seriously, pass the wine

OK.

So, maybe the 'rules of etiquette' are that you only pour 2 mm of wine in a glass, but why?

My mother is Miss Manners to the extreme.

Right up there with Martha Stewart.

Not sure where this debutant social grace came from.

She really is just a Yukon child raised in East Van.

Did they have this protocol in the land of flannel?!?

She was a single mom who really had nothing and had a mother who didn't really help her out much, because she chose a family over school.

Yet somehow, she got this fancy pants personality.

So, when I said I'd like to indulge in the red wine, she poured me 2 sips in a glass.

2 sips.

I asked my baby sister as to why so little, wondering if maybe it's because she's worried because I'm experimenting with drinking like a 'normal' person.

Which kinda confuses me.

When I drank many years ago, she told me I had a drinking problem, in a not so sweet way.

Then when I was clean 'n sober, she asked why on earth I'd want to do that because I never had a drinking problem.

But now that I wanted to experiment with drinking in a sane manner, she pours me a millimetre of the bevvie?

She might as well have put it in a plastic sippy cup.

Anyway, mother left after a few days here in the blistering cold and I spoke to my baby sis who explained that it's what charm school people do.

If you drink white wine, you get a half glass, if you drink red, you get a couple of sips.

Are we who like red automatically labeled the wine-o-s?

Curious.

Apparently, it's because red you sip and white you gulp.

So what!

Gimme me half glass of red wine just like your white!

You really want to keep getting up and refilling my glass until I drink my allotted amount?

That seems like a lot of work!

And besides, I want my half glass of wine goddamit!

Now, mother has left the building, back on her flight back to Vancouver, my baby sister poured me my half glass.

I don't need more than that.

It's all I want.

It's my only evil for crying out loud!

Except for the sugar I've indulged in over the past few days.

I have pimples that are rivalling my nose.

Not sure where my chin starts and my pimples end.

Really sexy.

Not the greatest femme look.

Pizza face.

But I only have a few days left of the bad food.

This size of jean is not going to be my permanent size folks!

Things are going to change when I get back.

Except for my half glass of wine.

Fuck etiquette.

Fuck manners.

Gimme my half glass of wine.

I know Papi will pour it properly.

i know i am loved by family

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

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

just love me

Well, Chantal was pretty calm on this side of the island.

Yeah, I drove through some heavy rain, and the thunder was AMAZING!!!

But there was no wind and nothing to write home about.

However, I guess I do have something to write home about; the lack of entertainment mother nature provided yesterday.

I was anticipating encountering my first true, tropical storm.

People on the south of the island got hit quite hard and unfortunately, one person died.

They had a lot of flooding and no power.

They looked a bit like Toronto or Calgary in Canada this past Spring.

Us?  Well, our gardens got quite the feeding yesterday.

Because Papi and I were not ready for our anniversary, our day was celebrated by lying around in bed, oohing and ahhing at the lighting and thunder, and watching the first episode of Dexter.

Ooooh that new character is a good one, but damn, that show is not the same with the bleeping of every 'fuck', 'shit' and blurring of boobs.

We also looked for our dwelling for our anniversary vacation, but everything is booked.

Talk about leaving things to the last minute.

We suck!

Mind you, things have been a 'tad' hectic around here.

I remembered about our anniversary the last week of June, then of course, stress set in and out the back door went that memory.

At least I beat Papi to the punch of being the first to say it on our day.

I waited and waited for him to wake up, and at the crack of 3 p.m. I turned off his air conditioning and up he was!

I also took the opportunity to yet again, email someone I thought was a friend, who owes us money.

Here is my newest 'rule' of life.

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, put money between a friendship.

Give!  Yes!

We gave to a friend in need yesterday, when her poor sweet kitty needed medical attention and she had no money.

Yes, we give, and we receive when we are in need as well, no problem.

But selling, renting, or any other 'business' with a friend is now off limits.

First of all, we've been waiting for the money for a few months past when she said she'd pay, but the worst part?

I've lost a friend, because she won't even speak to me.  She won't even return my emails.

Most people, when I tell the story to them, they merely say she was never a friend to begin with and that I haven't lost much with someone who is dishonest.

However, I am sad.

I am always sad when I lose a friend that I love, and go through all the steps of grieving what's vanished.

No matter what it is they do to hurt me, no matter how much anger I feel, I am still sad at the disappearance of someone I considered a friend.

I just want to be loved, and I swear, it's one of my top missions in life.

Love me.  I just can't handle the rejection.

Yet somehow, not only am I rejected by one person, I seem to get entire PODS and cliques who ostracize me with one word from their leader who tells them to do so.

I suppose, people only do this to people who seem strong, to try to knock them down.

I suppose, people see me as strong.

I suppose, all those who tell me I am, are correct.

I suppose, what I gain when someone hurts my heart, is my spirit is pulled closer to those who are endless with their love for me.  It shows me just how good people CAN be in this world.

Still, my poor little heart aches when I have experienced the failure of a friend.

My dear, you have indeed wounded me.

Maybe everyone was right, that you never intended to pay us the money, even though you wrote us a contract.

Fool me once.

Indeed, your karma awaits.

i receive all feedback about a decision with love, but make the final call myself

Garage Band

... your sunday sillies ...

Well, it wasn't the throngs of children I thought it would be.

No, it was quite a bit different than how I had it pictured in my mind.

I waited patiently, sitting on my little foot stool, outside Casa Paraíso.

In hand, I had my Sharpie Pen drawings of the first two notes I'd teach them, along with the list of names I had compiled of all those interested.

Nobody came.

Eventually, I saw one child nearing my direction.

Ah!  Dominican Time!  I see!

But alas, he was only going to watch them build the house next door.

So, I decided to take a stroll through the village.

Once more, I felt like the pied piper.

Not to mention, a little like the town cryer, "It's music day!  Do you want to sing with me?"

All I need is a solid brass hand bell to ring it on Saturdays when it's time to start!

One by one they'd follow, and when I was done, that list of 40 children was reduced to about 12.

No problem!  I'm good with that!

We all scampered to the beach in front of our house, and the children automatically planted themselves firmly on a log.

One problem: I had to yell above the waves!

By the time we were done, my voice was so weak, it sounded like it used to after an ear damaging concert when I was a teen.

No, this is not going to work.

I can't have them in my yard, because of the danger of the pool and puppies.

My foresight was right in that they'd be like Mexican jumping beans.  It's hard to teach, PLUS keep an eye on these little critters.

I don't need someone drowning in the pool or harassing a dog so much that they get bit.

