obligation

Perhaps it's possible I'm becoming acclimatized.

When in Alberta, land of the ice and snow, my bitch of a back was in agony.

Utter agony.

I had no pain killers, but those that my lovely brother in law gave me.

They made me puke all over the place.

Plan B: No pain meds at all.  Limp about with a scowl on my face like an angry troll.

I took it out on my niece who has a sugar addiction and gets wired on the substance.

It hurt her.  It hurts me that I even hurt her feelings for a second by jabbing at her about the amount of sugar she eats.

I should know better.  I'm the same way with sugar addiction.  How can I expect a child to control it?

I do know that by eating horrible sugary, wheat induced foods, my troll face was definitely a little more than extreme.

Anyway, I came back home, to depression, and to find that my body isn't responding to the heat quite like it did last time I came back from the utter BRRRRRRR.

I came back to the Dominican Republic 'winter'.  It's still warm, but occasionally you need a sweatshirt or heavy t-shirt.

When the sun does come out in all it's glory, I'm like a child running to the ice cream man.

Screaming out to the yard to capture a few moments of heat.  "Please sun.  Please warmth.  Take away the pain."

I know it can help with both physical and emotional pain.

But last night I was up most of the night with the throbbing icy pain that shoots down through my leg.

I woke up to a little bit of a bad mood due to lack of sleep and the stress of coming home to creeping fear.

Papi admitted to the Facebook world of his wrongs.

Deadly wrongs.  Drinking and driving, while texting at 4 in the morning and driving off the road is nothing to take lightly.

True to the nature of Facebook, or rather FecesBook, Papi was greeted with less than desirable comments.

Zap!  A few more 'friends' deleted.  Neither of us needs bullshit right now.  I won't tolerate it anymore.  Life is hard enough without crap from people.

After speaking with a few friends about my feelings of this, I'm greeted with a resounding, "But I'm worried about YOU too!"

I'm only worried about Papi.

He has vowed that the drinking will not be coupled with driving, and that there will be no more texting while on the road either.

I've been harping on him for years about the texting.  He is finally seeing the results.

All I have is the gratitude that mi esposo didn't die while I was gone.  It's all I have to stay in the now.

I hold him, because we just never know when someone we love will be snatched from us, either by a bad choice, or life and all it's daggers it throws at us.

Life.

Sometimes, I am just so tired of trying to get through it.

I know where suicidal tendencies come from.

This place where we are just so exhausted from what's handed to us that we feel we just can't endure another day.

Then we do, and we continue.

Some of us don't make it out alive.  Some of us give in to the voice that says, "That's enough.  Let's just go now, OK?"

Yesterday, the only thing that got me out of bed was the fact that 8 little creatures are depending on me.

I lied in bed shaking.

Stomach turning.

Blood curdling.

Toes curling.

Muscles buzzing, feeling like they're separating from my body.

Today, there are tears, but I know I have obligations, like the children's Christmas celebration at Dream Project.

I'm so grateful for these things that get me out of bed.

I'll endure another day because I'm in a never ending fucking ring match with life.

I'll just get up and keep taking the fucking blows.

i know i am braver than i can see

no bueno.

I remember sitting outside a hospital on a rock, waiting for a 'short bus' to come bring my crippled body home after the motorcycle accident.

I felt so vulnerable.

Me with my cane, still very fragile and needing some assistance to walk a short distance.

I was weak.

I was compromised.

I was afraid of the potential people had to prey on an easy target.

I feel it again.

The other day, I went to the hospital, just to 'check out' my ankle, as the swelling and pain weren't going away.

Sure enough, I was told I'd torn the ligament in my ankle, not enough for surgery, but enough that they had to put a cast on it to immobilize it for 3 weeks.

It kinda feels like the 'behave yourself' punishment, for having limped about on a fucked up ankle for a week, ignoring my intuition.

I honestly thought it would just go away on it's own.

I also honestly thought I was over-reacting to the pain.

Turns out, I was under-reacting.

I guess that comes with 4 years of chronic pain from a bitch of a back, and comparing the level of pain.  I suppose I figured, if the pain wasn't as bad as my back, then it's not so bad.

Anyway, now I feel VERY insecure about my safety.

I am not feeling like I can protect myself.

Yesterday, I had to go shopping.

I needed the Housemaid to help me.

Her and Our Unadopted Child were so amazing.

They were my saviours.

Helping me in and out of the car with my crutches, grabbing the items I needed, opening doors for me.

I can't even tell you how grateful I am to have had them help me out.

The Housemaid and Dominican Daddy are now the dog guardians.

Dogs are NOT impressed with this turn of events, and are destroying every single thing they can find in revolt against my inability to be their everything.

They are banished from the bedroom, so that Dominican Daddy can let them out all night.

They are being fed by Housemaid.

Our DR Family is happy because all their help is earning the family a little bit more money.

I have my own assistant.

Oh man, she's more than an assistant.

Seriously?  She's my everything right now.

But the best part is that I have constant companionship while I feel I need it.

Normally?  I'd be cringing at the fact that someone is around all the time.

Not now.

Now I'm grateful.

Only if you've ever been on crutches do you know how hard the simplest task is.

Like bringing a glass of water up a flight of stairs.

Yeah.

No.

I've put it in a bottle and thrown it into a bag I carry non-stop, thanks to a lovely tip a very sweet Facebook friend gave me.

She also tipped me off about the rolly chair.

Yes!  The rolly chair is a great way to get around in the middle of the night.

Especially now that there are no dogs in the room to roll over.

6 sleeps until Papi comes home.

i know that putting myself first is not selfish, but rather self-care

a wee secret

So, the funniest thing happened.

Well, maybe not the FUNNIEST thing, but Papi and I found it entertaining.

It was time to bring the horrible, 4 legged cretin out for their walk.

It's our time for our walk on the beach, dogs' time for insanity.

So, there are some neighbours who rent out their place quiet frequently.

Nice place.  Big mansion.

The most recent renters were in the ocean enjoying their Dominican vacation and we opened our gate to release the hounds.

