People don’t always believe me when I say I’m getting older, but it’s true: age really is a thing that happens, and the most frustrating part about my aging process is that I’m not getting any better. Like, I had really hoped to get my shit together by the time I reached my thirties, but even now I feel like I’m just beginning to find myself, and question the most basic components of my identity – like my own sexuality and whether I was born with it or maybe it’s Maybelline.

Granted, I recently found a shade of lipstick of which I’m particularly fond called “Cosmo Kitty.” So, it turns out my gender identity may be thirteen year old girl, which is a bit more specific than I would have otherwise thought.

That said, I can understand why my image confuses people. Some assume I’m a cross dresser, though I don’t personally see it that way. Others have assumed I’m transitioning into a woman, and that’s not exactly true either, because I don’t want a vagina; I just don’t want a penis. Basically, I just want nothing there – The Ken Doll, if you will. Like, if I could just have a black hole for a crotch, that would be perfect. And I don’t get why, with all our scientific advances, we can’t just remove the Higgs Boson from my genitals.

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