This afternoon I organised a delightful lunch to welcome Bernard, my photographer, back home. You will doubtless remember that he has had some health issues and was visiting the UK and staying at The Devil’s Dyke Health Spa.
It is unsurprising that following a tazering and being shot in the chest with a carrot, he should need extensive rehabilitation. However, the Devil’s Dyke facility, according to their internet profile, specialises in heart, digestive and gastrointestinal tract treatments, including extensive use of colonic irrigation. Ali, my gardener, informs me that this has nothing to do with the irrigation he is dutifully installing in my greenhouse, in expectation of a warm summer.
Sylvester, Sebastian and Bernard all joined me, as well as Amanda, who ‘popped in’ slipping past Hannibal and the security system. That woman is like a ninja. I should point out that she is an old schoolfriend of my wife, and often appears in the hopes of finding her. Unfortunately my wife is travelling at present, studying flora of the Limpopo.
Amanda was most upset. It turns out her therapist, who she’s been seeing twice a week for the last two years, committed suicide two days ago. This is not made easier by the fact that her previous therapist did the same thing some years ago. At the funeral, it turned out that Amanda was the only person attending, and likely his only client.
“But somehow I feel like it’s my fault,” she said tearfully.
“Nonsense,” I said. “It’s his job to talk you off the ledge, not the other way around.”
“But twice! That’s quite a coincidence, don’t’ you think?”
“Well, not really. I’m sure lots of therapists go that way,” I replied.
“Apparently he leaves a very extensive library of self help books.”
Returning to our lunch, Bernard enthused about his trip to the UK. As we sipped a light chardonnay he told us as much as one can about colonic irrigation at the dinner table. Sebastian asked about the exercise, and probed him about the diet.
Bernard had brought a couple of bottles of Devil’s Dyke bottled water, one of which Sylvester picked up and inspected.
“Devil’s Dyke Water,” he read from the label, holding is at arms length to be able to read it properly. His eyesight is not what it once was. “It say’s here, it’s a great tonic, and good for digestion and flatulence.” Amanda seemed excited, and asked to see.
“I should try this,” said Sylvester enthusiastically with a laugh.
There was an awkward pause, and then Bernard said, “I think they mean it’s good for stopping flatulence, Sylvester.”
“Oh,” he replied, a little disappointed. “Why would…” and his voice tailed off.
However, that’s not the main reason I’m writing to you today. We now have a little more space in our Premium Feminization Program – and we’re adding some new tasks. So, there’s never been a better time to put your best foot forward and mince into our wonderful Premium Program and enjoy the fun and games we have to offer.
We’re enjoying a great deal of success with our Premium Feminization Program. If you’re not already a member, then think about joining. I get email daily from my members telling me how much they love it. It’s only $10 a month and provides you with valuable training and exercises to help you get the most out of crossdressing. As a Premium Member you’ll find my emails help you progress and enjoy your crossdressing even more than you do today. Sign up HERE.
Have a wonderful week.
Boggie is a hugely talented young lady. More than that, she’s a very brave one. This song is wonderfully written, but also bravely filmed in a manner that challenges the societal norm of beauty. Here’s a translation of the first verse.
Hundreds of perfumes, like daydreaming wildflowers Sweet, bittersweet negligence now overpowers Rose and oleander in their tiny glassware, shimmer me on Myrrh and almond fragments in small portion balanced, lilacs and violas, in hidden small vials Dripping them, spraying them, one by one testing them – that mist dazes me so.
I post this song from time to time to remind my friends and members that the image we see on TV is not the true rendering of the person. Boggie is courageous enough to demonstrate this with great honesty. FD
Looking for that special gift for the dominant uber bitch in your life? What could possibly be better than this Sexy Leather Bodysuit Leotard? Nothing says “I want you to dress me up like a sissie and beat the heck out of me” quite like a faux leather leotard! Just $19.95.
This morning, just as I was emerging from my morning yoga session, I was surprised to see Max (my neighbour’s son), huffing and puffing and coming in my rear entrance, a bundle of excited youthful anticipation. He was hurrying up the garden path, as I pulled up my yoga pants, and adjusted my hair.
Sebastian, my personal trainer, was as surprised as I was myself. He likes to come early to stretch me, as I’m sure my regular members are aware.
“Fiona,” said Max, bursting into my kitchen. “Can I take a look at your beaver?”
