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