Move it!

Tomorrow, we start moving into Our Closet.

We don't have to move it all in one go, which is nice in terms of stress, but difficult in terms of chaos.

Having been a transient mover all my life, I've noticed that the 'easiest' moves can turn out to be the hardest.

Like moving 'across the hall'.

That seemed like a dream!

However, I realized I made more trips than if I had moved further away.

The worst 'easy' move was the one I did a floor above my apartment.

I did it all with a laundry basket.

That was awful and I had blisters.

For this one, Papi said, "Let's just throw it in garbage bags."

No fucking way.

Done that one too.

You get halfway up a flight of stairs and the bastard rips on ya!

No, we're doing it the right way.

I've packed up the majority of the kitchen and it only took a few minutes!  We have nothing!

Our clothes?

No sweat!  There's hardly any!

The only part that is going to be difficult is watching Papi carry everything by himself.

Being the stubborn burro that mi esposo is, he refuses to ask for help.

Imagine him trying to get a couch up a flight of stairs all by himself!

I'm not joking.

These are the things he does.

There's one box I can carry; his Band-Aids.

You heard me right.

He has an obsession with them.

Here are some in the upstairs closet.

 

There's more downstairs.

Seriously.

Right now, Papi is telling me he needs to buy more, because he uses them for different things.

Different sizes for different things.

Obsession.

With Band-Aids.

They'll need a box all their own. 

However, I think my bitch of a back can carry that one, while papi is struggling with a king size, massive mattress all alone.

I won't be putting my back out trying to lift heavy stuff.

I'll just carry the Band-Aids and wait for him to have an opportunity to use them.

Tomorrow!

454 sq. ft. with a 5 animal Fuzzy Family.

Papi has handcuffed himself and says he's not leaving his mansion.

i strive to improve myself

What's In a Name?

When Papi was looking for a name that he felt suited him better than the Über Femme name he was given at birth, we searched high and low!

The funniest part was where I discovered his name.

I was rewiring my brain after the head injury from the motorcycle accident, with a game on Luminosity.

They had people in a café and I had to remember their names and orders. 

It was pretty cool and I recommend it for everyone!  Not just those of us who landed on their head after being tossed 15 ft. going 50km on a motorcycle.

Anyway, I came across a name I thought would be perfect for mi esposo and he liked it too, and blammo!  A new name was given.

We didn't look into what or where this name would have come from, instead, Papi just went with it.

Well yesterday, a lovely friend of ours posted THIS on Papi's Facebook wall and linked me in.  It's a priceless account of people who have mi esposo's name.

So, let's dissect this shall we?

1. Drive a Jeep, Volkswagon, BMW, Mercedes, Lexus, or Land Rover.

Papi WANTS a Land Rover.  But such is the life of a champagne tongue on a beer budget.  He gets an Xterra.

2. Own a house costing at least 1 mil. 

Does this include part ownership with The Uncle and the G'ma?  Then yup.  It fits.

3. Listen to Dave Matthews or some jam band. 

Nope.  Sorry.  He never has, and besides, I swayed my love's tastes into redneck country music.

4. Be able to drive over 60mph on 10 foot wide roads. 

Did you read yesterday?  Yes.  100%.

5. Have Mexicans do landscaping.

Well, I've never come out and asked if our gardener is Canadian or not, because I don't care.  Maybe I should have asked him to show proof of citizenship when he last did our yard?  Would it be ok if he was from Spain?

And furthermore, do Dominican people count?  We'll have gardeners to help get us started when we actually get to live our dream, but it really doesn't matter what nationality these fine folks are.  There may be someone there from Germany who can do the deed!

Whatever.  We'll have landscapers no matter what colour they are.  As long as they can barter and teach me something new.

6. Drink excessively or do some form of drugs.

Do I really need to rehash those 2 weeks?

Anyway, I found it very interesting to read all of this and only have one that we could say 'no' to.

You'd think with all the similarities that he had that he should have been given that name from the get go!

However, having been born with female parts, his mom gave him a frilly female name.

It has never really suited him.  Just like when someone saw my love in a picture with breasts and said that they didn't suit Papi either.

But this name is more than just a name now!  It was like it found US!

I had to check out my first name.

Once, I googled my maiden name and found a dog doing nasty things to a lady.  That was a bit traumatizing.

None-the-less, in the Urban Dictionary, there are many new ways to think of words we come across every day, not to mention, names.

Here's mine:

A gorgeous lady that one of a kind, the most rare female on the face of the earth; the kind that every guy dreams about. She is confident, honest, loyal, protective of what she has, strong, artistic, beautiful inside and out, excellent lover. A tower of strength for those she cares for, the rock to her family. She is a person you can depend on, just don't go too far in crossing lines with her or those she loves. Or else you better run and get out of her way...because she will come out and get you.

Ooooooh!  I like it!

i am loveable

'Just Married'

Anyway, there's this walkway in downtown Vancouver that is just that.

A walkway.

We were going to help a sweet friend take apart her free elliptical machine so she and Papi could fit it into the elevator, get it up to her suite, and send her off on a cardio filled living.

My love wanted to be on the road that was on the other side of said 'walkway', so what did he do?

He drove through it.

Next, there were pedestrians looking at us like we're possibly from Mars, or Nunavut.  I would have too.

Mind you, as someone with a fair amount of P.T.S.D. from terrifying drivers who keep trying to kill me, I probably would have had a few words for the person I saw making such a maneuver.

As we rolled only slightly faster than the pace of a walk, I slouched in my seat, feeling like we were some pervy predator old man in a paneled van stalking the pedestrians.

I then looked at Papi with the same shock as the walkers.

At the end of the torture, I was in full humiliation and asked my love, "Do you do these things when you're alone?  Or do you just do them to make me crazy?"

I already knew the answer to this rhetorical question, however, he admitted, "I really only do it to get a reaction from you, because it's so easy."

Yes, this is the Tranny Terrorist I love.  It could be one of the reasons I love him so much; he's just as crazy as I am.

Even though all the people stare and judge me for being with a person that would drive through a gaggle of walkers, I still wind up laughing at the end of every antic this brat can muster.

When he tells me he does it just to irk me, I don't know why, but it makes me laugh even harder.

It's kinda like when I was a kid and my family would tell me, "If G'pa didn't tease you, it would mean he doesn't love you."

Even though the 'teasing' he would give me created a lack of confidence and I'd wind up in tears.

OK.  When I think about it, it's really nothing like that.

Papi doesn't diminish my self esteem.  He just makes me crazy by driving down a walkway while everyone stares.

But wait!  There's more!

Not only are they staring because of the ridiculousness of mi esposo's capers, they're also staring at the stickers on our four wheeled bulletin board.

