Monday, September 30, 2013

just a weed

The other night, when I went against doctor's orders and went out for dinner, I spoke to the DJ.

We'd become friends with him on a night that Papi had 'a tad' to drink and the DJ put Papi on bell duty to keep his drunk ass busy.

His job was to ring the bell when something good happened in the pay-per-view fight that evening.

Anyway, the other night, he sat with us and I asked him if he'd like to listen to my music.

Papi gets so damn embarrassed when I self-promote, but if I don't do it, who will?

I suppose my last CD could sit up in a drawer forever, never to be shared with anyone, but that just doesn't seem right.

So, Papi begged me not to do it and I had to ask, with all honesty, "Is it because it's not good enough?"

I would hate to embarrass myself by asking someone to listen to my music if it sucked.

He was adamant that this was not the case.  That it was that my music isn't Dominican.

Ummm ... the DJ plays Bon Jovi and Eagles.

Not sure what that is about people being uncomfortable with me self-promoting.

I'm sure if I had someone promoting me like Britney Spears, I would be on top of the music chain as well.  It's all about promotion.

If I'm not doing it, it won't get done.

Years ago, in another life, I had a best friend that was a big support of my music, but she, too, was embarrassed when I would self-promote.

Once, I put on my SuperGirl Panties and gave my music to Jann Arden.  It went really well chatting with her, and afterward my ex-bestie said, "OK.  I won't ever say not to do that again."

Well, the other night, after the DJ listened to it, he had every person who worked there listening to it, including the manager, who said, "Can you play here live?"

Of course I can, but I don't have Drummer Boy with me.

He's back in Canada.

So, now I'll have to find someone here to be his surrogate.

That kinda sucks, because Drummer Boy was the meat to my potatoes.

Anyway, people liked it and I've been asked to bring by CDs.  Of course, a lot will be given for free, because people in this country just can't afford to buy music.

I'll buy theirs though.  Or swap my CD for their CD.

I know how hard it is to get money out of people for your art.

Kinda the same as, I always tip well, because I know what it's like to be a waitress, work really hard to please the customer, then get a buck outta some cheap asshole who had a $50 meal.

Whole point is, there's that saying from Susan Jeffers, 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' that I adopted after my motorcycle accident.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that we only have a short time on this planet.

That we better fucking be happy and take those chances, because someone can come along in a little red Toyota and wipe us off the planet with one bang to our motorcycle.

When did I lose that feeling of living without fear?

Perhaps I got insecure from the change of moving here and fell back to old ways.


A lovely Blogger Friend reminded me the other day, that those who dumped me didn't win.

He reminded me that I am better than that thought.

They were just weeded out of my veggie garden so that they didn't squish out the other healthy plants that are meant to be there.

It's time to plant some new seeds.

i show compassion in helping my loved ones understand my dreams

Sunday, September 29, 2013

baby, baby, baby, oh!

your sunday sillies youtube show ...

Well, those little pills were sorta working.

The trade off is not worth it though.

I am up until 3 or 4 each night with acid reflux and nausea.

Not into it.

All I need to do is wait for the residency, then I can find some natural methods of getting me past this pain.

I wasn't looking forward to the weight gain either.

I've put on enough from 'resting' that I just don't know how much more the Anorexia Monster can handle before he makes life rough for me.

I have boobs.

That's when I know I've put on weight.

Nice and all, but I'll pass thank you.

Last night, I went against doc's orders and went out for dinner with Papi.

There really is nothing to eat in the house and I really can't cook.  It's too much for me right now.

Anyway, we got to talking to a woman who wished to give us her unborn child, because I can't get pregnant.

Papi got way too excited about it and seemed like he wanted to seal the deal.

He even went so far as to say that he wouldn't be drinking as much if there was a child to take care of.

Last night we had a friend say we weren't ready for taking care of a child because we had started drinking.

I dunno, I have to disagree.

We're not raging alcoholics hanging out down at Main and Hastings looking for a fix.

We're just enjoying ourselves in our new life.

And as for the worry about my mental health, well, I keep things under control with my meds.  Now that I've found the reputable ones, I'll be fine.

I've seen a lot worse with people who are able to have children.

We'd give a child a good home, with healthy food, and loads of love and life experience to teach them.

Fortunately, upon speaking to him this morning, he changed his mind about this particular child.

Phew!  I would love to adopt a child, but this woman had been drinking all night and I'm not into a fetal alcohol baby.

She also wanted to live on our property for 4 months at the end of the term.

Unfortunately, we could have an issue with this.

Within a certain amount of time, if someone is on your property and you're caring for them, you're actually responsible for them for all time to come.

That's a 'rule' here.

I tried to explain both of these points to Papi last night, but he was in a fog of, "I want a baby!!!"

I would love a little tyke to help grow.

But this child is not the right one for us.

Besides, we really don't have the money for an adoption right now.

When we do have the money, we'll find a child who is already born to someone who is too young to care for a child and raise the child for her.

There aren't too many unwanted children here, because the family helps.

It's sorta part of life here.

You get money from the government for helping to raise a child, so people have their children very young and keep them.

There aren't too many women here who don't have a child.

I'm sure there's a little bean out there who's spirit is waiting for us.

The right timing is all we need.

Our time will come, but if it doesn't, that's OK too.

I continue to go with the flow of life.

i answer questions about my dreams without getting defensive

Saturday, September 28, 2013

i can see clearly now

I ebb and flow.

Today, I love my life.

Maybe it's because the nerve pills the doc gave me are working and I'm not in as much pain?

Maybe it's because I'm abiding by his 'rules' and resting more?

Maybe it's because the Prozac has really kicked in and the fog has lifted, allowing me to see the good in my life.

Apparently, to some, all I do is sound miserable lately.

It's possible that for the past few months I've been 'a tad' on the negative side.

OK.  Yes.  It's true.

But that's OK, isn't it?

I'm human, and I can't always be happy.

Wasn't it OK to fall a few years ago when I couldn't pull myself out of the Pit of Doom because my love went through a sex change?

I figured out something last night.

Change is hard for me.

Change of a new country.

Change of having finally been an ambulatory person, forced back into a hobbling, crutching, Limping Lesbian for 2 months.  Not to mention, a country that refuses to administer pain relief.

Change of losing friends who have resentment about us moving somewhere were I wouldn't have pain and Papi could finally heal from his emotional wounds that nobody has ever really seen.

Yeah.  I've been miserable.

Chronic pain and loss do that to me.

And just to be clear, yes, losing friends has hurt me.

You who have abandoned me have achieved what you set out to do.

You win!  You hurt me.

I'm sorry I had to move for my well being.  And I'm also sorry I am the type of person who will hold that resentment for a long time.

I feel the need to say fuck you for dumping me for bettering my life.