So, next week, we're in the garage!  Our new digs!  The Garage Band.

No yelling, shelter from rain and safety from The Donkey who is sure to bowl over anyone who is close to the height of my hips.

Not to mention, we'll have the acoustics of an A-Frame room!

Furthermore, I won't have to watch them pee on our property.

I'm not kidding.

Middle of the lesson, they had to pee, and one by one they walked to the corner of our lot and peed on our wall right in front of me.

I think they had a bit too much fun doing this.

Papi was a bit appalled when I laughed about it, but I assured him, "Honey, they pee on our wall anyway, so it's nothing new.  The ocean is their washroom."

I can't tell you how many human feces we've seen along the shoreline.

Anyway, there are always a few trouble makers, but I'll tell you, if I'm not getting paid to teach, then I won't have them in my class.

I gave one a strict warning with the first set of 'rules', "You're here to sing.  If you don't want to sing, you go to your house.  I've told you twice, third time you go."

My Spanish was sufficient enough to get the point across, so he adhered to my wishes, however, I'm pretty sure I'll be learning his name first.

All in all, it was a fun 30 minutes and they learned 3 notes, 2 beats and a chorus of the song.

Afterward, one of the mothers, seeing that I was teaching children for free, took it upon herself to announce that she is Christian.

I suppose because it's something some people with religion do; help the children with no pay.

I told her, "I'm Jewish."

She touched my arm as if I needed consoling, and said, "Oh, that's OK.  You're still doing it for the kids."

Well!

I'm really glad that's 'OK' and that I have your approval!

She told me her son plays the piano at his school, so it looks like I have the beginning of the band I need!

Slowly but surely, we'll make it.

And I'm positive that more will join us next week.

I need that bell.

i believe in my ability to change the world on a small scale with the work i do

stuck in traffic?

Oh, if you've ever been hard on yourself for falling, you will get this.

If you haven't, well, perhaps you're searching for a better understanding?

Be patient.

You will get your turn.

It's ok to fall and get back up, and anyone who can't handle it is too weak to see what it's like to topple and discover where it takes you.

If people around you can't cope with the honesty that accompanies pain, they obviously haven't succumbed to that experience, and are not worthy of your voice.

I get the message from those who equally show animosity toward us.  Your message is clear.

If you ever really want to know who doesn't like you all that much, and only tolerated you while you were around, move to another country.

It's so much easier to figure out now that we're an ocean away.

Very quickly you'll figure it out who your friends are, and you will fall when you have the knowledge of who truly isn't.

People don't have the possibility of seeing our face 'around' after they've been rude.

So, the snide comments and the lack of friendliness I receive, I understand the words you're not saying, even if you're too afraid to tell to be honest that you're on the hate the Hector-Brown bandwagon.

It's much easier to be inconsiderate than to ask someone what they've experienced.  It takes time and effort to find out what the other half of the story is.

Papi and I good with it.

Our friend pool got quite a bit smaller in a damn hurry, but we got to see what trust really is and what friendship really means.

Someone recently acquired the same treatment we inherited.

They've been left behind by the wolf pack 'community'.

Now they understand where we am coming from.

When you run with the wolves, you get pack treatment and are subject to pack mentality.

The lower in rank you are, well, you will have your turn to be tossed to the side by the almighty alpha, who tells everyone which trail they are 'allowed' to follow and what the 'rules' are.

I choose not to follow the pack.

You know when you take the main route and get stuck in a traffic jam?

Well, those of us who take a different route, rather than following the main road, get more mileage out of our gas, because we're not at a standstill, idling.

It may mean I feel more alone, and sometimes a little scary being on my own on this scenic route, but at least all my decisions are made by me and not the herd.

Not to mention, there's plenty of room to park on my avenue.

But if you choose not to turn off the main vein and continue to sit in the bottleneck, you won't have the liberty of stopping at that coffee shop I chose to take a break at.

You'll be stuck in the blockage of traffic, staring at red, illuminated brake lights, while sitting in congestion.

And I'll tell you, while I'm taking that shortcut, I'm not stuck in the stink and smog of all those who spew their filth into my air.

I sure can breathe well.

There's also so much more to see going my direction.

I hope you find your secret passage, but if you don't, be wary.

When you run out of gas and the gridlock leaves you behind, you will completely understand what I'm talking about.

Good luck finding someone else to help fill your tank.  Everyone will be passing you by to try to catch up to the traffic ahead of you.

If I see you on my stroll, I'll definitely help you out.

I have plenty of fuel to share.

I also have the time to hear your story.

i take great pleasure in my friends, even if disagree or have different lives

i need help.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show:

I wish life were as silly as it seems on these videos.

I tend not to tape a lot of the real deal for these videos, but I will start to.  No point in calling it the live version of the blog if it doesn't reflect it, no?

If you're a Facebook friend, I'm stepping away from the toxicity for a week or so, but I'll be back to post next weeks YouTube show.  I need to only speak to close friends right now while I try to get better.

If you're an avid blog reader, you know I can't stay away from getting my emotions out here, so I'll be writing, but there won't be any posting to Facebook for the time being.  You can add me on G+ or Twitter if you want reminders, or feel free to come back on your own accord with your own memory of me here.

... i want to fade away ...

I have great gratitude for my texting system on this computer to get a hold of my baby sister and my Eternal Friend, and I'm adding a few more who have iPhones so that I can have someone to contact when I feel I'm falling again, or when I need to be honest about the thermonuclear meltdown that is Hurricane Andréa.

Fitting, that there is an actual Hurricane Andréa as we speak.

When I have bad energy going on, the whole world gets to experience it.  Sorry about that folks.  I have SOME power, don't I?

Yesterday was the most difficult as I was in panic attack mode for about 6 hours straight.  Hyperventilating, I couldn't walk very far, because my lack of breath stole my strength.

But that didn't stop me from getting to the kitchen.

The day before, cutting my arm stopped my tears.

It didn't work yesterday.  I tried on my leg, but to no avail.

I even went as far as using a serrated knife in hopes that it would go deeper and I would bleed out the pain of tears.

It didn't work.  All it left me with are a bunch of painful cuts and welts.

Papi got a little angry when he saw them.  He hadn't seen the first ones because I wouldn't really let him get close enough to me to see them.

But he grabbed my arm in anger of the realization that I'm a hell of a lot sicker than he thought.

Well Papi, if I have to watch you harm yourself, then you get to watch me harm myself too.

I took more of Papi's clonazepam to stop what felt like lung convulsions, because I came to the conclusion that hurting myself isn't helping matters.

