Sunday, May 4, 2014

Sunday Sillies

Here's your YouTube Show.

A little tardy, I must say.

Just came out of a 3 week mosquito borne virus.

But here it is!

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

it was only day one ...

You really have to laugh.

My baby sister saw a pic Papi posted of us while we were in the 2nd tow truck after our car broke down and asked, "Why are you smiling?!?!"

Because you have to laugh.

We have a car we bought from the devil himself.  We had it 'repaired' the day before we left for our trip to the nerve center of this country.

I've been having some troubles being stranded at the side of the road in our small town in the country, but there's one problem area you do not want to experience being broken down in, and true to our nature of never ending drama, this is where the car was grounded.

Now, I've spoken before about how we're living in a pretty vicious country, but just to recap for those of you who are new to my world, people in this country are so desperate to get their cerveza for the day, they will kill you for 5 pesos.

I am not exaggerating.

We set out to the capitol, Santo Domingo, to get my salt air impaired piano fixed by the best in the country.

But not only that, we had 2 computers, also slain from living too close to the ocean, along with our computer we've been sharing and an iPad for the other soul who doesn't get to the shared computer first.

Oh, and cash in case we got stranded.

Off we drove with our tinted windows, to be sure people couldn't see we were gringos right away in hopes that we don't get accosted, and drove on a highway where there is nothing for miles, except for the occasional horse.

It's an ideal stretch for serial killers to dump bodies in, but we don't have that problem in this country.  Generally speaking, that seems to be more of a phenomenon of white men in 1st world countries.

However, it is a great place to be dumped after desperate pirates take everything you own, then kill you so you can't identify them.

Satan's Sedan croaked and we were stranded in bum-fuck-nowhere, Dominican Republic, near 2 horses who seemed to salute us with an anxious, "Neigh!!!!"

We were fortunate that this toll road had an emergency number.  We called it and the woman who spoke speed Spanish did her best to get information out of me about where we were.

"Ummm ... near 2 horses and coconut trees."  It couldn't have been arduous to find the farcical gringos with a raised hood.

When they arrived, they found me searching the grass.  Why?  Because when I had taken the radiator cap off, the lid blew off like a volcano.

Not to mention, I had green coolant dripping from my face, hair and clothing.  The saving grace was that I had waited long enough that the coolant did it's job and I didn't get a 3rd degree burn from boiling fluid.

Papi had a good laugh at my face of disgust.  Yeah.  Really funny.

Anyway, thanks to our emergency crew we didn't get killed by fortune hunters.

The emergency crew called a tow truck for us, but he could only bring us to the first toll booth.  We needed a 2nd one once we passed that border.

Upon meeting the first driver, I had asked Papi to please sit in the middle, so that I didn't have to sit beside what my spidey senses told me was a creepy man.

"No!  You speak Spanish!" Papi said.  Oh yes.  This guy whispered things to me in Spanish that Papi couldn't understand.

Really, I couldn't understand the words, but I understood the energy quite clearly.

We got to the 2nd leg of the highway of hell without being raped and the new tow truck driver, who was a sweet family man, got us to a repair shop with our car and all it's belongings in tow.

This is where we met the garage owner who had two thumbs ...

... i'm not kidding ... it was QUITE fascinating ...

... who told us that our engine was dead.

Dead engine.  Stuck 3 hours away from home, no clue to know whether he was lying or not with one option: we had to accept that we were going to have to pay for a new engine if we were to make it home again with the demon's dump of a jalopy.

An engine takes a little time to be put into a car, so we had a forced vacation, but there's so much more to tell you.

Why I'm writing a blog instead of practising my piano that we went all the way there to get fixed?  Because I can't find my fucking piano power cord.

Jeeeeeezus have I left all my cords in Santo Domingo?!?!?!

We can't do anything without drama, which is entertainment for everyone.

Don't ever feel bad if you have a boring life.

I'm thanking my angels that we got through the trip and made it back home alive.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to a puking puppy.

And people wonder why I started drinking again ...

i allow my life to be filled with peace

Sunday, March 23, 2014

the happy place

I've been working hard.

I haven't been here in your presence.

There have been a few weeks of healing, and The Thug is doing so much better, with the exception of those lumps.  He looks a little on the Quasimodo side with some strange lumps from healing too fast or some strange phenomenon Dr. Bob told Papi and me about.

Our hearts had to heal as well.  It was really hard to edit his footage.

In perfect timing, I've had an opportunity to use playing as a way to feel better through all this.  I've been really enjoying learning new songs for gigs here on the island.