When those mongrels run to the ocean, it's like a tornado has hit the 'hood.

None of the locals appreciate our massive hounds running out the yard, but what can we do?  They need to let off steam.

Anyway.

We followed out the hairy ones and when the vacationers saw us, we were worried they'd be afraid of The Donkey.

She's pretty big.

Forget about fear of the dogs!  They immediately began gathering their items and moved them all in to the yard.

I'm sure they didn't think The Donkey would steal their phones or shoes.

The Guard was alerted about us walking on the beach and out he came with his shotgun.

It was too funny!

People were afraid of US!

Us.  The scared shitless Canadians who need to alert the thieves that we have guns to be sure they don't try to attack us.

Us.  The two who are so worried about their safety that we have a wall to be sure the violent ones can't just stroll in with their masks to hide their identity after they violate us.

Us.  The two who may have tattoos, but honestly, are so timid.

But just to give them something to remember for their trip, Papi decided to make their trip something to post on Facebook.

He decided tonight was a good time to do our monthly air warning.  You know the one?  That we do to warn others that we have a deterrent, so don't try to harm us?

I can just see their Facebook post: "Just heard a gunshot!  OMG!!!"

The point is, it's important not to judge a book by their cover, but our new vacationers did.

And we do the same.

I'm pretty sure everyone does it.  We are not alone.

We're afraid of so many people, and that's judgement in itself.

Yet people are afraid of us.

Us!

I just found it quite entertaining.

It reminded me not to judge, because I am judged as well and it feels bad.

Everyone needs that reminder.

We all do it, and anyone who says they don't, are lying.

I am so grateful for those who didn't judge me this week.

I had a secret to let out to those that are very close to me.

It allowed me to be honest about something I've been holding back.

Something that I needed a little bravery to tell you.

I suppose now that I've started telling you, I'll come clean.

I am no longer clean 'n sober.

Please don't judge me harshly.

I've already been doing enough of that myself.

I'm OK, so don't worry for me.

I'm really doing OK.

i trust myself

be kind to one another

I remember once, I had to stop watching TV, because of what I saw.

Someone had killed a bear that was rampaging through neighbourhoods in search of food, and unfortunately, killed someone in that desperate search.

They pulled the bear up into the back of a pickup truck as if it were a sack of garbage.

I conceded.

I decided my heart was just too sensitive to deal with seeing these kinds of things.

It was good for me.  I threw away my TV and got on with life, realizing there is so much more to do than watch the bad news.

I realized that I would hear about the news if it was important enough.

Right now, things are important enough, and I'm having a hard time understanding the state of the human race.

Not to mention, automatically being clumped into the same category of supremacists because of the colour of my skin.

I read so much of what people posted about the brazen racism that is unfolding in this world in silence, as I felt I wasn't entitled to an opinion, even if I agree.

Some people were blatant about not being entitled to an opinion, when people said, "White people are not allowed to comment on this, even if they are in support."

However, even though they are excluding an entire race, we are not allowed to call it racism, discrimination, nor segregation.

It still hurts no matter what anyone calls it.

Indeed, two wrongs never make a right, but I kept reading, no matter how much it hurt to read how someone was treated for being a person of colour.

Then I googled one simple word and found more malice in antisemitism.  Don't read THIS if you are as sensitive as me.

Hatred comes in so many forms, and I realize now that people will use it in as many ways as they can.

I haven't been able to write the last few days from the pain of how people can treat one another.

Trayvoning?

Seriously?

How can people JOKE about the killing of a child?

I need to stop this roller coaster of witnessing venom in every corner.  I'm far too sensitive for this.

I need to continue with being who I am, doing what I do, knowing that I am not harming anybody with my intentions.

Rather, I am doing anything I can to uplift another person, knowing the damage others can bring by putting one another down.

I need to continue with the words of Mother Teresa, even if I'm not the religious person she is.  She is right, and spirituality comes in many fashions.

I feel, right now, that the world is on the brink of 'Divided We Fall'.

We have to come together to help each other and stop fighting.

The bad will take control if the good don't link arms in strength.

Please.  Be one of the good to help stop the hatred toward one another, no matter who we are.

We need to stay together to stay strong.

I'm taking a short break from surfing around Fecesbook for a few days.  I am far too sensitive for it.

I'll keep writing here.

I've been too afraid to voice my opinion, until this morning, when I realized that if there are people spreading hate online, I have every right to spread love.

This is not entitlement of being white.

This is entitlement of a human being.

Today's mantra from Ellen DeGeneres:

be kind to one another

home

... your sunday sillies ...

I had felt it the day before.

Papi had written about it on a Facebook status last night, and I had to smile that we both felt it only a day apart.

We feel like we're home.

It only took 5 months.

I'm pretty sure the dogs have something to do with it.  Dogs make any place home.

However, I know that it is mostly the fact that there are no workers here in our yard.

It's OUR yard now.

I can go into the new casita and use it as an exercise room without the worry of men looking at me.

We can run to the gate in our scivvies in hopes of catching the kite surfers on film, as they perform for all the people along the shore, flipping over those waves like an insignificant speed bump in the road.

They play with their air time, landing their boards back down to the high seas, as if to say, "C'mon!  Try this!  You can do it!  It's really easy!"

I can hear the waves all day, instead of the sound of saws, hammers and silly songs by the men that kept me laughing, even though they probably didn't know I giggled.

The first day without the workers, I heard birds.

Papi and I had never heard birds.  We thought that perhaps there weren't any around this area, because we were so close to the ocean.

I thought that maybe it was because they were all at the resorts, zooming in when people aren't looking at their plate, nabbing some potato and zipping off again before the unsuspecting diner even knew.

No, it was the fact that we couldn't hear them over the din of construction.

The flit about, singing to one another in hopes that one of them will find the fruit that is ripe enough to share.

Hopefully, that fruit is hidden, or the people in the village will throw rocks at them to stop them from eating their food.

We know how it works here.

People are desperate, and you can't hold that against them.  They just need to feed their families.

But we can hear the birds now.

My veggie garden is growing.