I'll try not to hurt myself anymore.  I just need some peace.

Today, I thought I would water my fruit trees and garden at 8 a.m. without any chance of kids finding me, but Our Favourite was at the gate.

I was able to hide behind the new casita until he got bored and left.  I made the house look like we were not up, but that the dogs were in the yard without us.  Yes, once again I am held hostage in my prison away from the beauty of the outside world.

Even in my tears yesterday he wouldn't leave.  I was crying so hard and he just tugged at my arm wanting my attention.  I said, "No friends today!!!  Today is a very bad day!!"  Which is an understatement.  I am in full throws of the Pit of Doom.

Children don't get it, but at least he didn't see me while I hid behind the casita today.

Papi said he was moving into the casita, then changed his mind.  "Why should I have to?  This is my house too."

Then I found his stash of alcohol he had hidden.  I threw it on the bed and asked for a divorce.

Later, I asked him if he was drinking and using pills because he WANTS me to leave.  "Do YOU want a divorce?"

No he didn't.  So I told him that I would suffer through his drinking, but there were going to have to be some 'rules' in place.

You drink?  You do it outside, never around me.  You are alone or you can knock yourself out with the other alcoholic, Mr. Gummy, in the village.

You are drunk?  Do not bring your stench of musty, rotting, repugnant, day-old alcohol smell into the bed.  It's enough to make me puke.  Sleep elsewhere when you are offensive and fetidly rancid.

You pass out in the pool?  I'll still drag you out, because I love you too much to lose you to death.

You kill yourself from drinking?  I'll pull your dried, brittle bones from the ground and lie in them every night so that I'm never away from you.

I look at the dried blood on my cuts and wish that it were simple enough to bleed out the tears that feel like they flow through my veins.

All I'm left with are welts and scabs.  No relief.  I need some peace in my heart.

I've begged the angels to help me with this, but I'm not feeling like they're responding.  So, could someone please send me yours?

I really need help right now.

i forgive myself for any and all past mistakes

survival.

Shit hit the fan yesterday.

Wasn't mine.  I'm feeling much better thank you very much and I'm also a good aim in the toilet.

We took the last pennies out of our credit cards and we're totally, 100% screwed.

Like, we have zilch and we have people to pay.

The DoorMan will wait a few weeks.  He's a patient guy and has lots of money until we do.  It's the hard workers in our yard that I'm worried about.  They live with very little and depend on our money to feed them and their babies.

We'll be living off staples for a while.  Hello rice 'n beans!  Food of the nation!

... if you like my blog, you could by me a coffee ... here >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Can you see me when I've run out of coffee, begging in the village for a cup, while haggard and out of my mind from the lack thereof?

I don't have anyone in the family who has an abundance of money, so I can't ask them.

Papi, well, he feels that he's been such a thorn in his family's side growing up that he can't ask now.

I reminded him that the last time he borrowed, he paid back.  That shows he's not the same bratty drug addict that just took, took, took.  That shows that we are responsible.

I'm brainstorming in how to get a job here, even though it could mean disaster, because Papi sleeps til quite late and someone needs to be up for everyone; The Carpenter, Dominican Daddy, Housemaid, Little Angel to be dropped off for a few hours.

But I think I need to try to find money for food, and I also need to remember that every time in my life that I've been this desperate, everything always works out.  I will ask the angels to help it work out.

It would be nice if Mr. Lumpy would lend a hand.  Goddam freeloader pops up without so much as OFFERING to paying rent.  That bastard has cost us $800 so far!

I emailed PanMan to say that I wanted to come and talk about how I can help him, and earn money at the same time.

I also thought about all the amazing wheat free, dairy free options in the world that aren't here on the island.

Hey, I need 'em.  I could distribute them, then I could have them and earn money at the same time, no?

It's going to take me way too long to find my musician people to make an income from.  That will come, but not right now.

I need money now.  Prince Papi couldn't even buy his orange juice yesterday!  The horrors!  He goes through 2 litres in a day and a half.  It's better than pop, but I'd sure like to see him on water.

One of those massive water jugs is only 40 pesos, which is equal to one buck and is healthier and definitely cheaper.

I've had to stop drinking the water from my machine, because I can't afford the filters, and we're going through them fast because we STILL don't have clean, healthy water.

Now, we need to buy a machine that will clean the water, akin to my little drinking machine, only for the whole house and pool.

That's a lot of work for a machine, so it's a big bugger, which is a lot of money, so it's gonna have to wait too.

At least it's not shit water anymore.  It's just really full of sediment, but still, I'm thinking that's where that last round of sickness came from.

Someone does owe us some money, and I've contacted them, but no response, so I guess I won't hold my breath on that one.

New 'rule': NEVER do money business with friends.  It inevitably ends with no friendship.  Keep them separate.

I've now lost 2 friends in 4 months due to money and it hurts, really, really hurts to lose friends over money.  From this point forward, money and friendship will never happen at the same time.

Unless I'm giving.  That's a different story.

I give a lot, but I also get screwed for it, like when in a heated moment, someone commented on how selfish we were because we only 'threw a few 20's their way' and that we could have given more.  Live and learn.

Anyway, it's time to try to find a job so that I can keep buying the locals' veggies and fish.

I'm so fucking scared right now it's got my PTSD on high.  Panic attacks galore.

You know it's bad when I look at what I have left of my chocolate and am thinking of how I can ration it out to last the 20 days before we get paid again.

Torture!

More importantly, the puppies and cats need food.  Looks like they'll be eating rice too.

This is where the fun begins and the stories of yesteryear happen.

Survival.

i prosper wherever i turn and i know i deserve prosperity of all kinds

Say it isn't so.

Well, I'm back on the drama buggy.

You know how sometimes, you say things out loud and they don't come true?  You jinx it?

Well, I'm hoping that by writing this, that happens now.

I'm hoping that it's just 'nothing' and will be taken care of swiftly, because I needed to take one of Papi's clonazepam to help me stop obsessing about the tissue issue and actually sleep last night.

Sleep I did.

Then resumed thinking about it the moment I awoke.

My breasts have always been a little on the lumpy side, so I've had to get used to that when I check myself out on a regular occasion.

However, upon itching and scratching my boob a few days ago, there was something that didn't feel like my normal tissue.

Last night, I felt it again and it definitely didn't match the rest of my breast and it's nothing I've felt before.

One thing I wasn't completely honest about with my itchy boob post the other day, is that it's only the right side that's itching.

I sorta didn't want to say that out loud, when I coupled it with the fact that there is something there that doesn't feel 'normal'.

I asked Papi, "Please, can you appease my paranoia?"

