Monday, October 31, 2011

Never say 'never'.

This hysterectomy is a lot less demanding of my emotions than the top surgery.

I do need a few days to process my feelings around all of it.

Papi said I'm acting different.

yeah ... well at least i still have my lady bits ...

I am having feelings, but I just can't figure out what they are.

Papi asked if it was because it was the last procedure to get through.

Could be.

Could be that it's all over now and we get to watch the butterfly emerge.

I honestly don't know what it is, but I'm sure it will surface soon.

It usually does when I'm writing to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I haven't had a chance to force feed Papi any vegetables yet.

I'm too busy feeding and caring for the Fuzzy Family, the 96 year old coot, and the wounded tranny.

except for yesterday ... yesterday i played hookie from being a caretaker and got to see some of my 'rough around the edges friends' ...

Interesting enough though, last night we watched a documentary on transgender children.

The narrator told us they'd be using their birth assigned gender as the referring pronoun.

I was actually shocked that they would disrespect the children this way.

When we were watching the documentary, these children were the gender they felt.  It didn't matter that they were born a boy or girl.  They were definitely the gender they felt in their mind.

I was horrified that they documentary makers would refer to them as a gender they clearly were not.

It pleased me that I was horrified.

It means I'm thinking a hell of a lot differently than I was a year ago.

Then it dawned on me.

A year ago, I couldn't fathom being in a relationship with a transgender person.  I couldn't imagine ever letting go of my perfect butch that I grieved for.

I believe that's the reason the top surgery was such a big deal compared to the hysterectomy.  I wasn't ready for it.

Time heals us.

I was well enough to be Papi's support system for this surgery.

When the top surgery happened, I wasn't ready.  This is why it was such an ordeal for me.

I suppose this means I truly am ready to deal with all of the changes.

One good thing about the hysterectomy?  Papi will be taking less of that poison everyone flippantly refers to as 'T'.


The 'rules' are still in place about that one.

They must still be called hormones for my weak psyche to handle the fact that this concoction is roaming through my love's body, changing him from the inside out.

I don't know that I'll ever get used to that one, but then I said that about a lot of things, didn't I?

Saturday, October 29, 2011

Ok, so Papi didn't die ...

I think the most entertaining part about the day was that I ate all my food before 3:00.

I eat when I get stressed.  I ate my snack, lunch, dinner and desert all by 3:00.

While we were out in bum-fuck-nowhere, Papi kept asking me, "Are you ok?  Are you scared?  Did you take too much Crack Butter?"

no my love, i did not take enough crack butter ...

I didn't want to tell my love I was nervous, so I had to lie.  "No, I'm fine!" I said as convincing as I possibly could, channeling my inner, perky optimist.

Of course, I was then greeted by, "Good!  'Cuz if you said you were scared, then I'd be nervous!" 

yes, my love ... i do know that ...

The greatest Tranny Terrorist moment of the day award goes to Papi for the last words I heard him say before leaving my side for the surgery, "Oh!  You better kiss me in case I die!"

No, it wasn't a sweet nothing in my ear.  He said it to the WHOLE room.

People chuckled and I shook my head uttering threats, "I will kill you if you die."

Of course this was just a few minutes after I had a near thermo-nuclear melt down with the control freak nurse who must have been a cat in a former life.

"Who moved my cat toy?!?  Why is that door closed!?!  Don't you know I like to be fed here and not there anymore?!  Capiche!?!"


She wasn't freaking about cat toys, but she certainly didn't like that I had our knapsacks and personal items were on a wheelchair in her space.

The sweet intake nurse knew my back pain, and he, with his magical moustache, ...

... no seriously ... you have to see this thing to believe it!!! ...

... suggested I use the wheelchair to push my stuff along, rather than try to walk two feet and stop to say, "Ok.  Which way to emergency?  I've put my back out again."

Control Freak Nurse just couldn't handle this foreign article in the nurses' area.  When she realized that I just may cause a stink, she decided to let it go.

Which was a good choice, because that's when I finally gave in to my inner bitch and the rolling of eyes, death stare and deep breathing were activated.

I have to admit though, I was feeling rather edgy when I didn't get to see Papi right away.  Why do they do this to me all the time?!  It's worse than security at an airport sometimes!

I was expecting them to kick me out the room I because Papi wasn't there yet.  You see, after all the coocoos found me at the hospital, I managed to secretly find out what room Papi would be in and flew in there with my knapsack and bag wheelchair home.

I set up camp with my 'house' and when they came in, I said, "So, this is our room right?"

listen ... do you see me eating?  I'm married to the patient ... my room ... 

They kinda just looked at me ready to tell me I had to leave, then changed their minds, because they were sweet, lovely people.

So, I ate the rest of my food.

I then proceeded to listen to Papi snore for the rest of the day.

My love is doing fine and is all kinds of fun to laugh at.

Oh, the droopy face was awesome.

The only problem is that I don't like to leave Papi there.

So, Papi didn't die.

Now I don't have to kill him.

I get to bring him home in just a few short hours.

Thursday, October 27, 2011

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

Yesterday, Papi asked me, "Are you nervous about Friday?"

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Because you seem like you are," he added flippantly.


I didn't know I was giving off heebie, jeebie vibes.

But then, it is me we're talking about.  I'm not really good at hiding my feelings.

We had good news from the benefits.  Papi gets a private room.

this is good, because nobody will see me force feeding papi vegetables.

I figure I can feed my love anything I want, because he won't be able to do anything about it.

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

I'm on a mission to force feed my love different things that normally he would turn his nose up at.

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

The other good part, is mi esposo is having a positive experience using medicinal cannabis for anxiety.

Well, the inevitable will happen and you will get the munchies.  Then we reach for carbs, sugar and salt.

But honestly, when you have the munchies, anything will taste good.

So, in my evilness of health food persuasion, I'll be making sure Papi gets to try new things when those munchies kick in.

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

I forgot that tomorrow is the day that mi esposo keeps speaking about as bum-fuck-nowhere doomsday with Dr. Scissorhands.

The only reason I can't completely forget is because Papi keeps talking death talk.

Now that I'm remembering, it's time to distract myself again.

I'm gong to go work on the film score and cook.

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!


I'm nervous.

And I just donned on me that I'll be in the throws of dressings and a stubborn patient.


Stubborn patient doesn't really even come close to what I'll be dealing with.

So, tomorrow is another change.

But that's what life's about anyway, isn't it?

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Last Piece of the Puzzle.

2 more days until Papi changes again.

I get stomach flips and heart flutters.

I'm so lucky that I have friends out in bum-fuck-nowhere who will be keeping me company and keeping me distracted.

sorry if i've offended thee with my opinions of drunks, zealots 'n pedophiles out in your area ... i'm sure your area is lovely in your world ...

My love is no longer having panic attacks from the fear.  A little Clonazepam and medicinal cannabis has Papi in a very relaxed state.

I'm not used to it.  Normally Papi is a 'Frantic Go-Getter', as one of his clients puts it.

The only thing I am not appreciating is my love's talk of death.  "Well, what if I die on the operating table?!  Then you'll need to know stuff and I have to have everything in order!"

This is the part that I hate the most.

No matter how many times I ask, "Why are you talking like this?!" I get the same reaction.

In some ways, I just want Dr. Scissorhands to get in there and get out so I don't have to hear anymore doomsday talk.

papi, i swear to your god, if you die, i will kill you ...

People have hysterectomies all the time, so this one will be just another routine surgery and it will all be ok.

It will all be ok, because everything works out.  All the time.  Every single thing.

If Papi were to leave this planet, I have a La-Z-Boy that I'll just dwell in and the Fuzzy Family can just fend for themselves.

I'm sure the last one to be standing will be Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Mind you, The Bastard Prince can get up into cupboards where there are other treasures to find for food.

The Golden would probably peter out.  He's not too good at being bad and finding food on his own.  So, The Mrs. will feast on The Golden.

G'ma and Psycho Kitty will be fine upstairs.  Psycho Kitty will just eat G'ma.

See!  It will all work out just fine.

I will reside in the Pit of Doom in my La-Z-Boy.  I've been catatonic before.  I'm a pro.

What I've done recently is completely distract myself so that I don't even have to think about all this.

