Thursday, March 31, 2011

Comparatively Speaking ...


He's a crafty little fella.

We realized that he probably came in through the toilet hole.  Our home has had 2 separate toilet holes to choose from.

We came to this conclusion when we got a panicked phone call from the worker who was already freaked out about this rat.  What the rat had done next completely had him in a tizzy.

"Did you get my note about the rat?!?!  He's gone down your toilet hole!!  I've covered it up so he can't get back up again.  You have to have him out before the plumber comes tomorrow!!"

It was so hard not to laugh.

We figure now that he's gone back into the hole, and he can't get back up again, that maybe he'll trudge through the sewage bowels of our Upper West Side neighbourhood and find another house to go explore.  There's a few ones being built and renovated down the road.

There have been no more cats hunting, so I suppose he's just had enough of the noise in this house, not to mention The Mrs. coming at him. 

such a good little hunter when she wants to be ...

In the meantime, the next hurdle of the week is to deal with Papi's top surgery.  My love is in the process of booking the appointment and flight.

"What's more important to you, our wedding anniversary in July or your Birthday and CD Release Party in June?"

the birthday and party happen to fall in the same 24 hours ...

Papi doesn't know which one to miss if the booking arises. 


At least with the anniversary, we can actually postpone the celebration.  But the release party is another story.  Can't really ask 200 people if they can just change the day, not to mention the club.  No, they won't be changing anything.

So, my love has to make a decision of which to choose.  Mi esposo is considerately thinking about what these dates mean to me.  They both have different meanings for me, and I'm lucky to have a love in my life who isn't selfish.

This goes for me not only thinking about myself either.  I do see how much this means to my love and I'm doing everything I can to be more supportive as time goes on.

We're married.  It's not just about me and my grief.  It's also about mi esposo's joy.

Papi is thrilled.  Overly ecstatic.  I'm happy that Papi is feeling this way, and I have to keep my emotions in check about it.

First of all, my love will have to go without me.  This kills me.  I want to be there to take care of mi esposo.  As much as we have wonderful friends who could jump in as surrogate, I still don't like the idea of me not being the caretaker.

Then there's the thought of my love leaving me with breasts, and coming back with scars.

That idea I have of Papi just changing overnight is hard.  It makes me think about the fear of those 6 weeks in the pit of doom.  I really couldn't handle my 'wife' just leaving all of a sudden and being replaced with a pseudo 'husband'.

I've learned that this is a slow process and that I will have time to get used to every step that is taken.

But what about when my love comes home without breasts?

That's a pretty drastic change to have happen overnight.  Well, it's going to feel like overnight, but really, it's 10 -14 days I'll be away from my love.  We haven't been apart that long since we started dating.

Anyway, I guess that's why a rat just doesn't seem like a big deal.

It's pretty tiny in comparison, really.

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

You dirty rat!

I guess I just tried to ignore that there is a rat in our house.

There are other more pressing deeds to deal with.

However, there is no denying it when the construction workers tell you to take care of it.  It scared the shit out of one of them.

hehehe ... can't help but laugh at his dismay, sorry

So, up I go in search of the rat.  Couldn't find the little bugger, and all the while the guy was telling me how big he was and that he came from the vents.

don't worry mr. man ... i'm here to save ya!

Funny thing is, last night we heard him in the vents, but we thought it was the smallest of cats on an ad-VENT-ure.

sorry had to say it.

Up the stairs I trod to go find The Mrs. (aka Princess, aka Nook), parading the floor with dirt from one end to the other.


She was in the vents.

But, what we didn't know is WHY she was in the vents.  She was a huntin'!!!

She's a pretty good mouser, but by how the construction guy explained it, I'm afraid this rat may be bigger than her.

I went to one place to ask about rat traps and they gave me all kinds of options of killing it.

"Wait, no!  I don't want to kill it!  Can't we do this in a way that won't hurt it?  I just want to bring it to some other neighborhood and let it terrorize someone else!"

like perhaps my ex?  mwahahahaha

She looked at me like I was a bit loopy.  But damn!  I just want him out.  Not dead.

They didn't have the 'live traps' and suggested before I even get a trap, I have to find out where it's coming in, or we'll have more.

I don't know about that.  I'm thinking, it's a one off.  We've never had it before, and I'm sure he's the only one.

Let's hope it's a 'he' and not a 'she' laying babies around.

Anyway, I'm sitting here looking at some lazy fucking cats.  For chrissakes!!!  Get off your ass and do something!

I'm going to have to go look for holes now.  I hope he doesn't jump out to get me.  I don't need to be screaming bloody murder again with visions of rapists dancing through my head.

I thought I'd let you know though, 'you' had me worried these last few days, my imaginary friend.  I thought you'd left me!

Turns out blogger had an issue and wasn't showing 'you' reading.  I'm just glad I had some comments to have me know that someone was out there.

I love comments by the way.

Always feel free to leave word.  I feel less lonely in this world when you do.

a huntin' i will go ... a huntin' i will go ... on my way to catch a rat, a huntin' i will go

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

"Permission to scream, Sir!"

We really need our friends.  More importantly, we need to have good friends.

I had the pleasure of speaking to a blogger friend yesterday, albeit on the Facebook chat.  It didn't crap out on us and that was a great thing.

What happened while I was chatting with her, was that I realized just how much pressure I'm under.  I'm a survivor, so I tend to downplay events in my life.

However, this is mostly out of fear that people will think I'm whining.

echos of my mother; 'you have nothing to cry about'

But goddamit.  There's a hell of a lot going on.

First of all, while living in this rubble, I am feeling like I'm completely out of control.  It really hit me this morning.

I lied in bed hoping that I would just fall asleep again, because if I got up, I'd be welcomed by a minimum of 3 strange men in my house.  Granted, I'm getting to know them and they really are very nice, but none-the-less, there are people in my house that I have to wade through just to get to my coffee.

The thought of starting my day amongst these people had me lying as still as a corpse.  I think I was just hoping it would all go away.

It didn't.  The second I sat up in bed I had a cat yell at me.

The animals.  They want to be fed the moment I'm up.  Trying to find them a place to eat is a challenge too.  Today, I just left the 2 most scared up with Papi.  I just couldn't handle wrangling them up while my head was splitting.

they're not going to starve.  they can eat later.

I've had a migraine since the crying session 2 nights ago from the other stressor.  But 'you', my imaginary friend know all about the male transformation affliction.  Do I really need to say anything at this point?

top surgery, whiskers and pronouns, oh my!

I haven't had a balanced meal in over a week, due to the fact that we have no stove.  This messes with my psyche.  I need proper nutrition or this brain of mine will cease to function.

pretty much ... yup ... TILT!!!

I have embarked on my music once again, now that my brain injury has given me the space to do so, but this creates a whole other can of worms.


Now, normally, I embrace work.  I'm a bit of a border collie.  You keep throwing the ball, I'll keep chasing it.  But the feeling of trying to get anything accomplished in a house where there is a full hunt for shoes is really hard.

i don't know what these men do with my stuff ... seriously!!!

Being in this disaster is a bit like our own version of Survivor.  I'm not sure how many people could live with saws, hammering, dust, paint fumes, no stove, no tub ...

yes ... you heard me right ... i am stinkin' it up big time ... offending myself!!!

... and the same pair of jeans for 4 months straight.

No, I don't think many people could handle this.

Then there's the fact that we just lost a pet, my love has had a small relapse ...

even though i don't believe there's any way to measure a relapse.  a relapse is horrifying no matter the size ...

... and now I have to go back to my doctor to talk about my blood work.  It's never good when they want you to come in.  At least my ultrasound didn't show anything life threatening.

I'm almost back to my job.  It will feel like a holiday while I'm away from this mess.


Yes I am.

I am a walking sty.  I think anyone would be.

I'm beginning to understand why I am on the verge of explosion every second breath.

Monday, March 28, 2011

The road less traveled.

It was quite a day yesterday.  I thought perhaps I may have been falling into the pit of doom.

It was just a visit from my demons.  The ones that tell me I couldn't possibly be loved.  They tell me I mean nothing to anyone.  They put blinders on my eyes, so that I can't see truth that stands before me.

I believe I mistook excitement for lack of love or selfishness.  Papi's urgency for this top surgery didn't take the place of my love's caring for me, although I thought it did.

just like the ex who chose heroin over me ...

We went to a friend's 9 year clean cake.  I had been crying before we went and was feeling extremely emotional to begin with, then going to one of the rooms full of nutballs like me, I was even more stressed.

What if they recognize that I'm one thought away from using drugs myself?  What if they see beyond my swollen eyes and perceive the craving I had the night before?  Would using those pills stop the tears?

one moment at a time I stay clean and sober.

When I looked around the room, I honoured those who still suffered.  They in turn could see the fear in my own eyes.  The impending relapse.