In a few months, I'll have my first crop of home grown food.

My own food, to eat in this house that is finally ours.

As much as it has cost us all of our savings, it's ours.

As much as it still needs work, and the work seems that it will be never ending, that work is ours.

As much as the puppies rip up and destroy everything in the yard, it's our yard to repair.

As much as the pool needs drudging tending to 7 days a week, that water that is slowly getting clean enough for me to swim in again, is ours.

Ours to share with our new friends, like The Carpenter, Our Fave's Mom and family, and countless others that we know enough to trust to let into our home.

We walk the dogs along the beach now that they are trained enough for recall and most of the shots are up to date.

The coastline is not ours, we just borrow it when the ocean isn't busy with it.

That vast blue is our neighbour, and we must respect her.

We visit her when she looks like she is rested enough to have uninvited guests, which isn't very often.

She has a lot of work to do.

Don't get in her way or she'll pull you into an area that will swallow you whole.

She has a temper, but she is a good, clean neighbour.

Unlike my kitchen.

It occurred to me upon editing the latest YouTube show, that all you ever see is my dirty kitchen.  I guess that's because all I'm ever doing is cooking food.

In OUR kitchen.

In OUR house.

It's ours.

We're finally in Casa Paraíso.

We're home.

i love myself totally in the now

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

the oil of oregano dance

Oil of oregano is SO good for a virus.  It'll kick that bugger right outta there.

So, when Our Favourite was complaining that he had a cold, I decided to give him some.

I'm going to make some ginger tea for him today to keep up with the immune boosting and get him healthy, but last night I just didn't have the energy, so oil of oregano it was.

I warned him and Our Fave's Mom.  I made sure they both knew it would taste horrible so they were prepared for his reaction.

I had the eye dropper all poised and said, "Ready?" with a partial giggle, knowing that this would probably be the most horrid tasting medicine he would ever experience.

Buckley's ain't got NOTHIN' on oil of oregano.

Anyway, tongue up, drops in and blammo!  There it was!!  The oil of oregano dance!

Hopping around trying to spit it out.  Arms flailing as he tried to put his shirt up to his mouth to get the excess out.  I think I even saw an evil eye glare at me!

He could try and spit that stuff out all he wanted, but once it's under your tongue, the burn just has to work it's way out.

Our Fave's Mom laughed and laughed.

We know that sometimes, the best things for us are things that hurt, leave a bad taste in our mouths, or have us learning big lessons.

I had another lesson this week.  I was called racist again.

I understand a lot more about why people of colour would hate white people.  I see it in the workers here, when I see how white people treat them.

Even though I know I'm judged, I do my best to maintain a smile with the men in our yard, as I give them water all day long to keep them hydrated while they do good for us.

One of them absolutely despised me.  He just saw me as another white asshole.

One night, he was working late and alone, and the sun was going down.  He hadn't stopped for a dinner break, and we had some delicious pasta in the fridge, and I thought he was probably hungry.  Maybe he'd want it?

My dinner was chocolate, and I don't share that with anyone.

I didn't even think he would accept my offering, and battled with whether or not I should try to feed him, because he probably wouldn't want anything from me considering how much he abhorred me.

However, I meekly went out and offered, and was so pleased he took it.

Ever since I gave him dinner, he has been nice to me.  I suppose he's just like me; the way to his heart is through his stomach.

Now, he says hello in the mornings, and he has been the biggest help with giving me gardening tips.  Every time he sees me doing something wrong, he comes over and shows me the right way.

It's the greatest gift of all to me, a city slicker, who has only kept one plant alive in my life.

That was of course, until my motorcycle accident, and Papi was in charge.  That poor plant didn't last very long, but I'm keeping things alive as I get a lot of tips now.

Anyway, I understand how people of colour would hate white people.  It just hurts that there's absolutely NOTHING I could ever do right, because I was born white and am judged not by my actions, but by the colour of my skin.

An article I read, as I was trying to learn more about how people of colour hate us, was talking about a room full of white people who were there to learn more about racism.

The woman looked out amongst the mostly white crowd and said to herself, "It's still all about you."

Why?  Those people are doing their best to try to change things by learning more, but still, they're bad for being there.

Why is completely OK to be hated and put down because of being white?

I don't intentionally do anything to harm another person, no matter what colour they are, unless of course, you're an asshole to me, then you're fair game.

Yet, I'll never be able to do anything good enough and will always be hated by some because of my colour.

Lesson learned.  Damned if you do, damned if you don't.  Just accept being hated.

Every time someone from the 'community' calls me racist on that toxic social media site I call Fecesbook, they're added to the 'mean girls' list, and are hidden so they can't see anything on my wall.

I'll just be invisible to the haters, and take away their opportunity to attack me to look cool to the other assholes in the 'community' who yes, happen to be white.

I've learned that all that matters is that I know I try my best to help people in ways I feel are good for both of us.

All that matters is Our Favourite and Our Fave's Mom trust us to be part of the DR Family, no matter what colour we are.

I'll keep on doing my best, no matter how much people try to insult me.

i value and honour myself as i am

yin & yang

Well, the bubble is burst.

We had a sweet experience that turned into a bit of a fear.

Let's back up a moment here.

I have a friend who is like a Big Sister that I've always needed.

When I first started this blog, she was the first person to contact me to tell me she's here, that she noticed I was missing from Facebook.

She pops in and out when I need her.  It seems it's always when I need her the most, making the time between visits all worth the wait, because I know that at some point, at some time, she will be there to guide me.

She has no idea just how much I love her, from the day I met her over 15 years ago.

She graced my life again last night, to give me more advice, and a little talking to about how we look to the locals here.

Every word she said rang true with our experience here, as well as everything that we feared from the exciting news we were granted with.

Remember the friend I was hoping to have?

The mother of Our Favourite?

She really is a beautiful person.  I've been speaking with her periodically.

Well, yesterday, this oh so pregnant woman with her two kids (one being Our Favourite), came to the gate while Papi and I were desperately trying to put together Ikea furniture.

I tried so hard to understand what she was saying, but it seemed as though she was asking me if I wanted her unborn child.

