Henry To Etta: Guest Blog

This is a guest blog, written by my super good friend Lauren (I've posted a couple of her videos before). Enjoy - Az x

An actual conversation with someone on the school bus…
“Well I’m really open minded; I don’t have a problem with gays at all I mean you can’t help who you love. It’s just Transgender people; I don’t like them at all”
Me: “Well, why not?”
“It’s just abnormal, you know.”
Since my younger sibling is transgender I explained (calmly and clearly, without losing it) what transgender is.
“Oh well, that doesn't seem that bad. I just don’t like it when they do it randomly”

My little sister Etta is transgender, she is 9.
A lot of people seemed either shocked or confused when I tell them this. I’d show them a picture and they look at me and say… 
“That’s your little brother though, why? Aww, must be a phase”
Nope, this is not a phase. I know that for a fact. Since she was 2 or 3 she played with my toys rather than my brother’s. She preferred pink and she started nicking my long tops and wearing them as dresses. Etta is also autistic so at first we thought it was something to do with the autism, but after some researching we found out that she was Transgender. The older she got the stronger this desire to be a girl became. So no, this is definitely not just a “phase”
The best way to explain Transgender to you is that Etta is a girl trapped in a boy’s body. 
Girl’s brain, Boy’s Body.
She refused to have her hair cut; she now has longer hair than me. She prefers all the female characters in her favourite TV shows to the male characters and now everything she owns is pink. We have a running joke that she is more girlish than me, my sister and my mum put together. (She’s also much prettier) 

And If you haven’t already noticed, I call her ‘she’ rather than ‘he’.
Today is a big day for Etta, from today Etta is now known as a girl at her school (and in September it will be on the records that she is “Female”). She can wear the girl’s uniform, she can use the girl’s bathroom and she will now be known as a girl to the teachers. This is fantastic! She is now being acknowledged for who she is and her class mates are fine with it (which is an added bonus really) 
Yesterday a transgender expert went into Etta’s school and had an extended assembly with the school to explain Transgender. 
As an example she asked a boy to stand with her. She asked him “If I said you weren’t allowed to wear boy’s clothes, you had to wear dresses. That you’re not allowed to play with your toys, because they’re boy’s toys how would you feel?”
“Well, I wouldn’t like it. Because I’m a boy”
“That’s how transgender people feel”
It’s a good point actually. Because Etta knows that she is a girl.

Some of the adults/parents are not so supportive. My family do get some rather hateful stares thrown at us when walking Etta to school. There was one example of a parent holding the large metal gates for some children, the parent saw us and closed the gate on Etta. Thankfully Mum was fast enough to catch the gate before it hit Etta in the head, but still. 
It’s quite upsetting when people think that my mum has forced this on Etta, because it’s “Cute”.
And this is usually when I start to get angry. 
Why the hell would we force this on Etta? 
When researching the topic I have heard of suicide attempts and self-harming incidents by Transgender children as young as 6 … 6 year old! Not just because of bullying but because they feel so uncomfortable with their bodies and they’re hurt that people don’t see who they are and accept it.
Here’s an example of a Transgender 6 year-old’s shocking suicide attempt from the Huffington Post.

“Was there a tipping point?

Well, one day we had a blow-up in Target. It was Halloween, and up until then we'd allowed Danann to pick costumes, like a witch or vampire-princess, which were female but not particularly feminine, more gender-neutral. But this particular Halloween, Danann saw a very frilly Southern Belle dress and just had to have it. I said no, as I knew Bill wouldn't approve. Danann began kicking, screaming, trying to hurt me. I got the kids into the car, when Danann went ballistic, scratching herself to the point of bleeding, hitting her head on the car, trying to break the window.  I locked the car doors, drove straight home, and the minute I unlocked the car Danann bolted from the car and ran straight into traffic. She was almost hit. The driver stopped the car and ran over to Danann, asking if she was OK, and Danann said, "Why didn't you hit me? I just want to die. I just want to die and have all of this be over." That's when I knew we needed to change things, because what we were doing clearly wasn't working.”

So yeah, forcing this on Etta is the best idea we’ve ever had!