Then my love did something that I just could never have believed would happen.  Mi esposo admitted to having used drugs to get past the pain of Mr. Moustache's passing.

I cried.

In front of many strangers that I could recognize in myself, I cried.

I couldn't stop.

I know that I've spent many a day in those rooms in tears.  I think people just seemed to get used to it.

"Oh yeah, that's just Andréa.  She'll stop crying as soon as she leaves."

Just the way it is for this highly emotional being.

After we celebrated our friend's 9 years, Papi and I were able to speak about the night before.  My love didn't know I had cried myself to sleep, because I didn't want Papi to know.  It's bad enough for one person to be in pain.

When I told mi esposo how I was feeling, I realized yet again, that I am just as important.

I admitted that I have been feeling unloved.  Mi esposo allowed me to express that feeling, but confirmed that it just may be I'm a little more sensitive right now.

It's so very true.

Ever since that moment of paranoia just over a week ago, I have been feeling not quite right.  It just may be the demons tugging at my sleeve.

they whisper when you're not paying attention

I have been in quite a state of disarray for a few weeks now.  Something is going on, and I'm not sure what it is.

A friend posted on her Facebook wall about not knowing what she needs.  I know this feeling so well.




Just under.

It's not the first time I've had this feeling, but it's certainly the first time I've had someone to love me through it.

I'm usually alone and scared when these feelings come up.  Right now, I have my love.  I also have my Other Person who is diligently keeping contact to help with my heart.

I have friends who are giving me little gems of support and one friend who helped me realize that the stress I've been under for 4 months is the reason for all the strange goings on in my body.

I have everything I need.

Now, my job is to tell those demons to fuck off and get back my strength.  I am still armed with my Trust List and it's time to have a going away party for the demons.

My love has proven yet again that I am still able to keep the heart I married.  I am still able to soak in those eyes that confirm truth and caring.

This isn't an easy road.  I believe it's the most difficult emotional turmoil I've ever had to deal with, but this time, I'm not alone.

We're both on the same path.  We have the same boulders to pass.  We just have different ways to conquer them.

Do I go over or around?

Sunday, March 27, 2011

the incredible shrinking woman

"Night baby.  Sorry u have to go through this," was the goodnight text I received.

I have been told by others that a person going through the transition will be the most selfish they could ever be.  It's not on purpose, or vengeful, it's just a rite of passage.

Yesterday, I really got to see what this means.

I don't even want to look at my swollen eyes yet.  Let me have my coffee first, then I can sift through the rubble and see what crying myself to sleep has resulted in.

I usually get an I love you text from Papi at the days end, but all I got was an apology.  I was torn to pieces so small I felt I could vanish.  I felt all the words I'd said prior were ripped in half and then again to shreds, so they no longer exist.

The tears rolled as I let a piece of myself fall to the pillow where I laid.  I just wished to have my veins crimped so as to stop the flow of oxygen.

please just let me disappear

I wrote back, "Take the ring."  I'll find another way to have my jaw surgery.  I've got a year to save.  It will be fine, and Papi is really good at paying off credit cards.

The money isn't the reason for my tears.  I know we'll both get what we need.

The tears fell because I know I now have to step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.  If I stand as an obstacle in any way, shape or form, I will be the resentment in a marriage.

Papi needs me to be the caretaker after the surgery, but after taking 2 years off work from the motorcycle accident, then another 4.5 months from a simple fall at work, my neck is already on the chopping block.

If I take anymore time off work that isn't scheduled, the Americans will rub their hands together with glee, in anticipation of axing one more full time worker.

Then I won't have braces, never mind jaw surgery.

Ergo, I can't take care of my love if the top surgery is done anywhere other than right here in our city.

I could feel Papi's resentment of this already.  That my love couldn't get what was wanted right here, right now.

I feel I'm the one holding back mi esposo.  I am the irritant that created Papi's ire.  I am the massive boulder in the path of an addict who always get their way.  My love is not used to thinking about the other half and admitted so in a text.

I believe this is what hurt the most.  That my love would have had this done yesterday if it weren't for that pesky little marriage in the way.

This truly is a time of 'it's all about me' for Papi.  I really have to respect that I am not in the equation.  I must step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.

There will be no room to fight for my importance right now.  I see it.

Why this is so hard, is there is a second addict in this relationship that wants what they want as well.


All I want is a normal, "I love you, goodnight," text.  It's just what I want.

Instead, I got an apology and then, "I think San Fransisco is the best bet."

I am so small.

The transgendered person's world is so large.

I am a shadow in an afterthought.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Who's responsible here?

Papi found out yesterday that the top surgery is covered.  The panel consisting of two shrinks dubbed my love a 'true' transgendered person.


Now mi esposo can go on the waiting list to get those scrumptious breasts removed from my loving eyes, and forever I will be without a soft pillow to lay my head against when there's an affectionate hug.

But, there's a problem in Papi's world.  The waiting list is horribly long.

It will take months to wait just to get the letters sent to the appropriate bureaucratic boss man, more months after that to get a consultation, then a good 8-12 months on a waiting list to actually get it done.

Too long for someone who wants them gone the moment the decision to transform was uttered.

Papi wants to get it done now.  My love is madly typing to surgery centers in Florida and San Fransisco, as well as leaving voice mails for them to receive on Monday.

There is hope that it will be done sooner this way.  There is also a hefty bill.  A good 10K.  This scares me.

We just got out of debt, and I'm wearing the ring that is supposed to cover my jaw surgery.  Now my love wants to sell this 1 karat engagement ring that looks so pretty on my hand.

at least i still get to keep mine!  not a hope in hell i'll part with that baby

I suggested we get out of the debt from our holiday to the Dominican Republic we already booked, save a little money and then sell a few things.  This way my love could get it done in the coming winter, instead of waiting close to 2 years.

I would even sell my cello for Papi, but my love wants it NOW!!!

No waiting.

Whip out the plastic and get in there to start the mutilation.

Time to breathe through a new spiral of debt that we just seemed to get out of from the wedding, rings and honeymoon.

This terrifies me almost as much as the surgery.

My love grew up getting everything that was wanted, as soon as it was asked for.

We are not rich like the friends Papi grew up with.  We will be hurting for the cash, and I look at this ring and wonder if my needed jaw surgery won't happen.

Then there's the other half of the stomach turning.

Mi esopso being cut.

I can understand the need for my love to get this done now.  Papi doesn't like that I'm not ecstatic about it.

There are times that my love will say, "I know YOU'RE not happy about it ... but," and I will cringe.  It makes me feel like I'm on the other side of the planet from Papi.

The thing is, I'd rather have it done sooner as well.  This way I can just get the tears out now, versus waiting for the inevitable.

It's coming.

The wave of mutilation.

It would just be easier on me to get it over with and grieve over my love's body part, than it would be to watch the time come closer like the predator gaining speed down that dark alley.

Closer and closer, time is decreasing space.  It's pale, boney hand, with yellowed nails reaching toward me is accompanied by an evil smile that will turn into a maniacal laugh when it finally has me in it's grasp.

hey ... if it's gonna happen, let's just get it over with ...




Which is the villain?

Friday, March 25, 2011


Men scare me.


I said it.

They scare me, but really, now I have to say bio-males scare me.  I've been thrown into the realm of politically correct terms for transgenderism and must use the right words.

Bio-male.  Not trans-male.

I have every reason to be afraid of some men.  Not all men, but when I have memories that even make me afraid of the smallest things, I really have to look at it.

One memory in particular is of one of the rapists I've encountered in my life.  He was the Barnet Hwy rapist.  I don't know if he ever got caught and institutionalized, but he was attacking girls a lot during my teens.

My walk from the bus was like any other walk down the isolated alley, which has a park on one side and houses on the other.  Nobody was ever around.  I was just a lone kid accompanied by her innocence.

Barnet Hwy area is a great place for a sexual predator.  It's nothing but trees and hiding places, and cars that go by so quickly, nobody would ever see you being abducted.  I'm sure the predator knew it was a great place to rape then drag someone to the trees, leaving them for dead.

As I got halfway down the peaceful alley, I heard a noise beside me.  It came from the garbage can, then my heart pounded when I saw that man stand up from behind it and come out at me with intention.

At first, like any other kid, I didn't really realize that my time may have come, so I doubted the experience and looked behind me to see if he truly was coming for me.


There he was, with his hood up over head so I couldn't see his face.

Oh I ran.  I ran faster than those injured knees gave me the right to run.  I looked behind me to see if I'd made any distance between myself and this creep, and he was reaching out to grab for my long blonde hair that was flying in the wake behind me.

My survival instinct kicked in and I did a hurdle over that fence like no other olympian could ever do.  I flew.

I ran to the door of my boyfriend's house ...

yes ... i was still in the closet as a teen

... and hammered on that door as if I could break it down with my might.