I knew this couldn't be right, as family is so important here and not too many people would give up their child, no matter HOW little they have.

I invited her in to use Google Translate in hopes of figuring out what she was saying.

In a way, I was grateful for her to come in, so that she could see that even though we have a house and a pool, we only have items that are for necessity.  Not excess.

Not to mention, she got to see our security camera screen.  Maybe word will spread that we're watching the bandidos and they'll move on to a different house to invade.

Anyway, she asked if Papi and I would like to be the godparents of her unborn child.

I almost cried.

You couldn't imagine the honour it felt that someone would show me this trust.

I have My Godson back home, whom I miss so terribly, and the glory I felt in being asked to be The Turkey's godmother filled me up like nothing ever has.

However, after expressing how happy we were to feel this pride of Our Fave's Mom asking us for the newest greatness in our lives, my Big Sister, who is native to the Caribbean, told me it's much different than it is to be a godparent in Canada.

We will be expected to pay for this child's upbringing.

As if he were our own.

A crib, baby food, primary school, college, sponsoring him to Canada and much more, so it's not just the honour.  It's the care to the child.

As soon as Our Fave's Mom left us with our good feelings of being asked for such distinction, we both looked at each other and said, "Do you think she only asked us because all she wants is our money?"

Immediately, I felt the pang of distrust and was so sad that all I ever do is feel this about people now.

It hurts to feel that I'm no more than just money to people, even though I understand they're just trying to survive.

Even still, I feel that being asked this is cause for celebration as Papi and I have always wanted a child.

Maybe it's just what we need?

We don't have to do the hard work of changing any diapers, or staying up all night to feed the little critter.  We get the glory of just being this child's opportunity for a better life.

That still feels good.

Mi esposo and I will have to talk to them about the parameters of being this child's sponsored parents.

I do really like this woman, and I adore her child, even when he brings me a turtle for a pet that I really don't need.

We can't help everyone, but maybe we can help one child?

Maybe he's born to be a musician!  Maybe I get to help him finish what I couldn't after the motorcycle accident!

I am grateful to the point where I feel tears welling up.

this will turn into the life that i envisioned it to be

life changed yesterday.

I don't know how this is going to end, but I know how it began.

I tried an experiment.

It went well.  I realize I don't feel like drugging my body with alcohol.

Papi started drinking again, and I decided that I didn't want to be the only sober person in the relationship, because I'd be stuck on the island of the Dominican Republic, isolated with an alcoholic and I'm not sure if I can handle it sober.

I felt I wanted to close my eyes to what was about to happen.

Well, I didn't really like the effects.  It reminded me too much of being on pain meds and that is not how I want to live.

It was the main reason for moving here.  To live better, and get off pain meds.

Papi looked at me, "I can't believe you're drinking.  Aren't you upset that you just lost 14 years of sobriety?"

I didn't feel that way.  "I didn't lose anything.  I gained 14 years of a better life."  It was at that moment that I knew I didn't really want to have the old life I had.

I suppose I had what they call a slip.  I'm not interested in continuing with drinking myself silly to avoid the problems I'm about to face.

I love my life the way it is, and everything I've gained.

Papi on the other hand, well, it looks like he would like to live his old life that is 'fun'.

I told him, "You can't drink just one drink.  Don't you remember how it ended with you crying at the side of the road in the DTES, crying on the curb?"

Because I sure as hell remember.

So, we shared 2 beers to begin the experiment.

I didn't even finish the 2nd beer.  I went to bed, to get ready for our trip to the capitol today, Papi stayed up then drove after those 2 beers to our neighbouring city, Cabarete, and drank some more.

He was drunk enough that someone drove him home.

I woke up at 5:15 to a very drunk spouse, staggering around the kitchen defending himself, "I'll be fine to drive in 5 hours."

No.

No you won't.

Looks like I'll be driving illegally for 3 hours to a strange city that is twice as dangerous as the one we're in today.

Looks like I'll be stranded on an island with none of my friends here to support me, and a bunch of people back home who won't even know the hell I'm going through, because they've dumped me emotionally, hiding my every word from Facebook.

Looks like I'll be living with an active drunk, hoping I don't become a victim of his alcoholism.

Looks like I'll be brainstorming ways to survive with 8 animals, living without support, and a person who will be drunk every day.

Looks like I'll be worrying about my spouse being beaten by locals as he goes out drinking with strangers who will take advantage of him when he's hammered.

Looks like our lives as we know it changed as of yesterday and I'm terrified of my future.

I've had thoughts that when it gets to be too difficult, there are options.  Some that are not a good idea to share here, lest I scare my readers and people who love me.

I got some footage of him passed out on the couch at around 6 a.m.

Food uneaten, dogs picking at the carcass of the remains, hopping all over him, fighting over the food.

He just lied there, completely unaware that they were even in his space, then finally tried swatting them away when The Donkey used his chest to lunge toward the littlest ones in defence of the piece he got first.

Mi esposo opened his blurry eyes, looked at me filming him, then handed me the dirty plate like I was his maid.

No, I'm not your maid, I'm not your keeper, and I'm not your drinking partner.

I am not supporting this.

I want the clean 'n sober life I built for 14 years.

I want the sober person I married to be back, but something tells me, life changes today.

Something tells me my life just got a hell of a lot more difficult.

I feel so alone I can't even tell you.

If I thought I had trouble with The Guard and the Housemaid and every other issue we've had here, I was wrong.

I feel hopeless.

i may not understand the good in this situation yet, but it is there

 (if you'd like to enjoy a happier day, you can watch our latest YouTube Show)

friendship. a few forms.

The Housemaid came by.

The gate was open because we're still getting so much work done on the house to make it liveable.

Sheepish, terrified of Mr. Majestic, she called me over without taking one more step, because she didn't want to lose her life to the massive brute who was at the end of his tether, warning her not to come any closer.

But she had a real need.

Something that a friend could help her with.

In battling languages, I figured out what her urgency was.

She was being stalked and harassed by a creep on Facebook.

