Grant me the fucking serenity!

So there I was, having some sweet 'goodnight my love' texting moments and what do I receive?

"Will you be upset if I get a pump for my clit?"

excuse me?

I just didn't have the brain power to ask wtf or even entertain this inane question.

I honestly have no fucking idea of the whys and whats my love is talking about.

To me, it's humongous, ginormous and colossal enough without any help.

my brain is still assimilating the sexy time situation ...

What the hell is a clit pump needed for?

When I told my love I just can't deal with the question, Papi told me we'd talk about it later, "My poor lil 'no tranny understander'.  Later convo I will explain."

But do I really want to know?  I'm not really over the 5 Foot Clitoris yet.  Do we have to go for 11?

Papi is right.

I don't understand.

I'll tell you, sometimes I just don't want to.  I really like my bubble.  I get to just pretend none of this is happening.

This is how I cope.

Yesterday, my blogger friends Tricia, Dirty and Bio all commented on how good Papi's chest looks.

All I see are flat breasts; The Great Breast Disappearance.

When I look at the pic I posted yesterday, it almost feels naughty.  Like my love is bearing breasts for the world to see.

dear blogger; don't delete me for nudie pics!

Not that it is any different than real life.  My love would flash those babies any opportunity anyway, so why would it make any difference here?

I still see my love the way I want to see my love.

My cushy bubble is tepid, pillowy soft and always smells like sweet lilacs.

Please don't make me leave by talking about a clit pump!

for fucks sakes!!!!!

Papi is right though.  I really don't understand the secret world of F-Ms.  I'm very certain I'm going to know it inside and out before this is all done.

don't burst my fucking bubble!!!!

I understand this is just a journey on my path that I have to accept.

Hell, it's what I tell the G'ma every day, all day, over and over again, ad infinitum, "We have to accept the things we cannot change."

Oh, that doesn't mean we forget.  It's just that if we don't accept whatever is going on for us, it will eat us alive.

or drive us to drink.

But wait!

What's the other part of that serenity prayer I would whisper for years on end?  Oh yeah, right; The courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Acceptance.  Courage.  Wisdom. 

Oh, speaking of G'ma,  we have found a way to possibly deal with the gramma drama.

Papi told the G'ma about the sex change.

Hopefully that will be the topic for the next few weeks until something else comes up that she will dwell upon.

Still searching for my wisdom.  I'm sure I left it here somewhere ...

Say hello to my little friend.

I have to rationalize about why there hasn't been any sexy time.

First it was the braces.  I didn't want to get locked into Papi's brace face.  That could be scary.

Then it was the top surgery.  My love was so fragile that I couldn't even get a hug.  That left me longing for mi esposo's cuddles, but was another justification as to why we weren't having a romp.

Well, last night Papi ordered me into bed.

i like it

Yet, that didn't stop me.  I tried another excuse.  I felt like I had to share that my stomach wasn't top shape right now.  Perhaps we didn't want to 'scents' the wrath of my issue?

Oh, no.

That wasn't a good enough reason for my love.

The truth is though, ever since the 5 Foot Clitoris moved in, I'm very uncomfortable with sex.

It wasn't like it was before, where I knew my love's body and could just jump on in with no hesitation.  I knew what to do and when to do it.

Things have changed.

Papi has changed.

It's like starting all over.

My love was adamant that I'd get a little up close and personal time with the 5 Foot Clitoris.

you're really going to make me do this now aren't you?!?!

At first, all I wanted to do was look at it and introduce myself.

"hey how are ya?  i'm new in town and i thought we could grab a bite to eat?"

But I quickly realized that this exploration wasn't really sexy.  It was more like I was a gynecologist looking at a specimen.

No.

Not sexy.

So I dived in.

I didn't know what to do.  Honestly!  The 5 Foot Clitoris is intimidating!  It was beyond that little nut I'd play with with my tongue.

It really did feel more like a miniature penis.

It was so difficult not to revert back to the dislike of the bio-male anatomy that I had to endure in my stint of oh so many years in the closet.

I would have to be snap drunk or sky high to go anywhere near those man bits, and here I was, face to face with the mini-me version who was sticking out it's own tongue, taunting me.

My love's smell was also different and will take some time to get used to.  It wasn't like the Man Stink that occurred near the beginning of this roller coaster, but indeed it was not what I was used to.

time to get out the chocolate sauce?

None-the-less, I did my best, and dammit, I just felt like I was flailing.  I have no fucking idea how to work with this.

I guess I'll have to practise.

*******

A side note to Tricia, one of my blogger friends, here is the updated photo of Papi, the Tranny Terrorist.

And no, this was not taken after sexy time ...

Papi's reality show

Ya know?

I think Papi enjoys being the Tranny Terrorist a bit too much.

When Papi dropped me off at work, and I was harassing my love in regards to the leg hair, "Farewell hairy monster," my love revealed a new area that was growing man hair that I never even thought about.

Stomach.

Not impressed.

I guess if I'm going to irk my love with cheeky words, there will always be a comeback that doesn't even require words now.

Later on, while Papi was changing massive bandaids on still raw looking nipples, I was yet again awarded another look at them.

"Look!  The nipple is going to look like this when the scab falls off!"

Nice.

That's lovely my dear.

I tried so hard to look and have actual interest, but my face unfortunately, cannot lie.

"The look on your face is hilarious!"

Is this why Papi torments me?

Could it be that this is mi esposo's entertainment every day?  The object of the game is to see just how puckered my lips can get, how many wrinkles I can extend on my forehead and how much I can raise my nostrils as I crimp the skin between my eyes.

Maybe my love is enjoying being the star of the blog show.  Really, I say it's my healing journey, but most of the time, it's all about Papi and the ridiculous antics I have to endure.  This is possibly like a reality show you read and mi esposo is addicted to the attention!

Or, perhaps this is my love's way of giving me something to write?  Yesterday I received a review of my blog from Papi, "Your blog was boring today."

Well, damn!

I better get something better to write about then.

the moral of the story is, if my blog is boring, then so is papi, no?

Enter stage left: the nipples.

The doctor appointment Papi had yesterday was great for Papi.  My love came bounding out of the office, "She said they looked incredible!"

I'll have to have a word with my doctor. 

please don't feed the animals

I guess to a doctor who's having one of a very few F-M patients, she has probably seen worse.

I mean, this is really why we flew all the way to Florida; to get the very best surgeon.

There are some that are really awful.

We have seen some really bad jobs where people have gotten tired of the top surgery wait list, and gone to someone they could afford.

Goddam!  You don't want to be mucking about with top surgery!

Anyway.

Just got my paycheck from that unpaid time off from said surgery.

No cash and a kick in the teeth.

There ya go.  Papi gave me something to write.

how many stars will i receive today i wonder

Ok ... maybe more than a day

Papi's home.

I'm happy.

Not just because I missed my love, but also because now we can do tag team damage control with the G'ma.

guess what fucking conversation i just had?  no really ... guess!!

I'm starting to think I'm a cretin, because I'm basking in the knowledge that my love was forced to be a butch for a couple of days.  It's almost as if I have a small reprieve from the changes.

Is that so bad?

A little break?

A tiny moment to pretend that mi esposo is still the same butch I married is a good thing.

I'm pretty sure that it all comes down to my love shaving that caterpillar off.

However, it will be back.

It's not even good enough.  My love wants to have a soul patch.

I want my love to stay a butch.

I know that this is just a short break, but I'm enjoying it immensely.

It made it an even sweeter hello for when Papi returned.

it didn't hurt that i also got a ride home from work instead of slithering on the bus with pain.

However, tomorrow my love goes back to work.  This means I will only see Papi on Saturday afternoons and nights.  It will not be enough time, but it will have to do.

you know damn well i'll be waking papi up as soon as i can to have my quality time on those days **enter evil laugh here**

I imagine that once I've missed my love so much, that caterpillar will probably mean less to me as well.

You know?

Absence does indeed make the heart grow fonder.

Today's 'quality' time will be spent running back and forth to appointments before I toddle off to my 10 hour shift.

I shouldn't bitch though.

I have my love for a few hours and that's a good thing.

Butch for a day.

There was a time when shame would bring a thief to admitting their wrongs.

It was a time of innocence and respect for others, and this is where the G'ma still resides.

along with her cognitive memory

"I want to call her and tell her to give me my stuff back.  Maybe she will if I explain that it was a family heirloom."

Then for the 100th time, I explained, "Grandma, thieves don't care these days.  She's already brought it to a pawn shop and it's gone."

"Well, then I'll offer her money.  Maybe she'll give it back to me if I give her money for it.  I just want it back."

yes ... you're reading right ... she didn't listen to a word i said.

