We are not amused.

New years resolutions are way too much pressure.

I no longer see the point.

It seems that it's just another opportunity to get mean to myself.

If I want to change something, I do it today.

Not Monday.

Not the first of a month.

Not New Years day.

Today.

What I've found is, that there's less of a burden placed on it as well.

Not to mention, then I can get to berating myself for not doing it much faster.

Yup.  I'm my own worst enemy sometimes.

What I've also found, is there are more opportunities to try again.

Less build up.

Less let down.

This year, my only resolution was to make it through the holiday season without a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

I did pretty good.

The only sugar and wheat I had was Xmas day, and the crankies stuck around for a good few days, but I'm feeling much better now.

I learned last night that my niece is the same as me.

She's a lunatic with sugar.

Everything gets blown out of proportion and she winds up in tears.

That's kinda the reason I don't drink alcohol either.

How many tears in my beers have I seen in my life?!?!

Not to mention, how many times did I look like a leprechaun fighting Irish?!

Instant asshole, just add alcohol.

I still see people cross the street when they see me, thinking I haven't changed.

I feel for all of you out there that feel the need to get your drunk hat on, just because it's New Years.

How many of you will be regretting your actions tomorrow?!?!

Not I.

No, I'll be sitting here nursing my 10 day long migraine.

10 days man!

I'm about ready to pop.

Stick a fork in me, I'm bloody well cooked.

However, being New Year's Eve, I won't be heading to the ER for another Pain Med Party.

No, Papi and I will be sitting here watching the ball drop in New York via TV.

I'll be fighting to keep my eyes open until midnight.

We'll probably have to listen to all our neighbours get as rowdy as possible.

Sound exciting?

Oh, but yes!

Papi and I are nothing but entertainment!

We lead such interesting lives, eh?

That and I'll be filming more of The Countdown.

Did I tell you I'm making a YouTube documentary of our travels?

I will let you know when the first episode is up.

That's partially why I've been writing less.

Learning more about making my doc!

I will film, edit, star and write the music for it.

Papi says he doesn't want to be in front of the camera, but it's mostly been him anyway.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go close my eyes again.

10 day migraine.

10 fucking days.

i have confidence in my body's ability to heal

don't mess with the femme.

And in other news, I've decided to wean off the pain meds early.  I'm pretty sure they are the culprit of this never ending migraine.

Yeah, it's a toss up.  A debilitating migraine from the pills, or back pain without them.  Which would you choose?

My choice is to take the pain relief out of my body to stop the migraine, and I'm really hurting.  I've dealt with back pain for 4 years, so I'm used to it.  I'm not used to the migraine, so fuck it.

Yesterday, my pain was so bad that I gave Papi a 'wee bit' of a hard time.

I dragged him out of bed to get some of my shopping done.  Of course, I don't have a license, so when I need to do my major run around, I need my chauffeur.

However, my dearest love is healing from a sinus infection from overworking himself.

... i've already given him the 'i told'ja so' treatment, so don't worry ...

I dragged him out anyway.  He didn't look as pale as he did the last few days, so the fresh air would do him good.

There we were at the mall, and he decided that as long as he was already here, he'd get some well needed shoes.

I was done with getting what I needed.  I was also cooked from walking.  My bitch of a back was killing me, and my was head pounding, so I took a seat.

Did I mention we were outside?

I was holding his old shoes in the new shoe box for him.  They made a good chin rest for my throbbing head.

Then the time came where I really had enough of my bitch of a back screaming at me for sitting and wanted Papi here NOW!

Only I waited, and waited.  Then I waited some more until I was fed up and in so much pain, my devil horns were sticking out of my head.

I tried to go walk to find him, so I could get the keys to the car.  No point having keys to a car you can't drive, right?!?!?!

Well, I got a few yards and realized even the weight of the box of old shoes was too much for my back to carry.

I dropped them.  Right then and there beside a garbage can, and they gave a loud 'THUD'.

Two rather tall, black men with an American drawl, were a wee bit concerned, "Hey girl!  What's going on?  What happened?"

In full, short, white girl attitude I flipped my hand and told them, "I'm not carrying his fucking shoes no more!"

They didn't know they were old, stinky, beaten ones.

They just thought I was a little firecracker who had enough of whatever my man did, and my man was going to pay for whatever it was he did wrong.

Once for dissing his little lady, and twice for having to buy the shoes a second time because someone would have stolen them by the time we got back to them.

The laughter I heard behind me was so awesome that I wanted so bad to turn around.

My back would prevent me of this.  I already knew that, so I didn't bother looking to join in with my honky girl giggles.

Not to mention, I didn't have an iota of giggle in me.

I just carried on and gave a wave of my hand and off I went to find Papi.  The Limping Lesbian, complete with sour face.

Every human that had ever felt back pain was giving me the look of, "Oh you poor, poor soul."

I looked in a couple of stores, then decided I was about to cry from the pain and couldn't walk any further, lest I would just have to walk back that same amount to get back to the car.

As I turned back to walk to the car, I heard my sweet love call my name.

Oh, poor Papi.

When I turned around, I must have looked like Medusa, because he almost froze in his tracks.  "Are you mad at me?"  Oh, I was hopping and let him have it.

Leave your femme waiting in the cold with a limp and no car keys?  Oh, you'll get it all right.

My sweet love really didn't know how much pain I was in, but when I am to that point, not even a sighting of Mother Teresa would bring back an ounce of positivity to my spiraling negative state.

Once I was in recline mode in our car, I apologized to mi esposo for dumping his box of old shoes, which also had his new belt, only my fucked up memory from brain injury declined me of this information.

That's when I said to myself, "3 weeks.  In 3 weeks I won't be in this pain."

That's when the anxiety of just how little time we have left here set in, and here I sit, a wee bit scared.

Frozen, to be exact.

the anger does not reflect who i am

grant me the serenity ...

Ah, the holidays.  A chance to be with ones you love, and practise tolerance for the ones you don't.

Alas, both we and them are human, and we can only tolerate so much.  Especially when they say things like, "Why do you have to move all your cats when you go?  Can't you just get more there?"

... love and tolerance andréa ... keep it together ...

The only thing that got me through that one was the grace to give my mother a nice evening and not start an all out brawl.

How do you explain to someone what family is, if they don't have any concept of love?

Every day, I write my gratitude list to My Gratitude Buddy, the Sweet Ex and my MC Guru.

At the end of the gratitude list, we give forgiveness, which most of the time includes ourselves.

After last night, I've decided that the once in a while forgiving isn't going to work on this guy.  I'm going to have to do it every day to try to grant myself peace concerning him.  Every day, I will forgive this person, in hopes that I will let go of my anger towards him.

It's very hard, especially when they belittle your mother, but you know you have no option but to let her be in that relationship.

She wants to be there.

So, here I am, just on the cusp of learning what it is to 'pray' in my own way.

I won't call it 'pray', because it reminds me too much of my upbringing and makes me wanna toss my cookies.

I'd say it's more like talking to the angels that surrounded me the day of my Soul Activation.

So, I started with, "Please, do you think you could help him be a better person?"

Then it went to, "Please, do you think you could help my mom see that she deserves better?"

And then, it started getting really un-spiritual, "Do you think you could just kill him off?  The world would be a much better place and my mom would be free."

That's when the anger set in and I had to get out of bed and hang out with Papi watching television re-runs.

