Who wears the pants?

Pain killers.

They bruise my brain.

After my codeine coma yesterday, I slept a full nights sleep as well.  Knocked me right out.

When I woke up this morning, I didn't really feel like my regular routine of breakfast.  All I wanted was my coffee, and to talk to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I ground my beans, cleaned out my french press and added those lovely chocolately looking granules to the now empty urn.  I started the water boiling and prepared my mug with non-dairy creamer and stevia sweetener.

Ready!

All I have to do is watch the water boil.

Eventually, the whistle blew and I jumped to action.  I poured the water into my creamer.

Wait!

Something looks wrong here.

Oh fuck ya.

ummm ... last i checked, water goes in the bodum ...

Instead of starting fresh with pouring out the creamer and trying again, I poured the watered down creamer right into my french press with my beans.

oh fuck.

Now instead of starting fresh from there, I decided to press the beans anyway.  It doesn't go down as quickly as it normally would, so I had to press really hard.

Well, the urn did something it's never done before.  Coffee went spewing out the spout and all over the floor, walls and counter.

ah ... but there's still enough for a cup at least.

Upon pouring the blend into my mug, I watched little pieces of coffee beans flow into that vessel of joy.

I am now drinking a coffee that is not it's usual flavour.  Not it's usual colour.

This is not my coffee.

I'm just so mushy in the brain that I just don't care.  I just want to sit here and hope the coffee and litre of water wake up this T3 and muscle relaxant infused brain.

I won't need those lovely little pills today.  Doing a lot better.  However, I won't have Papi to entertain me, as my love's Graveyard Coma is in full swing.

You should have seen my love putting up the curtains in our living room.  Papi has never worked with drywall before.  Our home used to be paneling before the sewage flood.  So, I had the pleasure of watching Papi use drywall anchors for the first time.

My love got the hole ready and then proceeded to push the anchor through the hole.  And I mean push through the hole.

I heard it drop to the ground behind the wall, and then a look from Papi, "Now what?"

oh my

Fortunately, my blood was completely filled with the codeine and I could now move.  I got up and showed mi esposo how to do it.

then this femme smiled at the fact that we are amazing creatures ... who da man!

I think I may be supervising the rest of the fixin's done to our home.

But for today ... rest ...

Here we go again ...

Damn, damn and triple jesus fucking christ.

Not impressed.

I am off work today because I fell again.

sound like an old lady

My balance sucks so badly since the brain injury, and I'm beginning to wonder if I really am able to do this 'normal' life thing.

When most people fall, they give a cuss and carry on their way.  Unfortunately, after the magnitude of an accident that I had 2.5 years ago, my body is not able to handle the jarring.

Here's where the fear comes in though.  I have heard of people trying to get back to work and they have too many set backs and the company will say, "Sorry, but your'e too much of a risk.  We don't want you back."

Being the optimist, I assumed I'd be going to be going back to work with no problems.  Hence, I went ahead and got braces.

Well, regardless of what happens with this recent injury, I really needed them.

i also really need to chew something!!! babyfood really makes me gag

As I sit here with pain shooting up and down my back and legs, and a head that feels like my brain is trying to burrow through my skull, I wonder what is going to happen to me and my job.

At least I have entertainment.  I'm watching Papi hang up all the pictures in our home.  It's really looking like a home again.

Watching my love do handyman things is much like watching a comedy skit.

Mi esposo was trying to make our kitchen eating nook, and the new toy that was bought for this occasion only cuts small pieces of wood.  After realizing this my love asked me to read the instructions to see if it was adjustable to cut bigger pieces.

Nope.

"It's ok.  I have something else."

Papi started sawing with another type of saw and while I was holding it I noticed something really wrong, "Um, honey, is there supposed to be smoke coming from the saw?"

The wood was now charred.

And the power went out.  Papi went and flipped the switch back in the power box and said, "It's ok.  I have another thing to try."

oh my ...

so the next saw couldn't stay on the line of travel for cutting, and it sounded a bit like a cat was being tortured.

Never-the-less, we now we have an uneven, indented, charred kitchen nook.

But we have somewhere to eat.

So, while I sit here and enjoy the distraction from pain, I thought I'd write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I will now go take my Tylenol 3 induced self, and babble pointlessly to someone else.

Sorry, if you were looking for a quality blog today, it just ain't gonna happen.

Chapter Five: You Gonna Sit On That Ass?

As my love and I walked back to our locker, Papi said, "If you need to touch other women's breasts, I'm ok with that."

"You don't get it!  I don't want their breasts.  It means nothing to me to touch another's breasts.  That would be empty.  It's yours that I want."

"But you haven't even touched mine since November."

"I know.  It's because they're not mine to have anymore.  I need to grieve them leaving, and I need to get used to not having them."

"But wouldn't you want to spend as much time with them as you can?"

"No.  I need to mourn their loss.  I can't touch them.  They're not mine to enjoy."

I don't know that Papi will ever get it.  I'm not even sure if I get it myself.  I feel like the moment I was told they're leaving, they were just a figment of my imagination.

With all the gorgeous breasts at the Sexy Sauna Party, I couldn't even look at them like they were anything other than monsters there to haunt my weak mind.

Never in my life have I had this feeling of doom from such a beautiful object of femininity.

We got back to our locker and I began to put my clothes on so we could leave, and I hear, "Hold on!  Where do you two think you're going?!"

Oh god.

It was my Trust List birthday dyke, and she was holding her weapon.

We knew what was coming next.  We both looked at each other with 'uh-oh' on our faces.  This woman can be mean with her toys.

Papi thought that lying down and taking the ass welting smacks would save me.  I knew this wasn't the way it worked.

But my love laid down anyway and Papi got the stick.

My love had a red ass that I just couldn't stop laughing at, and then when finding out that I still would have my turn, my love said, "But I thought that if I took it my wife wouldn't!!"

"Oh hell no!  You think that's how it works?  I know your lovely wife would lie down for me.  Come on then.  Over my knee miss.  You get the hand."  She crooked her finger at me and I obeyed.

Papi was indignant, "Wait!  How come she gets the hand and I got the stick?!?"

"Because you were stupid enough to think that taking it would save her."

I squealed in my soprano voice with every burn her hand applied to my skin.  When it was all over, my ass was as red as the little bikini that cradled it.  But it was warm and swollen in such a way that I liked it.

The masochist in me was pleased.

When we left with our matching brace faces and matching red orbs, the first one to hug me when we had entered the sauna was the last one to see me off.  I simply touched her shoulder and gave a sweet, 'goodbye'.

No hug.

Papi asked me why I didn't hug this person.

"From now on, I'm saving my hugs for those who care."

I didn't speak for the rest of the ride home.  The day was so incredibly jam packed full of tears, love, terror, strength, and anything else that you can add in.

This was truly a day of all days.  This ends the story of the longest day in history.

I can do without that much entertainment for a while.

Chapter Four: Sexy Sauna Party

My hands shook when I saw the face of the person who was signing us in to the party.

Remember my nightmare of rape by the person in our community?

It was her.

She is the sweetest person, yet all I could see was her face turning into the demon that raped me in my dream.  It was a flashback that kept happening over and over.

I let Papi take care of all the speaking while I stared and handed over the money.

here ... take all of it ... please don't hurt me

My love knew exactly what was going on with me.  Mi esposo knew the moment we saw this butch that I was going to have troubles.

My legs barely carried me down the stairs and the first wave of hugs began when we entered, breathing in the heavy air and trying to act 'normal'.

not sure why you're hugging me ... when i asked for your support, you never even so much as returned my email ...

I gave a half-hearted hug.  Enough that she would know that there was now a wall between us.

I then received hugs from my Trust List people.  I took that hug of support like I was a child hanging on to their mother's leg for dear life.

clingy ... don't be clingy ... nobody likes it

Papi and I did our best to just be calm amongst the naked bodies everywhere.

It was a private party that happened every year.  Naked women everywhere, the birthday women getting lap dances and breasts being flaunted in their faces while sex-pots sang Happy Birthday, kinksters getting their asses welted by the birthday women's toys of infliction. 

Yes, it is the birthday women who GIVE the spankings at this party.

There were exhibitionists having sex in the semi-private rooms, there were people making out in all corners and I was just standing there with my bathing suit on.

When I'm feeling overwhelmed by stress, I can't show my body.  I feel the need to hide.  My little red bikini doesn't hide much, but it was enough to keep me feeling somewhat protected.

you people don't get all of me yet ... you abandoned me for 5 months ... 

Papi and I were in our own world.  We went into the sauna that was filled with people, but somehow we were alone.  My head laid on Papi's lap.  Those hands caressed my body where ever they could reach.

Sweat was dripping and mi esposo had enough of the hot, "I can't take it anymore, can we get out of the heat?"

I did it for my love, but also because of fear.  I could have stayed there, but I wasn't staying alone.  What if a Rah-Rah-Tranny attacked me with words spewing judgement?

My love and I took a stall and laid together.  The tears began in my eyes.  Here, in this place, there were breasts everywhere, yet soon my love would have none.

