Julie Brown's Blog Entries
Age 15, Late, Late Bloomer
June 30, 2010
At 15 when I refused to even listen to the bird’s and bee’s story, my mother discussed the problem with the school counselors: they reminded my mother that for about ten years they had been telling her not to worry because I was just a late bloomer. (I grew up in a private boarding school for children of wealthy parents who couldn't be bothered most of the time. I was poor, they were wealthy but no one seemed to care or even notice. My mother was head of the boarding department and had access to every teacher and counselor.) When all my girlfriends got their 'friend' and I didn’t, the doctor blamed it on the belief that I was late bloomer. When I was still a virgin at the age of 27 you would think someone would have realized that the ‘late bloomer’ excuse was a bit lame. Fortunately, it still worked as an excuse for not having to fit in with my peers. Its not that I didn’t want to fit in, I just didn’t. I was a little odd and my thinking, fortified by my fertile imagination, (the imagination of an only child - even though I grew up surrounded) kept me that way. In hindsight, it seems to me that something else was going on which impeded my sexual development. I can tell you that it wasn’t because I didn’t try! It just wasn’t my fault that there were so many road blocks and diversions.
Ages 6, 7 & 8
July 01, 2010
My fascination and fear of the forbidden subject began when I was about six and it seemed to govern my thinking. Fascination because it was forbidden so that meant it must be really something bad and fear because I was afraid that someone would try to explain it. The subject had something to do with the parts involved with going to the bathroom. ugh. Anyway, about twice a week I visited my father's mother, a 6' tall Swede and his father, a wonderful American Indian/Scot/English/Irish who had his command post at one end of the dining room table. I would straddle my Grampy’s right thigh, with my long skinny legs almost reaching the floor, while watching him play Solitaire. Other kids had rocking horses but I had my grandfather's thigh. When I was about seven, my mother had to have a hysterectomy and I was told something like, “...this operation is necessary because you were such a large and long baby and I was in labor two weeks and you were breach and you kicked my insides to pieces....”. At least those are the words I have stored in my memory bank. I pictured my mother in the hospital with people doing things to that area which was off-limits in any conversation . double ugh... Sometime during my 8th year, my oh-so-handsome have-a-good-time father was pushed out. In order for him to have a good time, he would spend the grocery money on booze and wild women so he had to go. Probably wild women just like the Rockettes! I wanted to be a Rockette! Fortunately, his parents adored my mother so they weren’t lost in the divorce. I wasn’t sad to see him go because all I could remember were the mean remarks he made about my long, skinny anatomy, mostly legs – just like his. In hindsight, from an adult’s perspective, I don’t know why he picked on me since I was a shorter carbon copy of him, except of course he had something I didn't - a part which belonged to the forbidden conversation.
Up to and Age 12....
July 02, 2010
A lot happened in the years following and it’s a wonder that my Mother, paternal grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and teachers survived my curiosity about naked bodies and babies and boobies and pee pees (which belonged to boys) and wee wees (which is what girls had). Not only to survive the questions but to remain patient when their attempts at providing explanations were greeted with a gasp of disgust and then to have me storm out after just a few words. The forbidden subject would remain forbidden - no matter HOW much curiosity there was.
Continuance of Age 12
July 07, 2010
My grandfather would put the newspaper at the command post every evening, where the cards had been, and sit there and read it all the way through. One evening I saw the newspaper’s BIG headline. It was just there, visible to anyone, so it really wasn’t my fault that I read “Christine Jorgensen: EX GI BECOMES BLOND BEAUTY, 1st Successful Surgical Transsexual, Operation Changes Man into Woman". Can you believe that! George Jorgensen became a woman by having an operation! As I pondered that information, I thought back to my birth. I actually don’t remember it but I was told the stories so many times that I could visualize myself as a willing participant even though I know, through those same stories, that I was not willing – at all! My 4’11” mother, almost all French with a little Scot somewhere along the line, had married my 6’3”, half Swedish and the other half was from the American Indian et al gene pool. This was not my fault! I would have had more sense than to marry someone I couldn’t dance with comfortably! What the hell was she thinking?! Back to the birth and Christine. I was two weeks late (making my birthday too close to Christmas - what an injustice) and after the long wait (for which I was blamed throughout my life and I obviously continue to bemoan) the doctors finally decided on a cesarean section since it seemed to be a breach birth.. (According to the Thesaurus, other words for breach include 'break', 'violate','infringe' (great word for inventors),‘fall foul of’, ‘rift’ – not a good start in life but it explains a lot.) Wouldn’t you have thought the nurses and doctors would have just looked at my parents and anticipated a problem earlier? This was in 1939, four days short of 1940, so the looking/testing machines did not exist back then but common sense was available – just not used, I guess. (How in the world did my maternal grandmother have ten kids without technology!? Guess they used common sense. Actually, I guess they didn’t use it because that’s a lot of agony for one small person - my grandmother was also 4'11"). Out of this little woman, my mother, they extracted a baby with her knees lodged up under her ribcage because there wasn’t enough room ‘in there’. When my legs were pulled out straight to measure me, the result was 25”, and, as the legs were released, I immediately returned to the familiar position. Since I was on my stomach at this point, my father laughed out loud and remarked that I looked just like a frog! A French frog! You can imagine that his remark didn’t go over very well with this woman who had just gone through hell! (Well, ‘hell’ might not have been the word she used when telling me this story, over and over, but that is what it has come down to.) Bet you thought I got so sidetracked that I forgot about Christine. As I was reading this sensational yet confusing news, my 6’ tall grandmother (someone with whom you didn’t want to tangle), grabbed the newspaper and scolded me for reading it! Hey! I didn’t put the paper there – I just happened to be walking by – don’t get mad at ME! Of course I didn’t say that out loud. I began thinking that if doctors could do an operation like that, taking a pee pee off and sewing a wee wee on, how in hell didn’t anyone know enough to get me out of there sooner!? I had been kicking and twisting around long enough: someone should have known something was wrong. Even at 12 years old I was still living with guilt for all the trouble I had caused: not only my Mother’s medical problems but the fact that my Father didn’t want any children, especially a girl. The constant reminders from my Mother - and being Catholic, I really didn’t have any choice – guilt was pre-ordained.
