Ahhhh ... just breathe ...

Just a few more hours and we have renewed hope, and a new beginning.

I usually feel this way in the fall, probably because I've been wired to think that September is when a new year starts, with a new grade in school.

School was not my strong point.

I would rather skip out from school and go home to play my piano.

I did it a lot.  Sorry mum.  It's probably why I didn't graduate.

no shit sherlock ...

I was one of the worst teens to have around a school.  I was a teen alcoholic and addict, I acted out, seeking attention because I didn't have a father, and felt ignored and abandoned.

So, my piano was my salvage, and it still is.

I remember one of those years as a terrible teen, I had a dance exam and received 99%.  I was pirouetteing with joy and en pointe proud.  I couldn't wait to get home and show my mum that I had proof that I really was 'good enough'.

even though i had to wonder, why not 100%, did i pick my nose during one of the calmer moments?

The bus home from my exam was so slow!  I wanted to take over the wheel to get home faster so I could show my mum what I had accomplished!

I finally got off that stinky, 50 foot, public Cadillac and chassed up our backdoor stairs.

I only stopped for a moment to look and see if my stalker was in the bushes again.

yeah ... that's another blob/blab ...

Anyway, as I quickly went to open the door, I was halted when my mom was already standing there with papers in one hand, the other hand clenched in a fist and a face that spelled, "Look out baby, she's on a rampage!!!"

I tried to break through my mum's bad mood and give her something to be happy about.

"Mum!!!  I made 99% on my dance exam!!"

I could feel my mother's wrath when she replied, "WHAT are THESE?!?"

As my mum passed the papers to me, I realized I'd been busted for all my skipping out.

You see, I didn't know the school would really have the information about me not having a father.  I really didn't think they even cared what I did with my life.

So, my survivor instinct said, "Hey!  Why don't you write sick notes from your 'father' to the school, and you can skip out and play your piano any time you want!!"

Well, I suppose the school officials knew me too well.

was it all the trips to the office that did it?!?!

There they were.

All my notes from my 'father', telling the school that I had 'this' appointment or 'that' appointment for my fucked up knees, or that I was just plain 'sick' on that day.

My stomach turned, my head almost exploded, and my pride ran straight out the back door I had strolled in.

Caught.

I never did get a pat on the back for that 99%.

Anyway, my whole point of reflecting is, even though my mum could really only see the bad in our lives, there was a spark of the Andréa I am today.

I'm proud of myself, no matter if anyone else is.

I fuck up like every other human, but I still have joy from my accomplishments.

Even though this has been a challenging 5 years of my life, ...

the last one being utterly exhausting ...

... I'm present, and still searching for my positivity in everything that comes my way.

Here is my last entry of gratitude for the year 2011.

We're almost there.

I'm grateful that I skipped out of school and practised my piano, because my 'bad bahaviour' has made me into the musician I am today.

I'm grateful for that 99% on my high school dance exam.  I may never dance again, but I do know that if I could, I'd still be great.

I'm grateful to be able to afford a new cat tree for our monsters.  The Bastard Prince has not been this happy in a long time, and thus, it makes me happy.

I'm grateful that Papi and I both have the same desires in our lives together.

I'm grateful for My Person having come over a year ago today, and consequently helped me start my new trek for happiness.

I'm so fucking grateful to 'you', my imaginary friend, my Blogger Friends who were the first people I spoke to about Papi's male transformation, my ever increasing Trust List, my family and my chosen family for their love.

I'm even grateful to the Hen Peckers & Rah-Rah-Tranny people.  If it wasn't for them, I would have never found the strength in my voice to roar.

So Queer!

I didn't get to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, yesterday.

To tell you the truth, I was too busy with my hair.

Yeah.

That's right.

My hair.

Hair day 2011.  The roots were pretty disastrous and my frazzled ends were a fire hazard of natty dreads.

Anyway, to get my trim and roots done, it takes 4 hours.

grateful again for pain killers ...

So I was a bit busy.

Then, I came home to my dearest Papi not feeling so hot.

Again.

Poor thing couldn't get the goods outta the back door and now it's coming out in droves.

Sharts to be exact.

We don't want to make Papi laugh at inopportune moments.  It might mean there's an emergency toilet visit, along with donning of clean drawers.

Anyway, as we were relaxing together, I happened to see something really fancy.

Yes, folks, I am listed as one of the ten top queers in Vancouver.

Pretty fucking shwanky I'd say.

Shwanky enough, in fact, that my love took a break from Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land to talk to friends about it.

Today, while I was sitting in that chair at the my hair stylist's salon, Moods, and I was thinking, "Damn!  I always get my hair done when there's nowhere to go show it off."

As much as I didn't get my Golden Globe moment from my fancy hairdo, it was like I was virtually given an opportunity to brag.

You have to have good hair in order to brag.  That and a really good lipstick shade.

I also am in regrets every time I go, because I never remember to get a picture of my Honky 'Fro in my foils.  It's truly a sight to marvel at.

So much so, that while my ringlets have been separated and combed out into a nasty Honky 'Fro from hell, people will stop at the salon window, point and stare.

I just smile a great, silvery, Brace Face smile.

Now I owe you 2 pictures!  One for my straight hair, and one for my foil head.

It's not that I'm lazy, I'm just too slow on the draw.

Anyway, I had good hair to accept my place as one of the top ten queers in Vancouver.

I'm a super something now!  Not just one of The Hector-Browns!

Only 2 days left until we say goodbye to 2011 and be grateful for our year that has passed, and made us who we are.  The good, the bad and the ugly.

I'm grateful that today I feel emotionally better than I did 2 days ago.

I'm grateful that I live in a part of the world where I am so privileged, that I can have a pampering day.

I'm grateful for my Fuzzy Family, who keep me realizing what the only important things in life are food, love and shelter.

I'm grateful to be supported by my friends, who help me feel worthy.

I'm grateful that I laugh, almost every single day.

Hurricane Andréa

Today's blob/blab was a difficult one to muster.

I had to take pain killers upon wakening.

Just getting to my compose page was hard enough.

Anyway, you know how it's so easy to tell someone what they need to be doing, but when it comes to us doing it, we fail to live up to the dare?

Yeah.

We all do it.

Well, just the other day, a friend had a meltdown.  I told her it was necessary to her healing to allow the feelings to come out.

Sure.

Sounds about right.

However, when I have a meltdown, I can't find anything positive in the behaviour.

There I was, looking like a crazed woman, because The Mrs. peed in The Golden's bed.

Now this would be expected of The Bastard Prince, and quite positively I could say that Psycho Kitty would do the same.

Hell!

We all know Sir Bark-A-Lot would do it.

But The Mrs.?!?!

Anyway, the real reason I had such a meltdown over it was because I had just washed the floors.

Ok.

If I'm being truthful, it's because I didn't take any pain killers later on to counter attack my house cleaning, and was at a level 8 on the pain scale..

Well, actually, if you factor in that I gorged on sugar the day before, hence, feeling a negative psychological effect, ...

aka a sugar induced temper tantrum ...

... then watched the only 'good' cat in the house do a nasty, I lost it.

From that point forward, I was taking a stroll to hell.

I tried to put my almond butter in the fridge, and instead it spewed all over the floor I had just washed.

I tried to get paper towels to clean it up, because the cleaning rag was in the wash after having cleaned up The Mrs. gift, and the entire paper roll just unwound in my hands.

ok ... slight exaggeration ... it was only about 6 feet of it ...

Then as I tried to clean off the almond butter jar, my dear sweet Papi said, "You're attracting your bad energy right now.  That's why this is all happening.  Can you just laugh at yourself maybe?  It's not the end of the world."

It was at that moment my bitch of a back had her revenge on me and I slumped into a crying, fetal position monstrosity, muttering words about how this fucking gratitude list 'isn't working'.

The Big Xmas Meltdown.

So, as I tell my friend it's necessary and healthy to have a meltdown and let it all go, there I was being so hard on myself because my gratitude list wasn't working.

When I proceeded to relocate my fetal position to our comfy bed, complete with watching on Jon Stewart to cheer me up, I realized that I did do this to myself.