I cried and screamed telling my boyfriend and his pal what had just happened.  They ran out after the guy, but I knew they wouldn't catch him.

All I knew was, I wouldn't be walking down that alley alone anymore and that I was the lucky one who got away.  I knew there would be more rapes, as I couldn't identify the slime.

And there were.  The rape kept happening.

Fast forward to the 'now'.

I went into our 'cold room'.  It's a room with our freezer and storage; spices, extra toilet paper, tools.  Right now our cold room is overfilled with boxes, because of the sewage flood.  It's really hard to get in there.

I needed to find something ...

honestly can't remember what it was now ... thank you brain injury

... and as soon as I reached to pull things around I heard something from below the rubble.  I screamed at the top of my lungs and ran to get away from the rapist who was crawling out from behind the boxes.


Sure.  A rapist that is 2 feet tall.

There was no rapist.  Rat maybe, but not rapist.  I'm still in fear of that man.  I'm in fear of the bio-male.

Could this be part of the fear that I'm feeling about my love?  The 'woman' I married is leaving me, to be replaced by a 'male'.  Not a bio-male, but more of a male just the same.

Fear is crippling.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Time for a holiday

The fear of the unknown is what's scary.

Well, to me anyway.

I need to know what's coming.  I need to have a good vision in my head of what will be.

This truly is why I've had anxiety since I was a kid.

I remember lying in bed at the ripe age of 8, and had just learned more about the universe.  I had learned how it goes on forever.

My immature brain just couldn't comprehend this information.

to be quite honest, i still can't get it

I would think to myself: but it has to end because everything ends.  So what's at the end?  A pasture of cows?  But then that has to end too!  So what's after that?!?! Something has to be after that!!!!

I would lie awake and my thoughts would go on and on and I'd get more panicked because it just didn't make any sense.  Everything has edges!

Even a circle has an outer edge!  And after that edge is air, but then the air would end with the next article full of molecules that may be beside it.

I wouldn't sleep because of the terror of this new information that just wasn't logical.  It was my first experience of anxiety driven insomnia.  I didn't know there would be more to come.

The unknown.

it's amazing i don't have an ulcer by now

I was looking at the cute 4 pane picture that Papi and I got at a photo booth in Seattle on one of our tattoo expeditions.

Mi esposo es guapo!

Si, Papi es caliente!  This is something I know.  I look at that pic full of love and laughs, and I see such a gorgeous spouse.

My fear of the unknown is that Papi will be unattractive.  I'm starting to see this as a wee bit silly.

If my love is attractive now, then that should stay the same, no?  It's not like mi esposo is going in for the 'hideous plastic surgery package'.  There's no appointments for getting a larger nose, buck teeth, a wandering eye, a triple chin, a very high forehead and lack of neck.

No, this isn't what's happening.

I look at this picture in terms of the now.  It was only taken a couple of weeks ago, and Papi is still as attractive and good hearted as that day.  I'm still feeling gratitude that I'm married to an amazing being.

But that little girl?  Oh, she's in there.  She's telling me lies about how the unknown is utterly terrifying.  She's telling me that there will be one scary being to look forward to.

The vision she throws at me is really not nice.  All she can see is a middle aged, pot bellied, male pattern balding 'man', with a gross bushman beard.

I'm not a fan of facial hair.  Papi knows this.  But my love really wants the experience of having that manly trait.

all i see is that picture that has scarred me for life ...

The little girl is so afraid of this happening.

The little girl needs to take a chill pill.  But then, that would probably have her cascading into another fit of addiction.

The eternal get away.

She just wants a 'thought vacation'.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

'Pop' goes the weasel ... or me ...

I went to have my morning coffee and breakfast, and after grinding my beans, cracking 2 eggs into the pan and putting my non-dairy creamer into my wonderful coffee cup, I waited for the water to boil.

And waited.

And waited.

The eggs weren't turning white, the water wasn't boiling and when I lifted the kettle to feel the burner, it was only slightly warm.


Nothing wrong with the electricity, just a coincidence that once we're given some relief in our suite with electricity and plumbing, we now don't get to cook food.

Or rather, I don't get to cook food.  Papi isn't much of a freshly cooked food kinda person, as dinner usually consists of Oreo cookies and ice cream.  Sometimes, there's an indulgence of Eggies chocolates for dessert.

is papi secretly trying to get diabetes or a heart attack? 

I dumped the 'creamer' into a 'togo' cup and went to my favourite coffee shop on the way to my physio appointment.  I must have been really bitchy by this point, because the girl behind the counter seemed to be trying to send me some tranquility with her energy.

"Please don't dump my creamer out in the sink!  Just put the coffee in the cup with it!"

and nobody will get hurt

She smiled, "Thank you for letting me know.  A lot of the time, people don't say anything and I just dump it out and give it a rinse."

She was so sweet that I gave her a dollar tip, instead of the usual 50 cents.  They must get some real crankies in there for their first cup of the day!

As soon as I got that coffee in my throat, the world seemed a little better ...

a baby with a soother

... and I could begin to think about how I'm going to exist for the day without my steamed veggies.

Guess it's going to be a trail mix grazing and cucumbers with hummus filler kinda day.

i may truly pop

I'm going to have to get some kinda chill going on though, because Papi is even more stressed than I am, and I'm going to have to keep my love at peace.

We do this for each other.  I know that Papi needs me to help more in this round of the restoration of this house.

So, my mind goes to the conversations that make me smile in an effort to find the inner giggle to start that soothing energy to help my love get through the next few weeks.  If Papi's happy, I will be too.

Mi esposo said yesterday, "I thought you said you'd only go exploring my 5 Foot Clit in a non-sexual way."

All I could do was laugh and make reference to the blog that I posted, '*rules are subject to change without notice'.

I guess Papi didn't read the fine print.

But these are the things that make me smile when I think about my love and this journey we're on.

These are the personality traits that I fell in love with.  It always comes back to this.

I got a little more than what I was asking for in my marriage, but there's still mi esposo in there.  There's still love, laughs and communication.

Now i must go deal with contractors.

please don't pop andréa!

In all honesty, if we can get through this sewage flood without having it affect our relationship, I'm pretty sure we can get through this gender transformation.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011


Not my day today, as in, i didn't get to have my 'normal' day.

Sewage flood restorations.  Wow.  Running around from store to store getting last minute things we need for them to finish up.

In less than 2 weeks, I'll have more than one pair of jeans, one pair of exercise pants and a few t-shirts.  I'll have coats now.  Perfect.  Time for spring and I'm getting my winter boots and coats.

However, we've lasted 4 months with the bare minimum.

It's truly a good learning experience as to what we really 'need' in life, as opposed to 'want'.

Learned my lesson well on this round.

Just stopped in to give a quick hello to 'you', my imaginary friend.  Now I must go move bathroom items from the temporary bathroom to our own bathroom.

We have a toilet in our suite!!!!

And electricity :)

Ah, the luxury ...

Monday, March 21, 2011

Denied Access!!

While we were out for the muddy walk with 2 of the four-leggers, I told Papi that there will be no more 'hiding' and running away in secrecy when the hormones are to be used.

Mi esposo is so respectful when there's no jester to be playing with.  Papi will use those nasty hormones and try to conceal it from me.

But I always know.

It's more stressful for me to pretend I don't know, than it is for me to have the information.  I think it will work out better if Papi just tells me, "I'm going to go do it now, so don't come in the bedroom."

Or whatever room happens to be the space for my love.

I guess I am healing and I am accepting.  I suppose this is how it works.

Whatever is going on, I felt so much more relief at saying those words to my love.  It felt like perhaps it was a moment of us walking on the same path.

Later on that night, my love came up to give me a goodnight kiss.  I saw it as my moment to pounce.

My version of pouncing is to 'hint' that perhaps I may want a little Papi time.

Mi esposo laughed and we went at it.  But, every once in a while we have the passion patrol to deal with.

The one eyed retriever.

Sometimes, I start getting a little Papi love and that crazy animal will bark at us.  It's not in a playful manner either.  It's serious!

We can't figure out if he thinks my love is hurting me or not.  There have been times that the 'hurt' is intentional and in a fun way.

The Golden doesn't like it.  He's terrified that Papi is hurting me without my consent and there's nothing we can do to calm him down.

Last night, when the lovin' was on the move, The Golden jumped on to the bed and sat on my legs with his back to us.  He was just staring at the wall.

When we didn't stop the good times, he moved over to Papi and tried sitting there.

Well, our laughing and loving kept moving right along and he finally left the room.

phew!  i can't have pillow lust with a furry staring at me!!!

Those kisses from my love are so addictive.  I don't know what it is.  Mi esposo's touch brings me to a place no other has ever taken me.  I can move with freedom knowing that those strong hands will always keep me hooked into their magic.

I felt the strength to explore the 5 Foot Clitoris.

Here it was!  The moment we've all been waiting for!!!!


