So you'll know exactly what I mean when I put "photography" in my interests list

By nature I am not a technology whore. When MP3 players first came out and all the cool, tech-savvy kids at school were pointedly asking each other in louder-than-usual tones, “So…did you download the new Nickelback album on your MP3 player yet?” I refrained from joining the instant gathering of ogling peers whose insatiable appetite for looking at, stroking, and admiring the speaker’s MP3 player was nauseating, to say the least. For the record, I wasn't making any douche-y individualist statement; I was too busy doodling coffee cups and hippos on the margins of my notes back then to notice anything else.

However, there are those times when I palpably envy those with certain technology that, in my mind, would make my life (and this crap livejournal) infinitely more interesting.

Take, for example, my first transvestite (Transgendered? Cross-dresser? Drag? PBS 20th anniversary special?) sighting at the pool where I go to swim every morning. This summer my sister Alice made the momentous decision to stop relying on her teenage metabolism and get fit (I scared her with statistics and carved a line across her ankle with my finger where the surgeon will chop off her foot when she develops Type-2 or 3 or 4 or 5 diabetes). So there we were after the swim, brushing our hair in the Family Changeroom area when all of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye I saw...a man? In a women's swimsuit?

No, it can't be.

He had already retreated into one of the changerooms nearby, but I knew he was coming out again. I furiously elbowed Alice in the arm and told her that there's a man, I think, wearing a women's swimsuit...and boobs. Big boobs. Oh my God, his boobs were so big. So my sister looked over at the man as he stuffed his bag into a locker. She squinted (casually, of course).

"That's a woman. She just has really short hair."

I disagreed with her verdict, and to prove her wrong we walked slowly by his changeroom. We both saw the thick leg hair, large fake breasts, and unmistakably male face. Oh, the terrible grandeur was alsmot too much to bear. Even more unbearable, however, was that I did not have .

(except you know the screen won't be filled up by happy, normal-looking couples).


Suddenly my morning swims have increased in intrigue by tenfold.