Genghis Kat

sorry the blog has been on hiatus. I’ve been on hiatus.


I need to write this, and I don’t know where else would be the place.

Mister Genghis,

You’re a cat, so like, you probably won’t catch much of this. But I’m a silly human encumbered by the need to say things like this. I miss you buddy. It was cool to have you hang out with me through the cold spell.

It breaks my heart that you’d rather be home on your turf than stay here, but I get it. You were never “my” cat, I was just your favorite of the humans in your network. And even that might be alright if you liked the new territory, but how are you going to like suddenly having half a dozen feral cats outside the door every time you come out.

So be free my friend. I hope I’ll see you when you’re older. Maybe we can have an annual polar vortex slumber party.

i love you buddy.

stayin alive

Whew, sorry for the radio silence, friends.

To catch up some of you who might not already know, on January 30 I was the victim of a fairly violent rear-end collision on I-65. I was stopped, the last car at the end of a traffic jam, when the car that came up behind me failed to brake, hitting me at what felt like full speed ahead.

I was able to walk away from the accident with only minor visible injuries, but long term internal injuries are still being diagnosed and treated.

Anyway — yeah, so that’s taken up a lot of my time, money, patience, and sanity over the last few months. What creative time I’ve had left I’ve spent making plasties and burgers for Auntie Warhol. I’ve had a whole bunch more place and one more win at Cracked since that last post. I’ve done some programming for auntie’s website, but I’ve got a lot to do still before it’s ready to launch.

Of course I’ve also been depressed as fuck, because this accident crap has put my transition in a tailspin. I think I scraped off the last of my toenail polish somewhere around the time I had to go in for the lumbar puncture.

I was supposed to be in therapy by now, and if not on hormones, at least be on the clock towards the day. Instead I’m seeing neurologists and learning all about Syringomyelia.

And my hair has laughed at the lasers. They’ve done a decent job of thinning out the body hair, but there’s a lot that keeps coming back, and I’m not sure we’ve even made a dent in the facial stuff. I’ve completed the full series, plus an additional run on the arms and face.

On the other hand, I’m growing more brave in just going right down the middle. I found a fantastic pair of sandals at PayLess that I think I can totally pull off as a girl or a boy. I wore them along with my favorite denim capris when I went thrifting this morning. I didn’t have a good top, just wore a boy shirt, but I’m sure I do now! I think the 50% sale at ThriftSmart is my new favorite holiday. You gotta love walking out with almost a trunk full of clothes for 80 bucks or so. Sure, they’re used, but I like that I can give someone’s discarded garment love that it still deserves. Maybe it’s like taking in strays … like me.

cracked whore

For the one or two of you who may not have seen me posting about it on the facebooks, I’ve been entering the PhotoPlasty contests over at I’m trying to work my way up to writing Topics pages and those “X Things” lists they do, and I figured this would be a good way to start getting a feel for what they’re looking for, and just getting to know the other submitters and such.

I’m having so much fun making these things. I’ve been a fan of Cracked since I was a little kid, and I was excited when I found out how open their content submission process is.

So as of yesterday, I’d managed to place in three of the contests I’ve entered:

And then there’s this one today, and lookie who took the top spot!!

People play Valentine’s Day pretty safe. Kids send the same cards featuring famous cartoon characters. Adults use Hallmark to write blandly complimentary things to each other. Here’s what it would look like if people used valentines to express the awkward, vulnerable truth.

Yep, that’s 5,000 shiny pennies for me! Now all I’ve got to do is figure out how to win 20 or 30 or so of these a week and Jennifer’s got a new career 🙂

let’s get crazy

I’ve been thinking about boys lately. Like, I think I’ve said it before, but I probably should say it more clearly: maybe 90% of my romantic and sexual history has revolved around women.

But the other 10% mattered. And, I do not yet know the degree to which my historical percentages have been distorted by denial, self-hatred, internalized transphobia, and internalized homophobia. Not to mention the flipside where I mistake my sisterly friendships with women for romance.

