Ande: First Anniversary

So here's a kind of funny thing:  Andie and I both had our first-anniversary dates about a week ago, and it's kind of funny how sometimes we're in sync like that, even though we're in different parts of the country.  I mean, we should be - we're twins and we've exchanged lives! - but things don't quite wind up lining up quite so often as we'd like.  

She and her boyfriend did fly out this summer, though, to see the fireworks on the Fourth and get a chance to hang out with me and Hildy.  The spare room they used has since been filled with Griff's girlfriend - they really like having their own space - and I like Chipper.  I don't think I would have dated him myself, though Andie does think about what might have been when hanging around Hildy, but he seems like a pretty good guy who likes Andie a lot.  I'm also glad to see that long Covid isn't completely kicking her ass these days, though she shows symptoms often enough that we didn't bring up the idea of switching back.

Strangely enough, I may have felt more pangs for my old life during the anniversary date.  Hildy and I don't dress up much when we go out, to the extent that she was making jokes about how completely buried her one pair of heels were in her closet, but she clearly spent a lot more time than usual, curling her hair, doing her makeup, waxing her legs, all that.  On the one hand, it kind of sounds like a real pain in the neck these days, but in the other, my heart kind of jumped into my throat when I met her at her place.  Sure, I was wearing a coat and tie,  but it wasn't the same effect. 

The date itself was fun - we had a nice meal at Legal and then went to a show at the A.R.T., then got snacks at Insomnia Cookies because we didn't really want to mar the night by not being able to talk or way into a bar.  We spent the night at her place (we didn't want to get the stink-eye from the new roommate either).

Andie texted me a selfie overnight, saying she knew it was weird for me but if she was wearing garters and stockings and had a big old slit practically all the way to her butt, plus a push-up bra, she was showing off.  I laughed, saying she looked good and I don't know if I would have had the patience, and she said, yeah, probably not, but sometimes we both overcompensate.  I asked how I overdo it, and she said she couldn't help but laugh at how short my hair was in July  especially since I had to wear a baseball cap in order to avoid sunburning my scalp. 

She's got a point, I guess. 

Anyway, it's kind of worth noting that I've been doing my thing as a guy long enough to have an anniversary that's more about being happy about something in this life rather than thinking that i can't believe I've been a guy long enough to have dated a girl for a year. 

-Ande

Rusty/Monica: Does this count as a long-term plan?

I've enrolled in a new class.  Not a language one - I'm kind of getting nowhere with Korean and while I'm going to keep plugging away at that, I'm guessing it probably wouldn't be a great idea to try to learn something else on top of it - but studying for a real estate license.  Basically, I really enjoyed working in sales with Dragon Energy, in part because it got me out and about in the city, as opposed to sitting at a desk and making phone calls all day. 

The class is on the same building as the language school - I'm not sure how many times I started at the sign over the past few months without thinking that it might be fir me - so it's really convenient.  On Fridays, I finish work at about six, run out to grab a slice, and then head back in.  Even if you're calling me 23 rather than 16, I'm still the youngest person in class by a lot.  About half the class is recently-divorced women from Long Island, one of whom did not take me saying that it was either this or medicine well at all, because I guess her ex is a doctor who cheated on her with a pharma girl.

It's kind of nice to have something to do on Friday nights when Katey and Dad are out with their boyfriends.  I'm starting to think that I'm the "A" part of LBGTQIA+, and that the original Monica was too.  A few of her college and high school boyfriend have messaged me about getting lunch or a drink while they were in the City for a meeting or convention or something, and they all seem to like Monica and wish it had worked out, but they just weren't a physical match or something.  A couple apologized for being impatient because she wanted to take it slow, or getting the wrong idea because she liked running around campus in skimpy workout clothes.

I haven't really talked about this with Dad and Katey, specifically, because I'm not totally sure.  Like, I'll be runningin the park and someone will make me turn my head, but it doesn't feel like desire so much as appreciation, I don't think.  Dad's not sure i can tell the difference, and maybe she's right, but it just doesn't ever feel important. 

