bloody knuckles

With the trickery of salmon, I lured them out of their hiding places.

It was an instant hide-and-go seek game with the cats, just add crates. 

As soon as those metal doors were opened, there were no cats to be found.  Thank god we only live in 454 sq. ft. of Our Closet.  It wasn't too hard to find them.

But the salmon did the trick.  It would do it for me as well.

Once in their miniature jail cells, it was time to bring all 5 of the Fuzzy Family to the vet for their Dominican Republic shots.

We got a sneak preview of what the hell will be like on the moving day.

From the pure terror these little buggers experienced, within the moments of us putting them in, there was piss and shit in one of the cages.

We'll have to bring along a lot of borax.  Or maybe a million towels that we can just lay down and throw away once the panic has set in for ~ ahem ~ certain cats.  I won't name the offender, so that this fluff ball won't be embarrassed by having their name spread in the interwebs for life.

There seemed to be a well choreographed, "I'll take this, you take that," and "I'll get the doors, and you take this."

Sometimes, Papi and I have communication troubles, but not yesterday.  We were totally in synch.

And today I am totally in pain.  I kinda knew my bitch of a back would give me grief after everything I did to it yesterday.

Oh, it wasn't just the animal kingdom we had to deal with.

I've never had so many things on a to-do list in my life.

Then came the Halloween fireworks.  The Golden was under the bed when I first woke up today.

Well, 'woke up' is not quite right.  I do say 'first' woke up because there are 3 layers to my 'wake up'.

1. Move my body from the bed to upright position, and follow my feet through to feeding the Fuzzy Family to shut those cats up before there is a murder.

2. Shove my body into whatever is handy and brave the piss pouring rain with the dogs so they can have their comfort before I do.

3. Drink my mother fucking coffee.

I am still nursing my coffee, begging it to bring me to life.

The new pills are kicking me in the ass.  There will be no more appointments made before 1 p.m. if I can help it.

Anyway, I'm scattered, tired, aching and really am just putting one foot down after another.

Well, there was one thing we did that wasn't on the to-do list.

Remember how Papi is a bull in a china shop?  He found a shop en route that would take him in on a whim, and he now has knuckle tattoos.

This is going to narrow down the job search options.

 

He likes to think it makes him look like he's been boxing.

Of course, I reminded Papi that if he gets tattoos, then so do I,  Hence, there will be another appointment added to the list for me.

i deserve health, energy and calmness

bullies. they're not just children.

There is so much talk about trying to make bullying obsolete.

There are so many 'adults' who are fighting for the children who have lost their lives because they can't take the pain of being dissed anymore.

Still, these 'adults' should take a look at their actions.

Blatantly, they make their dislike of one person known, yet they won't tell that person what they did wrong.

Instead, they'll make sure that everyone they know won't have anything to do with them.  Either passive aggressively, or with a good old "If so and so is going, I'm not."

That will force the person to make a choice.  And from there, it only gets worse.

Next thing you know, the invites stop coming and when people you thought were your friends give you the, 'I'll just tap you on the back a couple of times' hug, you feel their energy is saying, "I hope nobody sees me."

People you thought were 'friends' start dropping one by one, until you're left with only the true gems, not much unlike peeling an onion, tears and all.

You're left with the heart of the onion.  The gem.  The part of the onion where life begins.

These 'mean girls' will be completely shocked when you come to a planned dinner they didn't know you would be invited to.

You see, the thing is, one person in that crowd is the gem and invited you when nobody else would, because they aren't following the herd of people who say, "Ok, now we're not talking to them anymore."

This?

This is bullying on a much more passive aggressive level.

But it's bullying.

Everyone ganging up on one person, and never really telling them what they did wrong.

They just cut you out.

Cliques are in every 'community'.

I can't say that I'll be getting away from the sick ones forever.

I'm sure that Papi and I will find them elsewhere in the village of Casa Paraíso.

That's ok.

I've learned how to deal with an 'adult' bully now.

However, children?

They haven't learned yet.

They don't know that there are gems that make up for the pain.

They have no tools to work with to build their self-esteem once more.

Especially if they see 'adult's who do the same thing.

They see it everywhere, not just TV.

So, while everyone is on their fucking high horses, talking about how to stop bullying, how about we lead by example?

How about you actually speak to the person who's done wrong, and help them know how you really feel, and help them grow?

How about we start opening a dialogue so that the wrong doers can learn from their mistakes?

I've learned.  I've changed.  I've also let go of the crud who no longer invite me to their gatherings.

You know why?

The Pariah Club has the most genuine, massive hearts, who talk to me about how I can grow.

Then in turn, they ask me how they can grow.

Then do you know what happens?

We gain strength, wisdom and love together.

So, go ahead mother fuckers.

Start your little nights of fund raising for children who are being bullied.

It's about all you have to contribute.

i am worthy of love and friendship

on track.

She sent me home with a care package containing leftovers from the scrumptious meal she prepared for our get together.

It was a short and very sweet visit with my Eternal Friend, accompanied by the animated presence of Java the Mutt.

I'm so very grateful we're living close to transit, so that I can see her more often.

What was really important for me about our visit, was that she understands my current flux of emotions.

She moved to Guatemala from our hometown, then back again.  It was with this life experience that she was able to tell me I'm right on track.

The tremendous anger I felt by coming home to hearing about bullies, abundant violence and criminal activity was just a typical state of beginning to detach from something I love.

We actually all do it a lot in our lives.  For example, when we know we're leaving a job, we start finding everything we hate about it, so that it's easier to leave.

The other area I'm on track with, is the pull of family and friends.

I'm feeling extremely needy about the fact that I'm leaving people I love.

My mother and I have had a terribly tumultuous relationship since she became a single mother.  We've struggled right into this past year when I felt the sting of not being included in a family dinner.

I was about 10 when she was tossed into a laborious life with 2 broken children, weakened by the split of an emotionally sick family, and no support from a deadbeat dad.

The lawyer she hired to fight him told her, "You'll spend way too much money trying to get anything out of this guy.  You'd be better off using that money to support your children.  You'll never get any support from him.  He's a deadbeat."

And so the walk on our path began.

Here we are, two adults doing our very best to be friends, because we both realize how much we love one another, regardless of the differences and difficulties we have.

Yesterday, I showed her my exercise regime, because there's a gym in her new condo.

I instructed her to lie on her back, so I could teach her how to initiate her core muscles.

There was this woman that had the same body as me, albeit a little softer with an extra layer.

Here was this woman who had the same eyes as me.

Here was this woman who I immediately felt a connection with and found instant forgiveness for anything she put me through.

In that moment, I was forced to remember that I put her through a lot as well.

Imagine living with a child who kept trying to kill herself?  I honestly can't picture myself in her position.

Yet I put her through this, not to mention, the horrendous mood swings that came for a child ruled by an eating disorder and chemical imbalance, further exacerbated when drugs and alcohol were introduced into her blood stream and mind.