Well, now there's a new one: the 'Just Married' sign.

Mi esposo found the 'Just Married' sign during The Great DR Purge, and in all his silliness decided to put it on the back of our filthy X-Terra.

Let me tell you, if you're an asshole on the road, your best bet would be to get a magnetic sign that says 'Just Married' on your car.

People will actually give you more forgiveness when you have that sign.

I'm not kidding you.

It's also really quite fun to be driving down the road and have carloads of people honking and waving with really big smiles, so proud of our new venture in life.

I guess you could say we're 'Just Married'.

Really, we were married 2 years ago, but with someone like Papi in your life, there's enough excitement that time flies when you're having fun, no?

So, we can say we're 'Just Married' in the scheme of things.

None-the-less, the verdict has come through.

If you're an asshole on the road, get the 'Just Married' sign.  You'll get away with a lot.

Then the people you've pissed off won't feel so bad for the blushing bride in the passenger seat.

Smile and wave, baby.

With all 5 fingers.

i rejoice in the love i encounter every day

We are not alone.

So, I've had an outpouring of people support me by telling me of the varying diagnoses they've been handed.

That's exactly what I wanted!  I want people to talk about it!

There is nothing to be ashamed of.  We all deal with life's difficulties in different ways.

Every single person out there who has told me their secret can rest assured that I'm not going to judge you.

I praise you!!!!!

The people who wrote in to tell me that they too have been told they have 'this' or 'that' diagnoses have done so bravely, but it also means that they have released a bit of the power that the interpretations of our mental health took from us.

I wasn't really disturbed by the allegations of my 'lack of sanity'.

I don't really care, because I know that I'm happy and my life is good.  That's all that matters.

What I do know, is nobody can say I created these mental glitches on my own.

One of my readers reminded me that it's not my mind that did this, rather the fact that I grew up with difficulty, and this is how my mind reacted.

I grew up with a deadbeat dad/sperm donor/drug dealer who could care less that we existed, unless he had a girlfriend who would convince him we were important, and his phone calls would come in at that point.

Not to mention, we moved around from school to school when we grew up with a single mom.  It was the best she could do, to give us the best home we could have.  She was also very young and really did what she could to take care of two out of control girls.

Still, having to make new friends over and over screwed me up a bit as well.  I'm pretty sure that's where 'performing Andréa' came from.  She needed to put on an act in hopes that people would like her, because she thought the 'real Andréa' wasn't good enough for anyone.

Dealing head on with all of the above, plus a little more I don't feel like blabbing about, made me stronger.

I write this blog without a care that my psycho ex, The Beast, is sitting there, right now, obsessively stalking my every word and literally laughing at my disdain with whichever sick and creepy friend is joining her. 

... hey beast! how's that divorce treating ya? karma's a bitch eh? ...

Now I feel sorry for every person who thinks that this is 'supporting' their 'friend'.

It's not.  I have true support and I know what true friends are.

The Hen Peckers who try to harm me don't even phase me anymore.

I have what is known as unconditional love in my life.

Something I realized the other day, when I looked back at those 2 weeks I gave Papi to clean up his act, was astounding.

Every time I've had to leave the current 'addict' in my life, I had to leave for good.

Time and again, I had to let go of security.

With a new breath, I had to start all over again and begin a new life, searching for new hope.

This time was different.

After the blip, I got to come home to be with my love.

I got to continue with my relationship and didn't have to start over again.

This is a new experience for me.  This is beautiful!

This is, what I call, success.

I don't give a fuck about scrutiny from the bottom feeders who would judge me.

I don't need to avoid life anymore, and I certainly don't need a little doctor's opinion to tell me I dealt with it by way of these mental illnesses.

They weren't there while I struggled through to find happiness on my own.

What I need, is for people to continue talking about mental illness so it loses it's power!

So please everyone.  Keep talking! 

We are not alone.

i rejoice for the success and abundance of others

Ick.

Had to make a quick speech last night for Queer Arts Festival.

I have some bastard virus and a fucked up bitch of a back.

I was tired from the evil pills I have to take for this level of pain.

I didn't shine.

I didn't sparkle.

I don't think I even smiled.

What have I become?!?!?!

That is not performing Andréa!!!

It was so sad to walk off the stage and realize I just went through the motions.

At least I did it.

Fuck.

I can't have a redo when I'm better.

Really, I slept all day, woke up at 8 pm, threw my locks into an elastic noose and plastered make up on in the car.

Someone still told me I looked really pale.

Not performing Andréa.

Then I got home, took it all off and slept for another 10 hours.

Sound boring?

It is.

So I won't torture you with anymore of this silliness.

I'm going to go sweat now.

Ick.

i am healthy

Papi and His House.

I'm not sure if I told you the Papi and his house story.

Well, my love has never moved.

Ok.  Once.  For a girlfriend.  However, he didn't really move, he just kinda moved in and left everything he owned at this here crib.

Really, that's more like a 6 month sleep over.

Anyway, mi esposo was born in this castle, and every other relationship he's had has moved in here with him, the G'ma & G'pa and the Fuzzy Family.

You see, at the ripe age of the double digit 10, my love's mother passed away from cancer.

It was at that point that G'ma and G'pa took care of the orphan, as Papi's father was not in the picture.

That's a long story that one.  No time to go there.  Having said that, my love is now 'sorta' in contact with his bio-father.

Never-the-less, Papi was an orphan at the age of 10.

That meant he wasn't moving out of this dwelling.  He was now staying put until it was time for him to leave the nest.

Yeah.  He flew for 6 months, then he was back.

It was shortly after that, that his G'pa got sick and Papi was a helper to take care of him.

Once G'pa passed away, he was here to help with G'ma, as G'ma didn't have a license anymore and needed the support.

Here he stayed. 

Then I came.

I said, "Ok.  Listen.  I vowed I would never live in a basement again, so I'm giving G'ma a few years of us taking care of her, then I have to move out of the black hole."

4 years and one Dungeon Syndrome later, here we are.

So, Papi has never moved.

It's pretty funny and a little hard for me to believe.  I've moved more times than I can even count anymore.

I could count them before the motorcycle accident, but now, well, it's sorta a blur of being a transient and considering it 'normal'.

Prior to this crash pad, the longest stability I ever had was from kindergarten to grade 5.

I'm a professional mover.

Nothing really stresses me out about moving, and I feel like this is my department.

My poor Papi has no idea what to do first.

Not to mention, he doesn't get the concept of a small space, because he's lived in quite the amazingly generous abode for his whole life.

He really believes that our full length leather couch is going to fit into Our Closet (aka temporary home #3) of 454 sq. ft.

He also believes that both his gargantuan televisions are going to fit.

Yeah, maybe in the tub!