G'ma is going to ask us about 50 times a day until the day she dies.  It's starting to get to me.  I've written notes for her so she can remember, but she tosses them in the recycling after she reads them.

I wrote it down again today, but it won't make a difference.

The other day I was 10 minutes late for an appointment because I had to go through the whole chain of events as to why her jewelry box is missing.

We're all very upset that the person staying here while we were in the Dominican Republic invited a thief into the house.  Papi lost a $250 Canucks Jersey.  I didn't lose anything important that can't be replaced.

but it still pisses me off ... fuck you sister of friend.

But honestly, I can't hear about G'mas heirloom over and over every breathing minute of the day.

It will be the same conversation until something else happens to upset the G'ma.

Like the shrub Papi cut, or the stairs without the carpet and the list goes on and on like the annoying repeating conversations I have every time I just want to go let the dogs out.

gawd i hope i die before my brain does.

I'm going to start leaving out the basement door, climb the stairs, force this broken body over the dog gate and slink away from now on.  I can't handle repeating the same conversations from scratch when I'm trying to rush out the door for work or an appointment.

Sometimes, I don't even want to come home, because it means walking through G'mas space to get to our little love nest in the dungeon.

She's living in a world that doesn't exist past 5 minutes and I wish I were more patient.  It's a true test of your level of composure living with an elder who's lost their marbles.

I just wanted to come on here and have a giggle about Papi, but instead I'm venting about the 5 years short of a centurian.

Well, it wasn't really a giggle about my love, it was just that Papi texted me that they had gone to a fag bar.

I jokingly replied, "Are they flirting with you?"

Papi was very upset replying, "No.  Grrrr.  I'm obviously a woman."

With these words, I clung to the butch I married one more time, "Honey, you're better than a woman.  You're a butch.  I know you want to be seen as someone else, but to me you're perfect no matter what you look like."

I received love back from these words, but really, it was about being happy that my butch was still here.

A little less up top, but still here.

It was all about the moustache.  I have the feeling that caterpillar won't ever be shaved off again.

But then again, my love will have to deal with the 95 year old force.  Who knows, maybe G'ma will win again.

She's crafty, that old bird.

papi's pride.

So, I was corrected by Papi.

"You think I'm excited about getting man hair?  I'm not excited!  Nobody tells you about the ass crack hair that grows like crazy, or the horrible oily skin!  Nobody tells you about the unibrow.  If I get a fucking unibrow I will FREAK OUT!!!"

I giggled and quietly kept typing out my love's word for word monologue for your entertainment.

Papi continued the tirade, "So no I'm not HAPPY about the hair or how about the hair growing on my toes and the tops of my feet.  Did I say I was happy about that?!  No!!!!!  Who's happy about that?!?  Well other than the F-Ms that like that shit."

Well!

I'm glad we got that sorted out.

I stand corrected!

and now apparently, so do you.

Right now, Papi is in the U, S of A for Seattle Pride with one of our very good friends (and Trust List member) who has my love hopped up on Vicodin.

party on papi ...

I guess being in a crowd with those nasty nasty wounds would be painful.  One jab to the chest and there would be tears I'm sure.

My love is unhappy though, because the absence of a moustache is now having everyone call mi esposo a female.

That is of course, other than the woman in the washroom who told Papi, "You're in the wrong washroom," and proceeded to chat my love's ear off about her friend leaving her alone while they were peeing.

ahhh ... pride ... what joyous mayhem you provide for us ...

So my love is whooping it up in Seattle and I'm cursing my fucking back because I needed to to a 'refresher' course at work.

and from what i hear, i haven't fed the cats fast enough. if The Mrs. yells, it's serious business. i'm pretty sure i hear her getting ammo ready ...

Papi said the dyke march was today, but, "I won't be marching because I'm not considered a woman or a dyke so you don't have to worry about me getting yelled at by anyone there."

This really was just a dig at me for my reasoning that Papi shouldn't be riding in Dykes on Bikes.

Whatever.

I just laugh at mi esposo's attempts at sarcasm.

I know that when Papi is snarky like this, it's only because my love wants to see me smile.

I wonder if my love wanted me to smile when I heard this, "I wonder what people will do if I take my top off?"

Now, my love usually goes topless for Pride, but I can't imagine what people would do seeing the horrendous wounds on my love.

I really hope that was just for smiles as well.

ok ... now i'm just rambling ... sorry

In all honesty, I really only wanted to get on here to give a massive CON-GRAT-U-FUCKING-LATIONS to New York for having people get their heads out of their fucking asses.

but instead blathered on about papi ...

If you live under a rock, New York has now allowed all us gays to be legally married there.

It's absolutely ridiculous that there has to be so much dialogue about this, but at least we're going further in teaching people how to be human beings to one another.

It is a beautiful day to see the world take another step closer to love.

hairy business

It's gets messy to share the same experience with my love, yet we come from polar opposites on the topic.

"Look!  My arm hair is getting thicker!" Papi said with excitement.

"Do you say these things just to torment me?" I asked my love.

"No!  Can't I just talk about things with you?  I just want to be able to say things that I think."

I suppose mi esposo has a point.

What's the harm of letting Papi yack about all the things I don't like?  I can have an internal eye roll I guess.

Then I think, if Papi's allowed to express joy in man hair, then I should be able to express my dislike, no?

My love started to talk about chest hair and I almost crapped myself right there.

fucking chest hair?!?!?!??!?!

I guess I've managed to deal with all the other issues.  I assume I'll take each step of this as it comes.

That doesn't make it any easier.  In my mind, I'm just getting over The Great Breast Disappearance and it will be replaced with great gobs of man hair on that smooth silky chest.

One of my blogger friends Rafa, said I was honoring my vows more than anyone.  That this is the sanctity of marriage.

I just blew it off as my stubbornness.  Give me a challenge and I'll see it through.

I'm worse than a fucking mule.

Hell, I challenged myself for 2 years with brain injury.  In the most pigheaded way.

no. i don't accept ANY of this. heal goddamit. ah crap ... thank you brain injury, here I go again getting off topic.

Ok.

So, the point is, if Papi gets chest hair, I'll have another fucking meltdown and have to get through that as well.

There's so fucking much to deal with after each part of healing that it's like being in the ring with Mike Tyson.

The hits keep coming and coming, and I keep blocking them.  I never get in a jab or an upper cut.  I'm too busy in blocking hell.

When the bell rings, I get a short reprieve.  I can wipe the sweat from my forehead to keep it from stinging the fresh wounds on my skin.  I take a gasp of air along side a chug of water, then I'm up again and preparing for the next hit.

How the hell is a lesbian ...

that's me btw ... don't you DARE consider me straight just because my spouse looks like a man.

... going to enjoy a fucking hairy man chest?

The caterpillar moustache is slowly growing on me.  Obviously, because everyone notices it and I can't even see the difference.

It was funny when the 95 year old G'ma came home and said, "What's that on your lip?!  It looks like a moustache!"

Then it was even more entertaining watching Papi wriggle through the conversation of why my love can't lift anything.  "I had chest surgery."

The G'ma panicked, "What?!?!  Do you have cancer?!"

"No grandma, nothing major to worry about, but I can't lift anything for a month."

No use explaining though.

G'ma has no memory.  We have to go through the same conversation a few times a day.

But at least Papi shaved that shit off the lip so there's no more harassment from the old bird.

Ahhhhhh ... thanx G'ma.

Touché

I may have found the first way to joke about Papi's top surgery.

I wanted my love to change the channel last night, but mi esposo was too busy with the tippity-tappity of a Facebook chat to respond. 

oh, no no no. you know better than that. i will not be ignored.

"Change the fucking channel or I'll poke you in the ribs."  I made a gesture that was at least 10 inches away from my love, but it worked.

"Ok!  Ok!  Just gimme a sec!  Don't come any closer!"

I crept a little closer, "I'm coming in for the kill," I said with my best Hannibal Lecter impersonation.

The channel was changed.

There was no need for me to jab an area that has left Papi without the ability to raise arms any higher than the elbow.

Aha!

I have power!

I think Papi and I both know that I would never intentionally cause any pain to mi esposo, but damn, this could be fun.

do my bidding.

After the channel was changed, and the remote handed over to me, Papi headed for the shower.  Yet mi esposo was again terrified to get in, for fear of nipples sliding down the drain.

I'm pretty sure we're past that point, but Papi hasn't really let me see them since I last saw them and gave the cringe face.

"Don't make that face!  You make me feel ugly!"

My love, it is not you that I'm cringing at.

It's the thought of stitches all around my very own nipple.  The look of the raw, red, angry looking areola that I just know must be painful.

That's what the cringe is for.

It's also for the new scars that inhabit the majority of my love's ribs.  Hell, it even took out a small portion of the sugar skull tattoo on Papi's right side.