I stopped taking pain killers because they made me slow, ate a box-full of wheat-free, dairy-free sugar cookies because I saw them, and took the cat piss as a personal attack on me.

You know, living like a pissy grumbler from hell because my bitch of a back didn't like that I cleaned the house is no way to live.

Fuck this rancid pain.

I won't live like that.

I'm grateful that I have a pain reducing method that helps me get through my day.

I'm grateful that my spouse understands why I get in the moods I do, but allows me the space to have them.

I'm grateful that I have new programs to play with for composing, so that I may be taken away into another world filled with peace.

I'm grateful that I am able to see the effects sugar, pain and lack of self-care, and am able to take steps in changing these for the better.

I'm just plain grateful ...

It's coming ...

When Papi and I were wrapping gifts for our niece and nephew, The Turkey, The Porkchop and their entourage of family members, I did something that seemed fun & silly.

What I didn't realize is that it was a big step compared to where I was a year ago.

It really is a good feeling to give, and with every piece of tape Papi handed me, we cloaked the gifts with sparkly penguins, sliding down snow packed mountains of love.

On each of the little tags that we so carefully place on a gift, we tend to write who it's from with a feeling of joy, anticipating their eyes showing happiness when they look at who the present was from.

Well, I wrote, "Love Auntie Andréa & Uncle Easton."

May seem like a no brainer to you, but to me, the fact that I effortlessly placed 'uncle' on the card with a great big smile had me surprised at myself.

I do know that once I've accepted something, my brain rests much better, and here is my proof that I'm really doing well with the male transformation.

My family probably didn't even blink an eye at the tag.

I mean, not many of us really do.

We trust that the person who is giving us the gifts will hand it to the correct person, and the carnage of paper flying begins.

Yet, I know it was there.

Papi knows it was there.

My love was thrilled with the prospect that he could now be called 'uncle'.

It seems so strange to be going along with this venture smoothly.

I never knew that I would.  I had a hard time believing I would get over this.

Now that we're settling into our places in the relationship, it's feeling much more sturdy.

I feel confident of the longevity of our time spent together.

There's way less time spent processing the transformation.  It has now been replaced by planning our move to the Dominican Republic.

It's coming!

Our time will be here soon!

Well, within 2 years that is.  Yet, just looking at how fast 3 years went from my motorcycle accident, time truly does fly, even if you're not having fun.

Right now, we're looking at what land we can find for the move.  It's not time to buy, but time to window shop.

The point of telling you this, is that I now feel like this blob/blab is moving toward my own personal journey of healing from my ghosts of torment past, as well as the insanity that will be coming along with our move.

Honestly.

What kind of city folk just decide to move and live off goats' dairy, chickens' eggs, and a veggie garden?

I don't even do well with indoor plants, however, if I'm growing my own food, I'm pretty sure I'll be taking care of my chard, collards and kale with more intensity than I feel for watering a cactus.

Anyway, it really is the time of year to reflect.

The new year is coming.

4 more days of gratitude to bring 2012 in with positive emotions, and fight off the Xmas Meltdown.

I'm grateful we have shelter from the pouring, winter rain.

I'm grateful to be able to see what's good in my life.

I'm grateful that I am loved, even when I get cranky from pain or emotionally sensitive from the pain meds.

I'm grateful that I only slipped up 3 days of eating sugar in this candy filled season, so that my emotions didn't go completely berserk.

I'm grateful that 'you', my imaginary friend, have been here to watch my journey morph from fear into strength.

I'm grateful for 'you', my readers, because if you didn't show me you're here, I would have felt very empty this past year.

I'm grateful I worked hard at getting emotionally better.  It's sometimes difficult, but worth every effort.

No spoiling necessary.

I can honestly say that was the best Xmas ever.

Mi esposo loves Xmas, and he even thought this was the best one yet.

We all know how I feel about it, so for me to say it was great, it must've been.

We got to experience this 'special time' in a really beautiful way.

While people were running around with their, 'We have to see you before Xmas!!' faces on, Papi and I were here at home enjoying each others company with some very loving people.

Our closest friends came by on Xmas eve, and it was too perfect of a visit.

That was of course, after I finally got some food and pain killers into me.  I was a bit of a hag at the beginning of the hang out.

You see, earlier on, Papi and I did have to run out and grab a last minute gift for my newly teenaged nephew.  The last minute gift for the teen who is impossible to buy for.

On Xmas day, Papi and I braved the masses to go feed some of the cats from my love's cat sitting business.

The cats don't give a shit that it's Xmas.

They just want food.

After the critters were fed, my baby sister and her family came by and donned us with a wonderful day.

We had snacks for them and even I indulged in a bit of sugar.

and yes ... i feel like crap for it ...

However, the best part of the day, was when I moved on to Plan B and dragged my drugged up brain to the attic and found my books of Xmas carols.

He had asked me if I would play carols for him a few days ago, but didn't think that I'd remember.  Mi esposo doesn't know that I will take any opportunity to play my beloved ebony and ivory.

As I played, the strangest thing happened; I enjoyed playing the carols.  I suppose it's because Papi liked them.

As my love was resting, I sent him love with every finger that caressed every white bone key.

Occasionally, when I play, I thank the elephants that were robbed of their tusks back in 1910 when this amazing Heintzman was built.

Yet yesterday, I played every note for my love.

Every lingering note was dragged out to allow each sound wave to reach Papi's heart.

Mi esposo loved it, and admitted to singing along.  These songs that I dread every year became something peaceful and soothing.

Our Xmas was the best one yet, and neither of us missed the spoiling we have engaged in with years gone past.

We enjoyed the happiness that we were both feeling.

Well, my gratitude list is working.

Is yours?

There's still a few more days to go to leave our Xmas Meltdown behind and let our New Year begin.

I'm grateful I can play musical instruments, and use them to bring joy to others.

I'm grateful for this wonderful weekend that was filled with love.

I'm grateful for the Fuzzy Family and all the entertainment they bring.

I'm grateful for my generous sister and mother who really helped me feel good about receiving for a change.

I'm grateful to the pain killers that sent my bitch of a back packing, helping me enjoy the visits without the annoying wincing.

I'm grateful that my love is slowly getting colour back in his face, and the energy to terrorize me.

I'm just grateful for this life.  I'm grateful for the good, the bad and the ugly, because all of my experiences are what make me who I am.

Happy, strong and loving.

no surprises!! ever!!

Papi and I had an epic fail yesterday.

I finally got some income and decided to get a few snacks for the visitors we'll be seeing this weekend.  A couple of our closest friends will be coming by here on this eve of Xmas, and my baby sister and family will be coming by on Xmas day.

I thought I could at least get my love some cashews as a token gift, considering we haven't had a penny to spend on each other, and it's something I could grab fast just to give my love a treat to open.

However, I'll have to go with Plan B.

I announced, "I'm going up to the store to grab some snacks and comfort food to get us through the next few days.  What would you like me to get you?"

My love got ready to come along, so I reassured Papi, "You don't have to come if you don't want to.  Maybe you just need to rest?"

Papi replied, "No, I'm good to go."

"No really sweety, I think you should rest."

Mi esposo looked at me sideways and said, "Were you going to surprise me with something?"

AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!

There are no surprises for Papi ever!  I try so hard, and as soon as my love asked this, my face gave it away.

Papi knew, because I'm no good at lying!

So damn, I thought we'd go together and get my love anything he wants, because I on this day I can.

We got some treats that we like and some snacks for our friends.  Not too much.  We only need to cover a few days.

We toddled up to the local grocery store, Stong's Market.

This is the kinda store where the local rich folks shop at without consciousness of how much they're spending.  I'm an avid bargain hunter, so this stroked my fur the wrong way, but there was not much open at 9:30 p.m. when my cheque finally came through last night.

We went to the till with our goodies and when the total came up, we both looked at each other like we'd been robbed at gunpoint.

$110 for 'a few' snacks.

We live in the wrong neighbourhood for our current financial means, where one person finally got Long Term Disability, and the other is still waiting for the medical EI from the surgery 2 months ago.

But we paid up and left feeling assaulted.

My love didn't get his Xmas cashews, but he got his Xmas Mario's Gelati Hedgehog ice cream.

