New Years Eve in the DR!

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

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

There was much dancing and screaming and children running around.

Oh, not to mention the bar chihuahua barking.

It was also someone's birthday on this night.

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

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

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

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

Finders keepers!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take a moto.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good one.  Yeah.  That will do the trick.

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

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

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

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

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

I wish Papi were here for the entertainment.

Only 2 more sleeps!

my life is filled with joy

crapped my pants.

OK.  Let's get this straight.  I'm not a swimmer.

I float, I doggy paddle, I tread water, I do the backstroke, but I'm not a 'swimmer'.

However, every day I force my body to swim as far out into the ocean as I can, allowing the waves to resist my movements, granting me the cardio I need to pump fresh blood through my damaged muscles, in an effort to relieve my bitch of a back.

It really helps.  Today, I woke up with pain, feeling like I was almost going to be a Limping Lesbian, and now I feel like I could run a marathon.

In more ways than one, let me tell you.

You see, today I was feeling so strong that I felt I could swim out to the buoys in the water.

In the resorts, they have it cordoned off to keep us gringos locos under control and safe.

Every day, I have swam closer and closer to them.  Today, I was so impressed!  I was going to make it all the way!

I proudly doggy paddled and puffed as my heart pounded with gratitude, allowing my blood to rush through my veins.

I was almost there!!!

Then I felt it.

Something.  Something met BOTH of my thighs!

Whatever the fuck it was, it was big enough the it touched the entire length of my thighs!!!

Never in my life have I been so distressed, thinking of what the fuck it might have been!!!!!

In an instant, I was an olympic swimmer.  I immediately flipped over onto my back and began the back stroke so fast, that if I wasn't so scared, I would have impressed myself.

I honestly didn't know I could go so fast.

I prayed that the entity I just bumped with my body wasn't a man eating shark.

I don't believe in a 'god', but I'll tell you, I was praying like a teenage girl who's period was late.

I was practically in tears.

Ok, if I'm going to be honest, I WAS in tears and didn't care if anyone heard me saying, "Please don't eat me!  Please let me live!  I beg of you, please!!!"

When I got closer to the happy-go-lucky people on their little floaty devices, bobbing around like a bunch of dingbats, they looked at this water logged Honky 'Fro gringo, as if I was from another planet.

At shore, my heart was pounding faster than it ever did when I was training for boxing.  My trainer would have been proud!

The man who waded past me was looking at me as if to say, "Bitch!  You're on holiday!  Chill for chrissakes!"

I wasn't quite sure if I would make it to my lounging chair, because I was positive that exerting myself to that point was going to make me pass out, or have a heart attack.

Not to mention, I wasn't sure if I should check my drawers to see if that liquid running down my legs was only water and not the fact that I shit my pants.

I tried to reassure myself, "It was not a whale.  It was a sand dune they put there to keep the tourists safe from sharks."

Right?  Right?!?!?!?

Today, my only mission is to find someone who speaks enough English to tell me that is correct.

If not, my swimming will be kept from buoy to buoy in the shallow end, hoping that I don't get creamed by the children bouncing around in the waves.

When I came back to the room to frantically tell Papi about my terrifying experience, I didn't get to right away.  He had an experience of his own to share.

"Did you see the cockroach I trapped under the glass?!?!?!  That was the most horrifying thing I've lived through!"

He continued to tell me his alarming story, until I had to butt in and tell him that a whale grazing my thighs trumps his dirty cock-a-roach.

Oh, vast sea, how I respect you so much more.

i am brave

red flag

If you weren't pissed off enough from the G'ma predator post, this will make your blood boil for sure.

Upon speaking to one of her friends, we found out that he had done the same thing to her.

He intimidated this other lady by forcing her to sit with him at functions they both attend, he constantly came on to her, and when she refused his proposal of sex, he got angry at her, because she wouldn't let him come up to her apartment.

Red flag much?

That was enough for me to get the police involved.  They said that given her age and the fact that she has Alzheimer's, that they'd definitely set up a file for her.

Normally, the victim would have to be the one to report, but in this case, we could do the deed in her place.

We've set up the file and the other ol' fart is going to use the file case to make her complaint as well.

They now know where he lives, what he drives ...

... while he's drunk ...

... and what he's up to.

Turns out, they already have him on the radar.  They didn't specify as to what it was for, so we're assuming that it's for D.U.I.s.

I asked if he had a record of being a sexual predator, but he doesn't have a record for that.

Yet.

If he makes one more move, he WILL have a record as an offender.