I've taken a temporary detour from translating all the songs I wanted to perform solo in mostly Spanish sets.  I'm working toward 3 potential performances.

It has been glorious to sing and sing and sing and play and sing and play ...

Anyway, I've been practising other songs that are just as difficult for me to memorize as songs in Spanish.

Many moons and moons and stars ago, I was in college in a jazz program.  I'm revisiting this practise of jazz and blues, even though I've been engulfed in pop and rock since the middle of that college program.

There has been a wee obstacle.

My piano.

My machine has been eaten by the salt air that we can sometimes see in the pictures or video we take.

The ocean has already marred my baby.  She's feeling the effects of the salt air, even though I've done my best to keep the doors closed when I play her.

We've only been playing together for, what?  8 months?

She is crying.  An arthritic body.  Some joints hurt, some bones ache, but she doesn't creak, she honks.



There are times I won't even get through a song without the offense that I am in combat with.

Not to mention, this week, she has begun giving me the silent treatment.  Utter refusal to sing certain notes.

My finger sinks into the plastic with no emotion.  Dead note.

But only when I ask her to play more than 3 notes.

I've taken my songs down to bones of only 3 notes to adjust to her temperament.

Spacial playing.  Yeah.  I have an angry piano.

I have found someone to give her the attention she's been honking for.

He was very good at speaking slow Spanish to me on the phone.  When Dr. Piano found out where I lived on the island, he commented, "You know there are people closer to you in Puerto Plata and Sosua?"

Well, I have searched for someone who could definitively say, "I know someone who fixes digital pianos."

That 'someone', Dr. Piano, was referred to me by someone who knows gear in the country.  A guy at a recording studio here on the other side of the country.  I trust him.

So when Dr. Piano tried to refer me to someone who may be closer, I explained  "Well, Wanny told me you were the best in the country.  So, I want the best in the country."

Dr. Piano just laughed and we decided I'll be bringing her in on Thursday.

Thankfully, I practised enough before she had to go in for her visit with the doctor.

I still need her home fast.  I can't perform with a honking piano.

And I can't be here with you as much as I'd like to be.

But I do miss being here.

I'm just busy, and it's the best place for me.

self-worth.  that is pleasant.

sunday sillies ...

My poor baby boy, aka "The Thug" is doing much better, but here are his wounds.

Just nasty.

His bark is back.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

our worst day here

It's going to take a while to write this post with one hand.

My right arm is out of commission, which is very upsetting as Sunday, I received an invitation to my first piano gig on Saturday nights, and now I will have to delay that gig for at least 2 months.

Remember those Rottweilers a few houses down?  This attack was the worst yet.

We were trying to be responsible dog owners and had The Thug wear a muzzle for our beach walk.

When he ran to the neighbour's gate, we thought it would be fine because we were told the wicked woman had moved with her dogs.

She was back, and so was the pack.

They grabbed The Thug by the muzzle and all three of them started to tear at the flesh on his face and head.

Our poor baby had no defence because of the muzzle he was wearing, and the dogs pulled at him so hard his head was pulled right through the fence.

Now they had the advantage because his head was stuck and the three of these dogs really went to town ripping and tearing at The Thug's face, ears, eye and mouth.

We threw rocks, sticks, hit them on the head with the ends of the leashes, until finally, I tried to reached in to pull one of them off.

Instead of helping our sweet boy, I wound up with the Rottweiler's jaw clamped on my forearm.

Flipping my arm about like it was a rag doll, he looked like he was having a great time with the newest toy to enter his space.

Yet, the original toy, our dog, was more enticing and he let go of me to further work on ripping the face off our dog.

I ran screaming to the village for help and lucky for us, everyone came running.

By the time we all got back to the fence, The Thug had gone limp.  I truly believed he was dead.

Not only that, Papi had been bitten as well.

But the men grabbed coconut palm leaves and used the hard ends of the leaves to ward off the dogs.  Looking like lion tamers with a chair and whip, they held off the dogs while a few of us kicked in a part of the fence to help pull out our big boy.

There is nothing heavier than an 80 pound Pitbull who has gone limp after you've had your arm bitten by a Rottweiler.

But I didn't feel the pain of my arm at this point.  My whole mission was just to get my baby out of the fence so that they couldn't remove his entire head from his neck.

There was so much blood I couldn't even tell what his injuries were.

As the owner sauntered toward us, I yelled, "Get these doors fixed!  NOW!" followed by, "Now I need the hospital!" and finished off with giving her the finger and a scream of, "Fuck YOU!!!"  That's a language she understands even if my Spanish was lacking.