As you probably know, today is Canada Day. It’s a tradition in Huckleberry Close, to come over to my house on Canada Day, and look at my beaver – a beautiful piece of taxidermy – the centrepiece of the Canada Day party I always throw on the Canada Day Weekend, to celebrate us throwing off the shackles of oppressive colonialism before Canada declared itself free of tyrannical rule from London. Actually, that’s not really true. We just all sort of agreed that we’d have a new flag and continue to be the friends we’ve always been. No one was being either tyrannical or oppressive, but it’s a good excuse for a party. And the centre piece of the party is my beaver, a stuffed animal that has become something of a mascot over the years. It’s traditional for us to enjoy some lovely Canadian Wines, from British Columbia (a place that is neither British nor Columbian), swap hockey stories and talk about Zamboni’s while apologizing to one another. We all eat poutine and make fun of people we love from Newfoundland, and generally act in an understated but quietly superior way, while listening to The Tragically Hip, 54 40, Five Man Electrical Band, Rush and many other great Canadian bands.
I told Max, “Darling, calm down. My beaver is open to everyone, just give me a moment to prepare it! You’ll get your turn. Just don’t get too excited. It’s Canada Day, you’ll have to pace yourself.”
We have so many wonderful traditions in Canada. Being Canadian means so many wonderful things to all the peoples of our country. We love our diversity, our first nations people and our democracy, which we value enough to protect.
If Max gets over excited, of course, it will be over before it’s really started. It can happen to us all. I handed him a pot of maple syrup and suggested he put it out on the garden table while I went down to get the noble beast, and then he could examine my beaver to his hearts content.
This year’s wine of choice is Quill, a distinctive Rose from Vancouver Island, which is quite delightful and goes rather well with the short skirt I’m wearing. It’s light, a little cheeky and subtly stimulating. The wine’s not bad either. I know we’ll be toasting Sylvester, who has decided to commit to a course learning to drive a Zamboni at the local hockey arena. I must get things ready for the party shortly, so this will be a short email.
It may come as a surprise to some of you, but Marjory (my delightful lesbian neighbor) got her hand stuck in my beaver recently while trying to replace some of the stuffing. She was wedged right in there! I know what you’re thinking, what was she of all people doing, jammed up there? Well, she does fancy herself as something of an amateur taxidermist. Strange woman. She’s from Alaska, you know. Eventually we got her hand out, but ever since she’s been acting most strangely. She’s said on more than one occasion that she wishes her hands were a little smaller. I can’t think why! It’s almost as though she’s never heard of lube. I understand it softens the skin nicely and taxidermists swear by it.
I hurried down to the basement and found my beaver, then carried it up to my garden table, already bathed in warm summer sunshine. In the sunlight I could see it has begun to look a little tired. I suppose one can not be surprised. After all, my beaver has been fingered by many over the passing years. And yet, surprisingly it continues to put a contented smile on many of my friends faces. However, I do believe a beaver should be well groomed and well presented. I will speak to my local taxidermist and have him restuff it later this month.
With this in mind I resolved to make a Canada Day offer to all my friends and members. Anyone who emails me with the words in the subject line “Fiona, I’ll stuff your beaver!” before the end of Canada Day weekend, July 3rd, can have a free membership to My Little Black Book. This is worth $2.95 a month for crossdressing gurls, and $4.95 a month to Admirers. So, get your digits moving and I can help get some more members in there.
I usually enjoy my morning tea after a short yoga work out, while I read the headlines on my tablet. Yet this week all I seem to be inundated with in my news feed is the news that some US states are legislating against drag shows and emulating such countries as Uganda in their headlong run toward transphobia. It seems an odd choice for a country claiming to be forward thinking.
“Honestly,” I said as Sebastian poured another cup, “these cucks will stop at nothing!”
“What’s that?” asked Sebastian.
“Well, that ridiculous man DeSantis claims he’s going to save our kids from raging queens. But I’ve never heard of any drag performers ever doing anything to a child?”
“That would be because they don’t do anything to children. It’s the old trick, invent a problem and then offer a solution and claim you’re the only person that can fix it,” said Sebastian.
“So, how many drag queens do abuse children?” I asked. “I usually attend drag shows that are charity events raising money for good causes. I can’t remember ever seeing anything that has anything to do with abusing children. You’d think I’d notice.”
“That would be because it’s nonsense. Fortunately here in Canada we don’t get sucked into that sort of thing. I’d be very curious to know just how many drag shows Ron Desantis has been to, as a point of interest,” said Sebastian.
