What's in a name? Chapter the Second

A few weeks back I posted about why I'm choosing the names I do for the me I'm about to make real.

Today, my children, I am going to teach you about how the Swedish state decides what name I can or can not have. Irrespective of what I want to be called. As you may or may not know (Tuuli and Jessicasideways you can put down your hands, Mistress Caisa knows that you know) it have now been decided that a grown up person can make her/his decision on what to be called. It's an important, but partial, victory for us transpeople in Sweden. What the decision means is that you can add a new name to the one(s) you already have even if that new name traditionally belongs to the gender that is opposite the gender the state decided you were when you were born. So say a child  at birth was determined to be of the gender girl and was subsequently name Anna Lisa. As she grow up she becomes aware that she really is a boy. With the decision yesterday it is now possible for her to add say Anders to her other names. What she can not do is change it to just Anders. Well, she can eventually, after a lengthy and complicate journey of which I will tell you shortly.

The Swedish state have always believed that it knows what's best for us. No, that's not because we've had a social democrat government for so long. It have more to do with Sweden's close ties with Prussian Germany from the midle 1800s up until the end of WW2. The strong state in our case based on the concern of the citizens well being. But, being an old anarchist I will not go deeper into those murky waters.

One of the results of this "concern" is that there are restriction on what names you can give yourself or your children. The name have to be congruent with the birth gender and it may not be of a kind that will heap shame and/or ridicule on the bearer. I believe the name most often rejected is Rullgardinia. Rullgardin is Swedish for the blinds that you, not me, pull down at night. And Rullgardinia is one of many names that our beloved Astrid Lindgren bestowed on Pippi Långstrump, maybe known to you as Pippi Longstocking. (Astrid lived three blocks from where I'm writing this) In this case I think they are right to refuse parents to name a child Rullgardinia. And it might also be a bit awkward for a boy to be named Sue.

But when an adult wants to change her/his name it's another story. If it's inappropriate for  my gender or if it's ridiculous I should be able chose any damn name I want to. Yes it's a step forward that I  add a name, but as a transwoman I want to change my name not to add a new.  And I can, there are two alternatives. The first and more complicated and slightly costly, about 500 SEK, presupposes that you are very close to applying to the state to have your gender corrected and that the doctor that handles your case writes an affidavit that you if all goes as planned will undergo the SRS in a not to distant future. This procedure will take up to six months and you will still have yout social security number (födelsenummer) which consists of your birth date plus four more numbers the third of which denotes male or female, in my case it's 490119-xx7x.

When you reach the stage that I have, all the papers have gone in to the proper authorities for the final decision it's more or less just a waiting game. Less than 1% are refused on this stage. And with that it's  all ready in one fell swoop: everything needed for the SRS, new name and new social security number. All that is left is to crawl up on the operating table. (My plastic surgeon looks like a young and cuter Dr House, now if I wasn't a lesbian....) The crux of the matter is that the change of name and number wont  happen until after the SRS is completed.

For me that's all good and dandy I can't get it fast enough. But what if I for some reason couldn't have the SRS, bad heart or whatever, I would still be a transwoman and in need of a new name and number. No matter that I still have a cock and not a cunt. And the situation is worse for transmen as many of them opt not to have the final genital SRS.

So even if the decision yesterday was a step forward it's still a long way to go before this old cougar is satisfied. (No, not satisfied like that! It will hopefully happen sooner.)

Oh, You're missing the usual picture of my beautiful self? Well . here's a pic taken by my dermatoligist after she had tortured me for two hours with electro needles to burn away facial hair. I asked her to take a full length one to show off my black leather skirt. But life would be rather dull if we all got what we wanted all the time. Right?