When I told him what for, he felt the problem and when he touched it, it really hurt, because he wanted to get in there to make sure he was feeling what I was feeling.

He immediately started crying.

My dearest Papi went into trigger mode, from memories of having to watch his mother suffer from cancer, only to lose her in the end.

We calmed ourselves down by trying to remember that if this is a problem, they do great things now.

Great things other than just cure that damn disease.  But then the cancer industry is too big to do that.  They'd lose a lot of money if they cured it.

Anyway, off my soap box.

A lot of women have a lump and they get it removed to find that it's really nothing.

Well, yesterday, we didn't get to the hospital for my ear that isn't hearing properly, but today, we'll be going for a mammogram, no matter the cost.

We'll be accompanied by Visa, MC and Amex, our good buddies as of late.

If there is an actual problem, I'll be getting back to Canada pronto, again, regardless of the cost.

So, there.  I said it out loud.  Now it won't be true.

Right?

One of the reasons we never made it to the hospital yesterday was because our neighbours (you know?  the people everyone judges about me back home, because they're supposed to be allowed to steal from us?), called Mr. Extortion to say we were doing work in our yard.

They cut a kick back for tattling and they do everything they can to get money out of us.

No matter how hard we try to be friends, even after we see them steal our concrete and our cement blocks, steal our wood, paint, they still only want MORE money from us.

They don't want to be friends.

I told the Housemaid, who has the biggest gossip problem in the village that they are not our friends, because friends wouldn't do that.

... friends also honour their contracts ... sigh ... say goodbye to another friend back home i loved ... you've officially put a stake through my heart ...

They don't WANT friendship, they only want our money.

So fuck it, I'm done.

Judge all you need to North America's West Coast uber political.

Call me racist if you need to make yourself feel superior and try to put me down, but from this point forward, congeniality will be the name of the game, not giving.

I'll still teach their children music, because those little innocents didn't do anything wrong.  Their parents haven't taught them the best ways to steal.  Yet.

As for Mr. Extortion, I don't care HOW big his fucking gun is, I'll be telling him I know the 'rules'.  You can only take from us for a new building.  It's not new.  It's a repair of the old.

Go away.

Shoot me if you have to, but you're not stealing anything more.

I have much bigger things to worry about than your non-stop theft.

i replace my anger with compassion and understanding

bossy boots in da house!

The pool is being filled with river water!

By tomorrow we should be swimming.  I was hoping for today, as I kinda put my back out yesterday and I'm in a little need of some exercise, pain free floating and fresh blood to pump into the spasm.

I forgot we have a walkway with a step now and I went down jarring my bloody back.

Of course it was because I was distracted.

This damn injured brain can't do two things at once, or there's trouble, and its balance is so horrific that I'm a permadrunk.

I was distracted because was angry about the Housemaid meddling in our business again and telling the workers what we wanted, when we have told her, and them, 20 times what we've wanted.

She wants to keep more of the money she wrangled from us.

Nope.  You steal that amount of money, you're giving us what we paid for.

But she kept on telling the workers, "No door.  Just a concrete wall."

Right.  We just moved to paradise on the ocean to look at a fucking concrete wall.

I don't think so.  We're having our wooden slats in front so that we can still look at the ocean, and that is the last word.

I had to get stern with her and tell her she is not in charge, that she works for me and that if she's going to talk about this, she talks about it with me and nobody else.

Then I had to remind her of our contract of what we agreed upon, and that we WILL be getting what we agreed on.  Period.

This exchange of hardheaded communication was while Papi was yelling at the entire neighbourhood.

You see, we came home from a quick shopping excursion to practically all our neighbours having a party in our yard.

Everyone was hanging out on our deck, sitting in our furniture, hanging out pool side, and kids and dogs were running around the yard.

I have to keep telling the kids to stay away from the pool to set up the ground 'rules', because I'm not being responsible for a drowning accident on my property.

But this was ridiculous.

So, Papi lost it after hearing that the Housemaid was trying to talk to someone in Spanish saying something contrary to what we agreed on.

He yelled at everyone, "If your'e not working get the hell out!  This is our damn home!  This is not a public park!  Go on!  Get the hell out!"

Oh, they didn't understand what he was saying literally, they just knew they should leave, NOW!

From that point forth, the kids stayed on the perimeter and just looked in.

It was then that the Pool Man's wife said, "You're a strong man now.  Now everyone will respect you. You won't have any troubles anymore."

The funniest part was, everyone just went on like nothing happened.

I know that in Canada, if Papi yelled like that, there would be much hostility, glaring of eyes, exchanges of hurtful words and perhaps even a fist fight.

Like I learned from my Spanish teacher back home, it's the way people communicate here.

You fling your arms about and puff yourself up, speaking louder than the one before you, and it's just the way it has to be if you want someone to listen to you.

I have to say, I was a little taken aback, because I'd never seen Papi that angry!

But then, I've never seen myself be so strict with someone who is trying to take advantage of us either.

When the Housemaid and I were finished communicating, I found a place in myself that was stronger than I'd ever seen.

I say that I have to teach the Housemaid how to clean, because from living in a shack her whole life, she doesn't really know what North American clean means.

But honestly, she's training us how to be firm, and the nicest part was, there was no disrespect involved.  It was just hard-nosed heart.

This morning when I let the puppies out to pee, ...

... not that they needed to, the floor was covered in puppy art for me this morning ...

... the workers just waved like they do every morning with a smile.

And you know what?  There were no kids running around our yard.

We're closer to the peace of Casa Paraíso we came for.

That light at the end of the tunnel is shining very brightly as I watch the last of the river water getting poured into our pool, and that damn wooden door is finally getting put up so that I can let the dogs run free.

Shine bright, light.

I can see you now.

i feel good about the way i do my job

an anonymous encounter

At the very least, The Mrs. forgives me.

I was told I was feeling too guilty about the whole Papi relapse debacle, and that I was doing the right thing.

I know I am, but it's hard not to be with my love, especially when we had such a wonderful day yesterday.

It was really nothing out of the ordinary, as we saw the G'ma and answered the same questions she asked when I saw her last week.  We went to the house and I apologized to our Fuzzy Family and gave them as much love as I could for that short period of time.

We had such a nice time just talking about 'nothing' in particular.  It felt like I'd never been gone.  It also felt like this 2nd week will be the hardest. 

Papi, being the person cleaning up his act, feels it's kinda silly that I'm staying away for another week, because he's dedicated to staying clean 'n sober.  I now believe and trust this to be the truth.  I honestly just felt like staying with him last night, but Java the Mutt was relying upon me.