This moment of security with Papi however, turned into a beautiful moment of expressing our physical love of one another.  I was pleased in more ways than one, and there really existed nobody but us.

We laid together for quite some time, but when we decided to go, we were halted by one of the birthday women.  My newest member of my Trust List.

So, I lied.

We have Chapter 5.

Chapter Three: Ella

I've had to save a life from heroin overdose before, and seeing this man doing the funky chicken looked very similar to the one that almost died in my arms.

What was more terrifying though, was the fact that there was a four legged life with him whose leash was being yanked every time he jerked with the drugs' power of involuntary seizures.

"Oh my god sweety, we have to pull over to see if they're both ok!"

Papi reversed as all the street dwellers wondered what we were doing in their area.

I jumped out disregarding any imminent danger that could possibly be in this space.

save the dog, save the guy 

I was mostly worried about the dog.  I know what to do with the guy, but this poor little friend was so scared.

Papi was in the sidelines, securing our car from theft and taking stock as to who was around us.

My love works with all these people and knows that they are opportunists.  The scariest of all are the meth-heads.  They will kill you in a moment of paranoia.

It was clear that this man was on heroin, but those around us could be on anything.

I kept speaking to the man, trying to get his attention, asking him anything to keep his mind from falling into a coma and slipping away permanently.

The only thing that got his attention was one statement I said in anger, "Dude, you're hurting your dog!!"

He snapped out of his fit and you could see the moment of clarity in his eyes, "How?"

"You keep yanking on her leash and it's choking her."  I knew her name was Ella.  One of the street dwellers told me.

I kept holding Ella's leash and keeping the restraint so that she wasn't being tugged anymore.  At this point, Papi had secured the car and taken stock of who was around.  Now my love had the dog's leash taken away from this man, so Ella was safe.

I noticed a few things about our overdosing man; first off, he had a hospital bracelet on.  He'd obviously been in within the past 24 hours, as the plastic was clean and undisturbed.  His name was on this bracelet, allowing me to speak his name and get his attention better.

What else I noticed?

Braces.

He had braces on his teeth!  This man is a new member of the streets.  People don't have braces down here.  You don't get braces unless you have a fortunate life and you are trying to better yourself.

"Donavan, I'd like to take you and Ella home so that you'll both be safe.  Can we get you home?  These people will take your dog and take your wallet.  Do you have your wallet?"

His seizuring continued between words and moments of seeing us in front of him.

It took us quite some time, but we did get Ella into the car, and that prompted Donavan to get there too.

He was flipping around in our back seat, and between the wiggling, I would manage to get small amounts of directions as to where to bring them home.

My main concern was the dog.  I was ready to steal Ella, and tell this jerk that when he got his shit together, I'd return her.

When we got to his home, his very waif-like girlfriend answered the door and Donavan and Ella both went in.

ok ... the dog is alright, the guy is in and now we can continue on our venture.

Papi and I got back in the car a little bit speechless.  It was a quiet ride to the Sexy Sauna Party.

Chapter four begins with the hardest part of my day.  The last part of the day to get through.

This truly is a day worth remembering.

Chapter Two: It Gets Better?

Papi's having troubles with memory.  I'm starting to get a little nervous.  My love is repeating the same questions and losing track of time.  I really believe it's the hormones, and when I shared this with mi esposo, what do I get?

"Oh, thank you for reminding me!  It's Saturday!  I have to take my hormones." 

ah for fucks sakes

Papi continued sarcastically, "And I'm sure you know that already, because you'll do something that requires you to come along right while I'm doing it.  But you've come a long way.  Do you want to do this for me now?"

"NO!!!!!!"

"Ok! Ok!  I just thought that since you're doing so well ...  Most girlfriends would do this for us."

excuse me?

"Fuck you and I'm not your girlfriend, I'm your wife, so the rules are different!"

Papi proceeds to prepare them right in front of me and I squirm with nausea, "Do you have to do it right there though?!?"

"Well, this is where I do it.  But if you want me to, I'll do it somewhere else."

"No, just go ahead.  I'm busy here doing something else."

typing and frantically trying to keep my heart from exploding from anxiety

Papi prodded, "Well, if you want I'll do it somewhere else."

"Just stop talking and do it and don't ruin this moment."

Mi esposo was confused, "This moment?"

"Yeah.  I'm doing ok, so just stop talking about it and do it."

Now all I hear is sarcastic, mocking, Tranny Terrorist mutterings of, 'well, i was just trying to be sensitive to your needs.  sheesh don't have to be so mean about it.'

"Just shut the fuck up and do it already!!!"

"I'm already done."

"Oh.  Ok."

i guess i am doing better?

My love came and sat down by me and said, "You look really tired."

"Yeah, it's because I've been crying all morning."

"Oh sweety, about me?"

"Yeah."

I told Papi about my visit, about the expansion of the Trust List and how my newly added person had gone through this before as well.  Then my love got nervous.

"So she didn't last through the relationships either?"  Tears welled in Papi's eyes, "I'm so afraid that you're going to leave me.  The odds aren't good for me.  Most people don't make it through."

My tears joined Papi's, "I am having a hard time because I'm STAYING.  It would be easier if I just left.  But I can't.  I love you so much that I'd do anything for you." 

including suffering this mounting pain ... i do this for love ...

Papi asked, "Is this coming up because of the top surgery?"

"Yes.  6 weeks isn't very far away and I have to somehow get over this so I can help you."

my trust list person and i both agree that whatever energy is around the healing of scars, this too will be absorbed by the tissues ...

Adamantly, Papi stated, "No you don't.  You can have whatever emotions you need around this.  Thank you for staying with me.  Thank you for loving me enough to be here."

We got ready for the Sexy Sauna Party, and my stomach just kept turning in anticipation of running into a Rah-Rah-Tranny.

feel the fear and do it anyway ...

En route, we had to drive through skid row to get to the sauna.  As we travel, we take in the sights of people less fortunate than us.  Those who aren't lucky enough to have gotten out of their addiction.  Those who may die in these streets.

One man stuck out among the crowd ... and so begins Chapter 3.

Chapter One: Expansion of Trust

It was a day of days yesterday.  So much so, that I'll have to give you a 3 maybe 4 chapter unfolding of events.

Seriously.

I started my day with emotions from hell.  Not only did I feel like the walls were coming in because of The Countdown, but I had a visit from someone that I wasn't expecting.

Someone from the community, whom Papi told could come borrow the power washer.  My love was sleeping the Graveyard Coma and didn't tell me.

So, this person phoned to tell me they're in my backyard, and how was I doing?

how am i doing?  haven't spoken to you since the bomb was dropped and you obviously are oblivious to how difficult this is, so here ya go ... here's how i'm doing!

"I'm breathing.  I'm alive.  I'm a mess."

She was taken aback, "Oh no, well, while we're here picking up the washer, I'd love to give you a hug."

"Alright then, I'll be up in all my glory."

hair a mess, glasses off so i can't see shit, donning crumpled pajamas and a pillow face line ...

She gave me the welcoming hug that made the tears fall.  I blurted it all out.  You don't get to just hold me when I'm hovering over the Pit of Doom.  No, you have to save me to keep me from falling in.

I told her about The Countdown to top surgery, the 6 weeks of lying in a La-Z-Boy catatonic state November/December, and the struggle I've had just to stay above water.  I let 'er rip.

It wasn't what she was expecting, then she dropped a bomb on me.

"Girl, I've been through it twice.  Once with an M-F and once with an F-M.  I said never again.  Never again will I go through this.  The pain and suffering is beyond what anybody could ever imagine."

Then she asked me if this was spoken about before the wedding, and I answered shakingly, "No."

She looked me straight in the eyes, "You have every right to be fucking pissed off.  You have every right to let the wife you're losing know exactly how you feel, and fuck them for their feelings after having lied to themselves about this and in turn lied to you."

I crumpled in her arms.  I cried sobbing, hyper-ventilating tears that were familiar to that 6 week state of demons taking control of my mind.

She held me until my neck muscles, back muscles and shoulders stopped pulsating from my overpowering lungs.

"Come tonight.  Come to the party and get some love."

I told her of my fears of a Rah-Rah-Tranny and what those people could do to my heart when it's in a place of weakness.

She promised to hold me up.

I told her of my Trust List and that I've now collected another heart for my page.

One more added.  Another soul who just appeared out of thin air who knows exactly what I'm going through.

Why?

Why aren't those of us who have been there in the forefront?  Why are we forgotten about and our words are like a taboo sin to be heard?

I wasn't really planning on going to the gathering, but after my Trust List expanding, I decided I would.  There would be 3 of them there.

Still, the social anxiety hammered at me all day as I prepared my mind to get ready.

When Papi woke from the Graveyard Coma, I announced we were going and my love began to ask me questions about things we spoke about 3 days ago.

I'm quite worried about this.  Papi's memory has seemed to become a problem all of a sudden.

I told my love that I think it's the hormones.

it has to be ... it's the evil poison that is in your body

And this is where chapter 2 begins ...