I got my Coconut Bliss Chocolate Hazelnut Fudge 'ice cream'.

And now, the time has come to sit around and eat really fattening food for 2 days.

Not to mention the zits that will come with this truck load of yummies.

But it's ok.

Because I'm happy today.

Are you still keeping up with your gratitude?  One more week of positive thinking and this 'special time' will all be over.

I'm grateful for feeling happy.

I'm grateful to have received income so I can eat comfort food.

I'm grateful for the sweet stranger in the gym locker room yesterday, who is on the same venture of thinking positively during this 'special time'.

I'm grateful for this computer that I can use as a vessel for my creativity.

I'm grateful for my beautiful, antique, Heintzman piano that I'll be playing for a few days while there's nothing but Xmas carols bombarding every air wave that exists.

I'm grateful for my awesome aunts who are so full of love and make me feel supported.

I'm grateful that My Boifriend is here this weekend, even if he's too busy to see me.

I'm grateful for the confidence I had to write to one of my favourite film makers and tell him I want to make music for his films, because our lives are too short to let our fear of rejection get the better of us.

Ok, Rudolph. I give.

I sing in the car.

It's my favourite thing to do.

It keeps my P.T.S.D. on the low side, because I'm relaxed and happy.

Until Xmas comes along.

All I have to choose from is really bad rock or horrid Xmas carols.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, Bah Humbug.

Yes.

I am the female version of Scrooge minus the meanness.

I hate Xmas carols.

The last few days, I've been feeling much better with my Xmas Meltdown.  I've been writing my gratitude list and feeling much more positive.

So.

When Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer came on and I was in the mood to sing, I felt I had to sing along.

I sang at the top of my lungs, hoping that the music gods would give me one of my most recent fave country songs to sing as a reward.

Nope.

I got bamboozled.

Well, today, I guess I gave in.

If there's nothing on that fucking car radio except Xmas songs, then I'll sing along.

We Three Kings was the worst.  Never been a 'singing' song to reach the bottom of your lungs.

So, there you have it.

I've given in to the Xmas carols.

Fine.

You win.

But don't think I'll be enjoying myself.  I'm only biding my time until the regular rotation comes back.

Ok.  Bad Xmas mood has to take a break while I talk about the good!

I have a gratitude buddy, so even though I didn't get my gratitude up here yesterday, I've been writing to my sweet butch friend who is having a rough go this year.

It's been doing us good.  The whole day, you have to think of things you're grateful for so that you can share it.

What this does, is it begins to rewire your brain to see the good, then you're focusing on the good, which starts to attract good to you.

Here's my good, mixed in with my gratitude list.

I'm allowed to be lazy.

I'm happy goddamit.  So here ya go:

I'm grateful to feel happy today.

I'm grateful that my Long Term Disability has now kicked in, and by next week, we'll have money.

I'm grateful for my friends who are adamant that they will see me over this weekend, because this 'special time' is meant for friends to gather.

I'm grateful to Papi for being my teacher in the lesson of love.

I'm grateful I have enough strength to exercise.

I'm grateful that I have my eggs and coffee for breakfast.

I'm grateful that I have warm clothes.

Anger is better than tears.

"Honey, you made my toast too light.  It's just heated bread."

My god, I have the pickiest spouse on the planet.

I like my toast toasted.  So, naturally I would assume this would be good for Papi, as well.

Nope.

"Honey, you made my toast too dark.  I can't eat it."

Really?

I remember when I heard these words and I asked, "So, really you just want heated bread, right?"

"Yes!"

I thought I had it down.

But now it's too light.

Our toaster oven doesn't really have a number setting, it just has a pic of the dark toast and a pic of the light toast.

But honestly, there's no pleasing Papi when it comes to food.

I tried to make something healthy for him so that his infection riddled body would start to heal.

I made the trashiest healthy stir-fry I could muster.

However, all I have to work with is wheat free, dairy free and sugar free foods.

Broccoli, hamburger meat and quinoa were the main ingredients, along with some sesame oil and Bragg's 'soy sauce'.

Well, Papi ate half of the meal.  That's pretty good I'd say, considering today's toast went straight into the bin because it wasn't quite right.

Helloooooooo Goldilocks!  You're missing a few blond curls!

Anyway, Papi is starting to feel better, but the nausea is impeding my love's strength.

My dearest love is losing a lot of weight and it scares me.

When I lose weight, my mind says it's good, even if it's not.

Yet, when someone I love loses weight unintentionally, I get scared.

Probably because the rational part of my brain equates it with my own mental anguish of the eating disorder.

I'm starting to feel better with this whole Xmas Meltdown.  I should!  It comes every year and every year I get better at fighting it off, depending on what's going on at the time.

I decided to be proactive, yet again, in finding cash that we're owed.  I went directly into the office of the person who has been evading our phone calls and not sending our cheque.

The flood was a year ago.  Give us our fucking insurance money already!

He wasn't impressed that I strong armed him into saying out loud, in front of the receptionist who witnessed it, "Yes, I can guarantee your money will be ready by the end of the week."

I may be a short 'woman' to this gargantuan, walking slime ball, who wouldn't look me in the eyes, but I'm a lot tougher than I look.

If this prick doesn't have our money when he says he will, I'll be taking a walk over to our local cable company's 'news dept' and have a chat with them about Wawanesa's less than proper ethics.

I'm getting angry now, which is much better than crying.

Here's today's gratitude for an even better new year to come:

I'm grateful that I have enough spunk to carry through with fighting for my rights.

I'm grateful for the world's greatest baby sister who adamantly said she'd send us money in this difficult time, and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

I'm grateful to be married into a family that are supportive, making me feel like I have a surrogate 'dad' to tell me it's all going to be ok.

I'm grateful that Psycho Kitty hasn't dismembered my cats yet, and is starting to come down to our basement area in peace.

I'm grateful that mi esposo is now holding conversations and behaving like the brat I love.

You have homework.

Phew!  I'm glad that day's over.

One thing I can always count on, is after a sleep, the next day has promise.  Well, most of the time that is.

Anyway, we have kitty food cash.

We also have amazing friends who asked if they could help, however, my dear Papi is too proud, and gets terribly mad at me when I share about financial problems.

i can already hear the pending, 'HONEY!!' as i write this ...

I suppose growing up on the West Side of Vancouver, and having everything you ever needed would create this attitude.

Yet, I grew up with a single mom of 2 girls.  There were many a time, when my mom would be crying because she didn't have enough money.

Well, this also had me reflecting on my years' past 'special seasons' and how I didn't deal with them very well.

When I was a kid, my mom booted out my drug dealing sperm donor, because he brought around all kinds of undesireables.

were they the ones who assaulted me?

This made for difficult times, especially at Xmas, because they'd fight whenever the children exchange would happen.

Not that my father asked to see us much.  He was pretty vacant.  Literally.

But every year, and every Xmas, there would be harsh words and terrifying fights between just about every family member.

This was followed by me 'disappearing' from it all.  I would remain silent and invisible, hoping I could just fade away.  I believe this is part of the reason for my anorexia every Xmas.

Every single year, whenever those little mandarin oranges would arrive, I would exist only on the aforementioned.

I would whittle away, try desperately to vanish, or die like Karen Carpenter did.  In a sick way, she was my hero.  She made it out of this life, and she wasn't forced to see my extended family, stress, fighting and tears.

Oh, we'd all behave while G'pa was cutting the turkey, ham or roast, but after dinner, the alcohol would kick in and the fur would start flying.

Even when I got older, the anorexia still came a knockin' at Xmas, but it was coupled with an attempt to evade these Xmas dinners from hell.

As a young adult, I would lie to my family and tell them I'd gone out of town for the season.  I'm sure they wouldn't believe me, but I did my best to make it seem true.

PTSD.

I didn't know I had it all those years until I was diagnosed with it after my motorcycle accident.

I'm a walking vessel of anxiety.  It's just the way my brain was woven.

So, when the shit hit the fan yesterday, my PTSD kicked in and worst case scenario was my obsession.

Deep down, I know that everything will work out, because it always does.

So, 'you', my imaginary friend will have to deal with my gratitude list of positive thinking for the next 2 weeks.