I don't even know where the 2 weeks 'rule' came into play.  It really was just a thought that I had while there was more snot and tears on my face than skin.

However, there is a reason, and I don't even know why.

I have some strange alternate sense that I don't even understand.  It doesn't matter if I don't understand, because I trust my intuition, even if others don't.

At the end of our day together, I didn't want to leave mi esposo, so I decided to join him at a late night meeting.

You know that meeting?

The one we're never supposed to talk about, because it's anonymous and is full of drunks who may, or may not, be sober.

Yeah, that meeting.

For my own sanity, I had to stop going to their convergence 8 years ago.  Their idea of non-denominational membership was not the same as mine, and I'd always leave feeling empty, because I didn't believe in 'their god'.  All it did for me was make me want to give up on happiness and drink.

Well, last night, guess what the topic was?

Yup.  God.

... for fucks sakes people ...

And guess who was the first person asked to share?

Yup, me.  Can you guess what I said?  I'll put it in a nutshell.

"I had to step away from these rooms, because they're supposed to be non-denominational, but somewhere along the lines, this became a Catholic church.  I'm still looking for that atheist meeting that actually follows the tradition about non-denominational fellowship.  I still need to be around sober people, because honestly, when my spouse was drinking in the beginning, I thought that if he could drink, maybe I could too.  I'm grateful he relapsed into a bottom to remind me that I too, am not able to drink normally."

Oh, I went on and on with more of my non-god talk and that's when people left the room.

I'll never be asked to share at that meeting again, I can promise you that.

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to everyone who did stay trying to convince me of the 'miracles of god', and I overtly rolled my eyes the whole fucking time.

Until 'god' gives me a phone call to tell me he exists, there's nothing that little books written by humans, and 'ideas of proof' can tell me to make me believe in some dude in the sky with unruly, unshaven hair, Birkenstocks and a toga.

They wonder why people won't go to their meetings.  They wonder why people would rather die out on the streets than get the help that they so desperately need.  People are dying because the zealots can't respect the tradition of the program being non-denominational.

The zealots took over and royally fucked it up for the rest of us.

The good news is, I did find some words about sobriety that were good for me to hear, and I took those words and left the rest of that fucking bullshit there.

I may go back, because I have less anger about their podium gospel since I left 8 years ago and tackled my sobriety on my own.

I'm still sober, without your fucking belief system, which is more than I can say about a fuck of a lot of people there who think that memorizing a book is the only way.

End rant.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

Hell of Halitosis!

It's such a beautiful day.

Not just the weather, but because I get to see my love for the afternoon.

Our date has no schedule or timed itinerary, and I don't care.  I just want to be with Papi no matter what.

Our day will involve a visit with the G'ma, who is still giving us the guilt trip for 'abandoning and neglecting her, and forcing her into a home while we take over her house'.

... you know the drill ...

Anyway, Papi now has 7 days of healing.  I'm 7 days happier.

Yet still, I just want to go home NOW.  I want to renege on my 'rule' of not being there for 2 weeks until his socks are fully pulled up.

Yet, I won't, because I'm too afraid of what that will bring.

I miss my Fuzzy Family so much.  It's nice to have Java the Mutt here for a distraction, but he's not my babies.

The last time I went to the house, The Mrs. gave me the cold shoulder.

There is nothing more heartbreaking than an Fuzzy Family member snubbing you.

It adds to the sadness.

To know that this whole thing is affecting each and every one of us just sucks.

Such is the life of us addicts.  We really do affect everyone around us.

It's made me realize that a lot of my pain around Papi using is really not about my love having a weak time, it's my own P.T.S.D.

When I had to leave the home with the heroin addict I was in love with, it was torture.

I grieved for 2 years over the fact that I couldn't help her, couldn't change her, and couldn't suffer watching her disintegrate to dust.

She didn't really wither, however, she just cleaned up her act a bit so that I looked like I was lying about her addiction.

That created a whack-load of Hen Peckers who to this day believe that I was only trying to cause trouble and make her look bad.

When I had to leave mi esposo on his night of the big ending, it was like reliving that hell all over again, and there I was.  In agony once more.

I had to leave the addict again.  I believed that Papi would spiral down and that would be it for our marriage.

I believed the worst.

It's hard not to when you're living in my brain with my life experiences.

I've lived the worst and come out the other end every time, but knowing the pain I had to endure to get out of the Pit of Doom was so deep, I was terrified.

I'm grateful I have medication for my chemical imbalance, and I'm able to get out of the hell a little faster than I used to, but it's still not comfortable.

Nor is it good for my breath.

Yeah.

I get a nice heaping load of halitosis when I get stressed.  My stomach can't handle the acid and out it comes, wafting through my mouth like great wads of green stench you'd only imagine from the Grinch.

Or the Malboro.

Last night someone told me how bad my breath was and I felt like crying, dying, and crawling under a rock, but I couldn't.

I was there to sell tickets to the public for the Queer Arts Festival.

Person after person would come up and I'd be speaking with my mouth covered, or I tried to talk as loud as I could from as far away from them as possible.

I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.

However, I know that this is the deal and I carry my toothbrush around with me everywhere anyway for my brace face, so I just brush a whole lot and try my best to keep my distance.

Good thing I have dogs in my life.  They don't care about my Buffalo Breath.

Apparently, neither does Papi.

i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence

G'ma for sale.

Used.

Cheap.

She's still got a few years left in her.

If you can get her out of the house, she's yours.

All 96 Alzheimer's years of her.

She's like a really tall child that can get into everything.  This includes the sherry.

Remember when I thought that perhaps having an extra glass would calm her down?

Wrong.

We better stick to letting her gorge on cookies instead.

That 2nd glass of sherry had her screaming down the 'my didn't they do a great job on the carpet' stairs, asking if we'd fed Psycho Kitty repeatedly.

And I mean, repeatedly.

Oh, my favourite part is when she doesn't get a response and slams the door.

It was 9:30 pm.  If we hadn't have fed Psycho Kitty by then, we'd have a lot more trouble with the troops on our floor.

Especially The Mrs.  She won't let dinner pass by unannounced, and she surely is the only animal in the house that doesn't lie about when she's hungry.

Anyway, enough about the food and the G'ma's screaming about feeding the cat and slamming of doors.

Repeatedly.

My rule is, if she yells rudely down the 'my didn't they do a great job on the carpet' stairs, that I won't answer.

This is my space.

This is my home.

I will not entertain her passive aggressiveness.

And sure enough it works.  She'll pick up the phone to call and ask me a question in a more polite, humane, civilized manner.