Coo-Coo

Psycho Kitty had to go on valium, because he's truly bloodthirsty.

After the first dose of drugs administered to the Psyhco Kitty, Papi says, "He seems better!"

I snicker and reply, "It's all in your head.  It's like the same thing as you saying you have a moustache now because of the hormones."

Oh, I received the stink eye on that one.  I like to rib my love in the same way Papi will bring out the Tranny Terrorist every once in a while.

There may be a little more of a caterpillar on that lip, and Papi's excited about it.  But a moustache, no.

In terms of Psycho Kitty, maybe he's not acting like a homicidal freak, digging his claws into us in an effort to get past the human barrier to kill my cats.  So, it's an improvement. 

hey i have an idea ... how about valium for everyone!?!?!

We could all use a little of that relaxing magic pill.

The Golden one eye might be less neurotic, Sir Bark-a-Lot, the chihuahua, might stop shaking, The Bastard Prince might stop hunting for food non-stop and The Mrs. might stop hiding from affection and actually allow us love and be a cat for fucks sakes!

Papi would enjoy the mellow.  And me?  The valium might take me down a notch as well.  Especially after seeing a certain 'someone' requesting 'friend' status on my Facebook account. 

i obsess.

I have a few questions before I press 'accept', so I answered with an email: i have to say, i'm surprised to see you here ... i'm not sure what i did to make you not want to have anything to do with me for years, but i do have to say that it hurt.

i'd love to hear from you in honesty, and whatever i did i can take responsibility for it ... take care

But was it really something I did?  Or was he just following the orders of The Beast.

I waited and was pre-occupied by checking my inbox between every task I did all day, overstimulated with curiosity. 

where's that valium?

I was fully consumed in waiting to find out if he flipped sides and chose to believe the lies of The Beast. 

i could see them in the bar drinking, laughing over my dismay.

He wasn't one of those revolting people leaning on the balcony, staring down at me in triumph after seeing me come 'home' to my belongings having been packed for me.  He helped me move my gems to storage after they were sitting in the hall.  But what happened?

Did you listen to her lies?  Did you believe the reasoning she gave you as truth?  Did you become one of the sheep who followed, and terrorized me, leaving me homeless that day?

Are you one of them?  Or are you truly a friend?

maybe you're a mole sent to find out if my life improved or got worse so there can be more laughs

Wait!  There it is!  A returned email! 

now we'll find out!   **rolls up sleeves ready for a fight**

Oh.

Life seems to have happened to him as well and he had to leave the country.  Oh dear, there I go again, envisioning the worst for 3 years.

Well, looks like we'll be getting together for a catch up.  Looks like he'll be trusted friend once more.

God I'm nuts.

When Papi woke up from the graveyard coma and asked what I did today, I replied, "Obsessed all day."

I hear a giggle and, "Oh, that sounds nice."

Ohm.

I've had a couple of people now ask me if I'm in denial.

Could be.

I suppose it's all part of my 'ignore it and it will go away' survival mechanism.

denial ain't a river in egypt ...

I do know that when I've had enough for my mind to be tortured by, I shut it down.  I move into being busy with anything I can get my hands on.

It has to be my hands.  My mind is too active to be bullied into relaxing.

This is where music has always come in.

Some people can meditate, I can't.  Unless, of course, you consider the falling into those bewitching sound waves of music meditation.

This is my meditation.  This is where nothing goes into my mind except the game of perfect timing, or being physically swept away by the most chocolatey, smooth groove.

I consider the harmonics that are scattered in the air a celestial being.  They are my angels singing to me.  It's the only time I feel like there could possibly be a higher power.  It's the only time I am in a state where the world ceases to exist.

They're more than just notes.

Last night, I had a session with Lin Gardiner for BlueLight.  I did a couple of bass tracks for the last 2 songs of our full length CD.

While I was playing the 2nd song, I fell into the notes and slipped away into never never land.  I wanted this session to go on forever.  There was one point where the song was ending and my dear heart practically cried to me, "No!!!!  It can't be over!! Do it again! Do it again!"

I remember my nervous breakdown I had 7 years ago.  I was in such a messed up state that I was on the verge of suicide.

One day, I was playing my cello, and while I was reading the notes from the page and translating them into music on the strings, I stopped crying.  While I played, the pain floated away, being replaced by musical serenity.

But then I had to turn the page.

The music had to stop.

Tears began to fall once more.  They seemed to well up from my toes.  They shot through my muscles, veins and bones, until they found their entrance to the main stage.

I turned the page and resumed the music and the tears dried once more.  The salty enemy simply turned into droopy peaceful eyes.

I played on for hours, in an attempt to keep the sorrow behind me.

Meditation?

Maybe.

It sure felt so last night.  That is, of course, until I was asked, "So, how are you doing with everything that's coming up?"

As I put my bass away into it's nylon padded bag, I replied, "I'm not doing so hot.  But we'll just pretend I am, K?"

Denial.

Coping?

Hide and Go Seek

I don't really get it.

I've been an extrovert all my life.  I've had enormous drive to get out and see people, who in turn, get to see me.

But now?

The simplest gathering of people makes my stomach turn.  I shake trying to put make-up on for the venture.  I make every excuse there is as to why I can't leave the house and be with the gathering.

What the fuck is happening here?

and what have you done with andréa?

It started 5 months ago, with the feeling of being alone in this journey of the male transformation, but now I have my Trust List.  I'm not alone.  However, every time I have to sit with people outside of that list, it's exactly how I feel.

The Trust List were there when I fell.  They told me everything is going to be all right.  They coddled my fears, tears and pain.  They pushed me to speak and get it out when they noticed I had fallen into the Pit of Doom.

None of these people did that, and their chatter really is just noise above the din. 

Oh, but I went.  I acted the part.  I pretended everything is just fine.

here! focus on my new shiny braces. it's a great conversation piece along with the baby food.

Amongst the laughter and blathering emerged one soul whom I never would have expected ...

those damn expectations ...

... to understand.  She knew what it meant when I said I have to go to Florida with Papi.

She looked straight in my eyes and exposed the knowing of my agony.  "I know.  I know how hard this is.  Oh, sweety," and proceeded to hold my heart up while the rest of the room carried on with their glee.

I realized at that point that I've been doing a classic Andréa move; just ignore it and it will go away.  Just pretend everything is fine.

I've had to use this technique since I was a tiny child.

I'm so good at ignoring mess, ignoring noise, ignoring people.

I'm a pro.

But this one soul didn't let me get away with it.  She adamantly made me feel the burn.

When I was ready to leave, she told me, "I once loved someone who went through the change.  I couldn't stay with them.  I want you to know that it doesn't mean you don't love that person.  I want you to know that you're not a bad person for feeling what you're feeling."

"I think this is the hardest part, knowing who I can trust with 'this' pain."

"Oh, sister I know that oh too well.  I may not have the right answers for you, because I wanted to stay in that relationship so badly, and I tried so hard, but I just couldn't do it.  I don't know if I'll have the right things to say, but I do know that I understand exactly what you're going through and I'm here to listen and bounce things off of."

Another one.

Added to the Trust List.

Another soul that has shocked me with the surprise that they've been there.

Where the hell are all these people?!

Why aren't they forefront in this world so I don't have to feel so alone and terrified?

Come out, come out wherever you are ...

Commence Countdown.

My cats are pouting.

They've lost their freedom, as the killer cat has returned home.

I've found all my clothes, I've made it through a 6 hour shift and everything is slowly getting put back in our basement dwelling.  The journey of the sewage flood is coming to a close.

Life is getting back to where it was 5 months ago.  Part of the proof, is that Psycho Kitty has come home.  Now all doors must remain shut, or he will stop at nothing to kill my cats.

All that's left, is for the 95 year old g'ma to come home.

hopefully she doesn't stir things up by burning us down this time

Well, most of life is returning.

In some cases, things are changing.  We have a new kitchen, and I'll have a new model of spouse.

extreme makeover ...

It's now time to prepare myself for mi esposo's top surgery in 6 weeks.

6 weeks.

44 days.

Only one and a half months until my love no longer has breasts.

The 2nd phase of this male transformation will begin.  I've managed to make it through the hormones by setting rules, then breaking the rules, then dealing with the fact that this truly is happening.

No denying it now.

There is no possibility of Papi possibly having a change of heart once that scalpel hits that silky soft skin.

In my new reality, I will caress a pair of matching scars.  That is of course, after the tubes, bandages, marking down of secretions from said glands and administering of pain medication.

It will be a test for my heart.

change ... she is a comin'

My love was supposed to get lots of exercise in for this surgery.  So far, I've seen a lot of pudding being eaten since the tooth, but not exercise.

Actually the pudding was in place before the tooth extraction, but it just seemed to flow right through with a perfect excuse as to why there can't be healthy food ingested.

I learned a long time ago that I can't change anybody.

My love has to learn lessons without my help.  If Papi doesn't exercise enough, or keeps on eating the pudding, ...

which seems to be swapped for the ice cream and cookies ...