Age 13 - 18
July 08, 2010
In the 6th grade a boy kissed me and I was sure I was pregnant. I mean, I really KNEW I was pregnant! After a few minutes of agony over my certain condition, I told my best girlfriend. I thought this friend must know about such things since her family raised farm animals and every spring she used the word ‘breeding’ and I knew that word related to babies. However, when she tried to explain why I couldn’t be pregnant, laying out (Freudian slip) the only way one can become impregnated, I told her she was nuts and I left the room. So much for my first introduction into the world of SEX! About a year or two after that, my mother sat me down and brought up the subject and I once again left the room in disgust. Why were these people determined to talk about the forbidden subject. Maybe it was just me who was making it forbidden - wonder why.
Trip to N.Y Age 13 or 14
July 14, 2010
Our class of nine students took an overnight trip to New York City to attend the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show with the Rockettes!!! I knew at that moment what I was going to do when I got out of school: I would then be in a group where I wasn’t THE tallest person with THE longest legs. I would be a Rockette. Well, that was what I excitedly told my 6' tall grandmother and she looked down and over her glasses and told me that no granddaughter of hers would be a tramp. All those girls were cheap trash and had awful reputations. I was given the choice of two standard careers: I could become a teacher or a nurse. I expressed myself by sticking my tongue out and making an awful sound. My grandmother told me I would change my mind as I got older but I most certainly would not become a dancer with everything exposed, kicking those legs up over my head with the whole world to see parts of my body which should be revealed only to my husband. Oh my gawd! I was going to get the sex talk once more so I left abruptly, never to mention the Rockettes again. Well at least not until my grandmother was 93 and I thought she would appreciate hearing what she had told me so many years earlier: boy, was I wrong, she still had the same point of view. So much for mellowing.
My first experience with prophylatics
August 01, 2010
When I was in the Navy, I was assigned temporary duty for a week so was out of my element. I was used to being around transmitters and teletype machines and Morse Code gadgets and so on but ‘they’ sent me to the Administration Building on NTC and put me in with Yeomen (secretaries) which happened to be all Sailors. Pay day fell on the second day I was there and I announced that I was going to go to the Commissary to cash my check and get a few things. One of the Sailors, being funny, said, “Will you pick up some prophylatics for me – here’s a ten.” He thought I would have a quick retort but instead, I told him I would. I didn’t want to appear stupid and ask what they were so I just left. So I’m walking around the Commissary with my check in one hand and a ten dollar bill in the other. I cashed my check and put the money away but kept the ten dollars in my hand. I picked up the few things I needed but darn if I could find anything which had the word “prophylatics” on it. I didn’t know if I was looking for a box, a bottle or a bag so I asked a Sailor if he could help me find the item (still had ten dollars in my fist). “Sure”, he said and led me over to a shelf and asked if I wanted regular or large while he was ‘signaling’ some of his pals. So there I am, in front of a lot of boxes and so many choices so I just grabbed on box and thanked the Sailor. I proceeded to check out, putting all my purchases on the counter and paying with money from my wallet and then I put the box of whatever it was that I bought and put the ten dollar bill on top of the box. I was a very large girl so Sailors didn’t pay any attention to me – in’ that’ way. However, as I walked back to the Admin. Building, there was a flock of Sailors following me. I climbed the massive steps and walked into the office where all my co-workers were waiting for me. I asked if my slip was showing. No, it wasn’t. I asked if the seams on my stockings were straight. They were. These chuckling guys asked what was wrong and I showed them the flock outside the window. I thought they would all die laughing. At this point they realized that I didn’t know what I had purchased so one asked me if I knew and I answered ‘prophylatics’ and they asked if I knew what they were. My blank look allowed them to continue the torture so one opened the box and pulled out a little packet which he tore open and removed the contents which he then extended. They then asked me again if I knew and I, with all my worldly experience, am so happy to recognize the item and let them know I’m not totally backwards so I said, “Oh, a finger cot, but why do you guys need finger cots?” Back in the barracks, I told some WAVES about the bizarre errand I had been sent on and I thought they were all going to die laughing. What was it I was missing? One of the girls, feeling sorry for me, I guess, explained what they were and what they were used for and how they were applied. Oh my GAWD! Since I had never seen a male naked and didn’t know how babies were born (I kept walking out of the room when someone tried to tell me) and there weren’t any magazines back then, everything having to do with boys and their parts seemed to remain a mystery I didn’t want solved.