You know how it is, right?  I'm so good at denial.

Last night, my sister asked me if I'm nervous about my Discovery for the motorcycle accident coming up this month.

I had to remind her that because of the brain injury, I don't remember very well, and that I'd forgotten about it, so there's no point in worrying.

However, ever since she asked that, I've remembered.

argh that sucks ... my denial has been stripped!!

Mind you, I'm probably not worried, because I have nothing to hide.

It's pretty cut and dry.  I got hit on my motorcycle, flew 15 feet through the air after tumbling over the hood of her car, and landed on my head.

There's nothing really to discuss.  I deserve to be taken care of by my insurance, which is why we pay through the nose every year.

Oh right!

Back to the denial about the surgery!

I can officially say, I'm out of denial about it.

2 more days.

All I can say is, I'm happy it's the last piece of the puzzle that we have to go through to making my spouse the person he's always felt like inside.

There will be no death.  There will be healing with 'droopy face' from all the pain meds.

It's my turn to giggle at Papi for being zonked out on pain killers.

Drool away Papi.  Your friends who believe in their higher power are all praying for you.

I'm just going to sit with the energy of 'everything always works out'.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Early Halloween Trick


So I got spammed at the door by the sweetest door to door folks that I've ever been spammed by.

I haven't even really sifted through the propaganda yet.  I had to write this first, because it's not often I get to experience such beautiful energy from people at my front door.

And besides, it doesn't really matter.  The story of how I got the hard sell was the best part anyway.

So, I was sitting there being OCD about finding the bargain shopping online, ...

... yes ... when we have ocd, sometimes there's good parts ... like hitting all the sales in town ...

... when I heard two sets of feet thumping up the front stairs to knock at our door.

Fortunately, I was already up, or I would have been really cranky with the cocaphany of barking that I encountered. 

... however, papi was sleeping ... sorry my love ...

Anyway, these 2 prettier than angel, sororety sister-ish, most delicious cheerleaders in the world, 20-something ladies were at the door.

The Galloping Gazelle was with me, naturally.  He was my shadow for a week.  However, it also makes for a good reason why I didn't open the screen, with a simple, "Not my dog, can't open the door," excuse.

They wanted to know if I knew anyone who was hard of hearing or if I knew  someone who did sign language.

hello!!! i just woke up!! i've always wanted to learn sign language!! and there's a certain 96 year old who is deafer than papi and i can handle!!

I put The Galloping Gazelle behind the living room door, and we talked for a while about this poetry in motion.

This then turned to me talking about how much I've always wanted to do it.

Which then turned into how I want to teach children English in the Dominican Republic.

Which then turned into how I could learn it from a DVD.

So, here's where it got going.

The instruction manual was teaching sign language by making your way through the bible.

Normally, I'd stop the presses right there and say, "Have a good day," but these girls were just such beautiful sweet souls they didn't give me that zealot vibe.  I thought, "Yeah, it's all right.  They are just talking about how they learned it.  They're not talking about recruiting me for the first agnostic verging on atheist to be born again."

So, we talked a little longer about sign language and I said, "Good luck on your venture," with my happy face on.

When I got to the bottom of the 'my didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs, I heard the rapping on the door again.

... dammit people.  ok.  do you know how much it hurts to walk 'quickly' back up the stairs again?

Well, there were the two beautiful angels again with the greatest, "I'm just so sorry," faces on and I had to love them all over again. 

They just wanted to give me their contact information, and a little bit about the mission they're on to find all the people who are hard of hearing to give them more of a community.

Of course, I just thought they were going to give me a couple of biz cards 'n pamphlet thing.

I mean this envelope didn't look frightening:
Seriously!  Read this:
I was so excited because I thought maybe there was a chance that I'd be able to learn it and bring it with me to the Dominican!

When I got to the bottom of the 'my didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs again, I opened it with joy, then let out the biggest laugh that I probably woke Papi.
If you're not familiar with this propaganda, I'll get it a little closer to show you:
Ok you little buggers.

You got me.

But I do have to say, you got me in the nicest way possible.

Good on'ya!

now i'll be leery of those crafty, pretty girls.

But one thing I did realize in the middle of our sign language conversation?  Perhaps there's someone in the Dominican that will be able to teach me sign language in exchange for teaching English to their bambinos.

The greatest part of that whole interaction was when they told me I could learn sign language in the Dominican, because there's tons of people there who use it.  I said to the crafty, pretty girls, "Thank you so much.  You have just given me an awesome new possibility for my next venture in life."

And I truly meant it.

After I opened the envelope, it felt like it was Trick-Or-Treat just a little too early, and I got the trick end of the deal.

None-the-less, I do know that these angels came from a place of love, and if love is being spread from what they're doing, then go, ladies, go!  You are truly the kind of people that give me faith in the religious kind.
I'll just hang on to that nice feeling for a while.  It's not often I leave those circumstances with a feeling of love.

I'm sure it will take no time at all for the evil, religious zealots to piss me off and ruin my love fest with hate.

It's me we're talking about.

I'm not really known for holding my feelings back.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Papi's DIY mojo is back.

It's DIY time again.

Papi will be in for his surgery on Friday.

o god, my heart just skipped a beat ...

After my love's uterus has suffered the art of Dr. Scissorhands, I will be taking care of mi esposo until Papi can care for himself.

So, while we're preparing, we did the obligatory massive shop at Costco, so mi esposo could carry heavy things that we may need.

ah for fucks sakes, we forgot kitty litter!!! aaaaarrrrrgh!!!

Furthermore, there's also a few things around the house that need to be taken care of before Papi is down for the 6 weeks.

One such thing?  Putting up curtains.

It's crazy, but since the sewage flood, we haven't had curtains on our window.

Being no stranger to stalkers, ...

and a few restraining orders required to keep me safe ... yikes there's scary folks out there!

... I figure that because the coocoos have come out to play, it's time to put the curtains up.  You never know, said scary folks may also be homicidal and feel the need to watch us before fighting their way past 6 animals to carry out instructions that the voices told them to do.

... nah ... me paranoid? i can't imagine why you'd think that!

Off we went to the cold room and found all the necessary tools: hammer, leveler, screws, chiprock anchors, and of course, the power drill.

Papi has been certified for medicinal cannabis for anxiety now, because my love has been getting panic attacks from fear of the surgery.  Well, yesterday was my love's first attempt at getting friendly with the little drops.

It was probably not the best time to think about putting up curtains.

The last ones we put up, someone pulled them down while we were in the Dominican.  I thought it was fine, because the curtains were crooked anyway.  It would give us a chance to put them up properly.

I asked if I could help, and of course was granted a, "Yes!" but it didn't work out that way.  I'm pretty sure the happy drops had  something to do with the manner in which Papi went full bore into drilling without measuring.

Well, here's the first attempt:
So I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to measure things baby?"

"Nah, It's gonna be fine."
After putting in the anchors, my love said, "Oh, that didn't work out so well."

At this point, I decided to document the famous Papi DIY project with the full fledged Papirazzi, because it's just so entertaining for you all to feel my pain.  Then I heard, "I thought we were going to do this together?"

"Yeah, so did I," I giggled with a reply, "but then you went all commando and started drilling without my help."
I thought I'd add in this pic just for the full effect.  Notice the cord dangling from Papi's thigh.

my what a big drill you have papi!

Next I heard, "Well I didn't mean for that to happen."

oh, you mean this?
I think there will some new 'rules' in the house:  No power tools while under the influence of medicinal marijuana.
Papi put the anchors in anyway, and as we put the curtains up, Papi said, "Ok.  So just don't pull on the curtains and it will be fine."
Ok, but I'm pretty sure the hole is supposed to be round to hold in the anchor, no?

Well, we have curtains.
But if you ever are invited to come to our house, don't touch them, or look behind them K?  We'll just pretend that they're perfect.

And that concludes Papi's DIY for the day.

There will be more.

We still have 4 days.

oh my stomach ...

Sunday, October 23, 2011

The day has come ...

The videoshoot was awesome.

I was told to stand in one place and, "Don't move." 

there's some orders i like to take ...

I can do that well, as long as my feet are grounded I won't wobble.

The best part of the day was when I was told there was too much boob in the shot.  Never has that happened in my life.

