monkey.

We've got everything packed for our 2 weeks, plus things that will be staying in the home we buy.

My boifriend came by to go over the Hector-Brown Pet PDF, and it seems he is now trained.

We'll be sending him into battle as of Sunday evening.

Poor soul.  I'm sorry.  Wear lots of leather.

Hopefully there won't be a repeat of the newest Psycho Kitty problem, pooing on the chihuahua's pee pad, then spreading it on the walls like a mental monkey.

Oh good god.

I'd love to talk more about the feces festival, however, that just may be too much info for ya.

The way we found the poo pile was because he was pushing around Sir Bark-A-Lot's pee pad, as if it was for him and he was cleaning it up.

We just laughed and thought it was a new silly antic.

It seemed like he was now an O.C.D. kitty who needs to have the place cleaner than clean. 

I was thinking that I was going to be living with a four legged crazy cleaner, after growing up with my mother who was nuts about cleaning and was cleaner than clean.

Maybe that's why I'm such a slob?

I'm still rebelling against my mother's cleaning habits.

Anyway, all morning, there was this odor we couldn't find.

We looked in the poo box and nothing was there.

Of course, we just blamed it on the dog. 

Old Mr. Farty, The Golden.

But then I went in to the washroom to clean out my coffee Bodum for today's cup of joy and blammo!

There it was.

Shit on the walls.

Oh sorry, I told you I wasn't going to talk about it.

How about I talk about the fact that Papi has thrown away my cleaning buckets!

Hey, why not!  He never uses them, so they're not really important, right?

There I was, with one of our FOOD BOWLS filling it full of vinegar and lemon juice, combining that with the organic, earth friendly spray cleaner to get the job started.

Well, as I was frantically looking for things to use for cleaning, Papi actually did the deed himself.

Phew!

Well, that was that.

Done.

The good news is, I'm feeling less stressed, but now it's Papi's turn.  We really do take turns.

You see, now I'm excited!

We are ready to get the last minute pre-trip organizing done, and then away we go for 2 weeks!

To the warm, health and energy.

Paradise in 2 more days.

i have a solid sense of self identity

The Happy Papi Dance

Last night, while I was writing the Pet PDF for My Boifriend to come tend to the Fuzzy Family, it occurred to me, we leave Monday.

We go to find our long-term home together.

We're bringing a lot of stuff with us on this trek, then leaving it in storage if we can't put it into the home we choose to spend a great portion of our life together in.

One of my sweet friends told me that her dad had a saying, "My dad calls it 'throwing your hat over' (as in, before you climb the fence to get to the other side you toss your hat over so you can't not do it or else you've lost your hat)."

Makes sense!  If you're going to get cold feet, leave some stuff there so you must return to claim it!  I loved that! 

My point is, as I was prepping, the thought developed that we're actually going.

It's happening.

Is it real?

It is!

It's not a dream, but sometimes, it seems that way.

People don't just up and change their lives all that often.

For the longest time, I've felt we weren't really going until we had that plane ticket booked.

About 10 minutes after I had these manic thoughts, I flipped on to Facebook and damn if mi esposo hadn't just posted the same damn thing.

He wrote, "Is this actually happening? Or am I dreaming? Happy Dance again :-) T- 6 days :->"

The thought of my love doing The Happy Papi Dance filled me with so much joy.

We're still bickering about absolutely inane, idiotic instances.

I'm still being passive aggressive to get my point across in those ridiculous fucking snits we get into, but something changed when I saw that Facebook status.

All my fears went away the moment I envisioned him doing The Happy Papi Dance.

He heals me just by being his silly self, and he doesn't even do it intentionally. 

That was the moment my apology to myself for acting like such a buffoon was accepted, and I pulled up my socks and got happy and excited.

This is the roller coaster.

I'm being told left, right and center that it's normal.

One friend explained, that as a child, her family was moving to another country and her parents were extremely stressed.

For a child to remember this, it must have made a big impact, which means this really is a big deal and it's normal for me to be such a fucking lunatic.

I just hate that it has brought out the worst in me.  The worst that Papi has never experienced.  He said, "You're acting really weird."

Understatement.

Yesterday, my behaviour had me thinking that maybe my doses of anti-depressants were off and I needed to go up a few milligrams.

The logical side of my brain presented itself, and I gave myself the option of going to paradise for two weeks and seeing how I felt and make a decision about dosage then.

Something tells me I won't be an orangutan once my skin breathes in the heat as I step off that plane.

Something tells me the moment my injured muscles allow the ocean to hold their struggling weight, my fears will be washed away with every wave, taken to the vast sea, where I won't have access to them anymore.

Something tells me that the joy of Papi and I starting our lives together by looking for homes will be the change I need to send Hurricane Andréa packing, not to return with our gargantuan, ugly suitcases.

Monday, this journey takes the next step.

This is not a test.  This is the real thing.

i dissolve all obstacles to having complete self-confidence

got'cha papi.

Of course, we all know Papi likes to torture me, hence he has been dubbed the Tranny Terrorist.

His most recent femme fright was not really meant to make me crazy, but it does.

His relapse of alcohol began on a trip alone to see his sister get married in Mexico.

Leave the bugger alone for 10 minutes and he's into trouble!

Well, for this trip, he continuously mentions that he's uncomfortable with going to an all inclusive where there is drinking going on from the moment people hit the beach!

He talks about it, because he needs to.

I just keep asking him when he's going to tell his sponsor.

He doesn't have one.

