I Am Femme. You won't forget it.

It's funny how the waves are smaller now.  Oh, I still feel them, but they're weaker.

They're the kind of waves that won't knock you down while you're playing in the ocean.  You know those right?  They just bob your body effortlessly and you go with the flow.

Occasionally, you might not realize they're stronger than you thought, and you might get a little up your nose.

However, it's really only just enough to sting, and then you're back to playing on the edge of the vast sea once more.

Maybe it truly is Hurricane Andréa, and eventually it has to wane.

None-the-less, the wave I felt last night was manageable.

It usually starts with the memory of one comment in particular from an anonymous reader.

... wish i knew who you were to thank you properly ...

This person, male, female or trans,

... don't fucking freak on me if i've missed something bitches ...

... said, "You are always femme!"

I can't find the blog they commented on, or I'd link it.  However, it doesn't matter.  I know I was talking about the pending feeling of becoming invisible.

Once again, last night, I had that pang of anger about being seen to the world as a straight girl.

Being a creative person, I always find a way to get out of this with my lemonade I've made out of those lemons.

When faced with the fear of becoming another straight girl to the world, I've begun to be as visible as possible.

If you're going to judge me anyway, I better make my existence known in a loud manner.

I've put away the comfy jeans.

For me, they're not a good role model in my life.  They are what I judge myself so harshly in, and being baggy, they are really only one step up from sweat pants.

As a femme, I would wear my Levi's as girly as possible.

Not any more.

The only jeans I'm keeping are the ones with rhinestones on the ass from the Dominican, and a few other choice ones that make me feel like a supah-stah!

I've given away sweatshirts, except my favourites for the gym.  Because otherwise, you wear sweatshirts with jeans.  So fuck them.

I've re-arranged my entire wardrobe, so that all my pretty clothes are front and center when it's time to get dressed in the morning.

One perk of brain injury, is if it's out of sight, it's seriously out of mind.  Just like putting fruit in the front 'grabable' part of the fridge so that you'll grab them first, I've created a new system.

What's the difference if I slip on a pair of jeans or slip on a skirt?  Not much, except for the fact that I feel like an award winning femme.

I'm not hiding behind clothes to become the meager femme on the arm of her butch.

No, if I'm going to be an invisible straight woman on the arm of my Tranny, it won't suffice.

I have decided that every day is an opportunity to look as pretty as I possibly can.

Straight?  Let me show you how 'straight' is done.

My whole gay life, I've put that high femme into a back pocket, because I so badly wanted to be recognized in my community.

Fuck everyone.  It didn't work anyway.

I don't care if you think I'm straight or a big ol' dyke in a skirt who happens to have long hair.

You won't be missing me anymore.  Watch me strut as I walk away with my booty following in my wake.

The world can judge me however the fuck they want.

It's time to stop hiding behind clothes and shine my light with every breath I take.

I am femme.

I am always femme.

i create abundance in all i say or do

Good fucking morning.

Oh, my eggs.

Not to mention my coffee.

The only thing that is actually working out right now is my glass of water.  That and the Pepto.

thank you for pepto dearest ancestors ...

I started out my breakfast routine like any other day: Staring at the counter for a good 10 minutes, trying to figure out how to make my breakfast.

I might add, it's the same meal I've been making for over 2 years now, so that my morning routine is easy, in an attempt to start the day off without confusion.  It's supposed to be so there's nothing to think about.

Once I finally put it together that I have to put water into the kettle to start, it all seems to go by auto pilot from there.

ah the joys of brain injury ...

When I tried to flip my perfectly cooked egg, and I mean perfect, on to my plate, I thought today was going to start out with an absolutely lovely beginning.

That was until the egg bounced off my flipper with a triple flip akin to Olympic divers, and slipped straight between the stove and counter.

Have you looked in there recently?

It's like it's own living organism.

The hair is abundant, which occasionally is wrapped around a piece of dehydrated onion that inhabits this vast nowhere land we ignore for a good few years.

Yeah.

Straight into the muck and dog hair.

I'm pretty sure normal people would just say, "Oh, well, I guess we're making another one!"

Not me.

I looked at it for a good 10 minutes to figure out if my 2 second rule still applies to food falling into this crevice where no person dares to go.

The only problem with that was, my perfectly timed 4 minute coffee was yelling at me to pour that shit out of my bodum, lest it burns a nasty flavour into the mix.

Well, I ignored the beeping of the timer, because I was too busy investigating the hairy egg.

I had to ask my inside voice, "Are you sure you wanna eat that?"

Inside voice said, "I'm feeling so fucking nauseas and just wanna get this food into my belly to play with the Pepto, before the pink slime wears out of my insides.  Just eat the fucking thing!  It couldn't make you feel any worse than you already do!"

Then I threw it away.  I've learned that the inside voice is not my friend sometimes.

I put another couple of eggs into my lovely little cast iron pan, made by the food gods for the perfect brain injured, breakfast/blob/blab morning routine.

I was frustrated, so I took a break and let the eggs cook while I came to this here computer and set it up for rambling on to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Then I smelled it.

Burnt eggs.

True story.

The other problem, was I forgot about my coffee because the beeping stopped, so it stewed for an extra couple rounds of that perfect 4 minutes.

So, here I sit with a stomach of doom, burnt eggs, over heated flavour of coffee and an attitude of fuck it all!!!!

Gonna keep eating these rubbery burnt eggs that seem to need day long chewing, not much different than that of a bovine mouth.

Not to mention the fact that my eggs are so burnt, utensils won't even cut through these fuckers.

I might as well eat them with my hands.

Then I'm going to chase it with Pepto and coffee.

My day can only go up from here.

Right?

i love and accept myself completely

pick up the phone goddamit!

Well.

I never made it out to receive my share, or witness any ass welts.

I am either; a) still fucking suffering from the virus I caught 3 weeks ago, b) suffering from a different rat bastard virus, or c) going through withdrawal.

If I were trying to conceive a child, I'd say I have morning sickness.

All day.

The only child I'm raising is Papi, so, no, I'm not pregnant.

My money is on withdrawal.

There's a reason why I'm getting that crap out of my system.  It's bad for me.

So, I can imagine that it would be just as mean leaving my body as it has been while infiltrating it.

Instead, I spent the day on the phone.

That was pretty much my day.

It was good though!  I got to speak for 3 hours to My Gratitude Buddy.

We never really get to chat like that all too often.  Life is busy.  But it was a marathon chat.

What I've noticed about myself through that phone call was pretty interesting; I get very introverted at times.

no ... really ... it's true ...

It wasn't always like this, but after the brain injury, I found that I'm not as willing to engage in a conversation like I used to be.

Years ago, my down time was going through my phone and chatting up all the many friends I had.

I let that go after I had 5 minute memory.  It sucks being constantly told, "Yeah, you told me that already."

I retreated, and found that I didn't even want to pick up the phone when it was someone lovely, like my baby sister.  My baby sister and Papi are really the only people I pick up for no matter what.

When My Gratitude Buddy called, I didn't really know I was in need of a marathon call, but I was.

It felt so wonderful to just chat endlessly about nothing.

Well, not really nothing, I talked about fainting goats, green pigs, and Angry Birds.

My Gratitude Buddy laughed and said, "I never pegged you as a pig killer."

I had to remind her that they taunt me when I miss hitting them with the orange bird that puffs when you tap it.  This is enough ammunition to make me want to fly those little fuckers even faster.

Anyway, my point is, that I picked up the phone when it rang.

I chatted and it was lovely.

I got to bond a little more with My Gratitude Buddy.

I even picked up the phone a little later with the G'ma when my wonderful in laws called from Alberta.

... wait for it folks ... the G'ma returns in less than a month ... 

I realized that all I really need to do is pick up the phone when it rings.  You never know what's on the other end.

It could be good.

It could be rewarding.

It could be saying the same thing over and over again to a 96 year old, but it's still good, because it keeps me from isolating.