Love, hugs, kisses and muff munches till next time, your Mistress
Caisa

This was the week that was: BDSM, New Bra and Smokestop

So let's begin with the BDSM. After all that's what's got you here in the first place. Right? ;-)



Last night, Saturday was my second visit to Club Whip, a members only BDSM and fetish club in an industrial area north of Stockholm. And sadly this old cougar didn't have a good hunt. Well, I wasn't even hunting. And I'm not really into having a scene with someone I don't know fairly well. To me BDSM is to intense and personal to share with a complete stranger. Mind you, after ten minutes or so they might not be a stranger any more. And sometimes love strikes at the most unexpected of times as I've blogged about elsewhere. There was very little actual action going on at WC last night. But just sitting back, with a drink in my hand and watching all the fetish dressed girls/women semi or fully nude made this cougar feel content in a small way. Knowing that something could happen if I wanted it to. I had an interesting talk with an Italian beauty, B, about breasts, their development and sensitivity. Not all talk, there was quite a lot of hands on on both our parts. A great feeling to have my breasts fondled and otherwise handled by another woman. When leaving around 3 am we were going to take some awesome fetish photos of ourself in the industrial area at night. Unfortunately the camera wouldn't cooperate. So I will have to verbally paint the picture of what I was wearing. Actually I have a pic of the dress/top I had on, in addition to that a black mini leather skirt (just enough to cover my but), black lace panties, black almost knee high boots. Got the picture? Good, now flood me with invitations to dates. ;-)

So, what's next? Oh, yes the bra. This week I bought my first bra that wasn't intended to use with "falsies", just my own sweet little tits. A wonderful feeling! It's a 85 B, admittedly with a bit of inbuilt padding, but still I love it. And my girl/women friends says it looks great. *quietly happy*

And the smoke stop? Last Monday I stopped smoking. It worked fine until yesterday, a bit of part smoking and having the remaining ciggies today. But as of now I'm back on the waggon.

Love, kisses and lashes until next time
Caisa

TransCanada: Reversal of fortune

TransCanada: Reversal of fortune: "Reversal of fortune"

This says it all in way that makes it all so obvious

No Smoking!

Well, maybe if I was asked to play the part of deliciously decadent lezzie in the heydays of the cabaret in Berlin of the 20s. Then I might wear one.

Seriously, I stopped smoking today. The reasons are many, the obvious ones related to health and money. You all know about those. Add to that he fact that my plastic surgeon demands that I am smoke free before he performs my SRS. And my speech therapist wont continue our sessions until I've been without my ciggies for at least two weeks. She wants me to reach at least an octave higher. As it is there is no way any one can call my voice feminine. So to stop smoking is no longer a matter of choice. I have to do it.The operation will probably be in March or April so there I have some time yet. But the voice is something I'd like to do something about ASAP.

 I started writing this on Monday and it's now Tuesday afternoon. I'm too jittery and having problem concentrating. One of the hardest thing about quitting is the habitual cigs, when you answer the phone, after a meal, after a cup of coffee...... I have the bad habit of smoking while I write, a few seconds pause to ponder a turn of phrase and I reach for a cigarette.

Trying to pass the time with soaps and movies. They say the first days are the worst. I hope so. I've tried to stop before. The last attempt was this summer with the help of Champix, I did cut down considerably but was nauseous all the time and also depressed and tired. It might have worked if I stopped not just cut down.

This time I'm stopping without crutches. No meds, gum, band aids or the like. Just the will to quit. I'm trying to convince myself that there is a genetic component in all this. My mother and my daughters all had a relatively easy time quitting so I'm hoping that goes for me too.

Until next time love and kisses
Caisa

Sunday Ramblings and Movie Reviews

This has turned out to be something of movie weekend for me.

A smidgeon hung over and tired after mum's 90th birthday party on Friday (more about that later) I spent most of Saturday reading and watching some soaps I'd downloaded, ending the evening with Mango Kiss.

I fell asleep before it was over. So continued this morning. Mango kiss is a flick I wouldn't recommend. Sure, the girls are cute and there are some semi hot scenes. But the whole is just too shallow and it seems based on some idea that all lesbian relationships are different kinds of role playing. It's mildly amusing and can possibly be fun at a gathering of girls with a healthy supply of wine or other suitable intoxicants. It gets 3 out of 10 for cute girls and some humor.

