Allison M.

A crossdresser's thoughts on life, fashion, fabulousness, and (oh yeah) dressing up


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Taking notes would have been helpful back then

I want to share a thought or two that occurred to me today, and it peripherally has to do with a couple of tidbits about Alone: A Love Story, a podcast I recommended in my previous postAlone is an audio memoir written and narrated by Michelle Parise, and reading up about the show at this link, Parise mentions her penchant for writing down details about her life as soon as they happen.  She mentions that she’s has hundreds of journals in her possession, all carrying short story- and dialog-style details about her daily life.  It’s the details in those journals that allows Parise to bring out specifics about this and that in Alone.

Earlier today, I listened to an episode of another of my podcast recommendations, The Debaters.  By pure coincidence, one of the subjects put up for debate in that Debaters episode had to do with writing memoirs.  It was a debate (and a pretty funny one, of course) considering the reasons people need to write memoirs (to leave behind insights on life and the stories to back them up) versus refraining from doing so (they can be pointless and uninspiring).

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Surviving the Ides of May

I imagine many of you are familiar with the term “Ides of March.”  In Ancient Rome oh so many years ago, the Ides was the term used to refer to the midpoint of a month.  Thus the 15th day of March is the Ides on that particular month.  And, yes, as we all know, the Ides of March was the date when Julius Caesar met with the wrong end of a few knives after, the history books tell us, he got a little too big for his britches.

The calendar term Ides doesn’t pertain to what we nowadays call March 15th.  But ever since Caesar bought the farm that fateful Ides, that calendar term seems to have a foreboding connotation.  Well, at least it feels that way for me.  Every time the 15th day of the month rolls around, I start to feel a little uneasy.  This is especially true on the Ides of May — today — which is the day 16 years ago that I was laid off by my previous place of employment.

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One (literally) hot property

9-19-2010 152PM

If you recall this post from a couple of years ago, you will know that the building you see above is the apartment building I currently call home.  Since moving to the Madison area in September 2002, I have called three different apartment buildings my home.  Of the three, this two-bedroom, 735-square-foot (approximately) apartment is my hands-down favorite.  And exactly eleven years ago tonight (May 1, 2007), I got the keys to it.

Has my 11 years in this place been perfect?  Oh, not entirely, and that’s understandable.  I mean, any home/condo/apartment/whatever does have its drawbacks.  And I’ve encountered a couple of unfortunate missteps at this place twice in 2018 alone, one that I was able to manage despite discomfort, while the other made me shake my head and think “Really?”

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#TBT: Hitting the “stage” for the first time

I hope you can forgive my bringing up Christmas in the springtime, but there was a news item this week centered around a kid in 1st grade (a subject for another post, I promise) that allowed a memory from my own days as a 1st grader to resurface in my mind.  It was December of that year, and our teacher, Miss H., had our class take part in a Christmas play.  The premise of the play was this:  Our classroom was a toy store store where the dolls and toys all came to life after the shopkeeper leaves for the night.  Yeah, it’s the whole “magic of Christmas” thing.

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#TBT: Parachute pants, a stepbrother, and a duffel bag

Before I go any further, a couple of things:  First, this is a story I originally posted on a previous journal site, and I wanted to tell it again here with a few embellishments.  Also, this may seem to you that I’ll be going off in multiple directions in this post, but they all tie in to this story.  Anyway here goes:

As I’ve hinted/mentioned/downright owned up to on here, I am indeed a child of the 1980s.  And if you recall the 1980s, that decade had a number of clothing styles to remember.  Leather outfits were one such style; in my opinion, leather skirts are an ubiquitous classic that, when tastefully styled, will never go out of style.

But, let’s admit it, the ’80s also produced several fashion styles that did not withstand the test of time, among them:

  • Leg warmers (“Just coming back from dance class, I see?”)
  • Noticeably wide shoulder pads (“So, you trying out for the football team in those?”)
  • Members Only jackets (something I didn’t see a lot of in my small town; it must’ve been a big city-only thing).

Times have changed for sure (oh, sorry, “like, fer SURRE!”), and you’ll likely find these old outfits in a vintage/retro shop.  If you’re like me and you come across them, you’ll think one of three things:

  • “This is still a classic”
  • “Oh, boy, this look did not age well”
  • “I think I may snap this up for some real or imagined retro dress-up party I may or may not attend at an indeterminate time in the future.”