One thing he hopped to quickly was getting our TV and internet set up in the new address PRONTO!!!!!!

He knew to do that.

But seriously.  He's never moved.

Have you ever heard of anything such as this?

Is it just me who thinks it's the craziest story I've ever heard?  Is it just because I moved SO MUCH that MY reality is all relative and I think it's nuts?

Maybe my life is the one that's a bit like a feral gypsy, but I can't help but think it's so bizarre that this is Papi's first move.

Yesterday, I just taught him about a change of address.

He thought it was a great idea, until he found out how much it costs.

Oh, it's a brave new world my love!

i have inner resources

Queer as Fuck!

As we prepare meals for the Fuzzy Family, we stand in our kitchen of temporary home #1 and realize that this room is probably about the same space as our living room and kitchen put together in Our Closet.

It occurred to us that we're going to be wading through four legged fiends to get to the bathroom.

454 sq. ft. is crazy!  If Papi and I don't fight in this tiny place, then damn, we can live anywhere!

I'm going to be without a dishwasher as well.

Good god.  That will be the most frightening part.

Did you know I make every meal from scratch?  This creates a lot of mess in my kitchen.

Papi doesn't have to worry about that part.

He's on a special diet of McDonald's for breakfast, Quizno's for lunch and Tim Horton's for dinner.  He chases those down with a muffin occasionally.

That and his pop.

He'll be responsible for bringing out his fast food garbage I guess.  He'll be doing that while I'm cleaning the kitchen.

It's about to make me want to purge even more.

I swear to god, I've never had so little to move in my life, thanks to The Great DR Purge.  We have nothing.

I couldn't believe it, when we went to the attic to organize what we have to put in my baby sister's storage, and it only took 15 minutes to prepare.

To be honest, the anxiety that comes with 'stuff' never occurred to me, because I've lived the life of a hoarder since I was taught to do so by my grandparents who survived the depression.

Keep EVERYTHING!!  Good god man!!!  You never know when you'll need it!!

This was my way of living.

So, when I found out that I had won a gift from Queer Arts Festival, I felt that I was uncomfortable with something more coming to our home.

That reaction really surprised me.

I realized that I'm actually stopping the packrat mentality!

Anyway, here's what I missed out on:

I won the 'Queer As Fuck Award' for all the volunteering I do for them every week for 4 hours!

When I was offered a ride to temporary home #2 by Papi, I skipped out of the award festivities and took my ride to the other side of the pond.

I left that night before the awards were given out, because I never get awards and didn't think I'd be missing out on anything personally.

Then I found out what they'd given me, because they took a video of it and sent it to me!!!

They gave me a gift that I appreciated immensely, only it doesn't go to me.

They gave a family in Haiti a goat, in my name, and a super duper dog tag to wear around my neck, with my award engraved upon it.

I just about cried while I watched this.

Then, being true to my personality, I berated myself for not being there to accept such a great moment.

... stupid! stupid! stupid! she says ... fuck! she's so mean!! ...

However, I probably would have cried in front of the whole audience, and cleaning up that mess is just nasty.

People may have thought I was bipolar and called the authorities.

... does this blog make me sound BPD? ...

Anyway, this was probably one of the greatest awards I've received, and for my 'rough around the edges friends' to know me so well, to give a family the goat they need, well, that made my year.

I'm so fucking grateful and proud.

 i am somebody, and i count

Me? Crazy? Never.

I've never been so dissected in my life.  I have to go to evaluations for my legal trial.  They range from physical to vocational to psychological.

The psychological one is the most fun.  Oh yeah, the good times.

I get to read varying reports on just how mentally ill I am now.

I can get the anxiety one.  100%.  P.T.S.D.?  Who wouldn't?!?!  And depression from chemical imbalance?  Check!

However, the newest report is that I'm borderline personality disorder.

Nice.  Papi liked this one.  It made him giggle with anticipation of telling everyone his wife is full fledged nuts.

In all honesty, it's a lot more entertaining than the one that says I'm bipolar.

Listen here fuckwads, I'm just a human fucking being who reacts to what life has to offer.  I express myself honestly, but somehow, that makes me berserk?

As far as I've seen, the more you keep in all the shit that you're experiencing, feeling, thinking, the more deranged you grow.

We're all fucking nuts in one way or another, and once we start talking about it, we find that we're not so alone, and the 'nuts' part loses it's power.

I like how the cleanest of cleanest tidy people are praised, when possibly they could have O.C.D.

I see people who cry at the drop of a hat.  They're demented too?  Nope.  They just have big emotions.  I'd rather have that than not be able to cry because I've shut down.

These professionals can go on and on about how I'm defective, but reality is, if I'm talking about it, and I'm recognizing and working on my faults, then I'm not so fucking maniacal, am I?

If I get the crap out of my head, through this here tippity-tappity of my laptop blog entry, I feel better.  If I talk to someone about my problems, I feel better.

Most people don't do these things, because they don't want to be labeled as bonkers.  No, they hold it in until they pop, and perhaps go pick up a few guns and shoot a theatre full of people.

Hell.  I know I'm a nutbar, but I am not afraid to say what's going on in my mind at the risk of someone labeling me a whack job.

Just because I'm a little narcissistic ...

... hehehe ... a little ...

... doesn't mean I'm borderline.  It means I've had to find my own way to find self esteem, because I didn't have it growing up.

Just because I get a 'little emotional' doesn't mean I'm bipolar.  I'm emotional because life is hard.  Hurricane Andréa doesn't blow in for no reason at all.

Futhermore, what is so wrong with being utterly happy about the good things in life?  These pros think that being ecstatic is a sickness!

I wasn't suicidal when I was younger for nothing.  There were reasons I was not interested in living through what life has to offer.  I was too young and didn't have the experience to know that everything will get better.

I still have suicidal thoughts when life gets too difficult, but I don't act on it, because I've learned how to deal with the shit life hands out.

I challenge any 'normal' person to try and tackle what I've dealt with since a young age.  I dare them to try!

No, I'm not psycho.

Life is.

If we don't express ourselves, because we're afraid of being labeled, then I believe that's a debilitating way to live.

Label me.  Call me what you want.

But I'll tell you this, I know the key to happiness, and my past secrets aren't going to cause me cancer, because not only have I let them go, I've also found I'm not alone in this fucked up world.

This is because I talk about it.

And by the way, just because you've labeled me with some new diagnosis, doesn't mean I'm going to be hopping on your fucking designer drugs that will give you points to win you your golfing trip to Ireland, and at the same time make me so lethargic that I don't speak about life anymore.

Now, excuse me while I go count my deck of cards.  I guarantee there will be 52.

i possess complete ability to articulate my thoughts and feelings to everyone, and i express myself wisely.

grow papi, grow

Oh how I'm reveling in the goodness that is my Dominican style coffee.