I think I'm going to make a new rule.  When the phone rings, I'm going to pick it up, even if I don't feel like talking.

Because apparently, that's my mind playing tricks on me.

And we all know that I need to stay one step ahead of my mind, lest that bitch tells me all sorts of lies.

the only mistake that can truly hurt you, is choosing to do nothing simply because you're too scare to make a mistake

Ass welts.

So, apparently I needed to sleep.

It's not often that I sleep until 1:30 in the afternoon.

Without waking up.

Wow.

I feel like a normal person or something.  This is what people talk about with having a 'great sleep', right?

I did it without pain killers or sleep aids.

Could have something to do with the mere 2 hours I received the night before.

All I can say is, how the hell am I going to catch up today?!?!

Don't think I am.

I'm supposed to go to a tea party tonight.

At first glance, this could sound a bit tame to you, however, my 'rough around the edges friends' are nothing even close to boring.

I would say, the evening would start with the niceties of good hugs and all kinds of tea to choose from as we sit by the fire.

Quite quickly, I could see the evening moving in to naked women.

It usually does.

... butch tits and femme ass extravaganza!!! 

I usually partake.

I remember not too long after my accident, I was at the Sweet Georgia House and everyone stripped down to their scivvies to run through the sprinklers at the public park across the street.

I'm sure the neighbours are used to this kind of nude ridiculousness.

Anyway, my sweet friend and Papi picked up my nakedness and carried me through the sprinkler so that I could play just like everyone else.

I squealed with delight as my skin was pelted with ice cold water, and felt light and impish with my entire weight being carried by Papi and my friend.

I may have been unable to do it myself, but I did it.

With the help of my 'rough around the edges friends'.

Well, tonight they call it a tea party with just a few of us, but I know there will be debauchery.

You can't have them in one room without it.

It's why I love them so much.

I wonder how many ass welts will be witnessed by my eyes tonight?

I wonder if it will be my ass?

I'm feeling a little under the weather.  I'll have to pick it up a notch if I want to get to the tea party.

Anyway, hopefully these vitamins I'm cramming down my throat for 'breakfast' at 2:30 in the afternoon will do the trick.

I'll also have to do my hair.

Because it's all about my hair.

I hope your Saturday is as super duper special as mine has the potential to be.

Oh, and how lucky am I?  I have my very own chauffeur to drop me off and pick me up!

Papi isn't coming.  He's not feeling up to the challenge.

One day, when I'm all grown up, I too will have my very own driver's license.

i can manifest and attract what i want in my life ...

Butch Tits.

Tranny.

I thought I'd say it again just to piss 'them' off.  If I'm going to be bitchy from insomnia, then the rest of you must suffer with me.

Besides, how could I live up to my shit disturber title, if I didn't poke the hornets nest on a daily basis?

One thing I thought about last night until the sun came up this morning, was why I got on those little pharmaceutical puff pills in the first place.  It was to stop the pain and help me sleep.

Well, tough titties.

I'm still going to search for a way to get through the night.

Oh, and speaking of titties, another thing I thought about last night, was how much I miss them.

I grieve them.

I miss just rolling over in bed and having a palm full of pillowy, plush puppies to paw.

I feel like there's something missing from my life now.

I realized, they're never coming back.

If I want to feel those soft familiar friends, I'll have to play with my own.

However, they're not as fun.

I suppose I could take up Papi's offer and play with other women's mammillas, but they still aren't the breasts I married.

It's those breasts I want.

As I listened to Papi snore away the night, I cursed him.  Not for permanently taking away my funbags, but for sleeping better than me and not doing his evening chore of putting Psycho Kitty upstairs.

I was exhausted enough, that I merely laid and listened to the Tom Cat Operetta till the wee hours of morning.

And no, that has nothing to do with boobs, but I thought I'd throw that in there because I'm mother fucking tired and bitchy.

Back to boobs.

Every Wednesday, I volunteer for Queer Arts Festival for 4 hours.

4 hours of sorting papers that have been thrown into boxes for years upon end of neglect gets a little monotonous, so I look around at the walls of the office.

Basically, I get do this in a gallery of photos taken by S.D Holman.

Butch Tits.

Everywhere.

Some I recognize, ...

... not from personal experience ...

... some that look like they'd be days of funbag fondling, others that are pert enough to cut glass.

But Butch Tits everywhere.

It saddens me.

I sit in my composing room and create music, while staring at the only pic I have of my love exposed in all his prior butch glory.

With Butch Tits.

This is one of the hard parts of this transformation.

I know there's a few, but most of it has calmed.  I suppose with any loss, there's a certain amount that will never really go away.

I guess I'm no different.

Butch Tits.

I miss them terribly.

i release all fear ...

Papirazzi!

I don't really have much time for a long drawn out conversation about my brain that thinks a little differently than most.

All I really have time for, is to give you a link for Papi's pics in TransLand.  I sorta slept in hehehe ...

There is some nudity, but if you've been honest about your 'wish to continue' click before you got to this blob/blab, then you're fine for taking a look at the pics.

If you're a sneaky underage person, well, guess you'll be learning what an F-M looks like.

Personally, I think that's more than ok.

But I'm not everyone's mother now, am I?

i'm pretty sure i just heard a sigh of relief from someone out there!?!?

Papirazzi!!

Right HERE!

At the very right, you'll see a tab for 'more'.  From that drop down menu, there you will see 'transitioning' with the nudity warning.

Enjoy my love in his birthday suit.

Oh, that and the thigh hair I'm always going on about.

i am attracting powerfully positive people into my life

Sorry. Try again.

I'm exhausting Papi with all the driving around I'm making him do for me.

It may be trouble for my love to drive me to all the places I need to go to in a day, but I like the non-stop company of mi esposo.

At least in the car I can have a conversation with him.

That's hard to do when we're home, because my love has put down the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land, and taken up his extra breathing moments with Rock Band.

Which I was confused about.  I didn't realize there's more than one guitar game.

I was corrected.  It is not Guitar Hero.  It is Rock Band.  All I know is you don't want to be a musician to play this game.  It will reverse any schooling you've had in music.

Anyway, yes.

When we're home, my love flits off into never never land and plays games.   I can think of worse things to be addicted to, really.

Yesterday, we were given a blog to read about the word 'Tranny'.  Of course, I read it, while my love played with the whammy bar, and tilted his guitar up like any other rock god.

In a nutshell, the blog was asking that people refrain from using the word 'Tranny', as it can be used as a derogative term.

Kinda like when people spit out the word, "Dyke," at those deemed scum of the earth to the bigots and homophobes around the world.

I don't mind being called a dyke.  Even when it's spit out at me in hatred.

I mean really, as a femme, being recognized in my own community is like asking the world of people.

As if having long hair and wearing a skirt makes me any less attracted to butches.  I come across my own struggles in my community.

I also understand the need to keep our community safe.

However, using the word 'Tranny', and other words like "Fag," is not the problem.

Not using these words will not keep anyone safe while the world has bible thumping zealots brainwashing their children to hate those who don't follow their rules.

My love likes being called a 'Tranny'.  Why should that be taken away from him, because there are crud in the world that will stop at nothing to kill off those who think differently?

Do you really think for a second that not using that word is going to make anyone person any safer from evil?

It's not.

The only way to make this world safer is to expose to the zealots that we are living creatures who believe we deserve to live our lives with love.

Fine!

Be a zealot!

It's not going to hurt us, unless you physically use it for hate.

What if I promised a zealot that I would never ever use the word again?

Do you really think that's going to change their mind?

Nope.

They'll use the word instead while they're in the process of thinking how to kill the young transgender person, in the name of their god.

I'd rather continue saying the word and making it more common in our vocabulary, so that these hateful people can't make others feel bad when they hurl these terms at them through their venom.

Call me a dyke?

Why, thank you very much!  I'm glad you noticed.  Lord knows the lesbians in my community can't tell.