I’m going to be very truthful to you now; it’s taken a while for me to get to grips with it. I had a dream about two years ago, I dreamt that Etta was a toddler again, she was Henry, Etta looked like a boy and when I woke up again I got upset because I missed my little brother. But then I realized that Etta was never really my little brother, she was just too young to say no to all the boy-ish clothes. I feel awful, awful that I wasn’t the best sister in the world. I’m bad at coping with change and this was quite a big shock. It took me a while to finally call her ‘her’, I have had many thoughts such as “Why can’t he be normal”-“This isn’t fair”-“I want Henry back” But then I did some thinking (and shouting at myself) and I’ve finally seen that I was being insensitive and stupid. Etta is Etta, she is an amazing little girl and I love her. I will never forgive myself for how I thought and how I behaved.
Because Etta is also autistic it’s very hard to hear how she feels. When talking to her you have to be very patient because she sometimes talks through quotes from films and books, it’s confusing but you get the hang of it quite easily. But last night I watched a documentary called “I am Jazz” which was about a transgender child.
All I could do was cry, when Jazz was explaining how she felt I just broke down. For the first time in 7 years I heard what Etta was trying to tell me through another child who was Transgender. 
If you have time, do go watch it, it may change your mind about Transgender people/children. 
I’m writing this because it needs to be explained, I was scared of explaining this because I was afraid that people would take Etta the wrong way, manipulate what I say and tell a wrong grotesque story which puts her in a bad light.
I love my little sister and I am terrified of that happening. I hope that we have left this manipulative nature behind us.

Thank you so much to Lou for writing that, she emailed it to my this morning and I immediately emailed her back saying "Can I blog this?" I hope it helps make everyone think, and makes people happy. Thanks all.
PS I reviewed a play this week, if you want to read it.

Decaf Hazel Nut Low Fat Amerilatte With A Shot Of Mint And A Flake

I had a conversation with Mum this evening about coffee shops. Well, not really a conversation. We're both knackered, so we made noises at each other until it turned into a coherent argument. 

Anyway anyway anyway. I don't understand how people go into a coffee shop, look at the menu and take one word from it, then add a lot of other TOTALLY RANDOM words around it, and someone just MAKES THAT INTO A DRINK. I have no idea what a half skinny strawberry mochachino caramel latte is, and frankly I don't want to find out. Even if it does have cream on it. I don't trust people who ask for complicated drinks in coffee shops. Where I come from you ask for a cup of coffee, a mug of tea, or your out on your arse. You're not asking for a drink. You're just giving the barista a list of all the things you weren't allowed to eat when you were six, and and then that list is just blended together into something that you willingly ingest. Not only willingly, but you also give them your train fare in exchange for the magic drink, which will DEFINITELY add at least three centimeters to your thighs, even if you put the word 'skinny' in there.

I've ranted on about the prices in coffee shop before. It's no wonder that hipsters have to buy everything second hand, if they're regularly showing face in a Starbucks. I can only assume that for office workers, where it is seemingly normal to make daily coffee shop trips for your co-workers, they actually live at the office. Seeing as how the only way they can buy all that coffee is by selling their houses to the shop in question. 

Sleep Is For The Weak (And Classic FM Listeners)

It is currently nearly half two in the morning, and I cannot get to sleep. Instead I am sat awake and binging on Radio 4. I was going to listen to the Glastonbury special of Monkey Cage, but decided to wait until I was more awake, so that I'll stand a slight (slight) chance of understanding some of it. I might listen to a podcast of Woman's Hour, but they've been talking about domestic violence a lot recently, and  I'd like to sleep peacefully. Still, I've got a long car journey tomorrow, plenty of time for radio then. For now I think Just A Minute will suffice.
Oh the woes of being middle class.

A Slightly Delayed Prom Post

“Right then,” Said the photographer. “Girls sand side on, hand on hips. Oh, right, yes. That’s it. Boys, arms folded and stand at an angle good. Okay?”

I raised my hand. “Um, excuse me. Not to be a bother, but what do I do?”

He looked at the suit/high heels combo. “You do whatever you like, love.”

“Oh. Can I pull ninja moves then?”

“If you like.”

So I did. That roughly set the tone for the LMS Year 13 Prom night, at least from where I was standing. After the first glass of wine, I’d for gotten which gender I’m attracted to, and by the second I’d forgotten which gender I am. By the time I’d won Best Dressed Female (possibly the highlight of my life so far, and still did nothing to remind me that I am a woman), everything had got out of hand, and no one was safe. I have to say, I’m still slightly surprised. I’ve never heard of a cross dressing lesbian winning anything at a prom before. And I’m really glad that I did. Not so much for my sake (who am I kidding) but more because it shows what a wonderful place my school can be. We have a bad reputation for how middle class we are. We may be posh as hell, but at least we’re open minded.

