So you know those times when life just kind of grabs you by the balls and decides it’s going to spin you around until you’re ready to vomit and couldn’t pass a sobriety test even if your blood alcohol level was nil? Well, that’s sort of where I’ve been at these last few months.

I didn’t exactly mean to drop off the face of the digital planet. Honest. Though, the “exactly” is the operative word there.

When I stopped writing about flow, everything else in my life was falling apart and I didn’t really know where the fuck to go. I tried to find myself, but it was like staring into one of those carnival mirrors for so long that I couldn’t remember who I was to begin with.

Call me cliche, but there is something to that journey of finding out who you are. No wonder it’s such a goddamn popular topic.

There’s not really a specific moment in time where I got overwhelmed with “being a blogger.” It just happened gradually, or perhaps it didn’t, I just wasn’t aware until I got hit upside the head with it.

I know a good handful of you are aware by now that I’ve recently come out as transgender and that’s created a lot of headache and inner turmoil that’s really difficult to explain unless you’ve been there. And as I embarked upon finding a gender therapist and having my first session, I’ve realized that I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to transition faster than I’m ready to for the sake of being social accepted as a boy. And that’s not me or what I stand for.

What I’m really trying to say is that I’m back with a rekindled passion for learning how to really love myself and helping others do the same.

I will be brash because that’s what I do best. I will be brutally honest because it’s a compulsion to be so. And I will be talking heavily about queer and trans* related topics. So if you can’t deal with that, get the fuck off of my site. Bitch. (I’m kidding, but if you’re not down with that it’s probably best you wander away now.)

Oh yeah. I’m also trying that thing where I write like I talk and I really do say fuck A LOT. Sorry, Mom.

So yeah. Start looking out for new shit from me because I’ve got an arsenal of ideas and a couple new projects I want to get a move on with.

And more music! Much more music. It’s going to be a fixture around here.

Also, I’m starting a new email list. If you’re into that, you can sign up here or in the sidebar. Future content is going to be pretty tailored to the new work I’m doing and fresh start/list is exactly what the doctor order, so sign up now or forever hold your peace.

Photo: discopalace

I came out to my father as transgendered on Saturday.

We sat in a diner, I sipped on shitty coffee as I tried to get my tongue around the conversation I had been putting off for three years.

It was one of those situations where it went NOTHING like it was supposed to. All of those scenarios I had envisioned, both positive and negative, those didn’t happen.

Instead, I was informed that he “believes that I believe” what I was telling him. And proceeded to unleash a side of him I’ve never seen before.

What it boiled down to was this: he wasn’t disappointed, nor felt like he was losing a daughter, because I was wrong and in time, I’d learn that this isn’t what God wants for me.

For an hour I listened to his defensive mechanism, as he told me that I needed to truly give my heart to God and that we were made in His perfect image. You know, all that usual crap.

I asked if he would look at educational resources. His terms were that I had to read research that proved transgenderism/transsexualism doesn’t exist.

I was sort of dazed by the whole thing, left feeling like it would have been better if he had yelled or been disappointed. At least I would would have evoked something other than the irrationally calm God-fearing man that sat across from me.

Three years of wanting to say something and I was left completely unfulfilled or satisfied by the conversation.

Later that day, I joined my friends who knew that I was talking to my dad. I had told them all that once I came out to him, I wanted to switch to male pronouns and they were all really great about it.

All night, being called “he” or “him” would make my stomach flip-flop. Partially with guilt. Partially excitement. Partially uncertainty.

After 21 (almost, Saturday is my birthday) years of being referred to solely as female, I was finally stepping into a skin that was a little more comfortable.

Not without learning how to be a real boy, of course.

“If you want to be a man, you have to butt heads with me right now.” My friend tapped his forehead.

It only kind of hurt.

Photo: Drics67