Unfortunately, on this North Coast of the island, there are no emergency vets.

We had to leave our sweet baby with Dominican Daddy to watch over him, while we rushed ourselves to the hospital to deal with our own lacerations.

Without getting too graphic for you, we both found that the flesh of our arms was exiting our wounds.

Fleshy bits where they shouldn't be.

It takes 30 minutes to drive to the hospital here.  It was the longest 30 minutes ever.

When we got there, because I couldn't move my fingers, they thought I had a broken arm, which would not be hard to fathom, considering who bit us.

However, I have learned since my motorcycle accident that I have the world's strongest bones and nothing was broken.

I visited The Thug at Dr. Bob's again today to see how he was doing.

He is completely despondent and wouldn't even lift his head when he saw me.

I truly believe he thinks we've given up on him.

Tomorrow he comes home.  Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

Papi, The Thug and I all have some healing to do.  Emotionally and physically.

People in the village have gone back and asked her to fix her gate, because her dogs have not only bit our dogs and us, but they have also bitten a child.

Her response?  "It's not my problem.  This is my house.  I don't need to fix it."

In this crazy, wild west of the Dominican Republic, it is not abnormal for people to be killed when an entire village is outraged.

I just hope they don't poison the dogs.  It's not their fault.  They have not been socialized.

She is the one who is evil.

And I will never put a muzzle on my dog again.

i treasure every day i am living

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

non-consensual flogging

We only wanted to have fun.

We wanted to experience a cultural celebration called 'Carnival'.  It is a month long celebration of Dominican Republic independence.

We took a chartered bus to La Vega with locals for the excursion.  That was fun.

The people we traveled with were lovely.  One man, whom I'm sure is in the closet, needed a hairband for his braids.  I obliged.

Moments later, he gave me his bracelet, simply because I told him I liked it.

There was singing and carrying on, and of course an en route visit to an outhouse so I could practise my Dominican squat.

When we arrived, I noticed vendors selling footballs of varying colours, filled with water giving them solid pressure.  I couldn't understand what they were for, so I simply shook my head when anyone tried to sell me one.

Many people had them, but to me they seemed pointless, until we meandered through the crowd, and I would randomly be hit in the ass by them.

It really hurt and I was stinging from the floggings within minutes of arriving there.

But it was time to go to the parade where my eyes were treated to colours of costumes that were incredible!

Gorgeous!  My only intention was get every costume on my video to show everyone the detail that went into these outfits.

I found out later why every single costume had an evil face.  They were the Diablos Cojuelos, and demons they were.

As I tried to film these demons, it donned on me as to why I was occasionally hit by these strange footballs by various men in the audience.

I began to be brutally belted by the Diablos Cojuelos.

When I was hit by one, I would turn around from the pain to protect myself, only to be hit by another man standing waiting for his turn to beat me.

They hit me with those rock solid footballs with all their strength.

This I know because I saw how hard they hit other women as well, and in a country where you're born with a baseball bat in hand, the swing is strong.

Yet, the women around me only received a seldom hit.

I stood out in the crowd because I am a gringa with blonde hair.  I was a target, and my beatings were repeated well beyond 20 times.

No matter where I went, children and men would attack me with these balls.

At one point, I found a tree and stood in front of it, pressing my ass up against it with my arms fastened tightly around the back in hopes I would be safe.

There was even a point where I was being chased by a few of the Diablos Cojuelos through the crowd, and people parted to give them access to get to me.

Then they cheered as I was assailed repeatedly.

One of the hits I took was so painful I came close to vomiting and passing out within seconds.

Someone told me to sit down, but I was in so much pain, I couldn't even sit to save myself.  I explained this only to have them laugh, thinking I was kidding.

I was in tremendous pain, so much so that it hurt to walk and I could feel the swelling of welts through my shorts.

Inflammation of blood created pressure as it bled beneath my skin, and even the lightest touch from someone brushing against my ass sent pain shooting through my mid-section.

There was one more problem:  I still had to get back to the bus for 6 o'clock.

As I darted through the crowd, I did my best to keep my backside protected by grandmothers, food carts, walls and trees.

I was in full panic anticipating the next beating, looking over my shoulder in fear for 2 hours.

During the weaving in and out of the crowd, still being occasionally hit by anyone who had enough space to do so, we found our group.  The tour guide for the day was sweet enough to give me a barrier to watch for anymore sneak attacks.