Call Papi a Tranny?

Why yes he is.

Let's see you try to use it against my love.  Sticks and stones bitches.

reality is in our perception of it ... no matter what happens externally, it's all about how we perceive and deal with whatever comes ...

Papi's Birthday Suit.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

Papi is getting his male transformation documented by a great friend of ours, who was our wedding photographer, as well as official BlueLight photographer.

She has a nifty ability to capture my love's masculinity.

The first picture took me a while to get used to.  That was one quite some time ago, near the beginning of the bomb drop.

I wasn't really ready to see the 'male' to appear at that point, so I just chalked it up to good angling.

And of course, I didn't go the first time, because I was too far into the Pit of Doom to think about it being 'fun'.

No, I don't know what I did that day, but it had nothing to do with seeing Papi in his ever changing birthday suit.

Well, yesterday I went along like it was any other day, excited to see my sweet friends and their family.

And really, it was like any other day, except my love was completely nude, as opposed to his usual upper torso being the only skin barer, at which point under age, short people were sent to another space in the house.

I love Papi's body.

Honestly, I see his butt as one of the sweetest visions ever.  It's why I have such a great time smacking it, with a flat palm to achieve maximum sound and contact, whenever I get the opportunity.

My absolute fave, is when I've done it on the exact cheek, on the exact day that my love has given himself the hormone injection.

yup ... still not into knowing who, what, where, when or why about anything to do with that poison that stole my butch ...

I can tell I've done this to precision, when I don't get an 'argh' out of my love.  I get a great breath in, then those eyes that widened with my hands contact on his ass slowly make their way toward mine, and I quickly cover my mouth with an 'oops, sorry'.

But mostly, I'm just giggling.

yeah, every once in a while, the masochist becomes the sadist ...

Yesterday was eye opening to me.

I got to sit behind the camera, and with every click, the photographer would take a peek at the pic, but didn't know I was doing the same.

Papi looked great.

And masculine.

With every day that passes, my love is growing into a person that is nowhere near the ogre I was afraid of appearing as my spouse.

He's looking like my love, only more confident.

There's someone in there that I got to see yesterday.

I was silent as I watched.

It was calming to see my love look so proudly courageous, with not a stitch of clothing on.

This would terrify me, for ridiculous reasons that my brain sees as enemy number one.

They asked if I'd like some pics with Papi.

"No, not this time.  I'm not feeling so 'hot' today."

I had on one of my prettiest bra and undies matching outfit, beneath my pants that disguised my angst.

But no, no pictures today.

Let me hit the gym for a few weeks and trick my mind into accepting I'm a healthy weight.

The virus has ended, and now it's time to fight that monster that dogs me so.

Then, maybe I'll be ready for nudie pics again?

Anyway, the whole point.

Papi looks great.

Mi esposo just keeps looking better with every week that passes.

It's proof that beauty comes from within.

when i believe in myself, so do others...

Balls.

Right.

So, I just get a handle on things and there's no more talk about penes in the house while Papi has been not so well, out comes this:

"I just read that someone is growing balls from the transformation."

All I could do was sit and stare at my love, waiting for the punchline.

Then another gem was spoken by mi esposo.

"Is it too much information to share that on Facebook?  That some dudes get balls?"

My love has no TMI filter and has to ask me, then I, who has a filter, writes it here in my blog anyway.

Yeah, like I've said before, Papi and I are perfect for each other.

Mi esposo likes to share TMI on his Facebook status, and I share TMI in an entire blog entry.

There is someone for everyone.

Anyway, back to the balls.

I recall the line in the sand being drawn about a penis in my life, but I never specified about balls.

I really just thought that goes without saying.

No penis really just means no balls either, does it not?  Isn't that kinda like a breast without a nipple?

I contemplated how it was I was going to handle these jewels if I had to deal with them.

I quickly realized there would be no dealing with them.

Nope.

No can do.

I just couldn't imagine little nerds starting to hang from my love's already exaggerated 5 Foot Clitoris.

When I was in the never ending closet, I would have to be pretty drunk to even look at those little buggers.

I thought maybe it was a metaphor for something else?

Maybe it's like the butch cock some dykes talk about having?

Anyway, I still couldn't say very much about the ball situation.  I was still a little wiped out from Hurricane Andréa the day prior.

While I fretted, and had all kinds of imagery in my head about the next level of 'man zone', I was now being faced with having to ask myself how I'm going to deal.  Then I heard it.  Bittersweet words came out of my love's mouth:

"Ah, someone just told me it's a hoax.  People are getting implants and it got out that they grew them on their own."

At first I was elated!

Then the fear set in.

No!!!

Not another fucking surgery for ball implants!!!!

I suppose the look on my face told the story without me having to say anything, because Papi said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to get it.  It's too expensive."

Ok.

'Too expensive' is all right.  'I don't want them', would be better, but I'll settle for 'too expensive'.

I don't see balls in my near future.

That's all that matters.

pain is weakness leaving

Storm has passed.

So.

I scraped my way out of the Pit of Doom.  Fortunately, Papi was there to save the day when my pain killer packed smoothie spilled all over my composing desk.

Yeah.  That was a nice effect to put on the already fucked up day.

Oh, and the reason I was in my music room was because I was going to try to compose to take my mind off everything.

Alas, my cords have gone missing from the video and I had no AC to make music.

So.

I spent half the day crying tears of frustration.

I spoke to me dear aunt who stopped the tears with some chuckles.

I stared at the wall, drooling for a few hours.

I finally got hungry and I made some dinner.

I am still on a quest to make Papi healthy food that he likes.  Last night I made my usual steamed veggies with quinoa, and some broiled chicken.

I was thrilled that my love was even entertaining eating my lovely organic veggies on this day, so the steamer was put together with ardor!

Carrots on his side, kale on my side, shared broccolini and daikon in the center, and a nice sweet pile of quinoa on top to heat with the steam.

I excitedly brought the dish to my love, even though it looked boring in comparison to mine.  I like a little tahini drizzled on top for added calcium and protein.

True to any spoiled child, I heard, "There are people who eat things separately, and people who eat things together.  I'm one of the people who eats things separately."

listen mother fucker, i just spent a day sobbing over bureaucratic bullshit, and made you and i a nice dinner ... eat the fucking food and be grateful for fucks sakes!

Papi is a manchild.  If I want my Tranny Terrorist to eat well, I have to suffer the supper of perfection.

"It's just that I don't like all my food mushed together in the same plate!  I want to eat each thing separately so that I can only taste one thing at a time."

Oh, dearest Papi.

You make me forget all about what I was upset over, with your zany ways.

My love had a great idea for our evening.  He brought out the Wii Guitar Hero.

This game is insanity for any actual musician.  The beats are counter-intuitive.  You actually have to play the note ahead of where it should be.  I sucked!!  I wanted to play on the beat!!!

So, after failing a few times and letting down my band mate, because I was playing music the way it should be, I was demoted to singer.

This should have been better, except the songs were stuff I'd never heard before.

I sounded like a polecat in heat.

So bad in fact, that Sir Bark-A-Lot actually started to howl when I'd follow that little line up when it told me to.

As I crooned with the rat dog, Papi was trying to maintain his composure and nail his guitar hooks, the Bucket Head whined, and the cats ran around trying to find shelter from the pain of the din.

It was perfect.  It was exactly what I needed.

I was able to finally laugh at the end of the day.  It may have taken me all day to get to the point of my daily mantra, but I did it.

I laughed.

This morning I'm feeling much better, because 'today' is the 'tomorrow' I waited for 'yesterday'.

It's always a better day 'tomorrow', and besides, there's no mail to bring me down today.

All I have to worry about is getting my love, the new found chauffeur, to drive me around, considering I temporarily have no license.

That and trying to figure out how the fuck I'm going to make food for Papi 'his way' so he'll eat the goddam veggies!!!