Regardless, there she was lying beneath me, as I squeezed her lax muscles and showed her how to hold them tight.

It put her in a place of trusting her child.

I, above her.

It didn't matter that Mr. Homophobia was standing right behind us.  He can't allow my Mother to be alone with anyone, as he needs to control everything my Mother does.

However, yesterday she was all mine, regardless of the black cloud that loomed above us.

I connected with my Mother.

I'm connecting with the spirit of my Great Grandmother.

I'm connecting with family and friends, while at the same time, I feel I'm repelling my city.

My Eternal Friend tells me I'm right on track and that these high and low emotions I'm feeling are typical.

And this, is the journey.

i am loving and accepting of myself for who i am becoming

85 days.

Well, here it is!

It may not look like anything other than a bunch of tags on the wall, but each one is a day to pull off and recycle.

It's The Countdown!

Today I took off number 86.  We're down to 85 days!

Ripping that little tag off the wall gave me a happy dance!!

It wasn't quite as good as The Happy Papi Dance, but it was happy.

It's my contribution to the excitement of our departure.

Wanna see Papi's contribution?

He likes to make piles of dirty socks around the house.

Can you say hoarder?

I envision one day where we can't walk down the halls because there are socks up to the roof.

Oh, did I tell you we still don't have any heat?

My Gratitude Buddy lent me a space heater, so I finally got to wash my hair.

Yes, it's all about my hair.

Do you see the socks in the bottom left corner of the floor.

Maybe posting this for the world to see ...

... hello russia! ...

... he'll start cleaning up his socks.

Anyway, part of the reason I need a space heater is not just because the building is neglecting our rights to heat, but because my dearest Papi likes to leave the balcony door open.

Don't judge me for the mess.  You would have the same issue if you lived in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

However, this was supposed to be about The Countdown!

85 days.

85 days.

i have an enthusiastic outlook on life

man hair. everywhere.

I must be done with the processing, as the conversations we have are just plain silly and effortless about things that I didn't think I'd ever be able to handle.

Like hair.

Chest hair, belly hair, armpit hair, ass hair, thigh hair and chin hair.

Just plain ol' man hair.

Well, of course I'd love to talk about my hair, because it's usually all about my hair, but my hair is a fucking mess right now, because we have no heat in our suite, and I'm not going to sit around in the brrrrr chill while my mane air dries.

That doesn't make me feel comfortable and being such a hypochondriac, I'm too afraid of catching a cold.  So, it's hats and pins and pigtails for my hair.

Oops.

It all became about my hair again.

Oh, how I digress.

Ok, back on track.

I look at a picture of Papi and I on our engagement day in Cuba.

This picture is so full of happiness, yet also, it's full of uncomfortableness.

On both of our parts.

I remember on that day, that Papi had said to me, "I wanted our picture to look like the other people's picture."  You see, they were more comfortable.

I get very affected by homophobic people, and we never know when they're going to pop up.

Like the man behind the camera that day.

I don't know if he was or not, but two lesbians in front of him was a good opportunity to show his true colours.

Of course, he didn't, but still, I waited for it.

Then there was Papi, uncomfortable in his own skin, because he had a secret that he needed to tell me, but was too afraid to say it, due to the fact that I would say negative things about trans people.

My transphobia scared Papi, and rightfully so.

I would go on about how we're losing all our butches to male transformation, not to mention go on about how people were brainwashing younger people into thinking this was the 'in' thing to do.

It does happen, but I've only known about one pusher who did this.

So there we were.

Both of us were so happy because it was our engagement, but you could see we were both awkward.

Now, you'll find me in Costco asking some guy, "Hey!  You're a guy!  Which of these electric shavers would you recommend?"

They would steer Papi in the right direction saying, "I like this one.  For the money, it's the best one you can get."

Then there was last night.  Papi said, "I also need to get a new man-scaper.  That one also didn't make the trip out of the Dominican alive."

Off he went to get it and I didn't even think about it beyond that.

Until of course, later on when he lifted his armpit to show me how nice it looked because it was tamed with his new toy.

Then I had a moment that was epic.

We were going to get our criminal check done so we could apply for residency in the DR, and while I was at my wicket, Papi saddled up behind me.  The woman behind the counter asked in a very stern voice, "Ma'am, do you know the gentleman who is now standing behind you?"

Like flowing water, I looked, then turned back to say, "Yes, that's my husband."

My husband.

It's all very normal now.

Who knew I could do this?

i am a hero

because. that's why.

Journeys.  We all have this in common.

I no longer think about the goal of journey, because it would mean I wouldn't have anymore explorations.

I've been on a 'who am I now?!?!' journey since the motorcycle accident.

I was told of the story that my Great-Grandmother was dying, but waited for me, then passed after my birth.

I know where I came from, and I feel that my Great-Grandmother is with me always.

I have a connection with her and I don't even know her, yet right now, I feel that she steers me.  It seems, because I've allowed myself the opportunity to understand my own spirituality, I've opened myself up allowing her presence in my life.

It has been quite a learning experience, these past 4 years.

The greatest lesson I've learned is to take life the way it is given to me.  I no longer question the paths I'm forced to walk.  I merely take one step after another, move along it, then see where it leads.

I didn't have that ability before the accident.  I suppose the close proximity of death will rip off our blinders.

I have always maintained that an angel helped me on that fateful day, and at this point, I imagine that angel was my Great-Grandmother.

When you really look at it, somehow I was granted a blessing to keep my life, and my gift was handed to me by coincidences of everything that happened in that short 5 seconds.  These synchronized effects were placed in my path and I have been lavished with the opportunity to stay here and learn more.

You can 'plan' as much as you want, but don't get stuck in your outcomes, because you can only plan for so much, and life will rip the carpet from beneath you.

All it means, is that you took chose the wrong fork in the road, and life is escorting you to the right avenue.

I know that now.  I also know, that even though I have graciously handed fate my well written proposals, I have always found one strange circumstance after another, denying me my requests.

I'm now left wondering, what would happen if I actually reached my destination?

None of my objectives pre-accident are attainable now, but what if I had reached them?  Is that when I would have died?  Would that have been the end because I fulfilled my destiny?  Do I not have attainable targets, so that I can keep learning what it is to be here 'in the now'?

My 'now' is pretty damn awesome.

Well, except for the bastards who stole Papi's motorcycle cover this week.  There are people who make this world not so pleasing.

But 'things' being stolen from us aside, my life is great and full of so much love.

I've learned that love truly is all we need.

Well, except for food and shelter, but sometimes, we get really stuck on what 'food and shelter' looks like to us, and another deal is made with fate, leaving us at the mercy of our own kismet.

The happiest people I've ever met have just enough food and a mere shelter to keep them from the monsooning rain that pelts them.

They live for the day.  They seek food for the day and sometimes, they are granted a little more and they take that dancing.

They have love.  They have happiness.

I also have both, and no thieves or predators could ever take that away from me.