After that I wanted something better and found a DVD with no label, popped it in the player to check what I had. The DVD had no opening title but it seemed to be some British film. It opened with a florist at a wedding and it soon became apparent that it was in some way lesbian. After some googling on florist, British, movie and lesbian I found out that I was watching Imagine me and you. What a difference! I don't want to reveal too much of the story but it's obvious from the start that the leading roles are the florist and a newly wed bride. And as it is a British romcom it's well written with good actors and a good balance between drama and comedy. All in all a good old feel-goodie. An 8 out of 10 for acting and story.

Next came a flick break for some time on the net and to install Open Office to facilitate my translation of Kate Bornstein's Hello Cruel World into Swedish.

For my next movie of the day I had planned on Aimee and Jaguar or Journey to Kafiristan. But instead I ended up watching Normal, It tells the story of a middle aged man in a small rural town in the US. He's come to the point that he can no longer hide the fact that all his life he's felt that he is a woman. And now he decides that there is no choice, he must make the transition. What follows is a believable story of his journey. The wife's initial rage and disappointment, the harassment at the workplace and the church. The flick is not sensational nor is it too sentimental. It made me realize how fortunate I am that I was born in Sweden when I was. 8 out of 10 for good, restrained acting and an important story well told.

Which brings me back to Friday and mum's birthday. Not all relatives and acquaintances knows that I'm going through the transition so this promised to be a somewhat interesting day. The main event was to start at four pm but before that some ladies that are not so close came by for coffee and port. As one of them arrived mum said with something like pride in her voice: "And of course you know Olle who is sometime soon to become Caisa." It made me happy to hear that tone of pride and acceptance. Especially as my family isn't known to express feelings very well. What mum didn't know is that Karin and I had met several times about town and that she knew about me being Caisa.

When the rest of the gang arrived it turned out that the only ones who didn't know were my 93 year old aunt and her son, my cousin. She's nearly blind and  to be honest not all there some of the time, and he's too shy and polite to ask. So there was no dramatic revelation moments.

What can be of interest to my readers is that one of my sisters in law works as a nurse at  a hospital ward for children that are born premature or with other problems. We got to talking about Caster and she said that on her ward alone they get several cases each year where the gender of the new born is difficult or impossible to determine.

The point I'd like to make is that my family and acquaintances have no problem with my transition. They just accept it as a fact of life and can see that I'm much more happy, content and calm now. Of course we have our issues, some of them quite major, but none  regarding gender or sexuality.

And to end today's post here are some pics from Fridays celebration:

Mum

My oldest daughter

My youngest and her husband

Mum and dad

Me and the mother of my daughters

Until next time love and kisses

Caisa

Repost of "Why Us Old Cougars Know More" in piratespeak

about music than ye kids o' today.

I bloged about this theme on me Swedish blog http://caisa.livejournal.com an' be asked t' write somethin' similar in English. Ahoy Christina! 

Oh, BTW, th' jacket I wear on this pic, taken today, be th' one mentioned in me previous blog. Th' one me mother made way aft when.

So gather around children an' harken as I tell ye about how 't be in th' olden days, aft in th' sixties. I live in a country way up North called Sweden an' at that time in a town called Gothenburg. We had nay mp3 players an' nay computers. Th' net be somethin' th' US military had jus' started playin' wi'. What we had be record players, radio an' TV t' satisfy our cravin' fer music. Th' TV had only one channel an' if we be lucky they showed a program called Oppopoppa once a moon. Th' records be quite expensive an' we could only afford singles. Th' latest singles be only available in two stores in th' city. Which leaves us wi' th' radio. Th' state had a monopoly on broadcastin' (which later on led me t' be a part o' th' portwing/anarchist swashbuckler radio "Radio 88" but that`s another story that I might come aft t' some tide. An' they be kind enough t' play pop/rock fer a whole hour ever' tides tide, an' thar be th' top list "Tio i topp" fer an hour on Saturdays.

An' then thar be Radio Luxemburg. We gathered in th' evenings in spots that usually be good fer recivin'. Providin' someone ha managed t' sneak a transistor radio ou' o' th' house. Th' quality o' th' sound be rather poor, but they be playin' th' very latest from England.

So t' hear th' music we wanted we had t' listen t' all sorts o' music that be played on th' radio. 't could be anythin', but mostly 't be Swedish an' English popular music from th' twenties t' th' fifties. Some light jazz, operettas, an' classical music be also heard now an' ag'in. An', aye, we hated this wi' a wannion.

