Jeremy borrowed my phone a few days ago to listen to music. What I didn’t know is zie was listening to a podcast instead of the songs I’ve got downloaded. What zie didn’t know is I turn off my wifi while I’m at work because our lunch room only *just* gets wifi, enough to connect but not enough to actually load any pages, and I hadn’t bothered to turn it back on. I hadn’t been home for long and was using my netbook and not my phone. It wasn’t until zie started laughing that I realized what was going on and by then zie’d gone through about 300mb of my 750mb bandwidth allotment. I’d already used that much myself and still have half a month to go.
I usually go on Facebook while I’m on the bus to and from work but for the next two weeks I need to find an alternate form of entertainment. Today I listened to the bus voice. Our local transit company has modernized our buses. Each bus is fitted with a computerized sign on the front, which means half the time I catch The Pulse and the rest of the time I catch A1 Message. Inside there’s another sign which has text scrolling across the screen at the same time as a computerized voice announces the street name. The transit company decided the local companies were too expensive and outsourced to a German company, where they guessed at what our foreign street names might sound like. Gibbons has transformed into Gibbles, Garrard (which is locally pronounced as Juhrard) is Gare-red, and Athol is enunciated in a gleeful, sing-song voice. It doesn’t sound anything like Athol. Emma snickers every time she hears it.
I met two new coworkers and showed them each a recent picture of Jeremy. I show *everyone* pictures of my kids. Emma lucks out because she no longer lives at home so I don’t have nearly as many photos of her (everyone thinks Tiny Cat is adorable btw). The first coworker looked at Jeremy’s picture and proclaimed “her” to be beautiful.
“How old is she?” my coworker asked, smiling as she gave the picture a closer look.
“Zie’s 17 years old,” I replied.
The next coworker heard someone else refer to Jeremy as “my son” and automatically called zir “he”.
Then I sat down for lunch with one of my coworkers (the one who gave me potato curry). She started talking about a distant relative of hers who she knew in her old country.
“When we were little he always used to sit with the girls and wear all sorts of bracelets. I lost track of him when we moved and then my husband went to visit some relatives and he answered the door. He was wearing a dress. Can you believe that?” I could but she barely took a breath so I assumed she didn’t want an answer. “My husband asked him why and he said it was his bleeding time and that made him feel more comfortable. He really acts and looks like a woman now.”
I debated on bringing up pronouns again but I already had once in the conversation and figured that horse was well and truly dead. “I’m thinking she’s probably intersex,” I said instead. “Hormones can do a lot but they can’t give someone who was born looking male a working uterus.”
My coworker sat silently for a few seconds, probably translating what I’d just said, then she smiled. “So he’s like Jeremy,” she exclaimed cheerfully. “He looks like a boy on the outside but is a girl on the inside while Jeremy looks like a boy on the inside and like a girl on the outside.”
She was close enough so I agreed.
I got off work early today, which is good because Jeremy woke up at 3am last night. I was up then too. It’s hard to sleep while someone’s laughing at a video, opening and closing cupboard doors looking for a snack, and rummaging through the closet for clothes. You’d think looking for clothes would be quiet. Jeremy sounds like zie’s falling down a flight of stairs while juggling coat hangers.
Jeremy complained that I was keeping zir up this evening when I said I wanted to watch an episode of Doctor Who with zir. To be fair I was. It was only 5:30pm at the time and there was no way zie was going to bed that early. Zie stayed awake through most of the episode and headed off as soon as it was done. Hopefully zie’ll sleep through the night. A few more sleepless nights and I’ll be going for the rubber mallet sleep training approach. Not really but it’s tempting at 4am.
*tiptoeing off to bed so I don’t wake Jeremy*