So, when I think about my journey, I am grateful and excited, because life is a surprise that I experience every day I wake.

I'm a curious creature, and I have always been donated more to investigate.

So, who am I?  Where am I going?  What comes next?  I doesn't really matter, I suspect.

I've got the 'how' down now.  I'm comfortable with not knowing 'when' anymore and I'm pretty sure I have figured out 'why'.

You know when little ones ask 'why' over and over ad infinitum, and parents in their frustration finally say, "Because!  That's why!"

That truly is the answer to 'why'.

Because.

i accept my journey for what it is

killed that dummy dead.

Oooooooh!  That was so much fun last night and I did good.

Of course, my 'rough around the edges friend' that joined me was REALLY good because of the shooting she did previously in the wilderness.

So there we were, 2 members of The Pariah Club, having the best time ever.

I did good for only my 2nd time ever shooting a gun.

Check it out:

I really need to give you a close up though to really see that only 3 shots went out of the lines!!!

 

At first, I used a .22 pistol to get my bearings on the zombie, but that blue, decaying wrongdoer was no good for my target practise.  His different tints all over the place made it too hard to see where I hit.

When the shooting ranger pulled the blue offender closer to take a look at my work, he giggled when he saw that I was aiming for the zombie's 'man zone'.

I just shrugged and said, "Well, yeah ... ya know."  We didn't need to talk about it.  I have the feeling I'm not the first girl who was aiming for zombie junk.

I then moved on to the 9mm for the target you see up above.

I can only get better!  My intention is NOT to hit someone, and only give warnings.

If I need to use to stop someone, I want to be able to aim for a leg, so that I don't kill a culprit, but only to maim them to keep them from doing anything to me.

I don't think I need anything more than a .22, but I want to practise with more so that I'm able to use a .22 properly.

I do the same thing with my practise bass guitar.  It has the highest gauge strings there is, so that when I play my performing bass, which have a lighter gauge, my fingers last for the full show with full power.

Now I can't wait to go gun shopping when we get to Casa Paraíso.  I kinda want to go window gun shopping here, just to look at those beauties.

I remember my grandfather had a collection of rifles.  They were kept in the attic in their very safe chest, but I was able to look at them all the time, which I did.  I can still see the brass engraving on their hilts in my mind.  They were so beautiful and I felt I could touch them with my eyes.

Papi and I realized that there is a possibility that I won't even be able to have a license, because of all the labels of mental illness that have been placed upon me by the ICBC case.

That's ok.  I don't need my own license, because I can still practise.  Having 'no license' doesn't mean that I'm not going to protect myself.

I found out from the pretty li'l gun toter behind the counter that at this particular range, Friday nights is Ladies Night!!  All I pay for is ammo!

So, you now know where I'll be every Friday night.

Don't bother stalking me.  I'll have guns.

success comes effortlessly in my direction

no reality here.

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

Foiled by Our Closet!

The Psycho Kitty TV show was going to come by for our pre-taping interview, until they found out that we only live in 454 sq. ft.

They said the producer couldn't come film, because it's just too small.  They filmed in a place 800 sq. ft. and it was too small for them, so 454 won't do.

My poor li'l putos won't be television stars.

Now what will we do?!?!

It was our only hope to making it big!!

OK.

I'm removing my tongue from my cheek now, but damn, I was really hoping for the kitty psychologist to come on in and help us with our kitty issues.

I guess I'll just have to keep drugging them with Rescue Remedy until we reach the great open land for them to chase bugs, instead of the real Psycho Kitty obsessively guarding the litter box so that The Bastard Prince and The Mrs. can't use it.

I did however, ask them if they'd like to do a reality show about two city slickers who are moving to a 3rd world country with not a fucking clue what we're doing.

I'm sure people would enjoy that insanity in our lives.

For now, you'll have to read about it, unless I actually figure out how the hell to make a video blog to reach people with A.D.H.D. and brain injury.

Example: people like me.

As much as I can write a blog, it sure takes me forever to read one.  Not to mention, read emails and navigate websites.  I read things without really knowing what the hell I'm reading, and wires are crossed in no time, all the time.

Anyway, I'm going to practise making our video blog of our journey, so that people can really get the gist of what a crazy adventure this will be.

I'm sooooo not technology savvy, unless it is my composing program.

Mind you, I taught myself the composing program without any classes, so perhaps I can teach myself a video editing program as well?

Speaking of adventures in reality, I didn't tell you about the word we got from My Boifriend about the adventure he had while house sitting our Fuzzy Family here.

You see, someone scaled the wall of our apartment.  My Boifriend startled him and he took off, but this is really troubling to me.

Here in Canada, if we try to defend ourselves, we'll wind up with an assault charge.

We're not allowed to take things into our own hands.  We can only call the police after the fact and wait for them to arrive long after the happening, then file a report.

Filing a report does not give me as much satisfaction as the thought of sticking a gun in someone's rancid mouth for trying to endanger my life.

But never mind a gun, if I was here and kicked the guy off causing him physical damage, it is I who would be charged for endangering someone's life.

I was getting very heated about the neighbourhood Spiderman, so I decided to distract myself from the anger, and go do my recycling.

Only, when I went down to do so, I found the thieves in the neighbourhood stole our goddam recycling bins.

Mother fuckers.

We came home from the land of smiling faces, to find out about a gay bashing in our hood, a border guard shot in the neck, a child committed suicide because of online bullying and someone scaling our apartment walls.

I know that a recycling bin is only a mere inconvenience for my paper that is overflowing, but when you put it all together with the scum of the earth we're surrounded by in this 1st world country, it makes me want to move to the DR TODAY.

Well, we're one day closer to getting the hell out.

Not to mention, today's the day I get to go do target shooting.

We really do need our own reality show.

However, it's not going to happen in Our Closet.

i strive to improve myself

anger management

I think I really do need anger management.  They say that depression is only anger turned inward.

That would make sense in this case.

The foreshadowing of the next three months here in the frigid, teeming weather in Vancouver hit me when my back went into spasm upon leaving the Dominican Republic.  Unfortunately, carrying my bag definitely wasn't a smart idea.

The anger hit when I realized that can no longer use my medicinal cannabis once we got home.

To us, in this hemisphere of the orb for we, who have 1st world knowledge, this will sound crazy, but I have to get back on pills, or the Dominican Republic won't let me live in their country.

They'd prefer I take morphine for the pain.  Seriously!!

I can't have the natural pain killers in my blood stream, as they will test my blood upon entry as a landed immigrant, so it's back to mother fucking pills.

Once more, they'll destroy my stomach and rob me of energy and happiness.  Hence, I got a little bit pissy in anticipation of taking them.

So much so, that as we were leaving the Dominican Republic, I had to relieve the angst by joking with the custom's officer about my bitchy attitude, and matching malicious face.

In Spanish, I told him I'm tired, hot, and added in, "La perra," the bitch.

He smirked, then looked at Papi as if to say, "Oh, you poor, poor soul."