Our group on the bus really didn't understand the gravity of the attacks I endured.

Girls told me they hurt as well, but they sat on her bus seat pretty easily, and jumped around with energy.

It took me quite a bit of time to finally settle into my seat.

I had to do it millimetre by millimetre until my entire ass was placed.  I sat, breathing through the pain.

We finally got home from our long day at Carnival and I went straight to the bathroom mirror to look at how badly I was violated.

Here is the 'end' result:

However, yesterday, it was even worse.  The bruising has spread down my legs and the the sides of my hips, and it's almost impossible to find any white skin back there.

I don't think I'll be going back to 'Carnival'.  I'm done.

I'm also not too sure about being in large gatherings with men here anymore.

It's too unpredictable and I don't feel safe.

my life has value and others appreciate who i am

Thursday, February 13, 2014

a raindrop in the ocean

Tomorrow is save the puppies day.

So many dogs here are wild, and the ones that have a family generally aren't spayed and neutered.

This means, many puppies.

Here, people think the only solution is to drop them off in the wilderness, allowing them to die.

Sometimes, they're nicer and kill the puppies quickly so they don't suffer by starvation.

Well, one of the people we have painting Casa Paraíso has 5 puppies.

We can't take one of them, as we have already agreed to take one that is currently in another dog's womb.

Taking one more would put us over the edge with insanity.

6 Bathroom Buddies are enough.


Anyway, when our great painter/Spanish tutor came to work at the house today, he said he and his cousin were going to bring the dogs into the wilderness to let them die, because they can't keep them.

I begged them, "Please, don't do this today.  Tomorrow I will bring them to the AAAS and surrender them."  I explained he'd have to surrender the mother as well for the babies' sakes.

He agreed to the terms.

I know full well that even though I can't do this with every single cat and dog in the country, at least I can do it for one litter.

Sometimes, I just can't handle all this.

The other day, I was frantic when I saw a girl throw a dog into the water with all her force.

I'm not talking play.  I mean it looked like Serena Williams serving in a tennis match.

The rip tide here on our side of the island can drown a human, never mind a small size dog.

Didn't matter to her.

Every time the dog would run back out of the waves, she would pick her up (usually by the collar, choking it) and with every bit of her strength, she would throw it into the ocean one more time.

The dog would eventually surface, gasping for air, ears back and whites of her eyes showing.

This is how she was 'washing' her dog.

I expected her to stop after the 2nd time, but upon the 3rd, I ran to her, screaming in my broken Spanish, "Please stop!  Look at your dog!  She's shaking because she's afraid to drown!  You will kill your dog!"

Then to add an empty threat to the monologue, hoping she wouldn't take me up on it, I added, "If you don't want that dog, I'll take her.  She needs love.  You're going to kill her."

The girl simply apologized to me as if it was only a matter of my problem being sensitive, not having any regard for the animal and what she was doing to it.

Everyone else who watched her do this thought it was normal.

They laughed at me and my panic.

This is one of the hardest things about living here in the Dominican Republic.

The lack of respect for animals.

Then there's road kill.

There are no predators here, so when there's a dead dog at the side of the road, it sits in the sun until it rots.

You see road kill at least once every 2 days.


You see the remains for a good week after, and being that there is only one road you can travel, you are forced to see it time and again.

The last remains we saw were there for so long that after a while it was completely unrecognizable as a dog.

How does an animal lover get past this?

You don't, I guess.

I suppose all I can do is bring those 5 adorable puppies in and surrender them and the mother, in hopes that they will all keep their lives and find a family.

Tomorrow, we save 5 puppies and a mother.

It's like a rain drop in the ocean compared to all the other that are dying.

i accept what i can not change

Saturday, February 8, 2014

here we go!

There's a new round of kids coming in to Dream Project.

Tiny, pumped for the challenge, sweet kids.

They're going to audition for the music program this week.  It's so exciting for them, as much as it is for me.

I love teaching little ones from day one.  It's makes me tingle with happiness when I see their eyes light up after they realize they've played their first song.

It's akin to how I'm feeling about playing my first gig in Spanish this week.

It was kinda sprung on me, but Tuesday I get to showcase some of the songs I've been working so hard on.

It's a gastropub called, 'Voodoo Lounge'.  My kinda place.

It's got comfy couches where you can really sink into the cushions to listen to live music.  You just have to try to ignore the mosquitos who have built condos under the cushions just waiting for a ripe ass to bite.

MusicMan and I are going to play a few songs along with another teacher from the Bachata program at Dream Project.