Beginning of Motor Homing
September 19, 2010
Four years after marriage and 3-1/2 years of marriage counseling, I left husband #2 by driving away in a new motor home I had just purchased with the monies made from selling my condo. The only way ‘out’ from our house on the small mountain in La Mesa (San Diego) was down a steep hill with many curves: the scared-as-hell feeling (this was my first trip) was compensated by the true feeling of freedom I hadn’t had in four years. I had to agree with Martin Luther King, I was “Free at last”. I knew that I would never return even though I had promised the husband that I would. After three years in RI (my home from birth until age 16), it finally occurred to me that one can never ‘go home’. I didn’t have any family and no children to worry about – I was free as a bird. I had imagined that I would return to RI and pick up with all the friends I had made in my youth but I discovered that they were parents of grown children and some were even grandparents. How did they get to be so old! Having lunch with a handful of friends once in a while wasn’t enough to hold me so I sold almost everything I had in that little rented beach house and I took off in the motor home which had been sitting for 3 years – except for a few trips to Maine and NH and Vermont to visit other friends. As I was getting the motor home ready (new batteries, tires and engine checked) I had heard about a group of single people, each with their own RV, who belonged to a group which met up all over the United States. Adventure! Sounded great and maybe I would meet a nice man! Wrong. I learned very quickly that the odds were good that I would meet some man but the goods would be odd. With more single women traveling alone, the few men were in great demand by women who didn’t care about their character – all he had to be was a male. Fortunately, there were several women with discerning tastes and we became friends: not man-haters, just not wishing to become one a string of affairs. One of my favorite men, with whom I am still friends, told me that he called all the women he had been with ‘his team’: he told me that I could be part of his team if I wanted to but I informed him that I really wasn’t a team player. And that is why we are still friends after ten years. But I digress. I began traveling and caravanning with a few singles groups of RV’ers and had a great time: loved the campfires and the pot lucks and hiking and dancing. There were about 100 of us in Ajo, AZ for the National Fiddlers Contest, although some fiddled around, none of us played a fiddle. The attraction was we could park at the Moose Lodge out in the barren dessert (for free) and the hall where the contest was held had a huge, beautiful dance floor. Because the women outnumbered the men by three to one, at least, the ‘rule’ was that the men ‘had to’ dance with all the women, even if they had a current favorite. I happened to be asked to dance (didn’t happen very often – for a few reasons, I am guessing: one being that I was a bit taller than many of the men and maybe, but I’m still just guessing, a little more outspoken about how I felt when the men peed on my tires – like a dog, marking their territory.) I have a very bad habit that if a man isn’t going to lead, then I will because someone needs to. So, in the middle of that wonderful and fairly crowded dance floor, the man I was dancing with stopped, and in a very loud voice said to me, “Did you want to lead or are you going to let ME lead?!” Being known for having a caustic sense of humor, I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry. Ever since the sex change I forget sometimes.” Well, he no longer held me close but now at arms length and we finished the dance – with me still leading. I think he was too shocked to tell anyone because other men did ask me to dance and they managed to know how to lead. Every morning, the group would meet out in the compound area for something called “Hugs and Mugs”. The women hugged everyone but the men only hugged the women – they shook hands with the other men. I saw the dancing partner way across the compound and decided to sashay all the way over to him. I got up real close and said “Well, I’ll bet you don’t know whether to hug me or shake my hand” and I gave him a little smile (well, it was more like a smirk) and off I went. The events of the day were discussed at these Hugs & Mugs gatherings and some were going to go hiking or sightseeing or three-wheeling. A few of us decided to clean house or cook or read or just hang around. Things were quiet and I assumed that my lack-of-lead dancing partner (although ‘partner’ isn’t really accurate) hadn’t said a word to anyone about my comment and that was a good thing. What a fool I was to be so naïve: not only had he told someone, he had told the leader of the group. There was a little knock on my door and there stood the leader – at that time it was a rather tall and overweight woman – and she told me that I couldn’t be part of the group if I had had a sex change. I was so flabbergasted that the ‘partner’ had actually believed it: I thought he might tell someone as a joke but not for real. I stood there looking at this huge woman and just couldn’t keep myself from blurting out, “Oh, I’m so sorry to have started this trouble because it isn’t true.” As I was about to continue and tell her how it came about (with the bad leading) she interrupted and reiterated that it wasn’t acceptable. Since I had already kind of tired of the group (because I found them boring, without any purpose other than to try having fun, and because I was just waiting for the patent to come through) I thought, ‘what the hell’ and I QUICKLY said, “When I said it wasn’t true, that is actually only a part of the story – you see, I couldn’t afford the whole sex change so I just took hormones and it affected me from the waist up. If I can save enough money, I’ll have the other half done.” I’m still in touch with many in the group because they understand that it is my sense of humor which is a little strange – not my body.