And it's important to them!  Things are going surprisingly well with Dad and June/Jonah. Dad still really doesn't like getting dressed up or made up, and she's always really embarrassed when she doesn't get home until the next morning, like she wouldn't enjoy being with someone who was a woman for decades and really knows what's going on inside her. 

And I want Dad to have fun and be happy, but it's kind of making me feel like a fifth wheel.  J/J joined the trivia team yesterday, and Katey is always flirting with Omar during trivia,  so i feel a bit left out.l, kind of wondering if the original Monica would let folks at her up because it made hanging out with her friends easier. 

Anyway, it's nice to have something to do on Friday night, and I really do think being a realtor could be a really fun job! 

- Rusty/Monica

Toby: Dunia & Papi

(Wrote this October 1st, forgot to hit send!)

Doing this again to try and forget that I'm in a flight attendant's uniform and will soon be flying to Washington, doing a job i haven't trained for at all. 

The strange thing is, that feels like the first thing that had me really nervous since arriving in Miami.  It seems crazy to say that, because nobody else seems to really click into new lives quite so fast, but as soon as Lambert dropped me off in front of this pastel-colored building, her father ran out and squished me to his chest.  "Where were you?  Everyone has been so worried!"

"We, uh, got lost in the woods.  Ms. Polawski... Alicia... had this 'glamping' idea, and while she backed a ton of extra food, she apparently forgot a compass, and after these other guys found us...  Well, it was just so embarrassing..."  I felt embarrassed saying this, but I guess that made it sound believable, because he just kissed the top of my head, said I didn't ever need to ashamed to tell him anything, and then picked up my luggage, apparently not noticing that there were two suitcases instead of one.

I'd seen pictures and video of Enrico Cortes on Dunia's phone, but somehow hadn't expected a few things.  You can always smell the garage on him, for instance, even underneath the Old Spice (also: Dunia has an unnervingly good sense of smell), and even when he's so happy to see you that you think he'd overdo a hug, you can sort of feel that he knows when to stop.  He's also strangely tidy - his mustache is perfectly trimmed and every room in this little house is so well-organized that I haven't had to arouse suspicion by asking where anything is in the past week, or at least every room except for Dunia's bedroom.

It wasn't quite dark yet but I was tired, and fell asleep practically as soon as I sat on the bed.  When I woke up the next morning I saw my shoes were neatly placed at the foot of the bed and I'd been covered with a light blanket, which was kind of creepy, but maybe that's just what fathers do when they see their daughters sprawled out with the door open?  I was kind of fuzzy - this was, like, my third day as Dunia and I was kind of jolted awake by her face in the mirror, but let my nose lead me downstairs to where he was scrambling some eggs, and perked up on seeing me.  "Hey, you're up early!  Although I guess you went to bed pretty early for you, so it balances out.  Join your old man for breakfast?"

"Uh... okay."  I sat down and he handed me a plate.  I was a little nervous at first - there were bits of peppers in the eggs, but it wasn't bad at all.  The orange juice was fresh-squeezed, too, and for as silly as I feel silly getting all wide-eyed at my first sip because it's nothing compared to what else is new, it really was different. 

Her dad noticed and chuckled.  "They don't have the fresh aid up in Maine, huh?"  I imagine it's like North Dakota, where they have it in the fancy places folks like Lambert so at but which is out of my range, but obviously didn't say anything  "Well, I'm off to the shop.  Anything you need me to bring home?  I got those bath oils you wanted while you were away, and I imagine you're looking forward to that after your adventure!"

Taken aback, I lifted an arm and smelled my armpit.  I've smelled worse, but I imagine a girl who asks her dad to pick up bath pills doesn't often go 48 hours without showering, especially in this humidity.  I let him awkwardly hug me goodbye, and then made my way to the bathroom 

There was a whole line of products against one wall, and I sarcastically took a picture and texted it to Dunia:  "What an i supposed to do with all this?"

