TV.
I bloody love the city me. I love the stink, the fumes, the crowds, the noise, the heat. I love the riot vans, the mounted police and the tramps. I love the mentals who ask you for cigarettes because ‘I’ve just split up with me burd and I’m having a really hard time like’. So hard they haven’t got round to actually purchasing some cigarettes.
I even love the throngs of Poles who hang around outside employment agencies at 8.30am and assume that because I wear a suit I can secure them employment on a building site for the day.
I love the fact that there is a certain ‘quarter’ of the city that I cannot set foot in because for reasons I have yet to fathom I am like catnip to homosexuals.
I am walking to my office. It is morning.
Here she comes, I think.
And like clockwork, she strides toward me. I could set my watch by her. Proper strides, mind you. She is nearly seven foot tall. Really. The perm would shame Elkie Brooks. Facially, she resembles an un-surgically enhanced Roger Daltry.
Being of very broad shoulder, many people who step near her are sent reeling.
I say ‘she’ and ‘her’. I have no idea if she is entirely post-op and have no strong desire to find out. But if I’d had implants, hormones and my cock split in half and shoved back inside me, I’d feel I’d earned the title as well as anyone else.
I reach the building that I work in.
The colleague that I work most closely with is the same height, age and build as me. And has the uncanny ability of making people feel unsure as to whether he is about to propose to a person or murder them. I like him.
Uncannily Similar to Myself Colleague: Morning Tired.
Me: Yeah. You know transvestites?
USTMC: I can find out for you. Jesus. I had no idea.
Me: Fuck off. I mean, you know, those men that decide they should actually be women and have surgery?
USTMC: They’re transsexuals.
Me: That’s fucked the title then.
USTMC: What?
Me: Nothing. But. Look. Have you ever seen a transsexual that didn’t look like a goalkeeper? Seriously. They all look like rugby players in drag.
Silence.
Some thought takes place. This is a serious matter and nobody has drunk any coffee yet.
USTMC: No.
Me: Mmmm.
This is going to trouble me all day.
USTMC: But.
Me: Yes?
USTMC: If they didn’t look like centre-forwards, how would you even know they were transsexuals?
More silence.
Me: Of course. I’ve probably seen and met and known thousands and not even known.
I feel a huge weight has been lifted.
I even love the throngs of Poles who hang around outside employment agencies at 8.30am and assume that because I wear a suit I can secure them employment on a building site for the day.
I love the fact that there is a certain ‘quarter’ of the city that I cannot set foot in because for reasons I have yet to fathom I am like catnip to homosexuals.
I am walking to my office. It is morning.
Here she comes, I think.
And like clockwork, she strides toward me. I could set my watch by her. Proper strides, mind you. She is nearly seven foot tall. Really. The perm would shame Elkie Brooks. Facially, she resembles an un-surgically enhanced Roger Daltry.
Being of very broad shoulder, many people who step near her are sent reeling.
I say ‘she’ and ‘her’. I have no idea if she is entirely post-op and have no strong desire to find out. But if I’d had implants, hormones and my cock split in half and shoved back inside me, I’d feel I’d earned the title as well as anyone else.
I reach the building that I work in.
The colleague that I work most closely with is the same height, age and build as me. And has the uncanny ability of making people feel unsure as to whether he is about to propose to a person or murder them. I like him.
Uncannily Similar to Myself Colleague: Morning Tired.
Me: Yeah. You know transvestites?
USTMC: I can find out for you. Jesus. I had no idea.
Me: Fuck off. I mean, you know, those men that decide they should actually be women and have surgery?
USTMC: They’re transsexuals.
Me: That’s fucked the title then.
USTMC: What?
Me: Nothing. But. Look. Have you ever seen a transsexual that didn’t look like a goalkeeper? Seriously. They all look like rugby players in drag.
Silence.
Some thought takes place. This is a serious matter and nobody has drunk any coffee yet.
USTMC: No.
Me: Mmmm.
This is going to trouble me all day.
USTMC: But.
Me: Yes?