Anyway, they were so amazingly sensitive to my bitch of a back's needs, that I didn't wake up unable to get out of bed.

I woke up to a mewing of desperate cats, a cacophony of small dog barks, coffee in hand and a beautiful day to share with you the amazing phone call I received two days ago.

It's given me new ambition for what I'm doing here.

A friend, who has very quickly risen to Trust List stardom, called Papi and I the other night.

Papi calls him My Boifriend.  He's one of my favourite people right now, that's for sure.

He showed my article to some friends, who happen to have partners who have gone through the transformation with their loves.

The partners of the transitioning folks in these relationships cried when they read my article, saying, "This was exactly how I felt, but I couldn't say it."

They were afraid to speak.

Oh, how I understand.  And oh, how I want so badly to hold them and take away their fears, but I can't.  I can only support them, doing it on their own.

When My Person came over on the eve of a new year, she had no idea how much she would change my life from chronic, catatonic, La-Z-Boy dweller to the roaring lioness I feel I have become.

There have been a few opinions spewed onto my blob/blab, that I'm appreciative of having.

One of my ex's said it perfectly.  I was shocked that people would allow horrid homophobic words to be published.  This wise ex said, "It's important for everyone to know what's out there.  We need to know what we're up against."

And this is how I feel about the name calling that I've been subject to since the article.  I know what I'm up against.

I'd rather have people excreting the hate to my face, than behind my back.

For some reason, I like to hear the flip side.

And at the same time, I also flourish when those around me who love me fight back in my defense.

sticks and stones bitches ... sticks 'n stones ...

It's important for myself, and others who are like minded, that we hear what people are arming themselves with.

my favourite was 'crude' ... is it so wrong that i like it?!

One comment from the article asked, where on earth I heard such silencing words.  Where were these people who label us transphobic and hate us for our honest feelings?

Check the comments out, that's all I have to say.

They're there in black and white.

These were the people who kept me silenced for 6 weeks straight.

Well, for those who need someone else's voice to say it for them, I want to tell you, I'm here roaring louder with every day I get stronger.

You can speak about your grief, We will never see it as fear.

We'll see it as healthy growth, and will watch you remove each fear one by one, as you see your love change into the person that you didn't know was inside that previous confinement.

We are the luckiest people to have the experience of watching our soul mates be released to freedom, which in turn helps us grow into someone we never knew we could be.

I'm out the other side now.

I'm ready to be Your Person.

Saturday, October 22, 2011



I've been racking my brain injured noodle as to what kind of job I would be able to do and still be able to take my medicinal cannabis as pain relief.

And I came up with it!

A supah-stah!!!!

That's the ticket!


Today I'm off being just that making our music video.

I hope your day finds you joy.

Friday, October 21, 2011


Well, I can't seem to stay out of trouble.

Am I evil?


I just know that not speaking our truth is what will kills us.

We need to get things out of our head and through our mouths before it will leave our souls.  At the same time, we need to find friends that can understand us, and in turn help us learn new ways of thinking.

We all don't fit in together which is what makes this life so beautifully fucked.

I love my life with my perfect soul mate.

except for when my bitch of a back wakes up or when papi eats mcdonald's ...

This soul mate that I saw as perfect before, is slowly, day by day becoming even more perfect.

The scars are easing like the fear I had of losing those soft pillows I loved so much.  The changes that I had hoped to come in my thinking are surfacing, and this amazing soul I'm married to is the same sweet soul on the inside.

It occurred to me when I read yesterday's comments that I was defending Papi and Papi was defending me.

I remember when this all started out, that my biggest fear was those with voices louder than mine.  I feared they would squash me like a bug for having feelings.

I felt I was the only one that felt the way I did, because all those who were vocally, supportively and visibly part of pushing this trans movement forward were the only voices my community wanted to hear.

So I wrote to an imaginary friend who wouldn't judge me.

that's right! don't double cross me bitches ... i'm craaaaaaaazy !!!

I felt I couldn't defend Papi if I wasn't strong enough to defend myself.  This is not a feeling of being whole.  I was grieving and needed to find my strength.

I have.

I'm good with how I handled some of it with imagery that helped me cope.  I like humour to heal.  I envisioned all of those who could 'potentially hate' my feelings as cheerleaders of gender transformation on the sidelines, who could shout louder and kick their legs higher than mine.

It's much nicer than the scary monster that kept me oppressed.

We're all different on the inside, and man, sometimes our insides are nasty bitches!

I'm not sure where all this is leading, but I'm going to tell you something, I like the dialogue.

I LIKE that people are talking and getting it all out.


But try to put humanitarianism before politics, and know that we can't all live to better suit anyone else's ideals.

they tried to do that to me with religion.

No thanx.

I'm not sure who the language police are, but they haven't strapped me with a fine for using the word tranny yet, so, I will continue to label my spouse as such.

Papi is a tranny.

I'm married to Papi.

I have had to take a year to transition along with my spouse, and you can't tell me how it is I'm supposed to do it is wrong, or right.

I may have offended those with penes, by saying that I don't like them, but which part of lesbian don't you understand?

I am attracted to trans people, and this is the realization that I've come out of this whole thing with.

I love trannies.

I never knew I did, but now that I'm out of denial, I know this as my truth.

I also know that once you try to silence me, I yell a little louder.

So, go ahead.  Leave me comments telling me I'm not allowed to do something.

Ask my mother how well that went.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

This Game is Boring Now.

The Galloping Gazelle is plotting his revenge.

... as opposed to what i'm doing ... i'm venting ...

I thought I'd talk about the Fuzzy Family instead of the person that upset Papi.

because apparently, i share too much information ...

You see, right now The Galloping Gazelle is sitting on the La-Z-Boy growling.

... seriously ... someone wrote an email to papi saying how horribly transphobic i am ...

There was a bit of drama on the upstairs G'ma floor, and The Galloping Gazelle got nicked in the back of the leg for cornering Psycho Kitty.  You don't mess with Psycho Kitty.

... i mean really, how rude is it that someone would vent to papi about their wife?!?!  who does that?!?  that's what you have team Rah-Rah-Tranny and the Hen Peckers for!!  go talk shit about me there, fool!

So, there was much squealing and now The Bastard Prince has regained his place in the world.  You see, at the beginning of The Galloping Gazelle's visit, this is where The Bastard Prince lived:

... i suppose i'm used to people flapping their gums, and now that i'm through with being weak, i'm not taking it anymore ... funny part is, i find people's distaste in my honesty rather entertaining ...

Well, The Bastard Prince has regained his strength and is sitting on his favourite pedestal, staring down this poor, humiliated, four-legged soul.  "Fuck with us, eh? {yeah he's a canadian cat} You think so?  My homeboy has my ass up there.  You think he's taken a round out of you?  Wait for my turn."

... it sucks, because papi thought he had a friend ...

So, the balance is shifting in this dog vs. cat phase.  I keep trying to remind The Galloping Gazelle that this one is just as scary as the one upstairs.  Cats are bitches man!!!

... well, not anymore.  apparently, my feelings about losing my butch are not as important as his feelings about my article ... oh! and if i want support, they have a group that meets once a year at Gender Odyssey. yeah. you read that right ... once a year ...

Every once in a while, The Galloping Gazelle will come down off the La-Z-Boy and bark, but he quickly retreats when he sees this:

... all i know is, the reaction that this person had, and the insensitive manner in which he expressed these feelings are the exact thing i was afraid of ... but not anymore ... every time i'm pushed to be silenced, i'll work harder to find another person who needs my support ...

I feel like we're changing dogs one at a time to live in harmony with cats.  By the time The World's Loudest Snorer went home, the cats were a non-issue, with an occasional 'to be wary of' moment.

... i'd love to bitch more about this, but i have music to compose ...

One thing I can ask is, if cats 'n dogs can live together in harmony, why can't we?  It's an old story that rears it's ugly head every time one person thinks differently than the next.

... thanx for listening to my rant ... i'm off to go fill my life with love now ... one harmonic note at a time ...

I hope you spend your day focusing on the good in your world, because that's my only mission today.

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Introducing, The Galloping Gazelle!

This is The Galloping Gazelle.

He's visiting us for a week.  We're on day one.