But as I talk music wi' young swabbies today I reckon that 't had gi'en me a groundin' in musical history an' different genres o' music. A groundin' that came without me e'en tryin' or e'en wantin' t' learn.

Today, wi' chestfulls o' stations t' chose from, on th' air an' on th' net, Ye can opt fer jus' listen t' th' kind o' music ye already like. Thus missin' ou' on somethin' ye might like.

Dasn't misunderstand me. I dasn't want th' bad old days aft. Th' fantastic availability o' music be a good thin' (TM). But, an' this might be illegal 'ere ye live, download a wee torrents wi' music ye dasn't usually listen t'. Or, better yet, get an account wi' a usenet ser'er an' look around th' alt.binary.music an' download anythin' that might interest ye. Ye might be surprised! I found some rare queer blues recordings from th' twenties an' thirties.

Wi' love an' kisses till next time.
Caisa

Music and Emotions. Occasioned by the death of Mary Travers

This morning the tears have flowed freely near Observatoriekullen in Stockholm.

I woke up in an unusual good mood, considering I still have a lot to fix in my flat before I can let anyone in.

The death of Mary Travers was bit of a shock. I haven't followed her carrier lately. In fact most of my memories relate to the 60's. For a kid entering puberty and teen hood Peter Paul and Mary meant a lot as an introduction to folk and protest music. I'd rate them along Joan Baez, Dylan and Buffy St Marie in that respect. Mary's voice was wonderful, not to mention that to a fifteen year old see looked like an angel come down to us mortals. As I've mentioned earlier we had difficulties finding the music in stores or hear it on the radio. And when some one had a record we'd play it till it was mostly scratches.

 I was saddened by Mary's death but the waterfall hadn't started yet. Many people have mentioned that they cried when hearing Puff the Magic Dragon. over at the blog Joe. My God there is a post about what music makes you cry. I was going to make a comment about my number one tear inducer: "Jag vill leva i Europa" by Jan Hammarlund. Every time I hear it the tears starts flowing. But I refrained from writing anything. How could I, in a short comment describe what the song is about and why it makes me cry?  So I tried to find an English version and ended up mailing Jan to ask if he had an English version. Then I made the mistake of looking it up on YouTube. And sure enough the tears started flowing. Then I headed over to blip.  At first i tried to find something in English by Jan and found a few. The tears had dried up when i blipped for Peter Paul and Mary. For those of you not familiar with blip they also show a video when available. A few seconds into Leaving on a Jet Plane I started to really cry. Not just a trickle of tears but a river and loud sobbing.

So what is it with certain songs that moves us so? In the case of Mary it's not so hard to explain. A sadness over a great artist that meant so much to so many passing  away combined with nostalgic feelings of when I listened to her way back when.

Ever since I started hormones I cry more easily. But when it comes to Jag vill leva i Europa I can't blame them. It has had me in tears for years. And I can't really explain why. It's some combination of Jan's voice, the theme of the song and the way he put the music and the words together.

Other songs that sometimes makes my eyes water are: The Fields of Athenrye, Mary and Me, Just an Ordinary Sunday and songs about martyrs in the class strugle like Sacco and Vanzetti or the heroes of the Spanish revolution.

But other songs that sometimes make me cry I don't even like. It can be a sentimental love song or something that evokes memories.

So what opens up my tear ducts is a combination of the music, the lyrics, the theme and my current mood. Today I think I'm susceptible to most everything.

What music makes your eyes water?

Until next time hugs and kisses from
Caisa

A letter to myself on my 15th birthday

Congratulations on your 15th birthday!

I am you, only 45 years older. Strange, isn't it? And if you ever were to see this letter I guess much in my life will be totally different.

Today you are dreaming, among other things, about having a moped now that you are of an age to drive one. Don't worry you will, in a couple of months. I will enclose a picture of it at the end of this letter.