It just so happened it was one of those times that Papi doesn't want to be touched.


First I almost cried.  I had a moment of paranoia.

papi doesn't desire me?!

My love said not to get any strange thoughts.  That I shouldn't be worried, "I just don't feel like it."

I trusted my love to tell me the truth.  I relaxed my brain, and went back to those enslaving kisses.

But damn!  Just when I thought I was brave enough to go exploring, I was denied access.

Guess I'll just have to try again.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

4 strings that sing

It sucks that past crap comes to haunt us later in life.

My feelings of being unlovable come from deep memories of a time that deserves tears.

I'm not sure why it destroys us when our parents split, but it does.  My question is though, why do we have to find ourselves in the same predicament that proves repeatedly how abandoned we really are?

I did this.

I attracted only those who were bound to hurt me.  I needed to feel pain over and over again to relive those feelings that I couldn't possibly be loved.

If I was loved, then my deadbeat dad would sober from his drunken stooper, put down the heroin and return.  Wouldn't he?

I played with the devil.  Those who were like the machines that helped me replay those tapes.  I would be left alone with tears of confirmation that were as loud as a Stellar Jay who's beak screams to the skies.

The strange part is, somewhere along the way, I learned not only how to love myself, but how to find love in my life that I could trust.


I trust to a certain point, I suppose.

Even in the greatest love I could ever have, I still have that nattering part of me that whispers to me through door cracks.

they're all going to leave you ... you will be alone again ...

I've been alone many times in my life, and it's not so bad.  I get past the hurt and rejection, then I get my life rolling with smiles and shiny friends.

I'm really good at being alone.

I'm not alone now.  I am married to a wonderful person, who has a heart so sweet and gentle.  The kind friend who would head out at midnight to bring their step-sister to the hospital.

not to mention, hott

This is no ordinary person.

Neither am I.

Two peas in a pod.

This I know.  I'm loved by this sweet soul. 

So why won't those desperate murmurs that threaten me go away?  I can even try to talk about it out loud like I did to Papi yesterday.  The venom of paranoia seeps into me and waits for clues to affirm I'm not loved.

I wish they had a magic pill for that.

Ah.  They probably do.  I've just spent my life trying to figure out how to abolish it on my own.

My only defence is to do the things I love. 

Yesterday, I had a bass session that sang the sweetest song.  My fingers flew around that fret board.  The rehab of brain injury in this department is concluded now I'm sure.

I would watch those digits moving, feeling the burn of my tendons.  I'd allow them to shriek their pain, but I wouldn't stop.  They'd give in eventually and endorphins would ease the sting.

I played until my heart had the strength to tell me, "This is why you're loved."

I'm loved because of what I love.  In my life the only way to be loved is to love myself.

And my bass.

I played those 4 steel strings and long necked mass of wood for both Papi and I yesterday.

I sang my songs to my heart.

Music heals.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

I'm too slow

One day this week I came home to a new t-shirt splayed proudly on the La-Z-Boy for me to see.

It reads, 'Secretly Loves Trannies'.  When I first looked at it I laughed, then I quickly thought to myself, 'hell no, ain't wearing that thing!'

That changed when I started to think about how funny my love is.  We both like to deal with this transformation in humour when we can.  It takes the edge off.

My thoughts turned to Papi ordering this shirt.  I could just see that snickering face and eager fingers typing in that credit card number.  I could also see the little devil horns poking through that salt and pepper hair.

That's when I thought the shirt was pretty funny.  I texted my love to express the amusement I found in my new attire.  I received back a text, "Yeah, and most people won't even know what it means, so they'll think you love car transmissions."


Most ignorant people will.  The ones that know what it means will assume I'm one of the "Rah-Rah-Tranny" types.  That's cool.  I can handle people thinking I'm more on their page than I really am at this point in time. 

i'm still trying to catch up!  i'm just not as fast a runner as you papi!

Papi's silliness came this same week I made light of that damn calendar.  You know the one.  That monthly reminder of my love's transition that has faces of F-Ms sticking out everywhere?  These faces are just not people I'd be attracted to, no matter how sweet of a heart they have.

Up I go to the attic, and searched through pics to find the vision of mi esposo I love the most.  I printed it out 10 times over, cut out Papi's faces, and plastered each one on every uncomely face of every remaining month of 2011.

I hung it back up for Papi to see, but it just didn't happen. 

seriously!?!  i guess you're going to need a bit of a push ...

While my love was in the kitchen I yelled, "Hey can you tell me what the last Monday of the month is?"

I watched mi esposo walk over to look.

I wait ...

Then I hear these little giggles and pages turning, then more giggles.

Papi liked it.

These are the dippy moments in our journey together that I have to remember when I'm feeling like perhaps my not being caught up to Papi is causing our relationship to fail.

I'm so scared that my lack of speed will have mi esposo running into the sunset with a Tranny Chaser who will prove to my love that I'm not good enough, not accepting enough, not understanding enough.

Just not enough.

I have to remember on the days where Papi leaves early to work because of the horridness of our new suite, where there are lights hanging precariously from wires and there are empty sockets where the plugs should be.

This 'home' where there is no toilet or sinks.  This 'living space' without cable hookup, forcing Papi to Mickey Mouse something that works, because to my love it is 'the most important part'.

Papi couldn't wait to leave our tiny, dilapidated nest.  The agitation coming from my love was so thick that I started to think it was me that was the problem.

I get this way when there's raging hormones to deal with.  Sometimes, PMS gets bad, and this is one of those times. 

paranoia ... self destroyer ... but you have to sing it with the english accent like the kinks.

Papi quickly left our suite because it is just so unlivable, yet I took it as my love just couldn't wait to get away from me.

Yes, I have to remember during these terrible PMS times.  I have to remember right now.

please remember you're still loved ... even though you're slow ...

Friday, March 18, 2011



We're moving things from the main floor to the downstairs so that they can start restoration of the hardwood.

We have walls and floors in our suite, but no bathroom, kitchen counters or plumbing and electricity.  We'll have to come to the dusty main floor to cook and use the bathroom, then we'll have to go up to the attic to sleep.

Well, I'll sleep, as I do it in the evenings, unlike a certain Papi vampire who sleeps with the sun.

In our downstairs suite, all our belongings will still be in boxes.  But we'll have a new couch to sit on and look at the emptiness.

Right now, my love is running around trying to salvage everything possible, as we know what happened the last time the restoration vultures came.  They took it all and we were left with nothing.

I still only have 2 boxes of clothing.  Papi has more, and it'll be strewn as disasterously downstairs as it is here on the main floor.


There's no time to deal with our drama of hurt and male transformation.

I tried last night in a very quick effort during our goodnight text.  I asked for a little Papi lovin' soon.  Hard to do when my love is either working or sleeping, but I asked.

Ok.  Here we go.  Phase 1 of moving.


Thursday, March 17, 2011

Today is always tomorrow

I sometimes wonder how it is I don't completely go bananas.  I just bob around in the crest of my mind's wake.

I'm finding out, the majority of people on this planet do also.  Well, the people that are honest in my life anyway.

The way I see it, we're all mad.  It's just to what extent, and are we able to function this way?

When we were waiting to cross the border, there was a lunatic zealot with his sign saying "God is going to kill us all on May 21". 

wow.  that's some great 'being' you folks believe in.  nice.

As the border guard walked his sniffer dog up to my car, I sounded just as crazy as the person with the sign, "Excuse me, is that REALLY allowed?!?!"

"Yes, ma'am.  It's a public park where it's freedom of speech."

"OK, but if that was a muslim, you'd have him removed immediately.  I'm completely offended by this guy and I can't be the only one."

of course i was saying this loud enough for the zealot to hear.

I didn't let the guy just get away that easy either.  Now I had people rolling down their windows to see what the crazy lady in the SUV with a sticker that reads, 'Motorcycles are everywhere.  Open your fucking eyes!' had to say.

"And besides!  If we're all going to die on May 21st, shouldn't we be out partying it up?!?"  I got a few chuckles from the cars in my area, not to mention a little gleam in the guards eye that said, 'ok, that was funny'.

At this point, I did the most ridiculous thing I could ever have done.  The sniffer dog was coming close to me and as a knee jerk reaction, I went to pet it.

The guard immediately pulled back his best friend and yelled, "He's going to bite you if you touch him!"

I shrunk back in embarrassment.  Not because of the words, but because I should know better than to touch a dog that is working.  It was just that he was so damn pretty!!!

Papi had that gorgeous face hidden in mi esposo's strong hands.  Completely humiliated that I had said anything to the guard.

I was happy to see my love abashed, as there are many times that it has been me who's cringing.

Like for instance, when we're in the living room, and we have no curtains because of the sewage flood, and there's Papi naked as naked can be, standing full view in the mirror with that beautiful ass to the world, while shaving off mi esposo's salt and pepper hair.

on my love's head hair you perv!  i know what you were thinking!

