Thursday, November 29, 2012

i'm trying ...

She hasn't had time to really find out how I am, so she said what everyone else thinks, "Sorry you're so sad about losing him."  She, as does everyone, thinks I'm only mourning.  I wish that were all it was.

I know in the past, writing has helped.  It's just that I haven't been coherent enough to write.  However, today, this little page called to me from my bed.  I felt I needed to purge my words of all I've felt since Saturday.

After our ridiculous fight, I tried to go to the synagogue to find some healing.

I play a hand drum they have there.  I play because I don't know all the songs, and sometimes, it's nice just to play to be a musical addition to their energy, even if I don't use my words.

The problem is, I was told it was the wrong thing to do.  Apparently, I made The Guardkeeper spirit angry at my Rabbi, because way back when, there was a rule about nobody playing drums while people are singing.  Good g*d!  I make trouble everywhere I go.

Anyway, because I was in a place of weakness, in my embarrassment, I cried.  Everyone there thought I was only crying because I was told not to play the drum.

I had to explain that my dog just died, I had a fight with my spouse about me being 'wrong', then I came to the synagogue for healing, but was told I was 'wrong' again.  All of this, with the compounding stress of the disappearing days on The Countdown has me in a bit of a tizzy.

I told them, "If this had have been any other time in my life, I would have blushed about the whole 'drum thing' and gone on singing."  Not this time.

That evening, Papi dealt with his grieving about The Golden, and witnessing his way of dealing with pain broke me.

I went into a physical meltdown, whispering through my drooling, hyperventilating tears to the 'g*d' that doesn't exist to 'please help me get off the floor!'  I was begging to The Golden, to my Dearly Departed Gypsy and to my Great Grandmother to please help me.

Anybody!  Please!  Help me?

With shaking limbs, I was stranded on the floor in fetal position.  It was over for me, I was sure.  I was going to die from emotional pain, just like I thought I would when I was a tiny little girl when my P.T.S.D. first arose.

When I was that child, I was afraid to go to sleep.  If I were to sleep, I may never wake up, because my debilitated heart would stop beating, and I would die.

In this adult moment of a mental collapse, every single horrid experience life handed me flooded my mind in one massive tsunami of P.T.S.D.  Since that moment, I've had 6 days of not being able to find my breath, fearing I may choke.  Not to mention, pass out from the lack of oxygen I'm pulling in.

I've had 6 days, where every time I close my eyes, everything comes rushing towards me; my motorcycle smashing into that car ... a fork aimed at my head as it sliced through air, because I wasn't home in time for dinner ... the fist of a former lover smashing my chest in anger, because I said something wrong.  You name it, it came straight toward me, re-injuring my fragile mind with fresh wounds.

Sometimes, there is nothing I can even identify coming at me.  These 'things' come so fast and frantic I don't even see them, but every single time something rushes towards me, it sends bolts of electricity through my body and I flinch.

My breathing won't calm.  You know when kids have those after shocks from crying?  That breathing in short choppy spurts?  I'm getting it all day long.

All ... Day ... Long.  Long.  So very long.

I'm moving through quicksand.  Even as I try to pick up a glass of water from the side table, it feels like lifting a 25 lb weight.  It then takes all my strength and I'm down again.

I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I don't sleep.  I just stare at the little silver rings.  They're strong enough to hold the white, floor length curtains on brushed nickel rods in Our Closet.  I wish they could hold me.

I shouldn't say I don't sleep.  I lost a day there.  I slept a cool 17 hours from Tuesday to Wednesday evening.  Papi came in to wake me up, afraid that it was true; that I could die from emotional pain.  I ate a few bites, listened to Papi's history of the day and went back to bed, sleeping a full night again.

Still, here I am, staring at the mock silver rings that can't hold my weight.  Here I am.  Speaking words, that come out of my mouth even though they don't sound like they're mine.

I'm on another plain right now.  This is not sadness, nor is it grief.  This isn't even Hurricane Andréa.  I'm much too silent for that.  This is one mother fucking spate of P.T.S.D. that hunts me like prey.  I have to stop running and allow it to take me down and swallow me whole.

This Pit of Doom is nothing I've ever experienced.  This is physical.  I don't move from the La-Z-Boy, lest I collapse from weakness.

None-the-less, I must be getting better.  I'm writing.

i am willing to release all fear

Monday, November 26, 2012


I'm in a bad place.

Gimme a few days.

I'll be back.

i say positive things about myself, to myself.

Saturday, November 24, 2012

THIS is fucking ridiculous

I'm hiding in the bedroom, doing my best to write to you today.  This is one of the days I wish I was already video blogging.  You really would have enjoyed Papi's baboon-like behaviour.

Seriously.  Arms were flailing.

I have to remember, we both have a lot of emotion around losing The Golden, but for fucks sakes!  He pissed me off enough to have me lose my sleep last night, and then I get up to more of his antics this morning when he came home.

He's on a rant about what I'm bringing to Casa Paraíso.  He says it's ridiculous.  Let me tell you what ridiculous is.  I couldn't even make my coffee without him trying to tell me how ridiculous my reverse osmosis water system is.

I need to drink water.  I can't drink their water.  Water heals me.  I'm bringing a system so I can drink the water.

So there I was trying to put my coffee into my urn and he was actually body blocking me, as if we were in a basketball game, "I won't let it go until you admit how ridiculous it is to bring this system," while I was grinding beans for my 2nd round of coffee, because he distracted me so bad on the first round, I fucked up the process.

Round 2: Pivot, water.  Pivot, beans.  Pivot, cinnamon.

Yes, he had me cornered in the very small of Our Closet, with his peacock tail fluffed, puffed out chest body, like a fucking dude in a bar showing who's boss.

To appease his nonsense, I tried to test the 'I'll let it go, if you admit how ridiculous this is' theory, so I told him, "OK.  I can admit that it's a bit large."  But do you think that was enough for him to now 'let it go'?

Oh, no.  He moved on to acting like a girl in that bar fight, snapping his fingers with, that 'bitch, I told you' attitude, all the whilst, spilling my coffee as he pranced about with every single thing I want to bring.

What's ridiculous?  Dragging it all out into the living room so that I could put it on my blog, in hopes that everyone would tell me I'm being ridiculous in wanting to bring things I can't buy there along with me.

I honestly can't even convey the act that's going on right now.

I can't even write without the feeling that he IS the Papirazzi.  The camera bulb is flashing, Papi's stomping around like an anger gnome, and the cats are nowhere to be found.  He's one step short of running to the mountain tops to scream out, "This is ridiculous!!!!!" in hopes that his bellowing echo could be heard all the way to the Dominican Republic.

