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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

...meanwhile, back in the jungle...
1:45 a.m. -- 2009-01-04

How exactly does one slink back into a blogging community?

Apologetically. That seems most appropriate. The alternative is to 'brass it out' and never mention that you've been away... but other members of the blogging community are real people (despite their fictionalised identities), and they deserve an apology when you suddenly stop talking to them for a few months, and then turn up again.

So: sorry, real people. What can I tell you? We're living in an economic downturn and I had to undertake work on terms that I don't like at all, to stay afloat. I see a lot of certain stretches of motorway, nowadays!

That didn't help. Also, there's the fact that 'The Thing' I started this diary in order to write about... just doesn't mean very much to me anymore. Take it from me: telling your story can be cathartic. (Although not in the literal sense, since to a medic catharsis is a purging of the bowels. Is the bottom falling out of your world? Drink rough cider, and let the world fall out of your bottom. Ahem.)

You see, I wanted to "get something off my chest"... and to my surprise, it turned out to include even the ultra-stylish Rigby & Peller 'Opulence' bra. Quite literally, off my chest. I haven't cross-dressed for months.

Traditionally, winter is Trannying Season. Dark evenings allow my furtive 'sisters' to scurry around the block. (And then report on a forum somewhere: "First time outdoors! *gasp*"). Furthermore, wigs can be worn without the caked-on makeup being selectively washed away by rivulets of sweat.

(Wow, I'm really selling this trannying business to you, aren't I?)

Whatever. It really doesn't mean much to me anymore. Certainly not enough to get me off my lazy behind and into the Full Molly, in my newly-truncated free time. To some people, at a different point on the T* experience curve, my words will seem like a betrayal, a foolish denial or an outright lie... but nonetheless I maintain that I really can take it or leave it. I'm far more addicted to coffee, pinball, wine, rock music, bad puns... it's just that nobody makes such a fuss about those addictions.

So... not much to report, then. At least, not much that matches the original raison d'ete of this diary.

However, some good news (if you happen care about old MFV and his diary): some stuff happened in the last few months to give me ideas for an entry or two, even if I haven't been cavorting around the place like a flaming drag queen. Some good, some downright scary. Hopefully mostly amusing. I'll try to post something again soon, now I've got the awkward re-appearance thing done.

Meanwhile, I see that I have a lot of catching up to do, in all those peoples' blogs that I haven't been reading - or at least, not reading regularly. I have occasionally stopped by for a nosey, but I've clearly missed a lot. Except from Stepfordtart, whose diary I have continued to study... but then her blog is often quite saucy.

Plus she has a really nice rack. If my chromosomes had blessed me with assets like those, I'd probably be more interested in the Rigby & Peller.

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