yes.

I was asked today, "Your spouse is transgendered?" by a legal type of individual, so I was under obligation to answer.

I'm pretty sure if I was asked this question by anyone a year and 2 months ago, I would not have had the same reaction as I did today.

"Yes," I said, with a smile of honesty and comfort.

I suppose it's true.

Everything happens for a reason.

Timing of life sometimes, is so inconceivably intricate.

My love needed to make this change in his life.  He did it when the time was right for him.

Of course, through my wallowing about it all, I would never say there could be a 'right' time for that one.

It's a bit like the ripping of a bandaid.

Just gotta do it.

Did it.

Done.

I felt that the ability to answer 'yes' with such grace came, because I've had that 'year' to think it over.

I know how much I love Papi.  I'm proud of mi esposo.

I'm proud to be in love with Papi.

This was the moment I was too afraid to think could ever come.

I'm able to defend my love.

I didn't think I'd ever get here.  I was too busy defending myself.

Somewhere along the line, my defence has switched to having been in favour of Papi.

So, yes, my spouse is transgender.

Yes, I can answer that with love and acceptance.

Yes, I can safely say that when Papi decided to make his transition, that it indeed was the 'right' time.

That smile I had while saying, "Yes," felt better than anything I've felt throughout this whole journey.

Yes.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

exchanges of love.

I took the paper off my mirror.

I wasn't really expecting a big monumental moment, nor was I expecting my lunacy to end.

I just wanted to see if I'm still as wacky as the last time I looked into it.

Yup.

She's still there, however, I'm not feeling the burn from the visions she expunges.

Still, I really wasn't expecting what I actually gained from it.

I did expect that there wouldn't be a "HOORAY!" from the peanut gallery.

I didn't think I'd get a parade out of it.

I did know that if my dysphoria would not have been cured.

But there was something I had no idea I'd receive.

My love decided to replace my words of praise to myself with words of praise from him.

 

It was certainly a wonderful sight.

I told a few friends about it.  I just didn't tell my love how much it meant to me.

I bragged to a few lovely souls who struggle with eating disorders.  I needed to share how good this made me feel.

But I didn't tell Papi!

My dear sweet love didn't get to know what he had done for my heart.  He didn't get to know about how fortunate I feel to have such a caring person who knows what I need to hear.

Well, he knows what I need to hear but doesn't just tell me fluff for the hell of it.

He'll tell me when I need to be told the truth.

Regardless, the paper is down and I'm going to be leaving this gem exchange of love up for a while.

It doesn't mean that I've been healed from this ridiculous mental disorder.  I'd like to know from any of my friends with an eating disorder, does your dysphoria ever go away?

I don't think so.

Not for me anyway, but to have a sweet message on my mirror does indeed make everything feel better.

That and the fact that I held down a soy latte yesterday.

It was pure heaven.

i am safe to feel vulnerable

No Rest for The Wicked.

I'm sleeping so good now. 

So, there I was waking from a non-withdrawal stricken, peaceful sleep and I realized, "Hey!  It's only 9 a.m.!  Papi might still be up from the graveyard shift!"

I jumped out of bed excited to have a morning hug and opened our empty shelled, echo-istic pocket door.

I whipped it open with fervor, like a child opening her door for her very special birthday and my first vision of the morning?

Papi with a needle stuck in his ass.

Now, I haven't really been talking about my issues with hormones lately.  I think I just needed to breathe a little bit about it.

Those hormones are still the thorn in my side with this transformation.

I'm getting used to Papi's ever changing 'man zone'.  I guess I just ignore how it's happening.

Point is though, it never fucking fails.

My love does his very best to keep this vision away from my delicate eyes, and time and time again I walk in on him.

This time had to be the best though.

The face on both of us.

He, looking with a side view, lip pierced glance of, "You've got to be kidding me."

I, doe eyed with a gaping mouthed face of, "You've got to be kidding me."

I know that I've come so far in this journey.  There's so much more to go for me.  But to see this vision first thing in the morning feels a bit like I'm being sent a message.

Deal with it?

No.

How about, it's time to start processing it?

Maybe.

All I know is, first thing in the fucking morning?!?!?

Yeah.

This could prove to be an interesting day.

When these little nudges of 'hey Andréa, how about we look at this now?' start coming, then the fun really begins.

There truly is no rest for the wicked.

i trust in the process of life

Word of the Papi.

Things are starting to look up in the health area of our home.

Yeah, just in time to enjoy it while running around doing the G'ma's bidding.

At least we're feeling better enough to handle the summons of the old bird.

We're starting to eat real food now.  Perhaps the chicken pakoras last night weren't the right idea, but hey, they tasted so much better than crackers.

So, as I was making veggies to attempt another round of, "Please, please, please my dearest stomach!  I've been so good to you for so many years.  How about we allow a little chard in that empty hole?" I asked my love if he would like to have a few greens in his healing tummy too.

I got the face of squint.

I asked again, in more or less of a rhetorical question, and managed to get him to allow a 'few' on his organic brown rice.

Of course, this will be chased with Dr. Pepper, but at least there's an attempt.

So, I filled my bowl and drizzled with some lovely tahini sauce, I asked my love if he would like anything at all on his bowl of rice.