JPL Tour
November 10, 2010
Dr. J was so generous to offer a guided tour of JPL and Eric and I took advantage of him – no, no, no – we took advantage of his OFFER! Fortunately, Eric and I had agreed to meet at a Starbucks before the appointed hour. Not only did he get me on-line (not sure what I had done to prevent it) but we caravanned to JPL. Even though I lived about 4 miles away for many years, I wasn’t exactly sure how to get there and Eric mentioned that he did the yearly open house. I say it was fortunate because when we arrived at the gate, Eric said whatever it was he had to say and I pulled up and the guard took one look at Charlie on the passenger seat and told me I couldn’t go in. I asked if I covered him up (had a blanket on the seat), could I go in but the answer was still ‘no’. So, what would a damsel in distress do? Call Eric! He was just getting ready to park but he came back and picked me up at a parking lot about ¼ mile away, off government property. We registered and got our badges and Dr. J came in and took us away. Even though Eric has been there many times, I have never seen anyone as excited as he was during the tour. I have to admit that it was pretty awesome seeing, in person, the space craft which had gone and come back and some prototypes. Even if Eric hadn’t been talking, I would have heard a noise because those wheels in his brain were really gearing up. As it turns out, one of the materials used gave Eric an idea of how to improve something he is already working on. I had become mesmerized by the shape and style of the tire spokes of a space vehicle – not sure why other than I wanted to know why they were shaped like that – did it serve any special purpose when the craft was dropped on the moon, or wherever? They were really unusual and that’s all I’m going to say – I don’t have to defend myself. Dr. J informed us that his department, Cryogenics, had lost its funding that day or that week. Cryogenics: remember Ted Williams and freezing his head? (after he was dead) The tour lasted about 90 minutes and we returned to the lobby to turn in our badges and ask people to take our pictures using Eric’s phone – amazing technology. Photo is in The Lounge forum. We parted ways and I went back to my motor home which was parked at the Glendale Elks Lodge – with 30 amp power so that was good. HAD to go into the bar to register for 3 nights and the first drink for a visiting Elk is always free. (Even though I have stayed there about four other times.) Saw some familiar faces, got invited to a ‘Day at the Races’ fund-raiser the next evening and had a grand time. I took a quick nap because I still had another ‘meet and greet’ that evening – Kamala at IKEA!
Meeting Kamala on EN Journey
November 20, 2010
(This is continuance after meeting Eric & Dr. J. at JPL): After the 20 minute power nap, I spoke with Kamala to coordinate our meeting. Kamala was going to be with a friend, Lori, and we were to meet at the Ikea store in Burbank – movie town. Lori’s father had just had major surgery in Kentucky and she was going to fly there the next day to see him – the surgery was successful so that was a good thing. I’m not so sure I would have been emotionally ready to go meet a strange stranger after fretting all day but she did: on the other hand, that was her only chance to visit with Kamala as they live about 250 miles apart. Across the entrance to the store, I saw a shining, smiling face – grinning from ear to ear and figured out that it must be Kamala. Even though I had seen her picture in one of her avatars, I was surprised because she looked so very cute and so very young – and full of it. After all the ‘formalities’ of meeting and greeting, we went into the store and poked around. Kamala’s friend Lori is trying to lose weight so she bought a scale: I tried to talk her out of it saying that the first week she would lose and be all excited and then the next few weeks she would be stuck and get depressed and then eat. Motherly (and experienced) advice was totally ignored. Kamala came running up to Lori and I, all excited over this bowl she had found. We asked her what the hell she was thinking – the ‘thing’ was awful – about a yard long and 18” wide and so shallow that it couldn’t hold anything, it was woven of reeds and it was ugly. Kamala loved it but Lori has been to Kamala’s home and she asked her where the heck she was going to put it. You would have thought that we were taking candy from a baby – she made such a fuss but did not buy it but managed to grab three huge chocolate bars to take home. Yup, that’s what she did! After Ikea, we walked across the street to a Mexican restaurant and had dinner and the other two had huge margaritas and I had a beer. As inventors might do, we talked about her project and where she was stuck and, being on the outside, I could see the answer: hope it works for her and her idea. Kamala, for some reason, paid for my dinner and wouldn’t even let me leave the tip or anything. That gesture was so unexpected but so very sweet: maybe she was having one of those “Be kind to old people” days – or, she was just being herself. We left the restaurant and we went to my car so they could meet Charlie. He was SO excited – strangers! Maybe one of them will save me! Give me a GOOD home, feed me, love me! I told him to get over it. We parted ways but stay in touch. By this time, I had had a 14 hour day and was looking forward to going to bed – in the parking lot of an Elks Lodge in downtown Glendale. As I stood naked in my shower, I imagined a few Lodge members standing outside and drooling. A girl can dream…. Photo of visit with Kamala and Lori will appear in The Lounge soon.
