Sorry I'm so late with this; I've promised to get into it in several threads, so now Donnalee tells all! (or some of it, anyway).
About 6 weeks ago, my favorite aunt was having her 100th birthday party in a small Oregon city where she now lives and where I had gone to college. I considered this a truly momentous occasion and wouldn't have missed it for the world. The party was scheduled for 5 days before the actual event so I decided to not only be there for the party but for the real thing as well. I also decided to drive up and back dressed and spend at least one evening there dressed, as I should have 1 night free during my stay. I booked a motel online for the required period, made arrangements for the pups, and planned to set off at 10:00AM the next day. I left the house promptly at 4:00PM, just in time for the evening rush hour! Once I got 100 miles down the road the traffic had mostly cleared up, I phoned the motel to tell them I would be arriving late, (well, 2:30AM is pretty late!) and the rest of the trip was uneventful; I packed food so I wouldn't have to stop and what rest stops I did have were mostly "Find a nice flat place with a wide shoulder!", got there at the aforementioned time and went to my room to rehearse a musical presentation I had planned to do for my aunt and her guests; she's a remarkable woman and I wanted to aid in her celebrating her life. However, I have not performed in public for years and seem to have developed a nasty case of stage fright in the interim, plus I wanted to do it as close to right as possible, so I was up until 6:00 AM going over it; I've always prided myself on my professionalism. No problem; I could manage on 4 hrs. sleep and I didn't have to be there till 11:00AM. I set 2 alarms for 2 times a few minutes apart @ 10:00AM & went to sleep.
When I awoke promptly at 1:00 PM, I jumped into my suit & tie and drove to the luncheon too late to meet any of the guests, but family was still there, no presentation. That night and the next we dined at my cousin's house, a beautiful place in the hills with a large yard and a park-like setting. My aunt is a wonderful cook and baker, owned and ran her own bakery for a number of years (although she has mostly served in an advisory capacity for the last 20 years or so) and was very generous to her young nephew with a large appetite and an appreciation for the finer things in life, one of the reasons she's my favorite aunt. She's the youngest of several sisters, all of whom lived well into their 90s, which seems to be a genetic trait of only the females (all the males seem to get is male pattern baldness) so it's probably just as well that we're only related by marriage. I was glad to see my cousin was her mother's daughter and she fed us well. I tried to go through the musical part of the presentation, but went up on the lyrics and was quite embarassed. I stayed behind after everyone had left that night to talk to my cousin and help her clean up after dinner. A short while before I had told her brother I was trans due to the fact that it might come up in a negotiation over a neighbor's complaint about my dogs barking (the area I have lived in for 27 years is gentrifying and people with unrealistic expectations have moved in); he has been acting as my attorney for many years and is the closest thing to a brother I've had; although he is retiring, he agreed to go with me to the meeting with an assistant city manager, it was going to be brought up by me as a potential factor in the situation and I didn't want him blindsided. I looked on this as a need to know situation and up to then he didn't; now he did. On the spur of the moment, I decided to tell her; I told her what a great job she was doing taking care of her mom without interfering anymore than necessary, having myself taken care of an SO with Alzheimers for the 8 years before her death and that I was trans. I thought it might mean something coming from me, and, she, being lesbian, might be more likely to understand. Her reaction was quite unexpected; "Yes, that's very popular now!" and went on to tell me how she had recently been watching a show called "Transparent" on Amazon TV, so NBD for both of them!
The next day I was free, so that's when I decided to go out dressed. The only makeup I used was eyebrow pencil, mineral face powder and lipstick (when it takes over an hour to get eyebrows even and the right length and height, you minimize as much as possible). I put on a bra that had oversize foam cups (amazingly, I could just about fill them naturally), a full torso piece of shapewear with foam fannypads and an open crotch, a corset and panties over that, knee length black stockings, a nice long brown patterned rayon skirt and petticoat combo with an embroidered t-shirt and a cashmere/rayon blend lightweight sweater. Over this I wore a gorgeous wool gabardine khaki trenchcoat with a wool liner, something I had been searching for for decades and had finally found and bought a month prior along with a fuzzy wool white version (when you misspend much of your youth watching film noir, you must own a trenchcoat or two).
I didn't really have a plan as to where I was going or what to do (I hadn't lived there for nearly 50 years and didn't know where anything was any more), so decided to cruise the main drag (oops, better rephrase that) uhhh - drive on the major thoroughfare - to see the sights and where I'd like to stop. Got to the end where it turned into freeway and passed something of interest (was in the wrong lane and had to double back at the 1st exit). It was a tool store, part of a large chain that combines retail stores with online and mail order. Having seen their ads but not their products and even though I was dressed, I had to see what tools they had and if they were any good. They turned out to be extraordinarily good. Now I have been a music store rat since my early teens and used to supplement my income as a musician doing wholesale repairs on both electronics and woodworking for music stores with no repair department (which developed into my own music store), so I kind of went nuts and purchased around $250 in mostly hand tools; also, I've done my own vehicle repair for 50 years and am quite good at it, although I'm far too old to be laying under cars these days (although it seems I still need to). One of the things I bought was a really cool 3/8" ratchet that could be used as a breaker bar, an offset, a t-handle driver and would fit into many tight places where a ratchet couldn't ordinarily go; $10 and no tax in Oregon plus many other useful tools. The staff was fantastic, the checkout girl even tossed in a few of the less expensive tools for free.