However, to be honest, it was not just because my bitch of a back was biting at me, it was also because I didn't want to go home to deal with people who trigger my social anxiety, preventing me from leaving my home.

This one moment of returning home was just an appetizer of what's to come for the next three months.

There I went, the Limping Lesbian, to the washroom.  I sat on a toilet and sobbed, hoping nobody would come in to hear me.

I especially didn't want anyone to come in because I started talking to myself, begging to nobody in particular, "Please!  I don't want to go home!"

After a while, my ass got a little numb sitting there, so I decided to return to Papi.

Upon leaving the washroom, I saw the rows of Dominican rum that whispered very seductively to me, "You could have some pain and stress relief, right over here!"

Oh, sure I could, but then I'd be dealing with pain of another level, so I cried some more.

There I was, amongst all the happy travelers, in tears.

I pouted and gave people the stink eye when they'd stare at my state, and for a moment, was grateful that I actually had those miserable pills in our bags.  I took those, plus the anti-anxiety pills Papi stuffed down my yack.

I know I'm not alone in these feelings.  Vancouver is heading into it's depressive state, where a lot of us tend to be affected by it.  S.A.D. is real, and in Vancouver, it's in abundance.

My challenge for the next 3 months will be to stay positive while having horrid chemicals roaming through my blood, poisoning my mind and destroying my stomach.

Positive.  Stay positive.  Don't fall into the Pit of Doom, please!  Let's not have any Hurricane Andréa sightings, for the love of god!!!

I'm pretty sure right now would be a really good time to get on to my food plan 100%.

I brought Dominican chocolate home, but perhaps, this is going to be for giving away.  It's necessary to keep my body physically well, to keep my mind emotionally stable.

I really need to do this, because unlike some fortunate others who don't have a chemical imbalance, I need to work very hard to be happy.

I'm going to put a massive calendar on the wall to cross off the days until we leave, and know that eating very well every day is for a specific reason, not just a flippant 'diet'.

I need to get serious about my physical and mental health.

Not to mention, there's a third part of this equation; spiritual.  I'm pretty sure that thinking about stuffing my gun down potential predators' throats is not spiritual.

I could have better thoughts roaming through my brain.

i choose nourishing and healthy foods

gun therapy. oh yes.

While we were talking to the housekeeper at Casa Paraíso, telling her with all our sadness that we can't hire her full time when we move there, she told us in her broken English, "Get a pistol."

This is not because we won't hire her full time.  We told her she will be part of our family and that we'll take care of them best we can.  We already have plans in place to make them our DR Family.

She told us that the bandidos would come to rob us if they're not there full time, because we're gringos.

At first it was a little alarming, until I realized I finally get to have a gun and get to go back to the shooting range for practise.

Of course, people are a little worried about us, but I'm trying to reassure everyone we're going to be just fine.  

We're cool with it.  We love guns and I've always wished I had one to protect myself from predators.

I know that if I had one when I was younger, I wouldn't be living with P.T.S.D for the rest of my life.

I guess I will have to work on my anger management before we have an Uzi.

Also, there will be no sugar in my system to make sure there are no ocean side Hurricane Andréa sightings.

None-the-less, I promise you, this little femme will not hesitate to protect my home and family.

I also know, once we get the reputation for not taking any bullshit, the opportunists will leave us alone.

Not to mention, once we become a part of the community and show that we're there to help, not take, they will not want to diss us.

They don't diss family like people do here in our fair city of privileged white boys who don't give a shit about elders or children.

They respect those who respect family, and these lovely caretakers will be our family.

Dammit, I can't tell you how excited I am to start my target practise on Saturday.

I also have a couple of good friends who I've asked for help to get the best out of my practise.  One is my drummer from HECTOR who is the baby daddy of My Godson, The Turkey.

The other is the Godfather of The Turkey.  He's cleared to carry guns, and regularly goes to the shooting range to keep up his chops.

I'm sure they'll both want to get me the best I can be.

Envision this: I'm lying in my hammock, sipping on coconut water I got from our coconut palm in our yard.  The salty ocean breeze is drying my hair from the morning's ocean pain relief for my bitch of a back.  I may or may not have a missing tooth with a stalk of hay hanging from my mouth, instead of a cigarette, because cigarettes are gross.

Someone comes on the the property thinking that this li'l gabacha is an easy target to get past to take her items.

Wrong mother fucker.

See this Saturday-night Special?  I know how to use it.

He takes a step closer and the dirt beside him erupts from a bullet.  That is a warning, and one warning is all he gets.

I'll be sure to let him know the next one goes into his leg, prohibiting him from taking any steps closer.

That will take care of our reputation and will be the only time someone bothers to try and take advantage of us.

So, this weekend, I start target practise.

Perhaps, I should find myself some anger management to go along with it.

That, and there will be no sugar in my system to make sure my chemical imbalance is in check.

Good thing Papi and I don't drink.  There could be some troubles in Casa Paraíso if that were the case.

Lord knows that sliver of my Irish heritage comes out when I drink, and I become a leprechaun.

Just add alcohol and a gun.

i have deep faith and belief in myself

Our welcome from the li'l putos.

I couldn't write for a few days, because I was sleeping.

Yup.

For a few days.

Not sure what's got me, but I never sleep on planes.

I slept on all three of them.

And in between them.

Then I came home to sleep some more.

I went to sleep at 8pm thinking, "Damn it's good to be home to my Fuzzy Family."

Until I woke up to Psycho Kitty leaving a gift of piss on the bed.

I actually woke up to it in the middle of the night, but was too busy sleeping to deal with it.

When I finally got my ass up, the only thing I wanted to do was spend a little more time with our toilet.

I gave the one in our hotel wayyyy too much attention.

I've gotta share the love.

While I was trapped on the throne, violently emptying my body of any nutrition I managed to eat while awake for short periods (ie: airport chips, Luna bars and pop), the cats decided to give me a welcome back scrap.

Nothing like being stuck on the shitter and not being able to do anything about the Tom Cat Operetta.

After meekly saying, "Papi?  You wouldn't happen to be up would you?" and not getting a reply, I decided to laugh, wait out my stomach being my worst enemy, then go make myself some coffee.

I just got my wits about me when The Bastard Prince also had to give me more welcome back love.

All over my computer desk.

Great gobs of vomit.  Good fucking morning.  Welcome back.  Fucking hell.

While cleaning it up, I never realized it was all over my sleeves as well.

That was of course until after I made myself some toast.

Nice.

I don't know how much got in my peanut butter, because of course, it was the same colour.

I missed these little jerks for what seemed like an eternity, and I suppose they missed us too, and are showing their gratitude for us being home.

In the only way they know how.

The Golden was feeling nasty as well.  He had the trots too.  It's splendid to try to pick that stuff up when it won't stay firm.

What I can say is, I'm grateful for what a great job My Boifriend did of taking care of our li'l putos.

And he didn't relapse while we were gone!

And he didn't steal from us!