Except last night.

I suppose she forgot who she was going to call and nag at, and left the phone off the hook.  I could hear the alert screaming from the phone in an echoing manner throughout those hard wood floors up there.

Only, when I got up there, she was pressing buttons on the Lifeline machine saying, "Stop calling me!!!"

Oh, you old fart.  If you pressed the button, then you called them.

But the saddest part was when I said, "It's ok G'ma.  I'll take care of it," this years past 'with it' old lady replied with the saddest question, "I don't understand what's going on.  Do you understand what's going on?"

Sadly, I answered, "Yeah, I understand G'ma."

Poor old thing is absolutely dependent upon us.

It really hit me just how bad she's getting.

However, when I finished telling the little man in the little Lifeline box that G'ma had accidentally pressed their button, that old bird said something that was the perfect end to this comedy routine.

We were walking out of the dining room of telephone chaos, when she looked down at Psycho Kitty's bowl and calmly says, "I see you've fed him."

Yes.

We fed him.

Hours ago.

I told Papi, there will not be any extra sherry given to the old coot anymore.  This can't happen again.

My love said, "Well, the extra glass won't killer her."

No mi esposo.

It will kill ME.

when you stop chasing the wrong things, you give the right things a chance to catch you

uh-oh.

I think I did too much.

I guess I'm not superwoman.

I suppose resting from a jaw surgery is really important.

Well, my body has informed me of this anyway.

The last time I needed this much sleep was after the motorcycle accident.  I just slept and slept and slept.

I tried to fight the tired and do a regular day, but then the pain in my jaw flared up. 

Yikes!

And now?

Now I'm listening like my body wants me to.  My chipmunk cheeks are a little fuller.

My jaw had it's revenge.

Well, I guess you don't just run around the city by the absolute bumpiest bus route there is.  Which of course, was followed by going to physio, which incidentally was only 2 weeks after jaw surgery.

Ok.

I'm listening.

It's my first surgery.

I didn't know these were the 'rules', but apparently, they are.

So, after I eat some cinnamon and maple syrup oatmeal, then tend to the cleaning of the mess of a mouth, I'm going to drift off for another few hours.

This is how exciting rolls ...

I tend to do this.

I tend to overdo it in terms of my body.  If I get a little bit of energy, I want to use it to it's fullest!

I forget that maybe I should only do one thing, as opposed to all of them.

Oops.

Ouch.

I guess I'll go back to reading about goats 'n pigs 'n chickens.

It sounds like we've chosen the naughties of the animals.  This could be some fun!

i draw all things positive to myself

pick up the phone goddamit!

Well.

I never made it out to receive my share, or witness any ass welts.

I am either; a) still fucking suffering from the virus I caught 3 weeks ago, b) suffering from a different rat bastard virus, or c) going through withdrawal.

If I were trying to conceive a child, I'd say I have morning sickness.

All day.

The only child I'm raising is Papi, so, no, I'm not pregnant.

My money is on withdrawal.

There's a reason why I'm getting that crap out of my system.  It's bad for me.

So, I can imagine that it would be just as mean leaving my body as it has been while infiltrating it.

Instead, I spent the day on the phone.

That was pretty much my day.

It was good though!  I got to speak for 3 hours to My Gratitude Buddy.

We never really get to chat like that all too often.  Life is busy.  But it was a marathon chat.

What I've noticed about myself through that phone call was pretty interesting; I get very introverted at times.

no ... really ... it's true ...

It wasn't always like this, but after the brain injury, I found that I'm not as willing to engage in a conversation like I used to be.

Years ago, my down time was going through my phone and chatting up all the many friends I had.

I let that go after I had 5 minute memory.  It sucks being constantly told, "Yeah, you told me that already."

I retreated, and found that I didn't even want to pick up the phone when it was someone lovely, like my baby sister.  My baby sister and Papi are really the only people I pick up for no matter what.

When My Gratitude Buddy called, I didn't really know I was in need of a marathon call, but I was.

It felt so wonderful to just chat endlessly about nothing.

Well, not really nothing, I talked about fainting goats, green pigs, and Angry Birds.

My Gratitude Buddy laughed and said, "I never pegged you as a pig killer."

I had to remind her that they taunt me when I miss hitting them with the orange bird that puffs when you tap it.  This is enough ammunition to make me want to fly those little fuckers even faster.

Anyway, my point is, that I picked up the phone when it rang.

I chatted and it was lovely.

I got to bond a little more with My Gratitude Buddy.

I even picked up the phone a little later with the G'ma when my wonderful in laws called from Alberta.

... wait for it folks ... the G'ma returns in less than a month ... 

I realized that all I really need to do is pick up the phone when it rings.  You never know what's on the other end.

It could be good.

It could be rewarding.

It could be saying the same thing over and over again to a 96 year old, but it's still good, because it keeps me from isolating.

I think I'm going to make a new rule.  When the phone rings, I'm going to pick it up, even if I don't feel like talking.

Because apparently, that's my mind playing tricks on me.

And we all know that I need to stay one step ahead of my mind, lest that bitch tells me all sorts of lies.

the only mistake that can truly hurt you, is choosing to do nothing simply because you're too scare to make a mistake

I'm Getting Out the Cattle Prod

There was a little bit of panicked entertainment last night.

My dear Papi had a little scare from the post-surgery healing.

We phoned the nurse's line who directed us to go immediately to emergency.

Now, normally, that would be something to panic about, but unfortunately, we're sorta used to being there because of me.

However, I was overjoyed that we weren't going there as a result of my bitch of a back.

I've been in so many times, that I now have a 'rule'.  I am not to be taken to emergency unless my eyes, ears and nose are all bleeding simultaneously.  There was no blood spewing from my head, so I was happy to be going there for mi esposo.

Good times at the hospital.  Let me tell you.

Remember I told you that the nurses, docs and admitting people out in bum-fuck-nowhere could teach the Vancouver hospitals a few things about bedside manner and customer service?

Well, one of my friends who works in a Vancouver hospital said, "That's probably because out in bum-fuck-nowhere, they don't have all the assholes downtown that we have to deal with on an hourly basis."

So true.

I mean, even though my fellow bird of a feather crazies seemed to find me at the hospital in bum-fuck-nowhere, they weren't quite as intense as the people who visit emergency in Vancouver.

oops ... off track ... i'll get to the point ...

My first experience with bringing Papi, was that they weren't going to let me sit with my love.