USTMC: If they didn’t look like centre-forwards, how would you even know they were transsexuals?
More silence.
Me: Of course. I’ve probably seen and met and known thousands and not even known.
I feel a huge weight has been lifted.
posted by Tired Dad at
8:44 am
44 Comments:
I haven't had hormones, implants or my cock split in half and pushed back up inside me.
I don't think that's the way to earn the title. I've certainly earned mine in other ways.
"I wear a suit"
"For reasons I have yet to fathom I am like catnip to homosexuals."
I could linger over those two statements all day...
I had a relative who got senile demetia and thought he was a dog. He occasionally mulled over the idea of having a tail implanted.
I am fortunately not blood related to any of em.
ustmc is wise!
Funny, I just watched Transamerica last night-great movie.
Good dialogue TD, as per usual.
Bet you were scanning every female on the way home...looking for telltale signs.
I always think there's a market for a really good makeover artist for those guys/gals that haven't quite mastered how to carry off the "new them". A stall strategically placed outside the clinic could really cash in.
But try taking that business plan to Barclays.
I danced the night away with a woman who was smaller (size six max) and prettier than me, one great summer night back in England.
This is unusual as being a woman, I am programmed to despise anyone who is smaller/prettier than I. I initially surmised that I was unthreatened due to her being slightly OLDER than me. No, no. It turned out that She was a He. (And one of the nicest She's that I have ever met).
Great Post, Catnip Boy.
Tickle me x
i'm catnip. i find it flattering.
was there the insinuation there that USTMC is a transie?
D: Christ. Look. I'm not knocking anyone who got there the normal way. Jesus.
Mike: What are you getting at?
Dinners: You sure?
Eliza: He really isn't you know. Sample office conversation:
USTMC: [To female colleague] If we were to ever go out, do you know where I'd take you?
FC: No?
USTMC: RIGHT UP THE ARSE.
The days are long.
R: I just wish I were making it up.
MM: Fuck the banks. That's one for venture capital.
Femme: Er. Thanks.
It is flattering, but when you start wondering WHY people assume you to be a dyke the shine tends to go of it. And I don't know, it's never really come up in conversation.
Oh. And anon. If you were born a woman, I should be delighted to tickle you at any time. Who are you?
Oops. I missed the irregular 'd' for 'tickled me'.
I'm definately all woman, thanks.
;-) x
Ah. Yes. Hello you.
I think. No. I'm still not sure. Grrr.
it might be fun?
What might? Trans-gender dabling? Or tickling strange internet ladies? Was that you was it? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON AROUND HERE?
noooo. it was not me. i just thought - whatever you were unsure off ... it might be fun!
*duck*
please don't shout!
I sense that things are gradually spiralling out of control here, TD.
USTMC has a point. Well made too.
I shall now ponder harder every time I meet anyone.
me: WHAT MIGHT BE FUCKING FUN? *Sigh* I am essentially a very stupid man and need things spelling-out.
Katy: That much is obvious. I hate the internet me.
LG: It's a bloody minefield I tell you.
"seen and met and 'known'"...
Oh Christ. You're quite right. I may have touched a mangirl with my winky.
Welcome.
steady tickler x
A friend of a friend is a transvestite and once showed me the magazine for the Beaumont Society
which is for transvestites and transexuals. They were all wearing elegant feminine clothes. Why is this, when straight women (such as moi) wear jeans half the time?
Anon: Steady yourself mystery lady. At least choose an amusing nom-de-plume.
Daphne: Yeah. It's always a 'friend' isn't it?
And here you're wondering why you're catnip to the homosexuals.
I AM! WHAT ARE YOU ALL DRIVING AT?
The prettiest chick I ever met was a dude in drag - I don't think anyone would have known if Tony (i) didn't tell.
I think it's all very confusing and would like it to stop.
You've got me thinking now which goalkeepers most look like transexuals. Possible Edwin Van de Saar of the current crop- something in the set of the jaw. While in a certain light the ex-Arsenal custodian Pat Jennings had a touch of the Yvonne Goolagong about him, I always thought.