We have no proof that he's done anything to our G'ma, but at least he's banned from the home and is on the radar of the police.

We're allllll watching you asshole.

I dare ya.  Make a step and test me.

After all the gramma drama of the police, and G'ma not really understanding why they were there, Papi and I had a much better evening.

We relaxed.  Everything is done, and now we just wait for the house to sell.

That was when I felt I could take a phone call from My Boifriend.

Sometimes, I just can't have a conversation, because I can't focus on anything other than the stress I'm freaked out by, but last night I did.

I'm so excited!  My Boifriend knows how to start the process of finding my big brother!

I feel the need to find him before we take off.  We have a bit of time.  The house has to sell and I have to finish up with my legal stuff in December.

So, we have a few months to find him!

I can't wait!

I really feel like this could happen.  The power of energy is important to remember.

Getting the energy out there that I'm looking for him may allow that beautiful positive energy to help me find him.

I believe I can.

I wonder if he's looking for us as well?  I wonder if he looks like me?  I wonder if he got the same Honky 'Fro that I got from our father?  I wonder if he has the same horrible crooked teeth? 

Oh, I guess I can't say that about myself anymore.  They're lookin' pretty straight and pretty now!

My Brace Face has really come a long way.

Anyway, as I sit here and write, I watch all the people walking past me and wonder, brother, where art thou?

It could be that man I just saw walk past. 

It really could be anyone.

i am stress free

Honky 'Fro Head

Day of hell!

I get picked up by the 'short bus', then off to the doc, then off to buy tights, ...

... that's the most exciting part of the day!!!! ...

... then off to the gym to do my daily physio, then off to have lunch with my mother, then visit a friend in the hospital, then the 'short bus' picks me up to get me home.

Or, so they say.  Please, please, please get me in the time you promised today, MVT!!  Please I beg of you!!

It's raining really hard out there, and the wind is blowing it sideways, so that it will travel under your umbrella.

I don't own an umbrella.

My hair is my umbrella.

Today, I'm going to have the craziest Honky 'Fro.

Big hair.

Totally.

I'd tame it in a ponytail, but then the rain might be creeping down my neck.

I wish I had an excuse for not going out, but I don't.

I won't be in pain for another 4 hours, so this is not an excuse.  I'll just bring my pain killers with me like I usually do.

Anyway, I gotta run.

Well, not literally run.  Just the cripple run.  Kinda like a normal walk for others.

Anyway.

Yuck.

i am calm

Do it!

Gettin' my hair did today.

It's mandatory.

I'm looking like a walking fire hazard.

I am so in need of some time!  I don't feel like I have enough time for writing the way I have been.

I feel like I'm hiding from my issues by doing too much, so that I don't have time to think about what's on my mind.

I do this always.

Too much on my plate and not enough time to get 'er did.

Except my hair.

It's all about my hair.

Truly.

I once had a therapist who said, "You have quite the relationship with you hair."

That's putting it mildly.

It's sorta like having a pet on my head.

I have to treat it good, give it water daily and play with it to give it the right attention.

Yes.

I have a relationship with my hair.

You would too if you had this mop of a Honky 'Fro.

But the point is, I'm doing everything I can to keep from thinking.

You must have noticed it in my blog.

There hasn't been very many times I've talked about what's going on in my mind.

However, I usually feel the need to let it swirl around a while before I barf it out here.

Sometimes it's hard to put into words what I'm feeling, because it's so chaotic that I can't even figure out what's going on for me.

I believe I've successfully switched my mind off from thinking about the rejection I get from both my parents.

Anyway, I have to go get ready.

Every damn time I go see Chad at Moods, I look like I've just rolled out of bed.

Then I get to stare at my pasty face for hours on end, from taking as many pain killers as I can to help me sit for the duration.

Not today!

I'm going to put on my favourite make-up and look at a pretty face in the mirror.

Not this ghostly white one I have because it's going to take another 5 months for the bone in my jaw to grow back.

Having said that, I gotta go if I'm going to look pretty for this round of choppage.

My 'short bus' will be here in 20 minutes.

So!

If there's any spelling or grammatical errors in this here blog, you can point them out to me because I'm not going to edit today.

Off I go!

giving up doesn't mean you're weak.  sometimes it means you're strong enough and smart enough to let it go

Putting my fears to bed.

It's amazing how much fun I had last night.

All those fears?

Useless.

Had washes of stomach pains from anxiety right up until I got in the hot tub.

Yeah.

It was a swimming event.

But I don't swim.