For my grand return, Papi and I didn't get to have much quality time, considering the whole afternoon was spent at the casino with the old fart celebrating her 97 golden years.

She can't even remember how to push the buttons on the machine, but she only lost $40 which is better than I can say for Papi and I.

I don't really get the addiction to gambling.  I could go out and hand someone $20 and they'd smile.

Yet, when I watch that little bill slink or slither into a machine, it just disappears, somewhat like Java the Mutt would eat the treats I'd give him.

There's no joy as we watch the $20.00 nonchalantly dissolve into 5 cents.  How can someone get addicted to throwing away money like that?!?!

Oh, but they were there, and we saw them.

My favourite was the one who, every time we'd finish our $20 spree on a machine, would briskly glide in to our seats right after us.  She must've thought that we were lucky.

Maybe with my hair up and fluffed out on top of my head I looked like a lucky bingo troll?

Then we watched her whispering to each other, "If she wins I'll be really fucking pissed."

She lost as well, but onward she went to the next $20 to throw in again, thinking that this would be the winning round.

Then, when we got home, Papi decided to inform me that he has finally healed in his 'man zone' from C. difficile and is indeed again, packing.

Packing as in a Plastic Penis, the grand PeeCock.

Packing as in it's time to start putting out the seat wipes again.

Which reminds me of what I found fascinating about hanging out with the dudes from Gender Odyssey.  I was enthralled at how they mentored the younger, newly arriving dudes.

I had wished that Papi was there, because he would have appreciated the conversations.  I mean, I know he reads a lot about trans issues, and he's very verbal ...

... understatement ... ahem ...

... when it comes to getting people talking about things on his Facebook wall, but he really would have enjoyed listening to how these guys advised others.

"You have to figure out what kinda guy you want to be.  Then you have to study their walk, their clothes, their gestures.  It's about making that decision, then eventually growing into the part."

I suppose we all do that to a degree, we just don't honestly think about it.

Human behaviour can be learned, and we can become anyone we put our minds to.  We can be happy if we choose to be, by simply following the steps a happy person would take.

I studied the harshest, meanest people around me for quite a long stint in my life.  I wanted to come across as strong, because I felt so weak, meek, and had the self esteem of a gnat.

So, I learned how to act the part of a rock goddess, to entice the world to listen to my music.  It worked, but when I'd step off stage to find people wanting to shake my hand to say, "That was so awesome!" in my post performance procession line, fans would be confused.

They thought they'd meet that girl that was on that stage, but once I took a step off that platform, I was no longer the rock goddess.  What I found was, people were let down that I was actually shy and sweet.

People were attracted to that girl up there.  Hell!  So was I!  Why do you think I chose her?

Well, she left the day my head hit the ground after flying 15 feet through the air at 50km.

I can't hold that bass and rock out since the motorcycle accident, but more so, the whack to the head changed me.

It's taken me a bit, but I've figured out how to be who I am now, and I don't need to study who to be next.

I don't need to emulate someone new.

No, now I get to settle in to my new life, and serenely allow time to help Papi grow into his.

people like me

home = heart

Anyway, back to regular biz.  I'm preparing to go home today!

I'll be leaving temporary home #2 to go to temporary home #1, to prepare for our move to temporary home #3; our closet of 454 square feet.

With 5 animals.

Regardless of where I go, I go home to Papi.

I don't get to see him much when I'm home anyhow, because I'm usually watching him sleep the Graveyard Coma.

That's fine by me, because when he's sleeping he can't deny that I'm always right.

Or drink.

... hehehe ...

Tried another anonymous meeting yesterday.  Guess what the fucking topic was?

Faith.  Yup.

Of course I got asked to share, and again, I told them, "I have utter faith in myself, not in your god, but somehow coming to these rooms kept me sober, so I'm going with it."

I spoke for the struggling alcoholic who approached me afterward to say, "I'm so glad you said that.  Can I have your number so I can talk about how I feel about this?  There's not too many people who understand."

Oh, I understand.  Still, the most important part of her calling me will not be about all that zealot bullshit, it will be about how we get a wonderful life because we don't drink.

I guess it's imperative because that's where all this keyed up chaos started 2 weeks ago.

I have great gratitude for being sober.

So do the people who still cross the street when they see me, because all they can remember is what a nutbar I was on the bottle.

Now that Papi has mightily worked through his 2 weeks, I get to go home, however, not before we take the G'ma out for her annual gambling birthday celebration.

The old fart is now 97!  97 man!

Not that it matters that we'll be celebrating her day, considering she's been 'neglected and thrown into a home so that everyone can take her house away from her'.

... oh the gramma drama ...

Back on track.

I'm leaving my temporary roommate, Java the Mutt and my Eternal Friend who has been so gracious in providing me space and comfort for 2 weeks.

I leave this peaceful, hotelesque, accessible condo, complete with a full body soaker tub.  I leave this for cats who are trying to kill each other.

And Papi.  Home.

I'm actually really good with transition and being transient, since I've been doing it from a young age, but goddam I have to tell you that living out of a suitcase fucking sucks.

Especially when you only have 3 skirts to choose from!!!  Good god it's been hard to be a femme these 2 weeks!!

I've never liked that, unless I'm somewhere beautiful and tropical.  Then I'll do anything to stay.

But here we are in the city that gets about 9 days of true summer, and today, it looks like winter's back again, so all those mother fuckers who complained those 9 days can gloat now because they have their fucking nasty weather again.

Whatever.  I'm going home.

Home is anywhere our hearts feel whole, peaceful and part of a family, no matter what that family looks like.

Papi and I could live in a grass hut for all I care, and I would call it home, because it's with Papi.

And 2 cats that are trying to kill each other, not to mention the other 3 critters who have to live with the furry fury.

Oh!  And my Dominican style coffee, my morning ritual, my awesome ionized water and my greens.

I've eaten enough junk food and carbs to get me through the apocalypse.

i share my feelings with others and they accept me

clearing things up.

So, yesterday, I was really hurried in my writing and was also on a hefty dose of pain killers first thing in the morning and I created a bit of a wave in TransLand.

I believe the combination was a bad mix, and I unintentionally hurt people by my words.

I hope to clear things up for you with the 3 topics that have been brought up on my Facebook page both publicly and in private messages.

topic #1

I was speaking about how I am attracted to butches, but that I see I am also attracted to trans guys.

I am not attracted to bio-males, where as some women and men are.

We are all different, and I brought up my baby sister, when first faced with my coming out of the closet, was trying to learn from me.

I used my past of dating only butches to segue to the present and people thought I was saying my love is a butch.

My love is no longer a butch, and I'm still as attracted to him as I was the day I married that butch.