You who have stuck around to listen to me whine?

You are angels!  You are true friends and I only wish I could move you all here to be with me.

Want to come live in a Casita?  It's real cute!

I'll make you eggs and toast every day and you can have unlimited coconut water.

Anyway, eventually, I'll find friends here that mean a lot to me.

After I speak Spanish better, maybe?

Or perhaps when I find people, who are good to others, who speak English?

They're few and far between here, I'll tell you.

But hey, my bitch of a back doesn't hurt as much.  That was the whole point, no?

Yet, now I feel sad because things are not as we thought they'd be.

I'm here so that I could be out of pain and do music.

However, music has been scarce.

This life is not what we thought it would be.

Still, today, I feel the tide has changed.

The rain is gone because the anti-depressants are doing their job, and I have a gorgeous view in my life once more.

Just because you live in paradise, doesn't mean you're in heaven.

At least there are still angels.

i love and approve of myself

Thursday, September 26, 2013

is there a secret i'm missing?

This 'no walking' thing is impossible with 4 horribly behaved puppies.

Especially when you wake up to great piles of crap you have to pick up.

Then, if dealing with that didn't hurt enough, at first glance, I thought there was vomit all over the couch.

Upon nearing the sofa, I found out otherwise.

No, it was my entire bag of quinoa strewn from one end to the other.

Do you know how hard it is to sweep up quinoa?

It becomes static and flies everywhere when you brush it.  It doesn't go into the sweeping pan.

You know Mexican Jumping Beans?  It's sorta the same.

So, after I picked up the great masses of dog droppings on the floor, ...

... have you SEEN the size of the thug and the donkey?!?! imagine the poops ...

... I went to work on the quinoa.

Only to find, somebody with four legs had peed on the other side of the couch.

We're back to that again now, are we?  I thought we passed that puppy phase and everyone was allowed back on the couch again!

Oh, this couch is not ours.

The crap was beside it.

The piss was on it, and yes, there was quinoa in the piddle.

The quinoa was torn apart and pushed from one end to the other, and I sure hope the Fuzzy Family had a good time with the quinoa party, destroying a good chunk of my food that I don't have the strength to get up and cook.

No, this couch is not ours.

It belongs to them.

Those stinky little bastards we love so much.

How do we love such horrible creatures?!?!?!?

I did my best and cleaned up the crap, sopped up the piss, pouring vinegar on in hopes of squelching the putrid aroma that will fester in this heat for days to come, then swept as much quinoa as the pain would allow me.

"Rest.  No walking," the surgeon said.


I'll get to that after I go speak with Our Fave's Mom and Little Angel who are at the gate.

They know how to reel me in, and I'm just not rude enough to wave people away.

Sure, I'll walk so you can show me the gorgeous little boy with eyes from the heavens that entice me into watching this little tyke grow.

Oh, make sure to bring WeeHeart with all her enchanting energy as well, so that I couldn't possibly say, "I can't talk today," and follow my doctor's orders.

And for sure, bring along someone from the village so that I can't have a private conversation with you about the fact that your family has been lying to us and we can't be godparents with dishonest people.

"Rest.  No walking."

Who the hell on this earth can do this?!?!?  Can you?!?!?  How the fuck is this even possible?!?!?

If you know how to do this, please, enlighten me.

"Rest.  No walking."

Sure, right after I let the people in to come fix the washing machine, because our clothes stink so bad, you can smell them in Canada.

"Rest.  No walking."

Oh look!  Pescado Pal is at the gate wanting to sell me his hard working wares he caught in the ocean.

I've been up since 9, but it's now 12:30 and this is the first time I've rested my ankle.

"Rest.  No walking."

Well, my foot looks pretty swollen again.  This is not a good sign.

Neither is the pain that's shooting, or the throbbing that accompanies it.

Oh, but I'll rest.


i am capable of making healthy choices

Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Mercedes Day.

So, off we went, back to Santiago hospital for my X-Ray results, and subsequent follow up with the surgeon.

As we were driving The Moca, that hairy-scary road that takes us there, Papi said something idiotic like a typical male, and I, being a typical female, gave him the silent treatment.

You know how it goes.

But there were things I wanted to ask, like, "Why is there so much traffic today?"

And, "How come there are so many children out today?"

It was Tuesday.  You would expect that from a Sunday, but not Tuesday.

I just thought that perhaps there was an important funeral.

People show up in droves for funerals here, and if you're in a hurry, you better calm your hormones, because you are NOT getting past the procession.

Then we got into town, still silent with the bad energy hanging about in the car, and I noticed a few stores closed.

But it's Tuesday!!

The hard working people of the Dominican Republic only shut down on Sunday.

Then another closed store.

And another.

Then a whole strip.

And I finally broke the silence, "Why are all the stores closed?" in such a way that was cold and not very inviting to conversation.

Papi grunted back, "I dunno."

It wasn't until we got to the major store and saw it was closed that we realized there was yet ANOTHER holiday here.

The holidays here rival those of the Jewish holidays!

I don't mind so much, but damn!

We drove for an hour and a half, through the scariest road in the world, with a ridiculous silence between us and pain in my ankle, only to find the hospital shut down.

Of course, nobody would tell us NOT to return Tuesday.

Why would they?

No, no need to inform the foolish gringos that they shouldn't return to the hospital on Tuesday, because it's Our Lady of Mercedes Day.  Everyone knows that!

So, we went to one of Papi's fave restaurants, Pizza Hut, so Papi could have his American pizza, and I could have probably the worst salad I've ever experienced.

Upon sitting, there was an apology from Papi, communication from me, and the mood lifted.

But there was still the drive home to get through.

It was a bit treacherous, as people drink their faces off on Sundays and holidays.

They get drunk ON the holiday or Sunday.

Someone has to tell them of the Canadian way.  You drink the night before, so that you can sleep in, and sleep off the hangover ON the holiday.

Those poor souls get up after a night of drinking and go back to their hard work.

Anyway, we took home a route, that to me, was safer than The Moca, but the amount people that seemed to be playing chicken with us, or driving us off the road was terrifying.

Furthermore, there are no street lights on highways here.

I'm pretty sure this country is going to age me, if it hasn't already.

There is a new 'rule'.

Kinda like when you are going to pick someone up at the airport, you check the flight is on time BEFORE you drive?

Same goes for holidays.

We now check the holiday alerts before we make a move, because those damn holidays spring up all over the place here.

Oh, how you in Canada would like to have this many days off with pay!

We're going to go back to the hospital tomorrow.

I've checked three lists.

There are no holidays.

i learn something new every day

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

pass the prozac

There is always a new day to look forward to.

Today is so much better than yesterday, which was better than the day before.