He's new to the cat world.

No, I know he's not a cat, nor is he a gazelle.

But he thinks like both.

Well, he decided to take on The Mrs.

The Mrs. is not afraid of dogs, and she will teach him how to behave around a lady.

Unfortunately, like those before him, The Galloping Gazelle just may have to learn the hard way.

However, he thought he'd push his luck and bounded ...

he bounds ... he doesn't run ... imagine a bunny and gazelle mixed in one ...

... toward The Mrs.

What happened next is the part that made me realize he had an unscrupulous ulterior motive when he broke all hell loose and chased cats.

I ran ...

... hehe ran ... you know what i mean ...

... in to break up the kitchen drama.

He listens well, and knowing that he did a 'bad', he bounded back to the couch to my blogging seat.

At this point, I decided to look under the kitchen island to see if The Mrs. was OK about the whole situation.

right ... dream on ...

She was pissed and definitely didn't want my consoling.

"YOU did this to me mom!"

That's when I realized what The Galloping Gazelle's real target was.

My breakfast.

Now, I thought The Bastard Prince was trouble around my food, but The Galloping Gazelle makes The Bastard Prince's  actions seem like child's play!

He's crafty.

And cuddly.

And he makes me laugh.

But back off my breakfast bitch!

I don't share!!!

However, I then realized what I saw in my blogging breakfast.

I found out he's an artist!

He was making an old man's face out of fried eggs!

He wasn't just getting into my food!

His momma taught him to be creative!

of course she did ... momma's a hot li'l leather dyke!

Now I can't stay mad, because he's given me a gift.

Well, I also can't stay mad because I've already shut that bitch of a back up with some Crack Butter, and I'm ready to start my day of composing with a little bit of help from my new BFF: Nyquil.

I'm working on a film score for a cool short.  It's by an up and coming director, James McPhee.

I'm behind a day, because yesterday I slept off the virus.

... i was so sick i didn't even have my coffee!!!!!

 I really have so much to tell you right now, but I'll have to get it out day by day.

With you, my imaginary friend, there will be a new chapter beginning soon ...

Monday, October 17, 2011

The Concert of the MRI

Papi's bad.

Papi gave me the flu.

Papi will receive lashes when I'm feeling better.

Normally, I would just sleep it off, but we've had plans for about a month now to go to Seattle.

I did the film score for Mette Bach's film Ms. Thing, directed by Karen X. Tulchinsky.

So the director, and one of the personalities who acted, S.D. Holman, are meeting Papi and I to see the film at the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival.

The Yank will join us for the film as well.

So, anyway, we've been planning this for a few weeks, and I feel like crap.

grrrrrrrr ...

Yet, the only thing that would really keep me from going is if my bitch of a back told me we weren't.

or if my ears, nose and eyes were all bleeding simultaneously ...

Anyway, that bitch of a back is trying to tell me she'd rather stay in bed.  So, I shut her up good with a little dose of my Crack Butter.

She would have squawked anyway, whether I was sick or not, so fuck her.

I love going on road trips, but damn, that bitch hates it.

I had my MRI yesterday and I really hope it shows something that can be fixed.  Both my doctor and physio say it won't, but I'm being optimistic and hoping to prove them wrong.


Shut that bitch up.

While I was in the MRI, I was happy on Crack Butter.

i figured out the right dose ... not to be mistaken with the MC OD that i had on friday.

The radiologist corked my ears with plugs, and put little pads on my ears to muffle the 'noise'.

This 'noise' was a samplers dream!

I had the most fun I'd had in a while.

There were about 5 different sounds that took their own turn, and each one of them would last a few minutes.

I found rhythm in each and every one of them, and I also found melodies to sing along.

Just as I'd gotten the song down however, the 'noise' would change.

Due to the free thinking I had going on, when the first 'noise' changed I forgot that I was in an MRI and said, "HEY!!"

I wanted to continue with, "I was listening to that!"

Fortunately, I realized that if I continued, I would look like I was in need of more than just pain relief.

Song after song played, I hummed along, and before I knew it, my concert was finished.

I really want to go back and ask if I could get samples of the sounds that were going on in there.

There were acid, arpeggiated tones that you'd find akin to The Crystal Method or The Chemical Brothers.  If you took one of the 'sounds' from their music, then imagine it going on for 2-3 minutes, that's what it was like.

It was a programmers party!

Anyway, now that the proper dose of today's Crack Butter has set in, I've had my coffee and the Oil of Oregano has made my throat feel like I can speak to humans, I'm going to get ready for the road trip.

I will have to remove Sir Bark-A-Lot from my lap surgically first, I'm assuming.

i think he's just using me for my warm fever ...

I hope you find joy in your day.

I'm pretty sure I will too.

Sunday, October 16, 2011

Medicinal Marijuana Fail.

I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

While crossing at a crosswalk.

Head on and flattened.

So, there I was cooking up some pain killers in butter.

The Dispensary has been out of my favourite pain killing gem, 'Whoop Ass Butter', for a while and I've been relying solely upon the 'Snake Oil' to get me through.


My brain injury didn't knock out the memory of how to make my own infused butter, and I decided that I would take a crack at it.

really ... no pun intended ... but this was beyond crack let me tell you ...

And oh, I made it good.

Real good.

Too good.

Once, during my 'abusing of anything to take me from reality' days, I had made a batch of pot brownies for a party I was invited to.

I annihilated the party.

Too strong.

People were hallucinating, vomiting, hiding from paranoia, and by the end when everyone decided they were able to be around other humans, we all came together and watched TV.

I was told to never ever bring anything to a party again.

Turns out, I was never even invited to any more shindigs.

we don't want your kind round here ...

So, on Friday, I decided I would make my own pain killers.

As I was letting my butter become infused with happy herbs to heal my biting back, I heard it: 'clink, clink clink'.

The Bastard Prince had gotten to the spoon I was using to stir my concoction.

"FUCK, NO!!!!!!!!!  What the fuck!?!?  You didn't seriously just lick that fucking spoon!?!?!?!?"

Indeed, he had.  Not the whole spoon, but enough for a little being of that size that it may create some 'issues'.

Instead of rushing him to a kitty hospital, I put a quick poll out to my Facebook friends, to find out how a cat would react from this.  I got a lot of mixed emotions from people really upset that I could allow this to happen to my cat, to a few who giggled at the fact that my cat had droopy face and would soon have the munchies.

The poor guy really wasn't his asshole self.

I left his favourtie room door open where he could pounce on half full bags of dog food and hunt for the rat that is no longer there, but he just laid on his bed and looked.

Didn't even move a paw.

I had to make sure he was breathing, and sure enough when I got too close he bit me.

Yeah.  He was going to fine.

Just a little too far out in kitty koo-koo land.

At about that time was when the effects of my pain killers hit me.


Too strong.

Fuck.  I was not enjoying myself.

Being clean and serene for 12 years, I appreciate living my life.  This is no longer a feeling I choose to have.

So, I had to ride it out, and found that this batch of pain killers I made had lasting powers right until the next day.

Hence, I didn't sleep for a full 24 hours.

I finally got to sleep after my appointment with the film maker and her clan.  I managed to fake it through without the give away that I wasn't completely all there.

Being up all night, I had the time to ...

... play my bass, compose music for the most current film score, catch up on emails, shower, organize my office ...

... hide my pale face behind blush and my red tired eyes behind some lovely shiny mineral makeup.  I looked 'fresh', even though I felt far from it.

i'll just blame the red eyes on my contact lens ...

But I mean, c'mon, people are used to at least one band member to be a flake and a candidate for the 'short bus', eh?

It was my turn.

Now that I've slept 16 hours, I am much more coherent ...

... i haven't re-read yesterday's blog ... i apologize if it didn't make any sense what-so-ever, though i did have 230 reads on it ... guess it was ok ...

... and I'm ready for my long awaited MRI today.

I think no matter how much pain I am in today, I won't be venturing toward the butter.

I think I may have killed a few too many brain cells Friday night.  However, the sliver lining was, I had 24 hours where I felt absolutely no pain.

Hell, maybe I should market this little treasure to the hospitals!

Saturday, October 15, 2011

There once was this elephant ...