I know a lot of people who were at prom read this blog; so thank you. Thank you so much for voting for me, since so many people there genuinely looked stunning. I loved seeing how many people had taken inspiration from The Great Gatsby for their dressed; the amount of sequins was divine.

Thank you to the boy who I’ve never spoken to before, who did a double take, and said “Nice suit. Respect.” Sorry I hugged you. You were not expecting it. And thank you to the girl who told me she’d nearly come with hairy pits, but then decided she didn’t have enough stubble to make it worthwhile. You’re now my best friend. In my head.  I’m very glad (and surprised) that people actually pay attention to the things I write here.

So thank you again, and sorry to anyone who I hit on. I hope you all have a lovely summer. x

The Infamous Ninja Moves

The hell do I work this chainsaw?

Thoughts From Places: Home

I got home this afternoon, not for the first time, while having a fit of hay fever because I'd forgotten to take any allergy medicine, and I have to walk to my house from work. I've slowly been coming to the realization recently that I've been doing the thing which we like to commonly refer to as 'growing up', and I like to see my horrifically violent allergies as a reminder that, even though I buy nice plates to organize my jewellery, I'm still a forgetful little shit with little to no responsibility. 

My new (incredibly trashy) necklace had arrived in the post, and I immediately wasted a lot of my time put it on the cats and taking photographs, because it annoys them. It's slowly dawned on me over the years that I express affection by being as annoying as possible, and I think that I act  this way as a trick to see if people stick around; if they love me back. Either that, or I'm trying to compensate for being really short. In a second compensation for being short, I went upstairs and played Sims for a while, because I dislike any computer games where I'm not effectively God. It says a lot about my personality that I feel the need to control others to the extent where I drug a new born baby because I'm annoyed that they were born a vampire, and not a witch. As a side note - that happened on the Sims. I didn't drug an actual baby. At least not today. 

I felt guilty for wasting a perfectly lovely day by sitting inside on my computer, so I took my book and went to sit in the sun and read for a while. The cats came to join me, and this made me think how all creatures on some level yearn for companionship, something that I discovered myself when I was smacked with a heartbreaking feeling of isolation yesterday, when I'd been alone for far too long. Also it made me think about how cats are really needy and kind of annoying when you're trying to read and they want to be fed. 

Finally, Mum came home. She's booked me a driving lesson for next month, which is both terrifying and exciting. I decided I need to buy a new key chain, since mine is way too long and way too gay for something as serious as driving.

This blog post has been lovingly ripped off from the Vlogbrothers on YouTube. You should probably go watch them now before I feel even more guilty.

It also was mostly just an excuse to use the macro setting on my camera, because sometimes I like to pretend that I have a good camera, and then my dumbass photographer brother turns up.

Hello Summer

I have now totally, and utterly, finished school. Done. Forever. I had my last exam yesterday, and them promptly shipped out to Hobbycraft to stock up of yarn (the next post may or may not be a yarn haul). I now have a few weeks of total and utter freedom, before I get a job and start working.
And I am so bored. It's been a day, and I've taken up two new hobbies, ordered a new video game, and finished two books. But I miss having an actual thing to work for. I don't function well without work. I'm a little like Sherlock Holmes in that manner. I need work to function. 
But two weeks off won't kill me. I can knit, and read, and roller skate, which I haven't done for months. There's prom to look forward to.
And now, I'm going to make a cup of tea, and go outside to watch the bats flying around, catching their dinner. 
These are the things I've learnt do do, recently.

Replying To A Comment About Lady Fluff

I got this comment on my last post, and I thought I should address a couple of things in it. For one; how every time I get a comment on Anon, I sit there for about half an hour trying to figure out WHO YOU ARE.

So, a few things;

1. Thank you, you cutie. I'm glad at least one person finds me funny.
2. One criticism; my sexuality has nothing to do with whether I shave or not. If I was straight, I'd still have hairy legs. Sexuality and appearance have no correlation, outside of girls are probably a bit less likely to say "You have hair there?" There is, in fact, a spectacularly funny quote from my life which slightly applies to this situation and it is; "You have glitter there?" I'm still at a loss as to how this situation arose. 
3. This comment actually comes at a surprisingly useful time, as I've been wanting to make a blog post for a while about the whole not shaving thing. Which should please my demographic, as apparently nearly everyone who finds me via a Google search, is looking for something related to armpit hair. Th most recent one was "she had too much armpit stubble". I have to say, if that's what you're worried about, then you're probably not in the right place, baby. 