It was only a minute or so before she texted back: "Hahahhaha, that must seem like a lot

"Why don't you just get in and soak and I'll write something up?"

I was kind of surprised by the quick response. "Isn't it like 5an there?"

"4! No daylight savings time

"Guess I'm an early riser now and still sort of on eastern time"

I turned on the faucet and put a door under the tap until it seemed okay.  "That sucks"

"Could be worse, I guess.  I'm kind of hot for an odd man"  She sent a selfie of a silver-haired man in a wide-beater.  She did look like she was in pretty decent shape.  "Now you"

I tried to be cute, throwing up a v-sign and posing with my mouth open so I didn't look annoyed to be her.  There was a brief pause, and she texted back not to make hand signs unless I really meant it.

Then:  "Hey don't be shy about washing my v, ok?  I know it's weird - BELIEVE ME - but I want EVERYTHING in good shape next year"

"Um, k"

She didn't respond door a minute or two, so I took a deep breath, stripped, and lowered myself into the bath.  I winced a bit when the warm water touched my new private parts, but once I was in, it wasn't a big deal.  I mean, it was weird, but it wasn't arousing or anything.

I exhaled and looked down.  Dark-ish skin, perky breasts, tight waist, landing strip, butt flaring out, pretty nice legs.  Little landing strip above a slit, yes, but it kind of hit me that this at least looked tidy, compared to what Dunia must be seeing from the same angle.

I just sat there for a bit.  The warm water felt good, the house was quiet except for some birds outside.  It was kind of peaceful.  I closed my eyes and let my head sink below the water, feeling my hair float on the surface, then popped back up.  That felt like enough doing nothing, so I picked up a lavender-scented beauty bar and started rubbing it on my body.  My skin was soft, and kind of sensitive, but it wasn't ...  Like, you spend a lot of time as a guy thinking about how everything about girls is sexy, but it's actually just skin muscle and fat the way my own body is.  Even when washing my chest, it was like, there's weight and mass there, but touching it doesn't make me go nuts or anything.

Anyway, I got washed up and smelling nice, and once I'd tried off I walked back to her room to get dressed.  Just a simple t-shirt and shorts - it was in the 80s - and spent a little time zooming with Dunia afterward, as she went through all the stuff in the bathroom and said what it was for.

We zoomed a lot over the past week, and I get the impression that's not normal - like, a lot of folks just get thrown into a new life without a lot of help, but I kind of get the impression that Dunia is kind of bored between trips and is in kind of a similar situation to me - she's getting instruction on driving an 18-wheeler and kind of worried about it, so when she has a chance, she's helping me with makeup and going through her Instagram feed to fill me in on everyone.  I complained about her wardrobe a bit but she said I'd like having this butt when her girlfriends get me out dancing and the halters make it look like we've got enough up top to balance them.

And her dad...  Her dad is kind of great!  He's fretting a lot because of the whole going missing thing, but seems really proud of her, and even when he comes home from a long day at the garage smelling like grease, he likes to cook Dunia's favorite foods and ask how my day was, and when I say I've spent the whole day studying, points out that I should have some fun, too.

I've only seen Lambert a couple of times over the past week - I gather that Alicia is the new roommate in an apartment with a few other flight attendants, having just relocated to Miami from New York, and apparently the previous Alicia didn't make a very good impression.  I don't think he's ever had a roommate before.

Anyway, I'm leaving out a lot, I know, and getting into too much in other spots, but I'm about to start my first shift and I'm nervous.  Wish me luck!

-Toby/Dunia

Marc/Dustin: Peace in our time

As you might expect in a house with so many people, not the least of which are three Inn-transformees, there are some pretty complicated interpersonal dynamics at play, and simply navigating them can be exhausting.