However, the timing is a bit off.  I was going to put music on the back burner for a month, because we're quite busy prepping the house for sale.

Yes, we're selling Casa Paraíso, for so many reasons.

We love this house, but since the day we've moved in, it has been all about the house.

Repairs, workers, commotion.

We were looking to come here to rest from working so hard for 4 years after the motorcycle accident.  Instead, we've spent the entire year focusing on this house.

It's beautiful down here on the ocean, but to every good there is a balance of bad.


It's killing everything, including this house, and we just can't afford the upkeep.

Plus, I'll tell you, I will be so relaxed when I'm not dodging the chorus of children screaming my name at the gate all day, every day.

I can't even enjoy my yard, because the children think that once I'm out there, I'm their property.

"Gringa!  Open the gate!"

"No, my friends, the gate is open on Saturdays."

Except today, when I found I woke in the middle of the night to feeling quite under the weather.  I haven't slept properly in days and it's not allowing for a healthy immune system.

So, I put a sign up saying, "No class today, I'm sick.  Sorry."

Which prompted every child to come to the gate screaming my name to try to get me to come out.

I tried to ignore them and went to find some more sleep, when I was awoken by The Carpenter who didn't tell me he wanted to work on Saturday as well.

I need peace.  I need sleep.

I also look forward to not having Housemaid.

I'm not into people in my house every day, and stopping by unannounced.  I'd rather clean on my own.

You see, it's kinda hot here and in order to exercise, I have to do it in the nude as clothes really get in the way when you're sweating so much.

So, I have to always be on the lookout for Housemaid letting herself in our house for whatever reason, whenever she chooses.

Unfortunately, it's not like back home, where people usually call before dropping by.  Most people here can't afford the phone call, so they just show up.

That whole Seinfeld thing where people just drop by and expect you to be decent and available?  I'm not into it.

I remember when I was younger, I wished people would just drop by, because then it meant I was loved.

Now?  If you love me, you'll understand that I require a lot of alone time.

Furthermore, I don't like being caught in the nude.

The constant wave of people in my house is not my kinda thing.

These are just two of the reasons for selling Casa Paraíso.

It's been lovely.

Alas, it's time to move away from the cows and closer to the city.

And now, let the house insanity begin!

i live in peace

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

shine on beautiful soul!


I get it.

Some people are overly mean to overweight people.  That's really terrible.

I understand that sometimes it's an eating disorder, just as much as it is food addiction, but other times it's someone who's body is just built that way.

We are all different.

I have this food addiction and I do everything to abstain from the foods I gorge on.

Some people don't care that they're overweight and that is GREAT for them.

However, some of us have other feelings about it.

I, personally, have way too much pain in my knee and back when I put on weight.

Not to mention, I have a different sort of eating disorder that makes me lose my mind.

I would prefer to fit into my clothes so that I know I'm a healthy weight, even if the mirror doesn't allow me to see the same reality.

If I don't, I'm affected by obsession and can't function properly because all my energy is spent freaking out about the pants that don't fit, then I start having anxiety.

It's not fun.  I'd rather just stay at a healthy weight to send the Anorexia Monster back to its hole.

I have a very sweet friend who is working on losing weight.

She has been proudly posting the results of her efforts with glee!

I, and so many others, are so proud of her.

Then, we have the 'mean girls'.

They are being just as catty to her as they were to me and Papi.

Just as negative and hurtful.

The same fucking assholes as we all know they are.


Leave her the fuck alone.

She is doing a good thing for herself.

It doesn't affect YOU.

It makes her feel better.

But of course, 'you', have to try to make her just as miserable as you are.

You're going to run out of people to pick on, you know?

Maybe you'll all just have to start pegging off people in your clique one by one.

Then you'll be left with the king prick who will be lonely at the top.

Perhaps then, that person will have the leftover clique to ostracize them!

Oh, the irony.

Anyway, I'm fucking pissed off that people will harass my friend who is not hurting anyone, but only bettering her own life.

Me and Papi seriously don't think we will ever want to live in Vancouver again with these cretins.

These are some of the meanest people I've ever encountered.

Even being part of The Pariah Club didn't work out for me.

They ostracized me as well.

I doubt they're doing that to this lovely soul.  They are pro-health most of the time.

But still, the other uber-PC people?

I'm not shocked.

When this sweet soul started posting about her journey, I was counting the days before the 'mean girls' reared their ugly heads.

Sure enough, they appeared, spewing filth and negativity.

My sweet friend, you are awesome.

