A girl with a style I can appreciate.

I'm sitting in a bar in a college town. Feeling a little old and for some time now, not at all femme. That period still strikes me as surreal and seems to have receded into a collection of bittersweet musings.

In walks a girl with a quick engaging smile and what I think of as "Breck-Girl" hair.* She is meeting a covey of four girlfriends and apparently one boyfriend, though it isn't clear which he had the good fortune to pair with.

She had a smart, belted, plaid coat on, with the hem of her skirt about equidistant from her rather attractive knee to the bottom of the coat. Sandal wedges seemed to complete the fun and flirty collegiate look.

The friends each seemed to have an individual style that were all similarly well put together. For some reason though I thought if Barbara existed any longer she would likely dress like the girl in the coat that caught my eye.

I've wondered from time to time what to do with the blog. It is in storage like the six suitcases of what may well have been more of a shopping fix than a strong pull towards feminine expression.

Odd, that. Making that sort of analysis about a dormant feminine persona's taste and sense of style seems sort of Quixotic.

*Breck Girl ads featured a pretty wide variety of lengths and layering, but there was a bounce and a shine to it..In this girl's case thing a shorter, less fussy version of Jacqueline Smith's.

Back in Wardrobe!!!

I went back to our old house and dug through the piles of trash and treasure that out oldest son and his stoner friends tossed with no regard into a pile as the evicted us from the Master Bedroom. It was supposed to be so more rooms could be rented, but the thing about renting rooms is you need to collect the rent. In advance. Not after the fact. From stoners. So everything smells of hookahs and poor quality cannabis sativa.

Nevertheless, I was so pleased to find my expensive (to the original owners) sport coats and prom dresses in a pile, not too rumpled. The bags of trash piled on top of them protected them from fecal matter when the cats decided dirty clothes were more hygienic than the never emptied litter box.

So now I have them in my new humble abode in the country. For 1/2 of just the amount I am upside down on my city house I have an acre and a double wide. Apparently we trailer trash types are not usually a 3 personality montage of clothing choices.

My wife has ordered me to cull. I am resisting. She maintains that it is a bit unfair that biologically I am one 1/2 of the couple but have 2/3 of the small closet. She has a point.

Progress..Or is that a loss?

I have cut back heavily on the quantity of food I take with me to work. Since I have my lunch on the seat next to me for 12 hours a day I eat what I bring. Out of boredom more than hunger. I have tried substituting lower calorie versions but that doesn't really help. Most of them are just smaller portions of the same old calorie laden snacks. The worst of these was Special K brand crackers. They advertise something like 90 calories for a whole 17 crackers! You open the box and they are just fancy edged wheat thins. Which I hate.

So now I take a sandwich, 2-3 pieces of fruit, maybe some carrots and a Fresca. I think Aspartame is a horrible product that threatens health and only makes you crave sugar, but I rationalize that one won't hurt. I used to like Fresca for the taste long before I ever had a need or even a thought of dieting. I wish they'd come out with a Splenda version.

On the subject of diet sodas: my wife is addicted to Diet Dr. Pepper. Interestingly I found I liked the taste and had long been stealing sips of her tasty beverage long before I was "dieting" much less dieting to get down a few dress sizes. I had a laugh when I suddenly remembered one day a commercial about being your own person and enjoying your Diet Dr. Pepper no matter what anyone else thinks. Shows a guy fishing, upper half all male, dangling hose-clad gams and a cute pair of pumps off the edge of the dock. Can't seem to find a clip of it to download, but can see a tiny version of it here.

It has been very discouraging that after dropping 43 lbs in 6 months then ballooning up 20+ lbs on "Lou-si-anna" roughneck food in just a couple of months that none of that rebound weight has come off for nearly a year. It is now one year ago that I went to live for just a few months in that dormitory.

Finally this morning I stepped on the scale only 13 lbs above my lowest weight. I celebrated with a Bacon, Lettuce & Tomato (and olive oil mayo) sandwich. Yummy.

Oh, the case fell down on my head.....

My Liz Claiborne sweater-top was on the bed in our room after we came home. My wife, knowing I was in a femme sort of frame of mind today thought I had gotten it out. I hadn't.

She queried the 13 year old who gave the explanation above as to how she happened accross this located at the bottom of the make0up case with a few femme items and make-up and my wig that m wife had sent up as a "comfort package" when I was living alone at a residence dormitory for my job.

She then brightly went on to explain that when she "happened upon" the case in the top shelf of the closet in our master bedroom she found a wig. Which she put on and proceeded to parade around outside the house in. My wife's sister happened to be driving by and thought from a distance that it was my wife given the hair color is in the ball park of a box of Miss Clairol that my wife sometimes uses.