I'll beg, "Please get away from the window!!! There's kids over there!!!"

But Papi doesn't move.  No, my love just laughs and says, "Nobody's looking."

I shrink as far down in my chair as possible.  I wouldn't want the neighbours to think that I had anything to do with this behavior.

So, yes, we give it back and forth.  It's just usually me who's being tortured with the impish being my love is.

Yesterday was 'tomorrow'.  That day I was hoping would come fast.  That day that made me feel happier than the last.

I felt so good, that the fear of driving left, and I sped down the highway smiling at the lack of anxiety I felt.  Normally, I'm terrified on the road and drive so slow it makes Papi crazy.

Oh, not today.


I got pulled over for a speeding ticket.

It made me smile.  It was a hurdle I jumped.  My P.T.S.D. just may be leaving the building.

Yesterday's day was a good day.  Full of action, love, and chuckles.

I wonder what my next tomorrow will bring?

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Every day is a new day.

One of the reasons I'm so frightened by Papi's using is because of my own thoughts of using to take away the pain.

A holiday.  No more stress.

It's been a wicked 4 months and I am looking forward to it all ending.  Everything ends, and a new round begins.  The roller coaster has to come up if it's gone down.  At the same time, it has to go down to build the momentum to get back up.

The only difference is, I usually love the thrill of the slide on the roller coaster in the amusement park.  The literal one.

The figurative one?  It's not so fun.  I'm feeling so much stress that when I went to a meeting last night, I almost cried in front of the board.

We do this check in thing.  I hate it right now.  People talk about their good stuff going on, their bad stuff going on and I just sit there trying to find the optimist so I don't bring an entire room down that hill with me.

"Well, we might have a home to move into next week," the board applauded, "and I hope that the joy of a home will ease off all the stuff that's been going on for 4 months.  I'm just trying to get through what life is offering right now."

It was as cryptic as I could get.

I wasn't the only one who had doom and gloom in their check in, but I surely felt like people were thinking, "For fucks sakes just get over it."

Don't be calling the authorities in fear about what I'm going to say, but Papi and I, at the end of the day, both spoke about how hard we're both feeling the effects of all this.

Papi said, "Now I know why trans people commit suicide.  We're just not understood.  I'm feeling suicidal today."

I didn't feel fear of my love's words, I just replied, "Well, I've been feeling suicidal for over 2 months now.  Yesterday it was really strong."

Not shocked at what I'd said, Papi suggested, "I guess we'll just have to do it together then.  I suppose we'll have to bring the animals with us."

"Jeeeeezus.  No.  We'll have to give them away."  I thought about that for a moment, and realized my idea wouldn't make me feel settled, "Ummm ... no.  That will be too hard for them.  We'll have to wait until they're all dead.  Then we can do it."

Papi agreed.

I think we both knew that by the time the animals all passed on, this should all be settled down, one way or another.

So there it was.  We will stay alive for the animals.

I've been there before.  I once stayed alive for my dearly departed rottweiler.  Once she was gone, I started planning my end.  Then I went on medication, and here I am.  Alive to write about the next journey.

I have had suicidal thoughts since I was 11.  It's nothing new for me.  It's just the way I think.  I'm not afraid of it anymore.  If I really feel like it's a thought that I'm planning, I'll talk to someone seriously about it.  Otherwise, I just let those little demons have their play time and move on to another thought afterward.

I've had a few attempts in my life.  Mostly around when I was a teen.  It wasn't easy, getting used to this brain I have.  Even with medication, I'm still a loon.  But as I grow and age with myself, I am able to figure out what  the good choices are to appease the demons.

Proper diet, exercise, and getting all this crap out of my mind that stomps around.  The more it stays up there, the bigger it gets.  It's like tsunami pulling all the good in it's current.

I get my tsunami warnings.

But I have you, my imaginary friend, to take the crest of the wave.

As I pass my words onto you, you help build the wall to save me from drowning.

These words you've read are gone now.  I get a clean slate to start this new day in hopes that it is better than the one prior.

It's my only wish in life, to be happier than I was the day before.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

A Festering Abscess

I didn't get to feel the prick of my skin and see the ink flow.

I didn't get to feel the pain of beauty, only the pain of love.

Relationships are hard work.  When we hurt one another, there is often an underlying message that isn't coming through, there is only a ball being volleyed back to our side of the net.

Papi was holding in the hurt that I inflicted, but it burst through the knife of the tongue.

The monotony of tree after tree on our ride down to Seattle was broken by hateful words.  "I blame you for not letting me give Smokey kibble when he wanted it.  I think that's why he died."

The blade punctured my heart, but I added pressure the pumping blood as long as I could.

maybe Papi was experiencing the upheaval of withdrawal?

I tried to let it go.

Easier said than done.

By holding it in, I became contentious and less than tolerant with every person who had the unfortunate meeting with the demon that was now speaking for me.

I had my dark cloud again.  That bastard was held fast above my head.  Nobody can see it, but they can damn well sense it.  We are, after all, intuitive animals.

During my wait for the tattoo that never happened, I got down to work on my computer and did some long overdue clean up.

Papi said, "Well, while you're just reading, why don't you read the FtM Sex Guide I sent you."

I've been avoiding it.  I thought it would be a way for partners to discover the new found body that has been entered into the relationship.


It was just a transgendered person talking about their clit.  I was so uncomfortable and felt it was an attack on my trying ego.  My soul is working so hard just to be at peace with where I am 'right now'.

'Right now', I'm not ready for this.  'Right now', I'm just getting used to the fuzzy peach moustache and wispy chin hairs.

'Right now', I'm accepting the changes in my life that are happening because of this transformation.

When I met a potential new friend at the gym, I called Papi my husband.  It felt wrong.  It felt awkward.  But most of all, it felt like the right thing to do, so that they would consider mi esposo as a male figure right from the gate.

When Papi asked me about the guide and what I thought, the dark cloud rained upon me and words slipped out on that now slick runway.  "I thought it would be about sex, but all it was, was a platform for the guy to talk about his clit like it was a dick.  He'll never have a dick.  He wasn't born with a dick.  It's a swollen clit."

my dagger stabbed repeatedly in an effort to defend myself, after being told i killed my love's cat.

The fucked up part?  I was irritable because Papi blamed Smokey's death on me, which came from Papi having resentment because I made jokes about the full body binder that mi esposo received in the mail.  I retreated in repugnance when my love put a fake penis in to this article of clothing.  I didn't want it anywhere near me and that was agitation thrown at my love because of the fact that Papi had used drugs.

Do you understand the vicious cycle here?

You can go back further and further and try to find the initial culprit of pain, but it doesn't matter.

We realized that the wounds we force upon one other are going to have to be spoken about right away.

If not, they will fester, and I'll wake up with swollen eyes from crying all night long.

It's just not pretty, that vision in the mirror this morning.

We have to clean these wounds before they become abscessed.

Monday, March 14, 2011


The buzzing of the needle greeting my love's allowing skin.

I sit patiently waiting my turn in the tattoo parlour.  While I wait patiently, all I hear is dirty noise and echoes of the last 48 hours.  Moments, of my love expressing sadness and hurt at my honesty.

Honesty is supposed to be how we communicate.  Somehow, it stings and has us feeling attacked.  My dear love, feeling the weight of the honesty given to me in a moment of admitting a problem.

My last 2 days have been full of 'what if'?  Each one adds to my already anxious personality. 

: my love doesn't like the fear I've emitted?

: all of the pain we've endured together has been battled with strength, maybe not this one?

: maybe Papi is going to find less tolerance for me now that I've expressed my lack of tolerance for addiction?

There are more.  They are causing my poor heart to feel tight with holding back the fears.

Sometimes, people get mean in relationships.  There comes a point where the love leaves and the disrespect creeps in.  These are part of my biggest fears in every relationship I've been in.

They always come true.

I can't see my love being this way with me, but stranger things have happened.  I never expected my ex to rob me and make me homeless, and forcing me to shut down my business.  So yes, stranger things have happened.

Anything CAN happen in a relationship.  It's part of the deal we make when we enter.  We could have ever lasting love, or there could be hurt to one or both hearts.

I'm feeling very timid, as Papi could be coming off the codeine, making for a very agitated self.  I hear my love laughing with the artist, but that could change when the endorphins stop visiting and the ink has settled.


I listen to many other victims of the needle, every one of them here for their dose of pain, to have their gain of exposing art.

I listen.

I listen to the tone of my love when we were driving here to get the tattoo.  Frustrated because I didn't understand which way Papi was telling me to drive.

I listen.

I listen to the silence that seems to be the partner to the awkward conversation that we make.

I take a lot in.  Am I imagining?  Or am I just being paranoid?  Is my anxiety winning?

My turn.  My pain is coming.  All I can hope for, is it only being the needle.

I can handle that pain.