“Well, he does look like a boyfriend I had at university. An odd chap. Ate my panties,” I said remembering an incident unsuitable to repeated here. My memory is a little hazy, but I do remember him being quite embarrassed at the Emergency Department in the hospital. It was a wild time.
“What an odd thing to do,” commented Sebastian.
“It takes all sorts,” I replied. “Nearly choked on them, as I remember.”
I poured more tea.
“But even so, how does this have anything to do with the transgender community? Don’t these people realise drag and transgenderism are two entirely different things?” I persisted.
“Fiona,” replied Sebastian, “you can’t expect these people to think about these things rationally. It’s quite literally beyond them. They have no experience of what they’re talking about, and it’s just about getting cheap votes. Of course, it’s easy to say ‘We’re going to save all these children!’ when in fact none are in any way under threat. And if you’re against their ridiculous legislation you look like you don’t care about children.”
“But look at my members,” I responded. “Most of them have children. You couldn’t find a nicer and more caring group of people.”
“I know,” said Sebastian. “These people appeal to the most frightened and weak members of society. They look for people who are easily influenced. IF they can convince them there’s a problem, then they can set themselves up as the solution. It appeals to many weak minded people. There’s no point trying to argue with them. There’s nothing you can possibly suggest that will make them turn around and say, “Oh yes, you’re right, Fiona!” No, they’re just frightened little people living very sad lives. And that is exactly who a fascist like DeSantis is reaching out to.”
“It seems very sad. And they will end up with blood on their hands, because good people won’t get the gender affirming care they need. But, I guess they don’t care about the kids who die because they’re denied gender affirming care. I guess they’re the wrong kind of kids, right?”
“That’s about the size of it,” said Sebastian.
What a world we live in. Fortunately there is such a thing as a vote. If you live in the southern US be sure to see you are properly registered so that when the time comes we can vote these fascist ding dongs out. Of course, Canadians like myself watch the likes of DeSantis with a sense of bemused amazement. He simply couldn’t even get elected to a school board in this country. At least these idiots make us look good.
“So, what are you up to this weekend,” I asked Sebastian feeling the need to change the subject.
“Bernard is taking Rainbow and I sailing,” he replied. “Poor Rainbow. She’s a struggling student now. She had to sell the watch she got off our grand father on his death bed. She needs cash to get through this month.”
“Oh dear,” I replied.
“Yes,” sighed Sebastian. “Apparently he put up a hell of a struggle but she got it in the end.”
I felt this was an awkward subject but continued, “She always said he was a bit of a tight wad. Though he did have a soft spot for her, as I understand it.”
“Oh yes. Rainbow told me that if she buttered him up, he’d always end up splashing out.”
“Good grief,” I replied.
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing. I just thought I’d let you k now I have a wonderful offer running on Patreon at present. If you become a Unicorn member through my Patreon membership and stay on for three months you get a delightful cup. Something to press to your lips every morning, to remind you of me. I know you’ll love it.
“This knob is very stiff,” I said to Sylvester, as I relaxed in the seat.
Oh, I should explain, he’s been installing a new sound system in my car.
“I can loosen it a little,” said Sylvester, “but you don’t want it so loose that someone ends up jerking it off. You wouldn’t want that.”
“Speak for yourself,” I replied.
However, that’s not the reason I’m writing to you. Mildred, from Colorado Springs writes:
“Fiona, I’d like to be reminded of you every morning when I have my first cup of coffee of the day. And I’d also like to discretely show my support for trans people and those of us that are of a gender non-conforming bent. What can you do to help?
Love from Mildred, Colorado Springs.
PS. Why do I get so much mail that starts out “Dear Sir or Madam’? Is there something I should know?”
OK. One thing at a time.
Yes, of course I have something to help you first thing in the morning. And a discrete way to show your support to all our members and friends. I was in a conversation with Sebastian about this just yesterday. I can see him in my minds eye right now, sitting on my right hand after we’d finished yoga, while I enjoyed a soothing cup of Earl Grey Tea.
“Those nice boys and girls at Patreon can help you. They can make a cup and give it to any member who joins as a Unicorn and stays on for three months,” he told me while pulling his yoga pants back on.
“That’s a curiously random piece of information to have,” I replied.
It’s true, though. If you join my Patreon as a Unicorn after three months you will receive this lovely mug, complete with the image here. This will be recognizable to anyone interested in gender issues, though won’t really mean much to anyone else. I’m told it’s really a good idea. It is also a great conversation starter.