Presently, I am seeing that I am attracted to people with multi-leveled energies, like my love.  I am attracted to the beauty in people's vast differences in being.

topic #2

When I said 'people ... blah blah fucking blah ... freaks', I was really talking about the zealots who like to picket our lives with their signs of Jesus burned to a crisp on a cross at our Pride Parade in the great U S of A.

'They' call gays and lesbian freaks.  'They' call trans people freaks.  'They' call me a freak because I'm attracted to butches, and trans guys.

They can fuck off, because from what I've seen at Gender Odyssey, there's a whole lot of love and acceptance in this world, and their hatred will soon be squashed by the love the world has.

Really, all I wanted to say was, I'm in that boat with all the people I fit in with.  We're all in this together, and it has nothing to do with what anyone else sees us as.

For instance, I am not a 'straight' woman, but I'm seen as such.  Papi is not a woman, and he is not seen as such, luckly for him.

He is seen as the male he has always felt was there, and I'm attracted to my love, but I was afraid I wouldn't be.

I found attraction for another person who carried that energy.  A male being who had a spark of different energy from another part of him.

That made me feel so good, that I could recognize this, and I tried to write about it.

Not everyone would be attracted to the same people I am and I do not think that everyone who is trans has both energies.

I am at peace with my queerness, and see the pattern in my life where, in THE PAST I've had so much attraction for trans guys when they were a 'butch'.

There is no malice meant from my post yesterday, but there were feelings that I had insulted people, because I didn't see others as the beings they are, which is incorrect. 

topic #3

Now.  About the 'tranny' word.  I will continue to stick to my guns and call dykes, fags and trannies as such in a general way, as long as they don't want to be personally called that.

Papi likes to be called that.  The dudes I met at Gender Odyssy like to be called that.

Some people don't and I would never call them that, yet still, as general blabbing here on my blog, I am not using the word in a derogative manner, but more like I would use dyke or fag.

We have taken back dyke and fag, and we use it with adoration and pride.  Why the hell can't tranny be taken back and used for strength?!

I'm not spitting venom when I use the word, and I use it pretty much the same as I would use dyke or fag.

new business/bonus topic #4

Perhaps I shouldn't write my blog in a hurry on pain killers?

I hope I cleared things up from yesterday, and if not and you're still pissed at me, well, as much as I love you stopping by, all I can say is, you are the one making the choice to be here reading.

today's daily mantra comes from my gratitude buddy:

mastakes teach you important lessons.  every time you make one, you are one step closer to your goal.

my name is andréa, and i'm a tranny chaser.

Nope, I'm not dead.  Nor am I in the Pit of Doom.

I had 2 days of vocational evaluation for my legal trial, and my poor body couldn't take it.  So, I was either sleeping or too stupid from pain meds to write.  Today is not fun and yesterday was worse.

End whining.

We've also been busy finding our new place to live!  It's our brand new closet!

5 animals and the two of us in a tiny, itty bitty, smaller than our living room, one bedroom apartment.  It is super accessible for me to get to everything I need without the 'short bus'.

Good thing, as I'll have to be out of home a lot, fighting off the fear of claustrophobia.  This means I'll leaving the animals to fight for their immensely miniscule domain.

We've tried putting Psycho Kitty and The Bastard Prince on valium.

No, I'm not kidding.

After the near miss of losing an eye, there have been more injuries and there doesn't seem to be a 'working it out' phase for these crazy cats, even with all the suggestions we've followed.

So, valium it is.

However, the problem with that is, Psycho Kitty becomes more psycho and could actually take on a coyote.

I'm going to find him natural relaxants and see if that works.  He may be like me and can't handle the pills.

End cat rant.

Next!

I realized that after mi esposo relapsed, that I didn't actually get to tell you about Gender Odyssey.

Well, I'll tell you about those 2 days I actually did go.  Sorta go, that is.

My Person and I didn't actually go to any of the workshops, except for the tango workshop.

I tried to move around with them, until it came time to balance.  No go.

However, what I did get out if it was way more important.

I remember once, when I first came out and started dating people, my baby sister asked why I'm attracted to butches.  "You date women who look like men!  Why bother?"

I explained that they're a beautiful combination of both energies.

Sweet, sensual energy from a woman and rugged energy from the male side.

Yin Yang.

She got it, and it's pretty much how I feel even more now.

What My Person and I did the whole time was hang out with some of the founding attendees.  There's a whole gaggle of them that have been going since My Person started going with her love over 10 years ago.

It was so good to be around a bunch of trannies who called themselves trannies, and not have to worry about the immoderately politically correct Vancouverites, who take everything as an insult or a threat.

I got to just be with people who say it as it is, and I got to be around people where I could call my love a 'he' and didn't have to feel the knee jerk reaction to explain that I'm not straight.

I got to see that I am indeed attracted to transgender people.

There was this cutie.  Of course he's that 'bad boy' that I like, not much unlike mi esposo.

I do like the 'bad boys', because I'm a redneck at heart, and now I like them even better when the come in the form of a tranny.

After hanging out with the wives of trannies, I felt I fit in just fine and embraced the fact that I am indeed a Tranny Chaser, and damn!  That's a whole other level of queer.

Here's the part My Person and I giggled about.

If people think trannies are a freak, then hey, what about us Tranny Lovers?

Yup.  We're all in this together.

i feel about myself pretty much what others think of me

an anonymous encounter

At the very least, The Mrs. forgives me.

I was told I was feeling too guilty about the whole Papi relapse debacle, and that I was doing the right thing.

I know I am, but it's hard not to be with my love, especially when we had such a wonderful day yesterday.

It was really nothing out of the ordinary, as we saw the G'ma and answered the same questions she asked when I saw her last week.  We went to the house and I apologized to our Fuzzy Family and gave them as much love as I could for that short period of time.

We had such a nice time just talking about 'nothing' in particular.  It felt like I'd never been gone.  It also felt like this 2nd week will be the hardest. 

Papi, being the person cleaning up his act, feels it's kinda silly that I'm staying away for another week, because he's dedicated to staying clean 'n sober.  I now believe and trust this to be the truth.  I honestly just felt like staying with him last night, but Java the Mutt was relying upon me.

I don't even know where the 2 weeks 'rule' came into play.  It really was just a thought that I had while there was more snot and tears on my face than skin.

However, there is a reason, and I don't even know why.

I have some strange alternate sense that I don't even understand.  It doesn't matter if I don't understand, because I trust my intuition, even if others don't.

At the end of our day together, I didn't want to leave mi esposo, so I decided to join him at a late night meeting.

You know that meeting?

The one we're never supposed to talk about, because it's anonymous and is full of drunks who may, or may not, be sober.

Yeah, that meeting.