... then there could be a few problems; the surgery could turn out a little less than desired, and the hormones could help the cholesterol increase just like in a bio-male.

I could be suffering grief a 2nd time around when mi esposo drops from heart failure, but that's just my 'what if' thinking coming into play.

Right now there's enough to deal with thinking about the next 6 weeks.

one fret at a time ... we also learned that, didn't we?

In 2 weeks, I'll be at full time work.

In 4 weeks, my love and I will be on vacation.

In 6 weeks ...

Suddenly, I don't feel so well.

I'm pretty sure it's not the baby food that's done it.

My Sperm Donor

Today I receive my beautiful 1910 Heintzman upright grand piano.

My fingers  have been waiting 5 months to play for my heart.  But, I have to be careful as to what I choose to play

Sometimes, it can pull me further into the pit of doom.  Sometimes, the most emotional of songs will reach that part of me that is aching, and those sound waves will whisper in my ear as if they are a living tortured soul, crying with me in empathy.

I've learned over the years as to which songs I should play for different feelings.  I am so sensitive to music, that when I'm feeling low, I can't listen to anything that would entice the demons to come for a visit.

When emotions are raw, I can only play classical music on those ebony and ivory keys.

These songs of intricate notes, filling the page, requiring every last bit of my attention will take my mind away from disaster and steer it into a more physical experience.

Once, I learned a song for my father.  He was a Supertramp fan, which means that I would be too.

anything to try to earn his attention ... it never worked

I learned 'Downstream' for him, because he liked it and had once said, "You should learn that one."

From that point forward, every time I played and sang that song, the tears would well up and I'd be crying through the words.

Last night, during The Great Sewage Flood Purge, I found a picture in it's frame that I've been hanging on to for about 12 years.  It was my reuniting with Dad.  I looked like a tiny child being held by her father, even though I was a grown woman.

I have hated the frame all this time.  It's ugly and dated, but I would hang on to it, because it's the only picture I have of Dad and I together.

I've seen him a couple of times since then, but it's still not the relationship that I needed so badly when I was a kid.

I finally took the photo out of the horrid frame and threw that bitch in the trash.  I put the depiction of falsity in a place with all the other photos Papi and I have found during our unpacking of mess.

It will go into a box with the rest of the forgotten images.

I feel as though the last ditch effort Dad could have made wasn't made at all, and he is now just as unimportant to me as I am to him.

Don't get me wrong.  I love Dad, because he's the sperm that brought me to this world, but I've never had a father.

I wanted Dad to be at my wedding and he and his lovely common-law wife said they couldn't make it down because of many reasons.  She has too much pain, they can't afford it ...

can't afford to come to my wedding, because they're too busy spending all their money on booze 'n smokes

... and the list goes on.

I understood the list.  I was a practising alcoholic/addict for years.  But what I couldn't forgive?  Not even so much as a congratulations, not a card, not a call, not a 'good luck'.

Nothing.

was it because it was a same sex marriage? 

Not sure what I was expecting from a dead-beat dad. 

andréa, haven't you learned? those damn expectations will get you every time.

The picture is being put away.  I hate that ugly fucking frame and I threw it in the trash with glee.

I will play my piano today for Papi and I.

I just might play Dad's song.  Somehow, I don't think I'll cry.

No.

Not anymore.

The game.

I don't know where it changed, or how it happened, but there is a strange shift that is arising.

While going through The Great Sewage Flood Purge, I have to let go of a lot of 'stuff'.  I'm very sentimental, which is part of a hoarder's mentality.

I keep little love notes.

this has always come in handy when relationships end, and i get to have the great bonfire of 'fuck you very much you slime sucking bitch', proving to me yet again, that you never know when you will need it!!!

I found one that would normally be kept on the fridge.  Papi had given it for no reason at all, other than to make my day brighter and more beautiful.  It was a love note written on a piece of paper that mi esposo had cut into the shape of a heart before penning.

It told me how much Papi loved me.  On the flip side, I wrote I love you so many times that it filled the little paper heart, and slipped it back to mi esposo.

When I found it in the bag of fridge magnets, I was charged with tingles of emotion.  When I read what it said at the bottom however, I was mildly confused.

It was signed, "Love, your girl."

My girl?

No that's just weird!  I had to turn it over and put the millions of 'I love you's face out so that it was still feeling right.

Mi esposo is not my girl.

I'm not ready to see my love as a male being, but Papi is not my girl, and I'm finding myself in this place of limbo.

Papi is just Papi.

When I realized that I had cringed after witnessing these 3 words, I found myself looking at how far I'd come in my healing of what was at first, the end of my world.

Something else I identified as healing happened yesterday.

I was trying to have a phone conversation with the 95 year old g'ma that we live with normally, ...

normally, but we shipped her off to calgary while they put the house back together

... and there I was yelling into the phone speaking as slowly and with as much enunciation as possible, and mi esposo was off tending to something.

Then g'ma asked for her voting number.  I bellowed at to Papi to get it.  I heard this extremely frustrated sigh, and then, "Really?  Right now?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my love leave the kitchen, pants halfway down as the trek up the stairs was about to begin.

I realized what was going on immediately.  I interrupted my love administering hormones.

Papi came back down with the pants up and number in hand, accompanied by a look that was pure embarrassment.

I was giggling the whole time this was happening.

When I was off the phone and got my speaking voice back after all the yelling, Papi said, "You know, your timing is fucked!  I try so hard to keep you from seeing this happening like you asked, and every fucking time something really fucked up happens and you know about my hormones!"

This made me laugh so hard and I felt like this was now a game.  Not the stress that was attached to it before, but a game of Papi trying to hide something from me, and I foil the plan every time.

But the most important part?

I laughed.

I didn't cry, I didn't feel nauseous, I didn't feel like the ground is opening up and swallowing me into the pit of doom.

Laugh.

Heal.

Grant me the serenity ...

Papi says it was all a joke.  "I sat there with it waiting for you to see what I'd done, but you never looked."

fair enough, i do get a little obsessed on the coffee shop, and i was overjoyed watching the baby eagles too ... so maybe it's the truth

"By the time you saw it, I'd forgotten I'd done it and would have gone to work like that.  But you freaked out and started doing my hair."

hell fucking yes i did!

I'm a little more calm about that now.

Yes.

Now I can focus on the other things that are testing my serenity.

testing? i don't think so ... you're already gone. weren't you plotting how to kill the cat?!

I googled some nice chicken purée soups and veggie smoothies, then promptly went out to buy the ingredients.  When I came home however, there wasn't a clear spot on the counter to make anything.

oh i'll make a spot ... i'll just shove all you bastards to one side! haha i win!! goddammit!! where'd the mother fucking knife go?!

We're still living in the mayhem of boxes.  The Great Sewage Flood Purge is taking a long time.  Papi's down for the count with a never ending, tooth extracted, bleeding gum, and I'm too tired to do anything from lack of nourishment.

or at least that's my excuse ...

Fucking boxes.

Everywhere.

I managed to make myself my very first, raw food, vegetable smoothie.  I did exactly what they instructed.  I really need to get my greens in, and they recommended stuffing as many leafy beauties into my new VitaMix as possible.

After I blended up the fruit, I stuffed in my gems.

And stuffed.

My anticipating eyes were thrilled as I added the luscious, lovely greens!  My waiting mouth was ecstatic that they would soon be entering my anemic blood stream.  I'd be feeling better in no time!

I took a sip.

uh-oh

Honestly, I had to nurse that fucker for 3 hours.  Oh, I consumed it, but I had to take itty bitty sips through my straw.  It fooled my stomach into believing that I was full.  That was a good thing.

But the flavour?

Um.  Dirt milkshake anyone?

I still have 2/3 of a blender to drink.  It's going to be strictly a labour of love for my blood stream to finish off this puppy.  My body better fucking well thank me for the suffering I'm about to endure.

After I finally finished my healthy, veggie smoothie that tasted like I'd eaten the lawn, I ate a smooth, chocolatey, sweeter than sweet, bucket of coconut ice cream.

Yup.

Reward.

 How do these raw food people do this?

Thank god I still get my coffee.  There would be a police situation in the house if I couldn't.  It just might have to be double coffee days until I can find the counters and chew food.

Tranny Hair 9-1-1

Papi's not doing so well with the tooth extraction.

It's bleeding a little more than it should and that also comes with aches.

But seriously, that's no excuse to be going around with a bad hair.

I've noticed something in the F-M community: some people's idea of 'man hair' is to have that slicked back 'do that makes them look like accountants.  All that's missing is the pocket protector.

Honestly!  There's no reason for this.  You can look attractive with good hair even though you're going through changes.

This:

is not necessary.

It's my biggest fear that Papi will go from a hot butch into an ugly man with bad (or balding) hair.

I panicked when I saw what my love was going to go to work with!  I don't care if it is just work, "Oh, no, no, no!!!  You are not going to do that to your hair!!!"

The Tranny Terrorist's excuse was, "My head is aching from the pain so I can't wear a hat."

