If I Was Born With a Penis

12 02 2018


What would you look like as the opposite sex?….An app that seems to be the newest Facebook craze going around has got me thinking about not only what would I look like (which according to the app is closer to aging white trash serial killer with terrible facial hair and a possible meth problem than any man I’d want to look like) but what would I BE like if I had been born with a penis instead?

According to my parents my name would be Bryan Buck, which I believe would not have been the best start for a boy born in rural Kansas. Or maybe it would have been the best start, who can really know for sure.

I do know that when an asshole male classmate was cheating off of my math test in 5th grade that my teacher wouldn’t have said to me, “There’s no way he’d cheat off of a dumb girl like you.”

I know that I wouldn’t have been told by my English teacher in 9th grade that Shakespeare was “above my comprehension.”

Or in 7th grade algebra, I wouldn’t have been forced to sit in the corner with the girls so they could “chat,” while the boys learned math because girls were “too dumb to get it.” I would have at least been taught something, whether I did anything with it, who would know.

I know I wouldn’t have been forced to put on a shirt in the heat of summer when I was five years old because a group of my dad’s friends had pulled into the driveway… because boys can go around without shirts on whenever they want no matter how old they are, not just at Burning Man or nudist colonies or in the privacy of their own bedrooms.

I probably would have become a hunter, like my dad. Worked in the oil wells, like my dad. Or maybe a mechanic or a factory worker. I’d probably still be living in Kansas and have a wife and three kids. Or I would have become a pothead like my cousin. Ended up in jail. I most likely would know how to crush a 30 pack of natty light in one night, that’s pretty much a given.

I hope that I would not have been like most of the guys in my high school class who thought it was okay to grab women’s breasts during gym class, during lunch, in the hallways. Guys who would get blackout drunk and piss themselves at parties. Or puke in woods and then come back and try to make out with girls who were not quite as drunk. Or if the woman was quite drunk, I hope I wouldn’t have been one of those guys who thought it was okay to have sex with her while she was passed out. Or thought that a woman “owed” me because she was my girlfriend and had sex with her even though she said no. I hope I would not have been one of those guys who slut-shamed women who didn’t like me back. I hope I would not have been like a typical guy.

Yet, I was not born with a penis. And of course, like any curious person, I have wondered what it would be like to pee standing up, but I don’t necessarily have envy for one. Maybe white male-privilege envy but if that means being like a typical guy from my neck of the woods I’m very grateful I was born Krystal Fawn and not Bryan Buck.

Plus, I would not have been a very cute dude.


(I really didn’t want to show this to anyone, but there you have it.)

Beat the Heat, Not My Face.

26 06 2012

Was it the heat? A strange star alignment? Too much smoke in the air?

A combiniation?

Either way, yesterday was one of the most bizarre days of my life.

5 Fucked Up Things That Happened:

1. I got a strap-less strap-on thrown at me. This woman tried to return it because it “hurt” when she used it and supposedly whoever was working upstairs at the time told her she could get her money back if she didn’t like it. I informed her that we’ve never had that policy and we could only exchange a toy if there was a defect, considering that there was nothing wrong with it except that it was poorly designed there was nothing I could do. She got pissed, threw it at me and stormed out the door. Hey, lady, why don’t you go home and fuck yourself. . . wait, wait, you forgot your dildo!

2. I haven’t been sleeping due to a lack of air conditioning. Instead I’ve been drinking at bars until they close then passing out in my bed, only to wake up drenched in sweat a few hours later. So, after a wonderfully miserable day at work I get home and my roommate Emily and I decide that we should be drinking slushes. We walk to 7-11 and it’s so hot ALL the slush machines were broken except coconut, who the fuck likes coconut slushes? Gross. We walked to at least three connivence stores just to find one.

3. I decided that since I was already walking on Colfax that I should stop and buy the new Fiona Apple album. My brain wasn’t functioning properly so we wandered all over Twist & Shout looking for it (it was under Apple, by the way). Out of nowhere this black guy who was sitting down on a stool listening to rap turns around and across the store yells at us, “why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Emily and I look at each other, like, “who, us?”

He continues, “Why do you women have to be such assholes?”

Now he’s standing up staring at us.

I reply (in my usual snarky way) It just comes natural to us I guess.”

Then he rages.


He goes on and on yelling about what assholes we are and every guy in the store just pretends to not hear him and continues to “listen” to their headphones while ALL the women in the store are getting verbally abused.

Finally, a group of people get him out of the store.

And Emily and I decide just to wait awhile in case he’s outside ranting. Then this 40-something white guy walks by us and says, “Oh, another angry black man, surprise surprise.”

We look at each other again and Emily replies, “That doesn’t help the situation.”

Umm. WTF People?

What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Everyone?

There is so much racism, sexism, classism stuff happening in this scene I don’t even know where to begin.

4. We decided we had experienced enough crazy for the night. And since everything was off we’d just sit on our porch in our safety zone and not leave. For some reason, (I’ll continue to blame the heat and the alignment of the stars) there were crackheads EVERYWHERE. At least every 30 minutes a weirdo would walk by and one of us would say to the other, “don’t make eye contact–another crazy.” We did a lot of avoiding.

5. Finally. We made a new friend. I named him Mystery. Emily named him Buddy. But his real name is Django. He’s a black cat who lives across the street with our neighbor Anthony. Anthony is an older gentleman who found excuse after excuse to come over and talk.

Here are the different ways.

1) He was looking for his cat.

2) He wondered how his cat was doing.

3) He decided he needed to go to the store, did we need anything?

4) He got back from the store with treats for his cat.

5) He wondered if his cat was still doing okay.

6) If he ever left out of town, would we be interested in hanging out with his cat?

7) He wanted to order a pizza but he didn’t know who delivered this last, did we? Would we like any?

Django just shook his head at Anthony.

And Emily magically became vegan for a night.

He never actually stepped over our safety boundary but still, we didn’t seem to escape the crazy even when we tried. And now we have a neighbor that will probably try to creep. Great.

I haven’t done much today. I’m kind of afraid it’s still happening out there.