I tell stories all the time.  I think I am a good storyteller.  I think I have good stories to tell.  That is what I have instead of a fake job at Target Corporate that doesn’t even make sense.  That’s me in the picture.  I was taking that for my new girlfriend.  I don’t remember if I sent that one to her or not.  That’s my little apartment in Brookline, MA.  I stayed there while I was getting my master’s degree from Harvard Divinity School.  I went to Harvard because the dyke bar in Minneapolis that I opened, closed and I was emotionally broken and forty and I didn’t know what else to do.  My new girlfriend stayed in Minneapolis.  Long-distance relationships are horrible and I was crazy jealous and had just started taking testosterone.  You can see the hint of a new goatee as well as a little cleavage under my creepy bathrobe, which I think is hot.  I’ve been home for a couple years now, and things are great.  I just have some stories to tell.  I have more facial hair now, but I still have my tits.  I wanted to call this blog ‘hairy tits’, but people keep cringing every time I say that.  I do actually want people to cringe a little at this blog, though.  I want commentary and resistance and conversation.  I want to talk about sex and gender and body parts (silicon or flesh) in a more uncomfortable way.  The blogs I’ve read about queers, transmen, and butches (and that’s not really that many) have been pretty tame and have narratives we have become comfortable with.  They talk about bowties, and binding, and bathrooms, which are fun and fuzzy subjects that warm the queer cockles like a drag queen doing Whitney Houston, and these stories create community and are important.  I think my transition is one of my least interesting stories, but it will be fun to read, nonetheless.  I am a lazy, lazy transman, if you insist upon calling me that.  I do like muscles and wanting to fuck all the time.  I miss San Francisco in the 90’s.  I miss punk rock.  I miss sex-positive, bald, dyke whores… most of the time.  I am also getting to old for that shit all the time.  I do not miss being a baby butch disco queen in LA in the 80’s, but that happened.  I really like being happy and well-rested.  I have a lot of great stories though.  I wanted to write a book, but Katrina told me that people blog now.  After much initial resistance, I found the rambling serial format might actually work better.  My best stories are about opening a dyke bar, but that requires background.  I want to talk about sex and gender deeply.  I want to know about your dark sides and tell you about mine, because I tend to think our common narratives, as valuable as they are to our community, are mostly incomplete, and largely horseshit.  My dream would be a community of weirdo truth-tellers. Let’s fix modern psychology together and even teach Judith Butler a thing or two about gender.  Mostly, I’m going to tell stories though, really good ones.