"I'm having anxiety."

"About the DR?"

"No, about Mr. Homophobia."

Seriously.  Papi stuffed a clonazepam down my yak pronto.  The 'talking' to my spirits caused me to roll out of bed and feel my migraine come back to haunt me.

This morning, I remembered that when I talk to the angels for anything, it should be strength for myself, so that I don't allow my anger to brew.

Anger only hurts me.

I also remembered a saying in that group of anonymous drunks that came into play: the only person I have control over is myself.

I need to be stronger and not allow people's crap to infiltrate my well being.

I suppose my lack of peace also came when I ate my allergy food.

There I was, snacking on ginger bread angels, snowmen, candy canes, then moved on to the shortbread and finally finished it all off with a great piece of apple pie.

That binge had my poor little brain inundated with the poison running through it once more, and Hurricane Andréa was in full swing.

Especially when someone said Papi and I looked alike in a recent photo.

I lost it!  I hate it when people say that, and now that's 3!!!!  How could we look alike?!  Papi's all handsome like, and I'm all femmed out!

But I calmed down after I did a poll and found more people don't see the resemblance than do.

I'm going with the majority.  I'm on their side.

Papi just says, "Well, if we look alike, then I guess we really dig what we look like."

I didn't get it at first, but after it made me chuckle when I realized it means we look in the mirror and we each say, "Damn, I'm hot!"

Then when we found each other we said, "Damn!  You look like me and I'm HOT!  Wanna fuck?"

I guess it's sorta funny now.

Certainly wasn't when I had the evil sugar and wheat pumping through my veins at high velocity!!

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now, and all I want to do is ask my angels for strength.

Strength to stay away from the sugar.  That's really all I need.

The rest will fall into place after that.

i release all anger

Papi is a thug.

Of course, when we see someone we love, we see them in a much different light than those who don't know them.

To most people, I seem like the sweetest, most innocent person around.

I've got them all fooled.

Well, there was Papi, coming back from doing something while I was patiently waiting in the car, ...

... sorry, no details because my brain isn't giving them to me ...

... and I saw what some people see.

Thug.

He's put on a few pounds in the last year, which is great!

Not that he was too thin or anything, but it means that his body on the whole is finally healing from C Difficile.

... ah for fucks sakes!!! ... i JUST spilled coffee on one of my last 'un-spilled' white tees i own ... aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!! ...

He couldn't keep anything in his gut for more than 20 minutes it seemed, but now he's keeping it in and eating like a madman!

I'm so happy that he's put on weight.

Papi, not so much.

As for me, I'm not impressed that the pain killers I've been on have given me a dose of the 'pharmaceutical poof'!

Anyway, I digress.

So, there he was coming out of the cat clients house, ...

... ooooh!  i knew if i didn't think about it, it would come!! ...

... and I saw it.

Thug.

Tattooed from knuckle to neck, hair cut of a marine and a nice dinner shirt that is at least a size too small for him.

If I didn't know him, I may look at him from a different perspective.

Instead I just giggled and realized that nobody is going to mess with him.

We were at Xmas lunch with the 97 year old, Alzheimer's afflicted G'ma, and her 98 year old, dementia stricken sister didn't recognize Papi.

They kept saying who he was.

As in 'was'.

Old school.

Old name, old pronoun etc., because it's the only way she could remember this person in front of her.

Poor old fart kept saying, "No!  That man!  I'm talking about HIM!" as she'd point at Papi again.

I'm sure she wasn't impressed that some asshole brought a thug to lunch!

Papi would never be mistaken for a female now.

When I was making his Xmas present video, I saw him before the male transformation.

These are two completely different individuals.

I love them both.

I still miss my old butch and those perfect Butch Tits every now and then, but right now, I'm just impressed that I'm married to a thug.

I love thugs.

We all know they're just soft teddy bears who would cry at the drop of a hat, don't we?

i am the perfect weight for 'me'

what's xmas without an ER visit?

So, while I was lying in emergency last night, I came up with a poem for y'all:

'Twas the night before Xmas
and all through the house
all the creatures were stirring,
including the mouse (aka: Sir Bark-a-Lot).

Papi dropped me off
to the ER with care
and all I could think was,
"How bad is my hair?!?"

The nurse gave me drugs
to help ease the pain,
and Papi and I were amazed
that we were here again.

The drugs didn't help,
but at least I felt better,
but damn!  I was cold
as I eyed up my sweater.

I'll go for their cat scan
to check out my head,
but it's just so damn painful
I wish I were dead.

Had me a bit of a migraine from hell.

I guess my pain killers have run their course and my pain had to go somewhere, so up it went to my head.

They pumped me up with morphine, gave me a cat scan to make sure there was no tumour, and sent me on my way.

Merry Xmas, you get a Pain Med Party.

Today, I'm not staggering all over the place and my eyes are open half way, so I'm doing a hell of a lot better than I was 24 hours ago.

So, for your Xmas pleasure, I made a video for Papi.

You are entitled to see it.

I threw in a few of my tunes as well, so you may want to have your speakers on.

Or not.  Hehehe.  Just don't tell me that.

No need in breaking my heart, eh?

I hope this day finds you all well.

i fill this day with hope and fill it with joy

i was his hero.

It's that busy time of year, where people aren't relaxed enough to be civil.

While everyone is out freaking about the 'best' gift to buy their child to prove to the kid they're loved, Papi and I have other plans.

The Countdown.  27 days.

Personally, I'm doing a little bit of research to try to find musicians and film companies, but Papi?  He's making plans for his pool.

People say, "Why do you need a pool when you're on the ocean?!?"  Well, Papi wants a nice cool place to jump in without the hassle of seaweed and salty skin.

So, he contacted a company and they say they can have that thing built in 2 weeks!!!  2 weeks man!!!

I guess this means that when we get there, within 2 weeks we'll have a super duper splendid poolside relaxing area.

I don't mind the fact that my love wants to build me a hot tub as well.

That will shut my bitch of a back up in a hurry!  Pain be gone, or at least lessened.

It really is paradise found, and we are so, so grateful that we can have this little haven of a better life, unlike here in the city.

27 more days of living in Our Closet and noisy neighbours, cranky stress-mobiles and drunken knobs strolling the streets yelling.

Last night, as Papi and I were trying to relax and have a quiet hang out, the floor was shaking from music.  It was the same noise that woke me the night before at 3:30 a.m.

We were trying to find out where it was coming from, but couldn't pinpoint it.  It was more than a little nerve racking.

Papi was wandering around outside like a madman, and I was strolling the halls.

Initially, we thought it was a band in the house behind us.  I've been invited to their 'kegger' before.

Yeah.  Thanks, but no thanks.  I'm still enjoying my sobriety, and the hangovers I get from the pills are enough.  I don't need to add alcohol to the mix.

Anyway, we couldn't find the source.  Anywhere.

Until I realized that meant it was coming from beneath us.

We deduced that our sweet neighbours must have received a new stereo system.

Papi was my hero in the past, and now he asked me to be his, or he'd start popping the clonazepam because he couldn't handle the thumping anymore.  He was going to pop.

Down I went in my very fancy winter pj's, with nasty tacky slippers to hit home that I was definitely in for the night and ready to sleep.

I knocked.

No answer.

I knocked again.

My sweet neighbour answered and when she opened the door, it really didn't sound like the noise could be coming from her suite!!