If you're having a hard time, would you join me?  Would you write your gratitude in my comments box?  It will do us a whackload of good.

I'll start.

I'm grateful that I have enough food to last a good few weeks.

I'm grateful that I have a loving home to live in.

I'm grateful that I have a devoted spouse who allows me my feelings.

I'm grateful for the world's most loving, amazing friends.

I'm grateful for my musical talent.

I'm grateful for the pain killers that helped me clean my house, and now are helping me live through the pain of cleaning my house.

I'm grateful that I can walk.

Your turn:

Where's MY fucking 'peace on earth'!?

Depression and suicidal idealism.

Anger and frustration.

Fear and worry.

Anxiety and panic attacks.

All of the above help create a terrifying body image when this eating disordered, injured brain looks in the mirror.

time for demons to play that game of, 'hey! if you got no food you'll get thinner!

It's that 'special time' of the year when my demons come out to play.

I had a really good run there!  I thought I'd make it through this season without any of the above.

But hey!  Only 2 more weeks and this year is over.

I usually get all these symptoms the moment the sun lays low, however they really didn't erupt until yesterday.

Yesterday I realized that I only have a few days of pain killers left, and no money to restock my shelf.  Goddamit!  It's going to hurt.

I also realized that the cat's food is running out and we need to get more, and don't really have the funds to do so.

Here we are.  2 people off work and not a penny coming in.  It's getting stressful, even though I rationalize with myself that we have food and shelter.

Papi has a cat to care for today and we'll be getting money for the kitties food.

Normally, I can hold on and relax with the truth of:

Everything always works out.  Everything.

But, somehow this day has kicked me in the ass and my demons are pulling me into the Pit of Doom.

It really could have something to do with the fact that Papi was in emergency, yet again yesterday, or it could have something to do with the fact that I'm responsible for taking care of every little aspect of the life of 2 people, because my love is down for the count.

It really was not a nice drive today to feed a cat for Papi, when I intentionally didn't wear my seatbelt in hopes that a semi-trailer would just come barreling around the corner and take me out.

For those of us who are chemically imbalanced, sometimes death seems like such a great rest from life's terms of survival.

I tried to be pro-active and call the person responsible for my financial health right now, only to be greeted by a Dragon Lady who spit out, "I have your case right here on my desk, but I'm not making any promises."

That was in response to my plea of, "Do you have any idea when I'll receive income?  I haven't had any for a month."

That was when I toppled, and my 'I can't believe I've made it this far without my Xmas depression' left me without optimism, taking on every stress available.

It's hit.

It really was a good run there, but now I just want to hide from the messy house, the lack of cat food, my ever piling 'todo' list et al.

It doesn't help that I can smell dog shit somewhere, but don't really want to look at the bottom of my shoe, or the pads of the dogs' feet, because it just means there's more for me to do.

Yeah, it's hit, and it hurts.

2 more weeks and this horrid 'special time' of the year will be over, and hopefully all will be restored with hope.

I am thinking and feeling for every person out there who is also waiting for this 'special time' to end.

Oh, how I know what you're feeling.

I hope you find peace today, as much as I hope I will as well.

Get that shit outta there!

Done.

I did my obligatory schmooze, party, smile it up time.

There was one more we were going to go to today, but Papi is yet again not well.

I haven't really told you about it, but my love has had 2 visits to emergency to deal with post-surgery infections.

The first visit was for an infection in the walls leading to the no longer there uterus, ovaries and cervix.

That one was given antibiotics and we were sent away.

The second one was for a urinary tract infection.

Again, more antibiotics and sent away.

Well, my love is now on number three of 'bad news', only we don't know what it is, because Papi refuses to go in to ER or a walk in clinic.

Enter: the most stubborn spouse on this here planet.

Stubborn doesn't really even scratch the surface.

Cantankerous.

Ornery.

Unreasonable.

These can all be added to the Papi list.

This time, it seems like my love has backup going on and can't get Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo outta there!

To me, this is an issue.

You gotta get that shit outta there!

Literally.

However, mi esposo is afraid they'll do yet another pelvic exam.  This doesn't sit well with my love, so here I sit, worrying about what's going on in there.

It's times like this that I wish I could drug Papi, then drag his lifeless body by his leg hair to the car.

Ah, the joys of marriage.

"Honey, you have to stop drinking the soda!"

I hear, "I don't want to hear this right now."

So, I reply with, "I don't care.  My love, it's time you started taking care of your body."

I'm bombarded with a stressed face, eyebrows rising higher and closer to his hair line, along with a, "Honey, I don't need to be lectured right now."

Well, now my love is in enough pain that we'll be taking a trip to the clinic.

Phew.

Good gawd.

We're on round number three.

Please heal, Papi.

I want my baby back.

I was THAT asshole.

It was a threesome last night.

Two of my Trust List friends and I went to a play.  Oh, it was great!  Tonight's the last opportunity to see it as well, so go check it out!

Anyway, you know that asshole that doesn't turn their phone off during a play or movie?

Last night, I was that asshole.

Only I did turn my phone off like the 'good girl' I can be.

However, there was one unforeseen problem.

iPhones don't allow you to silence alarms at the same time.

I mean, it's great, because you don't have to worry about the alarm going off.

If you've got a little OCD in ya, you know what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I need an alarm to remind me to take my evening meds.

If I don't take them on time, I'll be up way too late, as one of them is to help me sleep through any pain there may be.

It's a happy little nerve pill that pleases me so, and doesn't destroy my stomach.

So.

There we were.

Watching a lovely play and that mother fucker went off at 9:00 like it does every night.

All eyes turned to me with glares of, "You're such an asshole!"

I scrambled with as much speed as I could to bend over, and slid that little bar to shut that bitch up before the mob had their vengeance on me.

Well.

There was another unexpected problem.

I didn't actually turn it off, I put it on snooze!

ah for fuck's sakes ...

10 minutes later, I bent over yet again, being very grateful for the pain killers having kicked in while I was sitting for way longer than my bitch of a back prefers.

I powered that fucker down as fast as I could, while ignoring the death stare that people were giving me.

But alas, the fun didn't stop there.

Another ringtone went off, but this time it wasn't from my phone!

Of course, everyone in the room thought it was mine!

I mean seriously, I even thought it was mine.

One more time I reached down and got that phone to show my 'rough around the edges friends' that indeed my phone was not illuminated.

It was a relief to me, yet the strangers in the room didn't know it wasn't my phone.

Fortunately for me, the ring tone that didn't belong to me erupted again, and we all realized that it was part of the play.

Well, it didn't really matter.  I was still an asshole in peoples' eyes.

The only saving grace was that I got to meet the writer of the play and apologize profusely, explaining what had happened.

The others will just have to accept that I was that asshole, and point and sneer at me at another time.

I've never been that asshole.

Lord knows enough people call me an asshole for other reasons, but I guess there's a first for everything.

I was that asshole.

Gimme all your turkey and nobody gets hurt.

You can really tell someone's level of homophobia by their X-mas cards.

People who are accepting of us will send a card to both of us, by either Mr. & Mrs. Hector-Brown, or Andréa & Easton Hector-Brown.

But then again, there's those who choose the latter, because their level of transphobia won't allow them to put a 'Mr' on that envelope.

That doesn't bother me as much, because at least they feel that we're one married unit.

Together.

As one.

Alas, then there's the others.

Homophobic #1 will write us each a separate card, without any reference to Mr. or Mrs., enforcing their belief that we are not 'one' in our relationship.

They continue to view my love as female, and myself as a 'pretend' wife.

They won't accept that we are just like any other married family member who deserves the same treatment as the straights in the clan.

They are passive aggressive in nature and won't budge on their stance.

However, Homophobic #2 is even worse.

We will receive separate cards, and on our cards, both prefixes will say 'Miss'.

'Miss.'

Both.

Not even a thought that we're married, or that my love is going through male transformation.

She got both painful digs in at one time.

Crafty, that old fart.

To the elderly, religiously brainwashed, old coot of 96, we will remain single women, even though she actually walked Papi down the aisle for our wedding.

But to even add more salt to the wound, the G'ma will put my love's chosen ...

... and legal for fucks sakes!! ...

