First of all, merry fucking whatever, and welcome to my thread. You are welcome to rant at length here about whatever you may choose, but my topic of choice tonight is family.
I normally like my family. I understand that my family is made out of old people and that sometimes old people espouse views which would have been better off left behind in a bygone era.
I really don't think my dad meant to go on a drunken transphobic rant because I know I definitely did not mean to drunkenly egg him on. I am sure that if he knew all of my lovely trans friends or understood that the medical specialty I am considering is reproductive endocrinology he would have approached the topic differently.
That said, my dad went on a drunken transphobic rant where he basically declared that reassignment surgery was yucky and that trans people were defective.
I proceeded to make this 100% worse by barking out "I don't plan on reproducing, does that make ME defective?" This was not new information — I have tried very gently to ease this information into my old man's skull — but both of us being drunk made the introduction of this habitual stumbling block an extremely inopportune choice.
Let me just pause here and say how fucking ridiculous it is that my dad can't understand my deep conflict regarding making more people like myself. Listen, I get the mommy impulses just like every woman. I think my reproductive capacity is amazing and yes, sometimes, very selfishly, I pretend I could make a perfect little person and dress them perfectly and hire tons of people to actually parent them for me and that this would totally turn out great.
My dad tried to do just that, and he and mom are really lucky the stars were on their side. I do not mean to sound ungrateful here; I am truly and deeply thankful that my parents stupid gamble has turned out lovely, with both of their children gainfully employed, happily partnered and optimistic about the future. I just don't delude myself that this was the likely outcome. Both of my parents are mentally ill. I was a deeply troubled child from the outset and I almost died — literally, on the gurney, almost died — two times because of a history of drug addiction which dates back to my early teens. I am now stable and medicated, and I don't discount my parents hard work in helping me reach this place. That said, that was a lot of fucking work. I don't want to risk having a kid when it would likely be the same battle — a battle I WOULD HAVE EVERY CHANCE OF LOSING NO MATTER HOW HARD I FOUGHT, BECAUSE BRAIN CHEMISTRY IS SCARY. I particularly don't want to risk having to fight that battle when I am at most selfishly, vainly, transiently interested in parenthood.
Back to the terrible argument: and then my dad just blurts out "Well you haven't DONE ANYTHING TO YOURSELF have you?" in front of the whole family. As in, surgically. To my reproductive system. Yes, I had to then vouch for the integrity of my marital bits in front of my whole family including my sibling. It was the desperation on my sibling's visage that led me to end the conversation as quickly as humanly possible and turn it over to CHRIST, ANYTHING, ANYTHING BUT THIS.
Again, I really, really love these people. But what the actual FUCK, DAD!? I am not even broaching this subject again because it's totally unnecessary. I just needed to rant at you with my ranty fingers.
Alright, people, tell me your tales. What got under your skin this Christmas season?