I'm grateful the angels have patience for me, never answering my plea to come join them, allowing me grace to fall, followed by the sprinkling of magic pixie dust upon me to help get me back up again.

I'm grateful my true friends have patience for my screwy brain that isn't like 'normal' people, and send me the good energy I need to find my own strength again.

I'm grateful for friends who have been in our position, speaking their words of advice because they know what the fuck it's like to live in a developing country.

I'm grateful I don't have to hear from the sheep who judge us because they're following the crowd, have seen a documentary or read a book.  Yeah, I'm still fucking pissed at you all.  You know who you are.

Anyway.  I feel better today.

Expats on the DR1 Forum, who have been here a long time, have a lot of advice to give.

Some good, and some so horrid, that it's hard to believe the level of people's racism, homophobia and plain old evil ways.

But I digress.

One piece of advice that I may adopt, is something Papi has already put into action.

In this climate, the speed of this life, this culture, you should only choose to do ONE thing a day.


I have to remember I'm not in Canada anymore.

I also have to remember I'm not the person I was before the motorcycle accident, just because I don't need to take pain meds for my bitch of a back.

I've been spending these last 5 years trying to get back to the girl on that motorcycle.  The girl who could do everything in one day.

I still haven't accepted that that fatal day was the day it was time to slow my life down.

I'm going to continue to work with MusicMan and prepare ourselves for a few gigs here and there in a moderate speed, but that's not for a few weeks.

I was just told by an orthopaedic surgeon that I'm not allowed to do ANYTHING until further notice.

Bed ... fucking ... ridden.

Good thing I found the good Prozac at the hospital.

Always, when you know what the problem is, you can immediately feel a little lighter.

Knowledge is always the first step.

It's no secret that I have a chemical imbalance.  I've been a 'special' person since I was 11 when the hormones kicked in and my battle with the eating disorder ensued.

I need medication to survive, and now that I'm forced to rest again, I damn well need the good stuff.

These fuckers and their phony pills are fucking around with peoples' well being.

No, we're not in Canada anymore.

Not too much is akin here.

Not me.

Not Papi.

Not even the dogs.

But what is the same, is the fact that the only thing that matters is happiness.

What is the same, is there are beautiful people with huge loving hearts that I am finding an abundance of.

They deserve happy Andréa just as much as my friends who love me do.

Just as much as I do.

Pass the prozac and nobody gets hurt.

Including me.

i am in control of my thoughts

Sunday, September 22, 2013

i want to be an angel

How did 2 days go by without doing a blog?

For that matter, how did a week go by without being able to get to editing my Sunday Sillies?

It's Sunday, and there won't be any YouTube show sillies today.

I'll be working on them, but I think that with the amount of insanity this household and life brings, I will be publishing every 2 weeks now.

Really, right now, I'm supposed to be at a birthday party.

It's basically right outside my door.

But Papi said I'm not allowed to go, because I've been treating my ankle too horribly.

He says that most people with this injury are laid up for at least 3 months, that I have to rest more and do less.

We all know how much I like to rest.

I'm a work-a-holic outside of the house.

In the house?

I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.

I don't know what it is, but as soon as I'm out of the house, my depression lifts.  Yet I can't relax in my yard, or I'll have every child in the neighbourhood screaming for me through the fence.  Relentlessly.

It doesn't help that I'm bitchy from pain.

I also have a sneaky suspicion that I got fake Prozac.

They do that here.

They make fake pills and it's Russian Roulette as to whether or not you're going to get the real thing.

Don't they know better than to fuck around with Prozac?!?!


Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?

I've been extremely agitated these past few weeks and I could blame it on the chronic pain, but there's something more.

The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.

Normally, it's a fleeting moment before I go to sleep at night.

I've had it every night, for longer than I can remember.

I envision myself blowing my head off.

Every night.

I don't know why, but it just is, and there's not much I can do to stop the vision.

However, through the years, I've just learned to live with the vision and shake it off with a 'what the fuck??!?  Must we do this every night?!?!?'

These past few weeks though, they've been coming throughout the day.

Everything seems so difficult to do.

Everything seems like I just want to give up.

I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with my newest Gratitude Buddy.  I still know that EVERY DAY there is something to be grateful for.

But still, as I go on through my day, I can't help but feel the aftershock of all the hurt I've received over these past 9 months of living in what we thought would be 'paradise' and who we thought were 'friends'.

I feel exhausted from fighting to stay out of the Pit of Doom.

Everything feels like a battle, and both Papi and I had the thought at the same time last night, "This life here is not what I expected."

The vision I see in the mirror is disturbing as well.  The Anorexia Monster is in full force and the weight I see in the mirror is the weight that presses on my mind.

I'm having anxiety for no apparent reason at all.  I just feel terror and I don't know why.

This is not rational.

This is the underlying depression eating away at my heart, and I'm a fucking bitch when I'm depressed.

I'm having a really hard time hiding it from everyone around me, and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't been getting enough medication in to my system, having been sold fake pills.

I feel the pull of demons can't find my strength from the angels.

Instead, yesterday, I begged the angels to take me with them.

I want to be an angel.

it is always too early to give up, so let me give it some more

Thursday, September 19, 2013

think about it

The janitor gets paid.

There is also a man who is there strictly to open and close the gate for the children, to keep things in order.

He gets paid.

I've been studying music since I was 3.

I've gone to music college.

I've taken exams out the wazoo with the Royal Conservatory of Music.

I've ran my own music school for 13 years, that was so successful, I had a waiting list.

But I ask for gas money to get to Dream Project to TEACH FOR FREE and they have to think about it?

I'm confused.

I'm pissed off.

I'm insulted.

When those children are up on the stage performing their piece, who do they think taught the piano players?

I need work, and if I have to leave to get paid, then I have to leave.

Then those 6 girls I teach will no longer have a piano teacher.

There will no longer be a piano aspect to the performance.

It will be all boys playing guitar and bass, with one drummer.

How do I not have worth to them?

Isn't their mandate that they believe all children in the Dominican Republic deserve education and mentorship?

In July, when I came face to face with management, she asked me how it was going.

I told her how much I enjoyed the children and how I appreciate their gratitude and eagerness.

I told her how it's awesome to be able to learn Spanish through the kids.

I told her how happy it makes me.

Her response?

"Good.  Then that's your payment.  Because we're not paying you."


That was the point where I knew my request when I first started was all a lie to get me to teach free for the summer.

If it was any other job, I would have been gone that day, but I'm there because I genuinely adore the children and their great efforts they put into learning piano.

I've been driving there and teaching for free since May.

I need income, and asked the MusicMan to request gas money for my travel costs, stating, "I'll teach for free, but I live a half hour away, so it's expensive to drive here."

He told me he contacted them, and their reply?  They have to 'think about it'.