Highway ... more trees

Seattle bound one more time.

More tattoos.


Tattoos are addictive.

Lots of time to hang out with Papi.

This time I'm driving :)

Sunday, March 13, 2011

Survival of the Fittest

Shit's hittin' the fan in Andréa Land.

Papi informed me last night that mi esposo is no longer clean.  Still sober, but no longer clean.  I've suspected this during the past 2 years of motorcycle accident recovery.

Occasionally my love has used my pain medication for various 'pains', but I have always known that this has been 'using', because the 'use' continued past the 'pain'.  However, it's not my place to tell someone they're using.  It's up to the person to come to that realization and admit their addiction.

Oh, I'll hint in the 'planting the seed' kinda way, but never judge or accuse.  It's up to ourselves to get to that place in our own minds, or we'll never do anything about it.

After Mr. Moustache passed, Papi secretly used my pain meds to get through it, but also had taken the Valium that was prescribed for the demon cat that tries to kill my cats.  I had wondered why my love was being so cranky towards me on that trip down to the States.  There was road rage from my love that had me in tears with my P.T.S.D.

Papi always has road rage, but this time was different.  I was terrified and begged my love not to play around with the jokers that were trying to force us into an accident.  My love ignored me and entertained the addict inside.

Afterward, Papi apologized, seeing the panic attack it caused.

"But you're not sorry.  You say you're sorry, but you continue to do the same things.  If you were truly sorry, you'd stop this behavior."

I felt as though I was being abused.  It was so hurtful that my love would get into a road game of chicken with me in the car.  Papi knows how bad my P.T.S.D. is.

I told my love that I need mi esposo to go to anger management. 

i could use a little myself, as nobody really sees my rage, because i hold it in ... this is the stuff that creates cancer.

Deep down, I knew then that mi esposo was using my pain meds, but I gave my love the benefit of the doubt. 

maybe papi's just tired from the graveyard shift?

Life comes with death.  We can't have one without the other, and it's sad.  It's heartbreaking when our little friends leave us, but it's not an excuse to use.  Really, there's no 'excuse' for using, other than the fact that we're an addict.

So then I start to wonder, is my love really happy in this relationship?  Is Papi's weight gain over the past 2 years a signal of mi esposo's misery with me?  Is Papi's using another way to say, 'I'd like to disassociate from you'?

Is mi esposo's gender dysphoria really just a way of pushing me away and saying I don't want you anymore?  This is the one that scares me the most, as I've told my love how little I'm attracted to F-Ms.

Papi says it isn't, "That's ridiculous!  I love you so much!  The only reason I can actually do this transition is because you are in my life and I feel safer than I've ever felt."

Still, I'm heartbroken.

My clean and sober love has slipped into active addiction, and I never wanted to see this happen.

I want my love to be healthy, happy and strong.  Just like when we first started dating.  I've asked Papi to go back to meetings, get back to the gym, put down the cookies, pizza and candy, and get better.  Get happy.  Get healthy.

It's a matter of survival for our relationship now.

I need my love.  I am in love with the greatest soul I could ask for.

But I can't be in a relationship with someone who is self-destructing.

Been there.

Survived that.

Don't need to do it again.

Saturday, March 12, 2011


This planet is getting messy.  The U.S. has a financial meltdown along with fires and flooding. Haiti lives with their never ending disaster.   Libya, Greece et al are revolting.  Japan has a new found reality. Australia is in dispute with mother nature and there's so much more.  I just can't keep up with it all.

I'm sure Canada and Europe must be next.  Every other country is imploding, so I guess it will happen to us too.  We're not exempt.

Yet there I sat, with anxiety bursting through my blood, because I have to go to a new gym where I don't know anyone.  My stomach turned when thinking that I had to go to a class for yoga.

I am terrified of people.  It's absolutely ridiculous. 

When I got there, I had nothing but smiles from the employees and friendly people in the change room. 

I went to the rowing machine and had my usual rivalry with the person next to me, even though they were not aware of the athletic event. 

i'm faster ... yes!

Another guy came by to try his hand on the machine next to me, and I smoked his ass too.  I outlasted two people AND went faster than them.


It's my way of being ok.  I don't have your fancy name brand attire, but I'll annihilate you on the rower in my ratty old sweat pants.

Off I go to the yoga room and insecurely choose my spot near a wall.  I still think I need to be near something solid in case I fall. 

The diminutive red-headed yogini invited me to come closer, "Yeah, it's a habit from brain injury.  I still think I need the wall from my lack of balance.  Today I'll be brave.  Today will be my first day away from the wall."

She was ecstatic that I had a monumental moment in her presence, and noted how well I did.

of course!  i'm in competition with everyone in the room!  and you're my next contestant.

At the end of the class, the only thoughts I had were, 'Life is so fucking good.  I'm so fucking lucky to be me.'

I was so afraid of going, yet I made it, and did amazingly well.

When I watched the news later and saw all that was happening to Japan, I realized that my minuscule fears are nothing.  Absolutely tiny.

The person I love is making a happier existence, yet somehow it makes me scared enough to cry for 6 weeks straight, and fret about pronouns, body parts and hair.

Japan is going to have to rebuild their lives.  Mexico is living in fear of the drug lords.  Haiti, oh Haiti, my heart breaks for you.

There is nothing in these small fears that any ONE person in these countries would look at and think, 'Really?  Try this one!'

I know that it really is all about perspective and everything is relative to our own experiences, but damn!  I am truly narcissistic.

I have the greatest love in the world.  It really doesn't matter who Papi wants to be.  I'm in love with mi esposo's soul.

I am so damn lucky.

Susan Jeffers has a book that I've never read, but I've lived by the title all these years: 'Feel the Fear, and Do It Anyway."


Friday, March 11, 2011


The pronoun.  Feminine, masculine.  It tells us what gender category to put someone in.  Society needs to know if someone is a girl or a boy.  We keep our minds organizing people into little boxes to appease the 'norm' that we've been accustomed to.

don't fuck with my order!

For me, I'm trying not to use any label at all.  I just call my love by name.  But, I feel like some high school kid who's got her first relationship and all they ever do is say the name over and over and over.  It's a bit of a tongue twister, and I'm sure people are starting to notice.

It's really hard.  Let me tell you.

Then there's the times when I slip up.  I go on autopilot and forget to concentrate on what I'm saying.  For a person with brain injury, maintaining this much focus is bound to fail in mere minutes.

However, there are times where I'll use it to my advantage.  If I think someone is even remotely homophobic, it's a pleasant relief to say, 'my husband'.

But, it still feels so damn alien.

I flipped back and forth yesterday in a conversation with the road side assistance.  Said 'my wife' on the phone to call for service, and 'my husband' when the vehicle showed up to give me comfort and get me on the road again.

goddam car ... you really only have battery issues when i'm the one driving.  you jerk!

On that back and forth trip to Seattle, on one of the monotonous highway drives of tree after tree, Papi said to me, "You called me 'she'.  I know you're not ready to say 'he', but just saying when you are, I'd like it if you could."

here it comes ... papi is going to start demanding i use the right pronoun ... i'm not ready to let my 'wife' go just yet.

My love cringes if I call us lesbians.

(for the record, i fucking HATE that word.  dyke sounds so much better, but people get all weirded out by it)

I said the 'L' word the other day to friends when they didn't have room on their schedule for our tattoos.  Tongue in cheek, I played the gay card, "Apparently they're too busy to make appointments for lesbians!" and immediately looked to see if Papi heard.

nope.  phew!

When we were at Ikea getting our kitchen island, the man at the self-serve cash lineup called mi esposo 'sir'.  I almost blurted out a correction.  I stopped myself and went along with it, grinning, almost as if I had the world's best kept secret.

It was kinda fun actually.  It felt like I was playing make-believe.  I smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

There are times when people use the feminine pronoun for Papi and I get squirmish as well though.  I wait patiently for my love to correct them, but Papi never does.

The problem is, if my love speaks, people figure out that it's a female voice.  It truly is the clincher in this deal.

Oh, and for the record, my love has told me that it's not a '5 Foot Vagina'.  It's actually a '5 Foot Clitoris'.  I have been corrected.  Apparently, it only grows about an inch as opposed to the centimeters that most of us gals are born with.

This morning, while reading my blog, I hear from the living room, "I hate it when you call it the 5 Foot Vagina.  It gives me such a gross vision in my head!"

That's right my love.

That's why I'm scared.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Mother, Mother

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder just where my insanity stems from.

Figured it out.

My mother.

We tend to take on the traits of our family.

On the drive up to my mother's retiring abode, I had to do my best to keep my mother low on the road rage attitude.  I worked on my anger issues enough that I was able to explain that getting mad about a situation won't change it, all that will happen is you will harm yourself.