Keep in in this is my first venture into the world of ‘Merch’. It all sounds so very sordid. Anyway, Max will oversee the tech side of it. He’s recovered from the last flogging he had. I think that was for something to do with us being kicked off Tumblr. Again! Either way I will see it’s done well.
So, pound my button as hard as you can and sign up as a Unicorn Member and in three months you’ll get a cool cup to help you enjoy me every morning. Wait. That’s not what I meant.
I am very proud of my legs. As Sebastian, my personal trainer has often commented, during our yoga practice, I am able to place my legs in some most unusual positions. As I was doing ‘downward dog’ the other morning I felt first a twinge and then one knee collapsed, and I was revisited by some damage incurred during an old skiing accident.
I am very happy with my general health, however in the fall, now and then, I get a twinge. It passes within a week or so, and then I am back to tip top health, but this week I am very slow. I know you are wondering what all this has to do anything, but I felt I should confide in you, as what I am about to say might sound just a little odd.
Part of my morning fitness routine, usually following my morning swim with Sebastian – he really does enjoy giving me a morning work out – is to walk my dog, Hannibal. Now, some of you may remember Hannibal has had more than one run in with Amanda over the years. He once found a marital aid under her sofa and the resulting drama was traumatizing for myself and my poor little dachshund.
He subsequently saw Sebastian’s homeopath for PTSD for several weeks. Pet’s Traumatic Stress Disorder is not a widely recognized, at least not in the DSM, but if you were exposed to Amanda’s adult toy collection I guarantee you’d not be the same person after the experience. A whole teamof therapists wouldn’t be enough, I assure you.
I stepped out of the warm stream of the shower knowing Sebastian and Sylvester were downstairs waiting for me in the breakfast room. After pulling on some panties, a robe and my pink fluffy slippers I hurried down the stairs.
Sebastian and Sylvester were at the table. I’d completed a particularly rigorous dawn yoga session with Sebastian. If my hips were any more open you could have driven a train up there. As luck would have it Sylvester had offered to make us breakfast. While usually a coarse oaf, Sylvester has the capacity to be quite sweet at times.
As I glided into the kitchen Sylvester was serving up a delightful grilled breakfast, the sausages sizzling fresh off the skillet. A good start to the day is a lot easier with a breakfast like this. And breakfast is really the most important meal of the day. The bacon was glistening with flavor and the tomatoes came from Ali’s own garden. Quite lovely.
“It’s the damndest thing,” I said staring at the plate.
Sylvester looked at my plate and said “what’s wrong with it?”
“No, not the food. It’s just I had the weirdest dream last night.”
Sebastian asked, “What did you dream?”
I closed my eyes and tried to remember how it all went.
“There were a few of us downtown. And there was this guy who had died.”
“Who was he?” asked Sylvester.
“I don’t know. It’s not important. Just some stiff,” I replied.
“Anyway they wouldn’t let him in the graveyard because the church said they didn’t have room. But everyone knew it was because he was queer. So, there was this drag queen. She was lovely. Let’s call her ‘Carlotta’.., and I. And we stole the body and buried her up in the church yard anyway.”
“You know they don’t let you do that,” said Sylvester.
“It was a dream,” I protested. “And we went up there and buried this guy. And then we did other stuff. Loads of stuff… And I had this lovely long velvet riding dress, like in that English serial. And Carlotta had these sequins on her pants and a gold cowboy hat and these huge guns with pearl inlays and a smoked blue gunmetal finish. A pair of 44s. Matching nails. Did I say we were on horses?”
“I know all about Carlotta’s 44s. How many of you were there,” asked Sylvester, a canny look in his eye.
“I believe it was seven. Seven trannies and drag queens. And one was bald. I’m not quite sure what her deal was. Yes, that sounds about right. You have no idea how much glitter that is.” I replied.
“Yes, you just dreamed The Magnificent Seven. That’s one of the best movies ever made,” said Sylvester.
“I thought it was a fantasy about masculinity and white privilege wrapped up in a self righteous superior message, all avoiding the whole gun thing, and how it’s a penis substitute and actually they’d all rather be playing with their wieners. Except Yul Brynner. No, If he was coming after me with that huge weapon of his. Well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be running away all that fast.” I replied. “Can you imagine,” I said my thoughts drifting off. “…falling, and Yul leaning over you and reaching down and pulling you to your feet, and grabbing a great handful of ass and ripping….” My voice tailed off. Sometimes I do forget not to speak my thoughts.