Meanwhile, they pay every other employee they have there, or I know they would be looking for work elsewhere.

I have one of the most rewarding jobs there.  It's the only reason I stay and volunteer my time.

Still, how can someone not see my worth?


Not the janitor, nor the gate keeper, nor the women answering phones could teach these children piano, but they all get paid for their jobs.

They have to 'think about it'.

Gas money.

I'm not even worth gas money for them.

I am so hurt.

Looks like I'll be looking for a job and I'll have to leave the little darlings.

Papi doesn't really want me teaching there either, but it's so hard to think of leaving them.

They will be devastated not to have lessons.

They love them so much.

I'm so sad.

i am deserving of abundance

Gratitude 10/10
1. I am grateful I know my worth.
2. I am grateful for cool breezes.
3. I am grateful for ice to ease my pain.
4. I am grateful The Thug didn't kill The Bastard Prince last night.
5. I am grateful I found the pin for my crutches.
6. I am grateful for music.
7. I am grateful for an impromptu sing-a-long with people yesterday.
8. I am grateful for my talent.
9. I am grateful I have an income for 2 more months.
10. I am grateful for people who appreciate me.

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Send In S.W.A.T.

I think the move here has Papi and I living in some kind of battle zone.

I honestly don't know what the hell is going on.

Papi's done enough damage to his own body, and it seems that I'm trying to maim every limb of my own.

Started with Mr. Lumpy, but I guess a boob isn't a limb, is it?

Then I progressed to a dog bite on my hand that had me out of commission of playing an instrument for a week.

Next, we move on to my fucking ankle.  I don't need to say more about that.

Then I burned my calf on a motoconcho exhaust pipe.  It's really nasty.  I'll have to really take good care of it so it doesn't look any more infected than it already seems.

Then yesterday, the pin of my crutch fell out, my crutch crumbled and I fell to the ground giving my bitch of a back a run for her money.  I'm not impressed with the fact that I can barely move my neck today.

Oh, but earlier in the day?

I received another dog bite, this time on my forearm and wrist.

Fortunately, that pain only lasted overnight.  It's feeling much better now.

How did I get a new dog bite you ask?  Or maybe you didn't ask, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

Picture a 4 door Toyota Corolla Sedan.

Now.  Picture a massive crate with two cats in the back.  Got that?

OK.  Now add in 6 dogs, which Papi has lovingly nicknamed, The 6-Pack.

Granted 2 are small, but the other 4?  Including The Donkey?

Yeah.  It was something out of a comedy routine.

We were getting our house fumigated for the problem with ants and termites.

All the animals had to be out with us.

It was quite the task trying to find things to do for 2 hours, but we did it.

Then, as we were 2 minutes from home, The Donkey decided she wanted in the back.

The Thug said, "Fuck you and your big fat ass!" and it happened.

An all out dog fight in a tiny Corolla with The 6-Pack and a crate with 2 cats while I'm going 80 km/hr on a highway.

The cats pissed themselves in their crate and I slammed on the brakes so hard that Papi hit his head on the front windshield.

Still, the dogs continued fighting.

I, being the lunatic I am when they fight, screamed my best Psycho shower scene scream and I did it again; I tried to stop the fight with my hands.

I am so grateful that The Thug isn't out for blood, or there would be more than a puncture on my forearm.

I wouldn't HAVE a forearm if he was actually trying to hurt anyone.

But it was bad enough that I couldn't move my fingers.

We got home and I had to pay the fumigator.  Handing him the money hurt bad enough, but then he wanted me to sign for the receipt.

THEN! he wanted to shake my hand!!!

I was sweating bullets trying to keep a look on my face that didn't say, "I'm a dolt who likes to put my hands into dog fights between a Pit Bull and an Irish Wolfhound.

Last night as I was licking all my wounds, I reclined on the couch wondering what the fuck is going on, when The Thug and The Donkey decided my ankle was the perfect place in which to have a wrestling match.

They twisted it to the side and it is now more swollen and I can barely walk on it again.

Seriously.  What the fuck is going on?  I'm afraid to move for fear of doing anything more.

I was afraid to have sexy time with Papi last night for fear I'd sprain my vagina.

Don't worry.  I didn't.

This morning, I have two massive welts on my leg, from what I couldn't tell you, but it kinda looks like a flesh eating disease, one in the shape of Africa and the other like Great Britain.

I won't even go on about the bug bite that looks like I have a new knee on the back of my thigh.

Send in the S.W.A.T. team.

I need back up.

My mind, body and spirit are united for my highest good

 Gratitude Day 8/10
1. I am grateful my dog bite was only a bruising of the bone.
2. I am grateful for ice packs.
3. I am grateful I didn't sprain my vagina.
4. I am grateful I didn't hurt myself more when my crutch broke.
5. I am grateful I have time to wash my hair today.
6. I am grateful for fresh coconut water.
7. I am grateful I get to look out at the ocean while I write this.
8. I am grateful I can find gratitude every day.
9. I am grateful for this list forcing me to find gratitude every day.
10. I am grateful for dead bugs all over the yard, instead of live ones in my kitchen.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Do you know who I am?!?!

We frequent an awesome li'l taco joint: Gordito's.

It's affordable, fast and damn good.

I've only been in once with the cast on, and the owners weren't there, so they didn't see me.

Or so I thought.

Also, Papi wrote them an email about an employee who had put her hands into the cheese and had a snack.

This actually happened months ago, but Papi felt the need to say something anyway.

He thought it would be more or less anonymous, because there are SO many people that go into that restaurant.

They do very well for themselves, and rightly so.

So, the day after the email we went in for some lunch and one of the owners was there.

Upon seeing me hobble in on crutches, he held the door for us.

When I came through the door, he said, "Hey!  No more cast!  Great!"

I was wondering how the hell he knew I had a cast in the first place.

He didn't see me before, right?!

Then he turned to Papi and said, "I got your email.  Thank you.  Did you read my response?"

All of a sudden I felt like our car and house were bugged.

Maybe I've been watching too much Breaking Bad, but I'll tell you, it was really creepy.

Papi and I have never lived in a small town before.

Forget about ME being the Papirazzi, we have a whole small town to do the job.

Lots of people now know everything we do.

People know who we are.

Talk about paranoia.

It was a bit shocking for Papi and I who could live without anyone knowing our business in Vancouver, with the exception of course that Papi likes to blurt out everything about our lives on Facebook.

And me?

Well, I blurt it out in much greater detail here on my blog.

But still.

There are plenty of people who don't know us in Vancouver.

The other day, I made a new friend who said, "Yeah, I've seen you around.  Hard to miss someone with as many tattoos as me."

We're not used to this.

All of a sudden I feel like I'm in a fishbowl.

We better behave, I'll tell ya.