So I've just finished school, and that means that I finally feel comfortable enough so say: I don't shave my armpits. Same goes for my legs. I stopped shaving a couple of weeks before school finished, and I would have done sooner, but I genuinely didn't feel safe going all natural while I was still in that environment. Even though my uniform stopped anyone from seeing my pits/bare legs. I don't know if that reflects more about me, or those who I went to school with. I stopped shaving partly because I didn't like doing it, and partly because I just really wanted to say a big "screw you" to all those who think that women need to shave. Caitlin Moran has a theory that if men aren't worrying about it, then neither should women, so I don't see why I need to get rid of my body hair to please anyone who isn't me. We're told from the minute we're born that it's disgusting to go without shaving; when I left primary school aged eleven, two girls from the year bellow drew hairy pits on my shirt as a prank. They were ten; they didn't even have any body hair to remove, but the idea of letting it grow out was disgusting, and unnatural. 

Let me get one very important thing straight: if you decide to shave then I AM FINE WITH THAT. The thing I am not fine with, is that women feel the need to shave to please society. Not even an actual person; just society as a huge, pulsating, glowy whole. (In my head society looks a bit like the Living Plastic from the first episode of Doctor Who with Christopher Eccleston.) That's not cool. However, if you want to shave because you feel cleaner, or enjoy, go for it. Knock yourself out. Don't shave to please people, but at the same time, don't not shave to please crazy hippies on the internet. Make your own decisions, and be damn proud of them.

I still get freaked out when I go outside and I think people can actually see my body hair. I've got it into my head that at some point, somebody will beat me up for it. Which is pretty much how I felt when I came out; just waiting for someone to start being downright vicious to me, about something that doesn't involve them. I go swimming sometimes, which is scary as all hell. I wore a shirt the other day that I thought covered my armpits, but later found out that when I waved my arms around (which I do a lot) there was a flash of fluff. I deflated a lot. 

So to summarize; please don't beat me up, I like comments, and either shave or don't shave idk whatever suits you, dude. 

Rock that armpit stubble.

Now let's never talk of this again.

Sorry For My Personal Beliefs

As unlikely as this may seem, I’ve finally realized just how annoying I actually am. I’m a stereotype-y sort of way. I’ve always know I was vaguely annoying, but the other night, when I was lying awake in bed, it finally hit me. I’m a liberal, political, vegetarian, Guardian-reading, lesbian English student. That’s… wow. You do not want me at your dinner party. Plus, I don’t believe in the beauty standard, which means that I don’t shave my legs. The fact that I don’t wear tie dye is honestly beyond me. But that’s probably just because most of my innards are glitter and gin.

In my defense, I make an active effort not to try and convince meat eaters that they need to turn vegetarian.  I think that would be very hypocritical of my considering how shouty I get when anyone tries to make me believe in god.

I’m more or less a walking demographic for Radio 4. I imagine in twenty years or so, they will start using me in advertising campaigns. That’s if I carry on being a lefty stereotype. It might turn out to be just a ‘phase’ and when I’m old I’ll sit and make jokes about how I was always ‘that kid’. What am I saying, it’s happening now and I’m making those jokes. I’ve also started dressing in clothes that are worryingly close to the Dyke Uniform. I am a dyke, which means that I get to use words like that, and no one shouts at me. It’s like a gay bonus. Other gay bonuses include; not having to pay loads of money to get my nails done, being allowed to wear jeans in summer, not having to spend ages on my straight-girl hair, and it being socially acceptable for me to sit in the corner at parties with a lot of wine. Straight people bonuses include things like; not being socially and politically persecuted throughout global history.

I wrote that joke at 1am last week, and now it makes me sad. Someone go tell the House of Lords to hurry up and legalise gay marriage already.

Dressing For A Stereotype

So for my 18^th I went out with some of my lady friends, and my brother, so a gay club. We booked a hotel, and set up camp there a few hours before we went out so we could get ready. We did each other’s hair and makeup. We chose what we wanted to wear and got dressed. We did our nails. We drank wine. It was fun, and we looked lovely. Heels on. We were good to go. (My brother is excluded from this paragraph. And most of the post actually – I just thought I should get the context accurate.)