She didn't know how to get rid of him.

She hasn't delved into the settings, privacy and deleting of people.

I found him, deleted and blocked him, then told her, "He will never see you here again."

I can't promise her about real life, though.

She was grateful.

It was a friendship moment when she hugged me in thankfulness, adding that her husband, The Dominican Daddy, was really angry about this guy.

I had another friendship moment this morning.

I went around to the back of the house where Old Ghost Face hides in terror of her new surroundings and humans that she doesn't think she can trust.

I've been bringing her cheese.

She likes cheese.

Yesterday, she actually took it from my hand.

Today though?!?!?

She stood up and I couldn't believe it, there was the slightest little tail movement of happiness.

Really slight, but there.

Just a once back and forth, but a wag none-the-less.

She took the cheese again and I dragged away Mr. Majestic who seems like he's still a bit too in her face.

Not to mention the Pathetic Puppy.

She's too young yet to know that when those teeth are showing, it means buzz off.

But the big news is, she wagged!

We may be earning her trust now.

I actually thought it would take a lot longer, being that she's so damaged.

But it has begun.

Poor old thing.

Anyway, it's been a great 24 hours for friends.

Including the friends we bought our 2nd gun from.

The first one was just too big for me.

I now have a pretty li'l 9mm.

I shot it off last night, and I'm pretty sure the neighbours who are a vacationing family from somewhere in America were wondering what was up with the gringo loco next door.  And possibly wondering if they were safe.

Trust me.  I know that feeling.

We got friends.

Good, bad and stinky.

Oh, Mr. Majestic, where did you come up with such a smell?

Being tied to my waist non-stop, it wafts along with me.

Or wait.

Is it because I've just been too busy dealing with 5 dogs to get in the shower?!?!

Could it be me?!?!?!

Nope.

That's definitely dog.

My stink is a little more offensive.

i now make friends easily

more to learn

Papi and I were given some advice on the DR1 Forum that we're taking.

Best to get everything in place before we do the deed of 'letting her go due to lack of funds'.

We shouldn't say we're 'firing' her.  We need to keep on really good terms with her, because we need our safety.

It's also best not to talk about the theft, or there will be hostility and bad feelings, leading to possible security issues as well.  I just have to swallow my pride and let her think she has one over us.

The last piece of advice, is we need to get a signed paper into the city's books that show how long she worked for, how much we paid her, her hours, and her signature.

To fire someone, you have to pay severance.  I do think that's fair, and I'm glad they have that law here for people's benefit.

However, the other half we did hear about earlier, that is now confirmed, is they'll take you to court and say they worked for longer than you're saying, and that they earned more money that you paid them, and that you owe them more money, ie: another Mr. Extortion.

The locals will win every time.  Expats don't have a hope in hell, unless they get that paper signed before the deed is done.

So, being the crafty, thieving, sly one she is, we'll definitely take these people's experience into consideration and heed their warning.

Not to mention, we couldn't get the locks changed yesterday.  We can't let her go until the locks are changed.

I can't wait for all this to be done.  Seriously.  She didn't even clean yesterday.  I don't know what she did while we were out dealing with dogs again, but it definitely wasn't cleaning.

While we were at the shelter/vet, we also had MORE confirmed information that people WILL poison your dogs here.

It's such a normal occurrence, that they sell poison kits for it.

You see, we're going to pick up another dog today.  Her face is front and center on the AAAS Facebook page.

She's a cranky lookin' mama that we're told is a GREAT guard dog.

She is traditionally an outside dog, and when we spoke to the Canine Quarterback there about keeping her that way for extra outside security, she reinforced what everyone else here has had to say.

If we leave the dog outside at night, they'll throw poisoned meat over the fence, then the next day while you're grieving their death, they'll come back and rob you.

So, mama's gonna be livin' in the lap of luxury.  A Canadian dog, living inside, and probably on the bed.

When we finally get one that is big enough, that is.  We're STILL waiting for our money transfer.  Visa is loving us right now.

I'm still learning patience for the 'Dominican Time'.

Anyway, we're getting her and one more.  We heard there was a female rottweiler looking for a home.  We'll take her!  Sold!

When we spoke to the Canine Quarterback about the new mama and one more, she asked us, "What are you doing here?  Collecting dogs?!?!"

I reminded her, "We've only been here 6 weeks!  We're just getting started!"

If I can't have my goats, because our land is too small, then I'll be happy with the chaos of dogs.

Hopefully that will be an extra deterrent as well.

Dogs, a wall with broken glass on top, a stun gun (and another a little more deadly), a machete (that I am sharpening more every day and practising on coconuts), a bat, and soon to be bars on the windows.

Oh!

And prickly bushes outside windows as well.  The DR1 Forum taught us that one too.

Good info there, once you weed through the morons who are looking for advice on women.

Like, for example, "I've been sending money to a woman here and am finally coming to visit her.  Do you think she is just using me for my money?"

Dude, if you're stupid enough to be sending money to someone you don't know, and are falling for it being 'love', you shouldn't be moving here.

I promise you.

You'll be broke.

Or dead.

i am safe

the wild, wild west

We have clean water!

It's such a sigh of relief!

Seriously.

You just don't know what you've got sometimes.

In Vancouver, an inconvenience would be your water was off, and you didn't get your morning shower.

Then you'd go on Facebook and scream it to the top of the mountains!!!!

Well, when your water is brown from infestation of sewage filth, it's a little more than an inconvenience.

This was not quite as horrible as the sewage flood we had a few years back, because we are still living in a house that is in one piece, with all our belongings.

However, the thought of sponge bathing with my excess water from my reverse osmosis machine for the rest of my life was definitely more than a thought of great inconvenience.

But no more.

We're flushing our toilet and it's clean water.

We're washing our dishes in clean water.

Today, I'm going to shower.

In clean water.

Then!  We're going to fill the pool back up with clean water.

Clean water!!!!!!

We have some really good professionals working on our house now, thanks to the Pool Man.

Who, incidentally is coming by this morning to look at our pool.  We know we're doing things wrong.  We need a little help.  Just putting things on paper will not work for us.  We need some good tutorial.