So — if I was to end up with a boy, who do I like?

Well y’all know I consider myself something of a comedienne, and I dearly, dearly love my funny boys. Right now I think Seth Meyers, Jason Sudeikis, and Bill Hader could pretty much all have their way with me if they went that way. At the same time, if we’re all really lucky.

But for more than a romp? I dunno. But this video just came on the tube, and yeah… I think I could see myself bringing this guy his morning coffee.

[edit: since posting this, it has bothered me that I may have failed to be clear that this post regards a passing whim, a thought that floats through the head that I decided was worth capturing. What it means beyond that I do not know.]

welcome to the party!

OK, well I can see the hits coming in and it’s pretty obvious why 🙂

So welcome facebook friends and family who are seeing this all for the first time. I’m sure some of you had already put things together from the stories I’d been posting (not to mention the link here that’s been tucked away quietly at the bottom of my profile : ) — but for many of you there may be some shock and a lot of questions.

But I think the best thing to do is just to let you read what I’ve already written, and once you’re caught up we can talk about what questions you may still have.

Meanwhile, let’s talk about last night! With apologies I’m going to basically cut and paste this from a private message, just since I’d word it pretty much the same if I tried to re-write it now:

I had a lovely time last night. I’ve been on a shopping spree lately and I finally had a chance to show some of it off!

I wore this cozy and adorable sort of harvest-green sweater dress from Victoria’s Secret and a pair of these boots, with black tights, a big black belt, some new earrings and a necklace I got from urban outfitters, and a bracelet my sister got me for Christmas.

I looked pretty damn cute if you ask me!

And my dear, sexy, sweet girl Katie introduced me to the VS Gel-Curve bras, and I am in LOVE. Their 38C turns me into a decent 42A without any other help, giving me just a little curviness without feeling like I’m wearing a costume. Of course it helps that a lifetime of eating soy and smoking pot have given the bra at least a little something to work with.

So my look was rocking and I hit the town. Stopped at Siam for a quick dinner, saw Ying but May was out for the night I think. Then I went to Play, danced a little and saw a wonderful drag show. I drank responsibly and I’m a little of proud of myself for that, even if I didn’t have as much fun as I might have 😉

I was a little sad because no boys hit on me or flirted with me, but I understand because most of the ones there want other boys. It’s just that usually there’s at least one or two, and it’s nice, ya know? But on the flip side, no creepy old HPWs hit on me either, so that’s a plus.

I think I may be developing a mad crush on Sara Andrews, one of the performers there. She is breathtaking, and I am totally jealous!!


So I’ve got this one outfit that’s just a pair of jeans and a black sweater top; the top is cut plain enough that I can wear it in boy mode, and ditto for the jeans as long as the top covers up the belt and pocket areas. So I’ve been wearing this to work occassionally and I think it works especially this time of year when I’ve got my long coat on much of the time that I’m not at my desk.

Anyway, I was headed out the door in this outfit this morning, got in the car and got halfway up the driveway before I realized I’d habitually put on my girly tennis shoes that I like to wear with this same outfit now when I go out to do errands and such in a more genderqueer sort of mode.

So, that was almost an oops. But I like that my girl clothes are starting to feel like my default option.


Jerry: I think that’s a “what’s good for the goose is good for the gander”.
George: What the hell is a gander, anyway?
Jerry: It’s a goose that’s had the ol’ switcheroo pulled on it.

I want to try to make that my approach. The next time some shithead mis-genders me on purpose, I mean.

“Can I help you, *sir*?”, the shriveled man with a knot in his ass said disapprovingly.

“No thank you, *m’am*.”, she said and walked away.

send in the clowns

Laugh Clown Laugh Women's Boy Brief

Alright, let’s get caught up. I’ve chickened out twice before, but I finally made it out to the opera last week. They gave us a fantastic Pagliacci, which I’d not yet seen but always wanted to.