I asked, "Hey, SO sorry to bother you," big smile, trying to seem as nice as possible, "but did you happen to get a new stereo system?" as meekly as possible not to seem like the worst bad neighbour ever.

"Um, yeah," she said as her face looked like she was not going to enjoy what I said next.

"Ah, well, it's sorta making our floor shake, the bass is a little loud."

"Oh, ok, I'll turn off the sub-woofer."

I was so grateful they were respectful, yet felt so bad for ruining their fun.

But seriously.  A sub-woofer in an apartment suite?  What's the fucking point?  You could never have that baby up loud enough to enjoy it's full potential!!

Dudes, you need to go get your own Casa Paraíso.  You can turn it up real loud there.

Your neighbours will not be disturbed.

They're going to be too busy listening to the sound of the waves.

27 more days of inter-city dwelling.

i am surrounded by good, respectful, loving people

peace on earth, well, for me anyhow

I'm doing so much better with my anger toward zealots who use religion for hate.

I really am feeling less angry, and it's a much better way to live.

I'd like to share with you what I found on the internet some time back:

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighbouring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians??

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is, my neighbours. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbour who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wriggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev.24:10-16). Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)

I couldn't even look at the word g*d without feeling anger to the point of turning red, suffering with my heart pounding.  I would use the above as a way to fight.  Now I see it as a way for my own peace.

The bible was written by mere mortals, pen in hand, in hopes to gain power over people, not love.

My anger stemmed from being exposed to mean nuns when I was raised.  I realized, if these were g*d's people, then I wasn't a fan of this g*d.

Also, as a tiny child, I prayed best way I knew how for my life to get better.  It only got worse.  I then decided there was no g*d and was vehemently against anyone who could ever believe in such crap.  It was my only way to survive this world of hate and anger.

I still don't believe in a g*d, but I'm definitely a firm believer in spirituality amongst astral beings that surround us.

I believe in angels.  Nothing has ever swayed me on this position.

Anyway, my point is, now that I'm starting to allow myself my own spirituality, I'm having so much less anger around that three letter word.

It sure feels a lot more peaceful.  I've spent way too many years seeing the word g*d as a synonym for bad because of all the anger I saw in people who believed.

I can now just put two 'o's in the middle and turn it into something I can believe in:  good.

I believe in good.  I believe we all have the power to reach one another with collective love.  One by one, we can change each person in the world, and change the anger and hate into acceptance of one another.

Last night, I set my alarm and woke up bright and early at the crack of 3:30 am Vancouver time.  This was to meditate with the rest of the people in the world who were celebrating the solstice and asking for peace on earth.

You would never catch me waking from my beauty sleep for anything in the past, but I did it last night.

I didn't feel anything like I did from my Soul Activation, but my intent was there.  I sent my positive energy out as best I could, and imagined myself breathing with the rest of those who were doing the same.

Even if I can't feel the angels all the time, they're there.  They are fleeting and will expose their energy when they see fit.

The angels are here and I have so much more peace.

i welcome, and am open to receive all abundance that comes

too bad you're such assholes.

Everything is relative.  Like, for instance, how we in Vancouver react to the snow.

I found particular happiness in this day of pillowy poofs falling from the sky, but only because I was warm and dry.

A few years ago, Papi gave me a pair of Sorel boots.

Initially, Papi laughed at me when I left the house in these boots, because our snow doesn't usually warrant this kind of boot attention, but I assured him, I'm not messing around when it comes to being comfortable in this weather.

I refuse to suffer.  I don't care what I look like.

While waiting at the bus stop, for half an hour for a bus that should come by every 10 minutes, I noticed a woman with shoes on, but no socks or jacket.

It was clear she was mentally ill, by the way she was behaving.  So, I guess she dressed herself.  I was sure she must have been cold.

We can't just assume people want help.  She may have felt insulted if I asked her if I could buy her some socks, and who knows what kind of reaction I might have gotten, so I just watched for a while, hoping to ease into a conversation.

Then she started talking with the woman who was upset about missing her granddaughter's school play, because the bus just wasn't showing up.

She seemed happy enough, so I let it go with gratitude for my warm boots, scarf and coat.  Some people can handle the cold.

Along came a man who didn't speak English very well, but I could understand when he asked me how long the bus would take.

I assured him, "It will be here, it's just going to take a little time and patience.  The streets are a little nasty right now."

Like coincidental clockwork, the moment I said that, a car got stuck on the road in front of our bus stop.  I chuckled and said, "Well, I guess she's not going anywhere!  That's pretty funny!"

Of course I found it funny!  I wasn't the one stuck in the car!  No matter.  The guys behind the lady hopped out of their car and gave her a push.  She was moving in no time and these dudes were granted their karma for the day.

However, the man at the bus stop said, "You think it's funny?"

I had to admit, "Well yeah, kinda," even though my chipper mood was soon to be squelched.

He looked down at his feet, and my eyes followed his.  His feet were absolutely sopped, plus the wet, cold snow was crawling up his jeans towards his knees, no different from a sponge absorbing water.

He was obviously cold.  He replied, "I don't think this is very funny."

I asked him, "Do you not have boots?"  I was hoping he'd just say that he wasn't prepared and didn't put them on this morning.

"No," he said.  He sorta shrugged with a 'you don't get it' chuckle, looking down to the ground, "I'm poor."

I looked at his open jacket, "Well, can you do your jacket up to try to stay warmer?"

"No, my zipper is broken.  It's my only jacket."

I almost cried and offered him my vibrant green, cashmere scarf Papi had bought me at a Xmas past.  I thought he'd look ridiculous in it, but his neck would be warm.  My boots certainly wouldn't fit him.

He giggled at my offer, "No, but thank you."

I discreetly asked him if he was on welfare, and when he said he was, I reminded him that there is available clothing for him and to should ask his social worker for help.

He told me he was actually just on his way to The Salvation Army today to get a coat.

I have always maintained that I would never give a penny to The Salvation Army, because they're almost as hateful as the Wesboro Baptist Church when it comes to their homophobia and lack of spirituality.

At least the bastards can be used by us gays in our own way.  The Salvation Army doesn't have to know if this guy is straight or gay, they will still give him clothing.

I would love to donate to help someone like the man I met yesterday, but I just can't.  I hope he at least gets a jacket that does up, but more importantly, boots for the winter.

I hope for today, you're all dry and warm, no matter what your sexuality is.

i matter, and also what i have to offer this world matters

the torture has begun ...

I look out the window at the trees being weighed down with snow and it echos how I feel.

I am a strong tree, but my branches can be weighed down at times.

No worries.

The snow will melt and I will feel light again.

The Uncle came from one of the nasty snowy areas of the country.

He was looking forward to coming here for nicer weather.

He didn't even bring his gloves or his toque.

Instead, he brought the snow.

It actually only stopped snowing about 30 minutes ago, which was pretty much right after I got home from the bus that got stuck 4 blocks away.

The bus was stuck and the bus driver yelled, "OK!  If everyone moves to the back of the bus, we might get traction!"  She then added in, "And if you are someone who asked for a white Christmas, why don't you just leave the bus right now!"

Buses and cars were stuck everywhere.  We can't handle the snow here in Vancouver.

I have my own struggles with snow.  Never mind vehicles being stuck.  My whole body gets stuck.

Anyway, it's The Uncle's fault that the snow is here.  He brought it.

He also brought his humour.