We also need more tutorial for our gun.  Like how to clean it.

Not to mention, more bullets for the gun.

Someone got shot a week ago, not even half an hour from here.

That's not the scary part.  Shootings happen a lot here.

The scary part is that it was a home invasion with a masked man.  He also shot the dog, but both are alive and healing.

Earlier on that day, the same guy also robbed someone else and shot their dogs dead.

It's us expats and gringos that are the target.

The uber politically correct back home got all uppity because we need security, but the stats have now shown that it's actually more dangerous for expats to live here than in Mexico.

Of course, Mexico is all over the news, because it's so popular and so many Canadians and Americans go there.

However, the murder rate is worse here.

Now, I'm not saying that we're going to be out there with duelling guns and armed warfare back and forth.

Papi and I certainly are not going to be hiding in bushes with camouflage on, waiting to attack.

But I'll tell you one thing, there will be a shot fired in an attempt to deter the person who may have made it past our wall with broken bottles lining the top.

If it doesn't work, I'll gladly hand over all my goodies and retreat.

I think what the scariest part is, is that it happens so often now, that the people on the DR1 Forum seem to talk about it like it were just an every day occurrence.

People aren't even batting an eye now.

That, to me, is the scary part.

That it's become 'normal'.

I suppose the shooting of a bullet off the balcony once a month to remind people we have a gun is a really good idea.

Yup.

The wild, wild west.

One thing that I know though, if I die here in paradise, I did it after I reached a goal in life.

A, 'look at that view' and 'I'm feeling so much less physical pain' goal.

Yet, I will be talking to my angels a lot more now that I know they're listening, in hopes that they'll keep us safe.  They listened with Psycho Kitty!!!  He's much better now!

Oh, but I'm still buying more bullets.

i am drawing from my inner strength and inner light

got bugs?

Well, that some some weird strange bug.

I'm not talking about this one:

 or this one:

 or this one:

 or this one:

 or this one:

... which was probably the one that was on my head the other day.

... shudders ...

I'm talking about a virus.

We're not used to the viruses and bugs here in the Dominican Republic.

Papi had it first.

I thought it was just the fact that he was brushing his teeth with dirty well water, but it was a flu type thing.

Then I got it.

It started out like heartburn.

I never get heartburn, so that was odd enough in itself.

Then the headache came, and finally the nausea, fever and weakness.

Ouch.

I was afraid to get up today, because I didn't want to face the sickness, but somehow, I feel better.

My Eternal Friend had told me that when she moved to Guatemala, she was sick the first year non-stop and not just ordinary sick.  REALLY sick.

We're not used to the viruses in other countries.

Papi was down for the count for a good 3 days.  Looks like mine only lasted a day.

Perhaps it's because I exist on more than pop and Pringles, my love?

Also, it may have been the fact that I'm eating raw garlic non-stop.  That will build your immune in a jiffy.

I also wasn't sure if they had vampires here, so garlic was a good idea for that as well.

The bats are in abundance here.

Papi hates bats.  I LOVE them!!!!!  They're so damn cute!  Those little noses, eyes and ears are too much!!!

And the males will open their wing to cover up their mate when an intruder comes near.

Such chivalry!

Reminds me of Papi.  Always the gentleman.

Except for last night, while I was sick and asked for my favourite, white trash, gross out Papi meal; rice pasta with pretend butter and bacon bits.

He was too busy being engulfed in Facebook chats and left my food cooking until it was a pile of rice pasta sludge.

"I'm sorry honey!  I'm having 2 important conversations at one time!!!"

I ate it anyway.

It's not like I had the energy to get up and do anything for myself.

Besides, I was so hungry after not eating enough all day that it tasted like a delicacy at a fine restaurant.

Amazing what you'll eat when you're hungry, no?

i fill all physical appetites in physically healthy ways

leave me alone.

The puppies are free.  The doors are closed.

We have one man coming back to fix the filter on our house water, but that's really it for today.

I woke up and opened every window and door in our house and smiled at Casa Paraíso and it was a bright shiny day.

It was at that moment, that I realized just how uncomfortable I am with strangers in my space, and just how much I've learned not to trust people.

I know that when I had roommates, it was hard for me to keep Hurricane Andréa under wraps, and the demon horns from sprouting up every time I didn't like something.

Maybe it's because I grew up in small spaces with my mother and sister?

I remember the first time I was the happiest was when I lived in a dark, dank, mouldy basement suite in East Van.

I didn't care how awful it was and that there were mushrooms growing out of the walls in the bathroom.  I was happy because I had my Dearly Departed Gypsy, my piano and my very own space.

Now I see it.  I can live with Papi and animals, but that's about it.

Can you imagine what a crabby old bitch I'm going to be in the old folks home?  I'll probably be that old fart hiding in my room yelling, "Get the hell out!" when someone knocks on my door.

That's if I make it that far without doing myself in with all the stress I put myself through.

Yesterday, I obsessed all day long about the rest of the chocolate that was in the cupboard.

It called me.

I kept ignoring it until the little voice in my head said, "You know, if you eat the chocolate, it won't be here anymore and you can stop obsessing about it!"

So I ate it.  Then berated myself.

However!  I did exercise and that made me feel stronger and gave me hope that I will feel good in my skin once more.

There was also one image that I remember seeing in the past that came up on Facebook yesterday.  It seems to help me every time, and somehow, comes along at the moment I need it.

Leave it to Marilyn to save my brain from insanity.

She reminded me of a time when I was close to 150 lbs and I was completely made of mighty muscle.

I was boxing then.  I was strong.  I had such big biceps that the sleeves of my t-shirt were tight against my arms, yet I had no unnecessary fat on my body and loved myself for working so hard at being so sturdy.

My friend asked me very sweetly, "Just curious, but how much bigger do you need your arms to be?!?!"

I had a reminder from one of my great Blogger Friends yesterday, that he loves his lady no matter what size she is and that nobody really likes to look at a skinny old bag.