"Sweety, do you want anything on your veggies?"

"Honey no!!  No vegetable weird shit!"

Word of the Papi.

No vegetable weird shit.

These are the times that I realize he's feeling much better.

That and harassing the old fart upstairs.

She has been quite adamant that she will not allow my love any freedom to be who he needs to be.  We've been hearing about it while she gave us a breather being in Alberta.

"I refuse to call her a man!"

Our sweet aunt said, "Well, you're going to look pretty silly when he has a beard and you refer to him as a woman."

I was told that one had her thinking for a moment.

The cranky ol' thing started in on Papi pretty quickly.  No less than 24 hours into the return and I heard, "You look like you have a moustache."

"That's because I do."

"Well I don't like it.  Please get rid of it."

"There's going to be more to come, so you might as well get used to it."

Oh, but wait, this was also done topless so that the G'ma had to face the facts about the top surgery.

There's just no point in sugar coating it anymore.

The old poop is going to hate everything about anything regardless of what it is anyway, and she's going to be nasty about it on top of that.

So, as I sat downstairs waiting for the conversation to turn into either a religious debate or a homophobic/transphobic slamming of my love, I was pleasantly surprised.

The G'ma gave in.

It was a most shocking moment.

This could be the beginning of a calm household, right?

Or perhaps the old coot is just warming up.

I bet on the latter.

i am glowing with health and wellness

Do What You Want.

It's hard to blog without my coffee.  I believe that's why I've been so delinquent recently.

However, today I have something exciting to show you!

The BlueLight video!

This was so amazingly exciting to do.

I know I shared a few pics with you before, but this is so much better to see it in it's entirety.

This was done by Green Couch Productions.  They are incredibly talented.

We had so much fun :)

I hope you enjoy it.

today i will enjoy the journey, no matter where it takes me

Here it is.

The day G'ma returns.

If you don't hear from me in more than a week, call the authorities and the mental institutions, as it may cause my love and I to tilt.

It's going to be a rough one folks.

She's decided for us that we're not entitled to our own lives.  She's decided, "They can't leave until I'm gone, and they have a nice basement suite they should be grateful for."

Yup.

In her house.

Not ours.

Here it comes.

This old bird is never going to die.  She's 96 and her bodily system is as healthy as a 30 year old.

Only thing is, her mind is reverting back to being a toddler in their terrible twos.

We can't wait out our lives in the dungeon.  We need to start our married lives together.  We haven't really done that, because of a few minor setbacks.

Motorcycle accident, brain injury, miscarriage, male transformation.

You know, just the usual life stuff.

However, now that I've broken my mirror, it's time to get a move on.

A big amazing adventure awaits us.  We never know when life is going to be ripped from our existence.

Just like in my accident, 2 seconds in time can change your life forever.

We need to start living our lives together before we lose it.

So, no, G'ma, we can't live our lives for you.

I just saw an old fart on TV that is 105.

105.

Minus 96 would be 9 more years in this dungeon of a basement.

No.

I will not be living here for 9 more years while the crazy old Alzheimer's patient barks out orders and gramma drama homophobic rants.

A big amazing world awaits Papi and I.

It's time to be selfish.

It's time to have that wonderful life that the G'ma repeats stories about minute to minute.

It's really time to start living and preparing for our move to the Dominican Republic.

Sorry old bird.

Things are about to change drastically for you.  If only you could think positively about your own life. 

I feel for you.  I really do.

you can press on long after you think you can't.  it's a matter of wanting it bad enough

Boifriend Cuddles

What's good for the goose isn't necessarily good for the gander.

You know my lovely Valentine's Hearts that have filled our ceiling space?

So far, I've had My Gratitude Buddy and My Boifriend over and neither of them found them to be very sweet.

They didn't like the fact that they have creative pieces of file folders tapping them in the head as they walked through our tiny space of a dungeon suite.

"Doesn't this drive you crazy?!?!"

No.

Actually, Papi and I both love them.  We both want them to stay up for a little while longer.

My love came up with the reason.

It's our celebration of love.

Our loving hearts fill our home and they're for us, and no one else.

I will allow every little love filled piece of paper to gently rub across my forehead as I walk through the room.

Not to mention, we've both found secret little pathways to get around them when we don't want to be tickled by their presence.

I do have to say, the other day I accidentally slept in and only had 5 minutes to get ready and 15 minutes to get to my destination.

That was when they weren't very much fun.

A couple of them got knocked down from flailing of arms as I put on a shirt and walked at the same time.

But none-the-less, our hearts are still very present.

They're for us.

This is why they're still there.

Not all of us are made for one another.

I have a friend who just had a horrible breakup, and she blames herself.

From what I heard about the story, they just weren't a good match.

We can try all we want when we have a difficult relationship, but if we're not made for one another, we really need to take a step back and ask ourselves if this is the right path.

There is nothing wrong with loving the person who isn't right for us.

As a matter of fact, one of the hardest things to do is love someone we can't live with.

I do know that if Papi and I weren't the 'match' we needed, we never would have made it through the first year of this male transformation.

Let me tell you how much I loved my cuddles yesterday.

I had some snuggles during the day when Papi had gone out for a chat with a friend, and I stayed home being consoled by My Boifriend.