You see, when we were doing the Great DR Purge (not to be confused with The Great Sewage Flood Purge), I had given him my key for my piano, to be put into the safety deposit box.

There are not too many of these keys around.  My tuner gave it to me years ago.  He just happened to have one for my 1910 Heintzman.

I've held on to that key for years.  It's one of the few things I don't lose.  Why would I!?!?  It belongs to one of my most treasured items!!

Anyway, instead of bringing it to the bank, The Uncle took it all the way to his snowy city of Calgary.

That's when my fears started to set in.

What if he loses it?!?!?  What if he doesn't get the importance of my treasure?!?!

I asked him to mail it.

He didn't.

I almost threatened to come by plane and pick it up myself.  He finally said, "I'll just bring it with me when I come to visit."

Do you know how many months I had to wait?!

So, we picked him up yesterday.  He said to me, "Oh, here's your key!"  He handed me a nice tiny manila package.

Something was wrong.  It didn't feel as chunky as it should.

I opened and pulled out a key, but it wasn't my key!!!!

So I panicked and said, "This is NOT my KEY!!!!!"

I looked to Papi with demon eyes as if to say, "This is all YOUR fault!"  I don't know why it would be his fault, but I blamed him anyway.

Then it came.

The two of them together started giggling and The Uncle fessed up, "I wasn't going to play this joke on you but he said it would be ok," as he pointed his thumb toward the guilty party who was chuckling behind him.

"It's in our safe," Papi assured me.

The Uncle has arrived.

The tag team torture has begun.

i love challenges and embrace them

Canada just took one step back.

So, yesterday, I touched lightly on the legalization of marijuana and how our grotesquely ludicrous Prime Minister is making it easier for gangs to stay in control of this medicinal option.

Our neighbours, the U.S., are getting it together.  They have a few states where it's legal, and for some time, they thought that we were ahead of them.

The tables have turned and Harper has gone the complete opposite direction.

We had a good program for people to get their medicinal cannabis legally, but now that he's all pissy about all us Canadians saying, "Hey, the U.S. is getting it, we want it too!" he's now making it impossible for someone who needs medicinal cannabis to afford it, just to prove he's in control of our country.

People who need medicinal cannabis are usually on disability, or working so little that they're in a much lower tax bracket to begin with.

Still, there went the good people of this country, paying more to get their medicine the legal way, so that they weren't harassed.

Well, I can see now that there are a lot of those same people who are going to be going underground and buying their drugs from some creepy stranger down the road, just to be well.

These pills I'm on work well, but not quite as good as the medicinal cannabis.  They also have side effects that I'm not too keen on, like twitching.

Twitching is soooooo sexy, no?

While I'm talking to someone, there's nothing better than my eye flipping out, making me look like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

You'll know when I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  I don't need a rogue eyelid to tell you.

Then there's my twitching body parts.

It's so much fun when you're on the bus and your arm sorta flails and hits the person next to you, "Sorry 'bout that!"  They just look at me with a bit of that look, "Good g*d, the crazy one sat beside me today."

Oooooh, yeah, it's also great to non-stop be pressing return with my scalawag pinky when it decides to.  How many posts have I written on that I have to continue on another line because of my devilish twitching pinky?!?!

Not to mention, I'm tired.  When I first started these pills, they made me a bit manic and I couldn't stop cleaning.  Papi said, "I think I'm going to call the company and get them to put another side effect on the bottle, 'may induce O.C.D. symptoms of cleaning'."

Well, if you saw my kitchen recently, you'd see that that tide has gone out.  Wayyyyyy out.

It wasn't like that with the medicinal cannabis.  I got a little goofy and giggly at times if I accidentally took too much, and perhaps I had a little more of the 'duh' than usual, but I had energy.

Now, because we want to immigrate to a 3rd world country that is so behind in the times, we can't have cannabis in our system, hence the designer drugs I have to take that are filled with poison that I'll have ween off for a month.

So, here we are going to a 3rd world country, and leaving a 1st world country.

Wouldn't you think that we'd be a bit ahead?  Wouldn't you think that we'd be following the footsteps of our big brother country, the U.S.?

Oh, wait we do!  When it comes to taking away all the programs for seniors, children, abused women and people with disabilities.

Our farcical government can't see that they could use those tax dollars and help Canada get a little more bang for our buck.

Nooooooooo, our laughably senseless Prime Minister is now going the opposite direction.

He's just as bad as Mitt who drove with his dog on top of his car.

Who brings back a panda from China in exchange for selling off our country?

Our absurdly asinine Prime Minister.

Why don't the insane gunmen ever go after these idiotic fools instead of innocent children?

i choose to find hopeful and optimistic ways of looking at this

death is really a new beginning

Sometimes, I stare blankly at this li'l, white, blog page and wonder, "What the hell am I going to write about today?"

Other times, I have such pressing news about vomiting cats or silliness of the Papirazzi, that I feel I have to write it the night before and do my edit check in the morning.

Today is the, "What the hell am I going to write about today?" kinda day, which to me, is a good thing.

What that means to me, is there is no pain going on emotionally for me right now.  Perhaps I'm feeling some peace?

I won't bore you with the physical pain.  I'm sure you all know I could go on about my bitch of a back until we all die in 5 days.

I'm kinda excited to see the 'end of the world' on Dec. 21st.

While others may think we're going to implode, I'm actually thinking it's like the deck of tarot cards.

The death card is something people are afraid of, but it's not something to fear.

Death of one thing means birth of another.

What if all of a sudden, there was the birth of peace on earth?  Wouldn't that be a mindfuck?  We wouldn't know what the hell to do with that.

With my new found spirit friends, I actually ask them for this.

Peace on earth.

No massacres.

No wars.

No predators harming children and women.

No gangs.

Well, that gang one could be tamed a little if our fucking Prime Minister would get on the marijuana legalization train.

There would be less for those morons to fight about if people could freely get their peace pipes puffin' without the hassle of getting their goods from a dude named 'Spider' down on the corner.

Anyway, back to death.

I'm so not afraid of death, it's life that scares me.  If I'm here living, I want to feel like I've left behind something before I pop off.

I need to feel like I've made a change somewhere, somehow, to something or someone.

I need purpose.  I mean seriously, I didn't survive that motorcycle accident for nothing.

I'm here for something.

Every day since the Soul Activation happened Tuesday, I feel like I'm ready to find out my purpose.

I have so many ideas of how to help people, animals and the planet, that I think my mind is a bit obsessed and overwhelmed with all the options there are out there.

For myself, I need to feel what it was like before I got hit.  I have a yearning to be able to play my instruments for more than the half hour to hour I can do currently, before the pain sets in and I'm back to lying out flat asking, "What's my fucking purpose?"

Playing my instruments is my only version of meditation.  I'm taken somewhere that doesn't exist on this luminous body we call earth.

The Countdown to when I get to experience life without pain killers and without the exhaustion of pain is dwindling.  Day by day I'm closer to feeling my meditation again.

I'm feeling the pull of my next door opening.  It's as if it was a suction of air that drags me out of the plane door at 19,000 feet above the earth's crust, only in slow motion.

Yet first, we have to get through Dec. 21st and our new beginning.

If you could think about the new beginning for you, what would it be?  You know that you can choose whatever you want and make it happen, right?

I can't wait to see mine come to light, whatever it may be.