So, as I was saying, our little family has class.

I just got elastics added to my braces.

I now look like the bionic woman under construction.

Last night, my elastic got stuck in my back braces, and Papi tried to unsnag it with tweezers.  There seemed to be more pulling of my inside cheek than pulling of elastics.

The next best part, was when my love would let go of the elastic and the same area Papi poked and pinched with tweezers would get an elastic, "THWACK!!"

The next woeful activity was to remove said elastic, that had at this point, gotten stuck on my front braces.  Well, Papi came in for the kill with the tweezers again, and I had to put the brakes on when I was in fear of my lips from being ripped off.

I took Papi's suggestion and employed the handiest, dandiest, who-knew-i-was-missing-this-in-my-life electric toothbrush.

Up until today, it's bravest mission was to erase the veggie du jour that would be stuck at the back of my braces, just waiting for it's second coming of a meal.

I enjoyed brushing before, but now I feel like I have a weapon!

And a tool.

The handiest, dandiest, who-knew-i-was-missing-this-in-my-life electric toothbrush pushed that bitch right outta there!

I felt like McGiver armed with duct tape.

Anyway, once I had the next round of brace face/rubber mouth set in place I set in motion the dishes saga.  I had to move dishes from our basement suite to the upstairs dishwasher. 

... there's really no pretty way to say i was doing chores ...

That's when I heard probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard in my life.

You see G'ma has a friend who is very good to her and I overheard a conversation:

G'ma: You know I really appreciate everything you do for me.
Friend: Well, you do a lot for me too!
G'ma: Well, you're a good friend.
Friend: Well, you're a good friend to me too!
G'ma: Yeah, well you're my best friend.

This ...

Melted my heart and it may just be me, but when you get to experience a 96 year old expressing BFF love for their friend, you know she's pretty happy over all.

Anyway, back to my brace face.

Today, Lin and I met with film producer Karen Lam and her team for our next video.


Did I mention, I haven't slept yet?

Probably not.


Tired doesn't even begin to express.

Yet it was sure exciting to see the awesome space for our video and hear what the ideas were for the video.

My dark and embracing of mania personality gets to be creative soon.

The funniest part of the video is when they addressed the elephant in the room.  I was asked, "Well, I'm going to ask the question nobody wants to ask; When do you get your braces off?"

I laughed and said with a 'good luck buddy' smile, "Another year."

"Ok!" he said, "So, we're going to get them in as part of the metal aspect.

I like it.


Even if it is in my mouth.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Thinking ...

Our day was good.

After the appointment in bum-fuck-nowhere that is.

You know when you know someone so well that there are things about them you learn that nobody else would understand?

One of those things I'm still trying to get wired into my brain.

When my love is anxious, it's hard for him to emotionally deal with anything else.

"Can we have a drive without any talking?" mi esposo asked me, as we were heading for our one and half hour drive.

omg ... no speaking for an hour and a half?!?

That's not so easy for me at the best of time, but when I've had pain killers, I get a little chatty.

to say the least ...

I also like to sing along with the radio on full tilt.  This was not going to work for someone who has cranky pants, so I asked, "Umm, is it ok if I hum?"

I was granted a nod of yes and that kept me happy.

My love is also sick with a flu.  That's not good for the mood either, but after the appointment everything was sunshine and rainbows again.

It took me that long to figure out that Papi was uptight about the surgery.

In the past, mi esposo had a secret stint with my codeine, and that made Papi an asshole.

I didn't figure out that he was dipping into my stash until our conversations turned into processing the bearish attitude that was raging in Papi.

However, there are no more of those horrid pills in the house, so when Papi's bad-humoured, it's for another reason.

I mean really, I should know what it's about.  I should know that I haven't done anything to make the crabby come out.  I get the same way just before a gig.

When I was a kid, you couldn't even be around me for a week prior to a piano recital.

sorry mom 'n sis ...

Anyway, after the appointment my love was happy again, and I realized that it had nothing to do with me.

I then had permission to be loose-lipped and sing along with the radio, which also came with apologies from Papi, who also figured out why he was so miserable.

One thing I do have to say about the hospital out there, is the people in Vancouver hospitals could use a bit of 'customer service' training from these folks.

The nurses were so nice there that I was shocked.  We don't get that kind of treatment here in the big city.

I suppose it's that laid back mentality of being in the sticks.

Whatever it was, I was impressed.

They treated Papi with respect and had absolutely no transphobic indications.  They asked curious questions which helped them learn more about transgender people.

There wasn't a creepy person in sight in the hospital, and Dr. Scissorhands was no where to be found.

The whole day went well, and I got to thinking about my own reproductive health.

Now normally, I would never let anyone near my uterus.  I've finally made friend's with that body part, even though it can't bear children.

However, I got to thinking about the risk of cancer in my family, and specifically that my mother and grandmother both had ovarian cancer.

Then I switched to thinking about the bloating and cramps that I could bid adieu if they snagged my uterus out of me.

Putting together the risk of cancer, cramps and inability to bear children got me thinking about whipping that organ out.


That's all.

I am feeling very positive about Papi's hysterectomy now.

It's a far cry from where I was 11 months ago.

I assume that once I see how much pain mi esposo will be in after surgery will stop my thinking about my own uterus.

I'm pretty sure about that one.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Evil Eye

We're taking a drive out to Dr. Scissorhands.

It's the pre-hysterectomy appointment.

My love has PTSD about the evil eye that I hand out occasionally.

You see, when we went in to have an orientation about the top surgery, I really wasn't ready to support my love, and the guy who was talking about the surgery had to feel my wrath.

I am really good at dirty looks.

Not something to really be proud of, but I've had it down since I was a kid.

Once, someone, somewhere, pissed me off at the ripe age of 4, and they made the mistake of coming to my house to ask me if I could play.

I was busy playing with my toys at the front door, so when she came up the stairs, I was ready.

After she knocked, I peeked through the mail slot and spat out, "Whadda you want?" with obvious disdain.

She asked me if I wanted to play and I let the mail slot with close with an echoing, "No."

That was when my first evil eye was noted by my parents.

From that day forward, it was my secret weapon.

And ohhhhhhh how I used it on the dude at the top surgery office.


I wasn't ready.

And I was pissed off.

Papi never let me forget it.

Every appointment we've been to that has to do with the male transformation, my love asks about a million times before we go, "Ok.  You're not going to give the evil eye right?"

Of course not Papi.

Where on earth would you get that idea?

I mean really, last time we went to see Dr. Scissorhands, I didn't give the evil eye.

I sat quietly and listened to doc explain how they're going to take my love apart.

I had my 'pretend' face on.

The one where you just turn the outer edges of your lips up, and smile with your eyes.

It was hard to hold the whole time, but I did it.

I'm a proud executioner of 'Fake it until you Make it".

Today I don't feel as rancid as I did back then.

Yes, I've opened my mind a lot more.

I'd rather that my love has this operation anyway, because there were pre-cancerous cells brewing there in the past.

Get rid of them.

I want to spend a long life with mi esposo.

Mind you, what the cancer can't get to, the bad eating will take care of I'm sure.

Did I ever tell you that I have to make food for my love if I want him to eat healthy?

I'm sure I have.

My cookie monster chases his pizza dinner with a chocolate bar.

Mind you I'm pretty psychotic about my health.

My version of junk food is a can of soup, and a cup of coffee.

Anyway, back on track.

Today, we're driving out to bum-fuck-nowhere for the pre-surgery appointment.

I, Andréa Hector-Brown, promise to play nice.

I will not slam the mail slot on his face and give the evil eye.

I will fake it until I make it.

Besides, he was kinda nice, and because of the long drive, I'll be hopped up on pain killers which will put a smile on my face whether I like it or not.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Belly Hair and Chicken Lips

Well, that leg hair that was crawling toward Papi's groin has surpassed it's destination.

It's now overflowing up my love's stomach.

Mi esposo had lifted his shirt to display his pale white belly, accompanied by, "Do you want to touch it?!"

I'm sure you know what my reaction was.  "No, I don't want to touch it, it probably feels like a Brillo pad."

"No!  It's soft!"

Yeah Papi, for now it is.

The Tranny Terrorist was on turbo yesterday.