I'm still not better from the medication withdrawal.  I'm still on crackers and running to the washroom when there's the slightest trouble in tummy land.

I rested my head against his lap, curled beside him like a puppy, and it was so wonderful just to lie and have someone sit near me.

Later, I had my spooning from Papi and it finished off my day beautifully.

I had all the love I needed throughout this week from my amazingly wonderful friends.

Still, it comes back to, I need my love to hold me for all of my life.

loving myself heals my life.  i nourish my mind, body and soul

Femme Sandwich.

Goddam sorry I didn't get to chat to you yesterday.

I was having too much fun being fought over by 2 hot butches and a cute soft dyke at a Shul.

My Gratitude Buddy and our mutual lovely friend were sitting on either side of me and I felt like a femme sandwich.

Deliciously sandwiched between two sexy butches.

My Gratitude Buddy felt the need to have a chat with her pal and asked me to slide over to her seat so she could steal mine.

Of course I allowed her to have her butch time!  But I wasn't pleased that my sandwich was becoming open faced.

When I slid beside the cute dyke to my right, I heard My Gratitude Buddy's pal say, "Hey!  You took away the pretty girl!  Don't be so selfish and share!"

I giggled the sweetest most innocent giggle I've felt in a while.

We changed spots back again, when the stranger that was becoming further from me said, "Hey, but now you've taken away the pretty girl from me!"

I went to my first Jewish ritual ever.

If butches & dykes fight over femmes there, I'm in for good!  Goddam!  I'll be going every week!

Woohoo!

Anyway, I really did enjoy the positive messages that they sent.  It was nothing like the nuns I grew up with that would take any opportunity to belittle or abuse a child.

Oh, here's something I need to ask you.

So, this morning, I broke a mirror.

I'm not sure if I should find some magic potion to rid my existence of the 7 years of bad luck that's supposed to come upon me, or go with the fact that I'm usually quite the opposite of most bad luck theories.

You know how everyone freaks about Friday the 13th?  I look forward to it, because I have nothing but the best luck on that day.

Could this mean that I will have the very best luck for 7 years?

Seriously!

The last 7 years of my life have had a lot of bad luck thrown at me.  Perhaps it's because I hadn't broken a mirror!

Maybe I should break one every 7 years to ensure I have 7 years of good luck!!

So here's my dilemma.  Do I find some sorceress ...

... oh i think i know the right one already ...

... and potentially erase my 7 years of good luck?  Or do I go with the fact that I have good luck on Friday the 13ths?

Do you see my dilemma?

Anyway. 

I'll have to ponder that one while I bide my time until the next Shul.

Seriously.

I'm in.

i accept responsibility for my mistakes, as well as my successes

The Case of the Vagina

So, here's a good day in TransLand for you.

Remember when Papi was so sick for 3, almost 4 months?!?!

Yeah. 

That hysterectomy really did a number on my love. 

This meant many tests to find out just what was going on there.

Off we went to emergency, clinics, our own GP etc.  Every time, my dear sweet love would go through tremendous stress to have to deal with these personal invasions.

Well, we got a bill in the mail from our BC Medical Services Plan.

They wanted to charge us for one of the tests.

We have benefits.

This is Canada.

Yet they wanted us to pay?

There had to be some kind of problem.

As we looked a little closer we found the issue.

When they removed my love's uterus, they left the vaginal wall where it should be.

No surprises.

Point is, my love has a vagina.

The problem for the health system, was that they had a 'male' identified person going in for a test who needed a vaginal culture.

If you look below the 'total' we were expected to pay, you'll see the details.

"Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect."

Can you imagine the person who received the details of the individual for this test?

A male identified person with a vagina?

How utterly confusing for someone who has no idea about the transgender experience.

But how absolutely hilarious for us.

I think Papi and I giggled for a good hour about this one.

Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect?

Interesting.

So nice that one person in our health care system is able to make that judgement without having any idea about medicine whatsoever.

Stick to your day job creep.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, I did indeed write a lovely fuck you email to the skank who thought it was appropriate to laugh at someone in a wheelchair with a brain injury.

Then I blocked her and anyone else who is on my friends list that could allow the scum of the earth to see my Facebook page and laugh at someone for their misfortunes.

i attract good into my life

karma.

I'm sorry if you came by yesterday to find a blog that seemed to be posted, however was not there.

Papi told me to remove it, as it may put another person in danger if the offender figures out who I was speaking about.

So.

Let's just talk about karma.

You can still say karma is a bitch, and I'm it's queen.  I feel like a bit of a sick and twisted person for enjoying this, but when karma actually comes to existence, it makes me happy for the process of life.

When we're done wrong by people, if it's bad enough that we can fall into great despair. 

I just can't tell you how many times in my life I've been attacked by cliques and their leader.

There is always a ring leader.

There are always minions.

There are always going to be people who believe the lies of the head honcho, because they want so badly to be accepted by the person they idolize.

In every case of my life, I have silently writhed in pain from these groups of people.

This re-occurring theme in my life seems to be a bit monotonous.

Yet, every time it happens, I withdraw and allow the lies to be believed.

There's not much I can do to stop the lies and gossip, so I let it be.