But we both know that's not the biggest problem. You keep running away, to Stockholm, Malmö and other places. Pretty soon you will be heading down to Amsterdam. And you are not running away from something, not really, your parents and friends are pretty decent people. No one is abusing or hurting you. What you are doing is trying to run to something. You just don't have any clear idea what it is.Seeing it all a bit clearer from way off in the future I'll give you a few hints to why you are feeling outside, like you don't really belong anywhere. It's common for all teenagers to feel something like that. But you have more reasons than most do.

Why? Let's think about some things. You look at girls. Of course you do, but not only because you desire them. If you could admit it to yourself it's also because you know, deep inside, that you were meant to be born a girl. Remember how exited you felt when Gunilla said you had girlie lips that were perfect for lipstick. And then... No wait that haven't happened yet.

This could be a frightening revelation. And what you are most afraid of is that means that you have to make love to guys if you are a woman. Don't be stupid! In your head and your heart you are a girl and you are attracted to girls. What does that make you? Yes, that's right, you are a lesbian woman!

Even back when you are now there are ways to correct the mistake of your anatomy. I know that you have heard of Christine Jörgensen. If you could do that now I know that you'd be a lot happier and that you can avoid much of the troubles that lies ahead of you. But I hope you don't do anything about changing your gender until 1972. Why? Because on your birthday that year you get a wonderful present, Your youngest daughter will be born. That's right! You will have two lovely daughters!

But after that go for it! Don't wait till you/I are/am 60 to do final transition.

Love from you future self
Caisa

Oh, here's the pic of the moped I promised you will buy soon. I know you'll have fun with it.

Strawberry Muffs Forever. a follow up to #muffmunchmonday

I moved this to my X-rated blogThe Musings of a Cougar

#muffmunchmonday and why I love it

I moved this to my X-rated blogThe Musings of a Cougar

What's in a name?

that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

I'm about to fill in the form mentioned in a previous post about the final steps  in my transformation. One of the things I have to fill in is the name I want to have as a woman. A rather important step and in some ways the most difficult. That I want the removal of sex gonads, operation of sex organs and a legal change of gender to woman is a no brainer.

When I started using the net as a woman I wasn't out at all to anyone. The first name I chose for myself was Linda. I'm not really sure why and after a year or two I didn't like it at all, besides it's not a name that suits a woman of my age and nationality. So after a great deal of pondering I decided on Caisa. Caisa is a name that has a long history in Sweden and is still in use. As an added bonus an ancestor in the early eighteenth century was called Caisa.

So that took care of my first name. As I was coming out more and more I chose Persdotter as my last name, Persdotter means daughter of Per, Per being on of my male names as well as my father's and maternal grandfather's. Hence my Gmail name caisap, and on a few other sites where Caisa was already taken I'm known as Caisa Persdotter or variation thereof. But as I came out to everyone that matters I am now Caisa Viksten.

So, what's the problem with choosing a new legal name? Well, I want a middle name or two as well. I've asked my parents if they did have an alternative name if I had been born a girl in body as well as soul and brain. But no, they called me Olle while i was still in the womb.No help there then.

I was for a while considering  Vendela Magnona. Strange names yes but there is a romantic legend from the late seventeenth century behind them. According to the story Vendela Magnona Fleming, the daughter of Lars Fleming (a high ranking Swedish noble man) was supposed to marry a man of similar social status. But Vendela was in love with a common village smith, Ström (first name unknown). On the day his beloved was to marry he turned up at the church with a horse and wagon. He looked at Vendela with tear filled eyes, she turned around on the church steps and saw him. Not hesitating for a second she run to her smith, jumped up beside him and off they went.

Vendela was stricken from all official records but upon her fathers death they found a sort of testament written on calfskin. In it he granted Vendela and her man the right to the name Flemström and the use of a plot of land at Graninge Bruk in perpetuity. The letter was supposedly destroyed in the mid nineteenth century but to this day the plot is known as Kalvskinns brevet, the Calfskin Letter.

The story is probably not true but I love it. And if true I could trace my ancestry, via Flemström and Fleming, back to a knight in twelfth century Germany. In the end I decided against taking the middle names >Vendela Magnona. Too much of stage name I think.

But now, or rather this morning, I made up my mind. My legal name will be Caisa Katarina Viola Viksten. Katarina after my maternal grandmother and Viola after my paternal grandmother.