My Visit with Tinabops/Christina
November 24, 2010
Tina and I had agreed to meet ‘half way’ in Monrovia, CA, at a MiMi’s Restaurant. I arrived early and asked the hostess for a quiet spot where two people could talk – she suggested the enclosed patio. I then told the hostess that I was expecting another person and I didn’t know what she looked like but her name was Tina and she would probably ask for Julie. The patio was a great choice and I was seated away from others (just so we could talk, not because they knew me there) next to beautiful windows overlooking a little garden. I wasn’t seated too long before an older woman (older than 70) came in, calling out the name “Julie” so I stood up and asked if she was Tina (I would have been astounded if she had said she was). But, she said she wasn’t so I walked out to the hostess stand with her and told her I was the wrong ‘Julie’. It should be noted that the name of the hostess was also Julie. I then walked back and sat down, ordered coffee and told the waitress that the woman I was waiting for was joining me on her birthday. (That was the ONLY lie I told that day: Tina’s birthday was the next day. What the heck, one day off!) The waitress said she would take care of it. I got a little nervous waiting so thought that going to the ladie’s room might be a good idea while I had time. I walked out of the patio, across the lobby and across the largest dining room to the restrooms – then, of course, I had to walk back. A short while later, Tina was brought in by the hostess, personally, and she asked if THIS was the right person and I knew it was. I knew because we had spoken on the phone at least six times and the sweet look matched the voice I had heard but had not prepared me for how pretty she is: great hair (very envious I am) and nice eyes and a beautiful smile. Tina and I hugged and her sunglasses fell off and there was a little commotion. I thought that maybe the excitement of meeting me was just too much for her: I could certainly understand. Okay, she dropped her glasses because they were just resting on the top of her head and, being a hugger, I probably jarred them loose. We sat down and started talking and the poor waitress came back about five times to ask if we were ready and we weren’t. We decided to concentrate on the menus and make our decisions but the conversation got off-track again. Finally, we knew what we wanted and we ordered. Lunch lasted two hours – two hours which really flew by. If I hadn’t had a friend, from 40 years ago, expecting me, we might have stayed a while longer. We managed a lot of talking while eating because one would be chewing and swallowing and then talking as the other one took a bite and chewed and swallowed. We seemed to have a rhythm which was great – we got a lot done inbetween chews. While we were lunching, I felt for my napkin and my hand felt something odd on my thigh. I felt that whatever it was shouldn’t be there so I leaned over and saw that I had not removed the long, sticky tape they put on the legs of jeans – the tape which gives the size so you don’t have to mess around and look for the label. I started to laugh and told Tina what I had found, and just removed, and then I recounted all the walking I had done with the tape on: a long walk in the parking lot to the restaurant plus all those trips to or by the hostess station and into the large dining room. What’s a girl to do other than remove the tape and have a good laugh. Life is too short to worry about what all those people thought: on the other hand, why did I think that anyone was watching me anyway? Just how many senior citizens do YOU watch? A young babe or a young hunk, maybe, but not ‘us’ – well, unless we’re using a walker which has bells to tell you to get out of our way. But, I digress. After lunch, the waitress remembered and brought one of those chocolate cakes which is filled with melting chocolate which flows out when you poke it with your fork – think it is called a volcano or a molten chocolate cake or something like that. Tina offered me some but I, fortunately, do not have a sweet tooth (except for plain, twice-baked cheesecake). After lunch, we walked to my car so I could get my camera and introduce Tina to Charlie who is always so patient when I leave him and so appreciative when I ‘find him’. So, with dog and camera, Tina and I prowled the parking lot, looking for someone to take our picture. (Prowling at 2 in the afternoon isn’t the same as doing it at midnight – so I have read.) We found one person and he or she (can’t remember - its not that we couldn’t tell whether it was a he or a she, its just that I can’t remember) took the picture and quickly handed the camera back so I didn’t dare ask if he/she would take a back-up picture. Fortunately, there were three people just arriving: a younger man, an older man who had probably had a stroke, and woman who looked horrified when I asked the stroke victim if he would be so kind as to take a picture of us. That nice man agreed and I think he was grateful that someone was giving him something to do and believing that he COULD do it; however, the woman gave us a horrified look – as though we were about to abuse the elderly. The nice man took our picture, with his thumb in front of the lens, and he seemed so happy that he had made us happy – who cares about that thumb! (Anyway, Kosmo doctored the picture and removed it.) I felt like sticking out my tongue as the mean lady walked by but I was with a young woman, whom I had just met, and who was in touch with a lot of EN-ers, so I decided to behave myself. I left Tina, almost reluctantly as we had had such wonderful conservations on all sorts of subjects: amazing how easy it was to talk to a stranger yet someone I felt that I knew and certainly someone I will stay friends with. I arrived at my ‘old friend’s’ house just when I was supposed to and she asked why I looked so happy. I told her that I had just had lunch with a friend of Thomas Edison and she didn’t ask anymore questions. Did I mention that she has beautiful eyes and hair and a smile which is hesitant and also welcoming.