It is not my love who I cringe at.

It is the thought of the pain.

It is the thought of how it must obviously hurt to raise those arms, because that would inevitably pull on those bitter red lines that look so precarious, they could actually just split apart with the simplest of reaches.

like changing the channel?

The tape that holds the last portion of those ruby lines is now a darkened brown.  The evidence of sacred blood escaping Papi's body.

Yes.

This is what the cringe is about:

How about you?

Does it send shivers through your stomach thinking of how it would hurt, pull, ache?

did you cringe?

It's so difficult to think of my love going through this to feel better within a body that I found already perfect.

Anyway, the point is, I am getting used to The Great Breast Disappearance.

I must be, because I found a way to torment the Tranny Terrorist, and as long as I can do that, I know I'm healing.

My next mission is dealing with the man hair that is squatting on Papi's legs.  Great black furry bristles.

"Touch them!  They are smooth and silky!"

No, Papi, I don't see the softness of female hair.

I see evidence of an F-M changing into the person I didn't marry.

hmmmm ... shave it or I'll poke you in the ribs!

Oh wait, it was me who said it would look ridiculous for a male to have shaved legs right?

Even I have troubles keeping up with my 'rules'.

I love ya, tomorrow ...

It's always better 'tomorrow'.

I'm feeling a lot more 'human' today, vs. perfect.

A few of my blogger friends reminded me that I am hard on myself, and that it's important to remember I'm human.

I'm pretty sure that my recent back injury flare up is responsible for the weakness that let the demons in to play.

I had a dream last night that the G'ma left the house and Papi and I were free to paaaaaar-tayyyy!

wooooohoooooo!!!! **fist pumps the air**

I think that's what the demons do.  When my brain can only handle so much pain, they come on in like rats searching for a meal, and I am the morsel they have a food fight with.

None-the-less, I am feeling much better emotionally today.

time to jump the next hurdle?

Papi asked me if I want to go to something called Gender Odyssey.  They have closed workshops for the spaz of a spouse/partner/lover who just can't find 'happiness' during a gender change, yet is secretly a Tranny Lover.

yeah ... that's me all right

Everyone in this particular workshop must be the gender they were born with.

So, while Papi will be out flashing The Great Breast Disappearance with all the other F-Ms, and everyone is patting each other on the back, "Way to go bro!" I'll be wallowing and sobbing with all the others who have healing to do.

I hope they're ready for me.  Oh, I'll be there in full force.  I'll more than likely be the loudest one there, but if there's one who is as frantic as I, then I will have found a new BFF.

I will also gather more people for the Trust List.

I really have a great Trust List going now.  It's actually to the point where I was confident enough this week to tell people on Facebook just what it is I've been going through for 7 months.

I posted a note inviting people to come here and ride the roller coaster.

It is mostly to reach out to people who are in the same place as I.

7 months ago, I was completely alone searching for someone, anyone who had been there.  I received closed doors and it caused me to shut down emotionally.

and perhaps burn a few bridges ...

I'm truly hoping that there is someone out there who is in need of support, and I want to be the one to give it to them.

unlike the 'support' line i called who didn't call me back for a month

However, something else happened.  Not so close friends started reading, and now it's like I've come out of the closet all over again.

hello ... i'm andréa ... and i'm a tranny lover

Here is where I realized that breaking the silence has done more for me than the aching soul I was reaching out to:

Now I don't have this green ogre of a secret to hide.

Now I can speak freely and actually tell people what the hell has been going on with me for 7 months.

and why i've been such a maniac

Now I have support in the most unlikely places.

Now I can breathe.

now i can weed out those who are beyond trans-political people who will hate me for feeling this pain, the religious zealots who already freak out about me being a lesbian, and transphobic who will delete me off facebook

The only reason I was able to do this was because of my Trust List.

I have the feeling my Trust List just grew faster than the heart of The Grinch.

Gravity

Well, it was a good few days of smiles and strength.

On this journey, you never know when the demons are going to come out to play.

They gave me a visit last night.  Through every tear, they stole my breath.

Papi had to keep reminding me to breathe.

It probably didn't help that my back had seized again.

when will this fucking injury be over and done?!?!

My love needed to express some feelings, and it just didn't sit well with me.

no shit ... my, what lovely swollen eyes you have this morning

Before The Great Breast Disappearance, mi esposo kept asking, "You're going to be able to take care of me, right?"

I really took this as being the caretaker.  I really didn't know Papi needed someone to be strong.

I was far from fierce during the week of my love's top surgery.  I was a mess in fetal position.  I couldn't even communicate to my love how hard it was, so I just continued to clean the hotel room, replace ginger ale, prepare snacks, administer drugs, fluff and arrange the pillows and drain the tubes that needed to be monitored.

I kept busy so my mind wouldn't be.

However, Papi needed someone there to be the one to be strong, but my love chose the wrong person, and also chose the wrong wording around 'taking care'.

I am feeling like a failure.  I am feeling like the wife that let down the other half of the relationship.  I am feeling embarrassed.

i am feeling like vanishing

I honestly tried with every inch of my being to be there for mi esposo.  I worked very hard at 'taking care' of my love.  Yet, there had to be time for me as well.

I learned a long time ago that I need to be there for myself just as much as other people.

Being a people pleaser, I had to learn the hard way that you can only do so much for others, then you have to save some time and space for yourself.

Nobody's going to do it for you.

So when all was taken care of for my love, I would ask, "Is there anything else you need, baby?"

My love would look at me with those dopey eyes and just squeak out, "No."

I took that as: it's my time to think.

We all know what happens when I think to much.  Demons ring my doorbell.  I usually answer, because it's a knee jerk reaction.

Tears would fall, I would record my feelings into the video camera and be true to my emotions.

Unfortunately, there was no where else to go in Fort Lauderdale where I felt safe to be a mess.

So, the hotel balcony and bathroom would be my solitude to cry, but being such a small space, it wasn't hidden from Papi.  I exposed my pain to mi esposo.

I didn't know Papi would simmer in those emotions, until the pot would begin to burn.

Communication happened and I crumbled with the weight of words.

It didn't help that the physical pain was searing through me.  Sometimes, when we have bodily pain, the mind will follow suit.

FALL IN SOLDIERS!!

So there I was.  Revisiting every piece of the pain from the Pit of Doom in that hotel room.

How can two people who are so joined in spirit have opposing feelings about the same experience?

Papi has no way of understanding how much pain I'm in, and I am utterly incapable of being the Rah-Rah-Tranny my love so needs in a wife.

We are on opposite ends of the pendulum, but I suppose even a pendulum has to swing both ways until gravity allows it to pause in the middle.

This is where my love and I will finally meet.

It's been 7 months of a journey.  Not a very long time in the scope of things.  We have a long way to go until gravity is our friend.

Tranny Lovers Anonymous

Sometimes, words can be misconstrued.

When writing from mind to page, we can mean one thing and someone else will take it as another.

Dear Papi thought I was harmed by the most recent Tranny Terrorist antics, as did an anonymous follower or two.

i'm a drama queen ... you'll have to get used to it

If you're new to my blog, I want you to know that when I'm speaking of the Tranny Terrorist, it usually means that at some point, Papi has made me laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

Yes.

This is fucking hard.

But no.

I'm not being harmed by Papi or by my love's silliness.

Mi esposo's playfulness is one of the reasons I'm still here.

I've learned a long time ago that I can heal with humour.  Papi knows this about both of us.  Our relationship is filled is laughs 'after the fact'.

i just want the 'after the fact' time to come soon ...

I am not being harmed by Papi.  Honestly, I'm being harmed by myself.

It is I who has the feelings of pain, and the only one responsible for these feelings is me.

Transgenderism is all over the world.

I sometimes put my anger into these feelings and talk about gender transformation as a fad.  This is really just a way for me to rationalize.

In Vancouver, it seems we are losing all our butches to the male transformation phenomenon.

However, this is because we're a little more forward than other places in the world.

How many straight people look at a dyke and say, "Is that a chick or a dude?"

it's a human being fuckwad.

How many people in other countries are feeling like they're born the wrong gender?

A hell of a lot.

In other countries, you'll be killed for being transgendered.  In Vancouver, you'll just have to deal with adverse emotions from your family and your partners.

hey that's me!

I love butches.

I am attracted to masculine women.

So here I am.  Married to the world's most perfect butch who ...

i found out through denial

... is going through male transformation.

I am a closet Rah-Rah-Tranny who's desperately hiding behind that door.  My knuckles are white from holding it closed, while my love is trying to open from the other side.

This is more painful than I could ever tell you.