We went for our Thanksgiving dinner with G'ma and my love jumped into harassing the old bird.

The topic at the dinner table was her demise.

Sounds nice eh?

My love started to arrange G'ma's post mortem affairs.

I just continued to eat food that is really bad for me.

ah french fries ... you are so good, and yet so bad for me ... 

G'ma just continued to eat her Caesar Salad and Chicken Pot Pie.

True to any elder turning back into a child, the majority of her salad was on her lap.

At one point, there was a piece of Romaine lettuce hanging from her mouth that was so long, it was still touching the plate.

With this old bird, it's possible to have a secret interaction between Papi and I without her knowing.  Merely cover your mouth and don't react like there's a conversation happening and she will never know the difference.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" I asked while trying not to move my lips and look like I'm focused on my meal.

"Oh yeah," Papi answered while be both used our peripheral vision to watch as the piece of Romaine lettuce got bitten at tooth level and the rest of the lettuce fell to G'ma's lap.

But neither of us really reacted.

Wouldn't want to embarrass the old fart, y'know?

We swapped covert giggles and waited for the next piece of dinner evade G'ma's mouth.

As we neared the end of our dinner, ...

i was already feeling the effects of the potato.  droooooopy eyes and a headache ... really?! are the fries worth it?!?  ahem.  yes.

... we decided to get some pictures of the old coot.

You never know.

This could be her last Thanksgiving.

At this age, you don't know when she's going to expire, so every event could be the last.

However, she always seems to 'one up' us and lives to see another one.

96 years and still kicking.

So, I thought I'd share the picture with you.

Now, you see a loving grand-tranny with the old poop in a nice Thanksgiving portrait.

However you don't really get the full effect unless you zoom in.

Like this:

This is how you can see Papi's chicken bone hanging out of his mouth is upstaging G'ma's food that's hanging from her lip.

We have nothing but class in our small family.

Class I tell ya.

Monday, October 10, 2011


It dawned on me yesterday that I won't be celebrating Halloween this year.

Not that I'm an avid Halloweener and that it's a ritual every year, but if I had to choose only one yearly celebration to raise hell with, Halloween would be 2nd to my wedding anniversary.

I mean really, I'm never ready with a costume anymore.  I have high hopes every year that I'll be celebrating, but it never seems to happen.

And it's never a big loss, it's just that every year, I always think I'm going to do something.

procrastinators unite! after halloween ...

I know.  Sounds like a no brainer.

If I'm not interested enough to get ready for it, then it's no big deal.

Well, this year, some friends had said they'd have a party and I thought this year we'd go.  So I marked attending! on my Facebook invite.

Then I hear, "Ummmmm, so you're going to their party alone?"

Well obviously not!  Our 'rough around the edges friends' don't just have a 'party'.  It's the kind of party that includes a few whips 'n chains, and maybe a little bit of 'good pain', blood and bruises as souvenirs.

Just the thing Papi and I enjoy doing together.  Alas, Papi continued, "Because that's a day after my surgery."

the pieces of the puzzle all fell into place ...

"Got it!" I replied, marking off another day closer to Dr. Scissorhands.

this brain injury moment brought to you by the letters, d, u, h.

Anyway, I realized I wasn't going, and started reminiscing about a few of the times that I've had some doozy costumes.

Like the bumble bee.

pillows made into puffy balls of bumble bee phat ...

My costume was epic!

Until I had to go pee.

I had drank 'too' much beer.

I couldn't get my arms around the pillows of bumble bee phat to open the crotch of the costume to relieve myself the washroom.

Hell!  I could barely fit through the stall door, never mind try to close it once I was in.

Well, I'm pretty sure you can figure out how that one ended.  All I know is that's the only memory I have of that particular Halloween.

yup ... some people should just stay clean 'n sober ...

But, the point of all this was that I finally clued into the time line of Papi's surgery.

The weekend of Halloween, I'll be commuting back and forth to bum-fuck-no-where to have some full on quality Papi time complete with drooling from pain meds.

we'll both be in fine company ...

Wayyyyyyyy out there.

A place where I never venture, for it's where they put all the sex offenders on parole.  You see, nobody squawks about it, because they're too busy restocking beer from the liquor store and ignoring the molesting of their own children.

That and beating the fear of 'god' into their kids.




It's surprising that they would have Trannies come out to this area.  I  mean it's the same kinda 'community' where rednecks would beat the shit out of anyone queer, never mind what they'd do to trannies.

None-the-less, that's where we'll be in less than three weeks.

Well, if you're not a Canuck, you may not know that today is Thanksgiving here in Canada, so tonight we'll be taking the G'ma out to Swiss Chalet.

no, i don't cook anything that can't be done in a frying pan, wok or steamer.

So, in honour of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that I don't have to be out in bum-fuck-nowhere today, and I'm thankful that I not only have a pain reliever that works, but it also keeps my PTSD down to a manageable level so when I think of the predators out in bum-fuck-nowhere, I don't shake.

and the countdown continues ...

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Urinal training 101

Here's something I never, ever thought that I would have to think about.

Men's washrooms.

Apparently the men have different 'rules' in regards to waiting for the cubicle toilet than in the ladies do.

We ladies line up, and in a civil manner, we wait for one of the stalls to open and the next in the queue is granted their turn.

This phenomenon is different in the men's.

You know how when you go to the grocery store, you look for the 'perfect' lane?

We think, "Ah-ha! This is the fastest lane!" and we make the choice to park our overfilled buggy, in hopes that we'll move faster than the lane beside us.

Sometimes, we're the winner in the race, and other times, we realize we have a dud and start ogling the other lines in hopes that we can still make up the time we've lost.

Well, I've learned that men eye up the stalls in a very similar manner, choose the perfect one, and wait in front of the door.

So, even if the dude next to you was behind you in the line, and they chose the fastest stall, they get in first.

Sounds a bit barbaric to me.

Anyway, last night my love went to a football game and found himself waiting in a men's washroom line up.

This is where things could be dangerous for Papi, and where fear could set in.

Men are mostly oblivious to the fact that Papi is transitioning to a man.

However, there was mi esposo, waiting in the men's line that wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

As a knee jerk reaction, Papi scooted over to the women's line, forgetting that this is no longer an option.

When Papi realized this, he removed himself ...

just thought i'd let you know that i now feel more comfortable writing male pronouns ... i just realized it myself, so i thought i'd share mid-thought ... because that's how i roll ...

... and proceeded to park his ass with the boys again.

They probably didn't notice, because really, all they want to get in and out of the washroom fast enough to refill their bladders with beer again.

This is when my love finally got into the washroom and saw the bathroom stall phenomenon.

My love is still a bit nervous about his PeeCock craft, so he uses a stall until he feels confident that he can tinkle just as good as the next.

Also, that brings us to the other moment of 'hmmmm ...'.

Mi esposo asks me, "When men go to the urinal, how far down do they unzip?"

i'd like to point out that my love asked me ... how the fuck would i know?!?!  remember?!?!  penis phobia over here!!!

However, Papi has a good point.  You can't just go in and study men at a urinal.  Especially at a football game!

The testosterone is flying high in these kinda settings.  Mi esposo would be due for a beat-down if he stood there studying manly mens' actions at a urinal.

Seriously.  They're pumped full of liquid courage.

So there I was, listening to my love's verbal pondering and thought, "Damn!  Someone needs to help F-Ms out!"

There should be some sorta grooming school.

I know that some people will coach M-Fs with their fledgling female swagger and womanly nuances.

Papi needs some male coaching.

I'm definitely not the one to ask.

So, if you care to leave your suggestions in the comments box down below, I'm sure Papi would be happy with the support.

But really.

This lining up at the stall rule.

Dear males: What the fuck is that about?

**update, i thought i'd mention something about the Rah-Rah-Tranny issue ... well, this is my blob/blab and i think i'll stick to my guns and keep my blob/blab the way it always has been.  sorry charlie ... but i'll only be restricting it when it comes to outside sources.  thank you.  you may now resume you previously scheduled reading**

Saturday, October 8, 2011

The Final Countdown.

Papi's 2nd surgery is coming up in 3 weeks.

The countdown commences.

All I care about is not allowing my back to spaz out before that day.

