Current Song: "By Any Other Name"

Holding out

During last week's singing lesson, Chelsea - my instructor - proposed that I try my hand at the classic Can't Help Falling In Love. This represents an interesting challenge, as the chorus reaches all the way up to B4 (and my current range quickly falters at around G4 and above).

I really wanted to nail this, so I made a point of practicing extensively every day this week. Unfortunately it became quickly apparent that the persistent cold I've been dealing with has now taken up residence in my chest; and that this was severely hampering my efforts.

Suffice to say, I was more than a little trepidatious as to how today's lesson would go!

At one point we started working on switching from chest voice to head voice (a process whereby you close certain vocal muscles, pitching the voice up). I generally struggle to do this on command, but there is one specific line in one specific song where it I find it easy (and indeed, had started to switch into head voice long before I even knew that was a thing).

I was demonstrating this and Chelsea paused: "You know that", (checks reference note), "...You just hit a C4, right? That's higher than what we've been working on. You've been holding out on me!"

...And I was just filled with the most girlish sense of glee!

(Evidently I need not have worried.)

Due to scheduling, my next lesson will be in a little over a week and a half; so let's see if I can't spend the intervening time nailing those high notes!

Oh no

I was doing my progesterone shot last night and the plunger in the syringe got stuck 20% of the way in. I really put some force behind but, but it wasn’t moving and I was terrified that if it did suddenly give way I’d dump the entire contents of the syringe into my thigh in a split-second.

(I’m not sure of the exact ramifications for doing so, but my nurse practitioner was quite clear during instruction that this was an undesirable outcome.)

I really didn’t want to toss the rest of the progesterone (it’s not like I had more on hand), so I withdrew the syringe and switched to a fresh needle. Poked myself again, depressed the plunger, and...

...The syringe got stuck again.

As classic “Well, what the hell do I do now?” scenarios go, sitting there with an immovable syringe sticking out of your thigh has to count pretty highly, I reckon.

I wiggled the plunger a bit and applied more force than sensible, and finally the damn thing overcame whatever the resistance was and immediately dumped half the load (so I guess I will find out why that’s a no-no in short order). Everything proceeded smoothly from there.

I’m still nonplussed as to what the issue was. A manufacturing defect in the syringe itself perhaps? Some kind of sediment in the progesterone blocking the barrel of the needle? I have no idea.

I just really hope that this doesn’t happen again...

Update 1: I talked to my friend about this and her first go-around, the needle disengaged from the syringe while it was in her leg. OMG!

Update 2: I had more soreness than usual but was otherwise okay; so I’m guessing that firehosing half the dose didn’t do too much damage, thankfully.

Lip service

There’s only a handful of hairs left on my top lip; everything else has been obliterated via laser hair removal and electrolysis. All the same, I get pretty self-conscious about the few surviving stragglers and run a razor over them every now and then.

I just did that now, and somehow managed to lop the top off of two hair follicles (which are of course, as is their want, bleeding profusely).

HOW?! This is like playing Minesweeper with a 5 x 5 grid and literally one mine in the bottom left corner, and still somehow hitting it on the first try!

To go in the opposite direction:

It’s theorized that the Red Templars are a Black Templars successor.

Their armor is (unsurprisingly), red; and their chapter insignia, fittingly enough, is a fleur-de-lis.

Those Black Templars of yours would look pretty darn sharp painted up in crimson; and standing next to their allies, the Order Of The Bloody Rose… 🙂

Been going through my pile of opportunities for something to be my next project.

I think it is time:

But the question is, do I build them by themselves or do I make these two as accompaning armies?

I absolutely love the sister/BT vibe and together they would look baller. But this is a lot of black armour to paint for someone who loathes painting black armour 😅

Blue Hair

I popped into the mall today to see if the meat and cheese stall had bacon jam in stock. (They did not). I was deep into the act of perusing the other products when a tiny voice rang out:

“I love your hair!”

I turned to see a little girl of perhaps five years, dragging her parents to a standstill just to impart this critical message. “Well - thank you!”, I replied.

Then, in the indomitably declarative fashion that only young children can manage, she responded with: “IT’S BLUE”!

Yes. Yes it was.

It’s been a long and arduous day; but this one interaction was an absolute highlight, and one I will cherish!

The Brutalizer

I was in a really, really bad spot a few weeks ago. I found myself sitting in the bath, crying my eyes out, when my friend messaged me.

On a crazy whim I asked her if she wanted to video chat, and that’s exactly what we did (with me doing my damnedest to keep the camera above neck-level).

She was having a pretty bad time of things too; and it was really good that we were able to talk and be there for one another.

To cheer me up, my friend then shared with me a recent experience: during a visit to a sex shop, she encountered an object for sale of both prodigious length and alarming girth. The name of this objet d’art - alarmingly - is The Brutalizer.

I would like to stress at this point that the two of us are super sex-positive. (You do you! If it isn’t harming anyone, why should we care?)

However, there was a fundamental absurdity to this particular item that kept us giggling: it’s gargantuan proportions (intimidating for all but the highly experienced); it’s bizarre marketing (including emphasis on the weight of the product); and perhaps best of all, a glowing appraisal from a professional online reviewer (hidden, like some kind of butt-stuffing landmine, in an otherwise tranquil field of gardening product and Bakugan reviews).

The store had three of these things on display! (Presumably to combat a rush of customers?)

There was much-needed laughter.

During this episode, I made the offhand comment that between the name of the product and the ultra-macho slogans adorning its packaging, I could very much envisage an ‘80s buddy cop show where this inanimate, intimate object plays the role of the maverick detective.

...And that engaged my dark muse. Despite the inherent ridiculousness, I then went on to paint this monstrosity:

(Actual Brutalizer censored because it’s Tumblr; but you know, use your imagination.)