Despite my pain, the only one responsible for these emotions is me.  I could leave any time I want to.  That would be easier, yes, but I'd miss out on living my life with a wonderful spouse that is my soul mate and very best friend.

except when i'm being ignored because papi's texting like a maniac ... it's all about me dammit!

I'm still in this marriage because I love the person who's going through the male transformation.

These tears won't kill me, so know that I'm safe, albeit I'm fucking pissed that this is my new reality.

This moment of strength was brought to you by a nice cup of dominican coffee ... stay tuned for more episodes of sifting through the pain.

Wrath of the Tranny

"I don't know why you even expected a phone call from him on your birthday anyway.  How many times has he called you since we've been together?"

I didn't have to think about it very hard, "Once."

I just received a phone call from my sister who got the worst treatment from our sperm donor.  She gets depressed and anxious every father's day.  So we chatted and what did I have to say to her?  "You don't owe him a thing.  There's nothing he did for you in your life.  Please don't feel guilty."

He never calls my sister because she won't pay for his living.

kinda like how you gave us fuck all growing up?

So, in honour of my sister, I will do my best not to feel guilty.

good fucking luck.

Good thing I have the Tranny Terrorist to keep me entertained.

Papi was thrilled, "Look at my nipples!  They're looking so much better!"

My love then proceeded to walk them straight into my face, "Lick the nips!!"

I was cringing in a corner screaming for Papi to stop.

All mi esposo did was laugh.

Yup.

This is my love.

Then I had to help Papi with the dressings, and there was a pseudo compliment, "You did good this time and you're not having a panic attack!"

Not too long after this, my love says, "I have another birthday gift for you!  Guess what day it is?!"

oh for fucks sakes.

Yup.

It's hormones day.

I hid in the bedroom sifting through Facebook friends to keep me occupied while Papi just chatted away, injecting poison into that ass.

Later on, I'm lying in bed with my love ...

feeling extremely bloated and wiped from the horrid food i ate for my birthday

... and there's this fondling of my breast going on.

No, it wasn't sexy time.  It was more like groping and mushing my breast this way and that.

"What the hell are you doing?!  You keep fucking around with my breasts!"

"I don't have mine any more so I get to play with yours."

Oh really?!

This is the new rule?

Papi also said, "You should post the gross picture for your readers to see."

ummm ... why would i want to torture you?

Ok, I suppose if I have to suffer then 'you', my imaginary friend get to see what mi esposo puts me through.  I guess you have to pay something for reading my train wreck every day.

Here ya go:

Yes.

The Tranny Terrorist was in full force for my birthday.

Happy birthday to me.

Oh, and to my dear sperm donor, enjoy your day alone.

Happy Birthday

It is indeed.

We did great last night!

One good thing about performing, is all your pain disappears for a while.

I had the most horrific brain injury moment last night however.

and no, it wasn't just the fact that i forgot to put on deodorant ...

I haven't played with my bass amplifier for over 3 years.  So, for 3 years I haven't even looked at the damn thing.

With brain injury, everything is like the first time you have ever done it.

I didn't know how to plug the cabinet into my bass guitar head.  I panicked and that makes things worse for my condition.  I can't even focus on words when I get to this point.

There I was in a world of men who will judge me already, because it's just the way it goes for female musicians.

"you're a pretty good player for a girl"

But now?  Now I have to ask one of them for help?

Now they'll laugh for sure!!!!

I told my drummer what was going on, that I was so embarrassed, and that I didn't want to ask any of them for help.

He told me not to be silly and explain the situation.

So I did.

Turns out, someone actually plugged something into the socket I was supposed to be using, causing me to not be able to understand that 'output' was for me.  It was already taken.

They didn't laugh.  They just helped me.  They were so wonderful.  Then I brandished my abilities and they had new found respect for me.

yes, i CAN play. i'm not just a dumb blonde

At the show, Papi had a few trannies to hang out with.  One that we haven't seen in a while, because he held a grudge against my love.

But last night?

Jeeeeeeezus!

Couldn't get a word in edge wise with either of them once they started yacking.

Then it happened.

The Tranny Terrorist came out to play.

Papi lifted up the shirt to exploit The Great Breast Disappearance.

I just about died!

There I was writhing and yelling, "No, no no no no!!!  You can't do that Papi!!!"

They all just laughed and pointed their attention to my love.

Apparently, mi esposo had been flashing people all night.  Everyone wanted to see.

what kinda sick fucks are you all?!?!?

I just cringed.

Papi was proud.

It's so strange how we both live in different head spaces with all of this.

Anyway, that was really the last I saw of Papi all night.  My love was too busy talking tranny talk with a rekindled friendship.

It pleased me so much that this harmony was being experienced on my night.

It truly was a magical night.

Right down to the standing ovation we got.

Hell.

Fucking.

Yeah.

HECTOR's back bitches!

Happy Birthday to me.

Trannies on Trikes.

Excuse me if today's post is all over the map.

It's a direct reflection of how my mind is right before a gig.

I'm a loon before every performance.  Papi asked me, "Are you ok?  You're being very strange.  Like half the other women I've dated."

No.

I'm not quite right.

I was frustrated that I don't get my hugs.

fucking heal so i can have my hugs dammit!

I got really bitchy because my love wanted to go into the Dykes on Bikes for the Gay Pride parade.  "You can't have it both ways though!  If you want to denounce every bit of your female side, then you can't just go and ride in the parade as a dyke.  You don't want to be one anymore."

I think Papi was a little shocked, but then, "But the fags go and other F-Ms go as well."

"My personal opinion is that the fags are closer to feeling like a dyke than the F-Ms.  I just personally think it's not fair.  You can't just get rid of your female side then expect to take it back when it suits you."

It really took my love aback.

I think it hurt Papi's feelings.

But it hurts my feelings that I'm losing every piece of the butch I fell in love with and married.  I suppose this is my way of punishing Papi?  Maybe?

You took this from me, so I'm taking that from you.

such logic.

Papi should make a parade segment called Trannies on Trikes.  That would be good.

I don't even want to be in the parade.  I feel like we're no longer a lesbian couple, so we don't deserve to be in that portion of the parade.

Men get all the privilege in the world.  Give the women their time.

But yes, I'm probably feeling extra sensitive about this because of the show tonight.

When I was a kid, for a week before every piano recital you couldn't even talk to me without tears rolling down my face.

I wanted solitude.

I wanted to play my piano all day and hide in the music.  It was my drug.

But people were always around.  Mother, sister and all the friends.  Couldn't escape anyone.

I feel like that that past couple of days.

Just don't bother talking to me.  I'm preparing for a show.

eek!

I truly am excited.  It's just so nerve racking because it's the first one since the accident.  The first of anything since the accident makes me crazy.  Then I do it, and everything is fine.

Mission accomplished!!!!

Hey, I got an award from a lovely blogger friend Stella:

Whadda'ya say this is my look for the show tonight?

A little Courtney Love mixed with Andréa?

:)

Maybe not.  I'll be dragging out the black pretty soon.

Ok.

Gotta go practise.

It's really all about my hair.

It's not good for a house to be ignored by 2 people.

That mess that I thought I had under control is pure mayhem.  It's so bad I don't know where to begin.  That is of course, if I can pick things up with this bloody back being a pisser.

Whatever.

It really doesn't matter until Saturday.

Today is all about rehearsal and making sure my Honkey 'Fro is going to behave itself for my performance tomorrow.

Yes.

I have to start a day ahead ...

hehe a head

... to get this 'fro to work out.  I will have to suffer through the fluffies today, then tomorrow it will be happy getting it's second dose of wax.

It would be worse if I was still using shampoo.

I haven't used shampoo since Papi dropped the male transformation bomb on me in November.

During that blow, I wouldn't wash my hair.  I would lie in the tub exposing only my nose for air, wishing the drain would expand enough to fit me in, washing me away with the water.

That was when I discovered my hair is so much happier without shampoo.

is that my fucking silver lining?  hair?!?!?

I just hope that our fans will even be feeling like coming out on Friday.

to see my hair

I'm not sure where my readers will be reading from on this calm Thursday, but last night our downtown core had a riot.

Our local hockey team didn't win the Stanley Cup, so like spoiled brats stomping their feet accompanied by a lip sticking out, young males destroyed our downtown core.

Honestly though, these are the same cretin who tried to start a widespread riot during the Olympics.  These are the same idiots who travel from town to town with the intention of spreading violence and hate to vent their immature frustration.

maybe they should try blogging

They have a choice to riot about our crappy Prime Minister and all the cuts he's giving to our education, health and seniors.

But nooooooooo.  They choose hockey.

The simpletons rioting last night weren't hockey fans.  The true fans cheered on the opposition with well deserved regard when they won the cup.

Those are the Canadians we'd like to be associated with.

The rioters actually brought in their own vehicle to destroy, to begin the proceedings of the riot.