Oh, here's the newest one he's brought out.  He's telling me they're going to think I'm bringing a bomb, which has quickly gone into him telling me it's just going to get wrecked.

THIS?  Is letting it go?

No, like I told him at the very beginning of his rant, "Even if I DO say it's ridiculous, you'll probably go on about it for the rest  of our 56 days."

Don't worry, I have ammo.  I'll just bring up the hissy fit about me wanting me to stop the medicinal cannabis because we're going somewhere they won't accept me using it, but then he goes on taking HIS medicinal cannabis for another fucking 3 weeks!!!

Yup, I'll be hearing about this until my dying day.  There I will be lying in my bed, all wrinkled and old, trying to gasp out my last breaths, with Papi telling me, "I won't let you die until you tell me how ridiculous it was."

Ridiculous is him purposely trying to get me to get pissed off.

He worked his magic of trying to piss me off all night last night and all morning today.  He just can't accept that when he goes into an anger rant, I shut down and don't say much, because I need to keep myself from showing my anger.

However, onward Papi went to test the theory.  Right down to, every time I poured myself a glass of water, he'd drink it.

Well, now I've locked myself in the bedroom to escape his shenanigans and enjoy my cup of coffee without it being spilled all over the floor every time he stomped by, ranting about how ridiculous this all is. 

This was seriously nothing you could ever capture in a few words.  Oh, how I wish I had a video blog up and running.  You'd understand my pain.

Here's his ridiculous photo:


You see that pink spot on the very right of this photo?

That was me trying to enjoy my mother fucking coffee.  You don't mess with my mother fucking coffee.

 i drink plenty of water to keep myself healthy

Friday, November 23, 2012

My Living Day

Yesterday was my Living Day Anniversary.

I only figured it out around noon, though.

For the past month, I didn't look forward to the day coming.

Especially when My Ghost showed up to remind me of my day coming up, but the day went better than I expected.

I suppose it went well, because I didn't know it was the day.

Ignorance is bliss.

On this day every year, I usually think about what I've lost.  Not on purpose, but it's just that the day has been very traumatic to think of, and the flashbacks are awful.  From there it goes into the pain, from there into all I've had to work for, and right smack dab into loss.

I couldn't help it.  I would compare myself to My Ghost

Yet somehow, that didn't happen yesterday, even though, on this day I had to walk really slow.  Oh yes, the Limping Lesbian was in full force.

Sometimes, when I'm walking really slow from pain, I just turn my headphones up a little louder and appreciate what I'm hearing.

I walk as if I'm just enjoying the music, and that I have nowhere to be on time.

I dawdle.

I meander.

I've learned that in my new life, there are no emergencies.

I don't run for buses.  If it happens to be in most people's 'running distance', I watch them run, then I think to myself, "Well, I wasn't meant to be on that one."

Hell, I don't usually get across the intersection in time for the light to change.  I just eye the cars who are inching their way toward me, dying to turn right, but there's this dawdling woman, annoyingly crossing the street WAY TOO SLOW!!!!

Fuckers!  Wait till they're 100 years old and see how hard it is to walk with a bitch of a back!!!

Anyway, I don't see the loss in my life as much now.

I suppose I've really grown into the new 'me' over the past 4 years, and that's why My Ghost is here.  It's safe to have her with me.

Perhaps, it's because I have a new start to look forward to.  That could be it too.

Here is what I've gained:

I've learned how to be a friend.  I don't have music to put before friendship anymore.

I've learned that there are really good people in this world.  I've had the time to find them.

I've gained gratitude.  I'm so grateful I made it through.  I have a 2nd chance at life.

I've become much nicer to myself, even when the mirror lies.

I've learned how to enjoy life, and learned how to relax, even if it's forced.

I've allowed myself to feel my emotions and not be so afraid of them.

Mind you, that last one gets a little help from good ol' Prozac.

Anyway, it was my Living Day Anniversary.  The day I didn't die.

The day I was given a 2nd chance to live life the way I was meant to, even when I'm limping around and wincing.

I guess it being my day would explain the comfort food eating of one massive pot of rice pasta last night.

At least I can get comfort from rice pasta, not a bucket of mock ice cream.

Anyway, 4 years ago, I was granted the opportunity to live life the way it was meant to be.

For my gift for my day, I wish for every person to be granted everything I've been granted, without having to go through the trauma and hard work of re-wiring their brain.

Live life well everyone!

That's the secret to happiness.

i find deep inner peace within myself as i am

Thursday, November 22, 2012


Stress will make you sick.

Grieving will make you sick.

Any kind of emotional upheaval will make you sick, really.

Papi's sick.

One of the best ways to increase your immune, is with ginger tea.

Papi hates it, but I force him.

Then he makes faces.

But to truly get the effect, you'll have to see it up close.

See what I'm saying?

Wait!  I'll have to get even closer!

Much to Papi's dismay. 

At this point he was getting a little upset with me, but hey, we haven't had a good Papirazzi shooting for a while, so I couldn't help myself.

And finally, the pic for the finale!

At least it took my mind off the sadness in the household for that moment ...

i allow myself to feel all emotions

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

grief hurts us all

They call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

Really, I only bark to protect my dog they call, 'The Golden'.

Yesterday, they took him out without me, but they never brought him back.

I'm still waiting for him.

They brought his collar home, so he has to come back for them to put it on, right?

I sniffed around his bed today.  Something smells different.  It's not right.

Not to mention, his bowl isn't the same.  It's clean.

I'm feeling really tired.

There's something else that was out of the ordinary; they never take me out for walks alone.  I always have my big one eye.

I don't want to leave Papi's side.  I'm kinda scared.  What if I'm stuck here with 3 cats and no big brother?

One dog.  Alone.

My bitch person says I'm not a dog, but I am!  Really!

I feel the same as my one eyed brother, only he's a gentle giant.

My people keep crying.  I know something must be really hard for them, so I'm just going to be sad along with them, so I feel like I belong.

I don't know why they seem different when they hold me.  It feels like they hold me a little tighter.  I guess I'll endure their obsessive cuddling.

Even the cats are acting different.

The Bastard Prince won't even go on his bitch person to claim her.  He's acting weird.

It's also much quieter here now.  Not just the sound, but the energy.  Quiet.

When I came in from my walk, I expected my brother to be here.

Something is definitely wrong.

It's not right without the one eye.

I'm pretty sure he'll be back for tonight's shift.

He has to show up for work.  He has a job to do.  He makes everyone feel so happy.  He would never leave those ladies alone.

I'm so confused.  I'm never without him.

It smells so different around here.

The call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

But I only bark to protect my big brother.

I don't feel like barking today.

R.I.P. ol' one eye

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

the kindness of others

I have so much to talk about, but what is most pressing?