'Today' is good.  I weathered the storm of Hurricane Andréa, and lived to tell the story.

i have hope ... i am able to see hope

These are the days that are 'work'.

Oh dear.

This may be a tough day.

My Gratitude Buddy sent me my daily mantra:

laughter is great medicine.  today let's laugh at our mistakes, past and present

First thing I thought of was how angry I get about lids.

Yes.

Lids.

I have this inability to get a lid on with one try.  They fly off the bottle or jar, straight to the ground.  Either when I'm taking it off, or trying to put it back on.

I am 'ill-lid-erate'.

It's one of the most frustrating things in my day, because it happens all day, every day, no matter how hard I try.

As I meandered out of my bedroom, I thought to myself, "Ok, Andréa.  We're going to laugh at every lid that flies across the floor today."

I proceeded up the stairs with the Bucket Head to let him out for his tinkle, while I checked the mail, turned on the heat and fed Psycho Kitty.

It's my morning routine.

But who's the mother fucker who pissed in my fucking cornflakes?!?!?

I opened the first envelope and read a letter telling me my driver's license has been revoked, and I need testing again because of my brain injury.

I opened a 2nd letter that told me I'm not qualified for  disability tax credit, so I owe the government money.

The 3rd letter told me the same thing, only I owed less than the first letter.

Laugh?

No.

Cry.

I'm having withdrawal from the nerve meds, which leaves my temper with less than normal strength to 'manage'.

Jeeeeeezus.  There's so little in there to 'manage' on a good day.  It's all my strength to think positive!

I spoke a bit with My Gratitude Buddy, and true to an awesome friend, she reminded me of another mantra.

you have to fight through the bad days to earn the best days of your life

Indeed.

This instantly took my out of control emotions that were quickly looking like we could have a sighting of Hurricane Andréa, and took it down a notch.

It's just a bad day.

That's all this is, coupled with a short fuse from withdrawal.

This is a test.

This is only a test.

Had this been a real disaster, my love would have woken up completely when I asked for support around the three letters.

Instead, Papi just rolled over and told me it will be fine, and continued where he left off mid-snore.

One thing I know is, just like when my back flares up and I have to do extra to get it to calm down, my mind is no different.

My mind can be just as seized as my back muscles.

I have to exercise my brain.

I have to rewire it to think of the positive in my life.

So, I'll start by reading my mirror.

You know the one that I covered up to shut that bitch the Anorexia Monster up?

Here ya go.

I'll share it with you.

Now I have to convince my mind that all of the above is true.

I don't like cornflakes anyway.

I was wrong. Lesson learned.

I'm pretty excited about today.

I get my very own vocational counselor to help me find a job that this beat up body can do with success.

Gonna try, anyway!

I just have to keep trying.  If I don't have something to do, I'll go crazy.

I'm so afraid of being fired from a job because of someone else doing a U-Turn and changing my life 3 years ago.

I'm a very hard worker when I have a job.  Any job.  Home, music, healing, or whatever is thrown at me.

Even Papi's male transformation.

Upon starting my novel, I've had to read through from the beginning.  I had to go back and see if there was anything I was missing, or optimistically forgotten.

As I wrote, I felt the tears well up for that sweet, broken femme just over a year ago.

I felt every feeling that I had sitting in the La-Z-Boy Pit of Doom.

I can see now that I was really only scared.  I'd never been through this kinda thing before.  I didn't want to fight a battle.  I just wanted my love.

However, I gave myself my very own war.

Nobody gave it to me but myself.

I need to remember how it felt, so that I can help someone else who's feeling desperate.

Yet, I also need to feel how it felt, so I can see how far I've come.

When I embarked on this journey, I didn't know what 'that time' would feel like when it got here.

Now I do.

I never would have expected I'd get to where I am.

But I did.

Despite my fears.

Yesterday, I saw an article, '10 Handsome Men (Who Were Born Female)'.  I looked expecting to see people I would be able to say, "Nope.  I can tell you were female before."

Yup.

I'm one of 'those'.

One of 'those' who believes I'd be able to see the female in their eyes.

I was proven wrong.

Indeed, these were 10 men that I wouldn't have blinked an eye at, as seeing the female prior.

All of this journey with my dear Papi has proven me to be so wrong on so many levels.

And again.

I have to rethink my attitude.

Gender reassignment is really only a tad of the whole discovery.

I have learned that it takes a good 6 years before the transformation is done, thanks to the hormones injected.

still having a bit of an issue with this clear little poison ...

I can honestly say, that when I saw these men in the photos that my mind shifted.

It shifted to, "Hang on!  You don't have Papi in there!!"

Mi esposo guapo.

We are all here for lessons.

Mine seem to be a bit drastic at times, but such is the life of a drama queen.  How can I have center stage if I don't have something to act on!?!?!

Anyway, I am yet again having to switch my thinking.

It's a challenge every day.

I invite being told I'm wrong.  It gives this hard working, psudeo-dog, Type A personality something to do.

If I don't have something to do, I'll go crazy.



today, i will only say nice things to myself.

Sorry folks.

Supporting the SOPA Blackout.

something wonderful is going to happen today.

Chapter One.

Last night, I went for dinner with one of the sweetest friends I have.

You know, I can't really tell which of one my friends is the sweetest, because all the friends I have surrounded my heart with are equally amazing.

There's no room for the ones that intimidate me with their aggressive negativity.

Anyway, we were talking a bit about my drowning flashback, and what I remembered was another moment when time was in slow motion, and all was peaceful.

I was hit by a drunk driver when I was about 19.  I was sitting in the passenger seat, and we were waiting to turn off the street into the parking lot.

We were hit without any sound of screeching tires to warn us, as the drunk didn't even see us, so he didn't bother to stop.

Our car was catapulted into oncoming traffic, but fortunately, they got out of the way and we weren't turned into an accordion.

However, just like when I was hit on my motorcycle, I didn't feel the impact. 

i've got a happy brain that doesn't like pain hehe ...

All I remember was watching pretty little ice like particles floating past my curious eyes.  I watched them drift past me with the awe of a newborn, seeing stars in the sky for the first time.

One by one they'd twinkle and wink at me as they passed.  It lasted forever!  I felt the urge to reach out to grab them, as they were so gorgeous, serene and inviting.

Turned out, it was glass from the rear view window being shattered by the drunk when he hit us.

My friend in the back was temporarily paralyzed, but I got out of it with only whiplash, a bump on my cheek and P.T.S.D.

The show of lights ended, and I was snapped back to reality when the drunk walked over to our car and knocked on the driver's window.  He wasn't there to see if he'd killed anybody.

No.

He was coming over to ask if we had a bandaid, because his forehead was bleeding.

I'm not fucking kidding you.

Anyway, the point is, when I was hit, it was peaceful.

I'm starting to realize that all these near death possibilities are nothing to be afraid of.

I am not in a place where I'm suicidal ...

... thank you prozac! ...

... but I am seeing that whenever it is my time to go, it won't be anything to be afraid of.

Even if my time to go is a painful one, I'm pretty sure that my brain will hide the pain, and allow me a loving goodbye.

I am not afraid of death.

It's life that scares me, yet I will continue to face life's terms of living head on.

I'm seeing now how life really is something to celebrate.

I'm here and that is really a gift, especially when you look at how many times I could've been knocked off.

Yesterday's dinner was a great opportunity to see how far I've come.

This dear friend is a busy artist who I don't get to see as much as I'd like to.  The last time I saw her was in the summer.

I remember still feeling the nudges of tears when I spoke about Papi's transformation.

Last night though?

There was no talk about my healing around this, because there was so much to talk about that is beautiful in my life.

That is my proof that I'm at that place I didn't know I could be when this all started.

I've begun to write the book about the journey.

Chapter one is finished.

I'm not sure really where this book ends, so I'll have to accept that I'll find out when I'm there.



i forgive myself for my mistakes, as they are my teacher.