All the strangers are gone from our yard.  Our doors and walls are up.  Our pool is still being treated for the mud water, but soon, very soon it will be functional and my life will be filled with exercise.

Today, I stare out at the ocean as I write every word in this blog in my serene space.

Today, I felt like we were actually going to have the life we desire here.

Today, I woke up with a new beginning, and more silliness to continue editing on our YouTube show for its Sunday airing.

I keep being reminded of who I am and what I need to be comfortable.  I'm learning so much about myself in this move.

I am grateful for the lessons, and the fruit ice that I made yesterday to keep my sweet tooth curbed.

What a difference a day makes, how amazing is it to be reminded by mi esposo and my friends that being loved has nothing to do with my size.

it is easy for me to stay on my food plan to maintain a healthy weight

you don't know me.

Can I tell you how much I hate thieves without being called names for it?

Any colour, age, class, gender, nationality or any other difference someone has from one another, I hate thieves.

To me, 'they' are only one step below a sexual predator.

Yet somehow, Papi and I were called racist because we referred to the thieves here as 'they'.

I'm back in fucking pronoun hell just like I was a few years ago when I struggled with my love going through the male transformation.

I'm so fucking sick of the Vancouverite, uber politically correct people and their finger pointing.

We got nothing but trouble from the 'community' in Vancouver for NOT being perfectly dishonest.  We thought we escaped it by coming here.

Well in the world of social media, 'they' just attacked us on Facebook instead.

We are supposed to keep our mouths shut about everything and anything that we don't like.

If we don't, we're called racist, transphobic, selfish, you fucking name it.

'They' stole from us, the thieves, yet we're called racist for being upset, because 'they' are of colour and from a developing country.

For fucks sakes.  The Pool Man's wife is Dominican and she's the one telling us how almost all the people will scam us here and how we've already been robbed.

Yet we're being racist by calling thieves 'they'.

I came here with so much love.

I poo-poohed anyone who said it's not a good idea give to the people here.

'They', who poo-poohed me, said, "If you give, they'll take too much and rob you."

I didn't believe it.  We wanted to give, give, give.

Give, give, give we did.

We brought gifts and every day we unpacked them we gave it to people we thought would be family.

What did we get for it?  Robbed.  I've now noticed my toiletries have dwindled in only 2 weeks of being here.

I wanted to bring my favourite treats to the people in my village when we got here as a 'hello' and 'thank you for letting me be here in your space'.

Now I won't.  Instead, I'll give my time to an organization where I can leave afterward without anyone knowing where we live.

We have a security guard in which we are overcharged for, but we keep paying it until the pool and walls are done.

Yet still, every time I go out to bring him water, juice, pop, beer, snacks he asks for more money, because he says his baby is starving, then turns around and tells me his baby is drinking lots of milk from the mother.

Sorry, but we are paying you fairly for your job.  We are not stealing from you.  We are giving.  We are not being selfish, but we are not responsible for the well being of every person we know.  We are dependent only upon ourselves.

We really can't afford to pay him, the house maid and gardener and are running out of money, but we hired people because we were told it helps the 'community'.

Yet we're called selfish because we don't want to be broke and living in a shack.

I received a settlement for my motorcycle accident, and we're selfish because we chose to give ourselves a dream life with the money.

Instead, we were basically told we deserve to be robbed because of it.

Let me tell you, if a white, Canadian asshole robs me, I hate them just as much.

Yet because we've come to another country where we're the foreigner, if we vent our feelings about things we worked hard for being stolen, we're called racists and selfish.

One person thought that because 'they' were stealing and are so broke, we should wrap up our things in a gift with a nice big bow, as to say, "Here.  You need this."

To thieves it will say, "Here.  Thank you for stealing from us.  You're welcome to take anything you like because we are just weak, stupid pushovers."

To some people, we're supposed to just take it and give them chance after chance.

I'm sorry, but there are no second chances.  I won't be fooled again.

Today, no matter what the uber politically correct say, I will not allow myself to eat in anger.  That was 2 nights in a row that I used food as a drug to soothe my emotions and both nights wound up nauseas, feeling crappy and having visits from the Anorexia Monster.

Go ahead.  Call me what you want.

I don't fucking care what you think about me and who you think I am.  You have no fucking idea.

I know in my heart I'm a good, generous person who came here with loving intentions and got fucked over for it.

i am aware of my eating habits and how they affect my moods

sometimes, you just need a hand up

I'm feeling so much better today, and it's really because of those I spoke about having gratitude for.

The phone calls from my Eternal Friend, My Gratitude Buddy, texts from the MC Guru and the Sweet Ex, not to mention a handful of others, really hit home that I have such amazing people in my life.

I received messages on Facebook from new people outing themselves as readers, sending me love and a new face leaving me a comment of support here on my blog, plus Blogger Friends reminding me they are still here to give me esteem when I fall down.

Then there were the hugs in person from yet another goodbye celebration.

All of it added up to a strong hand pulling me out of the Pit of Doom and the band-aid on my boo-boo.

I'm given positive energy by people I appreciate in my life.

I'm grateful for YOU: Readers and brave senders of private emails and comments here, G+ and Facebook.

I am grateful for people who actually make an effort to send us off on our adventure with love.

I am grateful for people who are honest about their feelings of us leaving, even if they're not excited for us, expressing their sadness or worry.

I realized that any advice I gave to Papi yesterday about his depressive state, I could use for myself, and it really did tie in with yesterday's mantra.

I told Papi he would find MANY people to help that will help him feel like he's needed.

I too, will find people to love me in our new land.

I had a nightmare last night that all the new people I found were abusive, abrasive, dishonest and hateful.

I walked away saying, "I don't want to be friends with these people!"  Off I went, preferring to be alone.

It's true in the conscious world as well.

If I'm not 'good enough' for some people, well, I don't want to be friends with them either.

I find good people everywhere I go, because I have great faith in fellow humans.

I won't have to worry about 'cliques' in any 'community' there, because really, I can't speak sufficient Spanish to be part of the cool kids.

Who knows what their politics are anyway.  We all know I'm not a political person.  Not to mention, I would rather think for myself than follow the herd.