And he fed the animals with their respective foods in their dishes instead of tossing their food all over the ground allowing them to fend for themselves!

We did come home to the cats being a little more hefty than they were before, but now that I'm back, they'll be on the 'No Fat Cats' diet.

Sorry mongrels.

The Temptation Treat Days are over.

We don't need diabetic cats.  We have enough to do.

Anyway, we are so happy that we finally made a good choice in our Fuzzy Family keeper.

We sent him home with Dominican coffee and hugs.

Thank you my dear, so so much.

I'm glad you only had to clean shit off the walls once.

i am a kind, caring and decent person

lucky bitch?

Do we ever stop looking to the other side of the fence, wanting more?

It's a strange phenomenon.  No matter where we get to in life, there's always more we wish for, or maybe it's just me?

Since we've bought our dream home, we constantly hear, "You're so lucky!"  We are, and we're also lucky enough to be very grateful, which is to our benefit of knowing joy.

There's something that people have to understand, though.  If I hadn't have been hit on my motorcycle and had to rewire my brain for walking, memory and function, I wouldn't have had this 'luck' of having a beach front house in paradise.

We'd have a home, but not the beauty we have right now, with the opportunity to rest our bones.  We would have to work more than full time.

Still, there's something that I long for, that I can no longer have.

Months before the accident, I was in the process of finishing my latest HECTOR CD, was an intern studying the process of being a studio engineer/producer and was working my way up the ladder in the music industry.

During this time, I had a conversation with Chad Kroeger about my music.  True to the boys club of the music industry, he was going on about 'what sells', and without even hearing my music was telling me I wasn't good enough.

Indignantly, I declared, "You know what, I KNOW you'd like my music, so I really don't GIVE a fuck."

I stormed away, but felt a tap on the shoulder.  When I turned around, it was Chad with a look on his face seemed to say, 'you'll never work in this town again', but instead he verbalized, "You know what?  That was really fucking cocky.  Now I wanna hear your music."

Just a few months later, I was in the throws of feeling like I was walking on a canoe and having 5 minute memory, never mind having the cognitive know how to turn on my computer, or how to work my recording programs.

Forget about holding my bass guitar!

So, 'luck'?

I still have such execrable distress for everything that has been stolen from me by losing those 4 years to recovering from that motorcycle accident.

Last night's torment was no less loathsome.

I needed to take some of Papi's clonazepam, because the angst I was feeling made me want to shrink into inadvertence.

Once that accident happened, my life changed.  In 4 years of the music industry, you become nobody once more, and you need to start from the very beginning again.  Everything I worked for was erased in those 4 years.

Oh, and the hard work of getting my life back to liveable has worn on my face, leaving me with a few more wrinkles and grey hair.  I'm no spring chicken and I certainly don't have fake tits.

My love had to remind me, that at one point I was short-listed by Courtney Love herself, for Hole, and that I should be proud of what I accomplished prior to that fateful day.

I allowed myself pride, then almost cried that my performing career has been stripped from me in a second's worth of time by a woman who made an error in judgement, when her illegal U-Turn changed my life.

So, when people sometimes get a little bit green with envy, or those who really don't like me wonder, "How the hell does someone like her deserve that?!" I have to remind myself and others, that they're just looking at my life from the wrong angle.

When someone says, "I want your life," I wish I could say, "You really don't know what you're saying."

What if I never got hit and inherited that big record deal?  What if I landed that big gig as the bass goddess of rock?

Would I have this life with mi esposo?  Would I be have been so fortunate to be as happy as I am now?

My life changed, and I can't say for better or for worse, it just changed.  Life will change for all of us, sometimes the way we want, sometimes not.

One thing I can say is, I have learned what it means to go with the flow of it, even when it brings tears of loss.

My life has been quite the ride.

Sometimes, the changes and loss really hurt, but someway, somehow, I have to believe there is still a magical life of music out there for me to continue with.

Every cloud has a silver lining, and currently, mine has an ocean view.

i am successful

oops!

As a non-drinker, I sometimes wonder what those yummy fruity little drinks taste like that the all inclusive drunks are frantically gulping down poolside.

I'm not so jealous about of after effect.

In example, the foul creep who thought that horking up loogies on the concrete in front of us was kosher.

It's not.  Take it to the can, man!  Or at least the fucking bushes!  No matter how much we gave him the stink eye, he kept going.

It was hard to tell if he is always so disgusting, or if it was the alcohol bringing out the worst in him.

Regardless, he was revolting and I vowed to never walk barefoot in that area again.

All the bartenders and servers are confused with me, as I only drink water.  It's too hard to explain about my food plan and that sugar is the devil when it's in my blood.

How would I explain Hurricane Andréa to them in Spanish?  So, I just say I like it, and it's good, even if it's not.

I seriously can't wait to get back to my ionized water, so clean and tasty.  I'm not a fan of bottled water for many, many reasons, but I really, I have no choice in the matter.

I don't need another round of Montezuma's Revenge, which I'm sure came from the ice that was in one of the bevies I caved in and drank, then spent the day in agony.

Anyway, the day before I had an experience that a clean 'n sober person really doesn't want to have.

This hasn't happened to me since the first year of my sobriety, as I'm usually more careful than this.

You see, Papi always has fruity drinks and pop galore surrounding him.  He tends to look like the rest of the yahoos drinking it up, coming back to their chairs, double fisting their bevvies, only his are booze free.

Beside him sat 2 fruity drinks and one cola, and for some reason, I thought, I really, really, really, really want a sip of that sugary sweet stuff.  I really really, really, really, really do.

I'm sooooo thirsty!!!!!

So, I decided to take a sip of Papi's drink that was beside him.  I announced, "I'm going to take a drink of this bad boy."

Papi tried to wave saying, "No!"

I just figured it was because it had been sitting there all day and was skanky, and he didn't want me to drink stale liquid.  That his pretty li'l femme deserves a better tasting specimen than that. 

However, the moment that crap got into my mouth, I knew it wasn't right.

Then it hit me.  The reason my love was trying to wave it away from me was because it wasn't his.

It tasted like it had decayed fruit that may have been sitting in the sun for a week before it went in my mouth.

It was the people's that were there before us, and it was filled with alcohol.  Now, not only do I have someone else's cooties, but I had a gulp of booze.

A lot of normie drinking people may think, "Hey it's a drinking freebie!"

Nope.  Not having drank for 13.5 years, alcohol tastes awful.  It truly does taste like it's spoiled.

Kinda like the chunky Egg Nog I drank straight from the carton when I was a kid.  I never drank Egg Nog again.

As for the dastardly drink I sipped the other day, I can't even tell you how rancid it tasted.

I could smell it coming from my throat through my nose.

I tried to drink some pop to help wash away the aroma, but it didn't help.  I suffered with that rank stench for a good 30 minutes.

How the hell did I find that pleasing all those years I abused it?!?!

Oh yeah.  It's not about the flavour.  It was the effect of the alcohol I was after.  I wanted to be as blasted as possible when I was abusing booze.