When we actually got the club, however, it became apparent within about thirty seconds that we had come in fancy dress as drag queens; compared to pretty much every other girl there. We were not gay club material; not for woman any way. We looked good, but we looked like straight girls. Which, I suppose, was totally fine for the rest of them. They’re all straight as knitting needles. Although not my knitting needles, they’re all old, knackered and bent. Which is a horrible reflection on my life.

I was unprepared for the gay club. I was not Dyke. I didn’t have the uniform. It was like I’d rocked up in fancy dress of the wrong sexuality. Although going back through the photos, I look like a rather fey Noel Fielding; not all queerness was lost.

From what I can gather, the Dyke Uniform isn’t all that hard to achieve; checked shirt and (ironically) boyfriend jeans. High tops or converse. No makeup, short nails, a lot of piercings and a leather jacket. Probably what you’d go to Tesco in, but with everything from All Saints.

It’s good to know that lesbians dress as a stereotype; it leaves less room for error. However, it is nigh on impossible to say which stereotype they’re aiming for; lesbian or Canadian.

It was a good night. Of course it was. We got this photograph out of it.

Disclaimer: At the end of this post I feel I should probably apologize so A) lesbians, B) drag queens and C) Canadians. 

I'm Not Shy...

…I’m just an introvert. Whenever I tell people this, the first thing they tend to is assume that ‘introverted’ means ‘shy’, and  say “No, you’re not! You’re really loud!” The two most obvious points to bring up with this is that for one, I am an introvert. I like to think I know what I am, and the reasons for why I do things. Two, introversion has nothing to do with volume. I think this is the trigger reaction because many of the people who I tell, I know very well. Because I know them well, I act ‘normally’ around them, and tend to let go a little more, unlike how I am around people I don’t know. If I’m being loud around people I don’t know, I’m probably just trying to scare them off. This is quite easy to do; you only have to pick a word at random and shout it with gusto. My favorite at the moment is “hegemony”, mostly because it sounds like a noise a banker would make when falling out of a conifer. 

The problems that come with being introverted is that being around large groups of people tends to exhaust me. Physically, my brain processes more information to a deeper level than an extroverted brain (for once that isn’t me trying to show off how clever I am; it’s a fact. Science, man.) This is why I’m ‘not very good at parties’. That’s a lie; I’m awesome at parties. I just have to leave a little bit earlier than most people would/have a little lie down somewhere quiet for a while. Unfortunately, clubs and bars don’t tend to have places to ‘have a little lie down’, which is why if you come out with me, you’ll probably find me hiding in the toilets a lot. I just need time to focus, and process information on my own. Being around people makes me feel very crowded, and after a while I get scared, and have to leave before I start shouting, or crying, and either way I will start looking for somewhere to hide like a fat kid trying to find cake. 

I’m not telling you any of this to make you feel sorry for me; I just need you to understand. If I end up at a party, and I vanish, it’s fine. If anyone says, “Hey, where’s Az?” The best thing you can do is very loudly say “OH, Az you say? She had to leave. There was a thing. Top secret thing. Government top secret thing. She’ll be back in half an hour.” And leave it at that. 

I don’t mind being introverted. I actually quite like it. It gives me time to sit on my own and read things like this; an essay on gay sex in ancient Egypt. Or play with my cats, or write stupid stories about Brian Cox pining for Boris Johnson. But sometimes I just get tired, or feel guilty for not spending as much time with my friends as I should. At least I’ve finally got used to the cold shock of fear that comes with being told to work in groups at school. I’m a lot better at dealing with new people than I used to be, and I’m sorry if I ever made you upset by how I acted when at a party. I’m like a toddler; I get grouchy when I’m tired.

I’m sat in the garden writing this, and its evening. It’s a lovely night, but my youngest cat is currently chasing flies. Which is partly extremely funny, and partly he just launched himself onto my laptop, so what do you think?


I was walking past a greasy spoon café earlier, and saw a handwritten sign in the window that said “Hamsters for sale”. I turned to the woman next to me and asked “Do you think they come with chips, or mushy peas?”*

*Confession: there was no woman. I was on my own. I just wanted to sound cool.

PS Final update on the Below The Line Challenge; I've now sent in all the money we raised, and together we managed £216! Which i awesome, thank you so much for all your support.