I sit back like a tarantula in my web, waiting for the opportunity to strike when someone else has had the same experience.

I can allow people to believe the lies about me, because it weeds out the scum mother fuckers who don't deserve my friendship.

I just found out the worst of their personality.

These people would use my 'friend'ship on Facebook to go through my pages and laugh at my misfortune.

Can you believe that they would go through my pictures and laugh at me being in a wheelchair from brain injury?

I can.

I know whom I'm dealing with.

Well, one person has come forth believing what I've gone through.

All it takes is that one person for me to feel that I'm vindicated.

I know that karma will have her day on all the many cliques who have decided that they can prey on my weakness.

Right back to high school bitches.

Only this time, I'm stronger.

This time, I'm not afraid to say fuck you.

my instincts can be trusted.

Sap alert!

I don't have much time to write.

I've been too busy making Valentines for my love.

That and those tacky little Pillsbury Heart Cookies.  I'd post a link, but the mother fuckers who made this forgot to put it on their website.  So here's a pic of the evil wheat and sugar bites of heaven for those lucky enough to be able to eat them.

This Valentine's Day is so much better than last year.

Last year I felt I was hanging on by a thread.

This year, I'm more than hanging on to my love.

This year, the only thing hanging by a string is my profession of love.

Pretty pink and read mushy hearts bursting with adoration for the person I'm so deeply in love with.

We've been through so much in our relationship; the accident, the miscarriage, the flood, the transformation.

All of the above are enough to destroy a relationship by one alone.

I am so fortunate to have this kind of love.  There is someone for every person out there.

Please allow me to be your Valentine if you're still searching for yours.

I'll even dedicate one of the hearts to you.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.  I hope that your can find love today, be it from a child, family member, friend or partner.

forgiving myself is far more important than getting others to forgive me

Putting my fears to bed.

It's amazing how much fun I had last night.

All those fears?

Useless.

Had washes of stomach pains from anxiety right up until I got in the hot tub.

Yeah.

It was a swimming event.

But I don't swim.

I float.

Anyway, the hot tub with great friends made it quite easy for me to ignore the haters, and they just ignored me.

Even Papi loosened up when he saw others with the exact same scars.  It was like we just fell into a magic pool filled with confidence and love.

My Boifriend and the sweetest M-F sillier than me, pushed myself and 4 fun loving strangers around in a floaty canoe!

I went down the kiddy slide!

I hung from a rope about a foot over water and slid right in!

Yeah, it might not have been the best idea for this bitch of a back, but it sure made me smile and have the greatest time in a while.

What I realized last night, is that I leave too long between social gatherings, so that the next time I actually have to go out, I think the worst, because I forget the best.

This has to stop.  Somehow, I have to assure that scarred little girl that she's not in that time when people would tease her about her hair.

When kids would literally stop and point; one I remember yelling at the same time, "What the fuck was that?"

I wasn't like all the other kids.  And it wasn't just my Honky 'Fro.  It was also my personality.

My mind was always thinking about my piano.  My piano was my first love.

That little girl who's different had to go to an event for her own good.

There weren't mirrors all over the place.

There was one wall of them and Papi caught me before I sneaked a peak to make a negative moment come to light.  "You look beautiful, my love.  You don't need to look."

Papi may have caught me before I did damage there, but the fear of walking out into a pool as the only femme in a bikini had me literally shaking.

Just like the good old days of starting at a new school every year, she felt so out of place.

That was of course, until she saw the M-F in a full length dress, tights and padded bra slide into the water.

She did all kinds of fancy falls from that massive rope.

And you know what?  Nobody pointed or stared at my body.

It's the fear of the unknown that gets me.

The little girl who has been a little more affected than most by the potential of people's evilness had the best time last night.

She got to shine in love.

I'm so glad I made her go.

Who knows?  Maybe by the time I'm 80 she'll relax a little and realize that there's more love out there than there is fear.

Stranger things have happened in my growth this year.

there is nothing to hold me back except myself

So scared.

I'm so nervous my stomach can barely handle the crackers I'm still on.

no ... i'm still not able to hold real food in my gut yet ugh ...

My Boifriend is in town and has invited Papi and I to go to a swim with him today.

It's called the 'All Bodies Swim'.

This means any person of any gender and any shape is invited to go play in the water.

My worries are twofold.

One, I still haven't uncovered my mirror.  I caught myself looking in the small bathroom mirror to try to see if my brain is still torturing me with visions that don't exist.

... or so i've been told countless times ... wish i could believe it ...

I still saw the devastation of my eating disorder.  Yup.  The horror was still there.

Well, imagine being invited to an event where I'll have to bare it all!?!?

Then there's the fact that the place will be surrounded by fucking mirrors.

I'll be distressed with every move of an eye.

Then there's the second part to this first part of my social anxiety.

This part is so fucking ridiculous that I can't even believe my brain thinks this way.

However, it is my reality.  It does.

I'm afraid that people will see what I see in the mirror.

I'm afraid they will look at me and think to themselves, "Ah, I see why you think you're fat.  Right there.  That spot you have nightmares about.  I see it too."