EN Journey Takes me to Penny's Home
December 11, 2010
I arrived at the Mission Viejo Elks Lodge and, as with all other Lodges, you must check in at the bar to get permission to park. I went into the bar and filled out more paperwork than usual. I called Penny to let her know I was in her area and she invited me over and gave me directions. I wrote down the directions, obviously in Chinese, because I got lost three times and made at least four phone calls telling Penny where I THOUGHT I was. By the time I arrived, about 30 to 45 minutes late, I was ready for a drink but decided that beer was the best choice because I had that return trip and who the hell knew where I was or where I was going. Penny didn’t look anything like I had pictured her. I knew she had had something to do with insurance so assumed that she was a ‘girl’, working at a desk, taking messages, etc. (How sexist is THAT!). When we met I saw a tall, thin, classically elegant, stylish woman, much younger than I thought and much younger than I, with a wonderful smile and fondness behind her eyes. What a surprise, so I told her what I had expected and, fortunately, we had a good laugh. Beyond her good looks, she is very quick-witted and very funny. The first evening’s dinner included two other diners and was wonderful with steaks cooked on the grill outdoors (beautiful Southern California weather). We talked about George and Gracie and both Charlies and inventing and about our adventures on EN. Charlie made himself at home and occupied George’s bed while George squeezed in with Gracie in her bed. Conversation was so very easy and natural and never coaxed as it can often be when meeting strangers. In fact, none of my visits with the other EN-ers was coaxed or not natural – maybe that is one of the things we have in common – an ability to communicate with each other – easily. The Penster is the perfect hostess and she had many tidbits for us to eat – most of them would absorb alcohol – if eaten; however, we were talking so much that I couldn’t drink AND eat AND talk so I just drank. After one beer, and all that conversation, I made the decision to have one of those martinis which seemed to be the house specialty. Well, one led to two and two led to three and that led me to the sofa. You have seen the multiple photos of me in that sad state but you have to admit that in most of the photos, I look like I’m having fun. As much as I don’t like most of the photos, I am so happy to know that I can have fun – had forgotten that. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I awoke in the morning. I was offered supplies to freshen up but all I wanted was coffee. Maybe two cups. After that, I left, got lost three times, and arrived at the motor home and went to bed. After sleeping most of the day, I called Penny to tell her I wouldn’t be back for dinner (they had invited me the night before – actually before they saw how much alcohol I can consume). I not only was hung-over but I think all the traveling and all the visiting, with strange strangers (EN-ers), and the problems with losing the motor home’s roof A/C cover, and all that rain just left me drained. That’s my story and I’m sticking with it – I felt so bad that it certainly HAD to be more than just a hang-over. However, the day after, I was feeling pretty good and called Penny again and got invited to both lunch and dinner: guess they had forgotten about my abuse of vodka. Only got lost about twice on the second trip and when I went home that night, got lost only once. If I had stayed a few more days, I might have been able to get there with one try. Believe me, it is very confusing because the streets change names and many are in loops so you can cross one name and then cross it again a few miles away – without turning around. Really. On that third day, we just worked on our computers and talked and had lunch and laughed a bit. At that night’s dinner party, I stated, very firmly, that I was NOT drinking. But, after about an hour, I remembered that wonderful vodka with magnificent olives and I broke down and had ONE. We promised each other that we would call Imajane; however, the day and evening passed and then it became too late. I left the Elks Lodge the next morning and went to North San Diego but returned to Penny’s house the following day just to make that call to Jane. Most times, when I say I am going to do something, I do it and that call was too important to ignore. Since neither Penny nor I knew how to ‘do’ a conference call on our cell phones, the return trip (only about 70 minutes one way) was worth it. Talking with Jane was like talking with someone we already knew and whom we had spoken with many times. Some how, some where, we will all get together. Meeting Penny, and being able to spend so much time with her, was an Absolute pleasure (little vodka joke). Even when I wasn’t drinking, she was funny.