Our initial instinct was to stay off the radar while carving out a dynamic that worked for us. John and Mary were bunked downstairs in Cassie's basement bedroom while I was on the top floor in a room of my own.

Unfortunately, questions were being asked about why Dakota was suddenly so distant from Dustin. Personally, I was keeping John at arm's length, giving him space to work out his issues with his wife. I sat next to him at the table for meals, being that he remained my closest ally in the house and someone I have a shared past with (read: scandalous secret.) I figured this would fall under the domain of "nobody's business but ours." So we don't go shopping together? So we don't kiss in public? Who's to say what's right?

Unfortunately, when you're 22 and in a full house, everything is everybody's business. People wanted to know whether we had broken up.

And there was a reason why we couldn't just do the easy thing and say "yes."

Dustin is not very popular here.

Only having been here for a few months, I obviously don't have much first-hand understanding, but I gleaned it almost from the moment I walked in as the girls would mostly give me the cold shoulder when I tried to be cordial and sociable. I chalked that up to "Oh, he's Dakota's boyfriend and they don't want to cross a certain line of appropriateness with him" but the pointedness became undeniable. At some point, the girls of the house -- and PJ -- had enough of this guy. There are guys here too, but mostly as boyfriends, add-ons and transients. It's all the women's names (and PJ's) on the lease. The guys don't really have a say as to who lives here, and Dustin is here on a boyfriend visa. If he and Dakota aren't a couple, there's really no reason for him to be in this house.

Perhaps your next question is -- why do I have to live in the house at all? Wouldn't it be easier if I just excuse myself, let John and Mary live their lives, and find something else to do with myself until it's time to go back to the Inn?

I couldn't agree more, but unfortunately, our lives are slightly more entangled than all that. You see, for the last several months, I've been paying both Cassie's and Dakota's share of the rent out of my own pocket, out of my "war chest." Mary is trying to become more financially independent, working at a restaurant, but is pretty underpaid. I'm not asking her to repay everything she owes me, but she's having a hard enough time getting on her own two feet. John gave it a try too, but wasn't cut out for the service industry. He just gives off this vibe of being "above it" that employers don't seem to like. He worked two shifts with Cassie and washed out, and hasn't been able to get anything else since.

"Sexist," he grumbled, "If I had the same attitude as a man, they'd say I was independent, but because I'm a woman, I'm a bitch."

"Welcome," Mary teased.

Until we can get that straightened out, it doesn't make sense for me to live elsewhere. But what it all amounts to is a few weeks ago, Mary and John sat me down in my (and Dakota's) room, and told me that I was going to have to start getting more lovey-dovey with my "girlfriend."

"We need them to see that you two still care about each other," Mary said, "Holding hands, joking around... touching, laughing... kissing, occasionally," she added, with a bit of queasiness in her voice.

I looked at John, who feigned discomfort, probably for Mary's benefit.

"You can't just force that sort of thing," I protested. "We're... practically strangers..." I stammered over the lie that I had never met John before the Inn.

"That's what we're counting on," Mary said. "You know John's himself inside, but... you never met him. You only know him as Dakota. So why not..." she sighed, "Why not try to forget that isn't all she is?"

My eyes shifted between the two of them. I wasn't entirely sure what they were saying.

"Mary, no matter who this looks like, that's still your husband," I insisted.

"It's more complicated than that, Dustin," Mary said, using my false name, maybe to distance herself from the reality. "We have been at it over and over and over again, and we... we aren't getting anywhere. And we can't keep fighting over how to approach this situation."

I was aware that, behind closed doors, John and Mary were having an understandable difficulty coming to terms with the dynamic. I don't think it was quite the sexy fantasy John was hoping for. And I know it's created some friction. I also know that PJ, who shares a wall with Cassie, has had a lot to say about them disrupting their sleep with their constant muffled bickering.

"I want John to be happy," Mary said, holding her husband's little hand.

"And I want Mary to be happy," John replied in a low murmur, "And she's never going to be happy with me like this."