... name, then Papi's birth name in brackets with 'aka' written before it.

I don't know.

I really don't think the old fart is doing this because of Alzheimer's.  She's just an abusive, manipulative woman, who grabs any opportunity to show us how she really feels.

Even though we're miles away in another province right now, the miserable old poop has to find a way to irk us.

There's really no break from the g'ma's nagging either.

She has to call and make sure that she belittles our levels of responsibility.

In other words, we are both stupid and immature, we had a pretend marriage, and are just roommates.

And people wonder why I don't celebrate X-mas?

Because the sheep who talk to imaginary beings in the sky can be so full of hate, and g'mas level is so deep with hate that even her pastor is trying to persuade her to be more loving and accepting.

Why the fuck would I want to celebrate some dead guy who has followers with this behaviour?

No thanks.



But I'll still eat your turkey.

Schmooze-0-Rama!

Well, it's the time of year for parties.

I've been so busy trying to keep up with all the advantageous moments to be amongst friends, acquaintances and BigWigs!

Last night was the BigWigs.

Fortunately, my brain injury has donned me with horrid facial recognition, so when the BigWigs would talk to me, I was calmly myself.

You know how you get when you meet someone important, and you choke up?  Well, that doesn't happen if you don't recognize them.

For example, they were handing out lovely little treats, and I was so hungry that I had to have it, but when I tried to bite in with my Brace Face, it was too hard.

No biggie.

I'll just announce it to the world of BigWig TV producers and directors, and see if someone has a better idea for me than to bite into pork belly on a stick.

I was lucky enough that one of the BigWig's wives was accommodating and passed me some tissues so I could remove the swine on a stake from my mouth, and try to grab some class while finding the perfect place on the table to discard it.

my brace face has really removed the 'classy' in my life ...

But alas, Mr. BigWig took off his glasses when he started to feel a little more 'spirited', and I had no idea who he was.

The night went like that for me repeatedly.  My sweet butch of a friend was my seeing eye person, and I continuously followed her lead.

Although, there were exceptions when she was busy speaking to someone else and I took initiative and introduced myself again.  Only to see their face knowingly smirk, and then I'd ask, "Umm, did we already do this?"

I was greeted with great smiles of, "Yes," and a chuckle.

However, nobody really batted an eye at it and I didn't have to give my brain injury disclaimer, because they were all drinking, so I fit in quite nicely.

Nothing but a room full of nerdy creative types, and I was in my element.

Well, there is a lot more schmoozing to be had this weekend.

I don't usually oblige with the parties etc. at X-Mas, but this year, I'm feeling so happy that I will.

I believe this is the first X-Mas season that I haven't felt like a crying lunatic in years.

Last year, I had the male transformation bomb drop and flood restoration from hell.

2009 was my terrible miscarriage that had me in emergency 3 times within 2 weeks, and 2 separate D&Cs to get that demon out of my body.

2008 was my motorcycle accident.  'Nuff said.

2007 I was suing The Beast who had made me homeless by having a packing party full of rancid people who thought that was the right thing to do to another human being, along with changing the locks on my home.

2006 was alright.  I had finally gotten on meds to help my chemical imbalance stop making me think suicide is a great option in this world.

2005 my Dearly Departed Gypsy girl passed away and I had a nervous breakdown that lasted until after the awful winter season took a hold of my emotions.

Yeah, I could go on, further back into life's miseries, because it just seems that every winter something happens to make me a little more insane.

This year?

I am the happiest that I can ever remember.  I feel like life has finally stopped attacking me.

Well, perhaps I'm just being given a break, because we all know life throws us curves, but none-the-less, I'm taking this break and running with it.

I feel like I'm shining with love and happiness so much, that a perfect stranger said to me last night, "You have such a beautiful smile.  You're always smiling!  People could use a lesson from you in understanding that life is not so bad."

They don't know that I just spent a year grieving and am finally out of the woods.

They don't know that this is the most peaceful, loving X-Mas season I can remember.

Well, off I go to a film screening of the movie I just composed for.

Charmed life?

Indeed.

Turning the corner.

It started with consoling my love, by stroking his naked thigh.

You see, 'someone' has a touch of hormone madness from the hysterectomy.

I can't remember why Papi needed comforting, but that's how it began.

I didn't realize it, but I was stroking mi esposo's man hair leg, and to my surprise, it didn't feel like a nasty Brillo Pad, raring to cut my flesh like a knife through butter.

I was enjoying the feeling, as if it was a member of our Fuzzy Family.

"It actually doesn't feel so bad.  It's pretty soft!  I think I'm getting used to it."

Papi responded with, "Yeah, I'm finally getting used to it too.  It was weird at first."

It shocked me, that Papi had to get used to it as well.

I really thought he would feel connection with every aspect of the transformation.

I suppose all the joking and terrorizing was really my love's way to deal with the changes.

I guess it's an adjustment for everyone that takes getting used to.

I mean, it must be!  It's huge for me, so it must have some impact on the person who's morphing, leaving their prior 'self' behind.

One of the most amazing therapists I ever had, once explained our reactions to loss, change, hurt and even joy.

She explained that every person is unalike, and is therefore cut from a different cloth.  We all have distinctive strengths and weaknesses.

When you press an iron at a high setting on varying materials, they each have individual reactions.

If someone is made of silk, well, you can imagine what the heat will do to them.

Honestly, I'm 100% sure that there will be more challenges in life, because that's just the way life is.

But perhaps, my silky fabric has changed into denim.

Anyway, I thought about how lucky I am to have found this person I love, who loves me as deeply.

I no longer care if my love has extra hair, although there will be waxing in Papi future.

I mean really!  I keep those areas tidy for sexy time, skirt exposed legs and armpit stink.

So yes, there will be waxing, Papi.

However, I really don't care if my love talks, walks, acts, or looks different anymore.

I've had a good year to get it out of my system, and at the same time, grow with the changes.

I'm still attracted and madly in love with mi esposo.

Hey.

That doesn't mean I'm going to let go of all my opportunities to share TMI about his antics here in my blob/blab.

There's just too much fun to be had with the DIY exploits of the Tranny Terrorist.

But what I do get to let go of, is that comatose, weeping wife of an F-M.

Over the past week, I've unconsciously started to rub Papi's chest.

Through my love's t-shirts, I let my fingers softly rub over the scars.

There may be loss of pillowy softness, but that loss doesn't compare to the love I have for Papi, which was really my worst worry.

Now that I know my attraction and love are here to stay, I'm ready to get on with life and talk about other important things.

Like my ass.

My love thinks it's imperative that I get a pic of my ass in this here blob/blab, because, "It's a great ass," my love pleaded, "You have to show everyone your ass!  Look at that ass!  It's better than a 20 year old's!"

Yeah it is, but no.

Other than when my cheeks are nicely tucked into a pair of yoga pants, or skin tight Dominican Republic jeans for the world to see, my butt belongs to Papi.

Well, except for when I lend it to the Needle Master.

My ass.

It occurred to me last night, that my physio has seen my ass more times than anyone I know.  Well, that excludes my mom, my baby sister, some long term lovers and my hus-butch excluded.

Seriously.

He's been shoving needles into my butt flesh 3 days a week now for over a year.

If I tally it up, that's around 140 times he's had me lying face down on a 'chiropractic' bed that puts straight line creases on my face.

It's oh so fun to leave there with vertical lines looking like scars down my cheeks.

My face cheeks that is.

My booty always looks like a swarm of bees got to it.

That and my t-shirts all have little spots of blood on the back.

I've decided that my favourite t-shirts don't get to come with me to physio.

I've also realized it's easier for him to get to my bum if I wear g-strings.

I don't need any more polka dotted shirts, and besides, g-strings look better in my yoga pants.  It's a sad day when I have panty lines bulging through my bubble butt.

I also know that I need to bring food with me after every visit, or it will be a miserable drive home.

After he's finished with me in the torture chamber, I have to exercise for about an hour and 15 minutes and that makes me hungry!

I like exercising, so that part makes me happy.

Well, if I'm being honest, the needles up my backside feel good too.

In that masochistic kinda way, that is.

Every time I go, I make my 'rough around the edges friends' proud.