Now my wife feels she needs to be thinking of a reason she owns a high quality wig that her sister has never seen her wear.

A modicum of privacy in my own bedroom would be nice. I mean Barbara has been residing in the closet (on the top shelf no less. Leave her alone.

This child regularly borrows my shoes because as she points out they are a size and a half too big for my wife and only a 1/2 size too big for her. she has also appropriated two of my bras with similar logic pointing out that they aren't my wife's size.

I've half a mind to tell her "Leave my transvestite gear the hell alone!"

We're Pretty Sure He's Gay, Mom....

My wife was harangued into sitting down with the kids and playing their current favorite video game. It is one of those virtual cities things where you walk around and interact with characters for no apparent reason other than to see what is around the next block in the tableau.

There is a character in the place who is apparently a wolf. The explained he was the gay character.

"Really?" said my wife, "How can you tell?"

"Duh!" they responded, "He is wearing a dress!"

"You are gonna have to field this one," she tells me.

Don't think I'm touching that.

Reluctantaly Manipulated.

I was at a loss what to get my better half for her Birthday. If money were no object it would be simple, just get her the latest Canon Rebel. Money is extremely tight though as my income just dropped by 65% and expenses are about the same.

I had in mind making a small cash donation to a fund that would help her begin saving for a replacement for her current failing camera. It hesitates and takes several tries to get the shutter to release and basically is worthless for impromptu shots.

We drove from the small farming town we reside in about an hour and a 1/2 to a town that I hoped I could browse maybe some thrifts or a pawn shop. No thrifts seemed extant and the one pawn was panned in review by a local we asked. We even struggled to find a non=chain place to eat and were pleased with a small eclectic looking Mexican food restaurant that had incredible rellanos. (I'll save the review of that for my yet-to-be-created foodie blog.)

Anyway we went to Walmart, because as long as we were here the other nearest one is 40-50 miles the other direction. She made a beeline for the cameras, giving a wistful look. She pointed out some that she would be 'happy' with although they aren't her ideal but they were maybe 1/6 the cost of the Rebel. I worried its money kinda thrown away if it doesn't do what she needs in a camera and will just be put aside when she can finally get what she needs. Then I (and we) engaged in some circular economic logic..."We cant afford A but for only $30 more, is another 2 megapixels, and for another 60 from there is better optics, and for $#20 more more zoom..."

I told her lets walk a bit while I think it over...we were just passing the purses and accessories. I turned my head slightly when I felt my breath catch a little. Not sure why. Part of me wanted to stay in male/logic mode to make a sound decision that is kind of important because money is so tight. Part of me wanted to avoid turning "her day" into a "Barbara day". Like for example since we were going to another town, know one knew us I thought of going en femme but that wouldn't be appropriate when the focus is on her birthday. That and the baby is old enough now that I am not comfortable dressing around her.

I thought my mental realignment went un-noticed. She paused and said, Oh lets look at purses! I tried to resist a bit, and she grinned and said, "I'm sensing a presence here..." Then it became a game, she tormented me, I tried to resist, she though I played it a little coy. Perceptions.

My favorite (and her most effective ploy) was when she pulled a pattern out that was similar to the dress I described Audrey Hepburn wearing in Sabrina.

The point of the teasing back and forth is that it is well known that Barbara likes to shop and the other guy is a tightwad. Bottom line she is really really happy with the upper-mid-range camera she got for her birthday.

You are NOT doing farm chores in high heels.

...."You are NOT Daisy Duke!" said my wife (To the thirteen year old.)

Funny. I had actually thought of doing a photo shoot of me in heels. Say, hanging wash on the line with the pasture in the background. Hadn't thought of it as Daisy-esque at the time. Daisy Duke is a fine rolemodel for transvestites, I think.

56% Male...

When I saw this site for Gender Analyzer, naturally I had to see how the gender of the writer of this blog reads to an artificial intelligence algorithm compared to other blogs.

We guess http://barbaratalbot.blogspot.com/ is written by a man (56%), however it's quite gender neutral.

Not that surprising, really. I am after all genetically and living as a male happily.

Playing Barbies...

After the initial shock of learning that hubby is a transvestite, my wife started helping out with primping sessions. When she would purse her lips and lean in close as she applied some eye shadow, or sensually traced on some lip liner I could see her as a little girl playing with one of those Barbie heads.

These dress-up sessions, often after a whirlwind of thrifting, were referred to as "Playing Barbies."

We haven't really had the time or the privacy lately. We used to worry not at all about the baby, but now that she's terribly two and talking it seemed a little discretion is called for.