So, yesterday, nonchalantly mentioned that I was going to take one of my pain killer infused muffins along for the trip.

"Nobody would know.  They would just see them as muffins and banana bread!"

Oh, the tizzy I got my tranny into.

The foul language he used!

The redness of his face!

The bulging eyeballs that seemed to pop out, not much unlike a cartoon character.

I have found my ammunition.

Of course, I was half honest, because the only other option for me to bring is morphine.

I hate pills.

Hate them.

But the Dominican Republic will not let us in if I have any traces of my medicinal cannabis in my system.

This means that I have to take morphine for the last month of us living here, and be off my natural pain killers for 2 months, in hopes that by the time they test my blood, I'll just look like your average pill poppin' femme.

And I'll be puffy.

Puffy, bitchy and tired.

But the whole point is, I am moving somewhere where the hopes are that I won't have to take those devil pills anymore.

Or at least, not very often.

The amount of prep for this is almost mind blowing.

Just to get ready for our short trip is enough to get the tummy squirreling around in there.

We bought two MASSIVE, and very ugly suitcases to bring some of our belongings that will be living there on this trip.

We're going to put them in storage there.

So, we have to go to our storage here.

To bring stuff to the storage there.

It's sorta ridiculous, and we hope to hell we can find a place to keep them there so that the next trip isn't as expensive with 5 animals.

Well, one of the animals is a little lighter.

Seems the stress has Psycho Kitty losing all his ass end fur.

It's really ugly.

This will not do for his television appearance.

And now, off to the vet we go to find out how to fix it, make him pretty and perhaps get a manicure for The Bastard Prince who lost one of his nails in the last Tom Cat Operetta which had him scrambling to a higher level.

Blood everywhere.

No, this is not sexy enough for their television appearance.

i accept abundance

new possibilities?

Good god the fucking emotional roller coaster!

At this juncture, Papi has pulled it together, but I haven't.

Last night, the impact of my life changing was my dramatic issue.

I had a moment of, "I really can't do anything right."

Then I had a moment of, "What the fuck am I going to do to have purpose now?"

Which led me to, "Who the fuck am I, now that I'm not the performer I used to be?"

All these feelings came up after my case settled.  I suppose the focus on appointments and evaluations for 4 years has left me with no room for much else.

We're starting a brand new life in a few months, yet somehow, I still having troubles letting go of all I lost since the accident.

Prior to my life change, I really only thought that my only purpose in life was to be a musician.

I can look forward to doing more music in the Dominican Republic, where I'm not in as much pain as I am here.

I can still write music.  I just have to wait until I'm in a place where I can feel better to do so, and it's right around the corner.

Everything seems to be falling into place so eerily.  All that's left now is for us to wait for my braces to get outta my teeth.  Then we're gone.

In the meantime, I'm filling my life with learning Spanish, Hebrew and Judaism, and I've finally learned the purpose of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

Here's my smallest nutshell I can give you of how I've learned about it: we're supposed to take stock of the mistakes we've made that have either impacted someone else, ourselves, or us both.

... sound a bit like one of the 12 steps to you too? ...

I've also learned, these 10 days are here to start a new year with new possibilities, after you've learned from your mistakes or admitted to the person involved how you learned from it.  Forgiveness, in a sense, yet it seems it would be an apology to ourselves for being such asses in the first place.

What all this brought on for me, was a shift of looking at what my potential is, not at what my losses are.

I believe that this is an amazing moment in my life.  Everything is falling into place, not much unlike when you see you only have about 15 pieces of a puzzle left.  Then you think about the next puzzle you can do!

It's uncanny that my case ended at the beginning of this breath of change in thinking from Judaism has come.  How was I lead to learn about it at this very occasion in my life?

So often, people think of me as an atheist.  I'm not purely an atheist.  I'm always questioning everything, because I am an agnostic verging on atheist.

Otherwise, I believe in some kinda 'something' that I can't put into words, but the closest I can say is it's like molecules of energy surrounding each one of us.

This coming together of so many pieces is how I believe the energy works with me.  I just have to stop fighting it and be clear to accept it.

Why was I lead to learn about this moment in time of new life at the very moment that my case wrapped up and Papi and I are beginning anew?

I've been passed on to a new level of letting the past, and all it's losses, go.

If I don't make room for the new by sweeping out the past, there will be no space for my new life to come to light.

I'll never be that girl that I was before the accident.

I have to let her go.

I must look at my new prospects that will come to me when I'm open to them, no matter how terrifying it is to jump into the deep end.

The fear of the unknown has been one of my obstacles in life.

Well, I guess it's time to take all the strength in life I've ever gained and take that bitch on.

Bring it on then.

I'll put up my dukes.

I always do.

i acknowledge my errors, learn from them, choose the correct path, and move on

Goodbye.

Today is the official day where Papi has to say goodbye to the house.

I can't imagine how he feels, because I've been so transient all my life.  It seems I'm constantly saying goodbye and starting anew.

I really don't know what it's like to have that kind of stability torn from me, but I can say, that even as I think about the home I was in with my love, g'ma and all the critters, that my tummy ripples a bit with loss.

I suppose it's because I have to say goodbye the home my love created for me and it's the longest I've ever lived somewhere.

Papi, you showed me love I've never experienced before in that house.  It's so sad to say goodbye to that, even if we have amazing dreams for the future.

I can't imagine how it feels to leave the castle you were born in, not to mention the never ending memory of loss of your mother at the tender age of 10.  I'm sure that's more than a flutter of sadness.