Well, I suppose I figured out what I was going to write about, and somehow, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

i believe strongly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

the spirits surround me

I'm an angel.

I felt something, that's for sure.

I laid on that table and every cell in my body was buzzing.

My muscles hummed.

Sometimes, when I cry, I cry from the feet up.  I felt like every vessel that has ever felt that pain was healed.

I actually felt like I lifted off the table a few times.

Nirvana?

There was something surrounding me that night.

The Soul Activator began by placing her hands on my feet.

She placed them on my stomach, shoulders, head, knees.  I can't tell you what order, but her hands were really just a vessel to allow the spirits to come to me.

They came.

I first felt their energy all around me, like the 'vibration' people talk about.  I understand now.  Just by being open to the possibility of feeling this, they came.

My heart was opened where it felt like it was a flower blooming beyond my chest.

My head was supposed to feel like a light was shining from it.

Forget about that!  My whole head was split open from the amount of light I felt.

They came.

They haven't left, I just have trouble speaking to them and feeling like I did that night.  I yearn for that feeling again.

Please.  Come back to me.  That feeling was like nothing I've ever imagined.  I would like to live in that feeling for the rest of my life, if I could.

She told me I was of the highest spirits.  I was told I am of pink light/spirit.  I need to learn more about that.

When I felt the urge to leave it was because I wanted to fly.  I felt like I would levitate off the table to float like an angel.

I lifted my legs off the table, so light that there was no pain in my back.  I could walk without any pain.  I lifted my arms in a stretch that completely felt like I really did have those wings she told me I have.

I was supposed to wait until I felt like the spirits were finished working on me.

However, I left sooner than I was supposed to.  They would have held me there all night if I let them.  I didn't want the Soul Activator to be held hostage for the evening.

Not to mention, I had to go tell Papi.

He's a believer in g*d and gets very upset if I say I don't believe in anything up there.

I think I understood what I have believed in all this time.

I believe in spirits.

I believe in collective energy.  I believe that if everyone had the opportunity to realize just how connected we are, and if we could all feel this love and support, there wouldn't be massacres here and around the world.

I believe we could change the world.

I met a source that I can believe in.

I was taken to a place that had me laughing in a gratitude of alleviation of any pain I've ever felt, and in tears of joy.

They surrounded me with their translucent light, that emanated from within and around them.  They are bright, illuminating light.

They held hands to encompass me in their strength.

They protect me with their light and I'm amazed at their presence.

I'm told to speak to Mary Magdalene daily, to support their companionship with me.

I am an angel.

Can you see my halo?

the past has no power or hold over me anymore

squirmy shudders!!!!

Oh, but the Tom Cat Operetta was in full swing.

We needed to get the Fuzzy Family cats their microchips for traveling.

We had 2 cats in one cage, one in another.

Not to mention, we brought along 2 dogs for the trip, if you can call a Chihuahua a dog.

And by 2 dogs I don't mean we had the ashes of our dead dog.  We have a visitor to Our Closet.

Remember The Galloping Gazelle?  He's back!

Actually, lives in our building.

Actually, his mom is our landlord, who lives in the building.

She's away and The Galloping Gazelle is staying with us.

The cats are NOT impressed.  At all.  Psycho Kitty is losing more hair.

Anyway, we had to get their microchips.

The needle man!  I've never seen anything thicker in my life.

I was wondering how Dr. Bob was going to put that chip in there.  I thought at least they'd have a numbing agent before he went to town.

I asked if it was going to hurt, not knowing how it was done.  He just laughed at me.  I wish I didn't go in there.

The entry point of this long needle was extremely visible.

You know how the needles we get, you'll have to squint to see the entry point?

Oh, not this one.  Big.  Not to mention, the gizmo to push it into their skin.

Poor Psycho Kitty.

He has thick skin and Dr. Bob couldn't get it in there!

He had to push a few times to get it to go in.  I asked him if the needle was sharp enough!!  Maybe it was flawed!!  Good g*d man!!!

Of course, he just rolled his eyes at me, because I was being 'dramatic'.

I was almost sick to my stomach.

In the other two, the needle just went in like a knife through butter that's been left on the counter for the day.

They were brave.  That was of course, until they had to go back into the cage.

I would hate to share a kennel with The Bastard Prince.  He gets scared and craps himself.  Then The Mrs. has to hang out with that stench until we get home.

Imagine how much fun she'll have being stuck in there for a plane ride?

Overall, I do have to say the cats did very well.  I'd be squirming all over the place with that thing stuck in my shoulder blades.

The singing in the car though?  That was something.

So there they are, all 3 of the cats are squealing and along comes a siren.

Now we've got 2 small dogs howling and 3 cats squawking.

Well, the Fuzzy Family is being tracked by big brother.  Except our visitor, The Galloping Gazelle.  We didn't get him a chip.  I'm sure mom will be happy about that.

Hey!  How about you bring your pets to Andréa and Papi's house!  The visit comes with a free microchip and trauma to go along with it!

But seriously.  The amount of paperwork they need to go visit another country is crazy!

There are a gazillion strays there and they want to know every single thing about our animals.

I'm surprised they didn't ask for a stool sample or a DNA swab.

Do they have that for animals?  DNA swabs?

Anyway, I'm still shuddering from the experience.

i am pleased with how i handle my emotions

nails on a chalkboard.

So, I was super excited to get those tiny, steel jail cells off my teeth.

However, nobody told me what to expect.  Not even Papi, who just had his off a few months back.

There I was lying waiting for the 'magic braces removal' machine.

 

There was no 'magic braces removal' machine.  Just a little gizmo that went crunch and tore them off my teeth.

Sometimes, it felt like she was going to rip my pearlies right out of my gums!

Yet, that was no where near the worst part.  When all the crunching and snapping was done, they had to remove the glue.

There was no 'magic glue remover' machine, either.  Just a scraper.

Imagine having someone scrape the chalkboard with their nails for half an hour, IN YOUR MOUTH!!!

Scrape, shudder.  Scrape, shudder.  Scrape, shudder.  Seriously.  My toes were curling.

Then she was done, and told me to go rinse.

What I saw in the mirror was amazing.  It was like it really wasn't me!

I was worried someone was playing a cruel trick and I'd turn around and have shrapnel in my mouth again.

I couldn't stop smiling and giggling.

I did feel a little cheated though.

They let me leave without my 'Look who just got their braces off!' picture.  Everyone gets that picture!  I washed my hair for that picture!

Fuck 'em.  I decided I would just have to make my own photo and post it around everyone's texts and a 'few' people online.

 

Then I decided to eat with my new teeth.

Ahhhhh, the feeling of eating without it all being stuck in my braces.  Not to mention the feeling of NOT spitting it at every person in my vicinity.

Oh, and chewing with my mouth closed is pretty classy too.

I bought myself a wheat free, dairy free brownie, cupcake and piece of cake and ate them all in a matter of a few hours.

Then I flossed, because I could.

Twice.

No more Brace Face.

Yesterday, I smiled at every person I passed.  Even the depressed ones.  Yeah, I'm sure they really appreciated that.

Nothing like seeing a happy person when you feel like you'll never smile again.

Maybe I gave them a dose of my good energy for that one moment?

i love and approve of myself aside from my accomplishements

this is not a blog.

I'm writing to tell you there will be no blog today.

And that this is not a blog.

This is merely a memo to let you know why there will be no blog today.

There will be no blog today because I'm busy.