The Golden.

He's not doing so well.  We're pretty sure he's not going to make it to the Dominican Republic.

In less than a week, a lump bigger than a fist has appeared on his leg.  At the same time, he started to refuse food and water.

He just lies around looking sad out of his one eye.

We can never really know when a pet is in pain.  They don't show it to us like we do.

I mean really!  We ridiculous humans, make a big fuss about our pain, whining all over the place and begging for attention.

Dogs and cats just sleep more, and maybe get a little cranky.

When we were outside making a big upset scene about it all, with a neighbour who has a sweet li'l bull dog, she was very sympathetic.

Of course!

We all know what it's like to lose a Fuzzy Family member.

However, never in a million years did we expect what was going to happen next.

I was all nestled in bed, trying to trick my brain into not panicking about there only being 60 days left, when I heard both the dogs freak out at a high pitched 'yelp' and a low pitched 'woof'.

I'm sure you can figure out who's was who's.

Then I saw Papi quickly, and with much exhausted instability, run to the door.

Naturally, I thought the worst.

Home invasion!!!!!!  Holy shit!!!!!!

So, in all my glory of earplugs and a night eye mask on, I ran out to see what the hell was going on.


was what was going on.

Our sweet as can be neighbours decided to bring us a token of love.

We've only spoken to them a few times when they've been out with their dog.

Usually, it's them trying to get away from me, because I just want to see their dog and all they want to do is get the poo out of him.  I tend to delay their process.

Yet, there they were at our door, with gifts of love.

They understand.

They gave us a card that read:
To Our Neighbours
We are sorry you are going through this difficult time, but the memories of your cherished four legged loved one will last a life time.  If you need anything, let us know.
From #13: TJ, Shane & Ruca
They gave Ruca's signature a puppy paw, just to make sure we knew who was who in this family stew.

The kindness of others is truly what makes this world a better place.

A simple card, candle and stuffy made our night that much better.

That small token will transform into big support today, as we bring that old fart into the vet to make our decision.

We've pretty much surmised that he's in pain.

We've pretty much accepted that he's not really living his quality of life.

We've pretty much seen the sadness in that one eye that keeps telling us, "I'm ready."

The best part about having a Fuzzy Family is all the love and laughter we get from their presence.

This right here, is the worst.

i have abundant courage

Sunday, November 18, 2012

big honking mess.

I didn't think it was going to happen.  I'm bloody nervous.

I could tell something was up a few days ago, when my appetite was becoming a tad ravenous, yet I'm not having PMS.

I'm eating so many carbs that I've actually felt my clothes tightening.  That doesn't do good things for my bitch of a back.  Keeping my weight low is wayyyyyy better for the pain.

Not to mention, my candida could errupt.  Too many carbs are about the same thing as eating processed sugar all day long.  I don't need to deal with those repercussions right now!

Then, for 3 nights in a row, I've had a pounding heart.

I'm no stranger to panic attacks, only mine are usually limb flailing dramatic, taking form of a lack of breath and my body parts disappearing one by one.

OK.  It's not that I can't see them.  I'm not delusional, yet.  It's just that I can't feel them.

When they happen, even my head feels like it's a mile higher than my neck.

Anyway, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest.  It actually made my fists begin to clench.

I remember being so tense in life that it was normal that I had that much tension in my body.  I would brush my teeth with one hand, and the other hand was a full fledged fist, ready to pop any predators who tried to sneak up on me in my compromised state.

Well, I had clenched fists the other night as I was trying to do my nightly 'distract my brain so I can sleep' crossword puzzle.

I texted Papi, my pill pusher, and asked, "Do you have anything for anxiety?  I think I'm going to have a fucking heart attack!!"

He offered up the only thing he had in his bucket of fun, a sleeping pill.

The next night it happened, he had some low dose benzos to offer.  They helped.

Last night?  He decided to suggest the big kahuna: a combo sleeping/anxiety pill.

I popped that little culprit, then set my alarm to wake up for my Google+ skype coffee date.

This morning?  My eyes man!  They wouldn't open as I very ungraciously groped around for the suspect siren that was going off.

I would have actually preferred to stay in the nightmare I was experiencing, rather than try to reach consciousness.

My head!  I was counting the seconds until my pain killers kicked in.  That and I prayed the coffee fairies would 'poof' make my coffee appear like magic.

Oh.  Speaking of the coffee?  I cracked my morning egg into my coffee urn.  That was nice.  Then, I cleaned it out and started again.

With a lack of patience, I waited for my water to boil.

And waited ...

And waited ...

I would've been waiting a long time if I hadn't have noticed the burner was never turned on.

But hey!  My toast was ready before everything else.  That's a tragedy.  At least it got the toast in my yak to start my brain thinking better.

Jeeeeeeezus!  That little pill won't be a repeat tonight.

Somehow, I have to find a way to get through the night without Papi's magical pills.  He's trying to turn me into a zombie!

I thought my eye twitching from the new pain killers was already annoying enough.  Well, they certainly are flickering faster than a fluorescent bulb now.

So, it's confirmed.  I'm scared.

I suppose I'm granted that, because people don't go through life changing moments like this every day.

My friends told me how proud they are of me and my bravery.

Would you like to come see me just before I pass out and say that again?

I'm a wreck.

i love and accept my body as it is, and work to make it better

Friday, November 16, 2012

My Ghost

There's a ghost in my machine.

I'm not sure if anyone else is experiencing this on Facebook, but it's really unnerving and a bit too uncanny to think about it as an accident.

4 summers ago, I was a carefree, budding rockstar on my motorcycle.

I had my first motorcycle and I rode in it in the Dykes on Bikes segment of the 2008 parade.

The delight I felt I can't even express.

I'd wanted a motorcycle all my life, since I first saw my uncle with his Norton.  The first day he had it, he brought it by to show us.  My dad asked if he could try it, and within seconds, my father had driven it right into our fence and knocked it down.

That was the moment I wanted one.  Strange omen.

Every single person I was partnered with was dead against me having one.

Then finally.  Finally!  I met the person who would help me learn to ride and I got my first bike.  Thank you Papi.  You were the first person to allow me that freedom.

When I'd come out to start her up on the morning, her lines looked like a great smile greeting me.  I would greet her back, "Hellllloooooo my pretty!!!!  Ready for a ride?!?!?!?!"

The indulgence I felt!  It was amazing!  I was never a hellion, because riding fast meant that you got from point A to point B too quickly, and the ride would be over.

I would just take my time and enjoy every little wind gust that would reach through my helmet to my hair.

I envisioned myself with long hair, and even though I didn't have any, I could still imagine it singing, 'thwack thwack thwack' on the sides of my half helmet.