I float.

Anyway, the hot tub with great friends made it quite easy for me to ignore the haters, and they just ignored me.

Even Papi loosened up when he saw others with the exact same scars.  It was like we just fell into a magic pool filled with confidence and love.

My Boifriend and the sweetest M-F sillier than me, pushed myself and 4 fun loving strangers around in a floaty canoe!

I went down the kiddy slide!

I hung from a rope about a foot over water and slid right in!

Yeah, it might not have been the best idea for this bitch of a back, but it sure made me smile and have the greatest time in a while.

What I realized last night, is that I leave too long between social gatherings, so that the next time I actually have to go out, I think the worst, because I forget the best.

This has to stop.  Somehow, I have to assure that scarred little girl that she's not in that time when people would tease her about her hair.

When kids would literally stop and point; one I remember yelling at the same time, "What the fuck was that?"

I wasn't like all the other kids.  And it wasn't just my Honky 'Fro.  It was also my personality.

My mind was always thinking about my piano.  My piano was my first love.

That little girl who's different had to go to an event for her own good.

There weren't mirrors all over the place.

There was one wall of them and Papi caught me before I sneaked a peak to make a negative moment come to light.  "You look beautiful, my love.  You don't need to look."

Papi may have caught me before I did damage there, but the fear of walking out into a pool as the only femme in a bikini had me literally shaking.

Just like the good old days of starting at a new school every year, she felt so out of place.

That was of course, until she saw the M-F in a full length dress, tights and padded bra slide into the water.

She did all kinds of fancy falls from that massive rope.

And you know what?  Nobody pointed or stared at my body.

It's the fear of the unknown that gets me.

The little girl who has been a little more affected than most by the potential of people's evilness had the best time last night.

She got to shine in love.

I'm so glad I made her go.

Who knows?  Maybe by the time I'm 80 she'll relax a little and realize that there's more love out there than there is fear.

Stranger things have happened in my growth this year.

there is nothing to hold me back except myself

Would you like a little chard with that?

Well looky here!

I forgot that my baby sister got a pic of my cousin straightening my hair.

But could you please just ignore my pasty white skin, my bucktoothed Brace Face and droopy red eyes from pain killers?!?!

This is not a good look for me.  I'm referring to the ghost look.  Not my straightened hair.

I have this gaunt look every year after my suntan fades.

Sometimes, I really hate winter.

Ok, that's a lie.

I always hate winter.

Anyway, new topic.

I schemed my revenge on the Tranny Terrorist, and executed the plan.

You see, these past few days, my love has been gorging on his birthday cake, then chasing it with Reese's mini peanut butter cups.

Every day I make him his protein shake, in hopes that he gets enough vitamins.

Well, today I ever so sneakily placed a leaf of chard in our Magic Bullet smoothie maker, and added the usual mixed frozen berries, protein powder, omega oils, and apple juice for papi, coconut milk for me.

When I gave my love his shake, it was difficult for me not to have a deviant look on my face as I delivered the goods.

I was hoping that he just wouldn't notice.

But alas, I heard, "Is there hair in my smoothie?!?!"

"No," I answered nonchalantly, with an added scoff of 'don't be ridiculous'.

Well, I couldn't contain my giggles when my love pulled a string of chard out of his shake.

"Did you put vegetables in my shake?!?!"

I'm pretty sure I heard him hack up a loogie on the word 'vegetables'.

However, I took advantage of my right to remain silent.

That changed, of course, until after the 4th time mi esposo asked the same question.

I eventually had to admit it, but I waited until Papi had finished at least half of his shake.  That way, I knew that he at least got a little bit of nutrition in that body that is saturated with sugar.

To my amazement, mi esposo actually drank the whole thing.

That is really all I could ask for, and now I have free reign to slip veggies into other foods without my love knowing.

Oh!

Did I tell you the story about buying Papi's birthday cake?

I don't think I did.

I had to wait until after I told Papi.

So, as I was speaking to the woman in charge of the bakery department, I told her exactly what kind of cake I needed, as the recipient was beyond finicky.

She said, "Yeah, kids can be so picky.  How old is he?"

"Thirty-six," I replied, waiting for the chuckle in reference to my very own manchild.

She did indeed get a kick out of it, then added, "Oh, that's even worse."

Indeed Safeway bakery lady.

Don't you know it.

Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land

So here I sit, waiting for pain killers to set in, and letting brain settle from 2 days of catch up on the most current film score.

I wanted to chat about what I forgot ...

... who me? forget? ...