It worked.

Our city is embarrassed and shamed that this is what we had to show the world at the end of a well played season.

I'm not a hockey fan per se, but it was a nice excuse to get together with friends and cheer on our team.  The feeling of oneness in our city is a good heart feeling.  It was just like during the Olympics when everyone rallied in pride.

I wasn't a fan of the Olympics either, but to feel that patriotic movement was enough to make me feel honoured to be a Canadian.

There was no pride last night.

So I wonder?

Will people who are disgusted with this showing of moronic values even feel like going out on Friday for our CD Release celebration?

We'll find out.

All I know is, my hair will be ready.

Anxiety du jour

I think if the wind changes I get anxiety.

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to see what they've told me since I was a kid.

I remember my aunt and I having a conversation about hippies.  I was saying how I liked the hippy mentality that their generation got to grow up with.  "If I was growing up in that time I think I'd be a hippy too."

My aunt laughed, "You're too stressed out to be a hippy."

I was about 12.

And stressed out.

It's a miracle that I haven't given myself an ulcer.

Today's freak out?

My gig on Friday.

Papi's male transformation, 5 foot clitoris and top surgery are all old news.

I'm shaking about the show.  The CD Release party is going to be fun I'm sure, but while I'm hobbling around like an 80 year old because of my recent back spasm flair up, I'm not feeling like a rockstar.

It hurts just to sit and play my bass.

I know that once I'm up on the stage, the adrenaline will kick in and pain will be so far from my mind that I'll think I've been healed!!!

That is, of course, up until the ado is done with.

I'll then go back to using the handicap sign for parking the car at the store until my fucking back tells me it's ok to act my age again.

Don't get me wrong.  My anxiety about Papi's male transformation is not over with.

Oh no, don't be ridiculous.

Last night my love informed me that one of the nipples is not doing too well and it hurts.  At that point, I had visions of a half nippled flat chest.

You know?

Worst case scenario.

i'm such a spaz!!!

Regardless of how I feel angst over The Great Breast Disappearance, I still want the best for my love.  I still want mi esposo to heal and feel confidence in Papi's body.

There is nothing worse than feeling like you're not right.

I get it practically every time I look in the mirror.

will i ever get the perfection i strive for?

My love had a dream the other night that I was fondling those nipples and one of them fell off.

I laughed so hard at the make believe story, then freaked out because it could happen!!!

Papi was told by Dr. Scissorhands that during the healing my love can't face the water from the shower because the nipples could come off!

Can you imagine being in the shower and watching one of them drop to the tub floor then whirl around in the drain as you scramble to grab it, but you can't because your hands are all soaped up and the nipple is slippery so you watch it slide down the drain with the bubbles it's surrounded in?!?!?

I can.

Worst case scenario.

complete with the impact of a run on sentence and no breathing ...

Anyway, back to the anxiety du jour.

I'm really really really nervous.

It's like it was when I first started performing.  I was so nervous for every show that I'd almost be sick.  Well, I was sick out the back end, but I'm sure you didn't need those details.

After years of performing, I got to the point that it was a small flutter in my stomach and then I would hop on that stage and go to town like I never had an adverse nerve in my life.

Back to square one.

I don't recommend anyone being off performing for a few years.  Don't do it.

patience patients ...

People pleaser.

That's what some of us become when we've felt that we need to be loved more.  It never really works though.  You just come across as needy.

Then there's the other end of the pendulum:

Selfishness.

At that point, you come across as someone who nobody really wants to be around.  However, you attract the people pleasers and your bidding is done.

Balance is really the key to everything in life.  It really is the most important rule to remember.

So, here I am lying in bed because I've put my back out.  I'm pretty sure it's because I tried so hard to keep up with the demands brought upon me that I stressed myself out to a point where my back had to take all the flack.

I know I can't afford this kind of stress.  I know that my injuries are affected by it, but when you're in the throws of insanity, it's hard to recall anything you're 'supposed' to.

hello brain injury. fuck my memory sucks.

I frantically ran around getting everything done.  I was quite grateful for the extra cardio as my heart would pound out of my chest from going up and down the stairs so many times and scratching another item off the list.

Alas, the caretaker has become the patient.

Poor Papi.  My love was thinking that there would be a wife at home who'd be the caretaker.

Wrong.

Now I'm flat on my back asking for Papi's help.

My love has to change all the dressings alone.  But then again, mi esposo told me it's easier without me.

Papi also told me I'm too much of a stress case to be around.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if my anxiety over this transgender journey actually drove away Papi?  Imagine if I wound up single and divorced after all I went through to try to stick this marriage out amidst a male transformation.

I would crumble.

time to take a look at that...

I just need some downtime from this brain.  I really need to have a simple life with a simple job and a simple relationship.

gimme a break

I'm sure Papi could use a breather from my anxiety too.

The common denominator is me.

How do I do this though?  How do I just stop the anxiety and have a hiatus from this brain, which in turn will give Papi some time out too?

My love doesn't understand how this could affect me, "I didn't do this to you.  It's not about you."

My broken record response, "But you're changing my life by changing you."

When you marry someone, two hearts become one.  So, yes, this is happening to me too.

You know when hell has frozen over and you look back and laugh?

I need that time to come now.

I need to get off this emotional roller coaster.  The slides down that hill aren't as fun as they used to be.  How about we just play on the bumper cars for a little while?

one day at a time.

I'm so tired and broken, but I need my beautiful relationship back.

It's hard when you can't even hug your soul mate, because there's a barrier of stitches, gauze, tape and pain.

At least we can hold hands.  I still feel Papi's love through those strong hands.

Who loves you baby?

Ok.

So I've calmed down a bit.

Papi doesn't like me helping with the changing of dressings, because of my panic attacks, "It's just a little easier without you **emulate sound here** all over the place."

I just try so hard to help and be of support to my love.

However, right now maybe I need to be of support to myself?

You know when things are just so brutal that you can't even take care of yourself?  That's where I am right now.

I managed to get the tattoo infection under control, then just ignored it.

Seriously.

Haven't done anything to help it heal for 2 days.

This is not like me.

I am usually an avid brace cleaner.  I like these like metal rods with magic teeth straightening powers to be treated with as much care as possible.

Last night I didn't even bother brushing my teeth.

At least I'm eating.  For me, that's the biggest one.  If I don't eat, the world suffers.

Truly.

Everyone around me will feel the wrath of Andréa if I don't eat.

So, I supposed you could say I'm doing that for everyone else as well.

Somewhere in there, I have to start looking at me.

It's a little tough though, because I have a tranny, 5 animals and a 95 year old to take care of first.  Not to mention 11 hour shifts to get through on top of it.

Oh, and don't forget practising for the CD Release on Friday night.

Then there's father's day coming up.  I'm in a tizzy because of that too.  The obligation of calling that person who has never cared for me from the age of 10 upward.

Perhaps that's who I learned this from.

That I don't really matter.

If my own father doesn't care, then maybe I'm not worth it.

thanx dad.

It sucks having a deadbeat dad, but it also sucks being someone who has a heart.  I actually care about him and feel sorry for him that he ruined his life.

I don't like the feeling of 'obligation' to this person, but nobody else is going to care for him, because he hasn't cared for anyone but himself his whole life.

Maybe he should call ME on father's day.

He could say to me, "Happy father's day, and I'm sorry I was never there and I love you."

dream on ...

That's a really nice fantasy.

My birthday is the day before father's day.

I doubt I'll even get a phone call.

think about something else now ...

So, I suppose now that I've identified what it is I'm doing to myself I have to change it.

No point in just looking at it.

Ok.

So now I'm going to go do something for myself.

silence ...

I don't even know where to begin.

update:
just threw my back out.  guess i get that 'slow down' day after all 

Next

Flu?

Stress?

Top surgery dressings?

One, or all, of the above has my stomach feeling like I've gone for a ride on the tilt-a-whirl.

won't stop this avid eater from breakfast and my coffee

Everything hit with a bang yesterday.  The 95 year old g'ma is back with full force, and Papi is back with souvenirs from Dr. Scissorhands.

There came my love, strolling out of the airport gate holding bags!!!  For gawd's sake!  Mi esposo is not supposed to be holding things!!!

Then Papi says, "I'm in a lot of pain."

No fucking shit?!?!?

Apparently I told my love to carry things.  If I did, it was when I said, "If you MUST carry things, make sure you have even weight and don't try using anything other than your forearms to adjust."

Papi came out with a camera bag, a computer bag and a souvenir bag all held in front of mi esposo's chest!

Not good.

Something that was awkward for me though, was witnessing the lack of my love's chest.

Flat.

That men's dress shirt was hanging the way it was intended.

My love looked handsome.