I give a little song with every needle he digs down to my bones.

I'm pretty sure that new patients tremble in fear if they're there for the first time, and have to hear my croonings of pain.

My Needle Master gets a chuckle out of it.

He also likes the fact that I have high pain tolerance so that he can get right in there and leave permanent etchings on my bones.

Ok.

I'm exaggerating.

He doesn't leave designs on my skeleton.

However, it sure feels like it when he gets so far into my flesh that my muscles literally jump off the table.

Once when I was in there, another physio had to come in and take the stimulation machine out of the room, but was too embarrassed to wipe my ass clean of the jelly that was in place.

I left with a smear of goo all inside the butt of my pants.

It was not pleasant.

I would rather he saw my ass.

It's a good ass!

It's one of my best ass-ets!

i'm sorry ... but you had to see that one coming ...

The Needle Master said, "Well, he should have at least asked your ass out for dinner before he started taking a peek."

And on that note, it's time to get ready for today's torture, and he's going to have a good time with it today that's for sure.  I'm a little worse for wear after composing this week.  I sat way too much and my bitch of a back is thoroughly pissed at me.

Well, my coffee is cold and my eggs are finished.

That means my day has begun.

I hope your day finds you joy.

Would you like a little chard with that?

Well looky here!

I forgot that my baby sister got a pic of my cousin straightening my hair.

But could you please just ignore my pasty white skin, my bucktoothed Brace Face and droopy red eyes from pain killers?!?!

This is not a good look for me.  I'm referring to the ghost look.  Not my straightened hair.

I have this gaunt look every year after my suntan fades.

Sometimes, I really hate winter.

Ok, that's a lie.

I always hate winter.

Anyway, new topic.

I schemed my revenge on the Tranny Terrorist, and executed the plan.

You see, these past few days, my love has been gorging on his birthday cake, then chasing it with Reese's mini peanut butter cups.

Every day I make him his protein shake, in hopes that he gets enough vitamins.

Well, today I ever so sneakily placed a leaf of chard in our Magic Bullet smoothie maker, and added the usual mixed frozen berries, protein powder, omega oils, and apple juice for papi, coconut milk for me.

When I gave my love his shake, it was difficult for me not to have a deviant look on my face as I delivered the goods.

I was hoping that he just wouldn't notice.

But alas, I heard, "Is there hair in my smoothie?!?!"

"No," I answered nonchalantly, with an added scoff of 'don't be ridiculous'.

Well, I couldn't contain my giggles when my love pulled a string of chard out of his shake.

"Did you put vegetables in my shake?!?!"

I'm pretty sure I heard him hack up a loogie on the word 'vegetables'.

However, I took advantage of my right to remain silent.

That changed, of course, until after the 4th time mi esposo asked the same question.

I eventually had to admit it, but I waited until Papi had finished at least half of his shake.  That way, I knew that he at least got a little bit of nutrition in that body that is saturated with sugar.

To my amazement, mi esposo actually drank the whole thing.

That is really all I could ask for, and now I have free reign to slip veggies into other foods without my love knowing.

Oh!

Did I tell you the story about buying Papi's birthday cake?

I don't think I did.

I had to wait until after I told Papi.

So, as I was speaking to the woman in charge of the bakery department, I told her exactly what kind of cake I needed, as the recipient was beyond finicky.

She said, "Yeah, kids can be so picky.  How old is he?"

"Thirty-six," I replied, waiting for the chuckle in reference to my very own manchild.

She did indeed get a kick out of it, then added, "Oh, that's even worse."

Indeed Safeway bakery lady.

Don't you know it.

Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land

So here I sit, waiting for pain killers to set in, and letting brain settle from 2 days of catch up on the most current film score.

I wanted to chat about what I forgot ...

... who me? forget? ...

... to do: I failed to take a picture of my straightened hair.

Some people got confused, and thought that perhaps I'd accepted my role in this transgender relationship by letting go of my butch loving title.

Nope.  I'm not straight.

My hair was.

Emphasis on was.

My hair didn't take too long beat the heat of straightening.

It started to curl without permission of the chemicals, and from there it became a free-for-all of which of my locks could be the fuzziest on my head.

Anyway, I'll be heading back to my cousin's salon to get it done again, and I'll take pictures for sure.  I just didn't realize how quickly my hair would shoot back to Honky 'Fro status.

But as I sit trying to write about my hair, I am bombarded with notifications on Facebook.

Every last one of them has been for the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land.

Yes.

It gets an excessive title, as it seems to be the most important happening in Papi's world.

next to me of course ...

Mi esposo loves Sims so much, that he has 2 personalities' games he plays.

One of them is from my Facebook account.

People who are in my friends list may think that it's me playing.  I mean really!  I could be playing Sims the whole time I just gorged on film score composing.

It could happen!

I could have so little to do in my life that I've built a house in the Sims world.

But, no.

It's Papi.

I feel like I need to set this record straight.

Unlike my hair.

yes ... i will take any opportunity to talk about my hair ...

Anyway, the whole point of this was to talk about that little red notifications alert that comes on our Facebook pages.

So.

Here I sit, watching notification after notification come for Papi, under the guise of me.

sigh ...

If only I was as popular as my 'wack job' character that Papi has developed for me.

No really.

My love asked me what the name of this Sims person should be, and it happened to be on a day when I was having giggle attacks about being called a 'whack job' here on my blob/blab.

So, if you're out there in Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land and you're telling 'wack job' that her mama is a llama, well, it's not me.

I will now return to my brain drain relax, where the only thing my noodle can handle, is to watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Oh, you laugh NOW, eh Papi?

Papi.

Oh, dearest Papi.

We have an 'issue'.

It has nothing to do with my love being a transgender F-M.

It has nothing to do with The Great Breast Disappearance.

It also has nothing to do with the hormones that are rapidly stealing my butch.

It's all about the kitchen sink.

You see, my love doesn't like the 'oogies' that culminate in the drain catcher.

Papi would rather have the chunks of inedibles go down the drain, instead of them being caught and disposed of.

But you see, the problem is, there's a reason for a drain catcher.

It keeps our drains clog free muthafuckah!!!!

Leave those bitches where they belong!!!

Day after day I toddle into the kitchen, roll my eyes and growl, "Papi!!!!" through provoked, pursed lips.

I will inevitably receive the gratuitous, "What did I do now?" with the usual sigh of regret.

Imagine my surprise when I went to make my morning coffee and there was no drain catcher.

Do you see a drain catcher here?!?!

When I say no drain catcher, I mean it wasn't even in the vicinity, never mind the usual place I find it, which is usually an inch away from where it should be to do it's job.


While this would normally create an angry state, I realized that because it was nowhere to be found, that this could very well be the result of the Tranny Terrorist.

Mi esposo is getting better every day, which means I'll be experiencing more of his antics I'm sure.

When I realized there was no sign of this drain catcher, the light bulb turned on.  I thought, perhaps, just perhaps, I should check g'ma's sink upstairs.

Check!

No drain catcher there either!

Aha!

Papi's up to no good again.

My love is lucky I know him well, or I would have woken him to tell me what he did with the goddam drain catcher!



But I knew it was just mi esposo doing what he does best when he feels better.

It just so happened that my love was up 'early' today.  By 'early' I mean 11 am, and I jumped at the opportunity to find out where these little gems were.

My love snickered as he opened the toaster oven.  Perfect place to hide them, considering I wouldn't be using it until the afternoon, hence making me crazy for the majority of the day.

The best part was Papi telling me how he could barely contain himself as he hid my treasures.

Well, I hid something on my love.

Let's see how long it takes for him to realize it's gone.

>enter evil laugh here<

Papi's birthday blog.

It's Papi's birthday, so I must do his bidding.

My love said, "You've been slacking on your blog these days."  My love decided that my punishment should be to double up on blogs to make 'you', my imaginary friend, happy.

I've been working on the latest film score for David C. Jones and I'm enjoying myself!

However, my brain doesn't work so well after I've been composing.

So.

I've got nothing to say.

I've got nothing to talk about.

I didn't see the light of day for one moment today.  It's crazy that I even got out of my pajamas.

Who was I trying to impress?!?