Somehow though, I know that the spirit of your mother, Mr. Moustache, g'pa, and all the other critters I never got to meet, including the hamster buried under the cherry tree in the back yard, are all coming with us to the Dominican Republic.

I feel them with us even in Our Closet.  I swear to god I see movement out of the corner of my eye in this space.  Maybe there's another spirit, but I swear it's Mr. Moustache jumping from desk to chair occasionally.

I sense them, and I know it's because they love you so much, they would follow you anywhere you go.  So would I.

Goodbye, house.

Goodbye to all your growth that brought you to this point, Papi!

Goodbye to everything you learned from your elders.

Goodbye to the tangible feeling of cool doorknobs on your hands and a solid oak floor beneath your feet.

Goodbye to the water everywhere no matter how hard we tried to keep things dry.

Goodbye to the flowers you lovingly planted for our wedding.

Goodbye to the memories of everyone, including the Mariachi band who helped celebrate our lives coming together as one, the wedding cake on the floor, and the silver hearts that we found in the carport and house right up to the last sweep we did on Monday.

Goodbye to the birds, who trusted us enough to eat from our bird feeders, allowing us to witness their beautiful life every day.

Goodbye to our bedroom, which we had to build our kingsize bed into, taking up the entire room.  We didn't care.  It was a true bedroom.

Goodbye to the carport g'pa lovingly built with his own two, hard working hands.

Goodbye to the freezing pipes we had to use a blow dryer on in the winter.

Goodbye to the ceilings so low, that when my brain injured body couldn't walk, the ceilings were my cane.

Goodbye to the oak trees that line the streets, giving us gifts of acorns, falling leaves like confetti, and sap that you have to chisel off your car.

Goodbye to all the house modifications you made, which gave you practise for the home of our future.

Our first home together now has to leave, and our second home together is a proud moment of the first step to moving on.

Our third is the charm, and hopefully, we get to live there until we're grey and wrinkled from the loving, healing sun.

'goodbye' is an opportunity for a beautiful memory

psycho kitty.

Phew!  That feels a little better.

We got to talk about a little more of how each of us are feeling, plus got to have a less stressful day.

Much better.  Back on track.

I suppose it was just the finality of everything getting settled, meaning it's time to prepare for the next step, which is really quite scary.

The fear won't stop us from following our dream we've been preparing for for years, we just need to communicate more.

I've never had such great communication in my life that is outlined by the worst communication.  I don't know how to explain it, but it's odd.

We both take our turns at being the loon in the house.

Problem is, since the beginning of The Great DR Purge, the sale of the house, g'ma being put into the home, The Uncle helping us out, moving to Our Closet and preparing for our trial, we both took our turns at being the crazy one at the same time.

That's no good.

We usually swap, therefore, the one is able to calm the other down.

But when we're BOTH wacked?  No good.

Anyway, speaking of wacked, I've been trying to give the cats less and less Rescue Remedy in hopes that maybe they'll just be sane.

Wrong.  The Tom Cat Operetta is back in full swing.

I contacted a TV show, where they come in to see your psycho kitty and try to get them to be calm and stable.

It's appropriately called Psycho Kitty.

They loved the idea of filming our demented fuzzballs.  Who wouldn't?

A close loss of an eye, screaming cats and great wads of fur being torn from their bodies makes for good drama. 

Especially when they're trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

She said of all the applicants who wrote in, we were the first they called, because it sounded 'so funny'.

I sent them pics of all of us, including me holding my gun to show how desperate I am for harmony in the home.

The good part about the show is the free cat behaviourist who comes to help you and your critters.

It's kinda like The Dog Whisperer, only it's for psycho kitties.

When the Rescue Remedy worked, it was great, but I think leaving them on so much medicine for so long is not good for their tiny fuzzy bodies.

Mind you, that's better than blood and guts flying everywhere.

This kitty filming adventure will be a month after we've actually bought a home in the Dominican Republic!!!

We were instructed to go on line and choose a few to see, so we gave her our top 10, then gave her another 25 that we were interested in.

She said, "Well, that's quite a few.  Perhaps you could choose only 3 for the first day."

I think we need a reality show to follow us around there too.

Mind you, we won't need the publicity, considering the cats are going to make us super duper famous!  Don't you think?

People will swarm us and ask for autographs saying, "Hey!  You're the people who have psycho kitties!!"

We'll be more famous than The Beibs!

The whole, entire world will know us for our psychotic cats, screaming femme armed with water bottles, and a tranny with the Rescue Remedy chasing them around to get the goods in their ears.

Ok.  Maybe that's just a bit silly.

I can't even imagine how many people would tune in to a show called Psycho Kitty.

Well, I know I would, but I'm crazy that way.

everything is going to be alright

terror > excitement

The fighting!  Good god people!  We have never bickered like this in our entire 4.5 years together.

Having heard from a few people confirming that a move to another country is extremely stressful, it seems that Papi and I are right on track with the in home clashing.

I didn't ever, even for a second, think I'd be feeling like this.

I thought it would be all puppies, rainbows and thrills of an amusement ride.

Nope.  If I'm going to be honest, which I usually am, I'm fucking terrified.

We are stepping so far out of our comfort zone that we don't even recognize each other anymore.

Last night, the panic attack I had over filling out forms was wildly unmanageable.  My disoriented brain couldn't even figure out how to start filling them in and I thought I didn't have the right ones.

That left me feeling like I had tried so hard to get the right forms, yet even with that, I failed.

As someone who tries so hard, but seems to blunder a lot since my accident, I feel like I can't to anything properly anymore.