I was so thrilled to see Papi and have a feeling of seeing mi esposo as gorgeous.

When we got home, my love needed to change the dressings.  Papi didn't want me to see, "I don't want you to think I'm ugly."

This broke my heart.

As I was trying to get Papi to calm down, I had to stroke my love's arms and say, "I want to heal you.  I want to be the one to take care of your wounds and be the one to heal them.  Please let me help you."

My love is not very good with pain or blood.  I'm fine with pain, I'm getting used to it now, but blood?

Nope.

Not my thing.

However, because Papi's worse at it, I had to step up to the plate.

Papi was wiggling all over the place in anticipation of me taking off the old dressings.  It was so much work getting mi esposo to sit still, that the terror of seeing what I'm most afraid of wasn't even an issue.

When I saw the healing incisions, I was surprised that I didn't have a moment of tears.  I did have a few mini panic attacks, but nothing I couldn't deal with.

Mami kicked in, and I took control of taking care.

I had nausea and was terrified of hurting my love, but I did it and it felt good to help mi esposo.

It looked very strange.

Foreign.

It's going to take some time to get used to, but I really think that helping my love heal will also heal my heart.

On to the next hurdle of denial.

The teenager today had a few thoughts, "Maybe Papi will just be good with this and it will be enough.  Maybe there doesn't have to be a full male transformation.  Maybe it's all done now.  Maybe I can just have a flat chested butch."

I'm sorry little one.

You're still not getting it are you?

You've married a tranny.

Heal.

So, my drummer says to me, "You're just someone who attracts chaos," he added, "the most peace I've ever seen you in is when you got off eating wheat."

Yes.

I have food allergies, and wheat definitely makes me a bit of a coo-coo for coco puffs.  But seriously?  That's the most peace he's seen me in?  That was just the beginning of being able to think clearly.

In the 16 years that I've known him, this is what he remembers as my life changing experience?

mr., you don't remember how much better it got when i got clean 'n sober?!

I really thought that I had a much more peaceful life now.  It's really all I strive for is no chaos, drama, pain, or whatever else comes up.

I honestly thought when I married Papi that we'd just stroll down that path to happily ever after.

oh the fairy tales we conjure ...

Well, I suppose that path is a little bit more uneven and has a few boulders to crawl over.

Yet still, we're doing it together.

Another thing my drummer said to me was, "You just have to take responsibility for your chaos.  Accept it as is.  It's just what it is for you.  That's your life."

"But I don't want the chaos.  I keep trying to get away from it and have a calm life."

"Somewhere in there you're used to it and you want the familiarity."

it's that fucking teenager!!!!  it's her!!!  i know it!!!

I guess I can look back on my life and see that it truly is like a cloud that follows me.  It just hangs over my head and there's not much I can do to shake it.

At least now I can laugh at myself.

That is of course, once I get past the turmoil that is the current day pain.

Yup.

I surely do look back and I say to myself, "What the fuck was that all about?!?!?"

Does that mean I really want all the ridiculous life experiences?

I don't know.  Maybe it will make for a good book.  I will be turning this current journey into a book.  Maybe I need to make one for my whole life?  It certainly would be an interesting read.

to all you people who wish your life was a little more exciting ... no you don't.  enjoy your calm.

Or maybe I just need my own reality show.  Maybe I need to turn that documentary I'm making into a pitch for some hairbrained station like Fox or MTV.

ok ... seriously ... why the hell is mtv even ASSOCIATED with music anymore?!?!?

All I know is, the adult it me truly does not want this hurt.

Last night my stomach twisted and turned in anticipation of my love coming home and seeing the wreckage.

I'm shaking and it's not the coffee.

The person in me who loves Papi like there was no tomorrow wants to be the one to heal my love's wounds.

I want to change the dressings and help mi esposo heal.  I want to clean the incision so that I feel like I'm responsible for alleviating this disaster.

I want to mend my love.

Maybe in turn, I will find some restoration for myself?

Could be.

You really do have to give love away to receive it.

And that fucking teenager is just going to have to deal with it.

I really wish she'd just shut the fuck up.

Gawd she's annoying.

mess.

They say the state of your home is a direct reflection of your state of mind.

Right now?

This couldn't be more accurate.

You could really say that I've been out of my home for a month, with a bout of 3 days work between.

I made it through the last 2 days of work, but now I'm looking at everything I have to get done in a week and it's not pretty.

I have so much practising to do for our CD release party on the 17th!  I'm in dire need of some strong fingers after a month away from my instrument!

so the best thing to do is procrastinate and write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I also have to get the cd burned within a week ...

gawd i hope they will do a rush job

... get my promo done and somehow make some sense of this house that looks like a hoarder has moved in. 

oh! i got to drop off a real live one yesterday at work. it was something to behold!

Clothes strewn, 2 days of dishes in disarray, tumbleweeds of dog and cat fur everywhere and then there's my honky fro.  It's turning into natty dreads alright.

Oh, and the cat litter is almost extinct, so you can imagine how nice that must be for the cats to be doing business in only a few inches of sand.  Not to mention, the smell.

So, is this reflecting my state of mind?

Hell ya.

Papi comes home tomorrow.  I miss my love terribly, but I'm so scared to see the end result.

Mi esposo said I don't have to look at it.  Does this mean there won't be anymore visions of my naked Papi running around the house?

No, I think not.  My love is a streaker for sure.  I won't be coddled from the view of the new Papi.

My mind is an absolute mess from thinking of everything that has to be done and the emotions that I'm experiencing.

This house has got nothing on me.  I win the disaster game.

I'm also in the process of working on a scar on my face.  The stress has made me find a little spot to pick on my cheek.

Do you think I can tell myself to leave it alone?  Nooooooooooooo.

I can't remember the movie, but there's an artist who was pals with ...

oh fuck here we go ... brain injury alert ... not even going to try to remember names right now.

oh! got it!

... Andy Warhol and he would just pick at that scab and it got bigger and bigger.  I'm pretty sure that's what I'm doing here.

gonna look hot for the release party for shoooooo-er

Then there's the mirror dysphoria.  There is a girl in the mirror that is much bigger than my jeans tell me.

Mess?

You betcha.

I can't wait to see my love tomorrow.  I realized something over the past few days upon returning without Papi.  Something that I've never felt.

I need my love.

I've never really needed anyone before.  I've never had someone in my life that can take this mess of a femme and calm me down.  I've never had someone who understands my insanity and doesn't run for the hills.

My love is good for me.

I need mi esposo almost as much as I love mi esposo.

would you leave that fucking scab alone for fucks sakes?!?!?!

Ok.

I'm going to go tackle the first thing on my list.

Oh, did I tell you my tattoo is infected?  Niiiiiiiiiiiiice.

Grow baby Grow

Here's what I'm learning.

I was petrified during The Countdown, because I didn't know what to expect.

I was terrified when Papi told me there was a male transformation in my future.

I was paralyzed with fear of seeing the 5 Foot Clitoris.

I shook with nausea when hormones started, because I thought my love would change into the hideous person I had in my mind's eye.

All of it was fear of the unknown.

This is what I'm afraid of.

Now, in 2 more sleeps, I pick up mi esposo from the airport.  I'm feeling as though I may pass out from the fear of what I'll see now that the bandages are taken off, and the tubes are gone.

I have to face it head on.  I have to actually see it now.

I'm sick to my stomach, I'm shaking, I'm not dealing with it very well.

I'm at my threshold.  This right here is my limit.

This is why I couldn't handle the flight from hell.

This.

Will all be fine after I witness my love's transformation.

This I know.

So far, the ground hasn't opened up and swallowed me whole.  So far, I haven't died from fear.  So far, I've dealt with every single blow and got back up swinging.

I can cry all I want right now, because I know that it's only fear of the unknown.

does that make it any easier?

I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be sick.

I just wish that my logic would tell that part of my brain that's disturbed to calm down.

I honestly feel like that possessed child on the plane that was out of control.

minus the thrashing about ... i really could though ... nobody would know

I'll maintain my composure like I always do.  I'll fool everyone around me that 'I'm ok'.  I'll get busy at work and distract that horrid brain wave that is telling me I won't make it through.

breathe ...

My day today should be MUCH better than yesterday.  Today is tomorrow.  I love tomorrow.  It's always so much better than today.

Here's a tiny bit of positive though; I actually had a moment of joy for Papi.  A moment where I could feel happiness for my love.  I had a moment of allowing mi esposo the glee, and in turn I felt it for my love.

Possibly excitement for Papi?

Whatever that feeling is that I was experiencing, the nasty part of my brain that still wants to act like a teenager stomped her feet, clenched her fists and stuck that lip out further than it's ever pouted.

"NO!!!!  You may not feel those happy thoughts.  You're pissed off dammit!"

