Computer Tsunami 2014 continues.

This time I travel to Montgomery Mall, nearer to my house to pick up my fifth computer in two weeks.

Boy mode. Mall. Hair ties.

And with my confidence at an all-time high from Friday, I stride through the mall, feeling really good about myself. It is then that I notice several extended stares from guys. At the hair ties on my wrist.

And then another stare. And another. Exaggerated double takes and looks of disbelief.

Over a few multi-colored hairbands.

Seriously, guys?

But instead of getting depressed. Instead of shame, I am defiant.

I am transgendered, hear me roar, right? Fuck this shit. This is who I am.

I catch the eyes of a few of these guys, usually with their girlfriends in tow, oblivious to this interplay, and give the guys my look of defiance. And probably a little bit of, you wanna make something of this?

It seems to catch them off guard and they shuffle off, their eyes fixedly on the ground.

God, it feels great.

Ellen Ripley. Sarah Connor. Beatrix Kiddo. Eat your hearts out.

Amidst all of this transgendering, I’ve been dealing with what I like to understatedly call Computer Tsunami 2014.

Short version is that I’ve burned through three MacBook Pros in a week (cue primal scream).

Since my work IT is responsible for two-thirds of those burnouts, I set off to the Apple Store in Tyson’s corner to deal with my personal MacBook Pro cataclysm.

Good news, it turns out there is a Joint Venture program with Apple that gets you a loaner computer when your current computer is about to depart for repairs.

Boom. Done.

I’m stoked… I leave the store and realize, hey, I’m in a mall. A big mall. An awesome mall.

I stare at my hair ties for strength and say, screw it. I’m going to window shop women’s clothing and shoes without shame for the first time in my life.

And, well, it’s amazing.

Oh wow, I love that scarf. Great skirt. Ooohhh, I like that color. Killer boots.

In the past, I would have pretended to tie my shoe whilst waiting for the crowds to pass before surreptitiously sneaking a peak at a Cache or bebe shop window. Or feigning going in the wrong in direction so I could pass by a shoe display a second or third time.

Remember, my transgendering began well before this thing we called the World Wide Web existed. Or even before that of the wonder that is the Amazon rainforest of clothes.

And a funny thing happens along the way. I find my confidence is building. And I’m getting pleasant smiles from women who wouldn’t give me the time of the day in the past.

Who knows… maybe this is going to work out just fine.

And on the fourth day, I rested.

Better known as… if it’s Thursday, I must be emotionally spent.

But good can come from an emotional gas tank on empty. Sometimes that’s when we learn the most about ourselves.

And today I learned I am defiant. As evidenced, surprisingly, by seven hair ties around my left wrist. Black. Brown. Red. Pink. Purple. Turquoise. And leopard print.

I know it’s stupid, but these hair ties represent, in some weird way, who I really am whilst in “boy mode.” Something I can look at when I start to have my doubts. In other words, all the freakin’ time.

But figuring out who you really are is tough when you’re transgendered.

Speaking only for myself (and that’s a very important distinction, by the way), I’ve experienced, over the course of literally decades, what I can only describe as distinct phases, starting with exploration, objectification (better known as the “stripper phase”) to this past year as an alternative “female” construct of myself (“Jenni”).

But my most recent epiphany is fueled by Eddie Izzard, very quickly becoming my patron saint. I now have a “boy mode” — the version of me that I am comfortable sharing in public, and “girl mode” who still lives safely at home usually only on weekends. But it’s this crazy, funny, feisty, smart and hopefully sexy “girl” who I aspire to be in public.

But, and this is important (and, yes, we’re be talking about my big but), being in “girl mode” doesn’t mean I lose who I’ve been for literally 48 years. It doesn’t mean I stop watching football. Or Doctor Who. Or kick-ass adventure movies.

Hell, no.

This is only a sliver of the entirety of me. Okay, perhaps a slice. Or may be even a big, it’s-you’re-birthday-and you’re-allowed-to-splurge sized shard of birthday cake. But regardless of how tasty that piece of cake is, it’s still only a part of me.

Yeah, sorry. That analogy ran off the rails a bit.

In any event, my hope is that I can show the world who I really feel like on the inside. And speaking of kick-ass adventure movies, I’m hoping that woman is a little like Ellen Ripley, Beatrix Kiddo and Sarah Connor.

I have decided I want to make progress every day on my transgendered adventure.

This is day three.

So I book myself an appointment at Edris to get my hair cut. Androgynous when tied in a ponytail, more feminine when worn long.

I proudly declare that I am transgendered (here me roar!) when making the appointment. By email.

The fear returns, admittedly mixed with excitement, as I arrive for my evening appointment. LaTasha (with whom I had emailed) warmly welcomes me in, putting me at ease. Mostly.

I then meet Todd who will be cutting my hair this evening. I admit that I’m still a little nervous. Okay, a LOT nervous, but before I know it, I’m telling him all about my hair (frizzy), my transgendered life (scary), how I want to wear it (swept over).

After a calming shampoo and rinse, Todd starts on my hair. And I have the most pleasant conversation about being transgendered. Ever.

He then asks if I want my hair blow dried. Sure, why not?

Maybe it’s because this is my first time getting a woman’s hair cut, but I am guessing this is code for, make my hair as straight as humanly possible. And my hair does not do straight.

Except that under HIS blow dryer and hair iron, my hair is STRAIGHT. Jennifer Aniston straight. And it’s combed over in a feminine style. I’m a little freaked out, but I can’t help but grin. This is pretty awesome.

I then ask about the gray streaks in my hair and what I should do about them. And I get back the best news of the night. With the color of my hair (brunette), the gray hair acts as a natural highlight. So there’s that.

It is at this point that Todd notices my long nails. “Do you manicure your own nails?” I sheepishly nod my assent. “They look great!” He then calls over LaTasha and I have the most wonderful conversation about my nails. Nails that I have hidden during meetings. Nails that I have hidden at bars. Nails that I have been ashamed of. And for the first time in my life, I feel happy about them. We talk about my style in clothing, boots, makeup and I don’t want the evening to end.

Best line of the night, “I love your cheekbones.” Score!

But it has been two hours so I ask if my hair will tie up in a ponytail for my walk back to the hotel.

“It should.”

AAAGGGGGHHHH! Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?

But tie up it does, and I share my heartfelt gratitude for a magical evening before heading out.

I finally arrive back at my hotel room and play with my straight hair in the mirror.

Jennifer Aniston, eat your heart out.