"Still!  That doesn't mean you slick back your hair into ugly nerd mode!"  I scurried to the washroom and got the goo out.

In the most frantic way possible I gooped up my love's hair.  "Gentle!!!" Papi cried, but onward I went doing whatever I could with it to make it more presentable.  It looked a little rough around the edges, because my love hasn't had a hair cut in a while, but slicking it back?

no fucking way. ain't gonna happen with this femme around!

Papi laughed at my frenzied behavior, and asked me if I was about to cry.  I replied, "No, but I should.  Don't you ever try that again."

My braces?  I don't know what's the matter with me, but I may just be the only person on the planet who is enjoying them.  They don't hurt like everyone warned me.  I'm really enjoying this experience!

I, unfortunately, do have one drawback.

Now my teeth don't touch, therefore I can't chew any food.

Yes folks, I'm on baby food for the next 2-4 weeks until my molars actually straighten out enough to meet.

The anorexic in me is thrilled!

woohoo!!!! diet time!!!

The more realistic person in me is not so happy.  I know what being on a liquid diet will do to my moods.

who cares if i'm bitchy! c'mon sexy jeans! i'll be wearing you in noooooooo time!!

There is no pain.  There is not even a headache.  I suppose because I've had a higher tolerance to pain from the accident, I'm not feeling the headache that most would.

Life's pretty fucking good in Metal Mouth-Ville.

I feel contentment with these little silver brackets.  It feels like the strength I've always wanted in my jaw is coming.  They're my little guardians, coming to save my mouth from catastrophe.

Not to mention, the masochist in me is cool with the pressure in my mouth.

Mind you, this is only the first 24 hours.  I may have a different tune after a few weeks of liquid food and canker sores in my mouth.

My hillbilly

I've had a great couple of days poking fun at Papi.

The Brace Face is epic, and now yesterday, my love had a front tooth extracted.  Now mi esposo looks like a rich hillbilly.

My love had a really hard time with all the bleeding and pain yesterday.  Papi always says, "I wouldn't have been able to go through what you did," in terms of my motorcycle accident pain and dealing with the brain injury.

I still say it's all relative.  Whatever pain you have right now is the worst pain ever.  Really.  Think about it.  When you get a paper cut, isn't it fucking awful?

Well, drooling and writhing in pain from a back and neck injury is terrible, yes, but now that the worst is over for me, my version of level 7 & 8 pain is much different.  I had it just the other day.  The searing affliction of a jolt to my already fragile back was enough to almost make me upchuck.

I know it was definitely not as bad as what I went through right after the accident.

So really.

It's all relative.

However, now it's my turn to have the fun poked at me.  At 9:15 a.m. today, i'll have braces as well.  I don't need a front tooth extracted, but in 9 months I'll have nasty jaw surgery and both upper wisdom teeth removed.

Oh I remember the suffering of the lower wisdom teeth removal.  Tooth pain is brutal!!

I have big plans on the 'ToDo' list, and Papi says, "Yeah, good luck with that, you're not going to feel like doing anything!"

My 'ToDo' list may be diminished to the Great Sewage Flood purge.

I haven't found my clothes yet.  Can you believe it?  Papi has everything and it seems that every box we open is another full of my love's t-shirts.  We've already gotten rid of 3 boxes full of mi esposo's cotton gems ...

now who's the hoarder?!?!

... but they just keep coming!

And I haven't found one pair of jeans.

Got my yoga mat though!  And the sleeps on our beautiful king size bed have been luscious.

This hoarder is slowly letting go of 'stuff'.  You want to know the funniest thing I've collected for the past couple of years?

Twist Ties.

Every time I get a new, fresh, deep green bouquet of black kale et al, I take the twist tie off and cut it in half, then put it into a little pencil box.

The box is so full that it can barely close.

I'm really not even sure what I'm gathering them for.

but wait!!! you'll never know when you need them!!!!!

Can't see them coming in handy for the Apocalypse the zealots go on about.

I listed them on 'FreeCycle' because I thought SOMEONE would want this amazing treasure, but noooooooooo.

Nobody wants them.

Alas, they're in the trash.

tranny lover

Ok.  So I'm a pack rat.

More technically, a hoarder, but I don't allow my gems to take over my life, and really it's my grandparents fault.

Having a partying kind of single mother, I'd be shipped off to stay with the grandparents most weekends.  I learned from them that you never get rid of anything!

you never know when you might need it

So, this experience of a sewage flood, resulting in our belongings taken away, has really opened my eyes as to what I 'need' vs. 'want'.

i swear one day i'll make it to minimalism!!!!

I've gotten rid of 3 full boxes so far and it's feeling good.  Besides, we have to get rid of everything when we move to the Dominican Republic.  Can't really travel with my dear 100+ year old, upright grand, Heintzman piano.

i'm already grieving our goodbye

I'll tell ya though, today when it was time to leave my part time, return to work shift, I was not looking forward to coming home to the boxes.

they loom in hallways and nooks, calling out to me, "don't bother opening me! just toss me away!"

I hung around work as long as I could and filled out forms.  Not something people would want to do when their shift is done, but it was definitely easier than coming home to the hoarder who can't decide what to toss and what to keep.

One of the forms was to ask for a leave so that I could help Papi with the after care of the top surgery.  I feel so guilty asking!  I was off for 2 years post motorcycle accident, then tried to go back, re-injured myself and was off for another 4.5 months.

As soon as I'm back full time, I go for my holiday.  Then I come back for half a week and want to leave for 6 days to help my love.

I really feel like I'm being a bad person milking the system, but damn!  I've never asked for time off to help with a spouse.

Then the moment I was afraid of happened.

I was asked why I needed the time.

"My spouse is getting surgery and won't be able to lift arms, and there has to be someone there to drain the fluids.  It's not here in Vancouver, so I have to travel."

"Oh really?  Where?"

"Florida."

guilt settling more and more ... i'm not taking an extended holiday ... no ... not a holiday trust me!  every inch of me still carries that evil catholic guilt, even though i'm a non-believer ...

"Florida?!?!?!  Why the hell do you have to go there?"

I told her.  Her jaw dropped.  I don't think she wanted to know much more, but you could see her mind ticking, thinking as to why a 'woman' would want their breasts removed.

She thought it was from cancer.  I felt like just letting her think that, but the reality is, everyone at work would know about it in seconds.

I wonder what's worse; having false sympathy that I'd have to keep lying about to cover my tracks, or living with the sideways looks from people at work when they find out what's going on in my life?

Obviously, I told her the truth in not so many words.  I'm just no good at lying.

But damn.

I just start handling all this and now it's like a mud slide, taking all parts of my life with me.  Trees, homes, cars, all of it being washed down the hill.

All my friends don't even know.  Some of my family members don't either.  But now work will.  Everyone is going to figure it out eventually, so I might as well get it out in the open.

**sigh** c'mon Andréa ... make your entrance out of the closet you Tranny Lover ...

The big day!

You know when you have an important goal in mind and a date set to it?

For instance, quitting smoking, starting a diet, going back to the gym etc.  We usually give it a Monday or the first of a month.

Well, since the sewage flood, we've had the wrath of Mondays and month beginnings as times we're told we'll have our home put back together.

For the past 5 weeks, we've been told all our belongings would be back on 'Monday' so many fucking times I'm beginning to feel like I'm re-experiencing a dead beat dad.

Never showing up.

I just want my king size bed.  I want my favourite yoga mat.  I want a choice of clothing other than these fucking jeans I've been wearing for 4 and a half months straight.

Mind you, since the most recent re-injury, I may have to lose a few pounds to get back into my sexy jeans.

maybe i'll start monday?

I also figured out that my experience in the bathtub in the bathroom with no door became a conversation piece for the restoration workers.

One of them announced, "OK!  You have a bathroom door now!" and the houseful of workers all laughed.

yup ... my panicked 'don't come in i'm naked!!!!' moment must've been a fun hoorah for you buggers

I think what's going on with Papi and I is really surrounded by this being let down every Monday to have our lives back in order.

Ever since the great 'pajama attack', Papi thinks my sarcasm is sensitivity and I think my love is a bit too cranky for my liking.

Well, yesterday mi esposo had a reason for the crankies I guess.

METAL MOUTH!!!!!

My love got braces!  I get mine in two days, that gives me a few days lead of teasing Papi about the funny face that's going on.  The head start of silliness makes me happy.

HECTOR has a CD release party in June.  I'm going to be singing through the braces.

sexayyyyyy

Oh god.  Here's the cleaners.  Back for the last of the final clean.

Gimme my fucking bed already!

Wait!  What's this I see!??!?!

A MOVING TRUCK!!!!!

HERE COMES OUR STUFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What just happened here?

Got it out of my system.

Sometimes it's good to let 'er rip, eh?

I'm feeling much better now.

However, I'm seriously pondering the video documentation for this experience.  Papi is so excited about the top surgery and I'm just getting by.  It really does need to be out there along with the Rah-Rah-Tranny version.