I continued, “But, yes, still one of the best movies ever made.”
Bringing a note of levity to the conversation Sebastian chimed in, “They’re all gone now…”
And what a time it would be to have a magnificent seven. With trans rights, and democracy itself on the ropes, we see so many hard won advances in decline. Things will turn around again soon. And in the meantime I think we have to support our trans sisters, regardless of what stage they are at, wherever we find them. Remember, you’re not alone. There are many of us here.
Of all the busy bees in my life these days chief among them is my good friend and mechanic, Sylvester. I came into the living room just yesterday to find him on the floor with Sebastian, my personal trainer, saying “Colonel Mustard, in the library with a ten-inch dildo.”
“I beg your pardon,” I said a little shocked.
“Oh hello,” said Sylvester. “We’re playing Adult Clue (or Cludo if you are from The United Kingdom). It’s something I’ve adapted from the board game.”
Sylvester can be quite a disturbing individual, and he really can be quite coarse at times.
“Well,” I said, trying to be encouraging although I felt a little awkward, “I’m glad to see you’re not letting your God given talents go to waste, Sylvester.”
After a moment’s thought I added, “Perhaps you could think up some way to murder a new character – you could call her, oh, I don’t know… ‘Amanda’. Death by impaling, in the neighbors house, by the crossdresser.”
For those of you who don’t know, Amanda is my wife’s childhood friend, who has started a relationship with my next door neighbour, Marjory. This is a source of some annoyance, particularly as my wife is travelling at present.
I should tell you I enjoy competitive games enormously. I also play some role playing games. So many times I feel like I’m getting ahead and suddenly someone’s coming up behind me and a breathless struggle ensues. It’s all very exciting. Perhaps you know the feeling. Sometimes I get so excited, I just don’t know what comes over me! I guess it’s the cut and thrust – mostly the thrust – of putting oneself up against a fellow player.
I should also say that this week one of my friends who is a regular player got on a plane to work in New York for a couple of weeks, leaving me with no alternative but to play with myself.
That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you. I thought I’d write and tell you about the delightful Mollie Blake. She’s a talented writer who has recently had a piece featured on my website, and we’re expecting to see some interesting new episodes from soon. If you’ve not already read “The Dating Game“, this weekend is a great time to do so.
I should also draw special attention to Katia Thornwood’s writing, which is mostly in my Seahorse level which has been growing into a favorite among my members. Slipping into bed, and putting Katia on to read as you fall asleep is one sure way to end the night on a high note. Katia’s style is quite unique, and if you enjoy her rather strange view of the world.
For the many members who are asking about the Clothes Maketh The Man chapter list it can be found HERE. Well, you can see that the office here has been pretty busy bringing you the best of all things to do with Crossdressing. Have a wonderful week.
So, today I’m writing to talk about how to find great ideas to help you crossdress. We all need a little inspiration and time to do some planning from time to time. One of the simplest and most fun ways to spend a pleasant evening with a glass of wine and a pair of nylons, is to browse Pinterest looking for looks to emulate.
Many of you have heard me suggesting you do something other than looking at lingerie as your only crossdressing option. Especially if you’re over 45, trying to look like a teenage bimbo is a goal you’re unlikely to reach. We’re not all as naturally lovely as Nikki Buxton, who I was very happy to chat with a while ago. As I’ve said before, a pig in a lingerie is still a pig. Not a phrase Amanda would appreciate. Better to aim for an attainable goal.
Personally I love steampunk styles. It speaks of fun, adventure, culture and sophistication. Check out my Pinterest for what turns my crank!
Looking like a great 45 year old woman is a viable option for a 45 year old crossdresser. Anyway, I have literally just started a Pinterest site where I post a few of my own ideas for dressing. If you follow me you may get to post to the Members Ideas Board. These may inspire you, or you may browse other looks and style. Either way, jump in there and look for a style that works for you. It’s fun and once you have a bit of an idea, you can go put and shop the entire outfit.
Once you’ve done that, crank up the volume and listen to today’s music video (below) and have a dance around the living room. What better way is there to indulge your feminine side?
If you’re in the north, I hope you are enjoying this lovely snowy weather. If not, have a great week anyway.
I awoke this morning to a terrific banging. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but it wasn’t like that at all.