You are doing what so many people struggle to do.

You are paving a path to encourage others to feel better in their lives as well.

Healthy is strong.

You are lovely and don't let any of those creeps bring you down.

I, like the others who are ostracized from that 'community', wish you the best and are rooting for you.

We love you.

Shine on!

i achieve my weight loss goals

Tuesday, January 28, 2014



So.  Many.  Bags.

Not only do stores in this fine country have an obsession with plastic bags, they also encourage their employees to do 2 of the most horrible things ever: tie the handles and bag many of the items separately if they can.

Bags, doubled, for 36 eggs which are already in plastic encasings to deliver them to the market.  Triple plastic.

Seriously.  That's not going to stop them from breaking!

Or, doubled for any kind of meat that is also already in it's own layer of plastic, making sure it's separated in another bag from vegetables (of which you're going to wash anyway) that couldn't possibly be near meat, or you will die a slow, suffering death with the devil itself.

But what makes it worse, is the fact that Papi always rips the handles to open them, rendering them useless.

Papi is too impatient to delicately open the plastic knot.

Sometimes, you can find me in the kitchen with a fork trying to pry open the bag, with the most utter care, to salvage those handles so that I can use those bags again.

I won't let go of the environmentalist in me, even if I live in a country considered un-environmental.

However, most of the time I have my reusable bags, that I brought all the way from Canada, handy.

When they see me coming, they know now that I have my bags, because I am the crazy bag gringa.

Occasionally, I find someone who hasn't encountered the eco-queen, who looks at me like I'm from another country.

Yes.  Judging me by my olive skin, I am.

But the other day, someone asked me, "Why?"

Why do I have my bags?  Well, because of the turtles, of course.

So, they had an answer for my answer as well.

"But the bags don't go into the ocean, they get burned."

Yes.  Burned.

That's how they dispose of garbage here; burning.

There are so many differences here than in Canada, so I could say there are many differences in Canada than in the DR.

I recently found out that there actually IS recycling here.  You just have to find it.

People will collect your plastic bottles, but you have to search them out.  So now I will.

Unfortunately, our dogs will eat the bottles before we can find someone to recycle them.

Speaking of dogs ...

... because of course i couldn't go 2 posts without talking about dogs, could i? ...

... the neighbour I thought would never speak to us again was all smiles as she drove past me while I was at the 'Baby Chower'.

Did I tell you about the 'Baby Chower'?

It's a baby shower, only with someone trying to spell in English on a cute-as-can-be, hand-made invite, about as well as Papi can spell in Spanish.

While we were there, the family asked us to be the baby's godparents.

I told them that we had to tell the last people we couldn't do it anymore, because they were lying to try to get money out of us.

We don't have any.  We have a house.

Anyway, I have no idea where this rant came from.

Right.  Bags.

We went shopping on our fancy shopping cart, 'the quad'.

But this time, I brought my reusable bags.

The woman in charge of collecting pesos asked me, "Where are you from?" followed up by, "Welcome to the Dominican Republic."

I told her we are from Canada.

She asked me, "How long have you lived here?"

How long have I lived here?

I guess I've lived here long enough for someone to recognize I actually live here and am not just visiting.

I am home.

i have the power to change my world

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

a new enemy.

Well, Papi and I have been living here for a year.

And even in our new abode, we really know how to win friends and influence people.

We now have a neighbour that may not like us too much anymore.

We have bad dogs.

Well, one of them anyway.

The Thug is a bit of trouble, but not as much trouble as the 3 rottweilers behind that flimsy wooden gate.

They are absolutely gorgeous, massive dogs.

If I knew they were friendly, they'd be my first stop every day for slobbery kisses.

But, they have a job to do.

Apparently, so does The Thug.

His job is to rip your lips off.

We have been putting the dogs on leashes since The Donkey got too close to them.

The dogs along the beach run to each others gates and torment each other.

Other dogs do it to ours, and in turn, ours do it to them.

As a dog, your turn on the beach with your people means you get to flaunt that you're free and tease the dog behind the gate.

However, these 3 rottweilers don't get to leave the yard, nor do they have a sufficient gate.  They can stick their head through the wood.

Fair enough that her property is so huge that they don't really need to leave to get exercise, but still.  I've never seen her walk them.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, The Donkey being full of puppy pep, ran up to torment them and got her paw bit all the way through to the other side.

It was terrible!

So, we now leash the dogs to get them past the 3 headed monster, that rivals 'Fluffy' in Harry Potter.