I really do write to 'you', my imaginary friend to get it out, but I know there would be a different feeling to actually bring those words out of my mouth.

It was such an emotional day yesterday.  My tattoo was finished, and that should have made me happy, but when we finally made our way from Seattle and through the Marysville Monsoon ...

seriously.  does it have to pour like that EVERY fucking time we got through?!?!

... we got home and I became very sensitive.  Papi became very cranky.

Not a good mixture.  My love was stressed about the things lying around and the fact that all our belongings will be delivered the next day.  But, I felt like it was only MY stuff that was bothering my love.  I also took things the wrong way and it wound up being one of those arguments in a relationship that are absolutely comical.

I watched Papi pick up the items I'm giving away and put them in another spot.  My love walked past me and I took the look wrong and asked, "What was the stink eye look for?!"

"Nothing!  I didn't give you stink eye!"

Next I hear Papi, "Are you wearing your pajamas?"  Which I took as in, will you wear them tonight?

I answered yes.

This may sound all good, but here's where it actually gets funny.

My love and I both had a cleaning from our dentists and both received new toothbrushes.  I opened mine and realized it was Papi's favourite colour.  So, I bellowed from the bathroom, "Honey where's your new toothbrush?"  I wanted to swap it with Papi's.

My love's devil horns grew and a forked tongue came wagging out, "WHAT HONEY!?!?!?!"

I shrunk in the bathroom, "Ummm ... nothing," I said with a meek tiny voice.

"THANK YOU!" said my love in such a way that I knew I shouldn't say much more.

I proceeded into the room to slip on my flannel lovelies and couldn't find them.  "Can I speak?" I sarcastically asked my love.

"Yeah, of course!"

So, I launched into a pms/over emotional feelings about the video/exhaustion from four hours of sitting in a tattoo chair.

"Where did you put my pajamas, and why are you attacking my pajamas?!?"

"Uh, what?"

"You attacked my pajamas for lying around, but everything else is lying around the fucking place, so why is it such a problem that my pajamas are lying out when we have no furniture to put anything into and it's not just my pajamas?!?!"

As it was coming out of my mouth, I realized it was absolutely crazy.  My love was trying not to laugh at the silliness of it, because it was obvious that I was upset, but to ask why my pajamas were attacked?

Yeah, the prodding went on until I finally got out that I just wanted to give my love the toothbrush colour that would be appreciated, yet Papi got snarky and I put it all on my pajamas.

We eventually laughed, both apologized and when I went to bed I texted my love, 'my pajamas forgive you'.

Honestly.

Sometimes, emotions can absolutely make my brain explode with insanity.

You know though, my love understands.  We're both a perfect match of crazy.

you DON'T want to get me angry.

Well, last night the time came where I decided to watch the videos and prepare for Papi's top surgery.

It really wasn't what I expected.

I thought I'd be looking at a clinical documentary about how to care for the person who's had top surgery.

Nope.  I got the Rah-Rah-Tranny people and their fucking pom-poms.

The F-M patient had little more than "Umm ..." and "What not" in their vocabulary, which drove me nuts the most, so I didn't like him right from the start.

jeeeezus people!  if you're going to make a video, fucking well get used to public speaking to keep our fucking attention!!!!!  being cute does fuck all on a screen!!  fucking wall flower!!!!

It was the Rah-Rah-Tranny people's experience on the expedition.  Not the reality that I'm living in.

All I wanted to see was how to take care of Papi.  I didn't want to see 2 people jumping up and down in the transgender glee club.

I felt disconnected.  I felt anger.  I felt that yet again, I am alone in this.  Everyone on that screen, and my love sitting in the room with me, were enthralled.

The wife of this F-M said, "I'm so excited!"  She didn't say, "I'm so excited FOR HIM!"  She is excited for the lack of breasts on her husband.  She obviously hasn't had the grieving process that I've had for the past 4 months.

She obviously didn't sit in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks crying and catatonic.

she's a tranny chaser who got her prey.

I was devastated.

It felt like my love was the child with a new toy.  The child is so delighted about it they had to show it off to the world.  Not much unlike when I make Papi sit through animal YouTube videos.  I'm elated and Papi is a little more than bored, staring at my exuberant laughing as if to say, "You're a loon my dear."

When it got to the point of the person getting their bandages off, it was the saddest moment for me.  I didn't see the scars covered in tape.  I didn't see the gruesome details.

I saw a lack of something beautiful.

All I could think was, "How can you do this to yourself?"

I could imagine what should have been there.

I saw Papi.

I saw mi esposo lying there with a Cheshire Cat smile.  I couldn't even see myself in the background, because I am a wilting flower.  My petals are browning from lack of nourishment.  All I am is a flower who's time has passed, and my stem is buckling over a vase.

I saw myself disappear along with my love's breasts.

The tears fell and the sobbing began.

I have a Trust List, and a few people on it who understand my sorrow and grieving for losing the 'wife' I married.

It's time to make plans with them so that I'm not alone amongst the Rah-Rah-Tranny people.  They are loud and proud.

Papi suggested I make my own video of MY experience in this.  So that other people in the world get to see the other side.  I know there's more people in my predicament who are feeling as lonely and broken as I.  It's the reason this blog is here.

Fuck the Tranny Chasers and their fucking glee.

How about some real emotions of LOSS you mother fuckers?!?!

Fuck the tears.  Now I'm angry.

You DON'T want to get me angry.  I'll get all creative on your asses!

I wonder ...

I have a codeine hangover.

It's not unlike the ones I used to get when I was drinking.  It comes complete with nausea, irritability and a headache that hurts with every step my feet will take.  The only thing missing is Buffalo Mouth.

Have you met the buffalo?

It likes to sleep in drunks' mouths through the night, so that when you wake up the next day you have arid, thick, muddied fur coating your teeth and tongue.

I remember one of the worst hangovers I ever had quite vividly.  This hangover was one of the tortures I inflicted upon myself that keeps me clean and sober, by way of reminding me I don't drink like 'normy' people.

It was after winning the local radio contest; 'Molson Canadian Blind Date', where a small group of 200 people are brought to a secret location for a secret big name band to play for them.  But the best part for this drunk, was the 'all you can drink' beer.

We got to see INXS, along with drinking 'Molson Canadian' draft beer.  It's not a beer I'd normally have chosen to drink, but hell, it was free.

I double fisted those bitches right up to last call.

The next day, my head hurt so bad I couldn't walk.  Every step was like a canon going off in my brain.  I literally had to crawl on the floor to get to the water to wash the buffalo fur out of my mouth.

Well, today I didn't have to crawl, but I certainly had to tread lightly to be sure this headache didn't defy me.

I gingerly took the stairs from our attic, our temporary bedroom, two flights down to our basement suite.

monday!  monday they say we get our lovely king size bed back .... ahhhhhhhh ... no more attic dwelling!

I would truly make a great burglar.  I can walk so quiet that even a bird wouldn't know I was sneaking up on them.  It's actually a technique I developed as a child.  You did NOT want to wake my mother up before her sleep was over.

There would be hell to pay if you did.

I had a crash course in learning how to sneak.

As I came around the corner, oh so softly as to not disturb my aching head, I find Papi at the tail end of self-administering hormones.

oh for fucks sakes!!!!!!

My love tried to wrap things up as swiftly as possible, and I tried to pretend it just wasn't happening.

It wasn't a great start to a 'good morning sweetheart' greeting.  Like a horse with blinders, I ignored the box of needles, the bright yellow sharps container and the nervous greeting from Papi.

"Were you trying to sneak up on me?"

"No, my head is pounding from the codeine.  Fucking awesome eh?"

"You really do have impeccable timing."

Yes.

Yes I do.

It seems I'm supposed to keep getting glimpses of this poison that my love has to inject into that ass I love.

It seems these are my baby steps to getting used to it.

I wonder if I ever will?

I wonder ...

Stalkers!

So.

I walk outside half dreary eyed and half in a hurry to get to my shift.  I strolled as quickly as I could to the sidewalk that leads to our vehicle.  As I approached, I noticed something on the windshield.

Upon walking closer, I realized what it was:

A fucking pamphlet on how Jesus loves me.

Sorry ... but he died a long time ago ... i'm pretty sure he has noooo idea who i am.

I'm hopping mad and in seconds I am now fully awake!

There have been many a 'god fearing', homophobic pamphlet mailed to my love from some crazy mother-fucking zealot, terrorizing Papi with their propaganda of insanity.  I'd charge them with harassment if they put a fucking return address on their envelopes.

what?!  too afraid that i'll come to your house and show you what fear REALLY is?!?!

I'm just assuming at this point that this freak of a person has gotten frustrated that their ridiculous pieces of paper haven't scared us straight.  They religiously mail their crap about how we're going to hell for being gay.

good thing ... i wouldn't want to miss out on the party!  all my friends will be there!!!

But to come on MY property and put your shit on MY vehicle?!?!?!

Oh no, no, NO!!!