Now?  I don't ever want that reek in my sinus cavity again. 

I'm sticking to bottled water.

i love nutritious, healthy food, and i enjoy eating fresh fruit and vegetables

here's a new one ...

So sick.

Shit.  Quite literally.

At least I know it's not a parasite.  The way it came on was completely unlike the parasites I've had before.

And besides, I'm behaving myself and not eating the salad.  I have my Brace Face to thank for that.  I still can't chew salad with ease.

Anyway, I got something, and I'm assuming it was Montezuma's Revenge.  I've never had that one before.  I thought it was food poisoning, but having had food poisoning a few times in my life, I can safely say food poisoning is much more violent.

I braced myself for the worst while I was clinging to the walls of the bathroom anyway.

We were on our way out to the supermercado to get snacks when it hit me.

I thought I just had gas.

Well, I did have gas, but it turned into much, much more as I asked in a frenzied way, "Donde esta el bano?!?!"

When we returned from the store, Papi dropped me off at the front of the hotel and went to park the car.

As much as I'm studying Spanish, I still get things wrong, like the last trip, when I tried to say, "I'm hungry," but instead said, "I have man."

I did it again yesterday, only this time, they didn't laugh.  They took it seriously.

I tried to walk up the 3 tiny stairs to the lobby, but I was on the verge of passing out.  I couldn't walk.

The security came to ask me if I needed help, and I tried to say, "I'm sick."

He could totally understand by the way I was pale, shaking and unable to walk that there was something wrong.

I was grateful that they walked me to the little buggy to drive me home, but damn!  Once we were in that little cart, we didn't need to go so fast!

They were speeding in and out of people, one swerve shy of honking and I thought, "Gee!  They're really being sweet about this!"

Then we arrived at the medic and Papi saying, "No doctor!  Just go home."

I was trying to agree, "Si, dormitorio," but I was too crampy, faint and nauseas to spit out the words with conviction.

Finally they got it and drove us to our room, helping me up the stairs.  They looked so worried and said, "If it is not better, call the doctor!"  I understood enough to get it.

I agreed and collapsed in the bed, until my body erupted, expunging the poisons from my system.

It wasn't until a little bit later, that I realized I may have said the wrong thing to those poor souls who were speeding me to get help.

I remembered, because when I was staying with my Eternal Friend for those 2 weeks, she was helping me study my Spanish, and told me I confused 'nurse' and 'sick'.

I decided to look it up on Google Translate and sure enough, I said, "enfermera," instead of, "enferma."

Easy enough mistake, and that would be why they rushed me to the medic.

Papi said that everyone in the resort was looking at the drama, and now I have to face the whole place who are wondering if I'm dying.

I'm so damn embarrassed, but such is the life of someone learning a new language.

It's not much different than when we try to say, "I love you," on our cell phones and it comes out, "I lice you."

I won't be leaving the room today.

However, I do have an update for you about The Hotel Shark. 

We went snorkeling and now I get it.  It didn't hit a shark or a whale.  It was indeed a sand dune, but the reason it felt slimy is because it's covered in that gross grass that waves around!!!

That's more disgusting than anything!!!  EWWWWWW!!!

When I feel better, I'll still be sticking to the shallow end.

For now, I'll be lying here in the room, eating bananas.

i have a positive attitude about what i eat, how i eat, and when i eat

check mate, papi!

"Why would you do this to me?!?!"

"Because you wave your penis at me all the time."

Papi just doesn't understand the depth of my P.T.S.D.

It may look like I am laughing when he leaves that plastic one eyed monster lurking beneath items, but it's a laugh of fear.

I am one of 'those' who laughs nervously.

If I'm laughing too much, chances are I'm on edge.

When I first meet people they just think I'm always happy.

Nope.

I'm scared shitless of strangers.

People are capable of a lot of damage to one another.

They scare me.

As people get to know me, they see that I'm really quite mellow and shy.  I just overcompensate amongst newbies.

So, yeah, when those Plastic Penes are coming at me, mi esposo just doesn't understand that I'm actually quivering from flashbacks of past predators.

My way of making light and protecting myself is to make it seem like it's funny.

I deal with a lot of life's challenges through humour.

If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

If I cry, I have snot running down my face and my eyes swell, making it look like I've been in the ring with Mike Tyson for a moment.

That's just not sexy.

So, the torment I endure from my love's penis antics is less than pleasing, even if I do trust him.

I'm constantly saying, "Why do you do this to me?!?!"

Yesterday was Papi's turn to shudder in terror.

We all have our fears.  Anyone who says they don't is lying.

Papi has severe social anxiety, whereas I'm perfectly comfortable in the limelight.

One of my journey's of late has been to explore my Jewish heritage and Judaism.  I feel that my family keeping it a secret for so long is not honouring my ancestors struggles when they escaped the holocaust and fled to Canada.

I have had a great instinctual pull toward Judaism my whole life, but I didn't know why.

When I learned the reason for this connection, I searched for my people and I've been welcomed by an extremely positive Reformed Judaism community.

In fact, they're so inclusive, that even though I've only been attending the Sabbath every Saturday since this past spring, they've decided to give me a Farewell Blessing Ceremony.

It blows my mind that I could be included into this kind of love.

Anyway, my point is, they created this opportunity to send us off, and asked if I wanted to invite friends to be there to add to the awesome positive energy that will be bestowed upon us.

I didn't really tell Papi about it, because I know him too well.

If I had've told him, he would have put on his big boy whitey tighties and said, "Oh, HELL NO!!!!!"

Hence, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Now he's going to have attention.

Hehehehehe.

Sometimes, our marriage seems a bit like a back and forth game of 'got'cha!'

Your move, Papi.

And now, I'm off to go snorkeling to go find The Hotel Shark.

i enjoy my affluence and share it appropriately

The Hotel Shark

I asked as many people as I could about the sand dune or 'whale' that may have grazed my legs.

Nobody could tell me.

I finally asked for some snorkeling goggles, explaining that I had to know if there was a sand dune out there, when they decided to tell me not to worry, that it was just 'The Hotel Shark' and that he was very friendly.

I guess he was.

He didn't eat me.

Regardless, I sent Papi out to look for him.

I wasn't going in.

Fuck that.

I made my hair all pretty, so I didn't want to wreck it.

Because we all know it's all about my hair.

From my comfortable palapa, I watched him float around, kicking up water in the shallow end.

I kept waving him out further, but he wouldn't look my way.  People around me must have thought there was an annoyance of a mosquito in my space.

Or that I farted.

However, mi esposo didn't go even close to The Hotel Shark.

As he approached me, I disappointingly shook my head at him and said, "You didn't go far enough!!!"

He only smiled meekly, looked at me sideways with a crooked lip, announcing, "I was too scared."

OK.  I understand.  Sorta, but he was supposed to be my hero!!

Then I saw someone swim all the way out to the buoys and watched to see if he hit a sand dune or The Hotel Shark and came crying, "Wee-Wee-Wee, All the way home."