All was going smoothly until the other day.

Without a chance of reversing his decision, The Thug doubled back and ran to defy our leash rules.

Unfortunately, one of the dogs got a hold of The Thugs lip and The Thug wasn't backing down.

There they were, each trying to rip one another's lips off.

Blood was staining the wood.

The owner, whom I've never heard anything good about from the village, was screaming and beating her dog with a pool pole.

I released a weird high pitched squeal that involuntarily comes whenever dogs fight.

I yelled for Papi to get a stick so I could pry The Thugs locked jaw open and get him off the other dog.

Both of them have battle wounds.

They had so much blood on their muzzles, that they looked like lions who'd just finished eating their kill for the week!

But the worst part was how the woman started yelling at ME, as if it was all my fault.  "Por favour, nunca mas!"

I really don't think it's only my fault.  I'll take the blame for unleashing my dog too soon after passing her massive property.

Our gate does not allow for our dogs muzzles to get through.

When other dogs come running, all ours can do is run back and forth and bark.

Not to mention, the wood holding back these dogs seems pretty useless.

If she was the friendly sort, I'd recommend putting slats of wood there so that she doesn't have any more troubles.

But so far, we've learned she's not very nice, and now we're a little worried that she may get someone to poison our dogs.

She's definitely not going to be our friend.

Papi and I have an awesome gift of either winning people's hearts, or pissing people off to the extreme.

I suppose, having that information, I should really stop giving a shit about people who hate us.

We have enough of the 'love us' side to make me happy.

Not giving a fuck commences in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

No fucks given!

today i choose me

Friday, January 17, 2014

out to pasture

The cows are in abundance.

The thug thinks they're a toy to play with.

It's a little upsetting.

I'm sure the cows are going to win that game.

The fridge ticks and tacks.

Apparently it's 'doing it's job'.

We should have had cabinets built around our inverters.  Now they are water logged because of the ocean air being full of salt water.

We are without power a lot of the day, every day, but after a year, we're starting to get used to it.

"Oh, you should have the same cabinets around your inverters as your neighbours, then you wouldn't have to buy new inverters."

So, you couldn't have told us that before we went into the hole for 2 new ones?

Ya know?

But back to the cows.

I sing a lot of songs about cows.

Not that I put any away in that locker of music to record.

It's just cow songs.

Like a musical.

While on the road.

Because we're always on the road.

And there are always cows.

So, what else would there be to sing about?

Or for that matter, write about.

So, it's only natural that when we're walking the dogs, after the first river, we'll find a pasture of cows.

Then, being the tyrant he is, it's only natural for The Thug to go torment them.

Off runs Papi.

"Run faster!" I scream.  I don't want our neighbours putting a bullet in our dogs.

I don't want our dogs hurting the cows.

I can now see all the cows running away from The Thug.

But what's worse, is now The Donkey thinks it's time to play too.

She's about as tall as a calf.

Earlier that day, there were the puppies.

It's possible we'll take one.

We miss Pathetic Puppy so much.

It's nice that we have her reminders.  Like my fancy wedding purse with a very special chew hole, courtesy of the baby girl.

It's like she came in the form of a cyclone, destroyed everything, then went back to her angels.

We have her reminders.

But we'll never have that little one eye.

We may have a new little girl to make our lives crazy for a while.

One can never have enough crazy.

Except for the fact that I feel so heartbroken that so many hearts have left my life.

I can live without THAT crazy.

But then, I guess they were never really friends to begin with.

I will keep moving forward.

i choose love

Sunday, January 12, 2014


Haven't been here for a few days.

Over a week I think?

Well, I suppose I've been a tad busy.

I've found it very difficult to stop and chat.

Then Papi got sick.

I tried putting us on a semi-raw food diet.

He's trying to blame the 'healthy' food on his sickness.

"Can't do that!  It's healthy!"

He has eaten the odd salad here and there, so I'm pretty sure that's not what's going on.

Today, I felt something coming on, but it isn't anywhere near my stomach.

All in my sinuses.  And it's not dairy.  Haven't had any.  No, it's some flu bug-ish thing.

But I'll still be eating the healthy stuff.

I went out and bought fruits and veggie galore!

I was all set!  All ready to make Papi & I healthy food so that we would feel healthier.

Except right now, he's eating crackers.

For his 'upset stomach from eating healthy food'.

I'll be sucking on a green smoothie shortly.

I don't care how sick I'm feeling, I'm going to lose this ankle weight I'll tell you.  It hurts my knees, back and ankle.  Begone bitch!

