Transplanted Life
Friday, September 02, 2005
I feel like the star of a reality show
So, tonight, we had the first episode of "So You Want to be Marti's Roommate". Chet was electing to help some friends move back into their apartment, so no special guest judges tonight. I joke around, but I want to get this done quickly, because having to pay the entire rent bill for a two-bedroom apartment sucks hard. And, it's no fun for them to be in limbo, either - I've been there.

Our first contestant tonight was Eve. She'll turn 23 Christmas Eve (hence the name), is an economics grad student at Harvard, and needs to find an apartment because she broke up with her boyfriend and even if their apartment was big enough for two beds, she's still not sure where she stands on the "being friends" thing. All of this information came out in one long, run-on sentence. I don't know whether that's just the way she always talks or if she's the type that tends to babble when meeting new people.

She seems nice enough, though. She asked me if I had a boyfriend, and when I said yes, said I was a stronger woman than her for scheduling stuff like this for Friday night, because no way she would have given Jamal that kind of opportunity, not that all guys cheat, or that it stopped him anyway, and maybe if she'd given him a little more breathing room it would have turned out differently, but water under the bridge, right? I let her look at both rooms, since I wouldn't mind moving into the larger bedroom if someone only wants to shell out for the smaller one. It was actually pretty cool to have some girl I'd never met say she liked my taste in clothes; I always wonder whether anything complimentary that Kate, Jen, Mo or Wei says has a silent "at least, it's good considering she really should have a penis" after it. Of course, she has her own reason to be disingenuous, but I chose to mostly take her comments about understanding how tough it is for us busty types to dress sexy without looking kind of trashy. We could actually share clothes, since she's like a photographic negative of me (dark skin and dyed-blond hair), although I think Kate was just joking when she said that was something I should look for.

I did tell her about my history, which I figured was not just fair, but necessary: Although there will be weeks-long stretches where nanites, mind-swaps, name changes, and personal identity don't have much effect on my life, it's not something I try to hide any more, and better she hears about it beforehand than when Carter offhandedly asks about allergies and the like. At first, she thought I was talking about sexual reassignment surgery, and quickly covered being grossed out with wanting to know the name of the surgeon ("not that I need any work, but if he can make you out of a man, then that's a name to keep in mind in case I'm horribly disfigured someday"). When I explained everything, she laughed, asking if it was some kind of a test. I told her she didn't have to believe it - heck, Michelle's little brother doesn't - but it's stuff that's going to be floating around the house, and there's the slight chance of finding herself in the middle of something "interesting".

Don't think she liked the sound of that. She was gregarious enough, but I kind of get the feeling she won't be calling back.

Ian, on the other hand... First off, I wasn't sure about checking off that I didn't care about the sex on the online roommate services. Sure, I remember sharing apartments and dorm rooms with guys before, but that was before I had a vagina of my own. Now, I know most guys are trustworthy and would probably be just as polite and non-aggressive as my present lesbian roommate. Just takes the one for it to be a huge problem, though, doesn't it?

It started off cool, though. His first glimpse was toward my breasts, of course, but after shaking my hand he looked me in the eyes pretty solidly. I gave him the minute tour ("kitchen... living room... soon-to-be-empty room..."), and I was about to point out the laundry area when something clicked in his head, and he's like "wait a minute... are you Martina from 'Transplanted Life'?"

"Uh.... yeah."

"Wow, that's like... I love your blog! I started one, and after I got bored I tried to do the same thing, you know, adding stuff to it to make it exciting, but..."

That's when I told him I don't add much other than changing a few names, and he's all like "get out! All that stuff happens in real life?"

In mine, at last.

"That's awesome... I mean, I didn't think there was that kind of technology in the world, and I've never had anything interesting like that happen..."

"Dude, someone took a shot at me, and someone else died right in front of me in April. And knowing people before and after a switch is creepy."

Anyway, I don't know if I'll be calling him back. It's cool that he'll be okay with me being who and what I am, but I don't know about the enthusiasm.

Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Oh, and...
She said yes.
I said "more later" on Sunday, and then didn't post anything later, because I stink.
I don't stink like A Sound of Thunder, which Chet and I saw at a preview tonight. It is a deeply stupid movie. It is the kind of stupid where a person holds a spherical object in his hand and calls it a "disc". It is the kind of cheap-looking where you swear the model for the dinosaur is Rex from Toy Story. It is the kind of predictable where the monsters have a knack of picking off the people whose usefulness is most at an end. It is an insult to one of the twentieth century's greatest writers and everyone who pays money for it.

But anyway, Sunday...

So, remember a couple weeks ago, when I was dragged off on a super-secret shopping mission? It was Kurt, who wanted my opinion while he picked out an engagement ring. The thought was that my having ovaries in this life would somehow form a natural balance to the disdain for the specific rituals of the wedding ceremony I carry forth from my last one (I believe the words I tend to use are, "it's a great big scam") and thus allow me to guide him to something that Denise would like without crippling him financially, since he is apparently blind to what would be a good choice due to having the same disdain for the whole process.

It was a very silly thing for him to do. Though I have, admittedly, warmed to the marriage ceremony, I still know sod-all about jewelry. Michelle's box with the little legs and the big ol' hinge is one of the few items of hers that I haven't appropriated for myself. I just never feel comfortable wearing the stuff; even the smallest ring or thinnest gold chain feels like an uncomfortable weight, and I tend to scratch at it, or take it off and put it down on a table or whatever. I've tried wearing them on dates, but stopped because I was afraid I would lose them, and this is stuff that I feel I should give back to Michelle should I ever meet her again.

(Heck, the little holes in my ears have completely closed up. Every once in a while, Kate tries to convince me to come get my ears re-pierced, but I have yet to be drunk enough for the voluntary infliction of puncture wounds to seem like a good idea)

And, besides, it's a little weird; just asking your ex-girlfriend for help with this sort of thing would be weird enough, but Kurt started seeing the two of us at the same time, and didn't break it off with me until she forced the issue. And, of course, I feel reasonably certain that if our roles were reversed and I was the one who showed a genuine interest in him and she was the best friend whose mind had been placed in a woman's body who went out with Kurt because he/she thought it was something necessary to get his/her own body back and never let him know the score, well, I'm pretty sure I'd want to rip her tits off. That she puts up with my presence is nothing less than astonishing and, quite frankly, bizarre.

Still, I can appreciate a pretty ring as well as any guy. It was weird to try them on, say, hm, that's kind of pretty, and have Kurt take my opinion seriously. In fact, while we were doing this, I actually said "that looks nice on Michelle's hand, but I don't know if it would be right for Denise". I mean, I never refer to my body parts as "Michelle's" any more, but in this case, the idea of having that kind of ring, in particular, seemed so alien that I couldn't reconcile it.

Sunday, August 28, 2005
More later, but...
I was getting my groceries this morning and walked past some people coming down to the Central Square area for Carnival (there's a pretty decent-sized Brazillian population in that area; it was nuts when they won the world cup.

Some women should not walk around in the middle of the street dressed for Carnival (we're basically talking ornate swimsuits and feathery headdresses). I feel even more strongly about this. Oddly enough, even more strongly than I felt as a man.


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