Certainly not Psycho Kitty.

he's slowly becoming a better friend ... but that's another blog ...

Anyway, all day I sat in sweats.

that's in between stretching, dropping pain meds and doing the 'let's move around' thing after every hour ...

Hey.

I didn't say I got dressed for the Academy Awards!  I just got out of my pajamas.

I really got out of them because these specimens are my clown pajama pants.

They really look like I should be wearing a foam red nose and shoes ten times bigger than my size.

Well, I had the slippers that could emulate big clown feet.

I call them my lobster slippers.

Then there's my classy t-shirt I don when in pajamas.

It's a sweet sentiment from my friends from my bridal shower.

Anyway, there's nothing really to talk about other than the fact that this attire doesn't paint a picture of a composer.

That is of course not for this score.

This film has some chuckles, but it's not really the 'clown' kinda film that would go with the outfit.

So, here I sat in sweats.

Because that's just so much sexier.

Happy birthday Papi.

I'm now straight.

What a day yesterday!

I started out with my physio who is more like a Master in an S&M role play.

I managed to squeak past him without much notice and head straight for my strengthening regime.

I then ran around and got goodies for an awesome family visit last night.

My baby sister and her family joined Papi and I at my aunt's house with my cousins.

It was a riot!

There were 2 very exciting parts of our visit that were out of the norm and a gay ol' time!

One of my sweet cousins is now a full fledged hair stylist and was eyeing my hair up all night.

You could see the shears in her mind just waiting for the opportunity to start clipping.

My hair does have this affect on hair dressers.  The scary part is with the bad Honky 'Fro hair cuts I've had, I won't go to new hairdressers for fear of leaving the salon looking like Roseanne Roseannadanna.

I won't go into stories about that or I'll be here all day and I won't get to the Papi part of this blob/blab.

yes ... it's alllll about my hair ...

However, she did ask if I've ever had it straightened, and because I hadn't, she decided to show me what it looks like.

I will do my best to get pics for you for tomorrow.  I need to have the full femme face on to really let you see the glory, and that's not going to happen until I've finished my coffee and done some work on my film score.

Never in my life has a comb gone through my hair without losing a few teeth.

It was pretty cool!

Now for the intersting moment.

Like I had told you, my nephew is going through puberty.  Well, Papi, and this now taller than me nephew, were having a great ol' time all alone in the 'man zone' chatting about electronics and boy stuff, while all 7 of us girls got to the make-over part of the evening.

When my love came out around the corner to ask the legitimate teacher in the house for some help with my nephew's homework, ...

... yes ... you heard right ... another story ...

... the two of them standing there like nothin' else I'd ever seen, I'll tell ya.

There they were.

Matching caterpillar moustaches, to go hand in hand with the matching 'Fox' sweatshirts.

The two of them were the epitome of awkward teen-ness.  I mean really!  Papi even has Brace Face to drive the effect back to home plate!

Now, when I call Papi a manchild, it's going to have a whole new meaning for me.

That was when it dawned on me.

My love had told that the transition takes a few years.

I didn't understand why, but I get it now.

My love truly is a teen with peach fuzz, and it will take a few years to get through the teen-ness and into adult manly-ness.

i'm having a few issues at this moment thinking of the scary man ogre i thought about a year ago ...

A teen?

Seriously?

I'm truly living with a man-child.

Fucking hell.

Save me.

Say Uncle!!

Sometimes I like to harass my Tranny Terrorist in return for his antics.

Things have been very quiet on the Tranny Terrorist front lately.  It's hard to get in any kind of trouble from your La-Z-Boy while healing from a hysterectomy.

"Here try it!" I said.  I wanted my love to try my sugar-free coconut water, because I thought it would taste like a Pina Colada.  "I put it in my protein shake and it tastes awesome!"

I'll try anything to get my love to eat properly and find treats in healthy foods.

Well, Papi tried my shake, and for a moment I thought it was a hit.  However, aftertaste kicked in and the face of "OMG that's awful!!" was fully animated and I had my very own giggle-fest.

Papi asked me, "Did you do that on purpose because of the piano thing I did to you?" 

i would never do something like that Papi ... hehehe ...

Honestly though, it was a little bit of payback for the trick my Tranny Terrorist tried to play on me.

You see, my love almost put his protein shake on my piano.

Well, you don't put anything moist on my piano and live to tell the story.

ask the guy i once slammed against the wall who pissed himself in fear ...

I jumped at mi esposo bearing fangs and claws sharper than a cheetah, "Fuck no!!!!!!"  I growled.

That's when I saw the twinkle in Papi's eyes, followed by, "I knew I'd get a reaction, but I didn't think it would be so fast!"

Yes Papi, you got me, but I got you to swallow healthy food.

I think I win.

Eh?

Papi is starting to feel better and is getting his Tranny Terrorist mojo back, and I appreciate it, because I am going to need my distraction from that dastardly time we call x-mas.

I didn't think we'd be doing anything, but we will be going to my baby sister's house for brunch, then dinner with Papi's aunts.  Our day will be full of family.

When I spoke to my baby sister about the x-mas plans, she had such a sweet story to tell me.  She had told my niece about mi esposo and the male transformation.

The reaction from my niece was probably the most amazing comeback I could ever imagine.

"Really?"  She asked excitedly, "That's soooo cool!!!  Now I get to have an uncle!"

Yes, I suppose you do.

Then there was the talk about my love's caterpillar moustache and my sis had this to say:  "Oh that's perfect!  Because your nephew has the same thing, so they can go through puberty together."

While my love and I waded through the frenzied shoppers trying to get their deals, we spoke about how lucky we are that we have family members who love and accept us for who we are, who we love, and allow us to be who we wish to be.

It was a beautiful day.

Music, love and a movie with my 'rough around the edges friends' called, 'Tomboy', that I really recommend you see if you can find it.

Oh, and a wheat free power cookie.

That was the topper.

Loss.

It was such a lovely start to my day today.

Morning coffee with one of my sweetest friends.

Of course, I was late.  I didn't set my alarm properly, because our hang out wasn't documented in my phone, hence I forgot.

sometimes, i think i'll never get better from this ridiculous brain injury!!!!!

That was of course, until I woke up and saw the message from her,"I'm in the coffee shop, see you soon!"

That brought on the 1 minute brushing of horrid morning breath, a hat to conceal my almost dreadlocked curls, a backwards shirt that now has toothpaste on it, and my day old socks I'd slept in to keep my tootsies warm at night.

Can you say, "Classy?!?!?"

Hey.

I never admitted to being classy in the first place.

I'm just your run of the mill white trash verging on redneck femme who managed to get out of the house in 5 minutes flat.

I got the the coffee shop, had a quick cuddle with my sweet friend, ordered coffee and went to squeeze my dose of honey in, when I was duped by some mother fucker who left the cap off.

So.

The entire lid and a really massive glop of honey went 'gloop' into my coffee.

No worries!

They made me another one, and handed me a really clean honey bear.  It's not often you get to have the 'cleaned' honey bear at a coffee shop.

From there it got better.

We did our best to catch up in a half hour, but it's never enough with her.  We need a full day to really get caught up.

But we did get to talk about Papi and I.

It's interesting to see someone you haven't seen in a while and be able to look at your current life situation and see how much has changed.

It's a bit akin to writing out your work résumé.  I don't know about you, but I feel pride when I see my life's attainments in one page.

Well, what I realized through our chit-chat is that I am doing well.

But I am feeling loss.

Those pictures of butch breasts at the Queer Arts Festival office still have me missing my love's soft tender breasts.

While talking about it with my friend, I could almost feel my love's cool plump nipple against my cheek.

I could almost feel the encounter of rubbing my fingertips along mi esposo's ample mounds.

I'll never get to feel them again.

The Great Breast Disappearance has created a huge loss.

The good news is, I am now at the place where I can stroke the healing scars on mi esposo's empty cavity, that was once an abundance of supple sweetness.

My love has always said that if I wanted to touch other women's breasts, that there would be no issue on Papi's behalf.

However, none of them are the beautiful mamms that I once held and felt against my own bosom.

Loss.

I suppose I'm now at the acceptance part of the 5 stages of grief.