Doing what you may ask?

... are you asking it?!?!?!?  c'mon!!  you have to ask it!!! ...

Because ...






Wait for it ...






















I'M GETTING MY BRACES OFF BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:)

woohoo mothafuckahs!!!!!!

accept it. this hurts.

My g*d I hate this time of year.

The Xmas Meltdown is nipping at my heels and I'm not even celebrating it this year!!!

I'm just grateful I haven't fallen into the processed sugar pit.

At least that way I'm not taking up residence in the Pit of Doom.

Without putting that nasty, white death into my system, all I do is periodically go have a seat in the La-Z-Boy I've set up there.

It's much better than living there, but it still hurts.

I have to admit, I'm having so many unresolved feelings come up that obviously need to be taken care of.

One thing I'm learning, is Facebook is really not a great place for me this time of year.

I'm also learning that I need to be true to myself.

I have so much difficulty being in gatherings, because I'm always afraid of not being accepted, so I tend not to go because of my social anxiety.

But here's where the irony comes in; then I sit and look at all the people who have pictures of their gatherings on Facebook and feel so unloved, because they didn't think to invite me.

It hurts to feel uninvited, but sometimes people don't invite me because I don't fit in.  Not to mention, because of my anxiety, I don't accept the invitation that often, so they don't bother anymore.

I know that in small settings, like one on one, most of the people in those pictures would love to see me, they just don't invite me to bigger groups.

Hey, you never know who is on the hate train with the Hector-Browns either.  Best to be safe and leave those two at home.

I am learning that I don't fit in with cliques.

OK.  Wait.

If I'm being honest, I haven't fit in with cliques since I was a child.  I'm not just learning that.  I'm just coming to terms with that.

I'm a good person.  I'm just not someone who follows the herd.

I say what I want to say, never intending on hurting someone, yet it always seems I've offended.

I do what I want to do, and sometimes, people don't agree with my actions.

I do things to keep ME happy, but that doesn't make everyone happy.

So, here I sit for another hollow day season and hurt.

All I've ever wanted was to be accepted.

It's time to start learning that acceptance of myself is all I've ever needed.

I need to accept that I'm a loner, not a person who follows the herd.

I need to accept that I'm never going to be that popular girl that everyone flocks to.  I'm a victim of polarity, love me or hate me.

I need to accept that I'm loved only by those who matter.

I need to accept that this time of year, my head gets filled with all kinds of bad thoughts that aren't always true.

I need to accept that even though I'm home with only Papi, and our Chanukah lights are only being lit by the two of us, that it's ok that we don't have family or friends to show us what to do.

We're making our own ritual.

We sing 'Happy Hanukkah' to the tune of 'Happy Birthday' and do our silly Chanukah dance that we somehow made up on the spot.

Not to be confused with The Happy Papi Dance.

It's nowhere near what we're 'supposed' to do.

But then that's our journey together.

We never do what we're 'supposed' to do.

I suppose that's going to have to be OK.

i accept myself completely

our dead dog's urn.

Can you recognize what this is?

And no, it's not just ANY Xmas decorations.

It's a fancy decorated walker.

G'ma is going to be the most popular old fart in the home.

Seriously!  All those other blue hairs only have decorations on their door.  But our G'ma?

She has a rockin' walker!

Her reaction to her fancy walker?  "You two do such nice things for me."

Melt my heart much?!?!

Papi got in the way, so the Papirazzi was there tonight as well.

Gotta love a pic of Papi's ass!

Anyway.

We had gone out earlier with her to the Old Spaghetti Factory for Papi's birthday dinner.

It's kinda an annual thing.  Always on his birthday.

He loves it there!

Well, this time, we brought along G'ma and a very, very special guest.

It was his first visit to a restaurant.

Ever.

Yup.

We sat with our dead dog's urn at the dinner table.

G'ma didn't like it much, "Why are you doing that?  You do such strange things," she said as she shook her head.

I'm sure the li'l lady who helped us will be talking about that one for a while.

After the dinner and decorations were done, Papi and I broke into the old house's yard ...

... wasn't so hard ... it was open ... but i felt badass as i was the lookout in the lane! ...

... and sprinkled The Golden's ashes there in his favourite places in the yard, then went up to his most admired, roll in the mud park and sprinkled it all along the path we'd take.

It was fun for all!

Dead dog and decorated walker included.

i am my own unique self - special, creative and wonderful

chemo cat & cake

G*d I love peanut butter on toast.  It's gotta be the best treat out there.  I sometimes go to bed anticipating my morning glory, peanut butter celebration.

Just had to share that.

Don't worry.  This is not a blog about peanut butter toast.

Nor will it be a blog about complaining of how little sleep I've been getting this week, yet last night was the first night I slept all the way through without drugs to help me.

I will also spare you the details about how I'm suffering through the weather erupting my bitch of a back.

So what's left to talk about?

Cat's on harnesses and Papi's birthday.

Let's start with Papi's birthday.

Every year, I buy him his favourite cake.  Of course, it's very difficult for me to keep in mind which is the flavour he likes, because it's only once a year I buy it for him.  My brain injury does not do me justice in the memory department.

There I was staring at Safeway cake, ...

... just fyi, it's the only one he ever asked for ... i would never buy him this by choice ...

... trying to recall which vanilla cake he prefers.  Is it the one with the filling of vanilla icing?  Or the one with custard filling?

I banked on the custard, because he has such strange taste buds.

Only one problem; there were no 'single' slices of the vanilla custard cake.

Only one thing left to do!  Buy a whole cake!  Yeah!

I proudly took the bus with his cake, with onlooking passengers drooling at the sight of a flat of sugar.  I prayed my brain injury didn't give me balance issues, as I limped with the weight of the package.

I waited patiently until Papi slept off the Graveyard Coma, and, "Happy birthday!" I screamed at him while he was still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Oh, I got the right cake!  I was so pleased.

Alas, there was one 'wee' issue.  I forgot that last year, he asked me not to buy him the cake anymore because his tastebuds have changed since starting on hormones.  He doesn't eat sweets anymore.

Well, I hope the ladies at his job enjoy it.

Let's move on to cats in harnesses.

We have to train them to be on harnesses so that we can bring them outside for their piddling.  This is how they'll be traveling on planes.

Pee breaks on leashes.

Well, I got the harnesses on the cats, but the cats were not impressed, to say the least.  I can't tell you how many bite marks I'm nursing, but I did it.

Now picture this: Cats walking with their belly so low to the ground you'd think they were hover cats with legs 1/4 the size of a normal feline.

It was odd to witness our cats not moving from one spot for hours at a time.

Oh!  But when they did move, it was in reverse, as they were trying to back out of the nylon, pseudo straight jackets they were in.

Then there was Psycho Kitty.  He was so distraught with the prospect that he started to lick his fur off his body.

He already has a kitty version of male pattern baldness from the stress of being trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft with The Bastard Prince.

Now?  His loss of hair has extended all the way to losing some of his tail fur.

Good thing we never made it onto Psycho Kitty TV.  This hair issue just won't do for his national debut.  He would need a toupée.

Normally, he's such a pretty kitty with all that long grey fur.  However, he now resembles a cat on chemotherapy.

I figure he'll look really good with a shaved lion cut.

Silver miniature lion!  A rare breed.

So there ya go.  Papi's birthday and cats on harnesses.