"So, you're what... giving up?" I balked. I had been through this myself, so I slightly took exception.

"We're hoping we can find our way back to each other," John noted -- a statement that rang falsely to me, the person he once cheated on his wife with. "In another time, when this is all over and we're ourselves... or different people."

"John and Mary love each other," Mary said, resignedly, "But Cassie and Dakota are just friends. Does that make sense?" Having had my mind and body warped multiple times by now, it did, but that didn't mean I didn't sense something else afoot here.

"It's for the best," John shrugged. I glared at him and thought I'm sure it is.

"I'll leave you two to sort some things out," Mary said, wiping her tears away and standing to leave.

Once she was gone, there was a pregnant pause in the air, until I finally asked, "What the fuck, John?"

"It's exactly what we said," he shrugged his little shoulders and flicked a lock of hair away from his face. "We're not meant for each other anymore... right now... what have you."

"You wanted this," I said, accusatorily.

"I wanted resolution," he reasoned, "I wanted a status quo we could all live with. And I didn't want to hurt Mary."

"Well, congrats, she's hurt," I groaned.

"But I didn't hurt her," John noted. "The situation did."

"The situation you organized," I noted.

"Excuse me!" he scoffed, "I didn't sign up to become Dakota and Cassie! I could have easily been anybody walking out of that Inn and the odds were good that she and I would have been people who were meant to be together."

"And the odds were good that you wouldn't," I said, seeing through his convenient plausible deniability. "Either way it's a win, right? A little bit of short-term pain, a few late nights crying into each other's arms, oh, I can't do this, I'm not myself... we're not us anymore... and you get to walk away. I've heard it before."

"And so what?" he put his hands on his hips indignantly, "Is that not legitimate? Do my feelings not matter? Don't you think if I could be sexually attracted to Mary, to Cassie, I would be? She's gorgeous. That's part of a relationship, as far as I'm concerned, and without it, she and I are exactly what these two girls are -- friends. That isn't nothing. It hurts, but it isn't nothing."

"You seem very hurt," I said sarcastically.

"Don't minimize me here," John huffed, "I want what everyone wants, to be happy. To feel love and excitement and cared-for. She's not a saint either! You don't know her, you weren't married to her!"

"Don't make this about her," I said. "You could have divorced her like a normal fucking person," I hissed, trying to keep my voice down in case anyone outside could hear me.

"And if I didn't know about the fucking Inn, I might just have," he said. "Maybe last year, Ryan should have told me to divorce my wife instead of Shanghai-ing me to Maine."

I sunk down. I certainly didn't come into this with clean hands. I made one grave error in judgment and I've paid for it ever since. But I know that at the time John would rather have killed himself than go through a divorce. And most likely, done neither.

Did that make what I did right? And if not, was I responsible for any and all decisions John made since?

John sat next to me on the bed, our thighs touching. I shifted but he still closed the gap.

"Let's focus on us for a second," he said, now fawning, seemingly remorseful that he had taken that last shot. He reached for my hand and I let him take it.

"There isn't an us, not inside this room," I insisted. "I can try to put on an act, and you can vouch for me, but it won't be real, John. I hope you know that. I'm going to sleep on the floor -- one of the advantages of a 22-year-old back."

"Okay," John said, coldly, "But the second I don't need your money, what then? You're out on your ass."

"Believe me, I'll live," I said.

"I'm not your enemy, Marc," he said, activating Dakota's big doelike eyes, "We've had fun together. We understand each other. And with you as Dustin and me as Dakota, we... we're kind of all we've got. I know you're lonely. You're not going to start a relationship with anybody else, because that would upend the real Dustin's life. But that logic won't stop you from finding the next Christine. Why not make the best of the situation? I'm willing if you are."

I looked at him, he fixed me with that glassy, pleading stare. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

His lips curled up in an inviting smile that, in other situations, I might have found very cute. "Tell me you're not a little curious."

