Braying Laughter Coming From the Back of the House

I live in an extremely Mormon community in rural Northern Utah. I came out as a trans man as a teenager, about 10 years ago. My neighbor— someone who I had always known as a traditional Mormon woman in her early 40s, a devout housewife, a mother of several children, a valued community member from a very important family in our area (her brother is literally the mayor of our town), and at most SLIGHTLY more reclusive and quiet than most of the bigshots in our community— quietly told me on their front porch one evening that they have always seen themself as a man.

They wistfully told me about their college years, where they were involved in the lesbian community, before in their early 20s realizing that it was “more” than that. About how they only moved back home and got married after their college degree because the thought of being a disappointment to their family, and being disowned, felt impossible to cope with. So they got married to a man that they admit they don’t feel any ounce of attraction towards, and had several kids, and they’re not quite the pride to their parents as their siblings (due to being slightly more reclusive, not really having friends to speak of that aren’t just church ladies that they work with, and, admittedly, always seeming a bit depressed to me). They said that they were proud of me for doing what I needed to do, though, and they were happy that my family at least wasn’t disowning me.

Nobody else in our community knows. Not their family, not their husband, not their kids, not the people they do church outreach with.

And whenever I read stories of forgotten trans men, I always think of them. They’re still alive! They’re still here! And nobody but me will probably ever know! And if I hadn’t come out in this tiny little community, I’d never know either!

Idk. Sorry for the vent/rant. Thank you for listening. It crushes me to be the only one who knows them as a man, sometimes.

Recipient of a third-degree burn in front of witnesses. IE, "I won't take that shit from a man dressed like a ghostbuster"= "Gostbuster" or "Buster"

A distinctive personal feature or quirk. IE, "Have you noticed how that new guy is always eating bell peppers?" = "Peppers", or "That chick has a massive forehead" = "Forehead".

An embarrassing thing you said or did. IE, "Did you seriously call Dale "Dad"?" = "Junior", "Baby boy", "Sport"

A game of name-mutation telephone. IE, "Donny Clyde" = "Bonnie 'n' Clyde" = "Bonnie" = "Bon-bon".

Irony. IE, calling a tall person "short stack" or a particularly dour person "sunshine".

A 'wrong place wrong time' one-off incident. IE, "He spilled oil on his pants and had to borrow a pair that were way too big and Jim saw him with the waistband pulled up to his nipples and called him 'Parachute'"

A batman-style origin story but not in a cool way: "One time she hit a deer with the company car and when she called the boss to tell her she was crying so hard we thought she was dying" = "Bambi"

The incredibly rare 'admiration' nickname, bourne only once a millennia under the light of the blood moon: "We saw him lift a truck once so now we call him 'iron man'"

+ How Nicknames Stick:

Your fate is determined by The Counsel

You hate it

bringing yet another culinary horror from the russian internet here

3_rublya, well, i wanted to bake a duck for New Year. Just before the New Year’s Eve it suddenly turned out that there are no whole ducks in the store, just the parts. I made the strategic decision to buy a bunch of duck parts and cook them. At home, I got upset that I won’t have a whole duck, and I tried to restore the duck from breasts and legs by sewing them together. At this point it turned out that each tray I bought had not two but three legs, so overall there were six, five of which were left ones. While I was sewing the duck together, I stained it with the food dye my sister spilled while making pryaniks (the pryaniks were good, by the way), and the duck started looking like it has gone moldy or expired. I couldn’t stand for this injustice and entirely covered it with dye to hide the stains. And then I also shoved some celery and oranges up its ass, just because I could.