Today my wife brought out a package of glue on toe-nail tips and asked "Wanna play?"

I readily agreed. Not much of a sacrifice on my part holding my feet out for pampering as I blurfed the web.

Thrilled with the results I of course wanted pictures.

This was the best result.

It's good to be Barbie.

Update on spectators.

A few of the "spectators" viewing my blog get here from Google Images. I grin a little when I see a"hit" where they get here from searching "spectator pumps" and run (as I imagine) screaming when they realize those legs belong to a tranny!For quite some time I am the only actual picture of a "real" person on page one of Google Images for that search. Yes, technically they are spectator pumps, but in my view, not a very good example of such. I prefer ones that have a blended male/female stile with wingtip type detail. I think any black/white combination pump can be called a spectator.

I decided if I am going to be famous for my spectators it should be for cuter ones!

Why homes need one bathroom per girl/gurl.

My wife bought a knick-knack (sans paddy whack) at a charity rummage sale. It says, "Where love dwells, no house is too small." Bull-pucky I say.

Our other house is 4-5 bedrooms, 2.5 baths, 2200 square feet with a garage as well. Owe more than its worth (like 20% of America), should probably give it back to the bank. Especially since we aren't living there. Well, Barbara's wardrobe for the most part still lives there but that's a really expensive closet.

This house we rent for $525 a month, comes with mature pecan trees and likely less than 1,000 feet (including a poorly done enclosed porch addition), one bath, two bedrooms. I tried to get more bathroom time by getting a mirror for the oldest daughters room for make-up and hair, that helped a little.

Last night, I decided to do something about my legs. This is a several day process to wax them myself. I began and in 10 minutes, she was banging on the door. I vacated, and tried again in an hour, same result. Finally gave up realizing with no overtime the house is relatively kid free in the daytime, so I finished as much as I was going to today and shaved the rest.

Sad really how this seems to be a progressive condition, feminizing I mean. In the past (long past) slipping into a stolen swimsuit in the bathroom and a couple turns in the mirror sufficed. Now, I eye with disdain my hairy chest, next on the list.

I had shaved my head clean for the last 4 years or so, and am experimenting with growing what little is left. I added a beard as well, knowing my wife favors the look. She was a bit indifferent, (justifiably) pointing out that its sure to go if Barbara comes to visit.

I have been wearing jeans today so I have been able to avoid molesting my legs. My wife laughs a bit about how hard it is for me to avoid touching my legs when they are smooth. It's just that they don't feel like mine to me, but better.

She's got legs.......

Kinda manly, hirsute legs.

I've been wanting to wax for a while, time/endorphins/assistance/courage have been in short supply.

I have read a lot, and experimented more about hair removal in its many forms. I have tried for Alyssa Milano's legs with Veet. I have shaved with from one to four blades. I have waxed with horribly sticky purple goo, to pleasant citrus-y green honey-sweet Nads. (Something tells me Nad's doesn't mean the same thing in Australia!) I have even removed a few stray hairs with tweezers and once, needle nose pliers! What I have come to believe is that hair grows in cycles with various follicles falling out at various times in no real pattern. Some days smooth smooth legs are assaulted the very next day with a growth of previously dormant follicles, and other times re-growth is slower.

It does seem that if you keep after it the follicles go into remission bit. Such was the case a month ago. There was one smoothly waxed patch on a thigh where I had given up and shaved the rest. I observed that the waxed portion was more sparsely repopulated with new growth. I was going to re-wax, then foolishly put it off because of a Doctor's visit. In the mean time the hairs have gotten too long to comfortably wax.

Resolved: To post more often.

Whether I have something to say about crossdressing or not, I have decided to approach the blog daily if possible again.

I find myself with time on my hands with the elimination of overtime at work, I was putting in an extra 60 hours every other week, so in theory I could spend 120 hours a month typing. I don't think that I have quite THAT much to say, though.

I was reading a blog the other day (Cate's) where the reason for the blog is on hold so she decided to avoid blogging while she gets her feet under her emotionally. I was reading from my horribly inadequate interface on my Motorola Razor 3, so naturally I could not leave a comment. What I was going to suggest (selfishly) was that she SHOULD continue to write, ostensibly for its cathartic effect. In fact I just want her to write (and post scintillating pics)for my own entertainment.

I shall suggest she include fashion insights, photography or in desperation, recipe posts as long as it involves bare feet and a short apron in the kitchen. But I digress.

Google-y eyes on me.

This was my first Blog, and when it started I updated it just about everyday. I wasn't sure what it was going to encompass, and since I had no other place for everyday thoughts I put them here too. I used to get a fair number of those odd Google matches that other bloggers have reported. I used to giggle at the thought of someone shopping for Gillian and O'Malley bras and finding a tranny wearing one.