Until next time love and kisses
Caisa

What's Your Type"

Today I'm going to be utterly shallow and talk about looks and my take on why we all have a "type" that we are especially attracted to.

I think the picture of that ideal some one is formed at an early age by the people that surround you, by the culture you live in and by your peers. And who better to serve as an example than my own humble (sic) self.

I grew up in a mixed lower middle class/working class environment in Stockholm and Göteborg in the fifties and sixties. For those that are geographically challenged  that's the two biggest cities in Sweden. And in those way back when days, my children, we didn't even have television. Well most didn't until the late fifties here in Sweden. Well this shouldn't turn into a post for My Life So Far so let's move on.

My point is that kids of my generation and location had almost exclusively Caucasian women to relate to. So that's part of the reason I adored Sophia Loren as a child. I hadn't seen any of her movies but could secretly gaze at her photos for ever. And she's still the most beatiful woman over 70 I know. Sorry Leonore. ;-)

That narrowed down the number of available types considerably but the variations within the remaining group are many indeed. Tall, short, thin, fat, blonde, redhead, brunette, small tits, big boobs. The combinations are endless in number. So how come I ended up with my type out of all the available ones ? I don't fucking now, do I?

I've had sex with women of all shapes, creeds and most ethnicities. And what they all had in common was the fact that they were women. So i guess when it comes down to real life what really matters to me is the person I'm making love with. Not if she confirms to some type or not.

(Flashing on my inner screen: The tall redhead Icelandic girl, one night in Borås. The short dark Mickan with her wonderful breasts. The blond celeb (who shall remain unnamed) I found naked in my bed one morning. [Stop the bragging you old crone] OK, OK, I'm done for now. But I'll tell more at The Musings of a Cougar  for those who don't mind adult content)

[But you were going to tell us about your type,. Come on. Spill!]

Do I really have to?

[YES!]

OK. "My type" is Sophia Loren. Or in the current crop of celebs Malena Ernman. But as I said I love the person not the...

[Shut up, You've been blabbing enough for one day]

If you say so.

[I do.]

Bye then till next time.
Caisa

Finally! Green light for SRS!

Well, it's not all finalised but today my doc agreed to send my application for SRS (Sexual Reassignment Surgery) to "socialstyrelsens rättsliga råd" I guess in the US it would be something like the legal counsel of the department of medicine or some such.

So what happens now is that I fill in a form, mail it to my doc who forwards it to the above mentioned institution together with his assessment and a recommendation that I'd be allowed to continue my transition. I will then be called before the counsel before they make their decision. It's almost unheard of that they go against the recommendation.. 

So with one decision i get the operation(s), change of name and födelsenummer (social security number) all in one fell swoop. After that I'm in line for the plastic surgeon,  I've heard he's very good.

The time table is a bit uncertain, it depends on how many more wants the SRS, how long the cue is. But realistically it will take five to six months until I'm finally a complete woman.

Then you better watch out my lovelies, then this cougar will really be on the prowl!

Love and kisses
Caisa

Major Breakthrough for Me

I'm taking a rest from writing a saucy post at my blog The Musings of a Cougar to bring you this breaking news.

As you may know I've been on hormones since 18 Nov last year. What I've been most impatient with is the growth of my breasts. For the last couple of years I've never left my flat without enhancing my bust line. In a way great if you want to have big boobs some time, but not really a substitute for the real thing. Lateky my breasta have grown some and gained a more feminine definition. Earlier this summer I bought a very clingy white top.and today I walked out for the first time with just my own tits under the top.