... to do: I failed to take a picture of my straightened hair.

Some people got confused, and thought that perhaps I'd accepted my role in this transgender relationship by letting go of my butch loving title.

Nope.  I'm not straight.

My hair was.

Emphasis on was.

My hair didn't take too long beat the heat of straightening.

It started to curl without permission of the chemicals, and from there it became a free-for-all of which of my locks could be the fuzziest on my head.

Anyway, I'll be heading back to my cousin's salon to get it done again, and I'll take pictures for sure.  I just didn't realize how quickly my hair would shoot back to Honky 'Fro status.

But as I sit trying to write about my hair, I am bombarded with notifications on Facebook.

Every last one of them has been for the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land.

Yes.

It gets an excessive title, as it seems to be the most important happening in Papi's world.

next to me of course ...

Mi esposo loves Sims so much, that he has 2 personalities' games he plays.

One of them is from my Facebook account.

People who are in my friends list may think that it's me playing.  I mean really!  I could be playing Sims the whole time I just gorged on film score composing.

It could happen!

I could have so little to do in my life that I've built a house in the Sims world.

But, no.

It's Papi.

I feel like I need to set this record straight.

Unlike my hair.

yes ... i will take any opportunity to talk about my hair ...

Anyway, the whole point of this was to talk about that little red notifications alert that comes on our Facebook pages.

So.

Here I sit, watching notification after notification come for Papi, under the guise of me.

sigh ...

If only I was as popular as my 'wack job' character that Papi has developed for me.

No really.

My love asked me what the name of this Sims person should be, and it happened to be on a day when I was having giggle attacks about being called a 'whack job' here on my blob/blab.

So, if you're out there in Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land and you're telling 'wack job' that her mama is a llama, well, it's not me.

I will now return to my brain drain relax, where the only thing my noodle can handle, is to watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

I'm now straight.

What a day yesterday!

I started out with my physio who is more like a Master in an S&M role play.

I managed to squeak past him without much notice and head straight for my strengthening regime.

I then ran around and got goodies for an awesome family visit last night.

My baby sister and her family joined Papi and I at my aunt's house with my cousins.

It was a riot!

There were 2 very exciting parts of our visit that were out of the norm and a gay ol' time!

One of my sweet cousins is now a full fledged hair stylist and was eyeing my hair up all night.

You could see the shears in her mind just waiting for the opportunity to start clipping.

My hair does have this affect on hair dressers.  The scary part is with the bad Honky 'Fro hair cuts I've had, I won't go to new hairdressers for fear of leaving the salon looking like Roseanne Roseannadanna.

I won't go into stories about that or I'll be here all day and I won't get to the Papi part of this blob/blab.

yes ... it's alllll about my hair ...

However, she did ask if I've ever had it straightened, and because I hadn't, she decided to show me what it looks like.

I will do my best to get pics for you for tomorrow.  I need to have the full femme face on to really let you see the glory, and that's not going to happen until I've finished my coffee and done some work on my film score.

Never in my life has a comb gone through my hair without losing a few teeth.

It was pretty cool!

Now for the intersting moment.

Like I had told you, my nephew is going through puberty.  Well, Papi, and this now taller than me nephew, were having a great ol' time all alone in the 'man zone' chatting about electronics and boy stuff, while all 7 of us girls got to the make-over part of the evening.

When my love came out around the corner to ask the legitimate teacher in the house for some help with my nephew's homework, ...

... yes ... you heard right ... another story ...

... the two of them standing there like nothin' else I'd ever seen, I'll tell ya.

There they were.

Matching caterpillar moustaches, to go hand in hand with the matching 'Fox' sweatshirts.

The two of them were the epitome of awkward teen-ness.  I mean really!  Papi even has Brace Face to drive the effect back to home plate!

Now, when I call Papi a manchild, it's going to have a whole new meaning for me.

That was when it dawned on me.

My love had told that the transition takes a few years.

I didn't understand why, but I get it now.

My love truly is a teen with peach fuzz, and it will take a few years to get through the teen-ness and into adult manly-ness.

i'm having a few issues at this moment thinking of the scary man ogre i thought about a year ago ...

A teen?

Seriously?

I'm truly living with a man-child.

Fucking hell.

Save me.

Good Hair Day.

"Do you want me to cut your hair?"

This has to be the most ridiculous question Papi has ever asked me.

Seriously.

My love was actually being sincere.

I don't pay over a hundred bucks to get my hair cut just because I like to spend money.