Peacefully Drowning

It's been a few months since I've needed the non-judgement of 'you', my imaginary friend.  I'm embarrassed and need to work this through in truth.

I had a moment of Hurricane Andréa last night, but you know what?  It was for good.

I didn't have the fist on the ground pounding, fetal position insanity, but I did realize that I'm not being honest about my struggles with the Anorexia Monster.

Well, I have to say it out loud now.  I've told Papi and now I have to be honest with myself.  For the past 2 days, I limited my food to 'feel' thin.

I have had an excruciatingly hard time seeing how I could keep from feeling 'not good enough', when I saw that person in the mirror.

I broke through a major layer last night.

People have seen as me as being very hard on myself all my life.  I realized that this is not my intention.

I now see that I'm frustrated at what I see in the mirror and need help, because she just won't let up.

I tried to appease her, but then I remembered that it is not such a great idea.  There's no winning with this bitch, because the less I eat, the worse she shows me in that reflective devil.

So, I'll just shut off her heat valve and cover the mirror.

Bitch.

Also, I think another part of the problem is, the nerve medication I take to help me sleep through pain is giving me that good ol' pharmaceutical puff.

This is my next venture.  Get off these disgusting pills that are puffing me up like that Orange Angry Bird.

The whole idea of thinking positively and chanting positive mantras is so that I can get past the things that hold me in fear.

Well, now that I'm getting to the nitty gritty, I had an awful flashback.

Because there were tears about my Anorexia Monster overstaying her visit last night, my nose got stuffed.

yeah yeah yeah ... i'm one of those messy cryers ... snotty and all consuming ...

Once I'd spat her foul, abscessed venom out of my mouth, I was trying to drink loving water to cleanse my tongue from her poison.

Well, because I was all snotty, my nose couldn't get air to swallow, and the water felt suspended in my throat.

In less than a second, I was transported to when I was a kid and was drowning.

I was trying to show my mom and dad how I could do a back float, but they didn't watch, ...

... smoke another one pops ... thanks for caring ...

... and I floated toward the sea.

It took longer than usual to hit the sandy shore, so I tried to stand, but there were no little pebbles to greet my feet.

Over the drop off I went.

Water forced it's way down to my lungs, because in panic, I tried to breathe in.  At the same time, my other life support, my sinus cavity, was already filled with water.

Nothing was going in or out and I became one and the same with water.

I watched the line of air above me float further away, and I calmly gazed at the boy who was standing near me, frozen in fear, do nothing to help.

However, It was tranquil.

I felt I could give up, and I would really be ok.

I had peace.

Part of healing our lives, so we may live without our demons, is getting things out of our mind and through our mouths so it can let our souls be free.

Still, these are the things that scare me.

These are also the times I think, who the fuck keeps trying to kill me?!?!

Well, 'they' just keep trying, whomever 'they' are, but somehow, I manage to stay one step ahead of 'them'.

I sleep with one eye open.



even when the road is rough, steep and slippery, I can keep moving forward.

Warning: heart melting pics alert!

I'm such a fucking Negative Nelly!

See what I just did there?

I proved it in one sentence and at the same time, I insulted myself.

Nothing really new.

What is new is that I'm trying to silence the abusive voice that frequents my existence!

I was sparked with a rejuvenation of positive energy when I found the site, Positively Positive.

I've been keeping up with My Gratitude Buddy daily, but yesterday I had an idea to step things up a notch.

We're still continuing to share our gratitude list daily, and we're both starting to think more positively thanks to writing out the things we're grateful for.  However, we've decided to add in a daily mantra to focus on.

I chose today's mantra:

I'm stronger than I think.

I'll tag it at the end of my blob/blabs in case you want to join us.

I've been thinking negatively about Papi's health.  It's not going to help things if I continue reminding myself of worst case scenario.

So, for today, I'm stronger than I think.

Yesterday, not so much.

It was such a sad day for The Golden yesterday.

He had surgery to remove one helluva lump that sprouted an extra head.  It sorta looked like it was on a mission for world domination!

look at his war wound!!!!

He's getting pretty old, so of course, things are cropping up for the aged ol' One Eye.

Old man lumps, hips starting to go, less energy and the classic old dog ghost face.

He was so sick and depressed, that he didn't move from one spot.


So, I set him up with his favourite plush toy, Mr Bunny.

This is the teddy he brings out when company comes over.  When he brings you Mr. Bunny, you know he likes you.

Anyway, I set it up right by his head, and the poor ol' thing looked at it with disinterest.  Yet, within a few minutes, this is what I saw:

The old fart was cuddling his toy.

It made me so happy.

I had to get the world's sweetest close up:



Tell me your heart isn't melting!

He's feeling much better this morning.

I actually got a wag out of his tail.


There's nothing worse than a member of your Fuzzy Family feeling bad.

One thing I could live without are the fart bombs that he's overwhelming our air space with.

Good God it's rancid!

Someone bring over gas masks stat!

But at least he's feeling better, as am I, and so is Papi.

This pleases me.

I'm sure I'll have many pics of the Bucket Head effect.  But in the meantime, you can chuckle for 15 seconds of silliness with someone's Bucket Head on YouTube.

Uploaded by ciaraoh1 on Mar 24, 2008

i'm stronger than i think.

Cat Scratch Fever.

Mr. Sickie is feeling a little better from the antibiotic poisoning.

I've been the one tended to for a few days, and the greatest part is having my love make me food.

I'm entertained with award winning monologues of, "Ohmygodthisisgross," and "How do you eat this shit?!"  Not to mention, the gagging sounds that mi esposo is prone to, when trying to hit it home about how my whole food diet disgusts him.

This is coming from someone who eats an entire bag of Mini Eggs for dinner.

We're talking Costco size, not just the corner store bags that are an appropriate amount of sugar for our systems to work with.

Yeah, they're pretty tasty, yet they embody the yum that I must skip out on, or we'd wind up with a visit from Hurricane Andréa, narcolepsy and a sinus infection from hell.

Anyway, point is, my dearest Papi is definitely feeling better.

The other day, we invited My Gratitude Buddy over, and my love cleaned the kitchen for the visit.

That's a good points winner, right there.
         
Something else tells me that Papi is feeling better.

There was a bit of a showdown between 2 members of the Fuzzy Family yesterday.

Actually, the introduction of the two Alpha maples has been going quite well.  There have been the ever so classy cat call of the wild between the The Bastard Prince and Psycho Kitty, but not too much in the way of physical attacks.

That was until yesterday afternoon.

Papi thought it would be a good idea to throw the cats together so they could work it out.

I'm not kidding.

There was a screeching of doom, roars of pain, and pet food dishes added a ring to the upper register of this Tom Cat Operetta.

Of course, this was complete with a foreboding of death like all good dramas.

This was the aftermath:

As well, during my few days of flu delirium, there was another sign of mi esposo feeling well.

My love felt the need to show me just how much ass hair is forcing it's way through his orb, in an effort to run to the light, and added, "Yup!  All that is goodness is going to spread over to my ass cheeks."

Good god.

The Tranny Terrorist has risen.

As much as Papi is working up his newest routine of ways to toment me, there has been no interest in sex for my love.

I suppose feeling like a gargantuan bag of pus for the past 2 months would be the reason, no?

That's no problem, however, this also includes cuddles.

Right now, I wanna cozy in with my love, but he just feels so horrible.  The only thing I get right now, is a vertical hug, or a bedtime snuggle with his right arm.

When I saw Papi flaunt his ass crack in pride, I got my hopes up that perhaps, just maybe, this is the last round of illness, and that this is all going to be over soon.

Dare to dream, eh?

You may be a redneck if,

I never got to tell you about the whacky experience during the video preparation and the actual day.

Remember that bad dream I had?

The one where my BlueLight partner Lin stopped the filming because of my 'fat'?.

While the fitting of the dress happened, you know, when it fit, Lin ever so seriously walked over and pointed out that there was a bulge in the boning of the dress.