I would smile the smile of a Cheshire Cat the whole time I was in motion.  People probably thought I was a bit on the demented side, but I knew life had finally come to a place where I got what I wanted.

That ride in the 2008 Pride Parade was like it was meant for me.  I felt pretty, sexy and strong!

A girl and her bike.

The day of the parade, my love took my picture.  There, in living colour you could see my joy as I proudly posed on my new best friend who was everything to me, other than the sexy soul behind the camera.

My bike and I were one.

I had that picture on Facebook for quite some time.  The satisfaction was just too strong for me to take that pic down.

Flash forward to the past few weeks, four years later.

Someway, somehow, that Facebook pic from 2008 seems to keep appearing on my Facebook wall, without anybody changing it.  It started out when I'd log in on my phone, and now, it's on my computer.  I've had MANY pictures to replace that one since that summer, but someway, somehow, this single picture keeps appearing.

Then she's gone and I see myself with my gun again.

She's a ghost.

The girl in that photo isn't the same.  She can't rock out on stage anymore.  She can't work a full time job anymore.  Christ!  Some days she can't even pick up the chihuahua!

Then there's the spirit of my bike.

I've never even seen the wreckage she became.  I was asked to look a few times and I couldn't.  Even know, just thinking of the crumpled mass of steel she became breaks my heart.

So, why?

Why does this picture keep haunting me?

Maybe it's time to let her go.  Maybe I need to find some love for her.

Maybe this tear that is falling right now is because there's another level of healing to do, no?  My Living Day Anniversary is coming up in 6 days and I need to find more acceptance.

Or, perhaps it's time to honour her.

The girl I was has to be blessed and the woman I am now has to be admired.

My Ghost.

all false images of myself from the past are now dissolved

Thursday, November 15, 2012

let's make a deal.

So, Papi comes home, bright and early from a long graveyard shift, and announces, "Ok.  We need to make a will."

Fair enough.

We now own property together, and I've been given the green light to start a retirement savings plan that is for people with disabilities.

It's really cool!

I'll tell ya, it isn't too often the government will actually give us money, so I jumped on it.  They will actually match up to $3,500 I put in.

So we did some wrangling with our finances and got'er did!

Not to mention, Papi has the nest egg from his partial early inheritance.

Oh, and the fact that we're taking some big risks soon is another reason we perhaps should be thinking about it.

So, I agreed, "Yeah, we need a will."

But then he continued, "If you cheat on me or leave me, I get The Mrs."

Not the house.

Not the RRSP, or the nest egg.

The Mrs.

He believes that he loves that cat more than I do.

Let me tell you, with the fucking animal kingdom we have to deal with in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft, she really is the only good one.

Perhaps, it's because she's the only girl and the rest of the orangutans are boys?

... like we need to ponder the nurture vs. nature theory ...

It's just her and I in this male soup.

Anyway, he really only wants to make a will because he wants The Mrs.

Now, the other half that made me giggle, was the 'fooling around' or 'leaving him' part.

People just don't get the depth of my monogamy.

I am probably the most monogamous person on the planet.


Once I fall in love, there is only one person my heart is given to and with all the P.T.S.D. this femme has to deal with, 'fooling around' isn't taken lightly in my books.

No, there has to be trust in my bed.

I'm lucky in the fact that even though I've had numerous partners cheat on me, I've never been jaded by it and turned into a cheater myself.

I just kept on keepin' on until I found the one that wouldn't cheat.

So, Papi, you're safe there, and I trust you like nobody else.

As for the leaving thing.

Did you not hear the first part?  I mate for life.  I've only left because I wasn't treated like I deserve to be, or I haven't found what I want in a relationship.


Do you not see how much we've endured since the beginning of our relationship, not to mention the past few years of all we've toughed out?

Oh, I think you know I'm not going anywhere.

I'm pretty sure it was only a joke about the will.

Besides, this isn't a will we're talking about here.

We're talking about a contract or a post-nup.


Here it is in black and white for the world to witness.

"I, Andréa Hector-Brown, do attest that if I ever leave or cheat on my dearest Papi, I will relinquish all rights to The Mrs."

There ya go baby.

Oh how I love you, Papi.

i am loved

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Here's to you, Chaz Bono!

So, yesterday, I was pissed about the she/he comments on a Facebook photo of Chaz Bono.

It had actually started out that people were saying horrible things about his weight.  He has been verbal about asking for help with his weight loss, so somehow, this give people the green light to say hurtful things.

However, it went even further.  On this one post, he has been harassed about his weight, then disrespected with his gender, and now, called disgusting by some cretin.

On all three accounts, I got my nips in a knot.

But really?  Disgusting?

His exact words: "She was disgusting as a women and is disgusting as a man, give us a break."  It hasn't stopped there.  He's still going on about it, yet he's only 1 person.  There are more on others pages in others worlds.

This is how our children learn how to bully.

This is the evil people ape, spreading the virus of hate to another sheep soul who can't think for themselves yet.  This is a disease that gets passed from one to another.

I've never been a fan of Chaz as in, "Ooooh, he's my idol!!!" but I am a fan of his wife.  Understandably, I relate to her in a very deep way.

However, I do see Chaz as a human being who is being exceedingly judged by the public.

For that, I see him as damn brave, and I'm finding great respect for his difficult journey.

He put himself out there as a mainstream trans person, to blaze a trail for more people to have a safer place in this world.

Of course he's going to attract people who will mock him and say horrible things, because he's the first celebrity to make the word 'transgender' more common.

We are slowly seeing the world accept gays, lesbians, bisexuals, ad infinitum 'labels' we could think of being accepted country by country, person by person.

We are also seeing more countries in the headlines, jailing people for loving someone of the same sex.  People are being told it's 'illegal' in some countries to have love for another person.

Even still, something's happening.  The world is finally waking up and we, of our lifetime, get to see it with our own eyes.

It's an amazing time for people to start thinking differently.

I know that I have.  I started out with fears and quite a bit of ignorance.  Papi taught me how to live life of higher esteem.  He has given me the grace to go through all the feelings, until I finally made it to this place of seeing who and what a transgender person deserves.

A transgender person is a human being that is worthy of respect and dignity.

That's all we need to do is treat each other with courtesy.

No matter how big someone is.

No matter what someone's sexuality or gender is.

No matter how mentally ill someone is.

No matter what colour someone is.

No matter what heritage someone comes from.

We are all human beings and we are all sharing this planet.

Nobody is disgusting.  Perhaps, their actions are.  Perhaps their words can be.  

As are my rotting dishes in the sink.

... my g*d ... where's the dish fairy when someone has the flu, bitches?!?! ...