US Navy WAVES: Bootcamp
March 23, 2011
BOOTCAMP: BEING PUT ON REPORT My first week in Bootcamp (Bainbridge, Md., Feb. 1959) was not without incident: when we lined up in our civilian clothes and were taught to march, right over to Stores for uniforms, I couldn’t help smiling. Since my mother had moved us to snowless CA from snow-laden RI when I was 16, I was so excited – besides being homesick for RI. I was put on report for looking up at the falling snow and smiling while marching and losing step. My excuse was just too lame for the Company Commander to believe. Okay, I told myself, just live with it – the Navy was going to be tough. A few days later, sitting in the chow hall, I happened to sit next to a recruit who had been in Bootcamp for four weeks: a seasoned veteran for sure. Anyway, she pointed to the Shell Oil sticky, twisted strips hanging from the rafters and she asked if I knew what they were. I told her that I did know – they were there to catch flies. Looking back on this, I might remember this experienced recruit smiling; however, she went on to tell me that they were made to look like that but they were actually dripping salt peter into our food. Not knowing what she was talking about and not wanting to admit naivite’, I asked her ‘why’: her response didn’t make any sense at all – she said it was to keep us WAVES from jumping over the food service line and attacking the cooks. I quickly looked at the huge, sweaty sailors who were dishing out the food and I wondered why that was a problem. So, not wanting to ask other WAVES about salt peter and exposing my ignorance, I did the only thing I could think of – I called my mother and asked her. My mother made me repeat the question at least twice before asking WHY I wanted to know. I did exactly what I had been taught and I told the truth: it is dripping into our food from things hanging from the ceiling to keep us away from overweight sailors. My mother told me not to worry about it – it wasn’t going to hurt me. About a day later, I was called in by our Company Commander and asked why I had called my mother telling her such an outrageous story: seems that my mother had called the base asking for an explanation. I admitted that someone, in another company, had told me that and because I didn’t want to ask anyone else, I called my mother and asked her. The Company Commander demanded to know who had told me that story; fortunately, I had no idea so, although I was put on report, again, the real culprit remained free. The third time I was put on report was when, marching with the WAVE’S Drill Team, practicing for a parade in Washington, DC, my toe scuffed on the very buffed wood floor and I fell down. I was 5’9” at that time so it was quite a ways down and my knees hit the floor first – boy, did that hurt. But, being the good recruit I knew I was supposed to be, I stood up and got into formation again – in the front row since I was one of the tallest. After Drill Team, I was once again called in and given a scolding about being so clumsy – and put on report. Actually, the punishment for report #2 was that each day for a week I had to buff the floor we marched on – rather ironic, I think. (Actually, if anyone had been watching the first time I used the buffer, I would certainly have been reprimanded again: I wasn’t prepared for how large and heavy and powerful it was and it got away from me – running wildly until it hit a baseboard.) I made it through Bootcamp without any more demerits and, believe it or not, all of my memories are wonderful.
Late Teens
April 23, 2011
I was in limbo: couldn’t be a dancer, refused to be a teacher or nurse because, even at that early age, I knew I didn’t like kids and I hated the sight of blood. So, what to do? I would get married (children in other countries married young) and I would marry my cousin who was so handsome and funny. Another wrong choice and when I tried to explain that I was sure I had been adopted and my real mother was a nun who got pregnant and couldn’t keep me so my cousin wasn’t really related to me. The adoption story didn’t go over very well with my aunt - the mother of that so-called cousin - so I tried it out at school and then again with the Parish Priest after Mass one Sunday. The more I told the story, the more I believed it and couldn’t understand why no one felt sorry for me or wanted to comfort me during this life-altering crisis. When that story had lost its audience, I introduced another tale: I had been a twin and my Mother didn’t want two children so my sister had been given up for adoption and my mother often wondered if she had given up the wrong baby. Looking back on all this, it’s no wonder that my Mother and I never seemed to be on the same path and were more often at loggerheads. I made it through high school but not without some commotion. Because my father had never given my Mother any child support, we moved from RI to CA since most of my Mother’s siblings, like lemmings, had moved there and she needed at least emotional support. At this same time my grandparents were changing their lives and would move closer to the mother of my un-cousin, one of their two daughters, so it all worked out. It was difficult leaving both of them. My Jr. and Sr. years were spent at Pasadena H.S. where I absolutely did not fit in – except with some of the other girls who were also a little odd (today they are called nerds). My Mother had found employment and we lived in a house next door to an apartment building with 13 apartments and 26 gay guys who seemed to rotate their roommates. Of course I didn’t know they were gay, I didn’t even know that some boys liked boys and some girls liked girls. I just assumed that if you were a boy and you liked another boy, you would follow the Christine Jorgensen route and have an operation to replace the “thing” which male’s had. I was almost 18 and still a Late Bloomer. My Mother hired one of the boys, who never seemed to go to a real job, and had him cut the grass and weed the flower garden. When he showed up in high-heeled white leather thongs and a pair of old, soft denim Levi’s, with the legs cut off so short that the crotch was not much more than the double-stitched seam, she sent him home but not before I saw him. She didn’t volunteer any information and I didn’t ask because I was afraid it might have to do with his “thing” and something I really didn’t want to know any more about. (Somewhere along the way I had stopped using the term ‘wee wee’ since it didn’t seem appropriate at such an advanced age but I hadn’t found a word to replace it and p_nis was just too awful to even think about and I certainly couldn’t say it.)
YouTube
May 29, 2011
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umWeS290-nA Had this video made about 4 years ago before name changes.
