Have you ever been in a situation where a person says something in a way that is intended to put you in your place? I recently had this happen a few times to me.  It’s like they want me to know that they KNOW who I am.

This all came about when I was in San Diego last weekend.  I had recently dyed my hair blonde (I LOVE it btw) and was feeling very good.  I arrived to the wonderful arms of some of my dearest girlfriends and two of their children. We sat around the fire laughing, drinking wine, chatting and eventually pulling out a deck of tarot cards which lead to a long session of spiritual reading for all the girls.  It was absolutely perfect.  The children got sleepy and the mothers, who had driven several hours, were also getting a little sleepy.  As they retired and a few others left for the evening my friend Laura and I were faced with two more hours of drinking time and several bars just around the corner.  What’s a girl to do?  So we grabbed our purses and sweaters and we were on the way.

We started at a straight bar in the neighborhood.  It was still speckled with gay boys and lesbians, as I’ve come accustomed to expect in San Diego.  It’s one of the things I love so much.  After our one beer there, Laura and I ended up at another bar, this time there was no question that this one was a gay bar.

As we approached the bar I was excited to notice a flyer with one of my fellow comics advertising a show.  I took a picture of it and tweeted it with a tag to my friend letting her know that I was excited and by default alerting the public of my joy of the event.  After a few drinks she and I ran into a hyper-homosexual who was gushing over my blonde.  I liked the attention, but was kind of enjoying the attention of the straight marine and his buddy that were leering at me from the side line.

The marines approached and we all had a good chat.  One of them drunkenly looked over at me and said “You’re a dude aren’t you?”  Mouth agape and metaphorically picking myself off the floor I manage to utter “No, I’m not a dude” to which he replied “but you have penis don’t you?”.  All that kept coming through my mind was “Wow!” and “What the fuck?” You see, it’s rare that I feel that people know that I’m transgender.  I mean, I do live my life rather transparently, but I don’t wear a t-shirt that says “Hey, I have a dick”.  Yeah, I may say it in my stand-up but It doesn’t mean that I wanna hear anyone else EVER, say it to me.

It was a very uncomfortable situation.  I tried to educate him in the best way that I could, but I was just plain flabbergasted to articulate anything that would be effective.

The next night we managed to hit several bars and met up with several people.  It was such a fun night.  We went to a haunted hotel and ended up at another bar in Laura’s neighborhood at which we had the obligatory “Hey, it’s your birthday” drink as closely to midnight as possible to celebrate the beginning of Laura’s special day.  I was enamored by the bartender, a tall, lanky, nerdy hipster.  He was very handsome, but only ironically.

As I sat at that bar drinking my Celis White and manning our spot to accommodate my friends small bladder and nicotine habit I struck up a conversation.  My new found friend was wrought with edginess. We bonded over our tattoos and newly blonde hair.  She then confessed her love for my bartender.  But he’s mine, I wanted to scream. Obviously restraint won out before that became reality. She continued to tell the story of them hooking up and her not remembering it.  He was visibly saddened by her black out and emphatic response.  She was disturbed that she had reacted so poorly.  He continued about his day as if nothing happened. So did she. Now she’s in a bar, lamenting the fact that her love was unrequited.

I was ready with advice.  Chomping the bit to repair this rift between two potential lovers.  To be cupid with a beer soaked arrow.  I told her that if there was something there, which from her story there was, that she should just tell him.  Seems like the logical course of action right?  She sipped her Irish whiskey on the rocks and turned to me and spoke the “place putting” phrase…”It’s different in the straight world.”

Once again my amour had been chinked.  What the fuck did she mean “It’s different in the straight world.”?  I live, work and breathe in the straight world.  I go about my day living as a straight woman.  How the fuck could she have been so presumptive and , pardon the not so straight term, “cunty”?

Luckily she got up from her seat rather quickly and went to satiate her own nicotine craving. My future ex-boyfriend followed her. I was there alone, still, seething with contempt.  I’m not sure if the contempt was toward her, society or myself.  The next thought that ran through my mind was somewhere along the lines of “How could I expect to pretend to be something I’m not and expect people to follow suit?” but not exactly.

What was that?  Where did that insecurity come from? How did that hit me so hard from out of the blue?

I’m still working through the feeling that that blonde bitch (I use that term lovingly – Who am I kidding? – Fuck her!). It’s been a week and since that day I’ve gotten out of bed, put on makeup and gone through my life as normally. Not one time this week did I feel like a person on whom I’ve waited has “found me out”. Not one time this week did I see an eye gaze at me with a “knowing” look.  Not one time did I feel that a retail employee, a bus driver, a bartender, nor a postal worker shoot me a look that said “You’re a dude.” So why?  Why on my first weekend out of Los Angeles in almost a year did I get bombarded with this?

I’ve traveled across the country with make up and my hair did.  I’ve been to Texas and Florida, places that aren’t as receptive to people that are different and still have not had that experience of being “put in my place” from anyone other than my mother.  The only thing that I can come up with is that the more I become comfortable with myself the more uncomfortable some people may become about themselves.  When it comes down to it, people are all the same.  We all have the same issues at some point or another.  I feel insecure sometimes.  My different is no different then your different when it all comes down to it.  With all this in mind, I will endeavor to radically accept people despite their faults and issues.  I will endeavor to be a beacon of love so that our children, our friends, our family members will know that it is 100% acceptable to be WHO they are, to express themselves as the gender they feel they ARE, to love whom ever they LOVE and to be accepted by themselves and others.