I'll be getting a video camera and finding out who's doing this and charge them with trespassing and harassment.  People who have a dose of the crazies can't just come on to my property and have my blood boiling at 7:45 in the morning with their spewing of brain washed lunacy!!!

some people should really be on meds ... i got mine jack

I also realized that my love had just arrived home from the graveyard shift no more than 10 minutes prior, so whomever this nutburger is, has obviously been stalking us to wait for mi esposo to come home so they can put their crap on our car.

Now the charges have gone from harassment to trespassing AND stalking!!  I'll also be sure to get a restraining order.  Nutballs are fucking scary and I don't want to have to deal with it, yet again, in my life.

Nope.  Been there, charged that.

At this point, I'm so angry that I will actually drive while talking on my cell phone, even thought it's illegal.  Even though I'm the one who will tsk-tsk my love for breaking this law.

I phoned Papi to vent about the pamphlet, but before I could even spout my ire, I heard my love answer the phone with a half weakened giggle for a hello.  I knew right then who had put that pamphlet there.

Papi really knows how to yank my chain.

"Oh my god.  Did YOU put this fucking thing on the windshield?!?!?"

Mi esposo giggled, "Yes.  I knew what this phone call was about!"  And the laughing continued on both ends of the phone call.

When we love someone, we know what to do to get the reaction we want.  We know what drives them mad, makes them laugh, pisses them off and how to push buttons.

Oh, Papi, you truly are an imp.

If I wasn't loved, I wouldn't be poked at, now would I?

Ah, love.

Ain't it grand ...

Hehe ... when I calmed down after our laugh, I had to think about how angry I got.

Yeah.  Who's the crazy one?

Brace Yourself

"Brace yourself, they're going to look really bad."

oh for fucks sakes ... really?!?!

Not the words I want to hear the moment I come to an assimilation of acceptance.  Maybe it just means that this is just one more moment of a 'step at a time'.

However, Papi's words got worse.

**sticks fingers in ears** la-la-la I don't hear you

"The nipples could die and I'd be without them like Anonymous."

We know someone who had their top surgery done and we've always wondered why he didn't have nipples grafted on after.

I think it's possible we now know why.

"My nipples are going to look worse than the rest of the area."

I honestly haven't said a word at this point.  I am still carrying on with my own imagination of just how bad it could get.

here we go again ... dear imagination: did you not learn from the 5 foot clitoris?

Then without skipping a beat, the gruesome twosome talk was over and switched to another topic, "Honey, I can't be in some dingy place it will make me more upset on top of the pain I'll be feeling from the surgery.  I've tried looking at two star places and even three star, but I just can't stay in one of those places to save money."

It's going to be an expensive venture, but Papi thinks that it's all going to work out, so I have to trust it all will too.

My love really hasn't had to learn about money.  The house we live in has been mi esposo's home since birth.  It's an upscale neighbourhood with upscale tastes.  Even still, my love's family wasn't as well off as the people around here, but somehow the idea that money does come from thin air is an attitude Papi has adopted.

I know I could stay in one of these places, but I also know that the moment my love started looking at this, that there would be no way it was going to happen.

I have to agree with my love a little, "Yes.  We really don't need you bringing home bedbugs and scabies."

So, now the bill has just gone up.  I'm still wearing Papi's 1 karat engagement ring, but I really feel that it must be parted with.

One thing I CAN say is, next year's holiday is NOT going to be as extravagant as we've been used to.  I am a wee bit stressed about the bills that will be mounting from braces, jaw surgery, my love's top surgery, paying off this year's holiday and the extras we paid for during our sewage flood restoration.

My head.

It hurts.

Along with my neck, my back is dying.

I have a lot to do today, and only so much energy.

I also have to 'brace myself' for Papi's scary top surgery.

Commence bracing ...

Acceptance.

Day 2 of work?  Definitely not as successful as day one.

Having an all black or white personality is really the pits sometimes.  I gave my back a jolt at work and had to shut 'er down for the day.

I bloody well hurt.

But to be fair, the old guy in the wheelchair I had to push was fucking tall and heavy!!  His feet stuck out past his foot rests and I caught his chair on a gate.  My already fragile back took the entire shock of the impact, as I happened to be in full throttle while pushing him up the ramp.

My all or nothing thinking says, "I just don't think I'll be able to do this job anymore," instead of, "Well, I'll have to try something different with that client next time, so I'll be safe."

No matter what my brain is battling with right now, the mere thought of having to take pain killers absolutely saddens me.  However, sometimes the pain is worse than the rue.

The other half is; will upsetting my stomach be worth swallowing these little pink jewels that act as a pain assassin?

yup.  party time!

Well, I'll be having a cranky stomach for 48 hours.  I've weighed it out.

Back pain = 1

Stomach upset = 0

Pick your battles they say.  Not unlike the process of dealing with my love's male transformation.  I can only take one step at a time.  One fear at a time.  One tear at a time.

One moment of acceptance at a time.

Acceptance.

My love will be having top surgery on June 2nd.  I accept this.  Mi esposo is happy about this.  Something I also accept.

What Papi said yesterday pretty much crams it into that nutshell that is much to small for this nut: "You are the most supportive un-supportive person there could be."

True.

I will be there to help Papi in any way I can.  I am walking with mi esposo along this trudging journey, although sometimes when I fall, it feels as though I'm being dragged along this gravel path like a dirty ragdoll.

I feel the burn on my skin.

Occasionally, I stroll off the trail and have to be pulled out of the quicksand.

Regardless, I am still right here beside mi esposo.

Maybe, while I'm down for the count from this ouch I received today, Papi can just put me back in the wheelchair and do all the work again, like 2 years ago.

memories of papi pushing me on sidewalks in cuba that are really not meant for wheelchairs ...

Well anyway, I've waited for the relax of this ugly man-chair to take the pressure off my seized back while chatting to 'you', my imaginary friend.

The weight off hasn't worked.

So, off I got to the medicine cabinet.

**sigh**

Acceptance.

Objects in the mind are not as big as they are imagined.

As Papi and I were getting ready for the gym, I had the opportunity to stare lovingly at the gorgeous naked body I will have to say goodbye to.

My love has an appointment for top surgery.

I also found out that I can take some unpaid 'family days' so that I can take care of mi esposo for the first few days where Papi won't be able to lift those tattoo clad arms any higher than 5 inches.

i cringe at the thought of this pain ...

My love told me it would be wise to look at the videos of how to be the care taker.  Not only so that I'm prepared for the task, but also so that I'm not surprised at the gore. 

good fucking god!  breathe ... breathe ...

I guess this is a good idea.  Now I have to find a time where that 'strength' people seem to see in me will come shining through, and I will feel that I can actually witness this.

I'll get there before June 2nd. 

less than 2 months ... my poor heart

There was a momentous moment in my day, however.

I SAW IT!!!!!

Papi came wandering down the hall au naturel while I was brushing my pearlies, "Do you wanna see it?"

I almost choked on my toothpaste, "Now?!?!"

"Well you said you'd like to see it in a non-sexual setting."

"Yeah, but right now?!"

"Why not?"

I battled with my mind that was forcefully saying 'don't do it!', then leaned down preparing for the most terrifyingly massive 5 Foot Clit in the world.

it's going to swallow me like a venus flytrap!!!

When I saw it however, I was surprised at how it looked.

ummm ... definitely not what i was expecting

"Oh!  Well!  It's actually quite pretty!  It looks like a blooming lotus!"

All the fear of the unknown dissipated.  I felt the warmth of peace envelope me in a spine tingling cloak.  All the words of my Other Person telling me it's not as big as I thought it would be instantly became truth.

All of a sudden, my emotions deepened into a place of content and love.  It was as if my love became more desirable to me.

It's not that there wasn't enough desire before, I have plenty of that for my love.  It was only that this one little body part that was previously giving me so much fear, had now become something I wanted to see again and again.

Something's going on for my love hormonally, and there's a lack of libido.  Papi will give me my pleasure if I want it, but mi esposo isn't interested in entertaining that side right now.

I'll tell you though, on the next round, I'm demanding it.

It was the most beautiful blossom.

I have to remember this moment as a teaching experience, yet again.  I really do blow things out of proportion in my thought process.

The fear of the unknown is the most terrifying thing to me.  I must remember that phrase that I tell people time and time again:

Everything works out.

It always does.

Detachable breasts?

Day one back to work.

I was a bit nervous, but I only had to work 4 hours as my gradual return.  At least they didn't stick me with the bible thumper.

phew!

It hardly brought up pain.

double phew!

But I'll tell you, I am not a morning person.  Getting up at 6:45 is not an ability of mine.  The snooze button was my best friend this morning.

It was good to wake up however, as in one of my dreams I was being raped by this intimidating bull dyke that's in our community.

YIKES!!!!

I may be a little nervous the next time I see her.  Ah, my dreams.   NEVER a dull moment.

So, I have to tell you, I am starting to find humour in the strangest places in my journey.  It's a good thing.  It's the only way to heal.  Especially when it's time to think about Papi's top surgery.