All I saw was her pointing at the 'fat' that i'm all too aware of, so I told her what had just happened I had dreamed about prior.

I got very defensive, because the Anorexia Monster was chattering about how I'm going to look so awful in the video, etc.

However, I found my come back, "Ok!  But it is only Saturday.  I have one more day to eat a gazillion veggies and lose water."

They were both impressed that I was able to actually lose a dress size in a week, but now comes the hard part.  Keeping up with my proper diet.

There has been a lot of talk on Facebook about a campaign to bring awareness to eating disorders.

The Anorexia Monster is really enjoying it.

Mostly because I read the full article about how most models are considered anorexic, yet the 'plus' size models were around a 6 and above.

You fucking kidding me?

So.

To them I'd be a plus size person?

No.

A plus size person can only shop at 3 stores, and it's all made for older women who like to dress conservatively, or in a moo moo, without a spice of flare to it, lest they look good.

Seriously?

Where are the designers out there who realize that the world doesn't revolve around size 'waif'?

Beauty does not only come under the size of 6, but that good old Anorexia Monster is still talking away at me regardless.

hehehe ... while you're sick and don't feel like eating, you can just fake a little more 'not feeling like its' in and lose a bit of that stuff you see in the mirror ...

Well, I'm too sick to fight that bitch, so I'll be sure that when I do feel like eating, it will be something healthy that benefits my system.

So, fuck you and your 'plus size' fucking crap.

Fuck!

The fucking fucker's fucked!

Had to throw that in there. 

I just love the redneck in me.

The Wrath of Dr. Scissorhands.

I guess I'm a mess from the stress.

Yup.

I'm sick.

I overtaxed my still healing body.

3 fucking years already ... let's get this over with!

I'm still learning that I need to slow down with this new bod I've been blessed with.

The biggest source of stress is Papi's illness.

We went to our lovely doc yesterday to find out just what it is that my love is now taking a 4th round of antibiotics for.

Papi has an infection from taking too many antibiotics.

If I didn't hear it from my doc, I wouldn't believe this could happen.

Honestly though?

Why did mi esposo have to start taking them in the first place?

2 other friends of my love had hysterectomies at the same hospital, with the same surgeon, within the same month.

One of them had to have a 10 day visit after the operation, and the other wasn't put back together properly, so she needs to go back and have it redone.

WTF?!?!?!

I demanded yesterday that my love get X-rays and an ultrasound to see if Dr. Scissorhands left anything in there.

A friend told me her buddy had gauze left in after the hysterectomy.  The woman received infection after infection because the source of the problem was still in her body.

Her system wanted the foreign object out, so it surrounded it with pus.  When they pulled it out, they couldn't even identify that it was gauze at first glance.

It doesn't happen very often, but damn!  What the hell is going on with our docs in our city's lower mainland?!?!

It may not even be this worst case scenario, but still, I want all possibilities off the table before they pump my love up with the next step of intravenous antibiotics, all the while blindly telling us is another 'infection'.

Enough of the 'infections' already.

Let's start asking why they keep coming and treat the fucking issue, not the symptom!

My poor sweet love will have to start fresh at immune boosting after all this is finally rectified.

His body has been wiped out with antibiotics.

These are some of the fears I had, when I found out a year ago that my love would be going under the knife.

There's a reason why we don't get our bodies hacked into very often.

IT'S NOT GOOD FOR US!!!!!

However, what's done is done, so I need to focus on the now.

Right now, I'm going to finish this rant-o-rama, settle in with some ginger tea, gobble a gazillion Zinc and Vit. C tablets, and drink as much water as this body can handle.

It's time for a pee-fest!

Get that virus gone bitches!!!

I suppose today is a good day to catch up on back ups of this here cranky laptop.

I already feel bored just thinking about it.

Wait!

I've got a novel to write!

There's my silver lining!

Papi is still sick.

We are now on the 4th 'infection' since the hysterectomy.

The worst part of this, is not the 3 emergency visits.

It's also not the fact that my poor Papi can't stray too far from a toilet.

To me, the worst part is twofold.

My love is now on the 4th round of antibiotics, and nobody is taking this seriously, even though I push for answers.

I have the world's greatest family doc, but even she won't look further into this.

Everyone just keeps stuffing antibiotics into mi esposo's already damaged system.

Today we're going in to see the doc, and we've booked a double appointment.  One for me for documenting my bitch of a back, and the other 15 minutes for Papi.

I'll be making the rest of the 25 minutes about my love.

The hospitals in our lower mainland of Vancouver have been dubbed so dirty, that some surgeons will walk out of a surgery, because the risk is too high.

This is not ok.

We are not living in a 3rd world country.

We are the 'privileged', and yet somehow, our hospitals are dirtier than some countries that you'd expect to be worse off.

I'm not going to be able to write too much today.

I just needed to vent.

I just needed to get it out here, before it comes out of my mouth and I say angry things I shouldn't.

hehe ... bite first, learn later ...

Anyway, I'm going to be leaving in half an hour to start my day of mania.

So much to do and so little time.

And all I can think about is my love being so sick.

Please heal Papi.

I need your cuddles.

Video Pics!

I'm feeling a little more coherent today.

That was worth the level 8 pain and exhaustion.  Just glad I don't have to perform like that every week, or even every month.

Regardless of how much I hurt, the video for BlueLight is going to be great!

The company Green Couch are amazing.  Their style of filming is going to give our video absolutely astounding life.

Here are a few shots:

I thought I'd share this one first, because it makes me giggle every time I look at it.

I'm not actually attached to a noose, however, this song is about Papi's male transformation, so a noose would be appropriate.

It was us looking 'upside down', which is also how I felt during the worst part of tumultuous emotions I had around my love dropping the F-M bomb.

Anyway, this is the hair that took an hour of picking, and half my conditioning products to undo.

I've never had my hair stand on end before.  I never knew it could.

I mean, you'd think I experienced my hair on end through the 6 weeks of catatonic crying over Papi's male transformation.

But no.

It was Zed the amazing hair stylist who did this with ease!

That's not a spider in my hair, even if it gives me the creeps looking at it.

These ghouly pics don't quite catch the way Green Couch was filming it.  You'll have to wait for the video to actually see the effect they were going for.

You can see Lin Gardiner in the background playing keys, but this is a better look at the two of us together:

If you look at the bottom of the pic, you'll see the company, LMG Photography.

The couple are very good friends of ours who do amazing work.  It's Meredydd Gray on makeup, and Lara Gray behind the camera stills.  They are the same friends who did our wedding pics.

They are amazing.

Here's a nice close up of Meredydd's amazing makeup job:

Yup.  I look like I belong on set for Disney.  However, I'm not sure they're keen on a gay princess with tattooed arms and full metal shrapnel on her teeth.

None-the-less, between Zed and Meredydd made such a fantastic look, I have never felt so childlike in all my adult years.  Goddamit it was so much fun!

But I know what you're waiting for.

The Dress.

Yes.  THE Dress:

Well, we didn't really get a great close up with these pics, because there was so much in the way for filming, but here it is:

There may be more shots to share with you to get a really good idea of why I worked so hard for a week to fit into it.

But for now, you get to see how absolutely frivolous I felt in this get up!

It's probably the last time I wear this gem.

My ass gave the boning in the back a run for it's money.  It slowly creeped straight through the material, jabbing me in the butt for a good 2 hours.  Not to mention I couldn't sit, because that dress would have ripped open if I did.

There's a nice war wound on my ass.

Ah, the suffering we do for our art.

thank you pain killers ... you really did a great job!!!

Or in this case, an overly absurd statement of goofiness.

But my favourite of all, was a pic of pouty me.

Yes.

I do pout.

There's that spider again, only this time, it looks like I have black roots.

Anyway, these are the only shots I have to give you right now.  There's so much more, but I think I'll just wait for the end result to show you.

I can't wait for it to be edited and polished!!!!

Rub my Tummy?

Wow.