I feel useless and that my best is no longer good enough.

I feel like there's nothing I can do correctly, because I get confused and disoriented, never mind the fact that I can't last as long as other people due to my never ending 'imaginary pain'.

I almost fell into the throws of an eating disorder, thinking of how I could lose a few pounds to feel better, as if somehow, fading away would make it all disappear like my shrinking muscles.

Well, the panic attack was so bad, I had to beg my love to come help me get past it, where lately, I've learned how to do it on my own.

He was a little perturbed about it, because there he was, working on MY forms, because I was too anxious about it, and then I'm asking him double time for help with my panic attack.

He feels everything is on him, because he has to help me, the g'ma, and deal with The Uncle adding more fuel to the fire by giving him more reasons to be afraid of what we're about to do, rather than just be thrilled.

He's really under so much pressure, and he said to me, "I'm about 5 cm away from losing it."

Oh, how I hear you my love.  I'm right there with you.

I need to find a way to be more supportive to my love, so that these rowdy moments of the same fucking argument stop their cycle.

I need to find a way to do more with this fucking bitch of a back, so that my love doesn't feel so much is on him, and him alone.

I need to, because our relationship has never been like this and it scares me.

It makes me fear that with all the stress between us, that a new dynamic will be set up and we'll lose the love.

I know that I'm just placing old, horrid relationships on ours.

Papi is nothing like those other assholes I dated.

He's just a sensitive soul who is reacting to the stresses of this move, and a little resentful that so much is on his back, and less is on mine.

Some people may be horribly envious of our move, and I'm sure the haters don't think we deserve this, but damn, if any of those people really knew how hard this is and how much stress is upon us, they wouldn't be so envious.

I've never had such a strange array of emotions all at the same time.

My stomach flutters with excitement, my head pounds with stress. my tears fall with frustration and my bitch of a back is on turbo seize, because I'm holding all of it in.

Papi didn't even know I'm afraid, because to him, I gave off an air of peace.

That's nice and all, that I give off an illusion of 'everything will be fine', because I've worked so hard all my life to believe that.

However, it's not good when someone thinks you're indifferent about the whole experience.

I do believe, even right now as I'm shaking, nauseas, irrational and in utter fear, that 'everything will be fine'.

We're moving to the Dominican Republic and I'm fucking terrified, and excited.

i deserve to succeed

the next step to paradise!

Papi thinks he's attracting the bad energy because he's dissed the East Side for so long.

I dunno.

Maybe.

So far, I'm really appreciating being here.

And I'm appreciating Rescue Remedy.

We've only had one loss of fur since we moved in, and it was on a day where they didn't get enough of their calming medicine.

There was one unfortunate moment that I think I may have been over zealous when I gave Psycho Kitty his dose.

He came strolling out of the bedroom a bit too casual, with a wandering eye and a sloppy meow.

Oops!

Sorry li'l dude!

I'll be more careful next time.

I can't wait for them to be in the Caribbean chasing bugs and snakes!

Here's the exciting news.

We've booked our ticket to go buy a house!

We bookmarked and looked through so many beautiful homes and sent them to the realtor.

But you know what?

This should feel like excitement, but there's a lot of stress attached to it.

Nobody told me I'd be feeling like this, but my doctor hinted on it the other day.

"It's a good stress, but still, it will be A stress."

Yes.

Papi was an angry owl from the moment I saw him this morning until he decided to go hang out with a bunch of drunks and talk about themselves.

... careful, they may call you borderline ...

Anyway, I was not dealing with the búho enojado very well and I wound up doing the most ridiculous thing I could do to react to it.

I got passive aggressive.

So.

We're both not ourselves.

We forgot about the fun!

Well, it's really fun, it is!

It has given me a lightness, knowing that after all my 'ick' of the legal crap is over, that I get to go to the Dominican Republic for 2 weeks to go house shopping, so that we can finally begin our lives together.

That is of course if there's no divorce between us in the next two weeks.

For 2 weeks, I'm going to have the sun warm my muscles, the water hold my bones, and the home we have prepared for for years will now be in our grasp.

There's a song that I heard this summer, that hasn't stopped going through my head since that day I heard cranked from the float of JetBlue Airlines at this year's Seattle Pride Parade.

It's such a great song, so coupled with the pop of the attendants in their blue and white suits, perfectly happy, welcoming white teeth, and the blue and white glitter of the float, they haven't left my mind.

Now this song seems to be on my mind more than ever.

Here ya go.

As for Papi and I being a little less than pleasant with one another, there will be plenty of more time for hissy fits on both our sides.

I suppose the only thing that matters is that we are both able to tell each other.

"You're being passive aggressive."

"Well, you're being an asshole."

Well, that took care of that.

Now let's carry on with the good stuff!

"You know you've got to go through hell before you get to heaven." - Paul Pena

The Limping Lesbian

According to the defense lawyer, my pain was supposed to miraculously disappear after we settled my motorcycle accident claim.

Really?  When?  Because it certainly hasn't happened since we settled Tuesday.

As a Limping Lesbian, I know that we are much more assailable.

It actually makes me feel quite vulnerable in an area of town that I used to feel comfortable in.

I hold my purse a little closer.  I look over my shoulder at just who it is I nervously listen to walking behind me.

I tuck my cell in inaccessible areas, with the idea that if I can't get it, neither can the scum suckers who would try to steal it.

I also know limping is not sexy.  I want my sexy walk back dammit!  I suppose I can let that one go.  At least I'm walking, unlike 4 years ago.