Anyway, I'm having a lot of, "You really piss me off!" moments over these last few days and what I can say is, it's because I'm paying too much attention.

When I think too much, I get angry.

I like my bubble.

I like to think that the world is full of positivity and love.

I hate it when someone bursts my little happy place.

Chaz, I'm proud of you.  For all you are enduring, you are becoming my hero.

i am grateful for my teachers

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

no, not she/he, asshole.

Maybe I'm just bitchy and short fused because I'm sick, but seriously, people really piss me off.

Someone thinks I'm a lazy ass and that Papi does everything.

Really mother fucker?!?!

Papi and I do different things, because I can't lift heavy items or walk for long periods, but I pull my weight.

I promise you.  I pull MORE than most people with my bitch of a back would.

I work my ass off just to keep up, so relatively speaking, I do more than most.

When I was healing in the chronic time from my motorcycle accident, people would say to me, "You know, most people only choose one area of rehab to work on then move on to the next."

I said, "Fuck that.  I've got to get better now."

So, when someone says that they feel bad for Papi, because he has to do everything, I really want to slap them upside the head.

I really want to scream at them and tell them to take their judgement somewhere else.

Go look in the mirror and tell me that you're working just as hard as me.  I can almost guarantee I'll win that game.

I know this because I'm a stubborn mother fucker.  I will win or hurt myself trying.

Earlier on in the day, another asshole pissed me off because he wouldn't respect that Chaz Bono is a male.

Can you believe it?  Me!!

This femme was pissed off because someone wouldn't give the proper respect for a trans person.

Who is that!?!?  Definitely not the same girl from two years ago, that's for sure.  That absolutely blew me away.

Then I realized, we all have a path of learning.

Really though, what it comes down to, is that we all pass judgement, whether we want to admit it or not.  We get really pissed when someone passes judgement upon us, but we turn around and do it straight back at them, tit for tat.

We're all human, but we can all learn to keep our minds open to things we don't understand.

This girl has no idea how hard I work just to keep up with everyday life like a healthy able-bodied person does.

This guy has no idea how hard it is to be a trans person and be disrespected in being called by the wrong gender, even by the person they love the most.

I mean really, look at Chaz Bono.  Is there anything in there that you can say is female about him?  The only way this person could say 'she' about him was because he had prior knowledge.

The other day, Papi and I were in the cop shop getting our fingerprints done for the consulate of the Dominican Republic, and there was a spot for previous names or aliases.  Papi had put his previous 'female' name in this spot like a law abiding citizen.

The woman thought my love had put my name in there by accident, because there's no way he could be named with such a feminine name.

When mi esposo proceeded to explain that he is a transgender person, the woman stated, "Wow!  Good for you!  I would have never known!"

That made Papi proud.

However, then she had knowledge.  She knew a secret; that Papi was called by a former pronoun.  She respected him though, and treated him like a male being.

Unlike this crud of a Facebook guy that called Chaz a she/he and a she.

As much as I'm pissed, I realize, we all pass judgement.

As soon as this girl assumed I do fuck all for our relationship, I jumped straight to judging her path, in an energetic way to hurt her back.  Good thing I didn't text her and say anything I would regret today.

I had a chance to sleep on it and realize that she only sees one side, because I never allow her to see mine.

We all judge.  Nobody is exempt from it.  But perhaps, we can try to see another person's view in the story.

It's far better than being pissed off.

i balance my self-confidence with modesty

Monday, November 12, 2012

what doesn't kill ya, stinks.

How is it, that when we get sick, we smell like something died?

Seriously.  I can't stand myself right now.  If I had a hot tub, I'd jump in and make femme stew.

Well, maybe not.  I actually don't have the strength for more than sitting here on the La-Z-Boy in my pseudo solitary state.

I'm sure Papi can smell me from the couch while he sleeps off the Graveyard Coma.  That may account for the mumbling I don't understand.  "Maxc, mvrvfjfjlkhg! Kajlkhaoiudrknha!" could be translated to, "Please, stop the smell!  I can't take it!"

I'm sure the animals love it.  You know.  They like stinks.  Dogs roll around in miscellaneous odours they find in the grass, and the cats like to stink things up as fast as they can on any surface, especially beds.

Speaking of stinks, The Bastard Prince has a reeky, kitty poo box right behind the La-Z-Boy, which is beside his cat tree pedestal, which is crammed in front of the crates the Fuzzy Family will be in for their flight to the Dominican Republic, that are in the corner of Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

This placement is so that he can get into the biz box, work his magic turds out, then scoot out and up the tree faster than Psycho Kitty can get to him.  I can also protect him with a spray bottle as I lie here like death.

You see, this is because Psycho Kitty has decided that ALL the stink boxes are HIS and he will protect HIS property to the death.

So, there's more than just my putrid stench that emanates, as I listen to The Bastard Prince scratch at the sides of his very own fetid bin.

I'm just too weak to go mining for gold in the stink box.

I also don't feel like getting into the shower.  I don't have the strength to get up, never mind the energy to de-stink-ify myself.

I'm very grateful for Papi, who was sweet enough to go buy me a soy latte.

When I slithered out of bed at a weak noon hour, I asked him to make me a coffee so I didn't have to suffer a caffeine headache on top of a flu.

He's always too uncomfortable to make my Dominican coffee, so he decided he'd go stand in line on a Sunday morning instead.  Off he went in his pajamas, hanging with all the hipsters waiting for their fix, so they can commence being 'seen' on the wooden patio at the Main Street JJ Bean.

I guess it's still warm enough for most people to sit outside.

Not for me.  I'm in flannel pajamas, wrapped in a flannel housecoat, with a blanket covering all my layers.  I'm seriously making my own sauna.

I suppose that could explain me winning the stench puppy award.  However, there's no point in taking off any layers.  I'll just complain about being too cold, and the stink.

We all know what comes next; boredom.

We're too sick to get up and do anything, but we're finally tired of bad T.V. and wish we could partake in any kind of activity that makes us feel alive.

We stand up in a delirious huff of, "Fuck this shit," and head down the hall to the washroom.

The closest we get to doing any activities is checking out our new hair style in the bathroom mirror, then peeing out the virus we've watered down with orange juice, water and ginger tea.

Well, maybe YOU don't drink ginger tea when you're sick, but you should.  That's the only preaching I'll do.

Come on!  It feels good on the throat!  And builds your immune system!

OK.  That's definitely the last preach, I promise.

So, as I watch another free, bad movie and try to figure out how Papi can snore in tandem with The Golden through all my shows, not to mention, as I have to listen the whining of Psycho Kitty wanting dinner, I wonder, "Why do we stink so much when we get sick?"