Her aggitation started out 2 minutes from my house with a traffic jam because of a police incident.  My mother was getting so frustrated she almost honked at the police.

sounds very familiar

I had to pacify her short fuse throughout the entire 5 hour drive up to the Okanagan.  What really made me giggle however, was the O.C.D. that ruled her existence the moment we stepped in the door.

Dusting, cleaning, busy, busy, busy.  She just wouldn't stop.  She hadn't even taken off her scarf yet!  She cleaned the same spot for about 10 minutes.  A spot that I didn't notice had anything on it.

memories ... mother grabbing my hand and pushing the cleaning rag with rage, as if to pull my arm out of it's socket in an effort to punish me, "THIS IS HOW YOU CLEAN A COUNTER!!!!!"

I'm not a neat freak, but I definitely get obsessed with certain things; numbers, music, exercise and making everything symmetrical.

it must be even dammit!!!

There were also times that we would have the same hand gesture at the same time, and say the same things in the same breath.  Occasionally, I felt like we were two fish in a school, turning our heads with the same look on our face like twins.

The crazy part is, I'm not close with my mother.  I see her maybe 4 times a year.  I forgive her for being the abusive person she has been in the past, but I'm still not close with the less than maternal person.

She also has an overbearing homophobic husband who will demand her every breathing moment, and do his very best to keep my mother away from the sinful dyke.

the feeling of offense is mutual muther-fucker (pun intended)

I tried to ease my way in with talk about Papi's male transformation.  I showed her that I was wearing my love's engagement ring and she was shocked, wanting to know why on earth mi esposo wasn't wearing it?!??!?!?!?

"Mom, do you know much about transgendered people?"

"No, I have never really understood that."

"Well, it's a person who has both gender traits in one body."  I asked her if she ever noticed that my love looks more like a male, and my mother laughed as in, 'duh'!

I helped her understand transgendered people by talking about Papi being a 'masculine woman', and that there are also men who are feminine.  That helped a little.

more memories of growing up with my family's homophobic slander of gay men

I explained that some people will be hermaphrodites.  My mom had never really even heard of this.  I told her of the person having both the organs of a male and a female.  She seemed quite uncomfortable with this, so I was sure to let her know that Papi isn't one of them.

I made clear that Papi has more male attributes and is feeling drawn toward the masculine side.  I disclosed that an engagement ring is something worn by a female, hence I get to wear it until it's time for my jaw surgery.  At that point, we will sell the ring.

She got it.

This was the first day of actually defending Papi.  I felt like my mom was closer to understanding and I was closer to helping one person out of their fear, phobia, and any other feeling that would cause hate or disgust.


I'm really healing.

Next step, the 5 foot vagina.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

A quick hello ... back in Vancouver


I don't understand why I'm constantly attracting the energy of being close to death on the road.  What kind of cosmic force wants me to lay dead on concrete?

I suppose it is an ok way to die, but I never do.  I just get crumpled and have to fight back to strength again.

Drove up to Summerland with my mother, and a semi-trailer tried to take us off the road, because he didn't feel like gearing down behind the slower one ahead of him.  He decided it was better to take the little car off the road.

We were just lucky enough that my mom managed to pull to the side and brake in time.  Inches would have had us trapped between the curb divider and truck.

Guess who was on the truck's side?

Yeah, me, the road target.

for fucks sakes!  seriously!?

Coming back down, a lovely spring blizzard to deal with on the Coquihalla Connector.

I think I'm done with the highway for a while.


Waiting for my love to come back from Seattle again to bring our new couch and bathroom medicine cabinet.

No, that's not very exciting, to you, my imaginary friend, but to me, it's wonderful.

Back to my internet that actually allows me to open this blog site and back to my house of furry critters that are staring me down for food.

And my love ... 2 more hours ...

Tuesday, March 8, 2011


We've spent the past 2 days driving back and forth from Seattle to start the refilling of our home.

I have done nothing from my 'todo' list, and it's making me very cranky.  I need 'me' time.  I need to feel like I've accomplished something in my day, or I get negative.

But the flip side is, I've spent 2 lovely days with Papi, and that has been wonderful.

And crazy.

When you're driving 3 hours each way, two days in a row, with two opposing thought processes, there's quite the 'spiel' going on.

And the car blasted with chatter.

My love had time to express feelings that were going on in that sweet, emotional mind.

For instance, why I wouldn't touch that fuzzy caterpillar under my love's nose, yet I had the urge to do so with my high school buddy.

Oh, but there was more!

It hurt my love that I didn't stroke this downy fur, but that conversation also turned into communication about my love's bruised ego, since I haven't gone near other body parts.

I am healing and learning a lot about my fears during this male transformation, but obviously not fast enough for Papi.

"It hurts that you won't look at my pussy and touch my facial hair."

It breaks my heart when I cause my love pain.

I reached over and stroked that furry little animal...

the one above papi's mouth, get your mind out of the gutter

... that I can't seem to keep my eyes off of.

It really was soft.

It was just like I envisioned how my friend's in high school would feel.

I was successful, and it made my love smile.

I'll have to go exploring my love's changing 5 Foot Vagina another time, as the next 2 days will be spent driving to the Okanagan with my mother.

that will be something to talk about i'm sure!

Anyway, I digress, but there is also that shaggy chin hair that's protruding.  My love needed to talk about that too, however the moustache was where I drew the line.

What we had gone down for was an island for our kitchen.  The first day we visited Seattle, my love went alone while I got pampered with a new tattoo.

When the newest addition of art was almost finished being etched into my skin, Papi stormed in to the tattoo parlour, angry that the island my love wanted was too far in the back of the warehouse for them to pull out in an instant, and that we'd have to come back the next day.

hence, 2 days in the U, S of A.

On this second day, I went with my love and saw the size of the island my love had chosen.

"Hell no!  We don't live in a mansion my dear!  This thing's huge!!!!"

"But it's the one I want."

ah the spoiled brat has spoken ...

"Honey, you're not the one cooking in the kitchen all day.  NO!"

So, then the bargaining came.

We found one that I said would fit, and my love come's out with, "Ok.  We'll get this one, but when we get home and measure it and the one I wanted would fit, you have to touch my chin hair.  If I'm wrong, I'll cook you dinner."

Fair deal.

I don't think I'll be touching that chin hair any time soon.

The woman of the house is always right.


Monday, March 7, 2011

The Exorcist

"How's your mom?"

This question was actually pointed at someone other than Papi, but my love chose to answer anyway, "In the grave as usual."

Silence fell and everyone looked at mi esposo.  Then my love laughed and broke the tension.

I'm not the only one Papi terrorizes.  This is mi esposo; silliness at even the worst of topics.

Humour: healer of all wounds.

My love also listens.  Well, in this case 'reads', and is more than tender about my issues sometimes.

I woke to the 'ugh, do i have to stare at this' calender of transgendered F-Ms having been placed behind the happy calendar of animals.

While I'm writing and thinking of a way to help you understand, or in some cases, relate to my hell, I will look up to the wall in contemplation.

I now get to stare at a baby zebra; legs not quite sure how to hold herself up yet, gangly black and white stripes of glory experiencing the beauty of life.

ahhhhh ... so much better than an ugly mug.

I woke Papi with kisses for that one.

I wanted to tell you, my imaginary friend, a little bit more about how the night of anorexia proceeded, as it was quite the shift from the earlier abhorrence.

During the ride to the restaurant, I knew that I would not eat my full meal, as a way to appease the eating disorder, and fool it that I was heeding it's warnings.

I didn't need this table of strangers to know of my insanity, "Please don't say anything if I don't eat my full meal, ok honey?"

Papi nodded, "But you're going to eat SOMETHING, right?"


The days of starving myself are no longer welcome in my world.

I'll at least eat enough to keep my blood sugar even, as it's really not classy to be passing out all over the place, a crumpled gob for people to stare at, "You really did this to yourself."

I ate my half meal, all the while looking down at my stomach to see if it was going to bulge from those bites of nourishment.

It didn't.

It behaved.

I can look at myself in reality this way and see that the mirror was wrong.  My stomach is not hanging out the way that I see it in that reflection.

However, I was quite scared to go to the next adventure, Brandi's Lounge, because I thought for sure the demons would come out to play when I saw erotic dancers.

Here I would see perfectly round 'stock' breasts (each one looking like the same surgeon as the last), utterly thin legs and hips laughing at my smashed self-esteem, confirming what I'd seen in that change room a few hours earlier.

But as I watched these women, what I realized was, I was ok.  I had a moment of 'two steps back'.

These women are not me.

Ever since the brain injury, my thinking has been slightly shifted, most of the time for the better.

you know that saying, 'give your head a shake'?

I no longer need to feel perfect.  I am not an immaculate being.  I am just a woman who has made it through the most challenging experiences in life that most could never imagine, and some who don't survive them.

I really am ok.

I'm healthy.

Demon be gone ...

for now ...