Besides, like Papi always jokes, "Hey, I don't need to try anymore, I'm married!"

Anyway, someone tried to get into our suite yesterday, and I felt quite a bit more leery of my state to be able to protect myself.

All I can say is, I'm super happy I have Sir Bark-A-Lot.  This particular opportunist won't come back to our suite, because he knows the little pecker would make too much noise.

The worst part of this is not about the person who tried to break into our suite.  The hardest part for me is how insecure I feel about protecting myself.

I'm really not the same person I was 4 years ago.

Nearing the end of my case, I was told my newest diagnosis is a conversion disorder, and was told we'd be referring to this diagnosis a lot in mediation/court.

This meant all my sober, drunken-style staggering, wincing pain, horrid memory and embarrassing disorientation are all caused by this issue.

Kinda like how a panic attack is uncontrollable.  Upon being triggered, a switch goes off in your noodle, and all of a sudden, you feel like you have no legs or arms, and your head is 50 ft higher than your shoulders.

In other words, it's all in my head.  Really?!?  I'm not buyin' it. 

If it's all in my head, then when the fuck does this imaginary pain go away?  Bring it on bitches, because I'm done!

It also occurred to me that having goats, pigs, chickens, 10 dogs, 50 cats and a donkey may not be the best idea for my bitch of a back.

We're supposed to be going to the DR so that I may live with less pain.

However, I'm not so sure that having our very own version of Dr. Doolittle's empire would be suitable.

Not to mention the veggie garden.  Well actually, Papi is going to build me a raised garden so that I don't have to bed over to tend to it.

Good thing, because while I'm tending to the raised garden, he'll be chasing around chickens.

I've maintained that my donkey will be a logical choice.  My donkey will be my shopping cart.

I wonder if it could hold my weight?  How much can a donkey hold!?!?  Can it carry the groceries as well as me when my imaginary pain gets too much to handle?  And are males less stubborn than females?!?!

I also found out yesterday that NONE of the snakes are poisonous!!!  This is so exciting!  I get to play with snakes!

And geckos!

Oh, wait.  My sweet friend informed me that they're not called geckos.  They're called Anoles.  Same idea, but different.

Anyway, I told myself that I really didn't need goats, pigs and chickens to make my bitch of a back flare up, and that the whole idea is to rest in the sun and heal in the ocean.

Yet still, even as we plan our trip there to buy a home, all I envision is a yard filled with critters.

It's almost as if we'll have no choice once we get there, that we'll be donned with animals, whether we like it or not.

Well, maybe my imaginary pain will miraculously disappear when we're there?

I dunno.

All I do know, is I'm bloody well done with this bitch of a back.

She is sooooo fired.

i am glowing with health and wholeness

welcome to the jungle

Alright.

So, I know it's a little different living in the condensed area of the city, but damn.

We've got this building next door to Our Closet that is half of our view.

The other half of our view is a school yard.

Damn those brats are loud!!

However, it really is sweet to hear the screams and giggles.

Anyway, the building to the west of us is not so sweet.

It's got a lovely area of brick, which is nice, but then there's this aluminum siding.

Not like the pretty aluminum siding you buy from the fancy stores.

Nope.

Aluminum, as in great gads of sheets of it, plastered on the exterior walls.

Then there's the windows.

I assumed those windows were for the washrooms, considering they were so small and skinny.

I was validated yesterday.

There I was writing my blog, and I instantly had the topic for today.

At first, all I saw was his male pattern baldness to confirm it was a dude.

Then he stood up.

Creepy, naked guy in the bathroom.

The window was wide fucking open.

Seriously?  I'm neurotic about never being even HALF clothed by windows!

Papi always reminds me that nobody cares to look at my nakedness through our windows. 

I know that I've matured a little since my days of constantly being donned with stalkers and voyeurs, but I still have the P.T.S.D. from it.

I'm actually quite happy having a few wrinkles and a little more age showing.  It really cuts down on the predators.  It's really quite awesome.

Most women can't stand aging.  I like it.

It's a bit like I now have freedom to wear my skirts as short as I want, because the predators are too busy watching the teens.

It's also a little like when I was younger, I shaved my head for the first time and was INSTANTLY rid of the gawking creeps who would assume that just because I unintentionally looked like a bit of a Barbie Doll with my long blonde hair, I was asking for them to prey on me.

... shudders at the man who masturbated on the bus while stroking my hair ...

Anyway.  Dude next door.

As much as he's completely comfortable with letting it all hang out for the world to see, I'm not so comfortable with seeing him and his 'man zone'.

Seriously!  Do you have no shame, man!?!?

Ok.  Maybe he's a nudist and is so used to it that he assumes that everyone else is good with it too.

Nope.  Not this femme.  Not comfortable at all.

I've moved my seat for blogging now.

Now I watch the screaming children as I write each tippity-tappity on this 4 year old, little laptop that is slowly hinting at it's departure from my world.

However, when I'm sitting in this spot, I'm not able to see the cats that are circling our balcony down below.

They're trying to figure out how to get up here and kill our cats.

You can see it in their eyes.

Anyway, my view of screaming children are better than the nudist next door.

Welcome to the jungle.

i have inner peace

doomsday? really?

There was a truly horrific bandaid emergency again this morning.

I got the panicked phone call.  "Honey!  Can you have the Bandaids, wipes and Polysporin ready?!?!"

I waited patiently for the apocalyptic disaster to come through the door, however, there was no blood.  It was pretty uneventful, I must say.