More than anything, I await the energy that finally helps me arise from my Pit of Doom and walks me into the shower to cease the smell.

For now, I'll just cuddle with The Bastard Prince.

He likes l'Aroma d'Andréa.

every day i'm getting better and better

Saturday, November 10, 2012

guilt. please leave?!

Orange juice.

I only drink it when I'm sick.  It's tasting so good.

I don't know why I can't stand the taste of water when I have a sore throat.


I have it whenever my plans have to change for a virus.

It's feeling so bad that; (a) I made food for Shabbat and can't go because I'm sick, and (b) I had plans to go see the super fantastic band, Lisa's Hotcakes, and now I can't go.

It's not just any band, it's my friends' band.

Two of the lovely friends that are on the list to spend time with, and share their energy before I take off for my first long stint in the Dominican Republic.

So, I guess I have a good day of studying Spanish and Hebrew today.

I hope my foggy head will let those words and symbols set in!

I'll also have some time to study about Hanukkah.  This will be my first time celebrating it.

I don't have to deal with the guilt from those damn Catholics.

Fear god!?!?!

Right dudes.  I can't fear something I don't believe in.

Jesus was a Jew.

I can believe he existed.  But I don't believe he was magic.  He was just a good Jew soul that wanted peace in the world.

I've just learned Jews don't believe in hell.

Another good one is that I don't have to use the word 'god', but rather that you don't say it and it becomes g*d!!  I'm so grateful!

I'm finding so much more that I can relate to.

Don't worry.  I'm not turning into some religious zealot.  I still don't believe in g*d.

And the Jews are ok with that.

Mind you, I'm going to a reform synagogue.  They're much more liberal and inclusive. 

I get to be me.  No fucking guilt. 

Except for the fact that I swear too much and I know that occasionally, Rabbi Laura comes here to read and I feel guilty about the fact that I'm being myself on my blog.

That and that I have a bit of a violent energy when I'm talking about predators.

However, even with that, I've learned that I'm allowed to be myself, because there's no way I could be perfect.  I just need to know what I need to work on and it will get better.

Oh, I know.

I know that no matter where I go, day or night, I constantly and consistently look over my shoulder for the plausible creeps of the world.

I know that when I'm standing idle, I settle myself with my back to a wall, to be sure there's no crud standing behind me awaiting their opportunity to strike.

I know that when I cross the street, I look every direction, non-stop, for cars that could potentially hit me.  I do this until my feet hit the sidewalk, then start looking over my shoulder again for scum of the earth behind me.

I know that I need to stop thinking about the revenge I can get on all these people.

I know that I need to stop the P.T.S.D.

Only then will I be open enough to allow positivity in every way come into my life.

I know that I have a lot to learn.

I also know that the NyQuil has kicked in and I'm feeling a hell of a lot better.

I also know that I'm definitely sick.  I think I've jumped around about 5 topics.

Coma time.

i enjoy being positive and having positive feelings

Friday, November 9, 2012

I'll miss you, because I already do.

I remember after my motorcycle accident, I lost many friends.  Many people just can't handle that kind of trauma and the after effects that arose.

I also found that I gained new friends that I wouldn't have had before the accident.

I gained people that know what it's like to need support.

Now, as I prepare to leave, I'm finding that some people are treating me differently than they did before.

I ask for some to get together, but some just send passive aggressive texts that hurt my heart.

Yet again, I'm being gifted with new friends at this time.

Particularly one, and I'm finding I'm having sad feelings about leaving.  We're becoming close and now I will be leaving for large periods of time.

It doesn't make up for some friends who are not happy with me, but I understand.

I remember when I had a friend who was moving away from me, and when she told me her and her new baby were moving to a new province, I immediately distanced myself from her.

I didn't ask to see her more so that I could get more out of our friendship while she was here.

I just chose to leave her heart.

I was so angry, but I was being selfish.

It was all about me.  It wasn't about the fact that she could have a better life somewhere else for her child.

What about ME?!?!?

This is why I understand how some people feel the need to distance themselves from me, and sometimes in a really nasty, heartbreaking way.

It doesn't make it any easier because I understand, let me tell you that.

I find myself obsessing about those who have left my heart dangling, instead of focusing on the fact that some just want to get as much time with me as they can.

I'm sorry.

I love you.

Please forgive me.

I need a better life.

These pills are not a way to live.

This bitch of a back can't handle this country's weather.

I wake up feeling like a zombie, whereas when I'm in the Caribbean heat, I wake up ready to challenge the day with as much zeal as I did prior to the motorcycle accident.  I spend the day without the pain I would have here, and get the most out of my life

As much as I'm sorry, I have to let you go.

You no longer have to get uncomfortable about any 'let's get together' texts or Facebook messages.

If hurting me was your intention, you've accomplished your mission.

I will no longer be coming back for more lashings.

Keep in mind that I forgive you.

If you're ever interested in telling me how much it hurts that I'm making this decision, I will listen and love you through it.

Just an F.Y.I. for ya though, there are some who are actually telling me this to my face before I go.

I feel loved when they do this.

I don't feel dissed.

You've really hurt me.

I'll miss you as well, because I already do.

i am a confident, positive person and confident, positive people gravitate towards me every day

Thursday, November 8, 2012

no lectures. please.

I can dream can't I?

I can dream that one day, one FINE day, they'll make a wheat free bread option that isn't so dense, that Papi will actually eat it.

I'm fine with it, but then when I was a drinker, I used to drink thick beer.  Mind you, I would drink any beer, or wine, or hard stuff all in one shot.

Whatever you had to offer, I was in.  And yes, I'm still grateful I'm clean 'n sober.

Wait!  I got off track and it wasn't even about my hair!

Anyway, off I went to the bakery, to look for wheat free bread for myself.  Not for Papi.  My dream hasn't come true for him yet.

I got to the yellow and brown sign, and in I went to look for my kamut bread.

The young lady tried to tell me, "I don't think we make that here."  I was positive they did and that maybe she was nippin' at a few brew herself.

I let it go eventually, and went to the front to see what kind of wheat free, dairy free, processed sugar free, quick goodies they had to offer.

... today i found out she was right ... it was from a totally different bakery with the same damn colours! way to fool the brain injured femme bitches!  aaarrrggghhh!!!  get your own damn colours for chrissakes! ... end rant ...

When she heard 'dairy free', off she went on a vegan tangent about how cows should really only be giving milk to their babies.

I had a flashback of another vegan friend who gave me the same lecture, back when I was putting cream and honey in my coffee.

That of course was back when I was clueless as to why I kept getting sinus infections.  I soon found out that it was the dairy.  It was a sad day when I had to let go of my Havarti cheese.

G*d, I'm really out to lunch on this staying on track thing today!