For my own sanity, I had to stop going to their convergence 8 years ago.  Their idea of non-denominational membership was not the same as mine, and I'd always leave feeling empty, because I didn't believe in 'their god'.  All it did for me was make me want to give up on happiness and drink.

Well, last night, guess what the topic was?

Yup.  God.

... for fucks sakes people ...

And guess who was the first person asked to share?

Yup, me.  Can you guess what I said?  I'll put it in a nutshell.

"I had to step away from these rooms, because they're supposed to be non-denominational, but somewhere along the lines, this became a Catholic church.  I'm still looking for that atheist meeting that actually follows the tradition about non-denominational fellowship.  I still need to be around sober people, because honestly, when my spouse was drinking in the beginning, I thought that if he could drink, maybe I could too.  I'm grateful he relapsed into a bottom to remind me that I too, am not able to drink normally."

Oh, I went on and on with more of my non-god talk and that's when people left the room.

I'll never be asked to share at that meeting again, I can promise you that.

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to everyone who did stay trying to convince me of the 'miracles of god', and I overtly rolled my eyes the whole fucking time.

Until 'god' gives me a phone call to tell me he exists, there's nothing that little books written by humans, and 'ideas of proof' can tell me to make me believe in some dude in the sky with unruly, unshaven hair, Birkenstocks and a toga.

They wonder why people won't go to their meetings.  They wonder why people would rather die out on the streets than get the help that they so desperately need.  People are dying because the zealots can't respect the tradition of the program being non-denominational.

The zealots took over and royally fucked it up for the rest of us.

The good news is, I did find some words about sobriety that were good for me to hear, and I took those words and left the rest of that fucking bullshit there.

I may go back, because I have less anger about their podium gospel since I left 8 years ago and tackled my sobriety on my own.

I'm still sober, without your fucking belief system, which is more than I can say about a fuck of a lot of people there who think that memorizing a book is the only way.

End rant.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

Hell of Halitosis!

It's such a beautiful day.

Not just the weather, but because I get to see my love for the afternoon.

Our date has no schedule or timed itinerary, and I don't care.  I just want to be with Papi no matter what.

Our day will involve a visit with the G'ma, who is still giving us the guilt trip for 'abandoning and neglecting her, and forcing her into a home while we take over her house'.

... you know the drill ...

Anyway, Papi now has 7 days of healing.  I'm 7 days happier.

Yet still, I just want to go home NOW.  I want to renege on my 'rule' of not being there for 2 weeks until his socks are fully pulled up.

Yet, I won't, because I'm too afraid of what that will bring.

I miss my Fuzzy Family so much.  It's nice to have Java the Mutt here for a distraction, but he's not my babies.

The last time I went to the house, The Mrs. gave me the cold shoulder.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than an Fuzzy Family member snubbing you.

It adds to the sadness.

To know that this whole thing is affecting each and every one of us just sucks.

Such is the life of us addicts.  We really do affect everyone around us.

It's made me realize that a lot of my pain around Papi using is really not about my love having a weak time, it's my own P.T.S.D.

When I had to leave the home with the heroin addict I was in love with, it was torture.

I grieved for 2 years over the fact that I couldn't help her, couldn't change her, and couldn't suffer watching her disintegrate to dust.

She didn't really wither, however, she just cleaned up her act a bit so that I looked like I was lying about her addiction.

That created a whack-load of Hen Peckers who to this day believe that I was only trying to cause trouble and make her look bad.

When I had to leave mi esposo on his night of the big ending, it was like reliving that hell all over again, and there I was.  In agony once more.

I had to leave the addict again.  I believed that Papi would spiral down and that would be it for our marriage.

I believed the worst.

It's hard not to when you're living in my brain with my life experiences.

I've lived the worst and come out the other end every time, but knowing the pain I had to endure to get out of the Pit of Doom was so deep, I was terrified.

I'm grateful I have medication for my chemical imbalance, and I'm able to get out of the hell a little faster than I used to, but it's still not comfortable.

Nor is it good for my breath.

Yeah.

I get a nice heaping load of halitosis when I get stressed.  My stomach can't handle the acid and out it comes, wafting through my mouth like great wads of green stench you'd only imagine from the Grinch.

Or the Malboro.

Last night someone told me how bad my breath was and I felt like crying, dying, and crawling under a rock, but I couldn't.

I was there to sell tickets to the public for the Queer Arts Festival.

Person after person would come up and I'd be speaking with my mouth covered, or I tried to talk as loud as I could from as far away from them as possible.

I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.

However, I know that this is the deal and I carry my toothbrush around with me everywhere anyway for my brace face, so I just brush a whole lot and try my best to keep my distance.

Good thing I have dogs in my life.  They don't care about my Buffalo Breath.

Apparently, neither does Papi.

i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence

quickie!

Not much time to write again.

Not easy living out of a suitcase, but when you wake up in the morning and see this:

You kinda smile a little.

Java the Mutt was very grateful for his morning breakfast, even though it was only a half cup because he managed to sneak a double feast out of myself and my Eternal Friend last night.

So he was on a bit of a reduced diet this morning.

Off I go to start my day, have a Papi sighting and go volunteer for Queer Arts Festival.

i am confident in myself

rolling with it ...

It really is the worst possible time for this 2 week sabbatical.

Papi and I are both feeling it, but most importantly, we're still moving through it.

My love has been working hard at his end of the deal, and so have I.

It's really not easy.

I have seen mi esposo a few times, where we can.

Yesterday he did his chauffeur job and drove me to an appointment after I got to the Vancouver side of the Burrard Inlet.

Even if it was for those 20 minutes of getting a ride with my love, it was worth it just to see him.

The hardest part is when I have to leave, knowing that I don't get to sleep in our bed.

"Can you drive me to the SeaBus now, Papi?" is the hardest question to ask.

I just want to be with him.

I don't want to be somewhere else, even if I do have the coolest temporary roommate, Java the Mutt, not to mention, my Eternal Friend whom I'm grateful I'm able to spend a little time with.

It is wonderful to get to get to have this quality time with my Eternal Friend whom I've known since elementary school.

It's like a little holiday with her gorgeous North Van condo, complete with soaking tub and bubbles!

At the same time I'm making the best of this situation, it's still difficult to have to live out of a suitcase.

However, I would rather that than to live with an active alcoholic.

It's important for me to know that I can live away from him, in the off chance his addiction could one day convince him that the bottle is more enticing than a life with your love and your soul mate.

I have to do this to know that I'm still able to have a sober, drama free life, even if the addict/alcoholic is abusing their drug of choice.

I have to do this so I'm safe.

Papi now has 5 days clean and sober.

Every day he works on his part, is a day I'm closer to going home.

A day closer to getting back to my Fuzzy Family who are currently not speaking to me.