The part that is most ridiculous about that is that the whole premise around the All Bodies Swim, is that it's a place to go where the windows will be blackened out.  It's so that every person in that pool can feel that they're in a safe place to play in the water.

My stomach is turning.

More so than it normally would.

My hands are sweating, yet cold at the same time.

The good news is, I'm going to this swim with two people who are also needing support to be there.

My Boifriend and Papi.

I didn't know that my love was feeling abashed about his scars.

He feels that they stand out like headlights on a car.

But they're such a small portion of that lovely body, that it's really not a big deal to an outside viewer.

I barely even see them anymore.

I just see my love, a little lighter on top.

It surprised me though.  I didn't know he was feeling this way.  I thought he was in bliss and couldn't wait to be topless in this world.

"No, I wanted to wait to unveil them in the summer, because maybe they'd look better by then."

Those of us who are going tonight are all folks who are uncomfortable showing something about our body.

I'm not alone.

They made this swim for a reason.

However, the other half of my angst?

I'll have to endure the dirty looks from the people who feel that I'm transphobic, or worse, a horrible human being for having feelings about my love's male transformation.

I figure I just won't wear my contact lens or glasses, then I won't be able to see very far and I can ignore they're jeers.

That'll work.

I'll let you know how green my hair gets.

it is often hard to tell just how close you are to success

Words hurt. Don't kid yourself.

"You want me to call a wambulance I'll pack you some cheese to go along with your whine"

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?

Bull-fucking-shit.

Words hurt.

Anyone who has felt the pain of abusive words can tell you this.

The abusive words that my family hurled at one another have made me the loonie-toon I am today.  These are the words that have kept me feeling unworthy of existing.

When someone is reaching out and saying how much they're hurting, they don't need to be told, "Suck it up.  Quit whining."

They need to be supported.

If someone is hurting, chances are they do it in silence, for fear of the above attitude being hurled at them.

When we suffer in silence, our minds will tell us all sorts of lies to keep us in the rut of torture.

Those who have never felt suicidal or depressed have absolutely no idea what it is like to endure this excruciating angst.

The person who is writhing in pain stands on the edge of a very steep cliff.  It doesn't take much to push them even an inch closer to their threshold.

So, when someone tries to reach out, followed by someone telling us we're whining, it doesn't heal us.  It just allows us to berate ourselves a little more.

I have had friends in my life that can't handle my emotional breakdowns.  Fair enough.  Not everybody can.

But if we are telling you that we're hurting, be honest and tell us your shortcomings are that you don't know how to support someone who is feeling this way, because you don't understand.

Please don't try to silence the person.  If you don't have it in you to support, it's ok!

Plenty of people aren't supportive and they get along with all the others who don't need any.

However, we who suffer deserve to be set free to find the support we need.

We do not need to be put even further down into our Pit of Doom, so that we listen to the voices that tell us we don't really deserve to be here on this planet.

You never know what stage someone's depression is at.  You could never know, because you're not that person.

But I'll tell you one thing, if someone is at a point in their life where they're telling you how much pain they're in, telling them to quit whining, even as a joke to lighten a mood, is hurtful.

You never know if that person will finally have enough of the pain that they're considering stopping it by vanishing all together.

You never know if those words will be the vehicle that drives us 6 feet under.

Word hurt.

Don't kid yourself.

These words were the very reason I was so afraid to open my mouth just over a year ago.

I was terrified that I'd be told, "You have nothing to cry about," like my mother always said.

Please.

If someone is hurting and you don't know how to support them, tell them.  You'll probably hear from them that they just need you to listen.

Sometimes, all we need is to get those words out of our mouths, so they will begin to leave our brains, and eventually leave our souls in peace.

You never know what stage someone's suicidal idealism is at.

Do you want to be the one to push them over the edge and watch them land in a heap of broken bones?

Probably not.

So, please, choose your words wisely.

i release desperation and allow love to find me

mommy dearest.

I said it wrong.  Sometimes, my brain can't catch up with my words.

Oh, how it's a common occurrence.

"I wish my mom loved me."

Papi knew it wasn't quite right, and supported, "She does love you.  She just doesn't understand you."

Sometimes though, I wonder if it's really love?  Is it love, or is it warped human nature of a mother who has birthed children?  Is it some strange pull that connects two beings whether they like it or not?  Is it some product of my mother's religious upbringing that tells her she better stay in contact or the devil will get her soul?

What I really meant was, I will never make my mom proud.

I was a 'surprise' to my then teen mom and dad.  They did pretty good for a while, but unfortunately, my dad started dealing drugs, and the undesirables were hanging around her two babies.

... were you the ghosts who did this to me? ...

My mom did the best she could, dumped him to the curb and set him free to spend endless years enjoying his true love; drugs.

She had to raise two utterly out of control girls on her own, ...

... one a little more so than the other ... i'll let you guess who ...

... with no support from the father of her kids.

She had to work a full time job, then come home and work there too.

I basically had to raise my baby sister for a good portion of every day, so, there was perpetual mayhem.

My mom was so young, but don't you worry, she had a good time.

I remember one of these crazy times, with the lovely hippies and yahoos in our lives, my mom drag raced up Cambie Street.

I think on that same eve I remember her puking out the car window from too much drinking.  She got right back up again and kept going.