I pulled on a lovely apricot silk gown, and fluffy slippers, and hurried down to the front door, where I was confronted by Sylvester and Sebastian chatting away, framed by snow in the doorway.
“I had a huge curry, last night,” said Sylvester, “and I woke up to find we’d had a terrific dump!”
“Good morning, Sylvester,” I said as the two of them stood on my snowy doorstep. “I assume you’re talking about this heavy snowfall.”
“It’s about 9 inches and I couldn’t get up the drive at all.”
“Can we use your rear entrance, Fiona?” said Sebastian. If I had a nickel for everytime…
“Why don’t you boys slip around the back of the house. Ali’s very kindly cleared the lane. You should be able to park there without difficulty,” I said.
And with that the two boys disappeared and left me to put on the hot chocolate, and warm some croissants. My friends are joining me for breakfast today as we’re working on some new ideas for the premium program. If you’re a member of this wonderful program you’ll know how much fun we have with it. If you’re not, then think about jumping in!
Imagine, it’s 12 inches long and you’re right on top of it!
“What’s that,” I asked Max, my personal trainer.
“My Christmas list, Fiona.”
“Ah,” I replied. “I thought it might be something like that, I replied, a little disappointed. It seems a little while since I got on top of anything except for my email inbox.
And speaking of my inbox, I have received a number of emails regarding last weeks’ message about Max’s new girlfriend and her comment about being able to ‘wang her own pickle jar.’
In reply to Michelle, in Tennessee, I am not sure it’s possible to do that with a racoon, but suspect that your animal welfare department may have something to say about it.
Vivian, in San Antonio, I think what you suggested is keenly encouraged by some religions, and is probably all right between consenting adults, but ultimately down to the individual church-goer.
I think Max’s Christmas list involves a large number of gifts, most of which will have his new girlfriend staring at the ceiling of this studio apartment until February.
And as we get ready for the holiday season, there’s a couple of things to remember. Obviously the first thing is to think about getting yourself a little present to encourage yourself. In the video below (which will probably be pulled by Youtube very soon) you may find some ideas. It’s the great Canadian singer, Bryan Adams. I am not entirely sure this is what he had in mind when he wrote this song, but it works rather well, don’t you think?
The second thing to remember is that you can give yourself the gift of confidence and connection by investing in my Premium Program or Little Black Book, if you’re not already a member. If you are, then get out on the Little Black Book and send some Christmas greetings to the Gurls all around the world, who would love to hear from you.
Sounding very puzzled, he replied, “I just don’t understand it. She’s going on about you telling her that she should be a therapist.”
“What, Rainbow?” I replied, almost swallowing my tongue in surprise.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Suddenly a thought came to my mind. It came with the crushing inevitability of a garbage truck backing purposefully over a child’s unseen tricycle left out in the lane.
“Oh, wait,” I said. “I seem to remember saying to her that she should ‘see’ a therapist. Yes, that was it. Somewhere after the second bottle of Cab Sauvignon. Did you know her last therapist took his own life? Terrible!”
“Oh God,” said Sebastian. “She thinks you said she should ‘be’ a therapist. And now she’s all excited about getting trained.”
“It would be an unusual choice for a person like Rainbow,” I said. “Very unusual.”
As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising agency in an active office in this delightful city. It is often said that for each job in some industries, several other people are supported. So, for example while a car plant may employ 4,000 people a further 6,000 jobs are created servicing the 4,000 people employed with things like transport, employment services and catering. In much the same way, my work supports not just myself, but also Sylvester my mechanic, Sebastian my personal trainer, Ali my gardener, young Max who helps with technology on my blog and several other assorted hangers on and peripheral individuals.
I was talking on this very subject with Bernard, my photographer, when we were out on agency business just the other day. Ali, who so lovingly tends my garden, spends more time there than I ever do. Instead, while he enjoys my delightful champaign colored roses in my garden I am out driving with Bernard on a task for the advertising agency. And I’m paying Ali! It all seems rather obtuse. That said, I do love Ali, and his daughters are sweetness itself. They arrived in Canada just a couple of years ago, refugees from the war in Syria.
I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.
A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as they pump heat into an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern themselves with.
Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars
and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge
Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he
pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.
“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m
reversing. Pulling in again… backing up,
and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I
can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”
You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be
quite coarse at times.
Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette
edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo
V6 with the cuddle seats option.
Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their
drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can
only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a
car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the
challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did
look like a cartoon character.
Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.
One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from
Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle,
with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting
a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor
park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am
pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.
Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the
fluids in my Buick Vagina.
I was lamenting the passing of our Queen yesterday, along with a huge number of people. My voice need hardly be added to the outpouring of regret by so many others, and yet I do feel a sense of loss. The Queen was, after all, an influence my entire life, and there’s no doubt about it, whatever else she was, she really was a likeable sort of monarch.
It was fitting that I wore a nice black sweater, black stockings and a black kilt yesterday. On that slightly mournful note, I have some lovely crossdressing funeral ideas HERE.
After my yoga session this morning I was sitting in my kitchen, enjoying a calming cup of tea with Sebastian, when he started telling me the news about his sister, Rainbow.
“Rainbow’s not seeing that optician anymore,” said Sebastian a little mournfully.
“I’m sorry,” I said, confused.
“They’ve broken up. It’s a pity, I think he was very good for her,” continued Sebastian. “Apparently when she said she couldn’t see him anymore he told her to stand a little closer, and then said ‘And now?’”
I looked at Sebastian and tried to figure out if he was joking.
“Well, Rainbow has some unusual ideas,” I said.
“She certainly does. She told me she felt their energies didn’t ‘co-mingle’ they way she wanted,” he concluded, looking through the window into the far distance in deep contemplation.
I tell you this as much as anything to set the scene. The window that overlooks my garden is really quite lovely but of late I have had Ali trimming some of the bushes just around the base of the window. He’s a talented gardener, and moves quite silently about the place, his long white gown floating like some ethereal gardening spirit. Now and then he stands up, his head appearing in my wind, and says something before once again going down on hands and knees working on among the foliage of my beautiful flowers. It can be quite disconcerting at times. He’s just like a Syrian Jack In The Box, appearing out of nowhere. It can be quite startling.
It was in this tranquil scene of quiet contemplation as I sipped my chamomile tea that Ali’s wizened head appeared, rising out of nowhere and chimed in, “Tits like coconuts.”
I steadied my nerves as Ali sank out of my line of vision, and then rising and leaning out of the window looked down into the flower beds and said, “I beg your pardon?”
Sebastian struggled back onto his stool.
Ali surfaced back into view and replied, “You were saying how much you like the birdsong of summer, and wanted to attract more birds into your garden.”
I stared blankly before remembering a conversation we’d had just the other day. I do like to attract wildlife into the garden, and had asked Ali if he had any thoughts on the matter.
“Oh yes,” he went on. “Lot’s of birds love coconuts. If you hang them on a string from one of the trees it’s sure to attract a few. You know, tits, chaffinches and sparrows. They all love coconuts.”
I slowly sat down once more, and thanked Ali for his contribution to the conversation. I really do wonder just how much English he understands, at times. I may have to talk with his English teacher.
I do hope you’re having a delightful end of summer. Be sure to have a look around the website – there’s a lot there and I always try to keep things fun.
“That’s it, Sylvester,” I said. “You just take down your boxers and I’ll stick a big one up there!”
While perched on the top of a step ladder Sylvester handed me down the two portraits of his father’s prize winner pedigree boxer dogs. They won the dog show here several years ago, and as I liked the pictures so much Sylvester allowed me to display the paintings in my living room while his apartment was being decorated. They made a nice change, but to be honest I’m a little bored of them now. I’m replacing them with a huge photograph of Hannibal, my dachshund now. I do like to freshen up the look of my living room in spring, don’t you?
I’ve had a lovely week, Marjory my neighbour invited me over yesterday evening, having hired a sweet young French chef to cook her birthday dinner. What a handsome young man he is! And I think he took a shine to me, too.
After thanking him in the kitchen for such a lovely meal I spotted something between the frog’s legs, and the cake. So many candles! In the end we lit them, and the chef and my friends all sang happy birthday for Marjory before she blew them all out in the dinning room. It brought quite a lump to my throat. Such fun!
But that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. I’ve been trying to be supportive to Rainbow, Sebastian‘s sister. She’s terribly worried about the people in Ukraine, where she has a number of friends.
“They should do something about those awful Russians,” she said to me while sitting at my kitchen table. “Can’t they send someone?”
“Like who?” I asked.
“I don’t know. The Pope, or the other one,” and then she paused and scratched her head, and then remembering said, “That nice Bono, or Greta Thunberg, perhaps.”