Of course I’d heard Vesti la giubba and its famous climax, but I never knew the translation:

Laugh, clown,
at your broken love!
Laugh at the grief that poisons your heart!

The classic tragedy of the clown, as succinctly put as can be. And in its own tradition, I have to laugh at it.

At least I think that’s why my brain edited that down to “Laugh, Clown, Laugh”, which it saw as something of an antidote for the ubiquitous “Live Laugh Love”.

And I thought that was just subtly hilarious. So much so that I went and made a CafePress, which just made it that much more fucking funny.

So, ya know, come by and get a laugh clown laugh coffee mug, or perhaps you’d like something more like our baby hat, or maybe a nice thong.

I think the puzzle makes a whole new level of funny, what with making a puzzle out of all that whitespace.

OK, so all that aside how was the night? Mostly very pleasant. I skipped a pre-show beverage so as not to tempt the bathroom gods, but the bartender at intermission was very nice. There was an uglier incident on the street with a gentleman who made a distinct point of calling me sir, but I shook it off pretty quickly. And then there’s the guy who was sitting in my seat when I got there, I guess they were a party of four and were off by one, but we got it sorted, and I’m sure he got a good water cooler story to tell about his brush with the tranny at the opera.

straight, no chaser

I almost edited this into the previous post, but I think maybe it’s better on its own. I’m sort of trying to profile the mind of the sort of psychos who hurt us, or something like that.

Religion and Tradition™ have taught men that it’s a sin to want to fuck us, that we’re sick and wrong and if we make their dick hard, well then they must be sick and wrong too. It’s worse than being a gay man, it means you’re corrupted and broken, a failure at being a straight man.

So what we get are men who want to fuck us and ought to be our friends, who can’t handle their own desires because a sick culture has planted rot in their brains.

Sometimes they’re perfect gentlemen, right up to the moment they actually see or touch what’s in our panties*. Our only red flag that anything’s wrong is, well, that there are no signs that anything is wrong. Everything works beautifully up until the moment it becomes real, and his conditioning kicks in and he freaks the fuck the out.

Other times it happens in an instant. A bit of eye contact across the bar takes a man from attraction through realization to repulsion in less time than it takes to say “and the side effects of alcohol and testosterone interacting with a deeply unconscious, culturally inbred bigotry are…”

* I’m writing of course from the perspective of an MTF. But I think the crimes of men against FTM trans persons come from a similar place, eg finding out that your buddy has a vagina and finding out that your girl has a penis both initiate the same internal conflict when a man really wants to fuck someone who he believes would destroy his reputation as a heterosexual.

Sometimes I think it’s better not to be passable. Passability is Plausible Deniability. If you can’t hide the nature of things, you don’t attract those who’ll want you to. Anyone who says a girl like me “tricked” them should be laughed out of court.

For those of you who can trick a man? I dunno, I think really, just don’t. It can’t lead anywhere good. I mean, unless you’ve got Nikita-like skills and you’re using your powers as a ninja whore to do good deeds for humanity.


It’s a weird thing, knowing that every time you walk out the door, you’re a potential target for a hateful lunatic. Knowing that if the evening did happen to end with your mutilated body left in a ditch or dumpster, you’d just be a statistic.

And a whole lot of people would say it’s your fault.

Of course these aren’t concerns unique to this community. Violently victimized for what you’re wearing then told it’s your fault for wearing it? Women both cis and trans know a thing or two about that. Or attacked for challenging the hetero-normative? We share that with our LGB brothers and sisters.

But we get sort of the worst of each. We don’t just get the rapists or the bigots, we get the bigoted rapists. And so our stats are high, and the crimes against us are often just indescribably brutal.

I think it’s terribly important today to remember those we’ve lost, of course. I also think it’s important today to be reminded that we do live in a scary world, and that vigilance when we are out in it may be the thing which keeps us off of next year’s list.