Nope.

He casually swam back.

Well, I was going to go snorkeling myself today to go look for The Hotel Shark, but my hair looks too good.

I'll try tomorrow I suppose.

For now, I'll tell you about the most beautiful part of the Caribbean.  The tropical storms!!

They're awesome!

They're not like the piddly little shots of lightening we get in Vancouver.

They're MASSIVE sheets of light that fill the sky so bright, it's like the sun has come out to illuminate the land.

They are like fireworks, granted to us by mother nature.

As I walked to dinner's buffet spread, I took my time and reveled in the sky's artistry.

These amazing auroras are a delight to experience with the lights off, and silence to hear the foreshadowing blasts of thunder.

The light stretches from all corners of the sky.  Sometimes, it's hard to tell where the original sparks come from, because of the enormity of them.

Papi doesn't like them very much, but I've always appreciated them.

Even when they pour their joy down in droplets of water I'm enamoured and it seems I could start tap dancing to, 'Singin' In The Rain'.

There is nothing like the Caribbean.

That includes The Hotel Shark.

each day, i automatically and successfully get healthier and healthier

crapped my pants.

OK.  Let's get this straight.  I'm not a swimmer.

I float, I doggy paddle, I tread water, I do the backstroke, but I'm not a 'swimmer'.

However, every day I force my body to swim as far out into the ocean as I can, allowing the waves to resist my movements, granting me the cardio I need to pump fresh blood through my damaged muscles, in an effort to relieve my bitch of a back.

It really helps.  Today, I woke up with pain, feeling like I was almost going to be a Limping Lesbian, and now I feel like I could run a marathon.

In more ways than one, let me tell you.

You see, today I was feeling so strong that I felt I could swim out to the buoys in the water.

In the resorts, they have it cordoned off to keep us gringos locos under control and safe.

Every day, I have swam closer and closer to them.  Today, I was so impressed!  I was going to make it all the way!

I proudly doggy paddled and puffed as my heart pounded with gratitude, allowing my blood to rush through my veins.

I was almost there!!!

Then I felt it.

Something.  Something met BOTH of my thighs!

Whatever the fuck it was, it was big enough the it touched the entire length of my thighs!!!

Never in my life have I been so distressed, thinking of what the fuck it might have been!!!!!

In an instant, I was an olympic swimmer.  I immediately flipped over onto my back and began the back stroke so fast, that if I wasn't so scared, I would have impressed myself.

I honestly didn't know I could go so fast.

I prayed that the entity I just bumped with my body wasn't a man eating shark.

I don't believe in a 'god', but I'll tell you, I was praying like a teenage girl who's period was late.

I was practically in tears.

Ok, if I'm going to be honest, I WAS in tears and didn't care if anyone heard me saying, "Please don't eat me!  Please let me live!  I beg of you, please!!!"

When I got closer to the happy-go-lucky people on their little floaty devices, bobbing around like a bunch of dingbats, they looked at this water logged Honky 'Fro gringo, as if I was from another planet.

At shore, my heart was pounding faster than it ever did when I was training for boxing.  My trainer would have been proud!

The man who waded past me was looking at me as if to say, "Bitch!  You're on holiday!  Chill for chrissakes!"

I wasn't quite sure if I would make it to my lounging chair, because I was positive that exerting myself to that point was going to make me pass out, or have a heart attack.

Not to mention, I wasn't sure if I should check my drawers to see if that liquid running down my legs was only water and not the fact that I shit my pants.

I tried to reassure myself, "It was not a whale.  It was a sand dune they put there to keep the tourists safe from sharks."

Right?  Right?!?!?!?

Today, my only mission is to find someone who speaks enough English to tell me that is correct.

If not, my swimming will be kept from buoy to buoy in the shallow end, hoping that I don't get creamed by the children bouncing around in the waves.

When I came back to the room to frantically tell Papi about my terrifying experience, I didn't get to right away.  He had an experience of his own to share.

"Did you see the cockroach I trapped under the glass?!?!?!  That was the most horrifying thing I've lived through!"

He continued to tell me his alarming story, until I had to butt in and tell him that a whale grazing my thighs trumps his dirty cock-a-roach.

Oh, vast sea, how I respect you so much more.

i am brave

the dream is not exempt from nightmares

No sleep.

Fucking insomnia.

I guess I have too much going through my head.

Excitement, fear and holy fuck the nightmares every goddam night!

I have the feeling it's because there's no pain meds to block them out.

I had nightmares every night before the accident, but after the accident, I would wake up knowing I had one, I just couldn't remember a lot of them because they had me so wired on pills.

Well, with no drugs to dim the din, the horrors are in full force.

One was that I had to relive all the ICBC crap all over.  In my dream, I said to my lawyer, "I thought you said once this was all done, that was that!"

He replied, "They changed their mind."

Last night was all my musical instruments in the middle of an intersection and people stealing them, but I couldn't get to them because the speeding cars wouldn't let me get there.  Then everyone laughed at my disdain.

Not to mention, every night, I dream I'm in excruciating pain.

However, I do wake up to a lovely sigh of, "Oh god, I feel so much better."

Actually, it's a hell of a lot better than those dreams where you win a gazillion dollars, only to wake up broke and wanting to go back to sleep to relive the dream.

Speaking of psychological torment, I'm not sure what it is that has Papi chasing me around with his LifeLike penis every day.

The Tranny Terrorist is another frightening ordeal.

Mi esposo will intentionally leave that Plastic Penis dangling out of every crevice he can find, poised like a rattler, just waiting to attack it's prey.

I am the prey.

He will wiggle it around with only one intention.

To make me squirm.

I'm surprised my dreams aren't filled with penes like they used to be when I was younger.

Did I ever tell you about the nightmare where there was a glass container, the size and width of a massive wall, filled with penes and balls, floating in blood?

Yeah.

That was a nice one.

That one will forever be burned in my brain.

Hopefully, the vision won't be etched in yours now.

Sorry about that.

Every time I wriggle away, horrified in my P.T.S.D. triggered state, my love will add, "I don't know what you're afraid of!  It's not like it's going to come out and attack you!"

My love, they have before.

He also likes to add, "I don't see how you can enjoy being fucked by a dildo!"

Ok.

Because a dildo is not life like.

It's not even in the same shape or colour of the real thing, not to mention, I get to control it, it's not attached to a predator, and it doesn't have weird stuff coming out of it.

Too much info for ya?

I guess you thought I'd be going on about our big exciting news today.

Well, if you're my long term reader, you should know better than that.

If you're here just visiting, you poor, poor soul.

Welcome to my madness.

i express my needs and feelings

IT'S OURS!!!!!!!

Well, we basically know it's ours!!!!!

All we need to do is iron out the price details.

The house price will come with the car.  They do things a little different here.  I can't imagine a home in Vancouver with a car included.

None-the-less, the realtor told us is it's ours.