That whole lunch at Gordito's, Papi and I offered options as to how the hell he knew I had a cast and how the hell he knew who Papi was by his email, when we've never given the man our names.

Besides, everyone here calls Papi, 'Hector'.  Not, 'Easton', which is how he signed the email

I'm sure if you live in a small town, you'll be giggling right about now.

We city slickers have a new culture to get used to.

Everyone knows everything.

It's the strangest thing ever, to me.

I don't know anything about anybody, but I'm sure, hanging out long enough we'll be part of the crowd and know what our neighbour a mile away had for breakfast and when they have their bowel movements.

This is something to get used to.

It's a whole new level of 'get to know your neighbour'.

They seem to already know me.

i am beautiful and smart and that is how everyone sees me

Gratitude 7/10
1. I am grateful for nice people.
2. I am grateful for a good sleep last night.
3. I am grateful there is less swelling in my ankle.
4. I am grateful the dogs slept so much last night.
5. I am grateful to have Spanish teachers everywhere.
6. I am grateful for my homemade toasted coffee.
7. I am grateful to be feeling like I can do more.
8. I am grateful my depressed moment has lifted.
9. I am grateful we are getting the house bombed for ants and termites today.
10. I am grateful I live in a village with such sweet people.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Ring My Bell!

your sunday sillies ...

So, Papi and I went to Kahuna's Sports Bar last night.

My love wanted to feel like he was living a life here like a typical expat.

Sit at the bar, watch some sports, and be a normal guy, instead of hiding in the house alone.

I just wanted to stay at home and finish my editing, but that would mean Papi would be alone, then driving home after drinking.

So, I said I would go if I could finish editing my YouTube video at the bar.

Thinking he'd be embarrassed by the thought of me sitting at a bar working, I thought he'd say no, but he was thrilled!

I felt like I'd look a tad silly, but at least I could get the work done and be out of this house that tends to feel like a jail cell because we're so far into the country.

Not to mention the fact that I need a change of scenery after staring at 4 walls for a month.

Anyway, our plan was just a calm Saturday night hang out in a Cabarete bar, but dammit if they didn't have a pay per view boxing fight going on, which meant a lot of people.

No matter, we were there early enough for me to set up shop at the only plug in the place and start on my work.

I thought Papi would thoroughly enjoy himself taking to the other men, but he kept interrupting me.

I kept trying to ignore him, but he just had too much excitement to leave me be.

Then the disaster happened.

Remember the creep?

Well, dammit if the only fucking seats left for him and his wife were next to us.

Yup.  Right fucking BESIDE us.

At this point, I was MORE than grateful I had my computer to keep my nose in.  It meant there was no need to look their way, even though I could feel them looking at me.

That poor woman looked very uncomfortable, and him?  He had the perfect douchebag look with his sunglasses on at night, so we couldn't tell if he was looking our way.

We moved our table a little closer in when a little bit of rain came, but it was still not good enough to keep me from feeling anxious and triggered with fear and flashbacks.

... it's all your fault ...

He was still too close.

Then!  Miracle of all miracles!  2 seats opened at the bar right beside the DJ.

The DJ and I were both on computers, so I felt a little more normal.

This is when we finally started to have fun!

The DJ has to ring this siren type bell every time something cool happens in whatever game happens to be on, which meant he had to keep leaning across me and apologized every time he did so.

However, he then put Papi to work.

Papi was rip-snort-drunk, so it gave him a job to do, a way to bond with some new friends, and the glee of being the teacher's pet who gets to ring the bell, and kept him out of trouble with the escalating serum of strength kicking in stronger.

A few times he said, "I feel like I need to say something to them!"

Oh, Papi, you just stick to your bell.  That guy would kick the shit out of you!

And he did stick to the bell.  He was having a blast.

Every time he would ring it, he would get a look on his face like a child.

It was so much fun to watch him enjoy himself.

By the end of the night, the DJ said, "You guys should come here more often."  The DJ and all his friends decided to take us in as part of their clan.

We have new friends, including a physiotherapist who wants to help me with my ankle.

He also informed me I have a long road ahead of me; a good 6-8 months for it to heal properly, IF I do the work.

Fuck.  Anyway.

I didn't have any more energy to obsess about the creep, because I was enjoying myself so much.

My angels were with me last night.

I'm no longer in my fog blocking their healing energy.

i have abundant courage

missed my a.m. gratitude yesterday ... oops!  Gratitude 6/10
1. I am grateful to have made more new friends last night.
2. I am grateful I had the strength to stay at the bar, despite being triggered.
3. I am grateful for a little less pain today.
4. I am grateful for my creativity.
5. I am grateful I unplugged the doorbell and slept in today.
6. I am grateful for internet to keep in touch with friends.
7. I am grateful I know I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to be feeling positive again.
9. I am grateful I found someone to work with my ankle.
10. I am grateful The Thug is becoming less aggressive.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

moto crutching

Our car is in the shop, but I had to teach yesterday.

So, off I hobbled with my crutches up to the main road.

The people here in my village are so damn sweet.

While I waited for a taxi, they offered me a seat, watching for a taxi and waved it down for me.  They then held on to my crutches until I got in the car and handed them back.

Not to mention, the people in the car all arranged themselves so that I could be in front to make space for my crutches as well.

Honestly, I've never experienced the hospitality like I do here.

Even on the way back, an entire bus load of people moved about to make sure I was in the front for space with my crutches.

In Vancouver, lazy assholes sit in the disability seats not even standing for a woman who looks like she's at the end of her pregnancy term.

We don't have jerks like that here.

However, when you take the taxi or bus, they only run along one main road.

I had to make the trek to get to Dream Project, which would be a good 20 minute walk from the highway on HEALTHY feet.

There was NO way I could walk that road in my state.

I took a moto.

There I was, crutches in one hand, other hand on the man in front of me.

Gingerly squeezing my thighs against his hips, I feared that it's not the way people do things here, and I thought I looked like a twit.

People look like they don't even hang on.

Not me.  The hand that wasn't holding on to crutches was white knuckled holding on the seat below me.

Even if I did do everything exactly right, people would stare because there was a gringa on the back of a moto carrying crutches.

That's more of a Dominican act.

But I made it over every speed bump, smiled and waved at the local coffee man, and we stopped at Dream Project.

Now to get off the moto.  Fuck.

While compensating for my meagre balance, for fear of falling because I was trying to stand on one foot, I burned the inside of my calf on the exhaust pipe.

I didn't want anyone to know, because I was so embarrassed that I forgot about the detail of getting off the back of a bike.

Watch the fucking exhaust pipe!!!!

It's been a while since I've been on the back of a motorcycle.

Anyway.  Singe.  Burn.

Seeing that my students were all there watching me get off the bike, I was holding back the profanities with gritted teeth, then made my way up to the class.