Aren't you glad you stopped by?

everything i do turns into success

i see dead people

I wasn't going to write about this, because I was afraid of people labeling me as nuts, but then I realized, people already do.

So, fuck it.  I'm writing about it.

I get visits from my deceased Fuzzy Family.

Every time I've lost a Fuzzy Family member, they come back to tell me they're ok.  It's been happening since I was young.

I have to be honest, I've also had visits from a few people that I've felt a connection to, family or not.

I see dead people, and dead animals.  Sometimes, I even get visits from other people's dead animals.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I have been waiting for The Golden to come, and was fearing the worst; that I'd lost my deceased visitation rights.

Not true.

I talked about it a bit yesterday, but I didn't go into details, and didn't think I would, until I saw Madonna Badger on Piers Morgan last night.

This poor woman lost all her kids in an Xmas fire last year, but she feels her grief is more at peace, because her children come to her in dreams.  She thought she was nuts until she read a book by Eben Alexander called Proof of Heaven.

As much as I don't really believe in heaven or hell, I do believe in an afterlife.  Some cosmic plain that we go to.

Our energy can't just end when we die.  Our spirit must live on.

Well, every animal and human I've felt connection with will visit me as I sleep.

It's not just a dream, and if you've felt this, you'll know what I'm saying.  There's more to it than just fantasy.

When The Golden visited me 2 nights ago, it was really his spirit.  It wasn't just the wanting to see him again and the grief.

He came bounding through the door, knocking me over to the ground with all the love and misbehaving he had when he was here.  He was youthful and energetic again, and his Ghost Face was returned to a rich golden blonde.  He was happy.  He was so full of love and the feelings of love I had to give him, were returned.

I could feel and smell his breath on my face.  I could feel every lashing of that tongue, every wash of wet nose and every tickle of whisker.  I could smell his scent and as I looked into his eyes (yes, he had both of them) I knew he was here.

He was here.

He came back to me to show me that I can stop grieving.  That he'll never leave me.  His spirit has now forged with mine, and he will never leave my heart, nor my soul.

He has a place right there with My Dearly Departed Gypsy.

When Gypsy came to me, it was so quickly after her death, that I couldn't believe it was a visit.  I said to the woman in the visit (whom I didn't recognize until later), "But she shouldn't be here!  She should still be in the hospital!"

This woman calmly told me, "Just enjoy your time with her right now.  This is your opportunity to be with her.  Just be with her."  I did so, sitting with this woman for a very brief moment, until Gypsy partook in her favourite pastime, ripping up the flower beds of the nearest garden.

I recently found the picture of my Great Grandmother, and immediately recognized her as the woman was from the visit.

Not dream, visit.

What I really feel from The Golden returning, is a piece of my heart has been healed.  I am almost in tears from the joy of feeling that he came to me.

It means I am forgiven, or rather that I can forgive myself.

It means I am loved, and I am able to know he's aware of how much I love him as well.

It means I am still allowing these spirits to come back to heal my heart, and I trust I will be able to do so for my next loss.

Thank you so much for coming back old man.

I'm sure you know how much you've healed me.

i recognize and honour my talents, abilities and skills

a day in the life ...

The game is, whomever gets to The Countdown first in the morning gets to rip a tab off.  Sometimes it's Papi coming home from a Graveyard shift, sometimes it's me waking up from slumberland.

 

I usually piddle a little from joy when I get to look at this:

 

Papi gets a boner when he looks at this:

 

Then, before I hit the washroom to clean up the mess I made from excitement of getting my braces off, I light The Golden's candle to say good morning and stare at the love we've given him over the past 2 weeks.

 

I've been writing him love notes and begging him to come show me he is OK.  He finally did last night.

He came bounding through the door of my dream, jumped all over me and I told him I love him so many times.  He kissed me over and over and I woke up with a healed heart.

He's happy, youthful and very, very well.

Then I went back to playing in a band with Keith Urban.  I'm not sure why I dream about that guy so much, but I do.

Anyway, then I stagger to the kitchen to make my coffee, and this is the first thing I see:

 

Chaos of preparation.

However, there is one cute thing to look at.

 

You'll have to look really close to see it, but in the depths of this darkness, there is a kitten that goes by the name of The Mrs.  She's decided this is her new home.

She's gonna be pissed when she finds out she has to share it for 8 hours with The Bastard Prince.

After I've fed all the Fuzzy Family, a certain member doesn't want to go outside for his morning tinkle.

This is where he hides, because he actually thinks he's invisible here:

 

Don't ask me why.

But dammit!  It would sure be nice if the li'l puto used it for it's purpose, instead of me walking him outside in my worst outfits possible and skanky hair to go along with it!

A femme should never have to look that horrible in public!

So, there ya go.

Our Closet.

Our life.

i feel radiantly full of abundant energy and health

Ah! The Joys of S.A.D.

For some of us, December is a dire month for our emotions.  It seems the demons trap us during this time.

For some of us, the only exposure to the outside world is to merely peek through the curtains with one eye, in hopes that the world doesn't spot us.

We hide, we suffer, we count the days until it's over.  I see those who join me with this ailment are already experiencing the re-surfacing of their yearly torture.

This year, I'm making a difference for myself.  Maybe, if you suffer with this, you'll want to join me?

We've already had a Hurricane Andréa sighting, but it wasn't an Xmas Meltdown.  Still, while I'm feeling back up from my fall, I'm ready to fight my Pit of Doom off with all my might.

I'm going to do my very best to create a stronger dark season for myself.  Here's how I'm going to do it:

I'm staying off the processed sugar.

I'm drinking enough, or maybe more, water.

But hey, I'm no angel.  I'm having my one cup of coffee per day dammit!

I'm staying on my food plan of only a cup of grains per day, and at most a slice of wheat free toast and a handful of rice crackers.

However, I'm having my bag of popcorn while I watch Dexter with Papi.  That's a given rule.

I'm keeping my blood hearty with a little more protein than usual, but also keeping my blood clean.  I intend on sweating once a day.

Our blood is what feeds our minds.  It needs to pump ferociously to wash out the negativity we so wish to purge.

I'm keeping my veggie intake to MUCHO!  Minus those delicious little carrots and potatoes.  They should really be under the 'carb' list.

I'm keeping my fruit intake down to one serving per day.

This does include those lovely li'l Mandarin oranges.  I normally gorge on them every December, to ward of the envy of everyone else eating all the masses of sugary, carbed treats that seem to inundate our lives during this time.

Of course, being clean 'n sober, I have a one up on the demons as well.  If you're suffering, perhaps this is the month to try out what it's like to live in sobriety?

I have only one mission in mind this dark season; Peace and tranquility.  I don't want to hide and fret about the pain of ghosts past.  I already did that last week.

The most horrid part about falling is it allows the Anorexia Monster to start whispering in my ear as well.  Seriously!  Fuck off with that!!  I'm sick of looking in the mirror only to see hell!

Something I learned from my emotional fall was quite nurturing.  I've never been protected.  I've always felt alone in this world.

I've felt that all battles must be overcome by me, myself and I.  My Gemini battle.

I have my protector to see me through until I can protect myself: Papi, my fearless lion.

I also learned I've closed my heart to a lot of the world, keeping it only concealed by ribs and muscles.

Flesh and bones can only safeguard for so long, until something evil burrows it's way in and poisons my blood once more.