During the time I was there, I felt some movement and realized my panties had come loose and were heading to the floor, so I asked where the bathroom was, went into the ladies and allowed the panties to slip down, retrieved them before they hit the floor and put them back on properly. I then finished my shopping, paid and headed out the door, only to find my panties had slipped again; this time I only had to make it a few steps to the car, where they came off and went into my pocket for the rest of the evening. What I learned from this is that elastic tends to slip down slick slopes (say that 3 times fast, I double-dog dare you!).
Fully loaded with tools, I next stopped for coffee at a Dutch Bros. kiosk in the same shopping center and was handed a decaf by an extraordinarily pretty young woman (the coffee was excellent too, by the way). I had noticed a large number of very pretty and well-dressed women, probably from the university; it reminded me of the UCLA campus in the '60s when I and a friend would go up there and lie under a tree on the main quad just to watch the coeds walk by. When I went to college in Oregon, most of the women looked and dressed (and for all I knew, were) lumberjacks (by the way, the football team sucked then, too)!
Next was something to eat. I decided to stop at an interesting looking Mexican place. When I parked, I saw what was apparently a delivery vehicle that looked familiar. In fact, it was a Honda 600, the very first car Honda brought into the US. 2 cylinder 0.6 liter motorcycle FWD engine with needle bearings on the crankshaft and designed like a Mini-Cooper (had a friend who raced those, the 850 body with everything ripped out of it and a 1275 engine goosed to 125HP weighed 600 lbs and with a hopped up suspension and wide tires could take right-angle corners at better than 50MPH [significant g-forces], unfortunately the last import year was '67; couldn't make smog); a big box for the people and a smaller one in front for the drivetrain, List price at the time, $1200 (that's right, hundred, not thousand). I test drove one of these in 1970, 1 or 2 (can't remember which); it would get up to 50MPH (10K RPM, I was told) quickly in 2nd gear, and performed much better than one would think; Suburu had their own 2 cylinder that looked like a miniature VW bug; there were several hundred impounded at SF's Fort Mason for several years back then, probably for smog. I took a ride in one that had slid past the embargo and cost about half what the Honda did! Hauled 4 people just fine, although we didn't go on the freeway.
I talked to the restaurant owner, the Honda had been their delivery vehicle for years and had been put out to pasture in the doorway. There was another group of people eating, so I took a small table toward the back. I was in no hurry to order or to eat; I finally decided on a burrito and was asked if I wanted it "wet" (I'm used to getting burritos from catering trucks around here, where there is no "wet", so agreed. When it came it was soaked in sauce and had to be eaten with a knife and fork, which kind of negates the whole idea of "little burro" as street food; well. live and learn, I say, although if you don't learn, sometimes you don't live. I don't eat quickly due to some dental issues, I have no working pair of molars so chewing takes a certain amount of maneuvering and I wanted to enjoy my food. This was not aided by the owner popping by frequently to ask how I was doing. About the 10th time I said "Now that you ask, I could do with a little less attention." which seemed to cool his jets a bit. I felt at the time as though I was under surveillance; in retrospect, I think he was just trying to get his family (who work there) and himself home after a long day.
We had a family dinner out on my aunt's actual birthday; I had already checked out of my motel room that morning and planned to drive back dressed after we ate. Since my first attempt at a present had failed so miserably, I had found a mother-of-pearl brooch, exquisitely carved, and wrapped very nicely at a local antique store. It was quite dark in the restaurant and the antique store owner had placed the brooch inside a metallic mesh bag, boxed it and wrapped the box in a flocked paper and ribbon that matched the bag. When my aunt opened the box, she thought the mesh bag was the present and had to be told to open the bag. Luckily I had my handy-dandy lighted pocket magnifier so she was able to see the beautiful hand-carved workmanship in the MOP pin. She had already thanked me for the bag (our family was brought up well-mannered) so no further thanks were necessary.
As I drove back to California that night after having dressed in a side street, two things became apparent; I was far more tired than I thought I'd be and couldn't travel very much farther. The other was that my stomach was doing nip-ups and I needed to find a rest stop fast. Stopped at a large truck stop and found relief and medication, but couldn't sleep there; too much sound and light. Found a rest area that wasn't too far down the road and pulled in and was able to catch 2 fitful hours of sleep.
This seemed adequate, but soon the pattern kept repeating; a little rest, drive a ways ad infinitum. Finally realized I was weaving and found a wide shoulder, pulled as far from the road as I could; I, in my black skirt and an orange checked blouse, and fell into the first decent sleep I had since starting back.
Three hours later, I was awakened by a State Trooper tapping on the window! He told me that he checked on me because there were reports of me weaving (true) and, I'm sure, wanted to know if I was under the influence (not mentioned); the trooper was very courteous and concerned that I was OK, which I was. The State of Oregon should get an ovation for training it's officers this well;; no reaction at all to how I was dressed plus I hadn't shaved for a day and 1/2. I felt very good about that, like there are better times coming. Incidentally, I used the Ladies Restroom at all my stops up and back; no problems at all!
I arrived home just in time for the morning rush hour. By the time I got home I unloaded the car, fed my pups (they had enough for when I expected to be home +, but their food was gone, water was OK), fell into bed and slept for 14 straight hours.
I've made up my mind; I am not going on any more road trips unless someone else drives.
Here are pictures of me in the restaurant, a couple of the Honda, and one of Mt. Shasta on the way back:
Originally Posted by Persephone