Ok.  Back on track.

So, the old vegan friend told me that milk was for the cows' babies and honey was not for our consumption.


So then, try telling the birds in the park that our cars are meant for driving, and not for using to their advantage.

You know?  They fly up with a clam shell, then drop it on the road as the cars drive by, in hopes that our cars will crush the shell and they can get to the goodies!

As much as I can't have dairy because of allergies, I really don't appreciate being lectured to about veganism.

I appreciate that vegans can be vegans.  If I could, honestly, I would.

However, my food allergies don't allow me the pretend meats, turkeys and chickens vegans can consume, because they're made with wheat.  My sugar imbalances don't allow me to chow down on grains (aka: carbs) all day long.  I'm only permitted a cup a day, or I'll be passing out all over the place.

I was vegetarian for 13 years and I was always sickly.  Not to mention, because of the fact that I was anorexic at a younger age, I was delayed in the muscular growth I needed to build muscles around my knees to hold my knee caps in place.

I tried every vegetarian, food combination option I could, but nothing was going to build my muscles until I ate the meat.

As soon as I started to eat meat, my physio, doctor and boxing trainer all jumped up for joy!  I would finally get the right foods for me into my body.

Next, every single person I knew started to tell me I was looking so healthy!  I couldn't tell them I started to eat meat, because I was so embarrassed that I had let go of my vegetarianism.  I was so humiliated that all my politics of eating had to be ignored.

Of course, to be fair to myself, I now only eat meats that are properly treated when they're alive.  No cooped up chickens, or animals who have been shot up with every hormone and antibiotic known to us.  Not to mention, eating foods they should never be eating, just to give us foods that feel good for our spoiled rotten taste buds.

My body needs proper protein, or I'll get anemic, and my body won't function properly.  Especially now that I'm still bloody well healing from that fucking motorcycle accident 4 years ago.

So, I don't need some snotty little brat to make me feel guilty about eating the foods I need to be healthy here on planet earth.

It's survival of the fittest bitches!

Now, pass me the organic, grain fed steak, with a side of wheat free toast.

i think before i eat

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

one pill makes you taller ... coffee is god.

Can't write too much, because my head is pounding too hard from a pain med hangover.

Pills are the devil.

But they don't suck as much as pain I suppose, or I wouldn't suffer through them.

My most recent little batch of bullets make me twitch.

So if you're having a conversation with me and my left eye begins to flutter, I'm not winking at you.

If my limbs involuntarily kick you, I didn't mean to do it.

Papi said, "Oh, you'll have to take another pill to stop the twitching."

No fucking way.  Then I'll need a pill to stop the side effects of those pills.  And so on and so on and so on.

Pills are little demons straight from the belly of hell.  I never believed in hell until I started taking pills.

Now, I CAN believe it exists.  This headache proves it to me.  Hell is wrapped up in a tiny little silicon package filled with powder.  Once released from it's containment, the devil flies right on out and destroys your body.

Oh, but the original pain you felt is gone.

Not only do pills have horrible side effects, but when you try to get them out of your system, they won't leave.  They attach themselves to you like the talons of a raven of death.

They leave you lying in bed, praying your eyes will go into R.E.M.  Then, after way too many days without sleep, scratching, shaking and just doing your best to keep a meal down, you feel you'd have been better off suffering through the original pain to begin with, because your torment now is making you wish you were dead.

And these, are legal.

Cannabis has one negative side effect: a case of the 'duhs'.

But that's illegal where we're going, and they will check our blood to be sure that there is none in our system.

They'd prefer I had morphine in my system and figure all of the above hell is more worthy than some 'happy' people.

This cannabis prohibition is being currently being voted on in the U.S. election right now.  Of course not all the states.  Some of them are still hanging on to keeping it illegal so they can fill their jails and give them something to do.

But the West Coast here, with all the sane people, they get to vote.

It will be fantastic if they finally vote to make it legal, because then our home town here in beautiful B.C. will have more options and less hassle.

Still doesn't fix MY problem.

Well, my problem gets fixed in 74 days.  The Countdown.  We're moving along.  In 74 days, I'll start my weening and detoxification from the addiction to these current pills.

Then a few months after that, I'll be feeling great!

At least while I'm going through the jonesing of the demon pills, I won't have to deal with back pain.

My poor Papi.  He's stressing out about the results of the election today.

We both know, that if that evil republican gets in, our country of Canada will be affected and our current Prime Minister will be doing the happy dance, because he can pretty much cut off anyone in our country that doesn't make him money.

ie:  seniors, people with disabilities, children.

Oh U.S., please do us, and the rest of the world good, and vote for the democrats.  I beg of you.


I was only going to write two lines saying why I can't write.  Yet here I am with another coffee downed, feeling much better and a vent written.

Coffee is god.

i know how to promote my emotional and physical well-being

Monday, November 5, 2012

yeah! so fucking what!

Let's talk about offense.

Or rather, let me vent about it while you read and chuckle at the way I deal with my mental illness.

In the beginning of the creation of this blog, I had something to say that I felt I couldn't say to the world, lest I be judged harshly and made to be a part of The Pariah Club.

I did it anyway.

I gained so much from being an outcast.  I found people who also felt the same.  I found my strength from people who allowed me to speak my mind, but not diss me for it.  Instead, they allowed me my freedom of speech until I could heal from my pain.

I also found, I had said enough that I got the shit out of my head, through my mouth and therefore, out of my soul.

I grew.

I found that I didn't need to say much more, because I had the majority of my own shit worked out.

Now I have another level of my shit pile to work on, but this one, I'm tending to be very careful with my words, lest I 'offend' someone.

Then I read an awesome quote that was floating around Facebook.

Meet Stephen Fry, if you already haven't.

I immediately felt connection to this person.

I immediately shouted from my proverbial rooftop, "YES!!!!!!  Exactly!! So fucking what!!!!!!"

Some are offended by what I say, yet I, being part of The Pariah Club (not to mention the minority in my minority of a community), were to say what I really feel, I'd have even fewer friends.

I get offended by things people I love post, however, I don't berate them.  Rather, I allow them their freedom of speech and deal with my own shit.

All I do is I graze past their pics and statuses, so that I can move on to more non-offensive pics.

Like LOLCats.

I mean seriously.  I have fucking issues.

I have such horrid issues, that I bravely called a psychologist today, to plead for help with my P.T.S.D. from past abuses.

I see things that people comment on with ease, that put me into a tailspin, and give me the most fucked up dreams.

Like the dream the other day: the punishment for everyone else in my dream was to be pelted by volleyballs, yet MY punishment for the same error was to have to watch my love pretend to piss out of a hotdog held in his 'man zone'.

