Wednesday, October 6, 2010

women, women, women

Yes, I have "girl" parts including some devout ass and boobs that do not hide easily. I did not ask for the ass and boobs, but they both make their presences known to most seeing people.

My ass is so well-developed that I have started referring to it as the PAG. PAG stands for Perpetual Ass Growth. This PAG phenomenon is the result of thousands of miles of pedaling my bicycle and probably, also, beer consumption and the sinister pharmaceutical known as (which I have more or less successfully removed myself from).

Any-which-way, over the last year my naturally (without bicycling copious amounts, without drinking thick delicious, small craft microbrews, without the introduction of a pharmaceutical poison into my body) well-rounded rump, has spread and bulged and is very, very "womanly".

a glance at part of my ass; it practically takes up the doorway

Conflict of interest and identity expression alert: I do not prefer my big ass on me, I might like big butt on some folks, but remember, other parts of me (the parts besides my boobs and ass) are very boyish. And that is how i like it. I am comfortable in my boy skin.

With all that being said, it is almost impossible not to see my butt and titties. My boobs, thank something, have not been subject to perpetual breast growth (or pbg), they are their regular old size somewhere on the brink of a C cup, which is damn large for my boyish self. My darling kk loves them and so they are hers, and I do not bitch much about them.

But the whole point of this story is to express this kind of fucked up altercation I had in a women's restroom this weekend.

Even though my rear and front are plentiful and make it pretty hard for me to pass as a dude, strangers still call me sir, son, and mister in passing; it does not bother me. I actually like it. I like messing around with these two carefully constructed ideas of gender expression (you know the whole spiel--man/woman binary bullshit). I like walking the real spectrum and fooling folks who believe in the binary constructs. It is who I am.

But, i do not like meanness.

On our way up north this weekend for our fall getaway. K and I stopped at this coney island and k bought the hugest milkshake known to humans. I was holding the door for k and a trio of older, true-blooded american white folks. The old man in the mix said sweetly, "thank you very much sir." And I responded, "you are very welcome." and that was all good. No corrections needed cause I am who I am.

The next day, once we were up north, I had another gender fuck experience, but this one irked me and made the heat rise to my already wind whipped cheeks. My friend M and I rode our bikes from Carp Lake over to Cross Vill.age for lunch with K and M's family--distance about 19 miles. K, etc. met us there by driving cars. Inn is an up north restaurant where many different folks stop by for polish food in the middle of nowhere (or in the middle of everywhere if water and trees and non-humans are your thing; they are all my thing).

I was wearing a pair of bulky, cargo shorts, a green t-shirt and a shell-vest unzipped, with knee socks and my cycling cleats. I emphasize the unzipped vest, cause my jugs were more apparent due to the unzippedness.

When we arrived at legs, i really had to piss. I was sweaty and my hair was unwieldy and sticking up like a surly, flattop mohawk.

I rushed into the ladies room and started to open the stall door, when an old, white woman wearing a vomit green pastel sweatshirt looked me in the eye and said in a hostile voice, "Are we in the right restroom?" to the woman behind her, but really she was saying it to me and then she said it all snottily again after I had sad in a pee induced hostile voice back, "excuse me?"

Her woman friend said, "Of course we are in the right restroom." And i simply mumbled some fuckity, fuck, fuck words under my breath and took a long pee while squatting (not standing but nearly).

You are probably like, "so what? she was maybe really confused or something or it does not sound like that big a deal." But I want you to know the body language of this woman was poised for a stand off. She was not gentle or truly confused, she was making her snarky point with inflection and raised eyebrows and a briskness that could have frozen my line of piss. She was asserting that me and my boyness should not be there. Maybe I did not belong in the men's room either, but I for sure did not belong in the Women’s room, because I guess my butchy/queer self must simply emanate some kind of threat.

All I really wanted to do was unload my full bladder and frankly I never care where that takes place as long as it is not on my own self.

They ended up seating us near the bathroom door. As I was swallowing a potato and cheese peroigi, I noticed the women’s room had three different signs on the door all announcing the restroom as WOMEN’s. I had to chuckle. Here’s some footage of the door:

To top off this story and the weekend up north: On Sunday evening, I had to eat a fancy dinner at a fancy restaurant in ann ar.bor due to a thingy I spoke at on Monday. So I had this dinner with all these high-up academic people from the university of mic.higan. I was wearing a pair of cords, a stinky long john, under shirt (due to coming directly from up north and having sat in front of fire all weekend), and a light blue-collar shirt with a jean jacket. K had wetted my hair down with my water bottle water while I was driving the long drive home, so it was tame. I had dinner sans jean jacket and drank some wine, but guzzled lots of water due to excessive nervousness, due to being with all those intellectual/academic types.

So, at the end of the meal, I had to empty my too full bladder before hopping on my bicycle and riding home (I dropped myself off at restaurant and pulled bike off rack in order to ride home late in the evening). Anyhow, a line ensued for the ladies room.

Yours truly really had to take a leak, so when the woman in line before me went into the single-cell toilet room, I wiggled my way into the dudes’ john, relieved myself over a lifted lidded toilet, and, after scrubbing my hands, sauntered on out to the innocuous stares of ultra rich ann arbor.ites.

dude/girl smooches


Anonymous said...

Just in case you don't already know Dean:
It's another side of the same coin.
And? I had a long ago, very romantic moment with Dean. Circa 1993. *sigh*

Keep it up, I say. Your kid, and the rest of us, will be the better for your bathroom escapades.

Joy said...

Thanks for sharing these gender ruminations. With trans and non-binary gender friends and a partner who also gets "sir"-ed it's interesting to hear the experiences, challenges and reflections from others.

Anonymous said...

Oh. I didn't realize you didn't realize. The ultra rich liberals who wanted you to talk to them in the fancy place actually want to be your authentic self. But with granite countertops and huge houses in Ann Arbor. But they really really want to be riding their bikes and working with people in prison and creating movements, except for the part where they might not be rich. So no need to be nervous. Disdainful, maybe, but not nervous.

I'm cultivating a knack for saying, in the moment it's happening, exactly what people are doing to me with their tone and their body language. Love it. Have you been awake at night imagining all the ways of gently calling the bitch out on her attempt to project her gender identity insecurity?

Love you.


la_sale_bete said...

Really interesting experience, thanks for sharing! I had to pee really badly last night and the men's room was unoccupied (while the ladies' was busy) so I used the men's. What struck me was how much pee was on the seat and floor. Gross.