I thought it would be awful, considering the anxiety I woke up with, as if perhaps, I was seeing the future, but nope.

Tell me, do you ever get this?

I woke up, and within seconds my stomach was in knots, I was physically shaking and all I wanted to do is peacefully perish in fetal position, cocooned in the warmth and protection of blankets.

I waited for the reason for the angst to came to mind, however, there's nothing to be afraid of today.  It's a lovely day.

Still, my mind decided to make it out to be a day to be in fear of.

... ah ptsd ... you really are a mother fucker ain't'cha? ...

I don't get it.  The sun is shining, I don't feel like my eating disordered thinking is dogging me, I'm not tormented by a horrible image in the mirror, the cats are all getting along and I have exciting up and coming dreams to think about with Papi.

There's nothing that I can put my finger on that would be worthy of that amount of stress to wake up to, but still, I wake up with agonizing doomsday feelings.

Why?!?!?

Maybe, it was leftovers from the weekend from hell I just had, where I had to read through 4 years of reports and make timelines, not to mention comb through my blog.

Honestly, reading through my blog was really, really good for me.

I saw the amazing growth I've had, and saw all the toxic words that people hate me for.

I understand why they would feel that way, coming from their side, but they have to be able to understand my side as well.

My side was not to be belittled and hated for.

My side is the same, distressed side, so many of the other half have felt.

I needed to learn, grow and let go of fear.

I did that.  I saw myself do it week after painful week, tear after agonizing tear.

I see so much more of the male my love feels is there.  I actually don't see my butch as much anymore.  My views have shifted and I have grown.

I have apologies for the harmful words that made people feel like they were 'ugly', or worse, for being an F-M.

Those were achingly hurtful for me to see.  I would never want people to feel bad from my overt pain, but I did.

I said bad things in my disturbed fear.  I don't see anybody as those horrid things that may have come across as an attack, when really, it was an offense against myself and lack of experience.

I see so many of my trans friends as gorgeous, strong, amazing humans.  These friends are absolutely more special than I could have ever imagined.

The friends I've made through this gargantuan journey definitely make up for the anguish I went through with those who don't understand me, and my peers who have felt how I felt, but were too uncomfortable to say it all along their own odyssey.

The haters?  Not so beautiful.  When you're ugly on the inside, well, it doesn't shine through on the outside.

I'm not ashamed of the immensely, heavy feelings I had.

I'm so damn proud to be where I am, and even more honoured of the people who stuck by me, even while I had so much to learn.

You gently and lovingly taught me well.  I adore you.

Ahhhhh ... I believe I feel a little less anxious now.  Could it be the coffee?

Nope.  It's the fact that I wrote it all out and got it all out of my head.

This blog truly saves me.

my life is filled with joy, love and friendship.  all i have to do is stop the criticism, forgive, relax and be open

I'm baaa-aaack!

There they were, with my entire blog printed out.

... hey ... thanks for the page hits ... you just helped me move up the google-sphere ...

I wasn't about to print it out.  That's too much waste on printer ink and trees.  However, I did go through and jot down notes.

After they brought out the MASSIVE binder with all my blogs highlighted, we took a break, and my lawyer discretely asked me, "Do you really enjoy writing your blog?"

I told him, "What I get out of it is that every time I write, I find someone who has felt the same.  It makes me feel less alone in the world, especially because I have readers from here to Russia."

His response was accompanied by shaking of his head, "Putting all that stuff out there about yourself.  I just couldn't do it."

No, but you're not me.  I am a different bird from a different cookie cutter.

Anyway, it's all over.

No more people following me with cameras down the corridor of the SeaBus, or slow moving cars stalking me with their silly tinted windows.

... you weren't very covert ... but did you like my fancy outfit i was wearing?  i looked pretty while i limped down the street ...

No more fucking appointments with people who hurt me by poking and prodding.

No more psych evaluations telling me I'm nuts.  I already know.  I don't need confirmation.

No more forms to fill out, which consequently means no more family doctor swearing at me.

Oh, wait, that's wrong.  I still need to fill forms out for disability.  I'll bring my doc flowers for the past and bring her more when the rest is done.

Anyway, it's wonderful that that part of my journey is done and we settled in enough comfort that we don't have to go to trial.

Instead of trial, we're getting ready to get the hell out of this city, which grows colder every day, causing my bitch of a back to seize all the more.

We're now on the 2nd phase of The Great DR Purge.

We almost have all our finances in order, so the next steps are waiting to see if The Golden is going to make it.

He's on some good drugs now!  I think we may be able to bring him!!

We also have to wait for my braces to get off.  That's another couple of months.  Ugh.  Let's go teeth!  Paradise awaits!

Then there's the 97 year old G'ma.  We're not quite ready to leave her yet.

So, the steps are in place and once they're all walked through, we go.

The relief of knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel is amazingly revitalizing.

The thought that I'll be in the warm, where I feel less pain is exhilarating.

That brilliant glowing light burns brighter and brighter with every day that passes.

Soon, very soon, I will be in less pain and I will begin my life the way it is intended.

I will do more than lie around on pain killers waiting for the ouch to leave.

I will take this bitch of a back to the ocean and heal it.

Every day, floating on the salt water that heals my afflictions.

Every day, walking in the sun, for more than the 4 blocks I can do here in the city of brrrrrrr.

Every day, eating fresh foods that we grow on our own, straight from the veggie garden.

Every beautiful, gorgeous, living day.