My rowing machine is almost here!!!  I'll row my way to skinny again.

Then there was a conversation about a sandwich.

Or rather, a sandwish.



There's a café kiosk down the road.  They sell sandwishes.

I'll have to try one.

I wonder how the wish comes true?

Do you make the wish when you chew?  Or when you swallow?  Or just mantra the whole wish the whole time you eat the sandwish?

I dunno, but whenever I want to type the word sandwich, I type sandwish, because of the kiosk.

I've been influenced by my surroundings.


I walked on the beach this week.  My ankle is being a bitch about it, but I'm sure I'm getting stronger.


Then we rode the ATV along the sand for as far as the tide would allow.

We found 3 different river hangouts.  We're going to go try one far down the beach next.


I wish, I wish, I wish ...

... to always feel happy in this life.

i enjoy the process of reaching a healthy weight

Thursday, January 2, 2014

New Years Eve in the DR!

So, I was invited to celebrate New Year's Eve with the village.

Instead of just staying right in the village as per usual, everyone was up at the street bar.  You know?  The one where I'm going to have my first piano gig?

There was much dancing and screaming and children running around.

Oh, not to mention the bar chihuahua barking.

It was also someone's birthday on this night.

I don't bring anything with me other than my camera for filming, so I couldn't buy the birthday boy a beer.

I went home to get some money to do so.  120RD pesos will get you the JUMBO beer.  That should do him good.

However, when I returned, I realized that somewhere on that dark, puddled, rocky path we walk to get to the street bar, I lost 100 of the 200 pesos I had brought.

Upon stating this, out loud, it seemed the entire bar emptied.  I suppose to go find my 100 pesos and get themselves their beer.

Finders keepers!

I wasn't about to do that night time trek through the paths of the village to look for the equivalent of $2.50.

I still don't know who the lucky person is who found it, but shortly thereafter, everyone decided to go to the Party At The Gas Station!!!

Sounds like a great place to have the New Years countdown, no?

I went home to get my purse and use the washroom, and dammit, I locked the padlock on the iron gate, but had left my keys inside!!!  For fucks sakes!!!

Let me tell you, that lock is STURDY. Nobody will get through it with difficulties, and it made me happy to know we're in such a secure house.

It took 3 people and 40 minutes to get the iron gate open.  They finally just had to break the iron that the lock was on, because that lock wasn't budging.

I fully recommend the Yale lock we have.  100%.

By the time they opened it, we had 20 minutes to get to the Party At The Gas Station!!!

All the cabs were full, so I did what I said I would NEVER do.

Take a moto.

There I was crammed between Housemaid and our driver.  Terrified.  I was thinking, "This may be the day that I die."  However, our driver wasn't a drinker, so I felt a little safer.

Honestly, we got to the Party At The Gas Station!!! with 5 minutes to spare and my Honky 'Fro looking like a street cat had nestled in it.

I didn't care.  I only wanted to film their countdown.  Problem is, they don't countdown.

One person yells it's time and the rest of the party erupts in a fiendish jumping, screaming, bottles clanging, motos tooting and engines revving.

By the time I realized what was going on, I had to turn my camera on as fast as possible!!!

I still caught the mayhem, because it went on for about 15 minutes.  I only wish you could have seen the initial wave of screams as it neared us at the far end of the bar!

But then!  All of a sudden the people we met there left to go to bar #3!

There I was following along like a lost puppy to the new one that has just opened up down the road.

It was time for some serious dancing.  And boy did the men there want to dance with the gringa.

I tried to tell one guy, that was a tad touchy-feely, that I was married, but the word 'married' (casada) and 'tired' (cansada) are very similar, so after he was groping I merely had told him I'm tired.

Good one.  Yeah.  That will do the trick.

Thankfully, I had Housemaid there to watch while they tried to lure me to the back of the club (I don't want to know the reasons), but Housemaid would pull me back to the front where it was safe.

It was my FIRST Bachata dance!  Bachata music is a native music to the Dominican Republic.  I learned the moves really fast and damn, if I do that once a week I'll have thighs like a tree trunk!!  Now I know how all the girls have such plump round butts here!!!

I was also pleased that my ankle could do it.  More than pleased if you want the truth.  I wanted to dance all night!

But now it was 3 in the morning, and everyone we knew left to go to bar #4 in Cabarete.

Not me.  It was time to go home in a cab with drunk locals, which was also party in itself.

I wish Papi were here for the entertainment.

Only 2 more sleeps!

my life is filled with joy