Yeah, they're pissed.

They're not impressed that I've 'abandoned' them.

I'm sure they'll get over it when I get home.

We all will.

'I just want my life back to how it was,' is just a myth.

Everything is changing.

There is no 'how it was'.

Ever.

If we try to stay with 'how it was', we'll be sorrily surprised when life gives us the gears.

If we don't roll with it, we'll remain the victim.

So, I'm rolling.

Even with all the rocks and roots that jab me as my little muscles careen down that hill, I endure bump after bump.

I roll.

It's better than being in the Pit of Doom

Honestly, I'm cool with rolling, as long as I'm not being kicked when I'm down, and so far, everyone has left their hen pecking, shit-kicking Daytons at home.

Instead, I'm feeling so much love, support and hope.

i discover new aspects of my self-confidence daily

New Roomate

I don't have too much time to write today.

Papi and I need to take both of our canine Fuzzy Family members to the vet.

... please let the golden be ok ... we don't need bad news right now!! ...

Other than that, we're seeing each other in our happy neutral places.

We also have a date on Sunday.

I must say as well, both of us talking on the phone until 2 a.m., or until they die is resembling our dating days.

I'm pretty happy and I think these 2 weeks of Papi pulling up his socks will go quickly and we'll be back to our lovely, happy marriage.

So, I just wanted to share with you that I have a new roommate while Papi gets better.

Here he is!!!!!!!

 

Java the Mutt.

He likes blueberries.

Off I go to tend to the Fuzzy Family.

i am courageous

2 weeks.

My eyes have gone down a bit.

I finally stopped turbo crying when I had an actual telephone conversation with Papi.  It was good for me to let him know in voice what my terms of condition are.

1. I will go home when he's 2 weeks clean and sober and not a day sooner.

2. I will not live with an active addict or alcoholic, not even for mi esposo. 

3. I love him

Still, the love of my life is not exempt from these conditions and I will never live with that bullshit again.

I've done it too many times in my struggling life, and this is not the way my life with my love was supposed to be.

He has made his mind up about being clean 'n sober, because he had such a bad experience the other day, and doesn't want to have that life of crying on a curb in the streets of the DTES.

One of his messages said, "I feel like an addict again."

It's the lies coming from alcohol if you think you can control it.

Of course you can!

Until it gets it's grasp on your meaty tendrils and then you're alllllll his.  That's when nothing matters more than another drink.

The wife you love so much doesn't matter, even if she's crying at home alone, begging you to take a cab and come home, because the drink has a hold on you.

No, you won't take that cab.

No, you won't come home.

I know this.

I've lived this.

Both from my end and from the end of the person who has loved me, yet left my heart dangling in agony, because their addiction had a hold of them and I no longer mattered.

There is nothing harder than watching someone you love kill themselves in front of your eyes, and having to leave love because of it.

Nothing.

There is no grieving like it, because you don't get closure when they're still breathing.  There's nothing you can do to save them, you can only save yourself, and watch them bob in your wake.

I have a lovely friend who has given me her home for a few weeks, while I watch mi esposo get better day by day.

I've never really believed in prayer, but I feel like it's what I'm doing now.

I pray my love makes himself better so I can go back to my beautiful marriage.

I pray I have the strength to believe that our lives together will be ok.

I pray the tears I cry as I write this will dissipate after I've written it all out and can go find coffee.

I pray for the dreams we have mustered to come to reality.

I pray for Papi.

I am grateful he sees the brutality of addiction so quickly.  

Most people have to go a little further to find it, and sometimes, that little further is too much to be able to see the crumbs to follow back home.

I miss him so much. 

I haven't seen him since I left for Seattle on Friday at 8:45 a.m.

I have a beautiful friend who has forced me to eat berries.

It was a good choice.  They're an addiction that is good for you.

I am grateful for these berries, the outpouring of friendship, support and love we have both received during this, and the optimism that I will be able to go home and have my marriage.

I would be very grateful if I had my lovely coffee.

And my Fuzzy Family.

And my life with Papi back to normal.

i have faith in my future

i'm dying inside.

Remember all those mornings I would wake up with swollen eyes?

They would look like they were used as a punching bag while I was too busy crying to notice anyone beating the shit out of them.

I have them today.

Right now, my demons have a hold of me and are eagerly dragging me further into the rancid Pit of Doom.

I was supposed to be home, not in the Pit of Doom, but there's a small problem.

I won't go into massive details right now, but let's just say I won't live with drama that I never asked for.

I'm sleeping in someone else's bed, when I should have been sleeping in my own with my loving spouse while we celebrate the sale of the home, and our next adventure.

I thought I lost my phone, but at least, the very least, I found it in my friend's car as I did my usual, "Hey!  Why don't we leave it on the front seat?" game, and it wasn't stolen!

I guess I can say I'm grateful for that.

However, I excitedly looked to see a message from Papi, but there was nothing.

I left a message saying how much I love him, but that would not make sense to someone when at the same time, I left my home.

It's not really my home anyway.

I came home to The Yank having lived in our room for a few days, and it no longer looked like our room.

I came home to a 'Sold!' sign on our front lawn.

I came home to my spouse relapsing.

Besides, it's no longer my home anyway, and when Papi and I have a chance to deal with the current stressful situation, it still won't be my home.

So, I'm just getting a head start on not having a home, by sleeping in my friend's bed until the drama has ceased.

I don't ask for drama.

I ask for peace.

I ask for love.

I ask for the best life possible.

I ask for happiness.

I ask for gratitude.

Crying alone in fear for my spouse's safety is not the best life possible, is not happy times, is not something I'm grateful for, nor is it peaceful.

At least there is still love.

And yet, here I sit, crying so violently, that I can only wish each tear was one step closer to death.

If tears could kill, today I would wish for them to do so.

I suppose that Beatles song is right.  Love is all you need.

I'm being ripped and torn inside because I love so much.

I'm on an endless loop of tear after tear because my love for Papi is so deep, I could feel our connecting dissipate while I was away for the weekend.

I didn't get my usual texts of love, because Papi had a distraction.

A down and dirty, nasty distraction that will stray even the most loving hearts away.

I was chosen second over this demonic liquid.

This evil poison that will whisper in his ear, "You can drink socially!  You're fine now!"

From the phone messages I received last night, he is not a social drinker.

Every sip he poured into his mouth is a tear that is rolling down my face today.

I'm broken.

There are no kings men or horses to put me back together again.

There is only one person who can do that.

i have a wonderful spouse and we are both happy and at peace.

Use your imagination.

So it's a strange phenomenon this world we live in.

We sold the house, and I sorta found out through Facebook.

Not kidding you.