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A thought about online deception

While recently writing about my online and social media lives, it occurred to me that I should bring up, in a separate post, another risk one encounters when venturing into the World Wide Whatever:  Deception.  Or, I’ll go ahead and say it, downright intentional fakery.

In the earlier of those two posts, I discussed my need to add a digital image of myself to my online accounts.  Before buying a digital camera, I resorted to using an anonymous-looking cartoon avatar for my representation on Yahoo!  The day I uploaded the very first digital image of myself en femme is an important day for me, as it confirmed to the world that, yes, Allison M. was and is a real, living, breathing human being.  Sadly, the online crossdressing world is full of people who willfully misrepresent themselves.  I’m not talking about people who fill their Flickr accounts with photos of beautiful women (trans or otherwise) and specifically say that they the types of women they admire and would love to emulate.  No, I’m talking about people who’d post a photo of Cindy Crawford online and say they look exactly like her.  Or someone who’d Photoshop their own face on the body of Cindy Crawford and claim it’s them.  Or someone who’d not only do all of that or something similar but also fictionalize a backstory… all for the sake of deceiving others in the online world.

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What happened to my old apartment?

I wanted to make note of a couple of things I discovered during last weekend’s trip to and from my class reunion, which I highlighted in my previous post.  Both of these have to do with two old apartments I had lived in during my 12 years in the Green Bay area.  (Yes, you non-Wisconsinites, that Green Bay.)  The first tidbit concerns the last apartment I lived in up there.  Actually, I take that back somewhat:  This isn’t about that apartment itself so much as it is about the plot of land kitty-corner from it.  On that 1-acre plot was a little red farm house along with matching garage and small barn, all closely situated within each other.

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Class reunion thoughts

Today, after 5 days away from work, I headed back to the 8-hour grind.  Strange as it may sound to you, I’m so very glad that I’m back to work.  That’s because the past couple of days were really, really rotten for me.  Oh, it wasn’t due to a familial or personal situation, though it was something related to my writing talents and to my status as a… uh, well, if you read my bio to the right of your screen, you’ll notice that there’s something different to it.  I won’t get into the details about why that’s the case on this blog just yet, at least until I’m all cheered up and willing to broach the topic.

Instead, I want to share some thoughts about something much, much nicer that happened to me during the three days prior to the past two.  Last Friday, I drove up to my old home town in… let’s just say Northern Wisconsin for a 30-year reunion of my high school graduating class.  How was it, you’re asking?  Well, it was a rather modest affair.  No, I don’t mean it was staid and sedated.  Try more like a quickly-assembled affair.  From how I understand it, were some classmates who would’ve loved to assemble a grand (or somewhat grand) to-do for our Class of ’87, including those who’ve organized our previous reunions.  Unfortunately, it appears that they were unable to do so this year for whatever reason.

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How I became so much cooler online

I need to lead off this post with a confession:  This post was originally going to be much longer and much broader in scope than what you are about to read.  I was inspired by a recent writing prompt by one of my WordPress peeps, The Finicky Cynic, about social media.  However, I originally chose to cover the broad online life in responding, as I’m one who considers my online and social media lives as symbiotic with each other.  But once I got to around the halfway mark of my post, I realized… wowzers, this post is turning into a very long read.  I also realized that just talking about the social media life is a long slog in itself.

So, to give both of us — you, the reader, and me, the writer — a break from the monotony, I will save the social media ruminations for a near-future post that, knowing me, I will edit and re-edit and re-re-edit before sharing with you… and use this particular entry to talk up the path my female side has taken on the World Wide Web.  (Uh, do they still call it that yet?)

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My family’s background

This is a topic I’ve been wracking my brain about since my WordPress peep, The Finicky Cynic, put it out last week in a writing prompt.  She asks about her readers’ families’ background (i.e. native born or emigrants) and whether their families’ pasts shaped us in any way today.  The reason I’ve been wracking my brain about this is I’ve personally never learned much about my family’s background, either on my mother’s, birth father’s, or stepfather’s sides, and I’ve never been one to think about the subject very much.

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