I let out a heavy sigh. "Like I said, I'm sleeping on the floor."

"Suit yourself," he sighed.

"If... if... there's to be anything here between us, it will have to develop over time," I said. "Dakota and Dustin may be in love, but John and Marc are just two people trying to navigate an extremely messed-up situation."

He nodded slowly in agreement. "Fair terms, I think."

And that was that. The time since has proceeded exactly as we laid it out. In front of everyone else we're fun, flirty and physical -- I set the limit at three kisses on the lips per day for the benefit of others, and not around Mary if it can be helped. I've also spent a lot of time talking to her, but that's a subject for another post. 

As to what's really going on between John and I, I don't know. I'm just taking it day by day. For now,  we have some semblance of peace... but I do wonder, at what cost?

-Marc/Dustin

Isaac/Ainsley: Gen Z Boss and a Mini

She's actually a Millennial, but whatever.

I wanted to write about this sooner, but working Ainsley's job is one of the most draining experiences of my life; I've got nothing left by the time I get home. And this is a job people would kill for, especially in my situation! It's a laptop job that pays decently in a field that doesn't absolutely require years of training, and Ainsley's still young enough that I can defer to people with more experience and responsibility. All I have to do is learn how to talk the talk.

Ainsley, for her part, loves her job and made an admirable effort to coach me in between trying to keep her toddler from destroying the house. She can teach me the right buzzwords to use. She can teach me about her coworkers, matching names to faces, who to ask for help and who's not worth talking to. She can tell me what she usually wears to the office. (I haven't actually worn a miniskirt, by the way. The title's just for the meme.) She can teach me everything there is to know about how to market a hotel chain and why it requires great dexterity with arcane features of Microsoft PowerPoint. (Obviously as an accountant I'm an Excel person.) But she can't teach me how to talk like I'm someone who actually belongs there.

My first hands-on lesson with the marketing industry was that human beings can smell fear. I walked in on the first day after Heather pushed and laughed me out the door, giving me a 25-minute commute to do nothing but stew in my own desperation to somehow, in that moment, wake up back in Virginia. I triple-checked my makeup even though I'd practiced and it was easier than I thought it'd be. (Besides eyeliner, that one's really annoying.) But my makeup job didn't out me as a complete fraud; instead it was my gait. My habit of staring at the ground, reminding myself that Ainsley Thomas would absolutely not do that, looking up, seeing all the people around, and going back down. Going out of the way to be invisible, like I always do.

This place actively punishes invisibility, it backfires on me every time. Not only is it a relatively small office where everyone at least vaguely knows everyone else, marketing as an industry inherently attracts the most outgoing, hypersocial Type-A people imaginable. When I walk in and don't jump for joy after seeing "my" coworkers for the first time in months, when I describe my sabbatical as "fine" and only when pressed throw in half-assed details about the wonderful and fun-filled time I had in Maine. A perfectly photogenic guy walked in, passed out slices of pumpkin bread and told us his wife made it. He's younger than Ainsley, just a few years older than me. They're all excitable, upbeat, driven people, or at least they come across that way, because obviously you can't expect to market anything if you can't market yourself first. For nine hours a day I'm a sheep in wolves' clothing.

Really the worst part is how genuinely concerned they seem to be for me. One woman asked me if I had any new dog pics and looked like I'd grown a third arm when I told her I didn't. By the end of the first day, two of Ainsley's coworkers had already pulled me to the side and asked if something happened to me in Maine. They're certain of it now, I'm sure, thanks to my nonexistent poker face. It doesn't matter how much actual knowledge about Ainsley's job I can study if I can't bring myself to seem like I wholeheartedly enjoy using the word "craveable".

And I don't know how! I've never not been invisible, I liked it back there! Whatever attempts I make to seem more outgoing only make me feel like I come across as even weirder than if I just don't try. And I get a lot of chances to, with how I've got to be on some Zoom call with the other team in Jersey City half the time. I have to see Ainsley's face next to the others on the conference call, and even when I don't have to speak up I'm left thinking, God. I can't even smile in a way that doesn't look creepy.