It can freak out all it wants until the 27th, but after that, it has to behave for at least 2 weeks.

My love won't be able to even sit up on his own.

I had a laparoscopy that hurt enough, never mind a hysterectomy.

I will behave and not clean the tub any later than a week before Dr. Scissorhands is set to do the deed.

I feel ok about this one, maybe because I know that my love has had pre-cancerous cells in the past.

Maybe it's also because I won't notice the difference.

Ok, that's not completely true.

Apparently my love doesn't need to take as much of the hormones once that uterus is snagged away.

Taking out this organ will cause less estrogen in the body.

I suppose that's why we see old ladies with beards.

Anyway, as the surgery nears closer, it seems to also be taking up more of my thoughts.

This blob/blab is going to be short today.

I get to see one of my dearest friends for lunch.

And a beautiful day it will be, regardless of the overcast skies that threaten us with autumn showers.

I hope your day brings you joy as well.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Thank you.

Well, it looks like Papi isn't the only one poking sticks in the hornets' nest.

My article got some opinions flowing.

Some were supportive, and some were loathing my very existence. 

It's good, because it also helps me to see more of how my actions and words may affect people.

Lord knows I've learned a lot through this process, and some of the ways I felt in the beginning are not the same as how I feel now.

I've had to make a few enemies during my lessons, but the flip side is, my real friends have gracefully pointed me in the correct direction with only a few loving words.

There's always going to be someone who doesn't agree with us, because that's the law of nature.

If someone were to just jump right into my sea of words without starting from the beginning, it would be like jumping into a stream that's making it's way toward a vast body of water.



I'm pretty sure it would ruffle anyone's feathers.

None-the-less, there was one comment that I really had to listen to and think about.

One person spoke about how using 'Tranny' is demeaning, as if I was using it the way people use, "That's so gay," as a way to make something sound distasteful.

Well, I can see why someone who is only jumping in mid-stream would find this offensive.

While I do have feelings for anyone I've irked ...

not my intention, but knew it would happen ...

... these folks really don't know that calling my love a Tranny Terrorist or referring to the overly zealous folks who are more than supportive of their fellow trans people is not coming from a derogatory place.

Papi and I talked about it and we both realize that the Rah-Rah people don't get me and I could never get them.

We have different opinions.  We will never make good bedfellows that's for sure.

However, our opinions are both merited.

My spouse is a transgender person.  It's not degrading, it's the truth.

When my fellow fags, dykes, or queers speak about each other using these 'descriptives', they use the word in an identifying way.

A way that is no where near the use of "That's so gay!" that is used in a demeaning manner.

It's a shortened version of the word transgender, and it doesn't apply to only to one gender or another as someone pointed out in their comment.

My spouse is a tranny.  I'm pretty sure that because I'm married to a transgender person, I can shorten the word can't I?

However, I do see how the 'Rah-Rah Tranny' label would offend.

As much as I've seen an opinion in favour of this by a trans man, I will now be dropping the Tranny word.

Oh don't worry!  I will still be using 'Rah-Rah', because I still see people on the sidelines waving their pom-poms without one hair turning grey from the stress of it all.

But as for the good ol' tranny word on it's own?  I can't see myself lengthening 'transgender' every time I refer to mi esposo.

So, I say thank you for your opinions.  Every one of them had something to learn from.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

The Epic Moment has come!!

So, I was going to just point you to my article today and say here ya go: Today's Blob/Blab.

However, I had something I really felt I had to share about the epic moment.

I'm not actually referring to how this article is my first publication ever.

that you were here to witness mwuah!

I'm also not touching on the mushy love notes that friends are leaving on my Facebook page, and the delightful comments on the Xtra! page.

I'm certainly not going to bore you with how proud I am of myself, and how exciting it is to be embarking on a new adventure in creativity.

The epic moment has absolutely nothing to do with my first-ever published article.

It's about Papi.

i mean c'mon. it's all about papi really, right?

Anyway, I knew the day would come when I'd hear the words that could only feel whole if accompanied by an air fist pump.

 I just didn't know it would be so soon!

You see, my love has been diligently working his aim.

I bought mi esposo some handy dandy earth friendly wipes ...

... that have awesome words worth reading on the back.

They were there for Papi in case there was some troubles with penis practise.

Well, yesterday my love took the usual stroll down our narrow hallway/catwalk for a Bathroom Buddy visit.

Papi has been very respectful of my recent phobia unleashing it's Pit of Doom, and has been good about closing the bathroom door to be sure I don't get any unwanted Plastic Penis ogling.

I heard the door slide shut and then the loud stream, that by all laws of physics, creates an echo because of the depth of distance between stream and toilet water.

did i mention that it's loud?

So, there I was doing something in the kitchen ...

... i'm there 3/4 of the day really ... when am i not in there making wheat free, dairy free, alternatively sweetened, organic food?

... when I heard it!


Papi followed this up with, "I didn't spray on the toilet or the floor and the seat was already up!"

It was mi esposo's shining moment.

So, yeah.

I had to share that instead of just pointing you to my first article published.

Well, if I'm being totally honest, I was also going to point you to an event tonight that is free and internet wide.

I have a project called Bluelight and we're performing live on air tonight.

Please join us wherever you are via live streaming at 7:00pm Pacific Time.


So, that's everything I was going to tell you.

Now I'm going to go bask in the rays of pride.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Lessons in transgender language.

There was a tense moment last night, when one of my blogger friends referred to Papi as my wife/hubby.

Apparently, my love dislikes the word 'wife' more than the pronoun 'she'.

oh how we learn something new every day ...

I've actually never called my love a wife, so I didn't know how much it bothered Papi.  We adopted the term 'husbutch' from someone in our community.

It worked for my masculine spouse.

When Papi wanted to change his given name, we searched for a long time to find one that would suit mi esposo.

I found it while I was playing a brain injury game to get my noodle rewired.  It was a game of serving people in a cafeteria, and I had to remember their order, plus their name.

One of the customers had the perfect name, and mi esposo's name change began.

It was easy for me to switch to Papi's new name, because of three reasons;

1) I was the one to find it,
2) I, too, didn't feel mi esposo suited the girly one he was born with, and
3) I didn't know the name would attached to a male transformation.

I mean really, my love is not a 'wife' in any way shape or form.

Ok.  Papi has one feminine attribute.  Have you ever heard a masculine person scream while killing a spider?  You would have to experience it to really know the full affect of it all!

Anyway, back on track!

So, now that I'm venturing back into the closet, mi esposo will be deemed my 'husband'.

I don't like it.  It makes me crawl out of my skin.

A lot of the time, when I have to refer to Papi in conversation, I use 'my spouse'.

I don't like that either, but it's the easiest way to get around it.  From the moment I call Papi 'my spouse' people automatically refer to my love as 'he'.

the invisible femme ...

I flail about with my pronouns and proper labels, while I skirt around the issue of it all, letting people figure it out on their own.

Papi doesn't really want any attention brought to the topic when we're out and about, but in the privacy of our own home, my love is stringent about training me with pronouns and labels that my love wishes to be addressed as.

I'm still not able to say 'he' out loud.  Somehow, writing it here is the only place I don't cringe.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true.  I do flinch when writing it here and I still try very hard to walk around the topic, using labels such as 'Papi', 'my love' and 'mi esposo'.

Something very interesting is happening, however.

Now that I'm hyper aware of pronouns and labels that people like or dislike, I've started becoming free of pronouns all together, even when it comes to strangers.

That's the time when I can use 'they'.  I refused to use that word not too long ago because it is grammatically wrong, but I have started to use it when I'm stuttering about labeling and pronouns.

It's like I have pronoun PTSD, and I don't use any for fear that I will insult someone.

In the queer community, people have become extremely sensitive about labels and pronouns, and some of us are having a hard time catching up.

I'm not a political person.  I'm just a creative person who loves people for their hearts, not their politics or gender.

I really do my best to conform with pronouns/labels in the way people prefer, but I'm human, and sometimes I screw up.

At the same time, I suppose it's my job to pass it on to the next person who's learning about transgender people as well.

My hope is that before I die, I get it flowing comfortably.  Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

I mean really, I have a lot of time to get it down before I expire.  People keep trying to kill me while I'm on the road, but somehow, I keep bouncing back.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

And now, I'm back in the closet.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

You see, this blog of mine is supposed to be about me.