Sound fucked up enough?  Yup.

All because I saw a picture of a jello mold in the shape of a penis and balls with great hairy bits dangling from it.

Sound harmless enough?  Sure!  For everyone else, except this wacky brain that jumps into places that no cranium should go.  From a fucking jello mold people!!

Me?  I had 'offense', but it wasn't attached to my Great Non-Judgmental Friend, but by what my brain did when I saw it.

And that's MY shit, nobody elses shit.

So do I say I'm 'offended' by that?  Nope.  I just write a blog about how I need to get this fucking P.T.S.D. out of my life.

I hope my friends can keep getting much more enjoyment out of their happy, healthy brains.  I'll just keep grazing past it, and go to therapy.

Are you offended?  So fucking what.

i see each part of my life as a lesson

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Shit kickin' boots.

I channeled my inner redneck for Ladies Night.

I dressed for the part, right down to my dog tag I wear every day with utter pride.  It's the one I received from the Queer Arts Festival this summer.  You remember the one?  The Queer As Fuck award!

One this day, I felt it was the perfect accessory for my power suit.

Every day, I dress in my prettiest clothing, sometimes wackiest colours, to make my femme presence known.

This time, I didn't want to wear it for shooting guns.

I did the last few times.  It's fine to wear a skirt, but from this point forward, I feel that I must don my jeans and boots.

I pulled every little eyelet of my 'Sidekick' Dayton Boots taut.  I exerted myself, as I wrapped that stout leather around my ankles and shins.

That of course was after I'd slithered into my tightest, most badass jeans I have.

This was not a night for my Dominican jeans with rhinestones on the ass pockets.

No, this was a night for Diesel Indian, Bootcut jeans.

They pull my figure into a tiny little package of strength and 'don't mess with me' attitude.

You could never pull the femme from me, so I still felt pretty with my locks hanging down around my shoulders.

In order to fit in the with the bio-boys, I especially chose my camo sweatshirt to wear nice and snug under my riding leather.

Of course, I no longer have a license to ride my motorcycle, or any other vehicle for that matter.  Even if I did, my dearly departed bike was killed in the motorocycle accident.

Still, I kept my leather jacket.  Only problem is, as I went into the closet in Our Closet, I realized it's in storage!

I had to settle for my black jean jacket with a few lacy bits behind the buttons.

No matter, because all together, they give me a certain amount of strength.

My boots hold my feet firm on the ground, with their sturdy heels.

Not to mention their pointy tips, that are seriously good for the off-chance that I may need to kick someone in the balls.

Strength.  I'm searching for my strength.

It's my power suit.

She means business.

When we arrived at the shooting range, I walked in with confidence.  Every boot step sounded as I crossed the floor.

It was like I was wearing a red dress.

It was my space.

My night.

When I shot those tiny silver bullets from my .22, the gun ranger realized he didn't need to help me, saying, "you're really doing good!" then turned his focus on My Gratitude Buddy and my friend I got to know a little better.

They're another member of the Pariah Club.  They fit in just fine.

The only thing I needed the gun ranger to do for me, was load me another cartridge so it was ready for my next round.

Of course, my two buddies were in it for the fun, as they shot their 357 Magnum.  I stuck to my .22 and 9mm.

If you didn't see the outcome of my new shooting expedition, you have to take a peek at it from yesterday.

I'm getting better.

I'm finding my strength.

I'm finding more confidence.

I'm finding that I WILL be protecting myself without any hesitation.

With that, I'm finding more peace.

I'm also finding a new bond with my shit kickin' boots.

i have only positive mental pictures

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Papi Unveiled!

Saturdays, I tend not to write, because I'm up early to get to the Synagogue.

I don't do 'early' very well.

But today!

I have two pics for ya!

I've been practising bitches.

Look out.

And some of you wanted to see Papi's tattoo:


I posted on a Saturday.

i have positive self esteem

Friday, November 2, 2012

Naming the baby.


Here are some of the options I've been given thus far:
~ Casa del Boomboom? Villa del BoomBoom?
~ Mi esperanza por les putas. 
~ Villa des puma
These three were donated by a very cheeky, yet pervertedly creative friend of mine.  I'm not sure we'll be using these.  But thank you for your hard work and input.

Oh, before I go any further, you do know about Google Translate, don't you?  Go there to check out translations so that you get the full effect of some of the options.

Next one was from The Yank who knows us oh so well!
~ however you translate "furry family" into spanish (following "casa de" of course)
Then there was a very exuberant friend who had all kinds of options, who I think should go into marketing with the amount of ingenuity in that cranium:  
~ Casa de los peros y gatos...cause let's face it, they've got you outnumbered
~ Casa de la ausencia de dolor
~ La casa feliz
~ Casa de los gringos
Next up was a friend who really understands where we're coming from:
~ Casa ante paz/relajación/ House of peace/relaxation
Then a few from another pal who was very excited about the game:
(editor's note: you won't be able to translate this one.  it's a combo of our names.  cute, eh!)
And one from one of my very first Blogger Friends who decided to make us think for ourselves:
~ You should use a word that means something to you. I like Villa better than Casa. Maybe hope (esperanza)
This one from a family member who wants to make sure we represent our Canadian heritage!
~ Casa de los Canucks!
Here's a Blogger Friend who had me thinking.  Couple this with guns and I'm sure we'd be safe:
~ I suppose the dark humour of "Villa Loco" might be misconstrued ? On the other hand, it probably would discourage unwanted guests ;)
Lastly, a Blogger Friend who has really listened to the journey Papi and I have had:
~ If I had to sum up what I know of your life in one word, it would be "change". Extreme change. Even drastic change. And your casa is the latest instalment in that long line of changes. So,

Villa Cambiar
These are all such great suggestions and have really had me thinking about how we want to present ourselves to the village we'll be a part of.

Good god!

This is harder than naming a baby!  When I was trying to have one, I had names picked out with ease!

Not this time.  I feel like I want all the suggestions written around our wall from one end to the other.

... well, i have to admit, except for the first ones ... sorry sweet pea, but i don't need people jacking off in front of our ocean view ...

We have some time before Papi has our massive wall built around Casa Paraíso, so there's a lot to digest.  Of course, we'll still be accepting ideas to give our villa it's spirit.

And now, I have to prepare for Ladies Night!  Yes!  Ladies Night! 

If it's your first time visiting my blog, I'll just let you know it's not the type of night where I sit at a table with my 'rough around the edges' friends who may or may not be drunk enough to look at men stripping in front of them. 

At my Ladies Night, the only guns being slung will be held by me and pointed at a target of an imaginary predator's 'man zone'.

Gimme the guns baby!

i courageously sell my ideas