Trooper!  I learned from the best!

Anyway, I can see how getting knocked up and getting a dud for a dude would have her feel a little resentment toward me.

It was I who changed her life at the age of 18.  It's not my fault, but I do represent the loss of her youth.

Still, I wish she could find an ounce of pride in me. 

I know others out there who do.  I appreciate your pride.

The last phone call I gave her a week ago has brutishly affected me for days.  I missed her and wanted to say hi.  We hadn't spoken since I called her on X-Mas day to thank her for her generous gift.

I called expecting to have something that she would find fantastic about my life, considering I find my life something to be proud of.

I didn't get her pride.  I never have, and never will.  So, why is it I went back to that place of repeating the same expectations?

Those expectations have to change.  If I know that when I call, she's not going to find anything positive about my life, then I can expect that.

If I can expect that, there won't be any surprises.

So then, why bother calling at all?

Maybe I'll send her cards.

Oh!  Postcards!

I'll get a bunch of postcards and when I'm thinking of her I'll just send her one so she knows I love her and neither of us has to go through the destructive dynamic that has been our relationship.

Or, I'll just wait another month and get my emotional beating.

I'll do one of the two.

That is of course when I have time. 

Right now, I'm pretty busy with my exciting, beautiful, positive, wonderful life.

the valleys in my life help me appreciate the good times

honky.

We humans are sick fucks.

I was just over at a blogger friend's site, and he made me realize something.  He was talking about how since he's let go of a lot of his anger, he's lost readers.

Nobody really wants to read about people getting happy!

Well, unless of course, they are already happy and the article is about how to become even happier.

There's a difference there.

We people love train wrecks.

We people love to rubber neck.

We love to read about others misfortunes and pain.

Why?

Well, I guess it's entertaining when it's someone else, and sometimes, it makes us feel better about our own lives when someone else has it worse off.

I see this blog moving further away from the grief of losing my butch, because I'm moving away from the pain.

This means, I'm starting to see a shift in the readers I have.  I'm not really losing readers, they're just changing is all.

Changing with me.

Of course, as life progresses, I'm sure it will switch from my dear tranny, to my personal struggle of well being, to our big move to the Dominican Republic.

You will then get to laugh at my failed attempts at milking a goat.

Better yet, you'll get to see a 1st world country, ignorant, honky woman try to mingle with those who only see me as 'white', with really bad Spanish.  Not as a potential friend to fill their heart with love.

There's racism all over the world.

Somehow, as a cracker, I fell like I deserve it though, because of all the wrong doings of my ancestors.

I'm embarrassed that people I may be related to harmed the First Nations here in North America, and it seems, continue to do so.

I'm horrified that great grandfathers used Asian people as a way to get into dangerous areas, because they were considered a 'lesser' human and expendable.

I'm so heartbroken for the stories of Black folks who can tell tales of their family being slaves and beaten for the colour of their skin.

I'm disgusted by the rantings of those in our neighbouring country, who go on about their neighbouring country Mexico being such a problem.

Would you not want to escape a country that is killing your families?  Would you not want to come to a country that was one step up from the perpetual mayhem that is?  It's what your ancestors did when they came over here and took over by killing the indigenous.

I'm sorry for every colour of skin out there that has been harmed at the hands of white people.

All I can say is, I'm so proud that I have Jewish heritage, even if it was only from my Great Grandmother's side.  At least I have something of virtue to hang on to other than my honky background.

Jeeeeezus.  How did I get on this rant?!?!  I was just talking about goats for fucks sakes!!

Anyway, my point was, nobody like to read about boring topics like how Sir Bark-A-Lot just tangoed with Psycho Kitty and lost the fight this morning.

Oh it was good folks.  He didn't start squealing until he broke free.

What kind of idiot chihuahua takes on a cat 3 times his size?!?!

Sir Bark-A-Lot.  That's who.

Sorry if this wasn't angry enough for you.

I'm sure I'll have something to bitch about tomorrow.  I can't really go too long before I'm back on my soap box.

i am sure of my ability to do what is necessary to improve my life

Papi withdrawal.

So, I went from amitriptyline withdrawal, to caffeine withdrawal ...

... haven't been able to drink it since the egg disaster day ... will attempt to stay off it until after my jaw surgery next month ... wish me luck on that one!! ...

... and now Papi withdrawal.

I have a question for you.

I'm going to do a poll.

When I am not well, I like to be nurtured, coddled, my back or head stroked, or just plain cuddled.

I like the feeling of being touched, because it over rules my feelings of the illness.

Papi on the other hand?

He doesn't even like to be spoken to.

He says his skin actually hurts to touch.

Hence, since the hysterectomy, there has been no chance for intimacy.

I miss my love so much.

I almost broke down last night, because I just needed to hold mi esposo.

Ok, maybe I'm P.M.S.ing and I'm a little over the top needy.

But dammit I want my mother fucking cuddles!!!!!!

My love explains his sensation to me every single time there's something that has him not well, but still, I just want to hold him.

I remember a flu we shared at the same time.

We had a shower together as our offending odors were permeating the household.

We stood in the shower, so sick that we couldn't do much but hold each other.  It's really all we could do.