That was a whirlwind.

I lost a day there.

I went on vacation to video land.  I'm actually still having trouble coming home from it.

Every time I eat, I'm afraid that I might ruin my lipstick, but I'm not wearing any.

I'm not sure how effectively I could tell you about the video that took from 8am until 2:30am.

Mostly because right now I'm suffering the effects of too much fun, and the pain killers are doing their best to numb out a level 8 pain. 

I'm pretty sure this body is going to need a good week to recover from that one.

But what I can say about how wonderful this day was, is it was like living in a dream.

I now know why I like playing dress up.

In my former life, I must've been a dog.  Too much of it makes sense.

My loyalty, my goofiness, my tendency to bite first, learn later.

You know, the usual.

But when I'm in that chair and people are stroking my face with cool, soft, little brushes, I feel like I go into a meditative state.

They caress my skin, up and down, side to side in short strokes, long strokes, dabs, puffs, or whatever it takes to make their art on my skin please them. 

However, I sit silently, feeling like a dog having it's muzzle stroked, and peacefully allow the moment to last as long as possible.

Sometimes, I even get that neck up feeling dogs do, when they manipulatively get you to stroke their chin, neck and jaw line.

Slower than a minute hand on a clock, my chin raises, and true to any dog, I've trained them to pull my jaw down again.

Then there's the hairdresser!

They stroke your hair with cushy, rounded bristles, tingling your scalp enough to give you goosebumps.

Even yesterday when my hair was being back combed into manic frenzy, I liked it.

She'd push those little pins in, and they would give every follicle a gentle hold, quite like a traction machine.  They get stretched out and are ready to relax when the exercise is over.

Yeah, it took me an hour to pick through that creation of enthusiastic madness out.

That and half of my conditioner supplies.

But don't worry folks!  My hair is still hangin' in there so that I can bore you with the monotony of it all being about my hair.

... but you know it is ...

Anyway, I'm hoping that this post has stayed on track.  I certainly know I'm having trouble reeling it in right now.

But hey, the pain killers are doing their job.

I will be posting pics and links soon.

hip hip hooray! literally.

I did it!!!!!!!!!!!

Albeit just barely, but I did it.

I dropped one dress size in 7 days, by eating healthy and exercising, and the dress is on!

I didn't have to harm my body, and that's wonderful.

Here's to hoping the zipper doesn't break on set.

This was just a very quick hello before I'm off on my way to video land.

I hope your day is as much fun as mine will be ...

Here we go!

Yesterday, I had an opportunity to hear a male's side of being here on planet earth.

We all know I'm leery of strangers, but most of my fear is toward males.

What I got to realize yesterday, was that I'm in great company in this department.

We went by a friends house yesterday, and both he and Papi were talking about how women are afraid of them.

I mean really, it just takes a few assholes to ruin it for us gals for life.

However, listening to two people whom I know are good people towards female strangers, it was really quite sad.

"I can't handle walking down the street and watching a woman cross, because they think I'm a scary dude."

It really hit me.  Now that my love is looking more male, he can't make googoo faces at kids, or the mother will pull them in closer for fear that they are a pedophile.

And I don't blame them.

There are some sick fucks out there.

I have my own proof.

Still, I feel sorry for F-M people who are having to learn the ropes of becoming a man.

They have to change their demeanor towards other men.  Gregarious males get started at strangely by the bio-males of this world.

Mi esposo has had to keep his chatting to people he knows, or he feels comfortable around.

That's just so brutal.

Everywhere my love goes, he chats people up, and wins their hearts in an instant.

I'm not like that.  Even though I can stand on a stage and belt out songs, when it comes to strangers, I'm not quite the same.  Most of the time I just smile and giggle, because in all honesty, I'm nervous and shy.

So, I just watch and smile at the way eyes light up when Papi is goofy, chatty, charming and just himself.

However, that's something that he feels he has to curb.

That makes me sad for him.

How can you just change that extrovert to an introvert?  I don't think it can be done.  My love is just too friendly for that.

I'm sure he'll figure it out.

Anyway, it was really sad yesterday to hear them both talk about the changes in how women automatically assume they're male predators.

I get it.

Not too long ago, I was running into a store, and Papi parked in an alley next to it.  When I was about to return to our car, there were two men walking down the alley behind me.

Of course I freaked and continuously turned my head to see if they were gaining on me like those in the past who have attacked me.

They figured out that I was terrified and backed off in a very obvious way to make sure I knew they weren't coming for me.

They were the good ones, but that didn't matter when I was walking down an alley alone.

No male behind me in an alley will ever make me comfortable.

Unless it's my bodyguard.  Damn I wish I had one of those!  I'd be a lot less frightened.

But you know what?  Because of how I explained to both Papi and our friend about how much fear a woman can have, our friend wrote probably the most touching email to me I have ever received.

He asked me to help him with his body language so that women wouldn't cross the street anymore.

In reality, that's never going to stop, yet I can still show him what those of us with P.T.S.D. are afraid of and how he may be able to lighten his presence.

It just made me feel so good inside that someone saw a person in me, that could help them.

I am loved.

And now I'm off to try on that dress.

Jeeeeeezus ... wish me luck.

Dream a Little Dream With Me.

Well, I did pretty good until last night.

I've been eating healthy, exercising and trying to be nice to myself.

That doesn't stop what I see in the mirror, but I feel better, so if nothing happens to get me into that dress, at least I'm feeling healthy.

However, even though I can talk to myself about being healthy, the Anorexia Monster is nipping at my heels, very much in the same manner as Sir Bark-a-Lot when we have company.

Alas, the Anorexia Monster entered my dreams last night.

I dreamed I was at least 50 pounds heavier than I really am, and when we did the video shoot, the Grand Poohbah ...

aka the big boss lin ...

... stopped shooting and said, "Hold on, hold on!  We have a bit of a problem here!"

She showed me the problem.

Yup.

Great gobs of fat hanging from my stomach.

We had to cancel the video shoot and I had to go lose weight.

Jeeeeeeeezus Christ on a stick!

First of all, even if I was as heavy as the Andréa in the dream, we'd still be doing a video, because this video is not about perfect bodies who have suffered to be this way.

This video is about my craft, my art and my talent, not my fucking ass and stomach.

Second of all, I can get another dress that will flatter my curvacious body and I will still feel sexy, because sex appeal comes from within.

So, I woke up, and what do you think is the first thing I did?!?

If you guessed run to the mirror and lift my t-shirt up to reveal the stomach that doesn't look like the one in my dream, then you'd be correct.

It was actually good for me.

For a moment, I saw that I'm smaller than the person in the dream, even if it did switch very quickly into wayyyyyy too much heftiness on my hips.

That's when I stopped looking.

I'm eating my normal breakfast, and will eat my healthy food through the day, coupled with a gym/physio workout and nice words to myself.

Even if I can't get into that dress tomorrow, I'm trying to remind myself that this was a gown worn in my teens.

I have to remember that I'm a woman, not a young girl.

I have to remember that one of the sexiest women known, was a vivacious size 10, which in today's sizes bring Marilyn Monroe's size closer to a 16.

I have to remember that the fashion industry has started to make clothing smaller, so that we women have even more grief about our healthy bodies.

Fuck them and their fucking ridiculous sizes that make us, with eating disorders, cringe every time we need to buy a new pair of jeans. 

Fuck them and their fucking air brushing to make an aging woman feel older than the stars we see in magazines.

Fuck them and their fucking rants about who's too fat or who's too thin.

Fuck them and their glorifying of mentally ill models, who are starving themselves for designers from hell.

I have had crying sessions in change rooms, where I've had to leave all the clothes I've tried on in a crumpled mess, that which reflects my mind.

Well, today I will be good to myself, even if I do see the dream Andréa in the mirror.

The mirror lies.

I have to remember that the only reason I have a mirror is to see if my outfits are not looking like a tossed salad with way too many clashing veggies.