And now, I have to go move my poor piano into storage.  She has to sit there until my baby sister comes back in a year to rescue her.

My gorgeous piano.  It will be one of the things I miss about being here in the cold and pain.

And my friends.  I'm starting to feel the sadness there already.

Oh man!  I still want to be able to find my brother before I go too!

So much to do.

every day is a new day to start fresh

on assignment ...

will return wednesday september 12th ...

this too shall pass

these are the people in your neighbourhood ...

Poor Papi.  He had his first bad experience living in an crowded city apartment block.

There are so many good people here.  This area is full of people who would actually wait a half an hour with my keys outside my car, hoping that I would return, so that nobody would steal it.

They returned my keys the next day with one request, "Do you have 10 bux you could spare?  I'm a little broke and need some food."

We gladly gave him two fivers, but if we had more, we'd give it to him as well, knowing the money ain't going to the food.  None-the-less, dude didn't steal anything from our car and he returned our keys.  Next time I see him, I may bring him out for lunch to get that meal.

Anyway, last night's experience wasn't as neighbourly.

My love is mostly the one to bring the dogs outside, as I can't carry The Golden up our flight of stairs.  He's being stubborn and refusing to get into the apartment, because it's not his home.  So, Papi has to carry him.

Obviously I can't, but I usually go for the walk with them and hold doors open while my love carries the flailing four legs to our floor.

Last night, my bitch of a back told me to stay put, so out went Papi on his own to explore his new area.

In this hood, there are a lot of people with addiction problems.  It's just been the way of this district for years.  It's much better now, but there's still some issues.

Sir Bark-A-Lot remembers when mi esposo was a big ol' drunk and subsequently, does NOT like drunks.

Hence, he did what he does best and tried to terrorize the guy by the nipping at his heels and yapping.  My love hasn't mastered the art of 'Alpha', and the little fucker of a dog behaves horribly when he's with Papi.

Our ghetto drunk was not impressed, and back and forth went the argument between the two.  However, the only thing I heard from the window was an angry, "Try going to an AA meeting!"

I called my love to tell him that everything he says is heard loud and clear up in our suite, which means that everyone else can hear it too.

That was when I got the full story.  This nutbar of a drunk waited for my love to return, because he knew our car, since Papi had put something in there while he was waiting for the one eyed big man to do his doggy biz.

As soon as the drunk saw Papi come back up the sidewalk, he had his revenge by approaching Papi, stating very loudly, "Next time I see your dog I'm going to kill him."

Papi retorted, "Next time I see your face I'll be calling the cops."  Instead, mi esposo came up and told me the story and called the cops then and there. 

While my love and I stood outside waiting for the police, this dude was doing his best to intimidate us from his apartment window, because his apartment is next door to us.

Now we have a neighbour who is threatening to kill our dog.  Not the nicest welcome to the hood we just moved into 5 days ago.

Not to mention, my love has come from spacious plots of land where nobody sees each other and nobody talks, never mind threaten death.

Papi was genuinely terrified, as this guy knows where we live and what our vehicle looks like.  It's hard not to spot our fucking vehicle with all the stickers on it.

Oh, dude also has our phone number, because that too is plastered on the side of our car for my love's pet care business.

Well, cops showed up, and after speaking to the sloppy drunk, he told us that we should just ignore him.  Seriously.  Anyone who would threaten to kill a 'chihuahua', stating 'it's owner sicked it on him' has to be a little off kilter.

"Do your best to keep your distance from him," was the end result, with the tag, "If anything else happens, call us."

Then through my love speaking to the cop, he informed him that we just moved from the West Side, where he's lived all his life, and having this experience really scared him.

Cop stopped for a second and tried his best to understand, "Why on earth did you move HERE?!?!?"  There's always a punch line.  Even from a cop.

I explained to my love that this is what it's like living in this 'community'.  There are wonderful people, but that also means there are sick people.

Just so happens, the sick one knows where we live, what our car looks like and wants to kill our dog.

Having said that, he probably won't remember a thing today and may even tip his hat all neighbourly like the next time he sees Sir Bark-A-Lot.

It's just the law of the big city.

i feel completely at ease, and comfortable with all types of people

please be specific.

When we ALL said, "It won't fit," we weren't very specific.

Seriously.  You have to be specific.

My love is used to his prize possessions, one being his couch, the other being his TV.

The TV isn't here yet, but shortly, it's gazillion inches of screen will be right up front, literally in our faces.

The couch is here though, and like I said, we weren't precise.  We should have said, "It's not going to fit, because it's going to stick out the side of the wall and into the hall and that's just wrong."

I had already expressed my fear of this, stating that I wasn't too keen on my usual, 'bounce off the walls like a pinball' mornings.

My brain injury still has me wonky in the morning.  So, imagine staggering around like a drunk first thing to go make my coffee.

Once, I torn a knee ligament tripping over a couch.

I didn't want that to happen again, but my love wants his couch and considering the fact that he moved practically everything alone on this move, I suppose he can have his couch any damn place he pleases.

The Mrs. likes it, because she can see everything in Our Closet from this spot. 

The Golden could care less, as long as he can fit through to get his attention.

 

Anyway, the couch is in and all it means is we have a little bit of a bottleneck leading into our living room/kitchen/office.

Oh, there should also be a 'slash dining room' as well.

Our dining room is pretty much anywhere we place our little wooden TV trays.

Which we'll use while we watch Papi's gargantuan TV from.

But hey!

He also fit in his La-Z-Boy.  Can you see it in the upper right corner there?