I'm gonna need to get a hobby before I go completely insane. I need something I can actually talk about with these people, make me seem a little more like a human before Ainsley's manager (who has been very accommodating this far, by the way) outright tells me it's impacting my work instead of just shooting me concerned looks. I know "I'm" on thin ice already for having missed far more work than planned. Maybe I'll have to stop ditching the weekly after-work drinks a lot of the team goes on. But for now I can feel the team grow more distant every day as they adjust to the new Ainsley, and as much as I appreciate people reciprocating my untalkativeness I hate feeling like I'm ruining every part of her life I touch. And that happens to a lot of Inn guests, to some extent or another, but from what I've read a lot of people here have done a better job fitting in at their new lives' workplaces, not accounting for missing skills. Missing skills should be the hard part, I'm screwing up what's supposed to be the easy stuff.

All these people care about a person I can't even begin to understand how to be, how to embody. And that goes tenfold for her actual friends. I'd get more into that if it wouldn't derail the whole post.

Yeah. A hobby or just, anything that doesn't involve Ainsley's massive social network. I have got to find a way to make a blog post that isn't purely a vent session before the one about returning to my own body. I hope.

Toby/Dunia: A Much Longer Trip Than I Expected

So... Hi.  I'm afraid that I don't have any sort of introduction where I'm just me saying what I'm doing in Maine.  I kind of didn't even realize this place had a blog attached until after I became this girl. 

It's this sort of thing common, or is it all about the curse or whatever?  I've never really traveled much, or at least not to cities.  We used to go to some of the closer National Parks when I was a kid, but Ma had to sell the camper after the cancer took Dad, and even if there had been money we were never really sure there'd be a job to come back to if we took time off.  I didn't really think about it much, though, I guess because I never had it to miss and there weren't a whole lot of kids in my high school who were going on European vacations.

There were some folks with money around, though their kids went to private schools.  I guess Lambert was one of them.  I didn't know him before I answered the ad; he must've been a couple years ahead of me anyway.  He bought a car on eBay, and since he never liked to fly, he put something in a local Facebook group looking for someone to drive to Bangor and back with him.  Beat the hell out of my real job, especially since they were cutting hours due to the market for soybeans drying up or something.  He seemed all right and I guess he figured I could be trusted with his car on the drive back, so it was a done deal pretty quick.

We stopped at the Inn the night before driving up the coast - Lambert found it online and apparently the last two-week block of the year was an especially good deal for when you didn't necessarily know when you'd be in and out.  We got there on Monday, crashed for the night, and then started for Bangor in the morning.  We spent a couple hours after lunch inspecting and test-driving the Porsche - well, I kind of stood around for that - and then I was back in the BMW for the ride back.  We got dinner at a restaurant on a boat in Portland before stopping at the Inn for the night.

I was awoken by a high-pitched scream, bolting up in bed and looking on the other side of the room where there was a topless woman holding her breasts.  It was clearly the same room we'd been in last night - Lambert's stuff was on the end table - and I was a little fuzzier from the previous night's beers than I should have been, so I asked who she was.

"I'm Lambert Allen - who the fuck are you?"

"It's me, Toby!"  That when I noticed my voice didn't sound right in my ears and my hair was long enough for some  to be in my eyes.  "Uh, at least I think I am."  Hung over enough to go check, I stood from my bed and walked across the room to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.  "How in the heck?"

As you can tell from the subject line, there was a girl in the mirror, about my age, but I was shorter.  Not like super-short - I was six-foot-two and lost about six inches or so.  It made the t-shirt I'd been wearing really loose, although I could see a vague shape of breasts and nipples under it.  I was kind of surprised my boxers hadn't fallen down, but my butt was enough to hold it up.  I guess that may go with being Latina - my skin wasn't quite black but a pretty dark brown.  I pulled the neckline out to look down and then felt inside my boxers - I was all girl.