You've lost me John. Not a big footy fan. By virtue of having a brain and being quite attractive to women who are not keen on obvious closet homosexuals. If you want to spend all your time surrounded by lots of men drooling at televised images of other skantilly clad, fit and sweaty men then there are places for you. This isn't one of them. I bet you have conversations with strangers whilst performing at urinals.
Bollocks. Just been round John's place and it's actually ok. And I've just suggested he likes the cock purely because he knows about football and that.
I'm in a bad mood tonight.
Oh well. First impressions and that.
I'm usually right though.
Ah, TD, it sounds like it was getting out of control even while you were just walking to work... I know the feeling.
Now, as to this "catnip" thing, I feel Mike may be onto something with the suit reference. But Mike, it does rather depend how he wears it, right? I've seen plenty of walking beer-bellies stuffed into something ill-advised from Burtons, with a rucksack hoiking up their jackets, and I doubt that'd be catnip for anybody.
Oh, and you're not a big footie fan?
What kind of shape are your nails in?
I saw Transamerica recently too and was blown away by it. TD, if you haven;t seen it, you SO should, and it might start answering some of these questions for you. The fact that the man turning into a woman is played by a woman, acting as a man turning into a woman, adds an amazing layer of extra depth.
Anyway gay men often got for me, too, but not in that way I suppose. and married guys, very much in that way. It's just all the others who could care less. Go figure.
Maybe I should wear a suit? Mike, what do you think?
All this is hilarious. Post comment freakouts included.
Right. Fuck me. This is a chore. GPRS and all sorts. It's dead reliable.
Baroque: Listen. I really don't get this. I am slim to the point of being mistaken for an inmate of Belsen. My suits are tailored accordingly. Are you and Diva suggesting that this is what certain gentleman prefer? I am confused. Skinny men who possess suits that fit=fondness of rimming and glory-holing?
Look. I'll have you know some of my best friends have been gay (I talked them out of it. Silly business) and the best of my cleaners have been black. Except those Poles I got in that were so much cheaper. At least I think they were Poles. I don't know , they didn't speak English - I'm not made of money.
m_g: Yeah. Well. Laugh it up funny man. Where's your blog gone?
Too scared of people suggesting you are gay or have slept with a transsexual? Christ. It was better when I just insulted other blogs wasn't it?
You're quite right of course. The mentalism is the main reason I still do this.
"Are you and Diva suggesting that this is what certain gentleman prefer? I am confused. Skinny men who possess suits that fit=fondness of rimming and glory-holing?"
I take it you've not been to Central Station near King's Cross on the first Friday of the month, then...
I'm having a marvellous time sitting in my ivory tower, I really am.
Some of my very best friends are transsexuals. Except for the ones that aren't. Which is all of them.
mike: Sweet baby Jesus in his Heaven sitting on his cloud. How? I mean. How many fetishes are left? Is there a 'jeans and football shirt' club out there? The worst thing is, I think I've been there. I just thought it was a 'team building exercise' that got out of hand and made my excuses and got the train back North early.
M_G: Yeah. You reckon.
Well, shit. I walked into that one.
Anyone wishing to qualify as a friend of mine will now have to produce their birth certificate at a moment's notice.
There are plenty of unisex christian names out there. Mind how you go.
Hmm, I'm an (as yet unaltered) female to male transsexual (we do exist, and generally manage to "pass" better than mtfs). I like men. I don't bother explaining any more... "I am a FAGGOT. Please ignore any boobies."
So I feel qualified to say yes, I'd assume that a skinny guy in a well-fitting suit enjoys rimming and glory-holing.
Christ. My head's spinning here.
It's baggy Top Man attire for me then.
Very belated postscript to the above amusing lunacy that I no no-one will read because it was weeks ago.
I studied Queer Theory me. At a real, well-respected university. Masters level and that. I've still no idea what the fuck is going on. But do think it's utterly brilliant.
I'd hate for life to be boring.
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