It appears that I've been neglecting this blog. Again.
I see that the last entry was the 6th May, and now I've been hunting around trying to work out what I've been doing since then. Obviously I've been ticking away happily as a bloke for most of it, but you're not interested in that I'm sure. What you want is frocks, and various tales of tranny life in the Colonies. Errrm, you may be disappointed.
I see that in my last post I mentioned that I was thinking of buying a new wig. And I did; a week or so after that post I went back into Wollongong and got this one:
It makes me look a little older and more sophisticated than the other one does, but I love it. And it seems to have met with a good response from other people, so I guess it was a good choice.
Mrs Rachel came with me to help make the choice; it's always good to have another person with you when buying something that so defines how you look. Unfortunately the lady in the salon thought that she was my mother, which was amusing up to a point, but, like The War, is something best not mentioned ...
For anyone wondering, my own hair is growing nicely, and I may use it again in a couple of months.
That picture was taken at the end of May when I went out with Lettie, Mrs Rachel and various girls and partners from the surrounding area to Wollongong's Japanese restaurant (again). It was a good night out, and I chose to wear trousers - leather trousers. Leather trousers from a charity shop. Bargain. I like to look ultra-sexy on a budget.
And that was it for two months. For six weeks or so the urge to dress left me, and then for a couple of weeks the opportunity didn't present itself. This partially explains why this blog hasn't been updated; there wasn't anything to write about really.
When Rachel re-emerged, at the end of July, it was still with the new wig and we were out in Wollongong once again. But I managed to completely fail to get any pictures of the outfit I wore. It was actually this one, but with different shoes:
Oh, and a different wig, of course. And a different bag. And a different jacket. And different tights.
It was the same dress. And me inside it.
And this weekend I was out again, when we all headed up to Sydney for the Seahorse Ball, run by (of course) The Seahorse Society.
I looked fab:
Mrs Rachel looked fab as well, but I didn't get any pictures of her. I'm rubbish like that.
The ball was good fun. Each bit of it seemed very average (and I really could have done without the Elvis impersonator), but the whole thing seemed to hang together well. Rather like one of my outfits really. We danced and drank and ate, and had good company. Brooke and Fiona from Melbourne were a beautiful couple, and I was privileged to share a table with a Uniting Church minister who was accompanying one of her trangender parishioners as part of the support the congregation was providing during the transition process. You read many terrible tales of what happens when people's religious beliefs meet the trangender world, and it was great to encounter a positive story of support and fellowship at first hand.
The day after the ball we had a brunch and shopping trip into Newtown, where I failed to buy anything at all, despite being sorely tempted by the vast array of goodies on display. Mrs Rachel was suitably impressed. With it being Winter here I was rather hoping to wear some of my cooler weather wardrobe, but the forecast was for temperatures in the high twenties (celcius) and it wasn't wrong. So it was light Summer wear for me:
I also skipped a layer of makeup (no beard concealer) and that seemed to work out OK. I have a new electric shaver that seems to do a wonderful close job, and just didn't need it. I do find that I tend to overdo the slap, so being able to leave a bit out helps give a more natural look.
Heading home from Newtown we stopped off to pick up my children, who had been stopping with their cousin (my niece) for the night. This was another milestone, as it was the first time that any member of Mrs Rachel's family had met Rachel in the flesh. It was a nervous moment for me, of course, but it all went off OK. Indeed I have been promised a trawl through her cast-off skirt collection at some point, as it turns out that we're roughly the same size; she's diplomatically smaller than I, of course.
When we got home I was spotted by both of our neighbours, who may or may not have already known, but probably do know now.
And that brings me up to date. I'm out again in a couple of weeks, and then we'll see where we go from there.