It woke me up and I ran back into the bedroom, where Lambert was pulling a suitcase out from under his bed and opening it.  He said "you have got to be shitting me" as he lifted the flight attendant's uniform that was on top out.

I did the same, only the top layer on mine was a letter "to the new Dunia Cortes".  It described the Inn's spell, and laid out a bit about the life I was inheriting.  Shes my age, 23, from the Miami area, Cuban-American although it was her grandparents that came from Cuba as children as opposed to someone more recent.  She had just been hired as a flight attendant and was expected to shadow veteran Alicia Polawski, but wound up following her to Maine when she wouldn't cut vacation short.  She lives with her father in "Little Havana" and has a boyfriend, but Hector is in the Army and stationed overseas.  She's become a retired truck driver in Phoenix, which feels as crazy as me being her.

Lambert's letter filled in some blanks; it turns out that Alicia Polawski used to be an college professor and a guy, but he got bored and decided to move on, saying the new Alicia could keep her life or not and he didn't care (she didn't care?).  He also seemed to have invited Dunia to join him specifically because it didn't look like there were going to be 13 people to trigger everything otherwise.  This Harmon guy sounds like a piece of work. 

If there were any people who has been through this before, I didn't meet them, aside from the hot dog vendor who said the thing that freaked me out the most, that there was nobody staying at the Inn after us until spring, so our lives and identities would be in a sort of limbo until then.  He said it's not so bad, because we'd have first dibs on our room and explaining not being around is easier than fixing a mess someone else makes of your life, but that's almost right months!  What's my Ma going to do without me, to start? 

Lambert seems to be more in a daze than I am.  He thought he might go home anyway, but apparently Alicia looks a lot like his last couple stepmothers and his dad is on the prowl again.  He also really doesn't like flying, and I almost wonder if it's bad enough for him to quit Alicia's job ahead of her next shift and try to live on his credit cards until then.  I'm not going to do that - this is apparently Dunia's dream job and she seems nice enough - although there's a pretty big handbook to study in the next week or so.

(It's a lot!  It looks simple enough on TV and in the movies, but I'm already afraid of screwing up the details or having to give someone CPR in midair!)

What he is sure of is that he's not leaving his new Porsche behind.  One of the coupons in the flyer that pointed us to Cary's hot dog truck and this blog is for a place that offers long term parking and storage, but he says there's no way he's leaving his new baby in some beach town that empties out for the winter.  He suggested we just do what we had been planning to do, me driving the BMW and him driving the Porsche, just south on Route One rather than west to North Dakota, but i said that I sure as heck wasn't going to get pulled over driving someone else's car as a Latina woman, so he reluctantly decided to park that one for the winter.  It's probably a good thing we initially packed pretty light, because it's not like the little sports car has  the trunk space to handle four people's luggage if Lambert and I had packed like Dunia and Harmon/Alicia.

It's weird as heck.  I'm sitting in the passenger seat of a really expensive car, and every time I look down rather than forward, I see how dark and slender my arms and legs are, and I've definitely got a figure even if my pink t-shirt doesn't show the boobage that Lambert's top does (we were not left a lot of clean clothes, and I really struggled to pull these shorts onto my big new butt this morning).  When we do get to Miami tomorrow, some guy is going to think I'm his daughter, and then I'm going to have to start working on airplanes starting next Wednesday despite having barely been out of North Dakota before.  I'm kind of tapping this out on my phone just so that I'm not staring at my body or Lambert (he's a little older, but pretty sexy) or talking in our new voices, something to do, and maybe find out if we're doing the right thing taking our stuff along to our new homes.  What I've seen of the entries here, folks usually just leave things there, but maybe not for months.

Maybe this will be my only post because I'll be too busy soon enough.  We'll see.

-Toby/Dunia

Arthur/Penny/Millie: Ms. Lincoln

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