I didn't want them to know about my mishap, as I was humiliated, so I pretended it didn't happen.

One of my students noticed and pointed to hers as well.  She had an exhaust pipe burn that was half way through it's healing process.

I see what mine will look like in a week or so.

She laughed at me when I said, "One leg this, the other leg that!" indicating that I now have 2 screwed legs that look like I've been through battle.

I taught with the burn screaming at me for the first hour.

By the time I got home, it was a swollen rust coloured mess and Papi lovingly took care of it with polysporin and gauze.

Then he forced me into using ice and heat for my healing ankle.

Following that, he made me dinner and poured me my well deserved glass of wine.

My baby is back to being that loving, generous soul I fell in love with.

It's important to remember that relationships ebb and flow just the same as our own personal emotions.

The state of a relationship is just an extension of our own inner self.

Anyway, I'm not sure what it is about this country, but between Papi and I, we've both had nothing but wee accidents all over the place.

I guess we're going to toughen up.

It feels like we've gone to battle.

i give myself permission to both fail and succeed

 i missed a day of gratitude ... apologies ...Gratitude 4/10
1. I am grateful I toasted my coffee beans yesterday for awesome coffee today.
2. I am grateful I was able to teach yesterday and today.
3. I am grateful for the children making me happy.
4. I am grateful for air conditioning.
5. I am grateful Papi and I have lovingly communicated about our emotions.
6. I am grateful for the sweet people in this country.
7. I am grateful for all my friends showing me how much I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to have so many friends.
9. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family making me laugh.
10. I am grateful I'm in a relationship with someone who works at it as much as me.

Thursday, September 12, 2013

dropping weight

When I write in my blog, it's stream thinking, and I allow the weight to be lifted from my mind.

As I write how I'm feeling, answers to problems come out.

When I write, it's public.

When I write, it's honest, and I leave details in that other would not, for fear of how they might be judged.

When I write, sometimes it gets me into trouble.

Usually, when I write, I am able to take those words and deal with the issue.

This time is no different.  I'm feeling much better today, however still feeling on the edge of tears and feeling quite a bit of anxiety.

It hurt my friend that I mentioned her here instead of talking to her first.

On the flip side, it also gave way to receiving support and love from friends.

Papi and I worked things out for the most part.

After talking about why we hurt each other with words, I learned that I said things that were hurtful too.

Like saying that what he was working on the new fans for himself.  When really, he was working on it for us and the cats.

I implied that he's selfish, when I know he's not.

He's very giving, sweet and compassionate.  When he's not depressed, that is, not unlike myself.

He apologized, as did I.

I took a few more steps today.

Now I'll behave and not get too overzealous with the thrill of it.  I vow to take the best care of my ankle I possibly can.

I would do it for the dogs.  I take care of their health issues with love.

So, I will take care of my own with the same attention and care.

After this weekend, I think I should be able to start making healthy food again and take off the weight I've put on lying about eating really bad food.

I'm having grave issues with what I see in the mirror.  It's not pretty.

I limited my food intake yesterday to try to calm my mind.

This is the worst thing I could do to myself while I'm trying to feel better.

This does not fix my heart.  This hurts me further.

Today, I'm starting my day with coconut water.

I hacked them open with a machete and was donned the beautiful, healing energy from those fuzzy orbs.

I don't have any coffee.

Let's hope the coconut water keeps me from lashing out.

The dogs are needy and making me crazy.  They can feel my energy.

They want to help, but they're not helping.

They act out, because my emotions are in a whirlwind.

They feel me.  They act accordingly.  They are my indication.

I've been quite aggressive with them, telling them to leave me alone.

The Thug was actually depressed last night.  That broke my heart.

My pain and anger has prompted a sweet, loving soul to hurt at the sight of me falling.

If we think our emotions are our own and don't affect others, we have got to give our heads a shake.

We affect others greatly when we are in this space of depression.

Depression makes us selfish.  We only think about ourselves.  We can try as we might to think of others, but we just can't do it when we have that fog.  It comes out forced and forged.

I don't want to be selfish.

I want to think of these little loves that I adore so much, and not push them away because they're trying to help.

They are trying to protect me.

I suppose I should do the same and start eating better for my mind.

I need to lose weight.

In my heart.

i dissolve all blocks to reaching a healthy weight

Gratitude Day 2/10
1. I am grateful for coconut water.
2. I am grateful my friend forgave me.
3. I am grateful Papi and I love each other enough to work things out.
4. I am grateful I took some steps today.
5. I am grateful for the rain to feed my garden.
6. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family's love.
7. I am grateful for gratitude lists.
8. I am grateful we have electricity.
9. I am grateful I can use a machete.
10. I am grateful I can find gratitude. 

Wednesday, September 11, 2013

get back up

No, I have not handled this ankle thing very well.

My cast is off.

I'm still hurting a lot, but at least I have 2 feet on the ground to assist my balance.

And let me tell you, that shower I had yesterday was almost orgasmic.

However, washing my hair took almost an hour.

I had a mat in the back that looked like I'd been living homeless for a year.

I am not at liberty to complain about anything, anymore.

People think I'm ridiculous.

Papi thinks I'm pathetic.

I am so hurt that he holds resentment about having to take care of me for 4 years after the motorcycle accident.

There aren't a lot of times I wish I had just died in that crash.

But this is one.

To know that Papi has held in so much all those years of taking care of me is too much to handle.

I hear about it a lot now that I'm capable of doing more.

I hope I never have a problem again that I need help for.

I'll have guilt upon guilt if I do.

I am going to teach today.

It will make me happy to see some sweet, smiling faces.

I have a friend who is in the Pit of Doom.

I have the feeling I've taken on some of her negativity.

I need to find my positivity again.

I saw a quote this week, "Don't let others pull you into their darkness.  Pull them into your light."

But what happens when my light has been dimmed?

How do I pull myself back out again when the one person I'm in contact with on a daily basis is fading and the love of my life is angry for having to come home to a cripple again?

I'm pretty low right now.

I guess I know how I got here.

Frustration, pain and hearing someone I care for want to die every day.

I guess I'll have to step up my gratitude again.

One in the morning, one at night.

If you're feeling low too, maybe you want to join me.

So, I will have to go prep for teaching now.

Smiling faces.



And most of all, no name calling.

Just music.

And now that I don't have that ridiculous chunk of plastic on my leg anymore, I can sit at the piano with less pain.

That will help lift me as well.

I'll hide in my place of music.

I'll ignore the fact that I know how much my love is upset with me.

I'll do whatever it takes to get out of feeling like this.