My daughter described this, with utmost aptness, as a ‘physical shitpost’.

The painting is currently moving through the transit network of the US postal service as I type; winging its way to my utterly unaware friend. I very much look forward to seeing her reaction when she realizes that I have immortalized our in-joke in a format that can never, ever be displayed before polite company!

Lessons learned:

Planning typography is laborious, but so worth it!

Watercolors and rough canvas still don’t mix, but I’m persevering.

Also, watercolors are not great for ‘80s-style neon colors.

It feels like cheating somehow, but fine-tip Sharpies are great for outlining!

Update: It arrived! My friend’s reaction: “😂🤣👮‍♂️🍆🎨“!

Cellulitis

For the uninitiated, cellulitis is a bacterial infection under the surface of the skin. It isn’t so bad by itself - some redness, some swelling - but by virtue of being trapped below the surface, it often takes medical intervention to clear. Additionally, if untreated, it can lead to some nasty and potentially fatal complications (like necrotizing fasciitis and blood poisoning).

I’m familiar with the premise as a couple of years ago I had a bout on my kneecap thanks to - of all things - the tiniest of ingrown hairs; one course of antibiotics and all was well in the world.

Until. Until.

As I have reported previously, my first few months of Estradiol shots went well (barring a period of psyching myself out). Thereafter, everything was good... Until the day I got a big, red, ugly patch at the injection site.

“Oh,” I say to myself, “I’ve really screwed up”. I fastidiously ensure that my medicine vial, needles, and leg are sterile; but evidently somewhere along the way I missed a step.

I went to see my family doctor; he agrees that it’s cellulitis (even deeper than normal as the bacteria was fundamentally injected an inch into my thigh muscle), proscribes doxycycline; and I’m on my way. (There was a slight detour where I suffered the most agonizing heartburn of my life in response to that particular antibiotic, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Fast forward: next shot, and the same thing happens. Like an idiot, I suddenly realize: “I’m using the same vial of Estradiol as last time; and it’s contaminated”.

(I should have thrown it out as a precaution; but the cost of American healthcare tends to breed a conservationist approach to medications. Plus, it honestly didn’t occur to me at the time.)

My doc probably thought I was an idiot but thankfully did not offer his opinion.

I bought more Estradiol, and was perhaps three shots into the new vial WHEN THE SAME THING HAPPENS AGAIN.

And I’m in tears. I don’t understand what it is I’m doing wrong; there’s so much surplus alcohol on my skin that the needle burns going in. There’s simply no way I can carry on with an injection regimen that results in an infection each and every time.

Thankfully, in this particular instance, it was a very small instance of cellulitis and cleared by itself. I was pretty shook up all the same.

My next best guess was that the Estradiol was being stored at the wrong temperature. It’s supposed to be at room temperature (which is classified as something like 68 - 75º F). I kept my medicine in our bathroom closet; and while I checked the temperature in there and it never seemed over range, the closet does back directly only the location of our furnace.

I also asked my endocrinology clinic if I should be storing my Estradiol in the refrigerator, and their answer could be summarized as: “IDK, maybe? It’s worth a try”.

(This isn’t an attack on them - they are great! As much as I wish it were otherwise however, trans individuals represent a small slice of the population. Medical provider experience is directly proportional to the sort of ailments they treat; and Estradiol storage issues are not something that commonly end up on their radar. This is one of the reasons why it’s so important for trans folk to become experts in and advocates of their own medical needs.)

Anyhow, I moved the medicine to the bedroom and so far, that seems to have done the trick!

My reason for mentioning this however is as follows: yesterday, post-injection, I had some major soreness in my thigh (as if someone had punched me right in the muscle). Most likely it was just regular, garden-variety soreness; but the sensation was close enough to the early onset of cellulitis that I seriously started freaking out.

Thankfully it’s calmed down today, and there isn’t a patch of redness in sight. Still: the trials and tribulations to go through!

Phone call

I had literally forgotten about this until tonight, when someone jogged my memory... but ten years ago, I got an obscene phone call.

It must have been three or four in the morning when the phone rang. I was, rather understandably, asleep at the time; and quite groggy when I answered.

The man on the other end sounded mid-thirties; had an American accent; and an inflection that I can only describe as “Poorly imitating the iconic Scream voice”. He wanted to know what I was wearing.

In my confusion, I thought that this person was a friend of mine; and told him to knock off this strange prank of his. But as he persisted with his request that I identify my clothing, it dawned on me that this was in fact not my friend. And then I hung up on him.

I don’t want to come across as downplaying the seriousness of unsolicited, sexually-explicit communication; but more than anything, I just found the entire event bewildering.

Winter fox

My friend Elizabeth invited me to an online painting class on short notice. It was an absolute blast, and we had a great time! Here’s the finished result:

This was actually a really interesting exercise in that it was technically an acrylics class, but all I had to hand were watercolors (bar the small amount of white acrylic I used for the snow).

It was quite challenging: trying to keep pace with a medium that required more applications of pigment to achieve the same depth of color, took longer to dry, and could not be used to over-paint!

It’s not going to set the art world on fire by any measure, but I’m actually really happy with how it came out under such constraints!

(Also: still sticking with canvas, despite it’s unsuitability! I really need to invest in a pad of watercolor paper already...)

I love this illustration so much! It was used as both the cover image of the Mad Max-inspired Fighting Fantasy installment Freeway Fighter (published in 1985); and again for the rule book of Games Workshop's short-lived post-apocalyptic racing game, Dark Future (released in 1988).

(The dual use is hardly surprising, given the close connection between the two organizations.)

The contradiction of pristine paintwork and flawless chrome, versus the tank-like armored cabin, leather enthusiasts, and desert background... Ah, simpler times!

Jim Burns