Here I am in Seattle and Papi tried to call me about it.  Problem was, it was when I was trying to tell my bitch of a back to shut the fuck up in the hot tub.

Now, Papi is someone who lives his life publicly, ... 

... i wouldn't know anything about that know, would i? ...

... and he couldn't reach me, so he started talking about it on Facebook and I caught up to the news that way. 

He's a fast mover that Papi.

Today I went on, while thinking Papi was sleeping off the Graveyard Coma all day, but find out other-wise.

I saw that Papi had maliciously teased me, by posting TRANNY CHASER on my wall.

That could be confused with hate and bullying!

The horror!

... removes tongue from cheek ...

He obviously read my blog.  Now I knew he did that as well.

The next thing I found out about was that mi esposo guapo is out there drumming up options for me for places to live. 

He's put it right up there on Facebook.

Looking for a home for me.

It really didn't hit me until this morning, we're moving out soon.

We're actually going to need a home as of September 20th.

Imagine this scene would you?

This is what our Xterra looks like.

So, now imagine the back window has Papi's company, "Raining Cats and Dogs" in white letters.

Next, imagine the back with an array of stickers.  One that reads, "Motorcycles are everywhere.  Open your fucking eyes!"

That one gets us phone calls about our conduct of driving on the road with a company name and profanity.

We just tell them to fuck off.

Now, imagine this little vehicle pulling a U-Haul cubicle.

At this point, the inside will be filled with the following:

Papi at the wheel.
A large kennel in the back for two cats.
A smaller kennel on the back seat with another cat in it.
A one-eyed Golden Retriever in the passenger side of the back seat, hanging out the window panting.
Me in the passenger seat popping Rescue Remedy pastilles.
A chihuahua on Papi's lap.

Are you seeing it?

This is our reality to get to Nova Scotia.

All that's really missing is us with a chicken hanging out the window.

Well, now I have time to rest until the next Gender Odyssey function we're going to; dinner.

i am courageous

Gender Odyssey!

I'm at Gender Odyssey!

Remember last year, when I was supposed to go, but performing put me on a stretcher to the hospital instead?

Well, here's a little bit of irony for ya.

They couldn't give me a refund, so I had to put the money toward the following year instead.  So, I decided I would go.

My Person and I packed up our stuff and left our trans loves behind to celebrate Vancouver's Pride Weekend without us.

Now, in retrospect, I see that perhaps I should have just swallowed the ticket price, because my dearest Papi is home sweating through the tough process of bartering and bargaining for the house sale.

Anyway, here I am in Seattle.

I made it here.

About half way through the ride down, my bitch of a back decided to go into a fit and is in full seize.

Now, here I lie in the hotel room, doing the pain killer nod and realizing I'm yet again stuck flat out on my back.

We went for our sign in anyway, and as I hobbled and limped about, I had a chance to see so many people who have so much love for this conference.

Inclusion everywhere.

There is a beautiful air of comfort, knowing there's so many more people out there who understand one another.

Absolutely amazing.

My favourite was sharing a shuttle and an elevator with a family, whom of which, one, or possibly both, of their children is transgender.

We couldn't figure out their story, because we haven't seen them speak yet, but to me, being in their presence was amazing.  A family who loves their children enough to allow them a space to be who they feel they are in their soul.

I proudly placed my little identification 'happy faces' on my name tag.

A yellow 'happy face' sticker is for 1st time attendees, and an orange one is for friends, significant others, family and any other ally I've missed.

However, I haven't had a chance to use the damn pass, because I'm stuck lying here on the queen size bed in this hotel room.

Nice enough place, let me tell you, I recommend them 100%!

Here!  Check them out!

Anyway, as I write this, Papi is on the phone, wheeling and dealing with selling the house.

I am half in and half out of nodsville.

Not to mention, My Person has passed out from too much driving and we both had insomnia last night.

I look forward to giving you an update on the different workshops that I'm hopefully going to make it to tomorrow.

I won't be doing my usual coffee blog, but that's ok!

I'm doing it now and will give you an update tomorrow evening when I have more to talk about with this amazing conference.

Oh.

I realized something.

I saw many handsome trans guys during very the small amount of time we were hanging out in TransLand.

What I realized is, I'm 100% a Tranny Chaser.

I am attracted to trans guys.

And damn if I ain't lucky enough to be married to one of the hottest ones out there.

every day i learn more about myself, and open myself to even more self-exploration

no, no, no, no, NO!!!!

This stress is too much sometimes.

We had our first open house yesterday.  What came next may sound really good, but at the same time, it's problematic.

We didn't really expect the response, but 5 people are interested, which means we'll be homeless soon.

That's where the trouble comes in.

We have nowhere to go with our 5 animals yet.

If you're not from Canada, sometimes, you may think we live in igloos.

Well, we might be living in an igloo.

Ok.  Not quite an igloo, but we do have a place to go to that is free: Bum-fuck-nowhere with The Uncle.

Nova Scotia.

compliments of wikipedia

See that little red island off the coast of Canada?  Colder than cold.

This is where people go to retire, not start a new life, because there's nothing there.

This is where my piano will be living.

So, we could move to my personal version of hell, or waste all our money sticking around a city that is way too expensive.

It won't take long to get super broke, super fast, in this way beyond our means city of Vancouver.

I'm quite a bit less than impressed.

While Papi was driving around with 5 animals in the car yesterday, listening to either panicked panting from dogs, yowling death screams from cats or hyperventilating from me, ...

... thank you ptsd ...

... neither of us knew that we'd come home to this news.

It's too soon!  We're going to be homeless!  With 5 animals!

Fuck.  This is a bit warped and wacky.

Ahem.  Hello!!!  Our dream is the Dominican Republic.  Not fucking iceland.

Nothing against Iceland.  I'm sure they're a beautiful country.  I'm talking ice-land.

Brr-fucking-chill.  But it's free.

... yeah ... there's a reason ...

I suppose it's ok, because there won't be any distractions and maybe we'll get some rest.

Oh.  Speaking of no rest for the wicked, there was an 'issue' with the pussies.

One of them now has a black eye, that could have easily been a loss of it.

Psycho Kitty took a bit of a beating from The Bastard Prince.

I actually thought it would have been the other way around, but nope.

Psycho Kitty had blood flowing out of his eye at 3:30 a.m., and I thought that we now had 2 one-eyed Fuzzy Family members.

We cleaned him up a bit and found it was cut on the eyelid, only millimetres away from actually hitting his eyeball.

So, he has a bit of a swollen black eye right now and is looking a bit droopy in the lid.

However, I am now armed with spray bottles in every doorway entry.

Fuck I hope this is was the fight that ends the battle.

Do I sound like my mind is blown yet?  I'm pretty sure I'm ready for that straight jacket.

And this is the journey.

my future looks great