Gawd she's a pain in the fucking ass.

When the hell is she ever going to grow up?!?!?!?!?

I suppose I should give her these next few days of grieving and anger.  She's going to have to deal with it when the unveiling comes.

shock, horror

I'm a mess.

And I thought The Countdown was for the surgery.

Nope.

It's still fucking going.

Pardon me while I go ralf.

that was a waste of a good coffee.

oh my fucking gawd.

If I thought the family from hell was bad?

That was just the appetizer.

I'm not home yet.  I'm supposed to be home.  Here's proof that I'm playing in the devil's sandbox.

and yes.  i mean the one he shits in.

I managed to ditch the herd of 'seriously would you leave me alone!', and was greeted by a 3 year old who was in need of an exorcism.

He was flailing like a fish and every time he would spasm, my chair shook like the aircraft was going down.

Oh, and the squealing for 4 hours straight?  Like a dying fucking pig.

I thought, oh well, got the fucker out on the first flight.  Now to go home.

I tried to buy the cigarettes Papi wanted me to buy for a friend at duty free, but hey, they wouldn't sell them to me.

Why?

Because my mother fucking flight was canceled.

Yes.

Canceled.

I tried to call Papi for support, but it sounded like my love had an extra dose of pain meds while I was away.

Now I had to catch a flight to San Fransisco, then a flight in the a.m. at 7.

Now, San Fran is lovely, but not when you're at a hotel at 1:30 a.m. waiting in line with the rest of the refugees who are all just as bitchy as me.

It took a good half hour just to get to the man who would give me my room.

I got an hour's sleep.

is the airport moving? or am i already on a plane? something's moving.

The best fucking part after my 1 hour sleep and no food?

I'm greeted by the kiosk at Air Canada who's setting up.

deja fucking vooooo

Now the man at the counter is telling me that United lied and that I don't have luggage.

Where's my luggage?

No fucking idea.

You think he'd help?  No.  He told me not to start his day like this.

I thanked him for his congeniality ...

can you taste the sarcasm? he certainly did as he told me to go away

... and headed to security.

They were also just setting up.  I'm pretty sure that by now I could be employed by the airlines.  I know how to put papers in machines and move around the barriers.

I decided to cry.  That makes everything so much better.  When I cry, I look old 'n ugly.  I'm sure to get preferential treatment looking like a hag.

Who was I greeted by at this line up?

Bible-fucking-thumper who told me to pray, and my luggage would appear.

really? this is candid camera right?!?

I'm pretty sure the look I gave her was enough to put the fear of Andréa in to her psyche, because she stopped and won't even look at me anymore.

are my horns showing?

Mission fucking accomplished.

i'm really sure the room is moving ...

I'll get home in enough time to go to my 11 hour shift.

Envy me?

Like salt to the fucking wound.

The Epiphany

Miami, Florida airport.

Family from hell.

No matter where I go to escape them, all 9 of them find me.  Yes, they're sitting right across from me at the gate.

I actually chose a seat that they wouldn't be able to sit next to me, and I figured they wouldn't want to occupy only 3 seats with all their bags and a double stroller.

WRONG.

The fucking family from hell are all squeezed into one small area.

I swear to gawd, if there is one, then there is a fucking devil, and he followed me from the hotel just to try to get under my skin for the last few moments of this fucking journey.

I felt as though I had shaken the demons today.

I had no tears and I had some smiles.

It feels so sad leaving Papi alone at the hotel.  The rest of mi esposo's healing has to be done alone.  No help from the over-doting wife.

I'm sure my love will do ok.  It's probably just the tail end of my emotions tugging at me.  I won't get to see mi esposo again for 4 more sleeps.

I'm quite afraid of what I'll see when Friday comes.  By that point, Papi will have all the bandages off and be rid of the draining paraphernalia.

I had a nightmare about it last night.

I dreamed that my love's nipples were really high above where they were supposed to be.  There were also really hideous scars that were jagged and in really bad directions.

So, I suppose that's worst case scenario.  Dr. Scissorhands of Florida is touted as the best in his field.  I'm sure he did a fine job.  I'm sure it's just my demons coming out to play while I sleep.

fuckers will get me wherever they can.

My love put a picture of the wreckage up on Facebook today.  I'm dying!!!  It's so awful for me to see that on the page where I go to communicate with mi esposo.  It's too much.

I want only to see Papi's gorgeous face.

Just like in the calendar of ugly mugs, I personally don't see why anyone would want to expose this as a picture of pride.

But Papi is different than me.

Here's a wonderful moment however!!

I have figured out how to get around using a male pronoun for Papi.  I don't ever have to say 'he'!

EVER!!

If I use my love's first initial, 'E', then it sounds like I'm saying 'he'.

At the tattoo shop yesterday ...

yes ... of course i got a souvenir ... who the hell are we talking about here?!

... they all called Papi a 'he'.  If i had have said 'she', they would have looked at me like I was the one on Vicodin.

So, when Mr. Bare-Beerbelly Tattoo-Man asked, "Now, where has he gone?"

I simply answered, "E's in the washroom."

It struck me then that it really did sound like 'he'!!!

I'm good now!!!

I don't ever, ever have to use that fucking pronoun that to date has made me feel like my skin is crawling with slugs.

ahhhhhhhhhh ... denial is a beautiful thing, no?

It's all good.

Hello new day ...

You know when you wake yourself up snoring?  It's always that quick honk and then you're thrown into consciousness.

I get to watch Papi do this frequently.  It's pretty funny.

I love the shocked look on my love's face and that gaze of, "What the fuck just happened here!?!?!?"

My love is getting better.  More coherent.  More energetic.

Papi's eyes are focusing better now that mi esposo's blood is getting used to the pills that are being administered.

another snort

This is good for both of us.  My love feels stronger and I get to have moments of support.

I was a real mess yesterday.  I think that was the worst of it.  Either that or it will just come in waves.

Yesterday I feared that the demons were pulling me into the Pit of Doom for an extended holiday.  I had visions of crying for 6 weeks like I did when Papi first dropped the male transformation bomb on me.

However, today is a new day.  I'll look for some strength today.  I'll need to pull it out of the nooks that it's hiding in.

It's the only way to combat the demons with their sharp talons around my heart.

I was able to chat on Facebook with a couple of Trust List friends, and one who had some reminders for me.  One of them is that I'm not in a familiar environment and that it could be adding to the anxiety.

I think we all know how well I adapt to change.

I'm like a fucking cat.  But unlike The Bastard Prince, I'm not about to go pee on the bed to show my disdain.

no ... i'll just cry perpetually ... it's way more classy

I'm just grateful Papi had enough zip so that we both were able to have emotional support.  We both got to talk about our side of the pain.

My love is also having adverse feelings, because most of the people Papi knows has a wife/partner/lover who is a Rah-Rah-Tranny and is thrilled to have their person go through with this.

I just can't understand the way these people think, because I'm so far on the other side of the pendulum.

Papi wishes I could be that person, so that my love would feel excitement and joy in the room.  I can imagine how it feels to be living in a perpetual funeral, because I've been living in it myself since November.

i'm so sorry my love ... i'm just so fucking sorry

None-the-less, we had a good hour of processing before my love started to drift off to Never Never Land in a Vicodin haze.

snort ...

Between my chats online and my chat with Papi, I woke up feeling a tiny bit less teary eyed.  I can still feel the pain in my chest as it inches it's way to my eyes to expose itself to the world.  I'm holding it back as much as possible.

The last thing I need is to fall into another depression.

I've got too much to work on with all the shows coming up to be fucking around in the Pit of Doom.

Hello day.

Let's see if I can make it through today's grieving without tears.

We all know crying makes you look fat and ugly.

The video of this experience is definitely proof of this.

Oh gawd.  Do I really want to show the world how bad I can look?

I wish I were a wave.

I don't want to play.

I'm right on the ocean, but I don't want to play with my vast blue friend.

I only went to visit and say hi.  I walked where the water met the sand, with just enough love from the sea to hold my feet.

Every step was erased, vanished like I never even existed.

Each crest would invite me to come let nature lick my wounds, but I just said no.

I could feel the water pulling me with every crash of every crest.

The crests know how to live life.  They feel the drama of movement, they allow it to pull them into oblivion, and then they just let it all go, dissipating into the earth.

I wish I were a wave.

The walk along the sea was supposed to make me feel better, but I only felt more lonely.

I don't have Papi to talk to.  I just take care of my love.  I don't receive the usual hugs and kisses I need to know that I'll get through this.

I feel so alone and empty.

I just want to hold Papi.

I want to spoon.

I want to hear my love's heartbeat in my ear when my head is laying on that chest.

It will be a lot less cushiony now.