It's all about my love's top surgery.  Shit!  Even the fucking calendar is about top surgery.  Remember the calendar of F-Ms I spoke about?  The one where I pasted on mi esposo's face on every page, so I could actually look at it?

Do you remember that April was supposed to be a bad thing to look at and that all I thought it could be was that picture that scarred me for life?  You remember the pic don't you?  Well, if you don't, you'll have to do some forensic reading and go back a few months.

Anyway, I digress ...

This month's pic is not the one that scarred me for life.  It's one of someone who still had their fucking tubes in from the top surgery.  Why the hell anyone would want to have that as their pic of pride, I don't know.

But it's all about top surgery.  Papi said, "I feel so sorry for you.  These breasts are so nice.  It's really too bad.  Some pictures of people I've seen in the gallery are just not so nice."

I nodded.

memories of hairy breasts ... horrible scars ...

Papi continued, "Why can't they be detachable so I could put them on and you could have your way with them?!"

I laughed, "Maybe they could sew them on to me.  I'd rather have yours."

Detachable breasts.

Maybe one day they'll come up with this option?  Then when those who have gender dysphoria experience a day where they feel like they could have breasts, they could wear them.

Not sure how many people are feeling like they're both female and male, but I do know they're out there.

I like my love's pillowy fun bags and I really wish I could have them.

It's such a shame.  They really are gorgeous.

One of my blogger friends told me that upon looking at pictures of Papi, that they just couldn't imagine breasts there.  That it didn't suit my love.

I suppose so.

But damn!  Couldn't I have them?  A breast transplant?

If you're going to just hack 'em off anyway ...

thermonuclear meltdown

Sometimes, we need very clear boundaries.

We want someone to know exactly what we mean, yet, if there's a lack of communication, the other person will have their own idea of our wishes.

I asked Papi not to hide the hormones from me, but I didn't mean to just whip it out in front of me and go to town!

"But you said not to hide it from you!"

Yes, I did.  However, I obviously wasn't very clear about what I wanted.  I really meant that I don't want Papi to sneak around like a kid doing something bad, trying to hide 'it' from their parents.

No, I don't want my love to feel that there had to be this kind of secrecy in our relationship.  It's bad enough that I'm freaking out about it, we don't need 2 people having a hard time now do we?

This male transformation is a road that I would never wish upon anyone like myself.  It's great for the Rah-Rah-Tranny! people, but what about those of us who never wanted it in our lives?

"I wish you were excited for me for this surgery.  (Anonymous) writes on Facebook about how happy she is for (Anonymous) and can't wait for this to be done."

These words crippled me.

another reason to hide my angst from the community

All the work I've done for 4 months seemed to be crushed into a firing meteor of 'not good enough'.

Last night I had my every own thermonuclear melt down.  Papi has been miserable for the past 3 days, and I have had my own issues going on.

A few days ago, I had a dream that I won't go into too much detail about, otherwise, 'you', my imaginary friend, will be here all day reading.

The short of it is, we were being invaded by another country and were captured.  I couldn't find Papi and I was terrified that my love had been killed.

No.

Mi esposo was just in another room having sex with someone I despise.

i haven't even been in contact with 'snoteater' for 5 years ... wtf is she doing screwing papi?!?!?

It was one of those dreams you wake up from, and for the rest of the day you're affected by it.  Actually, you're more than affected by it, you're MAD at the person as if they'd really betrayed you.

When Papi exuded this bad mood, in combination with my dream, my love's words about someone else handling the male transformation better and every single conversation being about the top surgery and how I can't be in Florida for it, I lost it.

Last night I was a sobbing mass of insecurity and I let 'er rip.

To be fair, Papi asked for it.

"Just say it."

I blurted it out between the hyperventilating tears, "I've worked so hard since the day you told me of your decision, and not only do I not have any choice about this in any way, but after all the work I've done, it still isn't enough.  It's just not good enough for you.  You want someone else in this marriage and all I am is an obstacle."

No, it wasn't pretty.

We seemed to work it out.  We always do.  Papi stopped and looked at how far I've come and confirmed that I have done a lot and apologized, "I wouldn't have been able to do this without you in my life.  I love you.  Anyone else would have just left me.  You didn't.  You gave me confidence to do this."

yay me.

We both have our struggles in this.  I realized it when Papi said, "You don't know how hard it was to tell the person I love that I need to do this.  People think I'm horrible for doing this to you." 

who are they?!  lemme at 'em ... nobody calls mi esposo a monster!!!

Yes, we both have our own difficulty in this.

I see this now. 

oh swollen eyes ... please don't give me any more wrinkles than i already have ...

Love-Able

Cherry blossoms.

Their fragile petals bloom with immeasurable power.

"It's spring!  It's time for the winter demons to leave," they say.  Their pillowy strength reaches for the sun, cleaning the air for a new season.

They take over the streets with happy sights as I drive these pink enveloped tracks.  A renewal of vitality with their injection absolving my veins.

It's time for spring cleaning.

It's time for our belongings to be returned to us.  I clean in preparation.  I'm readying myself for the purge.  I say goodbye to pieces of myself that I thought I needed.

I don't 'need' them.  They are filler.  Items meant to satiate.  Ironically, all they do is make a room more confusing.  Too much to look at in one sweep of view.

Upon opening a bewitched box that hasn't been visited in 5 years, I brace myself for a goodbye to my spiritual past.  A time when I tried so very hard to believe in a 'god', 'goddess' or any kind of 'higher power'.

All I could come up with was molecules of energy.  There is energy in this box.  I could feel it's past attempts speaking to me with liveliness.

Positivity.

This magical box carries a time of immense healing.

This enchanted box also contains words to myself from the past:

On Sunday, March 15, 1992 @ 11:30 at night, you cried.

You envisioned yourself with a love and that beautiful thought was replaced by being broken up with.

You cried.

You wrote 2 poems.

You thought you are not the one to ever have a relationship.  You don't believe love could enter your life.  You believe that you are destined to be alone forever, because you are terrified of being hurt.

It's much easier to be lonely than to be rejected.  You realized that all those times you cried because you were 'lonely', were really because you were too frightened to love and be hurt again.

And again, and again.

Your eyes were swollen and you realized there was no way you could get up the next day at 5:30 a.m. to go to your aerobic class.

So.

How do you feel today?
 
Today?  I feel a hell of a lot better than when this note was written.

Life can still throw adversity my way.  I'm not sure why this path is so rocky for me.

It just is.

But I'll tell you, my heart is much stronger than when this note to myself was penned.

I am lovable.  I am capable of being loved and that relationship I always imagined is here.

I'm living the dream.

Yes, I cleaned out the house from the flood.  I cleaned out items that are not necessary to this new world.  I'm ready for more healing from my past.

I will continue to keep this note.  I will read it again in another 10 years perhaps.

I will keep these words as well.

Don't worry, be happy ...

Someone called me strong again.

It's a strange feeling for me when I'm called strong, because honestly, I feel like I'm 10 years old again.  A little girl who has no coping mechanism to deal with the inexperience of life.

At 10, my parents split.  Well, more like my mom kicked out my dad.

With reason.

He was a drug dealer, which meant there were a lot of not so 'desirable' creeps around.

which one of you bastards is the pedophile that destroyed my joy of sex?!?

My dad wasn't the best father or husband, so it wasn't a huge loss, other than the fact that I felt abandoned.

a common thread for the rest of my life ...

At 10, my way of confronting fear was to believe all the words my family told me about being fat, and so I began the cycle of anorexia.

if i lose just one more pound, i might just die ... just like karen carpenter ... please let my heart stop

At 10, my anxiety took over and I became the most worrisome child anybody could meet.

Worrisome.

Anxiety.

Here I am feeling like that little girl again, and people will tell me I'm strong?

Well, I'm strong for living through a brain injury and coming out on top.  Yes.  I can accept that.

But in this case of my love going through male transformation, I feel weak.  I feel scared.  I am in survival mode.  I will have fear of impending doom and not have any idea what it's attached to.  It is deep and dark and all I can do is try to run past the catastrophic cloud, but it just catches up to me every time.

get busy ... just get busy ... and your mind will leave you be ...

The funny part is, when Papi is around me, all that fear seems to be weakened.  I just have so much joy when looking into my loves eyes.

So much pride when I look at this person that I have been so fortunate to have in my life.

But I can't be around Papi all the time.  Co-dependency is not sexy.  So, when people tell me I'm strong, I really have to shake my head and look at them like they're nuts.

Not unlike when people tell me I'm thin.

if you could only see what the mirror tells me ... if you could only be in my head with this fear

I would so love to be this person people see me as.

I would love to be that amazing woman on stage who exudes presence of power.  She is one that most would look at and say, "She's so lucky."

No, when I'm on stage, I am also a person I would love to be.  If you talk to me 10 minutes after a performance, you'll be sorrily let down.  I am a meek child who just wants to be happy and loved.

Fortunately, it's not a lot to ask for.  I do receive it every day.

I really do have a glass half full life.  I just wish that half empty part would leave me the fuck alone.