A bit apprehensive I. went down to a place where I used to work until recently. They were all delighted to see my "teen age" tits and suggested I'd skip the "enhancements" all together from now on. They're all around fifty and was also a bit envious that I, at sixty am developing a young woman's breasts. At the moment they're not bigger than small apples. But they're mine, all mine! But of course any woman who want to is welcome to play with them. ;-)

Love
Caisa

What's the Difference? To My Sisters and Brothers in the USA

Warning! Prejudices and exaggerations. Before you explode read till the end. :-)

I became acutely aware of the differences when I was invited by Diane Gee to cross post my blog post about healthcare to The Wild, Wild Left. If I had been invited to post to a Swedish blog with the word liberal in the masthead I would be very reluctant to do so. To me a liberal is some one who sympathizes with the ideas of the Swedish party Folkpartiet. They are often called new liberals, a term that also means a rather iffy policy regarding immigration among other populistic and conservative ideas. They are also a part of the alliance that form the government here in Sweden. Their Danish counter part is even worse, bordering on fascism.So to me the term liberal is not compatible with radical and left. To me radical and left is associated with socialist groups, from social democrats to, more or less, outlaw anarchists. My own background is on the far left, even if it was ages ago that I was active, anarchist, radical pirate radio. Well you can read more about that in my blog My Life So Far, when I reach that point in my life.


In the US it seems to be an altogether different situation. The ghost of senator McCarthy seems to hoover in the back of your minds. The slightest whiff of "socialism" and you cry: Communist menace!". OK, this is somewhat exaggerated, but it's the impression we in Sweden get of the general US attitude. And the unofficial national anthem "This Land Is Your Land"  was written by a communist and union man, Woody Guthrie, Talk about irony. :-) 

And now over to religion. Until a few years back if you were born in Sweden you were automagically a member of the Swedish state church, luke warm Lutheran, unless your parents decide otherwise. Now the church and state are formally separated. I've never been a believer in the Christian god, except for a brief period in my childhood. But I'm still a member of the church. Why? Because as my parents and grandma used to say: "It's the best way to keep an eye on what the priests are doing." Many Swedes are still members but very few go to church at all, never mind doing it on a regular basis.


One thing, among many, that is great in the US constitution is freedom of religion. But from my Swedish view point it seems to mean that you are free to belong to any church, but belonging to one is more or less mandatory. Us old worlders don't make such a fuss about prayers and such. You on the other hand seems to pray all the time and going to church at least once a week. 


The next thing where the US and Europe differ is the death penalty. It's abolished in practically every country in Europe. We considered it utterly barbaric and besides is pretty useless in preventing crimes.


As for my view on healthcare, see my previous post on the subject.


Well, now that I've got all that off my chest let me also tell you that there is much in US I admire. You're diversity for one. I don't really belive you're all a bunch of rednecks. In fact most of the people I follow on twitter and blogs are US folks and I love you all.


And we have some great literature and movies from you. Not to mention the music. 


All in all, if we in Europe complain and nag at you it's because we love you. We just want you to be a bit more civilized and join us in the twenty first century.


Love, hugs and kisses from across the pond.
Your Caisa

     

Label, labels, labels....Who/What am I?

So, ladies, when you look at this picture what category of lesbian would you put me in? Red velvet coat, frillyish blouse, black leather trousers, brown suede boots and long red hair. Pirate leslass?

I don't really care about labels but it would be kind of nice to hear your opinion on what label fits me best. Appearance wise I'm usually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, often one of the ones I've bought from Little Ms Tee. And this summer gladiatorish sandals from Ecco and a gothish black jacket. Hair mostly long and shifting in colour from blond via red to almost black. Make up: sometimes foundation, Eye liner, eye shadow and mascara. Lipstick fairly neutral.

But that's just what you see at first glance, as for sex I love to give pleasure with tongue, fingers and fist. I love lingering tender moments. But I'm also into BDSM, to me there is not much in this world more beautiful than a bound naked woman with red glowing cheeks, all four of them.

So what's the verdict? What label do you think fits me?

While the labeling might not be important there are other issues that bother me more. As I'm only partway into the transition from man to woman, hopefully I'll get the operation come spring, many people have trouble accepting that I'm a woman. A dear friend (hi Kicki) said recently that she sees me as a woman and knows that when it comes to making love I'm only into women. Still she has a problem with picturing me with a woman. And if an open minded friend have this problem how about others that don't know me? Despite being quite tall, 1.87 I think I pass fairly well when walking down the street. But the voice betrays me as soon as I say something.

So the only label I'm really interested in getting is woman, a woman who loves women, not the label of freak or tranny. I am a transwoman who happens to be a lesbian. Why have the world such a hard time accepting that?

Love and kisses till next time
Caisa