But feeling my love's skin upon my skin was so beautiful.  It wasn't about sex, it was about intimacy.

I need it back.

I need Papi to be very well again so I can have my cuddles.

I've been neglected in my cuddles this year.  First, I was a lunatic wife grieving the loss of my butch, and that's just not cuddly.  Next, the top surgery took my love away from me for many many months.

Just as he was starting to allow me to touch him, the hysterectomy came.  There have been no cuddles since.

My love is starting to really feel better, as he attempted the gutter cleaning yesterday.

I'm sorry I have no pictures for you, because we aborted the mission when the ladder started wiggling and it scared us.

Papi made a good choice of allowing me to go across the street to the guy cleaning gutters there and ask to hire him.

Great decision Papi!!!

This DIY attempt made me see that he's feeling much better and I'll get my cuddles back, but not quite yet.  There's still a little more to go.

The amitriptyline withdrawal destroyed my stomach.  The caffeine withdrawal gave me 24 hours of a headache from hell, along with a short fuse for anything remotely bothersome.

The Papi withdrawal is strangling my heart.

I need my love back.

I'll patiently wait until Papi is well, but that doesn't mean it will get any easier.

Oh yeah!  The question!

What do you need when you're sick?  Cuddles or space?

the more grateful i am, the more reasons i have to be grateful

Let's get this clear.

For the most part, throughout my life, I've been called a man hater.

I've begun to see what this means from the outside world now.

I've had some amazing males in my life that I would never in an eternity want to live without.  These are people like my band mate, and chosen brother for HECTOR.

He's the longest male relationship I've ever had.  I adore him.

He drives me crazy, but I love him.

Hey.  Isn't that what brothers are for?  I'm pretty sure that makes him my true kin.

Anyway, there are some amazing men in my life, and I would never want them to be hurt by my actions or words.

Being a survivor of a few different forms of abuse, I've had to work on my fear of men, which turns into something else entirely when we over compensate, and it will be seen as hatred.

Of course, some of these men that inhabit our planet are worthy of this feeling, but I have to attach different words to it.

It's not 'men' that are horrible beings.

They are human beings who happen to be male.

There are some nasty women out there, believe me.  But, I won't go there right now though.

... there's plenty of time to bitch about you too ... trust me ...

So, yesterday, I found myself bashing men in front of my love.

I had to quickly retract my words and specify that I was generalizing about bio-males.

Then I realized that this is an insult to the good men in my life.

It was at that moment, that I realized what people were talking about all these years.

I would never want to hurt the good men out there.  There are good men out there.

When I find them, I hold on to them for dear life, because they're what gives me hope.  These are the ones who make up for the rest of the crud of the earth.

As per usual, I learn from my mistakes.

This transformation has opened up so much for me in my life. 

I see love easier, now that I've found the people in my life I can trust.

I see my fears and have come to understand so much of my past feelings and why I am the way I am.

I'm being taught huge lessons that have begun to enrich my life.

I've learned that true love is unconditional.

This man:

... is my teacher.

I now see that I can only place hatred for the people on this planet who use their power for evil.

Be it a woman, a man, or a transgender person, these people don't deserve to sway my emotions to negativity, nor do they deserve to have power over me, to the point where others will see me as a male basher.

I love men.

I love good men.

I love you, Papi.

And you look oh so cute in your new glasses.

... no mantra for you yet, because my gratitude buddy is sleeping a well deserved sleep in and hasn't gotten it to me ... it's her turn today ... but perhaps, today is your day to make your own?  i will update later if you'd like to come back and get ours ...

Welcome back, Papi!

My love is sleeping off the Graveyard Coma right now, after his first week back to work since the surgery and antibiotic poisoning.

I was a little worried for Papi, as I wasn't so sure he was ready to go back to work after such a long illness.

However, sometimes, getting back to work is what we need.  It puts normalcy into our life again.

We're kinda like cats.  Our body physically relaxes when we have a routine.

Yeah, we all need to shake the routine up every once in a while, but we're truly creatures of habit.

Anyway, I remember all the flack my love got from the Rah-Rah-Trannies on their gossip/slander forum when news got out that my love wouldn't be quitting his current job.

Like children throwing a temper tantrum because they didn't get their way, it quickly divided my love's supporters vs. haters.

You have to be a woman to work there, and the community went into a melee about Papi transitioning to a male, but still having the privilege of keeping a woman's job.

I argued for my love until I turned blue.  Nobody really understands the relationship between my love and these sweet souls.

There are so many people who don't want to be labeled, but when given the chance, they will label someone else if it suites them.

The ring leaders of their sheep followers decided for my love that he couldn't work there if he wanted to be seen as a male.

Anyway, the whole argument that I had was not about a 'man' and his clients.

It was about Papi and the relationship that has been built between all of them.

There are some rules mi esposo must follow if he's going to keep this job.

My love is not permitted to have facial hair while working there.  He got himself a nifty little shave kit and I get to enjoy mi esposo fussing over himself in the mirror.

Kinda fun.

Kinda like my love gets to see why we femmes take so long in the bathroom.

Point is, Papi is loved by these women more than anyone really knows.

Here is an example of their gratitude for mi esposo returning to work:

This is the reason my love doesn't stop working, even through all the harsh criticism.