We have a Dominican home!!!!

Here's the odd thing about Papi and I.

My love was stressed, panicky and impatient to get the deal done.  I was calm, with that same mellow attitude that drives Papi crazy.

You know?

The calmness that says, "Don't even fret, Papi, because everything always works out, in one way or another."

Yet, all of a sudden, we have our house and blammo!  I'm freaking out.

As we drove away from the realtor, my brain went into hyper mode of, "Oh my god.  We're really doing this."  We're really making our dreams come true, and that's terrifying.  My stomach started turning and all I could think was, "Well now what?"

I'm having fears like, when we finally get here for good, I'll need to work.  What the hell am I going to do?!?!  I still won't be strong enough to do any grunt work, even if I do feel less pain.

Less pain is an understatement.  I haven't taken pain killers since the last plane we took.

I've had that end of the day back exhaustion, but really, all it means is it's time to rest, but no need for any drugs what-so-ever.  That really was the main intention of being here; to live drug free.

It's reality now.

I get to live like I did before the motorcycle accident, with a few changes.  I'm still not able to lift heavy stuff, but at least I can walk and sit for longer.

My most exciting venture here will be to go dancing.  I've been missing dancing for 4 years.  There have been a few times I've tried in Vancouver, but it always ends with me drugged outta my mind.

Clarity, energy and health will be mine once more.

My god, it's so hard to believe!

I do have a little more suffering to do in Vancouver until we actually make our way here, but that light at the end of the tunnel is shining so bright, it's almost blinding.

A lot of people here at the resort won't entertain my joy, especially some of the German folk who are MUCH too serious, but they just don't understand why I'm walking on Cloud 9.

I hope there are no shrinks here.  They'll try to label me bipolar.

It's the thought that I don't have to live with pain killers that keeps my fears at bay.

There aren't enough exclamation points on a computer to express how joyful I am.

Our dream home, with less pain.

It's really coming true.

Oh yeah.

Here's our outdoor BBQ for Papi to cook for me.

We also have a guest house.

For chickens.

i take action

home?

This ...

... just may be the view from our bedroom balcony in our Dominican Republic home.

We've put in an offer, so we have to wait to find out what they think about it.

We would go to sleep listening to the waves of the ocean, and wake up to the rooster alarm clock down the road.

It seems surreal!

We saw 7 places yesterday, but more importantly, I haven't been limping.

I kept up with both Papi and the realtor, and didn't have to say, "I'm sorry, I can't walk that fast.  Could you slow down?"

I had shots of pain, but nothing compared to how I feel in Vancouver.

Anyway, this home we saw was ideal.

Utopian.

The 'road' to get there had us drive past 4 families' shacks, and if the chickens, roosters and children running around weren't enough to keep us driving slow, the pot holes from hell certainly did the job.

The moment we pushed the heavy, thick, chocolatey wooden door and hanging vines into the yard, we didn't even have to see the inside of the house for us to know it's the one.

The sand that met the yard's gate was amazingly smooth and rock free, and the waves crashing mere feet from us felt like we'd truly come home.

Inside, the 2 dark tile showers and amazingly bright kitchen gave the 'ah' factor, as did the wooden windows and doors that will protect us from mother nature's windy hissy fits.

It came complete with a hammock ready for lounging in, plenty of room for our Fuzzy Family, chickens, plus a veggie garden.

There was one wee problem though.

We went back a little later just to go look at the house and beach on our own, and dammit if Papi didn't get us into trouble.

You see, this house comes with a housekeeper and gardener.  We can't afford that.

However, she was so bold as to ask in her broken English, "When you live, I work here?"

Papi couldn't say, "I'm sorry, but we can't afford that," so he immediately jumped in with an exuberant, "Yes!!"

Of course, in her reality we are rich, considering she, her husband, their 4 children and chickens live in a shack, that doesn't have more than four rickety wooden walls, and a leaky grass roof.

She could never understand that we'll be living on a tight budget when we're here.

Actually, we would really need someone to watch our place while we're in Vancouver, so there will be employment then, but not all year round.

Then again, I'll need her and her husband to help me learn the ropes of living off the land, PLUS her brother teaches Spanish.

... ahem ... papi!!! get on it!!! ...

They would definitely be part of our Fuzzy Family caretaking crew.

Oh!  She also does massage!

If we get the house, I suppose there would be plenty of options for us to hire her for this and that, or find a way to barter.  I'll have to figure out how to give her the terms of employment.

We absolutely adore her and her husband, who has the same name as my cat.  She got a kick out of that.

Anyway, tomorrow we will hear the counter offer, and until then, the ocean will be my distraction.

Oh, how I've enjoyed the water, as it bobbed my body, lifting my spirits and giving my bitch of a back the strength it needed to make it through the day.

Dios, mio!  We are so fortunate.

i have a bank account with more than enough

Paradise.

We are officially on our way.  We know this because we just shut off all our data roaming on our cells.

Papi gets so cranky when he's stressed.

I get so clueless.

Not a good combo.

However, now that Papi has his soda fix and I have my store bought coffee, which could never amount to my coffee I make at home, we are doing well.

Papi would like to make sure you know that the reason he's cranky is because he hasn't had his morning coke.

You know?

Papi's soda addiction?

It's better than that other addiction he frequented this year.

Anyway, my love is getting ready to hunker down on airport pancakes and I'm just trying to get my head wrapped around the fact that we're going to paradise.

The woman who checked us in gave us a great discounted rate for our 5 pieces being checked, which included: 2 MASSIVE UGLY bags, 2 overweight bags and my flight case with performing bass.

She doesn't realize how much of a gift she gave us and what it really means so us.

My Boifriend slept through all the cat meows.  They were honestly thinking that just because we got out of bed it was time to eat.

I don't know how anyone could sleep through that din!

Seriously.

And wow.

The nice people who are sending us off blow me away.

Maybe it's just our happiness attracting the beautiful vibes, but something really seems like it's a new start energetically.

There's a dude sitting behind us singing away like nobody is here, because he has his headphones on and is in another dimension.

It's a lot to take in.  I get really disoriented in all of this.

I feel like a little girl just looking around with wide eyes and curiousity.

Not to mention just wanting to talk to anyone who looks friendly because they are in a happy place too.

When I was a little girl, my mother bought me black patent shoes and I was so proud of them, I walked down the aisle on our public bus showing them to everyone, "I got new shoes!  Look at my new shoes!!"

This was a story my mother told me I was like.

I haven't really changed much.

Just learned how to control these emotions that have been within me.

And now dude behind us has broken out into a more percussion grunting melody, "Da, da.  Da.  Da, da, da. Da."

Not to mention the people frantic to get on their flight to elsewhere in the U.S.  Their energy is panicked, "Lemme on!!!  Fuck's sakes, lemme on!!!"

It's very chaotic right now.

I'm like a child.

Distracted at the simplest of shiny things.

Like how the sun shimmers on the ocean.

Paradise.

i have only positive mental pictures