Even though, as I write this I feel the breath of P.T.S.D. stalking me, I know I'm strong enough to allow my heart to be open.  I allow myself to experience the fear, pain and all other negative feelings I've avoided for so many years, along with the joy, love and strength along with it.

I didn't realize that if I'm closing my heart off to the bad, I'm also closing it off to the good.  I don't want to do this anymore.

It seems, that when I've kept my heart closed, the only feelings that got to my soul were the painful ones, because evil is like a weed that has its tendrils wrapped around my veins.

I closed myself off to the good that can fight this intruder.  Good prevails!  Good fights bad always!

My heart is ripped wide open right now.  It's a big gaping wound that has to be healed by love, and I'm the one capable of healing it.

I want to feel my spirituality.  I want to live in the existence of joy.  I want that feeling of magic in life.  I've had it many, many years ago, and it's time to bring it back.

I am ready.  I am now open to life, good and bad.

It's starts now.

i choose to exercise regularly

how dare i?!?!

I got kicked out of a store.  It's hard to believe.

I actually went in with the intention of asking if she'd be interested in wares from the Dominican Republic from the women in Haitian villages.

I want to help the people there so much, and I had a brilliant idea that I would have their wares sent to Vancouver to help them support their people.  I found one village that is making such items, so I thought I would check out the store I hadn't been in for quite a long time.

Not to mention, I always liked this woman's store, even if she had a reputation in our 'community' of not being the nicest to her customers.  Still, she was always nice to me.

I knew she wouldn't recognize me.  I do look a lot different than when I had the short cropped black hair.

Still, in I went to look at all the hippy dippy items I could, and enjoy that store for what I didn't know was the last time.

The moment I strolled in, I heard, "Hi there, let me know if there's anything I can help you find," in a rather monotone, 'I've been doing this way too long' sorta manner.

I replied, "I will.  I've just come in to admire the beauty of your store once more!"

She didn't like that.  I received a sarcastic rebuttal, "Well, try not to buy anything while you're here."

I was about to launch into my Dominican Republic story to ask about the wares of the Haitian women, but I suppose I started it off the wrong way.

"Well, I can't actually buy anything today, because we're going to the Dominican Republic and ..."  That was when I was cut short.  "Well, then we're just closing now.  Buh-Bye!"

She actually started herding me out with the items she was carrying.  I was so shocked I didn't even respond, but merely went along with the wave she created.

I thought to myself, "After all the money I spent in your store all those years?!?!"

I caught up to my Gratitude Buddy and told her the story, adding in that I'd love to go back and tell her how much money I've spent there in the past.

My Gratitude Buddy asked me if that would make me feel better.  I thought about it, then said, "No, not really.  I'll just let her rot in her stink of karma then blog about it."

I've stuck up for the owner in the past, with an understanding about chemical imbalance and how it can make people miserable.  A lot of people in the 'community' boycotted her because she's been labeled as brash and rude.

I honestly don't know how on earth she stays in business!!!  Her store is called Beckwoman's, and it's on Commercial Drive.  Personally, she is on my boycott list now.

There's another store that I'll go talk to about the Haitian Village wares: Ten Thousand Villages.  They definitely know what customer service is and they definitely have social responsibility.  In their own backyard!!

Meanwhile, Papi is leaving me all alone today to go down to Lucky Devil Tattoo to get some of The Golden's ashes put into his remembrance tattoo, and probably have a nice visit with The Yank.

The Golden will be right there with 'G'pa' and 'mom'.

Jason, the artist, teased me on the phone when I called to book for Papi, "What?!?  You're not coming down too!  That means she gets a tattoo and you don't!"

I pouted, "I know!!!  Fuck!!" but I didn't correct him on the 'she' part.  He hasn't seen Papi since The Great Breast Disappearance, not to mention, there was no face fuzz the last he saw Papi, either.

My love said "He's going to think it's really strange."

I reminded him, "We like Jason because he's easy going and a good soul.  Just tell him straight out.  He won't have any problem with it.  He adores you."

Such is the life of someone in transition.  Always explaining and always wondering who will understand and who won't.

In the meantime, while I'm stuck up here, maybe I'll go try to get in trouble somewhere today to make up for not getting a tattoo.

Perhaps I can find another store to get kicked out of?

people respect me

my, what big balls you have, papi!

Oh, the mischief Papi gets into!  Only this time, he's a hero.

I've told you about The Beast, right?  She, who rendered me homeless with a 'packing party', changing the locks so that I returned 'home' from a 16 hour shift to being 'homeless'?

Her hideous behaviour is no less loathsome than the people who stood on the balcony, barfing out their obscene loyalty to The Beast.  They were looking down at me snickering as if to say, "Ha ha!  Na-na n'na-na!  We fucked you up, bitch!"

Who does that?  Who has that kind of evil in them that they would think this is OK?

Oh yeah!  Right!  The kind that have so much hideous hatred, that they would laugh at my misfortune of being in a wheelchair after the brain injury from my motorcycle accident.

That's who.

Anyway, Papi and I saw one of them at a store today.

Wait!  I have to back up before I tell you the punchline of this story.  Oh, let's see if I can do this in a short version.

The reason The Beast dumped me, was because she was getting back together with her ex-girlfriend.  That's why she made me homeless; to make room for the new relationship.

Now, I feel so sorry for this woman getting caught in the web of The Beast.  She didn't know what she was getting into!

Anyway, they got married after I sued The Beast, and now, the Sweet Ex is now suing her as well!

Oh, but wait!  It gets better!

I've become very close friends with this Sweet Ex.  She is one of the most loving friends I have.  We're so very similar, but then, that makes sense, ya know?  Predators only go after a certain 'type' they know they can abuse.

OK.  I hope I've set up the scene for you.  Let's get back to one of the Balcony Barfers we saw in the store today.

This one tried so very hard not to 'notice' me.  Oh, come on!  Everyone was staring at me because of my ridiculous leg warmers I was wearing.  That and I had my hair out and proud.  I looked like a walking cartoon of a full on femme.

I was most definitely seen and was most definitely avoided.

Papi said to me, "I feel like I need to say you deserve an apology."

I texted the Sweet Ex to giggle with her about the Balcony Barfer experience, and she said, "Oh, Papi should do it!"

We didn't expect it, but as they neared around the corner, Papi did it.

I couldn't believe it!

He just spurted it out like he knew the Balcony Barfer, "You should be ashamed of yourself and for how you all treated her!"

"Excuse me?" was all that could come out of the Balcony Barfer's mouth.

Papi continued, "You should apologize for what you did."

Unfortunately, the Baclony Barfer hasn't grown enough to apologize.  All I got was a shake of the head combined with an, 'Oh, come on!"

Nope.

I still don't get an apology.  I probably never will.  This clique will stand by their actions as they terrorize the Sweet Ex as well.

Some people can never admit they've been an ass.  If I get an apology, I'm usually more than happy to give someone the benefit of the doubt, because I know how much of an ass I've been in my life and I'm the first to admit it.

Of course, I had to call the Sweet Ex and tell her that Papi is our fearless lion!  We had such a playful time bobbing in Papi's wake!  Nobody ever stands up to these people.  Somehow, to the weak, they're admirable?

Hell no!

Admirable is my hero husband, calling out one of the Balcony Barfers for what they are: a shame.

Indeed, that male transformation is complete.

Papi has big balls.

i forgive every person who has undermined my self-esteem