However, there is one part of my love's existence in this workplace that just may change his mind about the rules of the roost.

The fact that he doesn't get to grow that face fuzz.

I saw a twinkling of a moment toward change when my love said, "I hate that I have to shave off my hair."

I'm grateful to Papi's boss for setting this rule.  Now my love has a nice clean face.

Regardless, I'm just glad that mi esposo made it through the first week of work.

Now this means that he will get down to some good times of DIY mania.

First item on the docket?

The gutters.

I'll be sure to have my camera ready.

i deserve to have and enjoy prosperity and affluence in my life

What's up yer kilt?

Papi's body is changing.

I didn't see it before, but it's happening.

I've never seen anything so weird in all my life.  This truly is a trip!

I can't even tell you what it is that is changing, but there are changes.

He almost seems taller.  He definitely looks more masculine than before.

My love asked me, "Am I looking more muscular?  I was told all my fat will turn to muscle now."

Yeah.  You male fuckers really have an advantage there.

It takes us ladies 5 times more work to get the same result as you.

Then there's the wrinkles.  You get wrinkles and you look distinguished, but we are judged for our age.

You get grey hair and you look wiser, where we just look over the hill.

Anyway, we have one advantage over you.

Clothes.

Our clothes are way better.

There's only so much you dudes can do with your bottom half of your wardrobe.

Enjoy your fucking pants.

I hope you secretly pine to wear a kilt.

But please wear your whitey tighties under that outfit.  Nobody needs to see what's going on in the 'man zone'.

Well, at least I don't.  I'm sure I know quite a few more ladies who feel the way I do.

Let's get back on topic before I start having a panic attack about penes.

Papi.

Well actually, I'm done on that topic.  I wanted to tell you about our car.

We've been having electrical problems and finally brought our traveling advertisement to get fixed.

They called us back to let us know what the problem was.

Rats.

We had a colony living under our hood.  Every once in a while, we'd get this stink coming from our car and we couldn't figure out what it was.  It was a bit akin to that Seinfeld episode.

However, now we know.

Fricassed rats.

I'm horrified!  I love rats!  I know they're troublesome, but I could never intentionally kill them.  They're one of the smartest critters on our fine planet!

Alas, they removed their nest and we now have lights back on the inside of our car.

The other thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm not dead.

Just thought I'd let you know.

Throughout the day, I managed to hold down 8 crackers, a quarter cup of apple sauce, one can of ginger ale and have lived to tell the tale.

You bitches didn't get rid of me that quickly.  Remember?  You can't kill me.

But nice try.

fake it till you make it

dying.

I'm pretty sure I'm on my death bed!

I haven't been able to keep a meal down for 5 days.

For the past 2 nights, I've only had 2 hours sleep each.  The two nights before that, only 4 hours each.

Medication withdrawal is seriously killing me.

So.

I haven't eaten or slept, can't keep food or water down.

How the hell am I still breathing?!?!?

I had to go to another assessment for my bitch of a back today.

He took my blood pressure and couldn't find my pulse.

Again.

I'm pretty sure I'm dead.

I'll let you know tomorrow if I've confirmed this.  I'm still collecting data on the subject.

In the meantime, here's your daily mantra if you're joining along with me.

happiness is not something ready made.  it comes from your own actions ~ Dalai Lama

Dear john.

Yeah.

I stalked you.

That's right.

And if felt fucking good.

You were stopping to talk to a trick.  I pulled up beside you and took a good look at the scum of the earth in his 2012 Chrysler Sedan.

I saw your face.

I saw our 65 year old, bald headed, turkey necked face.

The next best thing would be to get your license plate.  I don't know why, but I just felt like really getting good information about you.

When I got to the stop sign, you pulled up behind me very slowly.  My instincts told me that you knew what I was up to.

I decided to test the theory.  I drove down Broadway at 30km, hoping you'd pass me so that I could get your plates.

You knew.

You wouldn't pass me.

People would pass the both of us and give me the finger, because I was the problem.  But you chose to continue driving my pace, for fear that I'd get your information.

Instead?

When we got to a red light, I would hold my phone up and take pictures of your car from behind me.

I didn't care if I was being obvious.  You already knew what I was up to.

But I'll tell you, just the fact that you didn't pass me going down that busy throughway for 20 blocks was pure bliss.

Did I scare you?

I sure did mother fucker.

I never did really get your plates through my overt picture taking.  However, there was one really fun part about this whole cat and mouse game that made up for it.

When I finally had to turn down my intended street, I decided that the game was over.  I had better things to focus my energy on.

But watching you speed past me as fast as you possibly could so that I couldn't get your face or plates on my camera was awesome.

It was like no other feeling.

This little femme scared the shit out of you.

This little femme had you worried for your anonymity's welfare.

To all the other johns out there: ...

... and yes, i didn't capitalize 'john' because you don't deserve it ...

... You are seen.  Don't pretend that you're not.

To my family member who I once saw chatting up his next fuck:  I saw you too.

I may not have the proof I need to share the information about you and your paid victim, but I saw you.

To all the lovely ladies out there who are the exploited of these mother fuckers:  I see you as well.  I hope for peace for you one day.

all the things i need and want come to me