I'll also do whatever it takes not to have Papi think I'm pathetic.

i choose to let others opinions of me be their responsibility

Gratitude Day 1/10
1. I am grateful I can take baby steps.
2. I am grateful the cast is off.
3. I am grateful I have someone to clean the floors.
4. I am grateful for the children I teach.
5. I am grateful for music.
6. I am grateful I didn't spend a day in bed for 2 days.
7. I am grateful I know how to get out of depression.
8. I am grateful I work hard to get out of depression.
9. I am grateful I can shower.
10. I am grateful there is rain today. 

Monday, September 9, 2013


Jeeeeezus ... I needed that.

I needed to look at a beautiful sight of people being happy and enjoying themselves.

I needed The Chef Extraordinaire to fry up some Dominican barbecued chicken, traditional side plate of fried bananas, and purple potato salad.

I've never seen that one before, but I suppose, here, it's normal to put beets in potato salad and it tasted just as good.

They laughed when I said, "Why is it red!?!?!?"

It was torture for me, walking to our spot, but once I was there, the only time I moved was to go pee in the bush like everyone else.

OK.  Forget about drunk crutching through a crowded bar with the potential of slipping in beer.

Let me tell you, if you've never tried to walk with crutches in the beach, it's a feat upon itself.

... hehee pardon the pun ...

It felt like every step I took, I was going to disappear like sliding into quick sand.

Then, once out of the sinking sand, I had to find a spot to piddle, bushwacker style.

Papi held me up by the armpits and I hoped for the best.

I obviously didn't think about the fact that there wouldn't be a toilet on a public beach.  The public beach IS a toilet for most folks who don't have one.

We watched children playing, teens making music with a güira and conga, and hawks flying above us all looking for their feed of fish.

We didn't bring the princess chair when we realized we were the transportation for everyone.  No room for the chair.

But what they do here is rent out chairs and tables at the beach, so we just rented it.

The funny part is, when these folks want to go home, they come and take back their chairs and tables, kicking you off the beach.

It's a riot!

Partway through our fun time, I noticed Papi was getting a little overzealous with the beer, so I stopped my wine intake quite early.

I was now the driver.

Papi said, "But I feel like it emasculates me!  Here the woman can't drive!"

What?!?!  Who are you trying to kid?

When it comes to wheels here, there is no problem to have 3 grown men groin to butt on a motorcycle.

In Canada?  You wouldn't even have ONE male on the back of your bike.

People are so weird about that in Canada and the US.

Here, I've seen women riding scooters with their boyfriends riding bitch.

The men here hug each other.

They touch each other on the arm, waist, whatever.

They wear bright pink, and are more metrosexual than ANY guy I've seen in Canada.

They don't have anything to prove of their sexuality and here, men just seem to come out of the womb macho.  Could have something to do with the fact that they're put to labour as soon as their arms can wield a machete.

Besides, as far as their concerned, there are NO gay people here.

With the exception of the male hookers, but even then, people rationalize, "They're not really gay.  They just need the money."

So, no, Papi, you will ride shotgun when you've drank more than your share.

And off we went with the portable BBQ to drive our newfound friend back to Cabarete, dropping our DR Family off along the way at our tiny little road to our village.

This morning, our new friend who did all the cooking came bay with a gift.  Sweeter than sweet.

There are some really good people here.

Yesterday, I watch the entertainment and forgot about my immobility for a while, not to mention, finished off the filming for this week's YouTube show.

It was wonderful.

In one hour, we go to the hospital to see if this damn cast can come off.

Wish me luck.  Let's hope this is the day I have my legs back.

If it's not, I will do my best to find ways to enjoy myself none-the-less.

Enough of that fucking bed.

i have the ability to see the brighter side

Sunday, September 8, 2013

one more day.

"Rest." they say.

They just keep saying I need more rest.


So, today, I'm going to rest by the river.

We've been invited to a river party.


Potato salad.

One person who speaks English for Papi.

A different view than the bedroom walls and ceiling for me.

We're bringing the lounging chair from the pool for me to lie on like a princess.

Kind of embarrassing.

No matter.

At least I'm getting out of this bed to rest.

Because they keep saying to rest.


Carry me to the river and I'll do so.

They better let me have this cast off tomorrow.

My good foot can't take it anymore.

Neither can my spirit.

I think what's getting to me is the fact that I spent so many years lying around after the motorcycle accident.

I fought for years to get up off my ass, but at least then I had good pain meds to keep me from losing my mind.

When we got here, I finally started to live again.

So, take that away from me and you'll have a miserable femme.

I don't want to rest.

I want to live.

I want to do things.

I want to be off my ass.

I did my time after the accident.

This is like a cruel trick.

I finally get to start having a life and I'm knocked back down.

Fuck you, whoever decided this would be a good trick to play on me.

They just keep saying to rest.

I've rested for years.

Tomorrow we find out if they take this bitch off.

I can't wait to make myself a salad and homemade, healthy dressing.

Papi's menu of hotdogs, pasta and toast is killing me.


I get to see if I'm done with this punishment.

i express my needs and feelings

Saturday, September 7, 2013


So, I've been off the blog for a few days.

I've been kinda 'troubled'.

I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."

But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.

At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.

Now?  My other foot?  The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?

Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.

Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.

I'm truly losing it now.

I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.

But seriously.

Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.

They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.

They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.

We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.

Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.

He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.

Like stealing from him.

Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.

I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.

I know they're desperate.

I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either.  I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.

We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.

Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.

One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.

It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.

So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.

For that matter, I haven't been filming either.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.

It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.

One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.


Not very thrilling.

I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.

I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.

I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.

And for entertainment tonight?

Drink more wine to stop the whining.

i like long walks

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Peeping Juan is back.

While The Guard was here, he noticed Peeping Juan staring in on our yard.

Normally, I would consider Dominican Daddy to be a sweet man, incapable of intimidating anyone.

With the exception of kids in the village that is.  Oh, but how they listen to him.

So, while he was looking at Peeping Juan staring into our yard, he gave the man the best stink eye I've seen in a while.

I was shocked.

Not just stink eye.

'Staring him down' stink eye.

'Barely blinking' stink eye.

That Peeping Juan never looked in our yard again.

That is of course, until he figured out we don't have The Guard anymore, and while Papi and I were in the pool, he realized I was topless.

We sorta thought we were free of the bastard, so we tried to enjoy our freedom.

I had wrapped my leg in plastic bags, put it up on the ledge and allowed the rest of myself to finally melt into the cool water, reclined on our seating area with my head resting poolside.

It was absolutely lovely.

I thought maybe I could do this more often.  Just have many plastic bags ready.

When Papi told me we had an issue, I damn near flipped out.

Papi said, "Don't freak out.  He has a gun."

I decided, "Fine.  Then I'll chop my mother fucking coconuts with my mother fucking machete and show him I'm capable of chopping his mother fucking dick off if he tried to come near me."