I moved on somewhat in Blogging with the my wife in a sexy/kinky blog that had a lot more racy language then seems appropriate to Barbara's staid vernacular. For some reason we still get tons of hits there from the phrase "cum lips" which doesn't actually appear in that blog, but the words do separately in the same sentence. (the inordinately clever of the readers here might well find the other blog from that hint alone.)

Here, I seem to get hits from pictures. Specifically one of me wearing what I described as spectator pumps. They aren't quite as spectacularly "spectator-y" as my latest pair, but they have come to reside on page one of Google images for that phrase. Interesting bit of fame, that.

Lately, the profile picture here seems to get a lot of Google images hits. I cant seem to back-track it to determine under what search parameters it shows up, but evidently it does.

I wonder, when someone sees it in Google images do they think, hmm is that a dude? and click to investigate? or do they think, "hmmm, what a saucy looking wench, might she have nudes extant on her page?"

Not too long ago one of those hits on my head shot was from an upscale town adjacent to the one I more or less grew up in. They stayed a very long time. I pondered a bit the possibility that someone thought, hmm slightly familiar face..." A bit worrisome, but then again not. I really think I am fairly comfortable with myself. I do worry though that my wife and kids would suffer a lot in the very small parochial town we no reside in.

I asked her about it and she stated again her unqualified support for Barbara's persona. Strange though because (among other of her reasons) she has removed all posts from our joint blog that she authored because of fear of discovery here. True to her stated resolve though, she has left intact her "wife of a crossdresser" blog. I don;t link it directly here to help keep her privacy, and she hasn't updated it in ages. (Owing mostly to my lack of crossdressing activity as of late.) I am rambling here, but wanted to post something to keep Barbara alive a bit..

Male Squeamishness.

So, I went to the Doctor today for a male well-check. I expected a hernia check and a prostate exam. There was a gallon size bottle of lube. I had hopes that the entire bottle wouldn't be necessary.

He probe a bit, I turned and coughed...he said to I think his relief as much as mine, "You don't really need a prostate check at your age." (At 43 I think he's wrong but I didn't protest.)

One of the reasons I hadn't waxed as of late was anticipating this exam. So I chickened out. I had had some concerns about enlargement a year or so ag, but I rationalized that those symptoms have gone away so perhaps I'm fine.

My wife's comment was "Pussy!" I pointed out to her that as a CD I didn't find that particular epitaph all that offensive.

"You march right back in there and ask that man to stick his finger up your bum!" I didn't heed that advice.

Later she was pointing out that men seem to have no problem with anal penetration as long as it isn't them being penetrated. Um, yeah.

The intangible gender switch.

It isn't on/off exactly.

It isn't a dimmer switch.

It comes, it goes.

Today we had to go back to the town with the thrift stores, mostly to take the middle child to a dental appointment.

As I dressed, I anticipated that I would be a little en femme in my mood and was looking forward to shopping. I even put on a pair of plain whit cotton Hane's (panties, of course). Do you think that is what Michael meant in the commercials when he said, "Just as long as they say Hane's!"?

In the store, later, I just wasn't feeling it. I saw one spaghetti strapped cream shell with a padded shelf bra built in, but , meh...

It could be a little intimidation since our middle child's IQ of 180ish makes talking over her head impossible, so subtle signals weren't possible. Or maybe wrangling the toddler, hard into her "terrible two's" phase with a penchant for running every time she gets feet to floor.

I am looking forward to getting my "male well-care visit" out of the way. Why is it that I feel more comfortable with a health care professional seeing/poking and prodding my ass if it is clad in its natural hairy state? I cant wait to denude it again after the visit. I have noticed that it is hard for me to get "en femme" in my mind when I am hirsute. It just goes against all that I think of as womanly. (Yeah I know millions of European women can't be wrong yada yada yada...)

I got used to loaning out clothes....

...sort of. I mean Dee has shopped wiht me most of the time and there are clearly things that are 'hers' or 'mine' or 'ours'. The problem is I apparently like to shop more than I like to dress so she has taken a certain license in 'borrowing' about anything that catches her fancy.

In truth, I kind of get a kick out of seeing Barbara's clothes out in public on her.

Not so much on my teenage daughter. Erp??!???!

She has long stolen mom's clothes.

The other night she decided she needed some nail polish in a subtle hue and took mine! I couldn't well loudly lambaste her for taking it without so much as a "by your leave?"

Today I happen to be wearing a blue and white striped (male) pole shirt, and I look down and see that she is wearing my blue and white striped, kitten heeled, strappy mules. Her feet, typically filthy, are leaving dark, ugly impressions on my shoes.

