We staggered to her place and it was very well kept-up. I'd describe her decor as Flea-Market chic. She didn't even have to tell me she was catholic either, judging by the jesus christ/angel figurines bombarding the walls. As soon as she said the word Karaoke, my eyes lit up! I hadn't done that since September. My voice couldn't hit most of the high notes, so I choose male-singing songs. After cracking some almonds, swilling some coca-cola and watching a re-run of That '70's Show, I left and bussed it downtown.

On the second bus, 3 kids got on. I wondered why these kids, who must've been under the age of 10, were out so late! They were looking at me funny like I were a circus clown. I loathe being stared at, by anyone. Most of the time when kids look at me, I get nervous and worry they'll ask an embarrassing question outloud: Boy did I assume correct! All 3 of them were whispering to each other while glancing at me. One girl was motioning around her chest area to indicate boobs. She later sat beside me and I'm getting more annoyed than nervous. Finally, the girl taps me on my arm and asks, "Excuse me, but are you a boy or a girl?"

That's not the first time I've been asked that question.

I just gave her a slow burn, staring at her until she looked away. I hate the assumption that I'm some floating genderless freak. Even with my long hair, people still can't figure me out.

But do I want others to figure me out? Do I want people to know me inside and out to know how I work? Do I like it when people don't know me either? Anyway, those kids finally got off. I still felt somewhat embarrassed, but I could've said, "What do you think?" just to mess with them. Why is it so important to know what I am? Were they going to buy me a gift of underwear?What? Why was it so important to know which bathroom I use or how much pink I've got in my wardrobe or.......gah! It would've been worse if it were an adult though. One time, I was walking down the street and this guy was staring at me. He's staring at me, asking me where a certain street is, wanting to hear by my voice or if I stand up or sit down on the toilet, meanwhile the street sign is right behind him, so I pointed it out, refusing to give him some clarity. I've had this one street fortune teller assume I was a man, twice, and when I told him for the second time I was a woman, he suddenly felt the need to be flirty with me. He wanted a hug then tried to kiss me. Moments like that made me wish I were a guy, because up until they know I'm female, they [men] treat me like a decent human being, but once they know I'm female, suddenly they check me out and I feel uncomfortable.

I hate the idea of trying to prove I'm female to others. I know I am, people who know me know I am, and most of those close to me can't believe anyone would believe I'm mistaken for a man.

Anyway, speaking of being mistaken for a man, this other sister came in to order take-out. She's pretty, but she's got a mild mustache, her black velvet as opposed to her peach fuzz. When I was looking at her to take her order, I was focussed on it, eager to say, "Hey, I know what'll get rid of that", then tug at it delicately. I hate facial hair. I removed mine the other day with one of those deals that you press onto your face [green apple scented] and rip off. My upper lip is smooth, but I'm still mistaken for a man!