You know how a cat will relentlessly meow at you for their food?  I was a bit like that last night with the volunteers, nurses and admitting people, because they weren't going to let the 'spouse' be with their better half.

c'mon people! don't you know i'm famous??!? you don't want me to write about you!

Eventually, Papi came out and I was back to happy again.  But damn!  They're lucky I needed a whole wackload of pain killers yesterday.  Those little drops keep me much sweeter to those around me while there's pain shooting down my legs.

Anyway, the most fun was when the admitting nurse saw 'male' on my love's identification, but that Papi was there for possible post-surgery infection due to a full hysterectomy.

This nurse addressed Papi, "Ok, so there's no easy way to ask this ..."

Before the question was answered, she looked up from her computer screen to two Cheshire Cat, shiny, brace face smiles.

Papi relieved her by saying, "I'm a transsexual female to male who just had a hysterectomy."

The woman was much nicer to me after having to ask her embarrassing question.

Well, I got mi esposo lying down to ease the pain, and Papi and I proceeded to spend some quality time together.  This was when my love decided to tell me that I didn't do as good of a job as the g'ma used to when it comes to taking care of him.

well my love, that's probably because i'm not a passive aggressive control freak ... ummm ... well not anymore, that is ...

So, when Papi told me that, I decided that I needed to be more forceful, and not ask if my love would like something.  I should tell my love he's going to have it.

So I tried at the hospital to make Papi drink more water.  I was presented with a stubborn mule who kept turning his head away, in an attempt to evade the glass.

Really Papi?!  This deserved the remark in mi esposo's face, "You fucking bugger!  Do you see?  I do try to take care of you, but you're a fucking manchild and don't let me!"

Yes.

I am a good caretaker.  My love, if you thought you saw caretaking before, you'll be seeing it now with a riding crop in hand.

Perhaps even a cattle prod.

Oh, yes.  I'll be making you drink your water and eat your meals.

Oh, by the way, Papi's going to be fine, as long as he complies with my orders, that is.

Never say 'never'.

This hysterectomy is a lot less demanding of my emotions than the top surgery.

I do need a few days to process my feelings around all of it.

Papi said I'm acting different.

yeah ... well at least i still have my lady bits ...

I am having feelings, but I just can't figure out what they are.

Papi asked if it was because it was the last procedure to get through.

Could be.

Could be that it's all over now and we get to watch the butterfly emerge.

I honestly don't know what it is, but I'm sure it will surface soon.

It usually does when I'm writing to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I haven't had a chance to force feed Papi any vegetables yet.

I'm too busy feeding and caring for the Fuzzy Family, the 96 year old coot, and the wounded tranny.

except for yesterday ... yesterday i played hookie from being a caretaker and got to see some of my 'rough around the edges friends' ...

Interesting enough though, last night we watched a documentary on transgender children.

The narrator told us they'd be using their birth assigned gender as the referring pronoun.

I was actually shocked that they would disrespect the children this way.

When we were watching the documentary, these children were the gender they felt.  It didn't matter that they were born a boy or girl.  They were definitely the gender they felt in their mind.

I was horrified that they documentary makers would refer to them as a gender they clearly were not.

It pleased me that I was horrified.

It means I'm thinking a hell of a lot differently than I was a year ago.

Then it dawned on me.

A year ago, I couldn't fathom being in a relationship with a transgender person.  I couldn't imagine ever letting go of my perfect butch that I grieved for.

I believe that's the reason the top surgery was such a big deal compared to the hysterectomy.  I wasn't ready for it.

Time heals us.

I was well enough to be Papi's support system for this surgery.

When the top surgery happened, I wasn't ready.  This is why it was such an ordeal for me.

I suppose this means I truly am ready to deal with all of the changes.

One good thing about the hysterectomy?  Papi will be taking less of that poison everyone flippantly refers to as 'T'.

Testosterone.

The 'rules' are still in place about that one.

They must still be called hormones for my weak psyche to handle the fact that this concoction is roaming through my love's body, changing him from the inside out.

I don't know that I'll ever get used to that one, but then I said that about a lot of things, didn't I?

Papi's DIY mojo is back.

It's DIY time again.

Papi will be in for his surgery on Friday.

o god, my heart just skipped a beat ...

After my love's uterus has suffered the art of Dr. Scissorhands, I will be taking care of mi esposo until Papi can care for himself.

So, while we're preparing, we did the obligatory massive shop at Costco, so mi esposo could carry heavy things that we may need.

ah for fucks sakes, we forgot kitty litter!!! aaaaarrrrrgh!!!

Furthermore, there's also a few things around the house that need to be taken care of before Papi is down for the 6 weeks.

One such thing?  Putting up curtains.

It's crazy, but since the sewage flood, we haven't had curtains on our window.

Being no stranger to stalkers, ...

and a few restraining orders required to keep me safe ... yikes there's scary folks out there!

... I figure that because the coocoos have come out to play, it's time to put the curtains up.  You never know, said scary folks may also be homicidal and feel the need to watch us before fighting their way past 6 animals to carry out instructions that the voices told them to do.

... nah ... me paranoid? i can't imagine why you'd think that!

Off we went to the cold room and found all the necessary tools: hammer, leveler, screws, chiprock anchors, and of course, the power drill.

Papi has been certified for medicinal cannabis for anxiety now, because my love has been getting panic attacks from fear of the surgery.  Well, yesterday was my love's first attempt at getting friendly with the little drops.

It was probably not the best time to think about putting up curtains.

The last ones we put up, someone pulled them down while we were in the Dominican.  I thought it was fine, because the curtains were crooked anyway.  It would give us a chance to put them up properly.

I asked if I could help, and of course was granted a, "Yes!" but it didn't work out that way.  I'm pretty sure the happy drops had  something to do with the manner in which Papi went full bore into drilling without measuring.

Well, here's the first attempt:

So I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to measure things baby?"

"Nah, It's gonna be fine."

After putting in the anchors, my love said, "Oh, that didn't work out so well."

At this point, I decided to document the famous Papi DIY project with the full fledged Papirazzi, because it's just so entertaining for you all to feel my pain.  Then I heard, "I thought we were going to do this together?"

"Yeah, so did I," I giggled with a reply, "but then you went all commando and started drilling without my help."

I thought I'd add in this pic just for the full effect.  Notice the cord dangling from Papi's thigh.

my what a big drill you have papi!

Next I heard, "Well I didn't mean for that to happen."

oh, you mean this?

I think there will some new 'rules' in the house:  No power tools while under the influence of medicinal marijuana.

Papi put the anchors in anyway, and as we put the curtains up, Papi said, "Ok.  So just don't pull on the curtains and it will be fine."