I'm going to need a locking wardrobe, apparently.

Glimpses of Barbara in a small town thrift.

We live in a tiny town these days and have to go 30+ miles to the nearest town with for instance a WalMart.

We had to go to town to pick up a starter for my import (2 week process to get it in Ford F250 land), Take care of a leaky valve stem, and get groceries. We had talked about checking out what we understood to be the only thrift store around. We had heard it was small, with poor selection and quality and pricey compared to our beloved Goodwill Dollar Days. None of the above was true. It was EVERYTHING 50 cents. (except ball-gowns, must be an anti-tranny thing..~shrug). The store was small, not a lot of space and the inventory was slightly less than the average CD's closet...but some items the quality was superb.

For example I got a Ralph Lauren jean jacket for work in my manly job. I didn't actually notice the buttons were wrong till I got home, it was Femme!...Grin...

Anyway, I was in Barbara mode meaning I loved shopping and the aim was for Dee, not me, as the selection wasn't likely to yield much for me that I don't have back at our other house. We were being even more discrete than usual about outing me, and only a couple of "Would Barbara like this you think?" queries. This led to a little minor misunderstanding about who the red Asian dress was for. I suggested for her, she wasn't into it, but when she found out all was half a buck, she got it and I thought it was for me. It fits me OK, but it fits her fabulously. She scored several other dresses that fit great. Her shape is very easy to play dress up with now since she fits all the cute clothes again. We talked about how I actually enjoy the shopping more than the actual dress-up it seems as of late. Just as I was her Barbie doll a year ago, she is mine now.

We found a second, larger thrift with higher prices, where I picked up some spectator pumps. (BTW do you know that in Google images for spectator pumps, one of the top 10 results are Barb's legs in a pair of spectators? These are kind of wingtip spectators that I like for the mixed gender aspect.

We also recently have found a brand and size for Dee's brassiere-ly uplifting needs. We went back to the store and bought her a couple of more. She was concerned about the expense since these are pricey.(but oh, so worth it!). I pointed out that I don;t even care for bras in a fetish sense or really to wear in dressing, but I own more than she does!.

Home later she started modeling our purchases (including a formal gown from store two.) She looked great, and I felt the urge to try on a LBD she had found for me. I felt silly in that I am a bit hirsute at the moment and had nothing handy to "tuck" my maleness out of the way. I decided though that it would dishonor my Barbara side to pass on even trying on based on my polarized thinking that if I can't dress right I won't at all. My wife isn't going to laugh at me and has always been supportive. We have been through a rough patch lately and I think part of that is my not being as open as I was in the year past. So I forged ahead. I did feel a little silly but the shortish, velvet, wrap bodice little black dress looked great. No padding, no bra, and it gave me a nice girly shape.

Inspired I went through and tried on all our purchases hers and mine, as well as the few femme items she had brought with her for me when she came out here. Some I hadn't tried on since she brought them, and one I hadn't tried on in well over a year and at least 25 lbs ago.

The forest green dress with the peblem detail from (where else?) Talbot's, fit amazingly well. I had only bought it because it was a nod to my made up (somewhat randomly) name. I got an OMG look from Dee and the treasured comment.."You LOOK like a chick!"

It was just what I needed hairy knees and chest inclusive, to break the ice. I , for now, feel comfortable dressing around Dee again. Nothing changed throughout all this but my mindset.

"Betch!!"

This is the pronunciation we use when affectionately (and jealously) calling each other bitch for gloating about a weight loss triumph.

My wife went to the town dance last night in the small town from whence she came where we now reside. She looks very much like she did when she left 2 decades ago. Many people have remarked as such, to her effervescent glee.

Last night she wriggled into a pair of size seven Rockies. Tight jeans, small town, hot girl..what could be more American.

Congrats dear! ~"bitch!" under my breath.~

(I am having trouble getting into my 8's and I believe those 7's were actually mine!)

Trying to re-gain my girlish figure.

Before I took my present job I got all the way down to squeezing into a size 6 occasionally. Tre-cute clothes in that range. I bulked up to probably a size 10, but keep wearing my eights.

I've been eating healthier since renting a little farm in the country and getting out of the dormitory.

Still it has been frustrating. I get no exercise to speak of on my long shifts. I eat because I am bored. I finally gave up my second sandwich and just go home on the bus hungry.

That helps I finally dropped 5 lbs. Don't know if its permanent though.

Adding more fruit and fiber, making myself drink lots of water. Water is my favorite diet tip.

At the moment the wife and I weigh about the same. I have more belly, she has more boobs.