understand.  So to make sure that everyone who reads this blog understands what's going on here, let me explain that while I am most definitely lesbian, I am just as definitely transgender.

Yep.  I'm not just a perv.  I'm a double perv.

If you have a problem wrapping your brains around that, don't worry.  No one understands it.  When I meet someone, practically the first words out of their mouths are, "wait.  So you want to BE a girl, but you still want to DO girls?  Isn't that a long way to go just to wind up back where you started?"

No...yeah...OK, I could go on for hours talking about genetic mistakes and faulty testosterone washes in utero, but it really comes down to just one thing....I just don't like pee-pees.  I don't like looking at them.  I don't like touching them.  And I certainly don't like having one of my own.

But I just can't seem to get away from this thing.  It's like I'm being stalked.  Even when I go to the bathroom and look down, my first thought is, "what? Are you still here?  I know so many trans-men who would love to give you a nice home. You'll get plenty of exercise, you'll be able to run around, you'll get lots of lovely testosterone to keep you big and strong.  Don't that sound nice?"  It doesn't do any good though.  It just keeps hanging around.