Fuck you and all your visions of detestation.  If you don't behave, I will follow through with my threat and cover those mirrors.

You've been warned.

Sunday, March 6, 2011

The mirror lies.

There have been times in my life where I've had to cover every mirror in the house with paper, only exposing my face.

Having an eating disorder can really fuck you up, as it did yesterday.

The nightmare of buying new clothes was upon me.

Because of the sewage flood, I've lived 3 and half months with one pair of jeans, a couple of t-shirts and hoodies/sweaters, ... 

(sometimes, the colour schemes are just NASTY!)

... one jean jacket, some running shoes, and one pair of lovely 'Sidekick' Dayton Boots that I usually only wear with my girly jeans.

Of course my girly jeans are NOT the jeans I've been forced to wear day in and out.  All I have right now are my tomboy jeans.

Well, we had to go out last night and we were going somewhere where there is a no jeans and sneakers dress code.

I had to go shopping.

I brought a few items into the change room that would go with my boots, and when I proceeded to disrobe, the green, macabre monster of an eating disorder struck me in a vicious attack of my appreciation of myself.

You see, because of the flood, I haven't had a full length mirror to tell myself just how awful I look.

Oh, there was a full length looking glass in this room.  The whole fucking wall was a parody of hate.

If you don't have an eating disorder, you can't possibly understand.  When we look in that iniquitous imager, it's like someone has put a carnival 'fun house mirror' in our view.

I see great gobs of fat, swelling with arrogance, on my upper arms, waist, stomach, thighs and most definitely my ass and hips.

I see cellulite distending every square inch of those legs and arms.  I see hips that should really belong to someone else.

I can rationalize and tell myself that a size 7 is not as big as what I see in the mirror.  Everyone else seems to think I'm thin.

The mirror is my enemy.  I see nothing short of someone who's at least 100 lbs heavier than the size of clothing I wear.

I bought the items, intending on just covering them up with a sweater to hide the horrid figure I'd witnessed, that is in my mind, reality.

To get to the car was my only mission.  This is my place where it's ok if the world sees me cry, my private place.  I can cry here as much as I want, because I'm in my bubble of glass and steel.

And cry I did.

My mind launched into reasons why I couldn't go out for the evening.  I told myself how much I hated 'me'.  I went to the pit of doom, and took a look at the furniture.

cozy La-Z-Boy ... i could just melt into the seat where nobody will be able to tell the difference between my gobs of fat and the rolls of the leather

My love gave me a clonazepam, because I was obviously in a state of caving in.

By the time we got home, that little pill calmed me down enough to get dressed, make up on ...

(papi wouldn't allow me to wear the sweater b/c it made me look frumpy ... convinced me that my eating disorder was lying to me, and I wore my little jean jacket, exposing my torso)

... and off we went.

The mirror lies.

It just may be time to hide to hide from my reflection again.

The rest of the night was another story all together ...

Saturday, March 5, 2011


I'm up way too early today.  I got to see a beautiful sunrise, but my body could go back to sleep, even after having my morning coffee.

I keep waking up with the sheets wrapped around my throat.

my bed is trying to kill me!

This morning I had to actually fight with them to release them from my neck.  I flailed rolling back and forth, pulling as much as i could in each direction.

and a good fucking morning to you too!!!

Once I was free of the flannel monster, I pushed the button on my phone to look at the late night texts my love sends me on that awful graveyard shift.

One was informing me of a road trip to Seattle today to get an island for our new kitchen, "It's $300 cheaper!!!!!!"

sorry.  i have 3 appointments ... one of which includes shaving a cat.

When I said I couldn't, Papi called me pouting and tried to re-arrange my day.  My love can't stand having to wait for anything.

It's been the same story the past 3 months of this transformation.  Waiting a year to get top surgery or a hysterectomy doesn't sit well with mi esposo.

We all have our lessons to learn in life, and for my love, it is most definitely patience.

Papi grew up getting anything at any time, as the grandparents just didn't know what to do with a little person who had lost a mother so young.

They gave my love everything the moment Papi requested it, in an effort to fill that gap of emptiness.

aka: spoiled brat.

Well, here we are in adulthood, and Papi doesn't want to hear, "You'll have to wait."

We all want instant gratification.  It lines the checkout stands in every store, in every city of every country in the world.

However, this journey is also about perspective and relativity.  My love can't wait to get the changes, and I could wait forever.

For me, the time will come too soon.

Although, I am impatiently waiting for this year to end and that damn calendar to run out.  Papi told me the April pic is not the scarring one.  It's just one that has a repulsive post-top surgery picture.


When my love read my blog about my disdain of this calendar, there was a moment of shock, "What?!  You don't like it?!"

my dear ... why would i want to look at ugly people day in and day out?

It's hard for me to understand how my love just can't get into my brain to figure out that I'm not attracted to F-Ms.

I'm attracted to women.

I'm attracted to my love because I see mi esposo as the butch I married.  I will always see my love this way.

There will just be a few anomalies to deal with.

Mi esposo.  Not mi esposa.  Definitely, not my husband.  My husbutch.

I could wait forever for these changes.

It's all about perspective.

More awards :)

I believe the awards I receive daily are the comments that I am given.  It's so sweet to see '1 unmoderated comment' in my dashboard.

But there are also people who will give me real shiny awards that I get to display on the side of my blog, for all eyes to see.  Each one I'm so very grateful for.

Here's two more I received:

this one is from 7ladybugs click on it! it is the second time i received it, so i think i don't have to repeat the words from the last time i received it :)

this one is the newest one and it's from borderline girl, so i'll be doing the work on this one yikes! but click on it to see her blog too!

You can click on these new awards and read their blogs ... I also have them on the side.

You may recognize one of them :) it is making it's rounds in many blogs, but I'm still pleased to receive it a 2nd time.

Just like with the 'Versatile Blogger' I received, the 'Stylish Award' also comes with rules:

these generous people are making me work!  especially because i have to find new people to give the latter to!
  1. Thank the person who gave me the award, and link to them. (see above. I did!)
  2. List 7 things about me.
  3. Pass the award on to 15 newly discovered bloggers.
  4. Contact them, and tell them about the award.

Anyway, here's more about me:

I'm envious of girls with nails
I have a man-crush on Jon Stewart's brain
I have a beautiful sister
I secretly want to play the oboe
My favourite flower is the Gerber Daisy (aka African Daisy)
I'm behind 2 years on my taxes
I'm in love with the most wonderful person on the planet 
(you'll have to settle for 2nd most wonderful, sorry)

Here's the blogs that are fancy and stylish:

Alright then, I'm off to inform the above fore-mentioned bloggers.  This could take me a while!

Thank you ladies ... again, you've made my day

Friday, March 4, 2011

Humour: The breath of life.

So, I go to this meeting.

It's for the Queer Arts Festival where BlueLight and HECTOR have both been invited to play for a night of electronic mayhem.

The meeting was strictly for us to see what we needed for this night and to find out if the board of Pride In Art can afford to put this gala on.

Normally, I'm the treasurer on the board, but this day I was just an artist.

Only one person on the board knows my stabbing secret, she was there.  The other person we were meeting with is the very person I've been terrified of; scared that she doesn't understand my grieving, as she's the one who lost her wife in that tragic accident.

She has been sweeter than syrup in every interaction, and yet, I have remained frightened.

Until this meeting.

I had my one of my very best pals from the Trust List to go in with, armed with smiles and strength.

I was happily upbeat, and then there was a conversation about her anxious dog.

i so want to be friends with this little creature ... don't you know i'm the biggest dog fan in the world?!?!?

"She's great with other animals, but people are the problem.  Women are ok, males she doesn't like and she has horrible transphobia."

I looked straight at her and said, "That makes two of us."

We all laughed.

i watched the elephant leave the room.

This person of fear placed her hand on my lap and said, "Oh no, and there's you with your husband now."

"Yup.  But we're not going into that right now.  I'm having an OK day."

Conversation was ended.

Air in the room was MUCH lighter and I sat in awe of myself, yet again.

one day, i'll learn as to just who i am ...  who IS this person?!? 

Humour has always been a way to deal with my angst.  However, it only comes after I've gotten to a point where I'm functioning.

There was no humour when I was in the pit of doom, keeping my life distilled in the La-Z-Boy padded cell.

There is laughter now.

It's all I can really ask for in this existence.  To me, all that matters in this science experiment of life is happiness.

Well, that and the calendar with those transgendered F-Ms to be removed.

papi you truly are an imp.

Remember that picture that has scarred me for life?  I have the feeling that it's in there, as when Papi took a look at April, there was a shocked look, then, "How about we just don't switch the calendar for April?"

A wave of nausea hit and my legs could have collapsed right there in the hallway.

I won't be the curious cat and look at it to prove my theory right.  I'll just replace it with the happy animal calendar that is behind it.

Oh, Papi.  You torment me so.