It's good thing it's here, because he's having a case of the Pit of Doom.  This whole journey has been a bit rough for him.

G'ma in the care facility with Alzheimer's, moving from his home he's been in since birth, his old one eyed Golden showing his age and having troubles getting up the stairs, fighting to keep his sanity after a very recent relapse, and the stress from moving for the first time.

Papi is in the Pit of Doom and those demons are nipping at his heels.

Still, his couch and La-Z-Boy are here and that's all that matters.

You know the most exciting part?  We can watch his colossal TV from the bathroom!

No more missing a show because of a piddle emergency!  Good thing.  I wouldn't want to boogie as fast as I can down the hall and trip on a couch.

home is where the heart is

yes, i'm still alive.

We had no internet, and no internet means no blog.

Now, we're slowly getting back on track.

And now that we're gradually getting back on track, I need to tell the world how hard a worker my love is.

Other than when one friend who helped us for part of a day, with the really awkward, heavy stuff, Papi did the whole move on his own.

Seriously.

I tried to carry a few light things, but my bitch of a back wouldn't let me do the stairs with even the small stuff.

So, my love had to do it all, and do it all he did.

It really looked like we had nothing when we were in that big house, but now that we've taken that 'nothing' into 454 sq. ft. of animals, it's another story.

It's shown me that even more has to go.

If Papi has to be the one to move all my stuff, I'm going to get it as whittled as possible.

Our Closet is small, but so, so sweet.  I suppose because it's ours.

Once mi esposo and I get past the worst of settling in, we can enjoy ourselves.  Papi's not liking this whole game so far.

And the animals?

They're all on Rescue Remedy.

Oddly enough, we finally found something that works.

Everyone is calm and there hasn't been one fight.

Even Sir Bark-A-Lot only had one flip out.

However, Papi and I weren't so calm up until this point.

The humans were having issues that Rescue Remedy couldn't touch.

The last time I moved somewhere, which happened to be 4 months before the motorcycle accident, I could just about anything.

I was such a pack rat, and hence I had a lot of stuff.

A lot.

Well, back then, my love and I moved them, with only our two able bodies.

I was able enough to help huff our canoe up on top of the truck.

It's hard for a work-a-holic to not work sometimes.

I'm learning though.  Everything in moderation, including walking up stairs and whining.

Oh!

Papi had a finger cut emergency and had to use his Band-Aids.  What I found was, most of those boxes were pretty much empty.

Still, they were important enough to mi esposo, that he had them unpacked 1st.

Good thing!  You never know when you'll use them!

Well, now Papi can say he's moved like the rest of us.

Poor Papi.

He's exhausted.

I have the hardest working husband on the planet.

This has been a whirlwind of 5 days.

i learn from my mistakes

I want a fart machine.

Of course I'm going to offend someone with this post, but I have to be true to myself and say it, because dammit!  I haven't met my piss off quota lately.

I want someone to invent a fart machine.

Not to make the sounds, because we have whoopie cushions and armpits for that.

What I want, is a gizmo that I can press a button and out will come ass stench at will.

I'd use my very own Buffalo Breath if I could gauge when I get the rank, horrid, practically seen breath emerges.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I know I'll get it if I stress out enough, or most mornings.

Oh, another way, is I can get it from too much sugar in my diet (aka: Candida), or from the gads of raw garlic I like to put in foods (to fight the Candida).

Then again, I also get it from taking those hideous pain pills, but then I'd be stuck with that breath all day and what happens if I see someone I like!?!?!

I hate it when that happens!  They don't deserve to give me a hug and smell shit breath!

I'm very self conscious about it with people I like.

I know that really, my Buffalo Breath was a direct result from my eating disorder.  I damaged my stomach with laxatives when I didn't care about the consequences, and thought it was more important to find that 'thin' girl, that to this day, I would never see in the mirror.

Anyway, this really wasn't supposed to be about my Buffalo Breath, nor anorexia.

It's supposed to be about a fart machine.

I want a fart machine that I can turn on at any time, so that the next time I'm stuck near the scum of cigarette stink, I can turn it on.

I understand people have their addiction, but man!  Why am I subject to smelling your malodour?

I don't go around intentionally farting and waving my stinky armpit smells around you!!!

But hey, if I had a fart machine, then I could prove a point.

When they said, "Fuck man!  That thing stinks!  Turn that shit off!"

I'd be able to say, "I will when you butt that rank skank out.  If I have to smell your crud, then you have to smell this.  I'm addicted to making this smell.  I just can't help myself.  It's a sickness."

So.

If there are any scientists out there who would like to indulge, I'm pretty sure it would 'smell' on the market.

... hehehe ... i know, that was really cheesy ...

I know I would buy one!

It would have to be small though.  Maybe a container like my mace that I carry around in my purse.

Wait!

Is it illegal to mace people who occupy my air space with their wafting addiction?

Probably.

Anyway, someone out there, please, make me a fart machine.

I'm sick of being passive aggressive and having to close my fucking house and car windows to escape it.

Fuck!  It sucks old man sweaty balls when I'm relaxing in a comfy, sunny spot, and along comes a smoker who sits right near me.

Then I have to move away for 7 minutes, while they enjoy my seat in their funk, as I wait impatiently for them to finish.

I can only resume my nice spot once they've complete pissing me off with their fetor.

That is of course, unless they're a chain smoker.  Then I'm subject to another bout of mephitis within moments of one of those bitches being put out.

For the love of god, make me a fart machine.

i behave in ways that promote my health more every day