It's called: Andréa's Healing Journey.

However, it seems that the majority of my posts are about the Tranny Terrorist, or the DIY phenomenon I occasionally experience.

Yeah, sometimes I hijack this blog and actually make it about me, sneaking in a little bit of wining about my bitch of a back, or ghosts.

Well, the point is, it's still much more entertaining to talk about mi esposo and the amusement he brings.


I'm getting my article published on Thursday, and the paper didn't want a picture of only the actual writer.


They want Papi in there too.


Because it's alllllllll about Papi.

And that's ok.

Takes a bit of the heat off me.

Anyway, we got these pics done and the sweet photographer we met yesterday will choose the best one.

Hopefully, she won't choose one of me that looks like I'm in trauma.

Or worse, choose one of me that looks like a beaming, braces infused, bucktooth grin that only a mother could love.

I tend to do these things with my mouth:

nobody said the brace face was going to be sexy ...

So, we'll see which one makes it into Xtra on Thursday.

After our photos were done, we didn't celebrate.


Papi drove me around the city, and changed all his I.D.

You see, my love received a birth certificate that has been changed to a male gender.

It has been quite the process for Papi.  All his ID has to be changed; driver's license, SIN card, medical, you name it.

However, there is one that I'm not happy about: Our marriage license.

It now says I'm married to a man, and I begin my first step to becoming an invisible queer.

I can't really accept that part yet, and I'm still grasping with all my strength to the butch I married.

I don't want my marriage license to be ambushed, so I did something slightly wrong.

I kept our old marriage certificate, and we told the lady at the counter that we lost it in the sewage flood.

Right now, it's sitting beside the sexy picture of the butch I married.

Pretty much looks like I'm starting a shrine to remember my dearly departed butch.

is that so bad?!?!

It's right there in my composing room, so I get to see it every day as my eyes wander around the room, listening to my musical mind about what note, sound or feeling I need to find to portray the essence of a film.

I keep my love frozen in time to keep me company.

one day at a time.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Let me introduce myself ...

Last night we went out for a birthday dinner for Papi's step-sister.

Once I got the awkward brain injury greetings out of the way, everything went fine.

Of course, my brain injury embarrassed me yet again.

"Hi, nice to meet you!  My name is Andréa," I would say with eagerness to meet 'new' faces.

Then it happened like it happens every time.

Papi says to my 'new' acquaintances, "Andréa has brain injury and doesn't remember meeting you."

aw for fucks sakes ...

Yup.  I don't recognize faces very well since the epic bonk to the head.

As people came to join us awaiting the birthday girl's arrival, Papi would whisper in my ear, "Ok, so you have met these people before.  Don't say nice to meet you."

Papi is kinda like my seeing eye dog when it comes to greetings.

It's so disconcerting to have to be in a setting where I don't think I've met people.

If I haven't seen your face for a while, or I've only met you once, you have to expect that I may have a brain injury moment.

Anyway, really what I wanted to talk about was what came after the extending of hands and the uncomfortable greetings I had to fake through.

Next came the genuine, "Ok, so we don't know these people," whisper from Papi and of course, after the 'nice to meet'chas' got out of the way, one of the conversation starters happened."

"So, how do you know the birthday girl?"

For some *reason, I was very chatty and decided to jump in and answer.

*reason: medicinal cannabis.

Not good to do when you've taken double dose of pain killers just to be able to sit at a restaurant.  I am definitely more social when I'm hopped up on Snake Oil and the pain is not registering in my brain.

I stuttered, "She's ... "

oh shit, don't call papi a 'she'!!!

"She's the stepsister," I said in hopes that they knew I was talking about the birthday girl this time.

I was so relieved when I heard, "Oh!  So you're her step-brother!" as they addressed Papi.

I was relieved that I didn't out my love, and then I was weirded out that they saw mi esposo as a man.  It still gets me, because I still see my butch.

In my office I have a gorgeous picture of Papi with his shirt undone, and you get to see a hint of the breasts that used to be there.

No facial caterpillars on his lip, or wisps of little hairs sticking out, pretending to be sideburns.

The butch I married stays next to me forever remembered in a photo.

Papi and I were supposed to go to a friend's house and get more photos today.

Our friend is documenting the changes over time and I will definitely share them with you when they feel Papi is 'done' with the gender transformation.

At the same time mi esposo was getting these pics done, they were going to get me in there so that Papi and I could have some sexy pics to hold on to until we're old, wrinkled and flabby.

Unfortunately, the photographer had to cancel.

However, last night the Tranny Terrorist was up to no good practising poses for the shoot.

Bugger came around the corner with a Detachable Penis on, holding it in his right hand, looking like he was ready to pee.  Mi esposo then asked if it would make a good pose for the documenting pics.

It disturbed my brain, "I don't like it," I said, "but maybe you should ask someone else.  To me it just feels creepy."

Papi laughed and said he'd ask our photographer friend.

Now that we're not going out of the house, I declare today a pajama music day!

Pajama music day commencing ...


Saturday, October 1, 2011

Practise makes perfect.

Papi said, "Can I talk to you about my PeeCocks?"

Fortunately, I had had enough pain killers to just slide through this one with ease.

"Sure," I said, while thinking of worst case scenario that this could be about.

perhaps one that gets sewn on to papi's body?

It really wasn't all that bad though.

It was just my love comparing the difference between the two.

"Well, one is easier to use, but the other one I like more."

I thought there must be a reason that the easy one is not good enough for my love, so I asked, "Well, what could make the other one as good as the easy one?"

My love answered, "Well, the other one looks better than the easy one.  I don't want to be going into the men's washroom and pulling out a small dink."

There it was!

My love has confirmed my suspicion.


To be honest, I wouldn't want to stroll in there and whip out some itty bitty dinky.

I understand.

So, it's back to practising for Papi.

I'm so curious about how much little boys sprayed pee all over the bathroom when they practised for the first while.

How long did it take to perfect how to aim and not spam the toilet with golden showers?

Was it a few months?  YEARS?!?!

My love is practising, but there is certainly a lot of talk about how much went on the floor, how much went on the toilet seat and how much went down mi esposo's legs.

So then I asked Papi, "Why don't you lift the toilet seat up?"

Seems there's enough chatter about leaving toilet seats up in other mens' relationships!

"Ew!  No!  I don't want to touch that!"

"But I just cleaned it!" I answered with indignance.

evidence is here ... on day 4 of a seized back!

Still wasn't good enough for Papi.

So, now every time I go into the washroom to be kept in the company of Bathroom Buddies, I know I'm sitting on urine that has merely been wiped off the seat.

Not cleaned off the seat, just mushed around until it seems there is no appearance of the culprit.

So, then my love went on to say, "I never knew there was actually a flusher on the urinals in men's washrooms."

thank you for my lesson of the day papi

No, I didn't know there was a flusher, so I definitely know more about mens' washrooms.

I'm not one of those who would forfeit a line in a women's washroom to jump into the men's with ease.

The only time I've done that is when I'm filled to the gills with alcohol and don't know any better.

However, being the seasoned drunk I used to be, my mission was to get in and get out as fast as possible to get back to my beer.  Hence, I really don't know what goes on in there.

Other than the pocket camera porn I saw once of a guy jacking off in the bathroom mirror.

Anyway, I think there may be a new cleaner in the bathroom.

One just for the toilet seat.

I'll go looking for an un-toxic, earth friendly cleaning sheet.  I'm sure there has to be one out there like the heavily toxic Lysol ones that exist.

If my love is going to sprinkle when he tinkles, he's going to need to clean that puppy off for me.

That will be the new 'rule' in the house.

One thing that I'm truly grateful for, is my love closes the bathroom door for privacy of the penis.

This pleases me.

I'm still needing a bit of work around my phobia ...

... a bit ... yeah ... that's right ...

... and Papi is being very respectful and hiding that new addition to our family.

I'm getting there.

Talking about Plastic Penes is probably a good start.

Laughing about it is going to heal me faster.

But what would make me even happier would be my love taking over being the bathroom janitor and scrubbing the christened floor, seat and wherever else he may be aiming.