“I’m not sure Greta’s quite the right person,” I replied, “though she might have something to say about the carbon emissions of those useless T72 tanks. They seem to burn very well, if nothing else, but I don’t think that does much for global warming. Then again nor does a thermobaric weapon. The environment doesn’t seem to be a priority for Mr. Putin.”
“I feel so helpless,” she added at length.
“Well, you don’t have to,” I said. “Unicef, the UN agency with a mandate to help women and children, is organising help for women and children in Ukraine. So is UNHCR, who look after refugees.”
Giving here has the funds matched by the agency and is applied directly to women and children in need, and is the most efficient way to provide help. I didn’t need to add that previously having worked for Unicef in Africa, in field emergencies in Sudan and Somalia, I could vouch for their effectiveness.
“It’s a tragedy,” I said, giving her a hug. “But one way or another we’re all going to be a part of sorting it out. And I don’t mind paying a few extra dollars for gas if it means we don’t give Mr. Putin the kind of help he needs to hurt innocent women and children in Ukraine. Let’s just hope people are wise enough not to let his friends, people like that orange haired loser of a former president, ever get anywhere near the reins of power ever again.”
With that I suggested Rainbow come upstairs and help me pick out a nice yellow and blue outfit to wear when I go out today. Perhaps you could do the same.
If you feel generous use the links above to send a few dollars to support people affected by the war in Ukraine. Send me a copy of your receipt and I will enroll you at no cost in our Whatsapp Group – a gift worth $10 a month. Just send me a copy of your receipt to email@example.com
Ali has been here in Canada for several years now, having arrived as a refugee along with his lovely family from Syria. As I have mentioned before he was a botany professor in Damascus University prior to the war there, and is now my gardener. His knowledge of fauna and flora really is most extensive.
Arriving from a country such as Syria one does have to check some of the experiences and baggage that we bring, at the door – as it were. Jeff, who looks after immigration at our local airport, says that most immigrants are all too ready to let go of the past and look forward to their new life in Canada. And many, like Ali, bring some wonderful talents to our communities, regardless of what they may have done in the past. Like many of us, Ali does not talk much about his former life. I imagine it could be quite dark but have had few glimpses of what it may have entailed. It’s really none of my business.
Jeff takes great pride in telling me that he checks the passports of all immigrants arriving at the airport (other than when he’s on his lunch break or picking up his kids from school). He says that Canada accepts the poor, the disadvantaged and the impotent. He then rather sheepishly adds that unfortunately, while the poor and disadvantaged regularly show up, unfortunately the impotent couldn’t come.
Ali’s language skills, however, appear to still require some polish. As I sat drinking my morning tea in my kitchen Ali joined me and flicked through the local paper that had just been delivered. I had just finished my daily yoga workout and was still in my pink leggings and powder blue sports bra, that’s so good for working out.
He took his tea black and was quite absorbed in the paper.
“It says here,” he said at length, ”that the city is going to have a ‘pilot racoon cull’.”
“It’s about time,” I said, knowing how mischievous the racoon population of Huckleberry Close can be. “They’re too clever by half.”
Ali frowned as he read the article.
“It’s just that you wouldn’t think they could do that,” he replied.
“What do you mean?” I said sensing something amiss.
Sipping his tea Ali continued reading without looking up and turned the page. “You’d think they’d fail the eye test. I did.”
I sometimes wonder about Ali and his command of English. It is, however, better than my command of his obscure dialect of Arabic. I’d given up my attempts to learn his language after failing to master such a simple phrase as “Is it safe to drink the water in this hospital?”
We all of us have our own particular perspective that brings a bit of ourselves to all we observe. As a crossdressing non-binary person, when I see a Zebra I do not take offence at the black and white nature of the creature. Ali, on the other hand, sees a majestic beast of the African plains while Sebastian sees a walking barcode. He then goes on to pretend to scan it in much the same way as the checkout girl in the corner store, and adds, “At least it’s easy to keep track of them.”
We all of us have our divergent ways of looking at things and each is equally correct. As trans people I think we have to learn acceptance of others with views that don’t align with our own. They, like us, are travelling their own journey. As people who are often misunderstood, it is up to us to try to understand others – the good, the bad and the ugly – with kindness and without judgement.
But that is not the main reason I’ve written to you this morning. I’ve been adding new content to some of my programs. They are now even better value than ever. Be sure to join if you’ve not done so already. I always do my very best for my lovely members.