Ok, but I'm pretty sure the hole is supposed to be round to hold in the anchor, no?

Well, we have curtains.

But if you ever are invited to come to our house, don't touch them, or look behind them K?  We'll just pretend that they're perfect.

And that concludes Papi's DIY for the day.

There will be more.

We still have 4 days.

oh my stomach ...

Urinal training 101

Here's something I never, ever thought that I would have to think about.

Men's washrooms.

Apparently the men have different 'rules' in regards to waiting for the cubicle toilet than in the ladies do.

We ladies line up, and in a civil manner, we wait for one of the stalls to open and the next in the queue is granted their turn.

This phenomenon is different in the men's.

You know how when you go to the grocery store, you look for the 'perfect' lane?

We think, "Ah-ha! This is the fastest lane!" and we make the choice to park our overfilled buggy, in hopes that we'll move faster than the lane beside us.

Sometimes, we're the winner in the race, and other times, we realize we have a dud and start ogling the other lines in hopes that we can still make up the time we've lost.

Well, I've learned that men eye up the stalls in a very similar manner, choose the perfect one, and wait in front of the door.

So, even if the dude next to you was behind you in the line, and they chose the fastest stall, they get in first.

Sounds a bit barbaric to me.

Anyway, last night my love went to a football game and found himself waiting in a men's washroom line up.

This is where things could be dangerous for Papi, and where fear could set in.

Men are mostly oblivious to the fact that Papi is transitioning to a man.

However, there was mi esposo, waiting in the men's line that wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

As a knee jerk reaction, Papi scooted over to the women's line, forgetting that this is no longer an option.

When Papi realized this, he removed himself ...

just thought i'd let you know that i now feel more comfortable writing male pronouns ... i just realized it myself, so i thought i'd share mid-thought ... because that's how i roll ...

... and proceeded to park his ass with the boys again.

They probably didn't notice, because really, all they want to get in and out of the washroom fast enough to refill their bladders with beer again.

This is when my love finally got into the washroom and saw the bathroom stall phenomenon.

My love is still a bit nervous about his PeeCock craft, so he uses a stall until he feels confident that he can tinkle just as good as the next.

Also, that brings us to the other moment of 'hmmmm ...'.

Mi esposo asks me, "When men go to the urinal, how far down do they unzip?"

i'd like to point out that my love asked me ... how the fuck would i know?!?!  remember?!?!  penis phobia over here!!!

However, Papi has a good point.  You can't just go in and study men at a urinal.  Especially at a football game!

The testosterone is flying high in these kinda settings.  Mi esposo would be due for a beat-down if he stood there studying manly mens' actions at a urinal.

Seriously.  They're pumped full of liquid courage.

So there I was, listening to my love's verbal pondering and thought, "Damn!  Someone needs to help F-Ms out!"

There should be some sorta grooming school.

I know that some people will coach M-Fs with their fledgling female swagger and womanly nuances.

Papi needs some male coaching.

I'm definitely not the one to ask.

So, if you care to leave your suggestions in the comments box down below, I'm sure Papi would be happy with the support.

But really.

This lining up at the stall rule.

Dear males: What the fuck is that about?

**update, i thought i'd mention something about the Rah-Rah-Tranny issue ... well, this is my blob/blab and i think i'll stick to my guns and keep my blob/blab the way it always has been.  sorry charlie ... but i'll only be restricting it when it comes to outside sources.  thank you.  you may now resume you previously scheduled reading**

Practise makes perfect.

Papi said, "Can I talk to you about my PeeCocks?"

Fortunately, I had had enough pain killers to just slide through this one with ease.

"Sure," I said, while thinking of worst case scenario that this could be about.

perhaps one that gets sewn on to papi's body?

It really wasn't all that bad though.

It was just my love comparing the difference between the two.

"Well, one is easier to use, but the other one I like more."

I thought there must be a reason that the easy one is not good enough for my love, so I asked, "Well, what could make the other one as good as the easy one?"

My love answered, "Well, the other one looks better than the easy one.  I don't want to be going into the men's washroom and pulling out a small dink."

There it was!

My love has confirmed my suspicion.

Ego.

To be honest, I wouldn't want to stroll in there and whip out some itty bitty dinky.

I understand.

So, it's back to practising for Papi.

I'm so curious about how much little boys sprayed pee all over the bathroom when they practised for the first while.

How long did it take to perfect how to aim and not spam the toilet with golden showers?

Was it a few months?  YEARS?!?!

My love is practising, but there is certainly a lot of talk about how much went on the floor, how much went on the toilet seat and how much went down mi esposo's legs.

So then I asked Papi, "Why don't you lift the toilet seat up?"

Seems there's enough chatter about leaving toilet seats up in other mens' relationships!

"Ew!  No!  I don't want to touch that!"

"But I just cleaned it!" I answered with indignance.

evidence is here ... on day 4 of a seized back!

Still wasn't good enough for Papi.

So, now every time I go into the washroom to be kept in the company of Bathroom Buddies, I know I'm sitting on urine that has merely been wiped off the seat.

Not cleaned off the seat, just mushed around until it seems there is no appearance of the culprit.

So, then my love went on to say, "I never knew there was actually a flusher on the urinals in men's washrooms."

thank you for my lesson of the day papi

No, I didn't know there was a flusher, so I definitely know more about mens' washrooms.

I'm not one of those who would forfeit a line in a women's washroom to jump into the men's with ease.

The only time I've done that is when I'm filled to the gills with alcohol and don't know any better.

However, being the seasoned drunk I used to be, my mission was to get in and get out as fast as possible to get back to my beer.  Hence, I really don't know what goes on in there.

Other than the pocket camera porn I saw once of a guy jacking off in the bathroom mirror.

Anyway, I think there may be a new cleaner in the bathroom.

One just for the toilet seat.

I'll go looking for an un-toxic, earth friendly cleaning sheet.  I'm sure there has to be one out there like the heavily toxic Lysol ones that exist.

If my love is going to sprinkle when he tinkles, he's going to need to clean that puppy off for me.

That will be the new 'rule' in the house.

One thing that I'm truly grateful for, is my love closes the bathroom door for privacy of the penis.

This pleases me.

I'm still needing a bit of work around my phobia ...

... a bit ... yeah ... that's right ...

... and Papi is being very respectful and hiding that new addition to our family.

I'm getting there.

Talking about Plastic Penes is probably a good start.

Laughing about it is going to heal me faster.

But what would make me even happier would be my love taking over being the bathroom janitor and scrubbing the christened floor, seat and wherever else he may be aiming.