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Aug. 18th, 2011 05:48 pmIn an hour I have to go to my first ever wedding shower. I feel SO AWKWARD about it. Like, I don't really consider myself trans. I don't hate my body, I'm just completely indifferent, and vaguely think that if I'd had a choice, 'woman' would not have won. However, I am strongly of the opinion that I do not belong at an all female party.
There will be wine. And tea. And something called 'dainties', which I actually had to google to figure out they're tiny fingernail sized bits of cookies or sandwiches. I drink 50% vodka straight, and the one time me and Jason had wine we downed the bottle in a half hour and then did some whiskey and scotch shots. I drink soda from steins. I just came from Vince's apartment, I had chicken fingers for breakfast for fucksakes, I am not a tiny cookie cutter shaped sandwich sort of person.
My cousin phoned to ask if I was going to wear a dress and makeup. Um. NO? I don't even own a dress. I haven't owned a dress since eighth grade. What the hell?
And then there's the matter of the company. Mother of god. I am not rich, I only know one language, and I don't have a professional dancing career. I am fat and short and I dye my hair colours that aren't blond.
I do not belong at a party like this. This isn't me. It's going to be horrible. I'm going to sit in the corner and drink ~wine~ out of a ~gold rimmed glass~ and ~listen to advice about marriage~ and think about porn. Fuck all ya all, relatives.
There will be wine. And tea. And something called 'dainties', which I actually had to google to figure out they're tiny fingernail sized bits of cookies or sandwiches. I drink 50% vodka straight, and the one time me and Jason had wine we downed the bottle in a half hour and then did some whiskey and scotch shots. I drink soda from steins. I just came from Vince's apartment, I had chicken fingers for breakfast for fucksakes, I am not a tiny cookie cutter shaped sandwich sort of person.
My cousin phoned to ask if I was going to wear a dress and makeup. Um. NO? I don't even own a dress. I haven't owned a dress since eighth grade. What the hell?
And then there's the matter of the company. Mother of god. I am not rich, I only know one language, and I don't have a professional dancing career. I am fat and short and I dye my hair colours that aren't blond.
I do not belong at a party like this. This isn't me. It's going to be horrible. I'm going to sit in the corner and drink ~wine~ out of a ~gold rimmed glass~ and ~listen to advice about marriage~ and think about porn. Fuck all ya all, relatives.