Anyway, all I really want to say is, even if I can't fit into that dress tomorrow that I wore just 5 months ago, then fuck it.

I'm healthy, and there's another dress out there just waiting for me to slide my sexy booty into.

Always the Princess.

So, I've been trying to let go of the 'father' that hasn't been a dad.

I have abandonment issues from him that strengthen my insecurities to this day.

I am so afraid of abandonment that I expect everyone to leave eventually; friends, family, Papi.

It was the the way I grew up.  I would wait for everyone to leave, or my mom would move us around so that I was the one leaving friends I worked so hard to discover.

It makes for a clingy person who is desperate for love, and willing to do anything to have people in my life.

I also would add up the patterns in my existence that were difficult and obsess about the fact that I'm doomed to repeat that same pain, over and over.

When the chemical imbalance had me suffering from a nervous breakdown, it obviously affected my last relationship.  I thought that once I was better and on anti-depressants, everything would run smoothly.

Instead, I was dumped in an epic way by The Beast.

and boy am i grateful ... 

However, my 'issues' are now poking at the flesh wound of the past year of struggle with Papi's male transformation.

My fear is, now that I'm cruising on a happy plain, that Papi will leave.

Last night it really hit me to the point that my love asked what was going on.

All I could say is, "Nothing," which eventually turned into, "I don't really want to know the answer."

Cryptic?

Yes.

I've become been quite the professional at hiding feelings in my sober, adult years.

Papi nudged a bit more and I said it.  "I feel like now that I'm feeling better about the transition and all, that you'll leave me because I feel strong enough for you to do so."

My love was quite confused.

In all reality, so was I.  Yet, Papi reaffirmed that it's all going to be ok, "I'm looking at houses for us to buy in the Dominican Republic!  Why would I be doing that if I was thinking of leaving you?"

Well, you have a point, Papi.

Then The Yank had words of wisdom around this, by telling me that this past year is proof that mi esposo isn't leaving.

Well, I have all this dread to thank dear ol' daddy for.

I'm not sure why I feel guilty about not calling the person who could care less to call me on my wedding day or my birthday.

I stopped calling after that.  I refuse to be the one to always be reaching out to someone who doesn't reciprocate.

I have at least learned that from my abandonment issues.  I can't be chasing down love.  I can only give love to those who want it and have the ability to return in kind.

Anyway, that man, who's sperm brought me into this world, was so horrible to my baby sister that I don't really want to have anything to do with him.

It hurts to know that I was his princess and my baby sister was less to him.

That's what keeps me from calling.  The fact that he treated us differently is enough.

I love my baby sister so deeply, that I will defend her to the death.

that's the dog in me ...

So, someway, somehow, I've got to get over this guilt thing.

For years it was the reason I would call my father.

Out of guilt.

I don't really get anything out of a relationship with him.

It's so sad, and my heart aches.

All I ever wanted was a dad.

Gimme, gimme, gimme!!!

Here's what's really wacky.

Through this male transformation, I've had to get used to a new pronoun for Papi.

I feel like 80% of the time I'm saying the proper pronouns. 

But of course, everyone slips up every now and then.  I'm just glad my love isn't psycho about my brain not catching on too quickly.

I'm fine in black and white.  I never slip up here or anywhere else I write about mi esposo.

I just need to get this down for my love.

However, during this journey, I've opened my eyes even more to gender recognition.

It would be great if someone could come up with a non-gender specific pronoun, but here in my lifetime, well, we don't.

Unless you speak Estonian, Finnish, Hungarian, Persian, Basque, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Malay, Quechuan, Tagalog, Davidian, Turkish or Ido.

Really?!

All these languages don't use pronouns to differentiate between gender identification.

So.

What the fuck is the matter with us?!

Why don't we have something to work with.  Why do we have to choose between only two options?

You see, now that I'm having to rearrange my mind with a pronoun switch, I'm starting to do it all over the place.

People who don't even have an inkling of transgenderism are starting to become non-gender specific.

So strange.

I just don't want to use pronouns at all anymore.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, over and over again I hear, "How about using they?  That works."

You know, I'm too much of a grammar nerd to use 'they', considering it's only one person.

I'm also not into calling someone an 'it', like I was spitting venom at the disgust of someone so deeply that I am insulting them.  It's like having a turned up nose toward someone, or some homophobic bumpkins, who can't even look at a person as human, and they call you an 'it' in revulsion.

Anyway, I have started to think of everyone as non-gender specific, and it's a real trip.

Even a hetro woman who is obviously showing the world her womanly bosom, and tight clothes to show of her womanly booty, I  am starting to just see as a person.

No pronoun.

A person.

So dammit!  Who's the grand-poo-bah of language?

Can someone hook me up with this person?

I need to start a gender neutral discussion with them so that we can sort this out.

Otherwise, I just might lose it.

And we don't want that now, do we?

**inserts tongue in cheek**

Oh, the mayhem that will be ...

What a great day yesterday!

We had to work really hard to fit everything into one day of video prep for BlueLight, but taskmaster Lin and her beautiful wife Carol are absolutely amazing at getting things organized.

And boy, do I need that.

I used to be that way before the brain injury, but now I need help, and that's ok.

I appreciate the details that they are so good at picking out.  This is going to be so much fun!!!

Except for the part where I can't fit into my dress that I performed in on one of our last gigs.  You know remember that gig?  The one that I put my back out for and had a ride in an ambulance after?

Yeah.

I go big.

I don't just leave a show in a limo, I leave on a stretcher in an ambulance.  Top that bitches!

Anyway, the dress.

It's hard enough for me to actually see myself as a healthy weight, but to not fit into a dress has my Anorexia Monster whispering in my ear ever so seducingly.

For those of us who have an eating disorder, you understand the dysphoria that occurs when we look in the mirror.

Carol tried to help ease my 'Oh no, I'm too fat!' drama, by showing me that she has some fat on her healthy body, and that it's ok.  She tried to reassure me with, "We could find another dress if we need to."

anorexia monster has something else in mind ...

The problem is, every time I look in the mirror, I see great gobs of fat that shouldn't be there, hence, I never really know I've gained true weight if I'm not performing, because I'm not attempting to slide into fancy clothes.

Well, I have 6 days to get this body into that dress.

I can't accept that I would have to rent a dress for the day because of weight gain.  I cannot do that.

I know that as we age, it's only natural to gain weight, but my Anorexia Monster won't accept it.

So, here we go.

6 days of gentle, yet pin-pointed exercise to help that booty slide into that outrageous, fuschia, taffeta gown, and my waist line closer to what it was a few months ago when I felt like wearing my sexy jeans.

a little xmas meltdown had me wearing sweats for a good month there ...

Think I can do it?

The more realistic part of my brain says, "I think not," however, that won't stop the Anorexia Monster.  She will not stop at anything to fit into that dress.

Seriously!  It just fit this August past!

I know I put on weight after every re-injury of my bitch of a back, but damn!  This can't happen right now!!!

My mind has been obsessing about food every second since that bursting of my body image bubble yesterday.

Normally, I obsess about the goodies that I want.  God forbid they're in the house, because then it's like I have blinders on, and can only see the foods that whisper my name.  I have to eat them to get them off my mind.

However, right now, I'm obsessing about how little I can eat to stay healthy, yet not allow the Anorexia Monster take over.

It's a tough balance, but I can do this!  I have all the foods I need to make my body feel svelte, even if the mirror lies.

Oh.  Did I mention it's the same dress I wore in my teens when I was foolish enough to think that winning a pageant would convince me that I'm pretty?

Well, I won runner up, so I'm sure you can imagine what came next for that 'I'm not good enough' brain.  Yup.  Years upon years of thinking I'm not pretty enough.

Well, I know now that pretty comes from the inside, but my outside wants to fit into that fucking dress!!

Oh, this should be a great week for Hurricane Andréa.  I'm sure there will be many moments of mayhem for you to enjoy.

Or relate to?