I sighed. "Why do you keep asking me that? I’m not attached to it. Well, um, physically but not mentally."
"Yeah but don't you–it's just–" he shivered as he kind of held his own crotch protectively. I laughed at this and reassured him that I'd be very happy to have it gone, even though much of the tissue would still be there, just, rearranged.
Morning came, and with my ablutions done I went to the reception, having gotten impatient in waiting for Jano. On the way down the elevator I saw a man who looked like he was Thai, dressed in semi-formal garb with long sleeved striped polo and slacks. “Konnichiwa,” he said to me, thinking I was Japanese. Hmm, who was that guy? I just smiled since it’s not that uncommon I get mistaken for a Korean or Japanese in my early 20s. Must be my orange hair, eyeliner, and semi-pigtails. Mostly my fashion sense is a mix of Hong Kong and Japanese style, and a little young for my actual age of 28, but that’s just how I am. Being a managing partner of our own multimedia firm and marketing communications lead in my day job gives me certain liberties in my fashion sense. Getting to the reception area at the 3rd floor of the hospital, I quickly got registered and found out that my surgery date had been bumped up by one day, so instead of two days later I was having it the next day. Yay! But that also means we have one remaining day to finish our project.
I'm already 14 days post-surgery, but I thought I might as well post from the day I left my country and arrived in Bangkok. It might be of interest to some.
S Day Minus 2 - Oh my GGG–! PANIC MODE!
"Damn it, why haven't you started packing?" I screamed at Z, my boyfriend and partner of three years.
"I’ll be fine. Some shorts, shirts–it’ll be quick," he shrugged nonchalantly. "How many clips to go?"
I transitioned when I was in college, nine years ago. At that time, as is traditional in the culture of my country, I still lived with my parents in a big, extended family. My father did not like my transition, to the point that when we argued he would lose his temper and kick or punch me. My mother defended me and asked me not to runaway, so I didn't, despite my depression and anger. I had to tone done the way I dressed, wear a jacket or sneak out and not let him see me.
I’m not a girly girl. At least I don’t think I am, but then again I find it hard to go to work or pretty much go out of the house without some BB cream* and eyeliner. The problem is I have a hard time waking up early, so I’m always rushing to work. I end up putting my makeup in a cab and I’ve become quite good at it. I guess it’s a legacy from my mom who’s an expert at putting makeup in a moving vehicle, especially when she’s hurrying to a performance as a soprano singer, so she'll be putting on sophisticated stage makeup inside the car.
I should write more, but for some reason I'm finding it hard to actually do it. I want to improve my writing skill, do something creative and constructive instead of just consuming the stories here, but I've always put it off because I've felt that I can't live up to my own expectations or that I can't match the intricate and clever plots of the authors here or other silly excuses. Maybe I should just write from the heart.
I was hosting/emceeing an anime event at a mall yesterday when one of the contestants in the cosplay (costume play) segment asked, while waiting for his turn to go on the catwalk, whether I had joined any pageants because I was pretty and had a good voice. Though I agree on the voice part I didn't believe the pretty part. I know I look okay, but not good enough for pageants. The guy asking has had some fame (or infamy) in our country because he has had multiple surgeries to look like Clark Kent / Superman. He also happens to be a trainer / coach in beauty pageants.
Checks can be made out & sent to:
Joyce Melton
1001 Third St.
Space 80
Calimesa, CA 92320
USA
Note: $6000 is the operating, maintenance and upgrade budget. Amounts received in excess of the $6000 will be applied to long term debt accrued over the last 19 years.