Off I crutched to my coconut chopping area, angrier than a stick poked hornets nest.

Every chop I did I said something that sounded good with exertion.

Didn't matter if it was in English.

"Can you!  Get me!  The!  Ant!  Killer!!!!"

There were ants everywhere.

It didn't matter.  He doesn't speak English.

For all he knows, my anger was saying, "I will!  Chop your!  Dick!  Right!  Off!"

It was my intention anyway.

Even though I was on crutches with a cast, I thought, if this is how I can yield this right now, give me a week, bitch.

You will not be messing with me.

He caught me on a Hurricane Andréa day.

I took all my anger out on that coconut, and the best part was, when I was finished, I had some lovely coconut water to enjoy from my labours.

I imagined myself as a cannibal serial killer, drinking his fucking blood.

I watched his perch as I drank the beautiful healing water.

I'm so angry now about this prick.

When the new people move in, I will tell them what their guard does and request they find someone who isn't a creep.

The new neighbour will understand.  He's an Canadian ex cop.

He won't want a person staring into someone's yard like a predator on his dime.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now.

Mother nature gave me a nice fucking visit, so now I am not an old bag.  Yet I'm still cussing out my uterus for doing the only fucking thing it knows how.

I stopped eating the wheat so my brain is much more manageable.

I have accepted this fucking cast and crutches and am trying to tough out the pain like I did with my bitch of a back for 4+ years until we finally got here to Casa Paraíso.

I managed to play my piano yesterday and just sucked up the pain in order to give my heart some well needed practise, learning the new song MusicMan and I are working on: Jesse & Joy - ¡Corre!

And I showed myself I can still cut a fucking coconut despite my current situation.

Guess what tomorrow's task is?

Coconuts galore!

i am badass

Monday, September 2, 2013

gravity work your magic.

Oh, the ebb and flow of emotions.

Looks like that wave has crashed into the sand today.

Hurricane Andréa is upon us and she is one massive shitstorm.

I have the feeling I'll be wearing the cast for more than the 3 weeks they told me.

I'm still having a lot of pain.

So, having pain means, I'm trying to rest with my ankle up.

Resting too much means my bitch of a back acts up, because it does NOT like to be lying down with all my organs pressing on it for too long.

Fuck you back.  Like I need your fucking bullshit right now.

Then there's the meals I'm being fed, which are increasing the weight of fat pushing against my back as well.

Papi isn't much on cooking healthy food, so whatever is easiest for him is my meal; hot dogs, pasta, cornchips, chocolate.

I'm rolling around like a bloated manatee and having a major issue with my chemical imbalance.  Wheat makes me a little freaky.

Fuck you food allergy crazy brain.  How about we lay off the fucking wheat spaz-out, OK!?!?

Then, add in the fact that my cycle is a week and a half late.

I'm NEVER late.

I highly doubt Papi got me pregnant.

But I'll tell you, this is the PMS people use as an excuse in murder trials.

Perhaps it's due to stress?

Or, perhaps, all that sweating I'm doing has nothing to do with the crutches and the exertion it takes to get around.

Maybe I'm just going to stop that monthly womanly hell all together now and I'm having hot flashes sent directly from hell itself.

I'm old enough to be freed from my womanly duties.

You know what I don't understand?  If my fucking uterus won't give me a fucking baby, then why the fuck do I have to suffer through womanly hell every fucking 3 weeks?!?!?!

Huh?!?!?!  A big fuck you to my uterus.  If I could, I'd rip you out myself you fuckwad!

Not to mention, when I don't exercise, my brain gets a wee bit off kilter.


Put it all together, and I'm a fucking mess today.

I got up and cursed Papi's name a few times when I saw my bread wasn't put back in the freezer.

I'm glad he wasn't up, because after that, I really lost it.

I found our new cutlery in the cutlery drawer on top of all the old cutlery in a colossal clusterfuck of silver.

Swearing his name, I ranted, "What!?!?  Am I living with a fucking child?!?!?  And those fucking dishes!!!  I'm wobbling around in pain and you can't help with the fucking dishes?!?!?!"

When I finally had my coffee I calmed down a little, and remembered that there are many factors adding to my bad attitude today.

That it's not the cutlery or the bread.

I'm not myself today.

I started feeling messy yesterday when I couldn't get the mother fucking free video website to work so I could watch a fucking show and take my mind off the fact that I'm not able to play my fucking piano and ease this fucking insanity.

... excuse the run on sentence ... just felt right ...

I signed up for a free month of Netflix to watch Breaking Bad.

It was a good distraction to watch violence and anger played out by someone else, instead of spewing pea soup with my head rotating a few times.

I'm fucking sick of this.

And like I said, I'm pretty sure this fucking cast is staying on for longer.

I'm not impressed and I'm losing it.

However, what goes down, most definitely comes back up again.

Today's mission is working on patience.

everything happens for a reason

Sunday, September 1, 2013


sunday sillies ...

I have sleep anxiety.

If I know I HAVE to get up early, I just can't sleep.

Here, people get up with the sun.

Easily 6 a.m.

I remember asking the teens, "Are you up to make it to a class by 8 a.m.?"

They laughed at me.

It's not like the teens in Canada.

Teens in Canada will sleep until their mother finally drags them out of bed.

Or at least, that was me, and a handful of friends who can relate.

Not here.

They're up early and working.

Not me.

I try desperately to keep up with the schedules here.

Everyone is so bright eyed, and then there's me.

Don't talk to me until the coffee has done it's job.

But even on my Saturday to teach, I still find that coffee isn't enough because I'm so tired from not sleeping well the night before.

I'm not sure if you noticed a pattern, but there is very rarely a blog on Saturday.

I scramble to get up and out to The Garage Band for the first class of teens.

Then when I'm finished the last class of 7-12 year olds, I'm done and needing a nap.

So I nap.

I just need so much sleep on Saturday.

Anyway, this week, the regular group of teens didn't show up.

There were only 2 kids, who are not teens, but sing with the teens because they're friends with them.

Second group?

One child.

Third group?

One child.

Granted, it was nice to have private lessons that day.

The last child, she's something amazing.

She is absolutely brilliant and gets music quickly.

I'm teaching them some English words.

It was a riot!

I told them, "I sound funny speaking Spanish, so now you sound funny speaking English."

They got a kick out of it.

The hardest word for them was 'sleeps'.

Here, they really don't pronounce very much of the letter 's' in a word.

They drop that letter.

Making it even harder for me to understand anything.

Trying to get them to put an 'l' after an 's' was really hard.

They'll get it though.

And eventually, I'll be able to roll my 'r' properly.

Right now, I just do it at the back of my throat like I'm a growling dog.

I'll get it.

They'll get it.

And we'll help each other.

my pace is perfect