Now that I'm here, is it supposed to stop hurting?

Well, it doesn't.

i yam what i yam

The funniest part about me asking Papi if he is gay, is that he's now backtracking everything he says in terms of the topic.

"I'm just saying I find them attractive, but it's not that I'm gay."

That is just one of the examples.

My love doesn't understand how much I trust him.

If he tells me he's not gay, then I believe him.

However, methinks thou dost protest a tad too much.

hmmmm ... maybe my love needs another panicked wake up to me hovering over him in bed, after accidentally taking too much medicinal cannabis crack butter, and bark out ridiculous questions ... that would be fun ...

But you see, I'm not even asking Papi anything about it.

He'll be speaking sweetly about someone who he admires and out will blurt, "But I'm not gay!"

It's a bit like a game now.

Last night, we were discussing My Boifriend.

He claims to be gay, but is now in full throws of love with a woman.

That doesn't make any sense with the statement that he's gay.

When it comes to being transsexual, it's really only a one sided sexual preference term anyway.

Seriously.

If Papi is now in the 'man zone', and he loves me, outsiders would consider him straight.

But I'm not straight, and I don't consider myself so.

I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm always going to be who I am, and nothing that Papi has done to his body and chemistry has made me change into someone I don't want to be.

I am a butch loving lesbian.

I have been so since I was a teen.  I've been so since that time that I couldn't really understand the feelings that I was having about the girls on sports teams.

Hott!!

I'd watch them be masculine in their own way.  They didn't know the feelings I had about them being butchy with their basketballs and soccer balls.

good god ... that was wayyyyy too many balls in one sentence ...

The ones I thought were sexy turned out to be straight anyway.  It was only the idea of them being butch that I was attracted to, but I honestly didn't even know what I was feeling back then!

I'd see bull dykes on the bus and wonder why I was getting so hot and bothered.

I thought these emotions were because I wanted to be like them, but this femme could never be butch.

As much as I'm more like a tomboy in every day life, I like playing dress up too much.

I like to sashay my way through a crowd of dykes, in my best ass outfits, in hopes that the butchiest of the butches will notice my overly round booty and appreciate it.

Yes.

I'm a true femme.

And just because I still love mi esposo despite the changes that are taking place does not make me any different than I was when I fell in love with the world's most perfect butch.

Well, I do have to admit, I think a bit differently since the bomb was dropped last year.  I'm growing, learning and accepting so much more about this male transformation.

I guess I'm the lucky one.

I got the last tidbits of the world's most perfect butch.

'She's' all mine.

I see her light in the twinkle of love in mi esposo's eyes.

Nobody will ever take that away from me.

Ignorance is Bliss.

So, it came to my attention when I wrote my last blog.

I'm not talking about this one that I wrote after my composing panic attack.

I'm talking about the actual blog that I wrote here.

You see, I have this little 'matter' with my brain.

It got scrambled in the motorcycle accident, and occasionally, entire happenings merely go missing from my brain files.

It's kinda like what arose the other day when Papi attempted to use my composing tower to print out the needed papers for his medical EI.

Bad Papi!  He lost all my current composing files.

and has now been banished from my composing tower ... he may only play his 'sims' game on my laptop where lesser important items are kept ...

One of my BFFs, who is also my BlueLight partner and boss from Boomsmack Records, told me that's not possible.

oh! and btw ... if you'd like to help me do my job, take a moment and 'like' each of these here links on facebook. it will make my boss happy hehehe

Oh, but yes it is possible, because in my world, the strangest things will happen, and happen it did.  No files.  Nothing.  Fuck all.  Gone.

Anyway, I digress yet again.  That has nothing to do with my brain injury.  That's just my personality.  I'm all over the map.

So, I wrote this blog the other day with absolutely no recollection that I had already written about it here.

Now, the difference between the two, is that one is telling you about the marriage certificate that we already had changed to 'male & female', and the other blog is telling you that if Papi asked to have the marriage certificate changed from 'female & female' into 'male & female' that I'd put my wobbly foot down and say, "Hell fucking no!!"

However, it has already been done.

This example of insanity was brought to you by the letters and punctuation of: WTF?!

But you know what?

Sometimes my brain injury does me justice.  I get to pretend that things are in my brain they way I like them.

That is of course, until Papi bursts my bubble.

Yes.

It already happened.

Yes.

I still have my marriage certificate in my office where I get to see it along side of my sweet Papi pre-male transformation.

It's a hot 'n sexy pic of the most perfect butch ever, with breasts peeking ever so naughty between my love's opened leather vest.

Well, I was volunteering yesterday at the Queer Arts Festival office and there were scrumptious picture of butches all over the walls, complete with a few butch breasts proudly displayed for my perusal.

It made me so sad to know that I'll never get to touch my love's breasts ever again because of The Great Breast Disappearance.

I almost cried, but fortunately for me, I forgot they were even there when I got obsessed with organizing papers for filing.

You see?

Brain injury is not so bad.

It's good in an, 'i'm not really here', sorta way.

Ahhhh.

Ignorance is truly bliss.

It's a little bit like ...

Mayhem!!!

Working on another film score.

I'll be back soon as I get a ton done.  I'm behind because of a fancy keyboard program that won't work for me.

In the meantime, here's a video of our last performance.

Note the barefeet ... my back was out and couldn't wear heels!!

It's blasphemy!!

You can see our video for the song in the background.

Now I'm off and running ...

My Husbutch.

I have a Godson.

I refer to him as The Turkey.

Mostly because his little baby chub legs looked like you could break one off and have a Thanksgiving chomp.

He's walking now, so his legs are getting more svelte and are no longer appetizing.

Well, yesterday we celebrated his 2nd birthday party/Grey Cup party.

thank god we won ... i don't think i could handle another vancouver riot ...

As per The Turkey's momma's wish, I brought balloons galore to the party.  They were a magnanimous hit with The Turkey!  Now I know what I have to do every time I visit, so that I may be dubbed his absolute favourite tall person of all time!

Anyway, his Godfather was there too, and we are both so proud to be the Godparents of this little guy.

The Godfather offered to help me in with my balloons aplenty, as did The Turkey's brother that I refer to as The Porkchop.  He also had little baby chub legs that looked like you could break off a piece and have it for Christmas Dinner, but now he's all tall and lanky.  No meat on his teenage bones.

hey ... i know what you're thinking ... but i'm probably your favourite cannibal.

So, as we were heading to do the balloon deed, The Turkey's biological father ...

... and one of my best friends, who was best man at my wedding ...

... made a reference to The Turkey's baptism day when The Godfather and I had to repeat the vows from a pastor, then walk down the aisle, receiving beautiful smiles from the fellowship in their pews, to the back of the church.

But what these people didn't know about the newly dubbed Godparents, was that neither of us believe in God, nor follow religion, so it was completely awkward having to suffer through all the God talk just to be blessed as The Turkey's Godparents.

As we walked down the aisle, and all the good, God believers sang their song of praise, I leaned over to The Godfather and whispered, "I feel like we're in Whoville," which got a great laughing snort out of him.

Fast forward to yesterday, and there we were walking toward the door to get balloons, when The Turkey's bio-dad said, "There goes Andréa with the only man she'll ever say vows and walk down the aisle with."

I wanted to agree, but then I had this moment of thinking about Papi.

I married a butch.

A masculine woman.

The world's most perfect masculine woman, I may add.

One day, when I was clawing my way out of the catatonic tranny spell, my love had asked, "Do you think we could have a 2nd wedding, so that we can be pronounced man and wife?"

Of course, in response to the Tranny Terrorist, I quickly barked out, "No fucking way!!"

I mean really!  I've had my perfect wedding with my perfect butch.

How on earth could I ever marry a 'male', and live to tell the tale?!?

But there was a memory in this that I had spoken to a friend about.  I thought about how happy it would make my love to have his marriage certificate say male and female, instead of female and female.

I'm not rushing out to change our marriage certificate.

Hell fucking no!!!!

That bitch is mine!

But you never know.  Through this whole journey, I have learned a lot about the word, 'never'.

Never say, "Never", or it will come back and bite you in the ass.

At this point, I'm loving being married to my husbutch, and that's where I am 'right now'.