I can't sit on the bed to be near mi esposo.  The movement, shaking the bed disturbs my love and it brings pain.

I sit alone on a separate lounging char to attempt conversation on Facebook with my Trust List.

When I eat, my back is toward Papi.  I sit at the desk and stare out the window.

I feel as though we're strangers.  I feel as there is no connection.

I need connection, physical touch and energy from mi esposo.

I'm so sad, and I really can't understand why.

My mind is so fragmented.  My thoughts are so random.  My heart is so stagnant.

I wish I were a wave.

One good thing about walking alone the beach today, was nobody knew I was crying behind those sunglasses.

Nobody could see my pain, loneliness and anxiety.

Everyone was concerned with their tans, children and sucking in their abs.

I was as invisible as my footsteps that were washed away to the sea.

I wish I were a wave.

Wash me to the sea.

mmmm ... clonazepam ...

I thought I was doing ok.

But I started cleaning.

Now, cleaning isn't all that bad you'd think, but I'm not the kind of person who just cleans for fun.  I'm a slob.  I'm not dirty, but I'm a 'drop everything where it is' kinda person.

I'm also a 'let's just leave that until tomorrow' gal.  Why do today what you could put off til tomorrow if it feels like there's something better to do.

So, cleaning really only happens when I'm either p.m.s.ing or I'm disturbed.  Crazy enough to need the distraction of dish soap and recycling organization.

Papi asked me, "What are you doing with all the cleaning and running around?!"

I had to lie.  "I'm just cleaning up because you can't do anything and I'd like to stay on top of it."

Papi is pretty much incapacitated and I'm needing to really take care of my love.  But I fear I'm not doing a good enough job.

i'll never be good enough for me

This is so hard to do.  I'm torn between just wanting to help Papi and just crumble because it's happened.

I want to just hold my love, but thre's pain there and I can't disturb mi esposo.  Just bumping the bed is creating pain for my beloved.

I have to sit in a different chair, nowhere near my love.  It's like I'm completely banished from Papi's space.

This is hard.  I just want to hold my love and make Papi feel better.  The only thing I can do is bring liquids, tidbits of food, check to see if the drainage is working and help my love sit up.

I feel that I need a little bit of love from mi esposo, but that's completely unrealistic, because Papi needs me to be there 100%.

it's not about me

I just want to be held.  I want my tears to be acknowledged.  I want someone to tell me it's going to be ok.

So, I stuff those feelings down with organic treats I searched for and found in this beautiful beach area of Fort Lauderdale.

The only problem is, I'm feeling so horrible about myself.  The demons of eating disorder are rearing their ugly scum sucking heads.

The mirror is being cruel again.  It's showing me some awful images and I know what it's about.  I have no control over this situation.  I feel helpless.  I feel out of control.

The only thing I can control is my weight.

There's a problem however; I no longer damage myself with starvation.  I allow the mirror to spew those vicious images at me and accept that it's all in the eye of the beholder.

I ate my healthy lunch and dinner.  I ate my desert of Dominican chocolate.

But the feelings I have about myself get worse.  Those words fill my head, "Why do you do this to yourself?!  You're only going to look more obese if you eat this food!!!"

I try my hardest to shut them up, but they echo.  They rebound off the walls of my brain to be revisited over and over again.

They have a gym here in the hotel.  That will help.  Exercise in the morning will lift my spirits and hold off the Pit of Doom of my eating disorder.

control.

No way for me to deal with this other than to just accept that this has happened.  It's all over.

My butch is 2/3 of the way gone.

My F-M is leading the way.  The majority is ruling. 

control.

My love said, "You look so sad and so fucked up."

"I am so sad and so fucked up.  My emotions are on turbo freak and I can't even handle simple things.  I also feel like I"m not doing a good enough job taking care of you."

Papi decided to share drugs with me.  A clonazepam with happy little anxiety ridding chemicals.

Meds do have a place in this world.  It allowed me to stop feeling like I was going to implode.

I wish I could do it on my own.  Alas, I can't.

But thank gawd meds are in this world.

Poof! Just like that!

It's all over.

The Countdown has ended.

Papi's sleeping now, and it's very eerie.  My love is twitching and whimpering, breathing hard and sometimes puffing.

It's not mi esposo's usual sleep pattern.

But then again, it's not every day that Papi goes under the knife.  Not to mention, sleeps partially sitting up.

You know when a dog runs in it's sleep?  It makes those noises that sound like a partial cry.  I always look at it like they're chasing and barking at rabbits.

This is similar, only it does sound like more of a cry.

I think I even heard 'no' a couple of times.

Poor thing.

It was an agonizing time waiting for them to allow me to see Papi.  I'm not sure why they don't let loved ones be the first face patients see.  I'm pretty sure my love would have wanted it to be me, but Papi got the nurse who helped my love to a pseudo La-Z-Boy chair.

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the wait.

I just kept thinking, "This can't really be happening."  It was too surreal.  There were waves of nausea coupled with moments of distress.

It was just a bit too much at times.

Papi was telling me about all the F-Ms that were there the day before, along with their Rah-Rah-Tranny spouses/partners/lovers.  My love told me how happy they all were.

yeah?  well, they all haven't met THIS femme yet.

Today there was an F-M waiting for their person to come out.  He smiled at me with an excited stare of, "Isn't this a great moment?!?  Isn't it exciting?!?!"

I smirked not wanting to be rude.  It's the most I could pull out of my ass, so as to not look like I was going to cry.  I'm sure I came across as an aloof bitch.

whatever.

My love kept asking me if I was ok.

was i 'ok'?

My stomach kept turning, and the flooding of emotions kept pulling me in an undertow like the ocean we have a beautiful view of from our hotel.

breathe ...

When I finally was cleared to see Papi, the first thing I did was giggle.  The face of my love waking up has nothing on the 'post-op face'.

This was a gem of an expression.

It really broke the spell of doom for me.

Papi seemed so fragile.  I've never seen my love like this.  I wanted to hold mi esposo, but there was an obvious look of pain that stopped me.

All I could do was hold a finger.

I held that digit with all my love, caring and adoration.

I kept looking at my love's much smaller chest area.

they're gone ... they're really gone ... breathe ...

Now the care taking was coming into play.  The nurse had to show me how to drain the tubes from my love.

I just about tossed my cookies.

breathe ... 

There was blood to deal with, and I'm not so good with that kind of stuff, but I keep checking every 2 hours like I'm supposed to and get ready for the job.

I lovingly help Papi with sips of ginger-ale and chicken broth.

I made it through and I'm still here with my most of my sanity.

This didn't kill me.  My mind isn't completely blown yet.

The science experiment of life continues ...

Vancouver Airport

It really is a nice airport.

I was up and out the door by 4:10.

Good thing I got to the airport 3 hours before my flight, so that I could watch the kiosk people arrive, set up and put new paper in their machines.

Seriously!?!?

It's 4:30 in the morning and I have to wait until 5:00 before the workers show up?

THEN DON'T BOOK THE FLIGHT SO FUCKING EARLY YOU BASTARDS

Ok.

So, maybe I'm a wee bit cranky after only have 4 hours sleep, which was after working 11 hours on only 6 hours sleep.

Maybe the fact that I'm a 'wee' bit stressed has something to do with my crankiness too.

All I know is, I've take a 'sleepytime' pill and when that seat hits me in the ass, I'm hoping I'll be out like stink.

However, I'm in an aisle seat.  Not the best seat in the house to fall asleep in.

I hope I'm not beside the rotten child who's here acting up in the waiting area.  I also hope that nobody has a weak bladder and has to wake me up to continuously visit the bathroom.  They might get the death stare.

Anyway, what I was going to say is, I'm still in Vancouver, but after the NEXUS people not trusting my 'trusted' traveler card and going through my luggage with a comb meant for lice, I feel like I've already ventured to another country.

No.

Still here.

I am so looking forward to seeing Papi.

Looking forward to giving my love a swift kick in the arse too.

Someone went and got sick right before surgery.

Someone didn't take my advice and rest as much as possible for health's sake.

Someone is going to be subject to healthy food while I'm being the caretaker.

I feel like my way of getting back at Papi for making me sad, scared, sick to my stomach, having nightmares, having horrid visuals in my head etc. is to feed my love healthy food.

Mi esposo won't be able to lift those arms after the top surgery, so I'll be doing all the work.

The Countdown ... 24 hours ... 

I'll also be buying all the food.

**enter evil laugh here**

No cookies, ice cream and bags of Eggies for you my love.

You will be forced to eat healthy food.

This is my revenge.

And I'm fucking bitchy.  So, yeah baby!  You get me in all my glory.

Heh, but we all know that the moment I see my love, I will be all smiles and snuggles.

I'm a fool for you.