Offer to Help Our Government Save Money
May 30, 2011
I’m not particularly stupid although I might be a bit naïve. I say ‘naïve’ because I thought that if our government could save money, they would jump at a chance to do that! In 2003, I was living in Freeport Maine and joined the Made in Maine organization – a BIG deal in Maine. Through that group, I was introduced to the person almost in charge of the program for keeping low-income people and homes warm (I believe that it USED to be called something like Cuddle Me Up Program). My approach, based on a lot of research, was that the user of a pillowcase could save 5% on the heating bill just by turning down the thermostat: turn it down 3 degrees and save 15%. Since the government was helping with, or paying for the energy bills, I mentioned that the government would actually be saving money. I offered to sell the pillowcases for $2 above cost. I got turned down because the government didn’t want to spend any money. Duh? Not being TOO discouraged, I contacted the Citizens Energy Heat Assistance , a program started by Joe Kennedy. My approach was the same but this time I offered to donate ten pillowcases to prove my point. I got turned down again because this non-profit agency didn’t want to save any money. If I couldn’t sell wholesale, or even give away pillowcases in Maine and Massachusetts, during snow season, what chance did I have anywhere else. Maybe the approach should have been more direct: when your agency saves money you will then be able to hire more government employees and your bonus or salary will increase.
Golf Course
August 06, 2011
As mentioned before, I was a really late bloomer so almost every experience was a new experience (beyond scholastics - but not gymnastics because I had flunked gym in H.S. even though I was on the Swim Team.) So, a weekend trip (from Pasadena, CA) to San Diego, with first real boyfriend, who was ten years older, was a really new experience. I had no idea what we would be doing in San Diego but I had been in the Navy there and knew the town pretty good so thought it would be a fun trip. Boyfriend had other ideas: the purpose of the trip was to play golf at Cottonwood where the cottonwood trees 'shed' fluffy, white, cotton-like covered seeds, adding extra challenge, I guess. Being a good sport, I went along for the ride in the golf cart, where I remained until called upon to go to a little round cup and remove a really long pole with a flag on it. Boyfriend hit ball and it went into that cup, or hole, and he was very, very happy. Okay, I didn't 'get it' but if that made him ecstatic, so be it. I had no further instructions so joined boyfriend in golf cart. We were traveling to the next place with a marker and boyfriend looked over at me and saw that I was holding a pole (he couldn't see the flag) and he asked what I was doing. Golly, wasn't golf HIS game? Why was he asking me? But, I answered that I was carrying the flag. He asked why as he quickly turned the cart around, without warning me or telling me to hold on: seems he was hoping to get back to that empty cup before the next golfers got a ball up on that mowed part of the grass. He didn't appear really angry but he also wasn't too happy so I thought that I had better respond to the 'why' question: "I thought that you won the flag so I took it even though it doesn't seem too logical because where in the world are we going to put nine or 18 flags in the cart? Whoever designed the cart certainly didn't think ahead." Needless to say, we finished eight more holes, kind of in silence, and my feet didn't leave the cart until we got back to the golf shop. I saw it as a lesson learned, an adventure: he never mentioned it again.
Another Attempt at Dating
May 08, 2012
I'm not known for being stupid and you have to give me credit for at least continuing to attempt dating. HOWEVER, I had a third date with someone last week and think that I might be cured in this endeavor. This guy is about 6'2", has a great build, dresses nicely and "appears" to be somewhat intelligent so am not sure why he felt he could take the liberty to suggest that he wanted to give me a make-over, based on his girlfriend in Gilroy, who kind of reminds him of me. And, since he had such success giving HER a makeover, he thought he would try it again. Did I mention that she is an EX-girlfriend? Hmmmm, wonder why. Here are a few excerpts from our e-mail messages: "Hey Howdy Julie: Thanks for a neat time last night, I enjoyed it. I chatted about the lady I was going with in Gilroy, and how she is close to your size and shape.... so how would you like a gentleman's view on you?? Let me know if you would like me to do a minor make-over on you. A couple of suggestions you might try for fun." Just a little offended because that night happened to be one of my better-looking nights - so I thought. So, I responded: "Thanks - I also had a good time. Well, are you going to do this make-over via e-mail or in person? e-mail might be safer - just in case I cry." Dwaine responded: "First as I said this is a minor make-over not a complete do over as you don't need it. I think that you have a nice body even though I have never seen it - it's always hidden with clothes, if you wish to show it, do it. I would suggest a different bra, and a blouse or sweater that show the nice set you have, guys like boobs, at least I do. The bra needs to be one that points the boobs, not flattens them. The one Kohl's has works pretty good. Not sure what you can do with your hair, but something needs done, maybe a new dye job with a bit of streaking, or?? and maybe a different style?? Well I hope you don't throw rocks at me, it is what it is. ........Dwaine,,, I better hide." I should mention here that he told me he bought two bras at Kohl's for the Gilroy Girl - not sure WHY he told me that because the conversation just ended there and we went on to talk about something else - probably karaoke since he sings. Being a little startled by his bluntness (because, like I mentioned, I thought it was one of my better nights), I decided to end the discussion. Even though Dwaine had stuff going for him, he had a bald spot right in the middle of the back of his head (he is 73). What hair he did have looked okay but I wouldn't think that a balding guy would really want to criticize someone else - especially someone he had just recently met. My last message to him was: " You don't have to hide. I should have told you the truth in the beginning but, because I didn't feel as though we would ever be more than friends, I didn't: I had a sex-change operation several years ago and I'm about as female as I want to be and can't see putting any more effort into improving. But, thank you for your concern about how I appear. Julie" I haven't heard from Dwaine - maybe he is remembering those four slow dances we had. Hope so....