All I want are good hearts around me and people that will enlighten my life.

I've had some good practise the past few months with letting go of users and negative souls quite quickly.

I've taken some brave steps and let go of people that I wanted to be my friend, but found out that it wasn't mutual.

So, why on earth would I let a spattering of inconsequential people trigger my feelings of 'un-want'?

In my moment of weakness, I fell in to the old standby; "I'm not good enough."

That's the one I run to when I'm feeling overwhelmed with my emotions, because it's the one that's been there since I was a child with a deadbeat dad.

The other one is seeing that girl in the mirror that nobody else can see, and panicking.

I've stopped looking at her.  I've decided to trust everyone is telling the truth and that what they see is reality.

That Anorexia Monster is really not something I need to deal with right now.

Here's what I need to deal with: Getting ready to use the 2 month visa we just received today.

We just received it today!!  We are now allowed to go for 2 months of pain free life.

Does anything else really matter right now?

I look at the picture of Casa Paraíso every day now that it's a permanent fixture on my computer screen.  It's the first thing I look at when I turn on this laptop.

It's still really hard to believe it's OURS.

It's still really hard to envision our smiling faces inside those walls.

I see the rooster.  That seems realistic.

If I was any good at Photoshop or any other photo editing program, I'd superimpose us in that villa.

Instead, it sits empty with the only life in it being the rooster in the yard.

Waiting.

i adopt the mindset to praise myself

ah forums. so full of useless crap.

It was either:

a) the gads of wasabi I stuffed down my throat at my Thursday Lunch with my mother that burned it out of my head

or,

b) the sweetest going away gift that I received from my Eternal Friend that melted my heart so greatly that it chased the pain away

or,

c) the love note I wrote to my migraine, leaving it no option but to abort the mission when it felt the positivity that oozed from my blood.

or,

d) all of the above, with the timing of the migraine choosing to have run its course.

Whatever it was, my head definitely feels a bit lighter today.

I can still feel it, but it's definitely not morphine worthy at this point.  I still took a tiny bit to make sure I didn't launch into puking from withdrawal.  I also didn't want that nasty rebound headache you get from taking the poison out of your system.

I don't need to write a love note to my body for going through withdrawal.  I've already met my love note quota.

Anyway, I woke up feeling a bit better, only to receive panicked texts from Papi.

You know how EVERYTHING you read on the internet is true?

Papi got a dose of it today and it scared the shit out of him, and in turn, he tried to bring my migraine back with stress and fear.

"Talked on the forums, looks like we need a guard.  They poison the dogs and then rob.  A big fence is going up!!!"

I rolled my eyes at Papi, even though he couldn't see me, because he's sleeping off the Graveyard Coma.

I decided to read on with what he wrote a few seconds later, "I think we made a mistake not getting in gated community."

Sorry Papi, but we are going to be enjoying Casa Paraíso.  No mistakes what-so-ever.

The next text showed Papi's disdain through the four little letters, "Fuck!!!"

Now I giggled at Papi, wishing he wasn't asleep so I could remind him we wouldn't have beachfront property in a gated community, nor would we be allowed the gads of dogs we want to adopt, because some control freak with a pickle up her ass wants to make sure she gains the respect now that she didn't have in high school.

Three and a half hours of obsessing later, he wrote, "Pay Albert to watch the house??"

Seems logical.  We want to employ our DR family somehow, but the way I see it, Albert will be there full time trying to teach this gringo how to garden, anyhow.

He had three more hours of consuming worry before he wrote the last text, "We should return your laptop.  It will be stolen.  I think our 2 computers is too much as it is!  I'm selling my gold necklace here.  I will make you read the DR1 thread about safety in the DR.  I will not get a safe because that will attract people.  I wish the gun shop was open on Sundays!"

Well, that pissed me off.

Papi, sell your own damn computer.

I need to make our documentary of our travels and you're always hogging your computer with your Facebook and Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land infatuation.

Seriously.

The people who are writing these things are just trying to put the fear into you that someone else put into them.

Misery loves company and bored people are everywhere.

These people need a migraine.  That would shut them up for a while.

Papi has the worst anxiety I've ever known in a person.  He's not a candidate to be going on these forums full of people trying to scare one another.

There's always 'that guy' who likes to instil panic in others.

He's probably sitting in his mother's basement, snickering about all the people he's terrified, because he's jealous of the fact that he hasn't taken any risks in life, other than eating the moldy sandwich that he stuffed under his bed for safe keeping, just in case his mother ever kicked off.  Lord knows he's never had a reason to make is own sandwich, never mind do his own laundry.

Besides, like I've maintained from the start, if we treat the 'community' there like our own family, why would they treat us any less than their own?

No, we're not going to hide away, we are going to engage in living WITH our neighbours.

Great.  The pain is back.  At least I had a good run of bitching for a few minutes there.

Bring on the morphine.

i surround myself with people who treat me well

accept it. this hurts.

My g*d I hate this time of year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OK.  Wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

All I've ever wanted was to be accepted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We're making our own ritual.

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

Not to be confused with The Happy Papi Dance.

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

But then that's our journey together.

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

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

i accept myself completely

My Ghost

There's a ghost in my machine.

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

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

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

The delight I felt I can't even express.

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

That was the moment I wanted one.  Strange omen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A girl and her bike.

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

My bike and I were one.

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

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

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

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

She's a ghost.

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

Then there's the spirit of my bike.

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

So, why?

Why does this picture keep haunting me?

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

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

Or, perhaps it's time to honour her.

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

My Ghost.

all false images of myself from the past are now dissolved

Here's to you, Chaz Bono!

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

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

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

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

But really?  Disgusting?

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

This is how our children learn how to bully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No matter how big someone is.

No matter what someone's sexuality or gender is.

No matter how mentally ill someone is.

No matter what colour someone is.

No matter what heritage someone comes from.

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

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

As are my rotting dishes in the sink.

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

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

When I think too much, I get angry.

I like my bubble.

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

I hate it when someone bursts my little happy place.

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

i am grateful for my teachers