My honky 'fro definitely needs some professional attention right now, but after I've seen my love's D.I.Y. projects go a wee bit awry, I had to wonder if Papi had perhaps been nipping at my Crack Butter.

cut this hair?!?!?!  not a hope in hell you're getting near my honky 'fro with scissors

The only reason I know he hasn't, is because after my love tried the Crack Butter just once, in hopes that his anxiety would be relieved, he is almost ready to bid adieu to butter all together.

Every time I've had to ask my Crack Butter to dull my nerves' pain, mi esposo goes into a dramatic monologue that sorta goes like this:

"Oh, God!"

**gags**

"That is SO disgusting."

**dry heave**

"I don't know how you can eat that!"

**hacks**

Well, my love, it's a bit akin to how I hate bananas so much that I truly gag every time I eat them, yet I've eaten them when I've had insomnia.

bananas have tryptophan just fyi ...

Anyway, back to my hair, because it's really all about my hair.

I made my hair pretty, because we were supposed to go to a party last night for my sweet friend's housewarming celebration, but Papi had healing issues and had to stay home and rest.

Personally, I was afraid that haters could potentially be going to the party, or I'd have gone solo.

Today is not one of those times I feel safe to go it alone.

I guess I have been affected by the Hen Peckers without realizing it.

Yeah, I may be fine with their mean words on the internet, but actively seeing their dirty looks and jeers?

I have had to do it recently, and it just wasn't my idea of fun.

So, nah.

I can't play that game at this moment.

The saddest part is twofold: a) I let my fear win and didn't get the see one of the sweetest friends I have, and b) my good hair day went to waste.

Damn good thing I didn't get all dressed up with nowhere to go.

Instead, I got to pass by the mirror every half our to enjoy my good hair seeing as how Papi just let me know in a round about way that it's time for a cut.

Sure.

Just as soon I have regular grocery money coming in, a hair cut could happen.

However, there was also some drama time with Psycho Kitty.

Yes, it's that time of year again, ...

... it's been a relaxing 2 days without the g'ma ...

... where we leave the door open between floors, and the kitteh heads roll.

Well, it's really my kitties that get the beatdown.  So far, nobody's fur has been pulled from the root and strewn down the hall.

But tomorrow is a new day.

There may be feline drama tomorrow, or the next day, or the next week, but be assured, fuzzy heads will roll.

Just as long as it isn't The Mrs.

Phobia.

I remember thinking how crazy it is that people are afraid of dogs.

People would cross the street when they saw me coming with my Dearly Departed Gypsy.  She was my doofus of a rottweiler who left me for that fire hydrant in the sky 6 years ago.

i still miss my baby every day ...

She was the sweetest soul who needed to be loved by everybody to feel whole.

sound familiar?!

So, when people would be afraid of her I couldn't understand it.  I would think to myself, "If they only knew the soul inside of the brute physique, they'd see that all dogs are not fear worthy."

Hell, my drummer was terrified of dogs from a childhood trauma, but he loved Gypsy.

Anyway, I spent years thinking that people were ridiculous for being afraid of these wonderful companions.  Granted there are a few who have been brought up to be vicious by their owners, but they're not all corrupt.

One day, my friend sent me a picture of a massive spider that was making it's way to Canada.

It was a hoax, but having a phobia of spiders, I couldn't get into the shower for a week because I was afraid they'd come down from the ceiling.  I haven't eaten grapes since that day either, because I found one in my grapes. 

Yeah.

pho·bi·a

 [foh-bee-uh]

noun

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Stress the word irrational.

So, from that point forward, I understood how people can be afraid of dogs.  I had a little bit more appreciation of their irrational fears.

Well, Papi doesn't understand my fear of men, and more specifically, male body parts. 

Ok, that wasn't so specific.

Penes.

So, the other day, my love thought it would be funny to stand in front of me, lift the lower edge of his boxers a tiny bit, and expose the tip of the Plastic Penis.

I almost crawled out of my skin and was pretty grateful that I'd just had a dose of pain killers to numb my senses.

It affected me greatly.  I haven't stopped thinking about it for days.

sorry i didn't tell you papi ... 

Yesterday, my love informed me that I got my thoughts wrong in the blog.  You can't pee out of the Lifelike Penis.  Mi esposo then announced that he would indeed be buying the LifeLike Penis.

I couldn't really talk about it.  I would just continue to fondly slice Papi's veggies for a turkey sandwich made with love.

"Why do you always stop talking?" my love asked.

I answered honestly, "I don't know," because I've been like that since I was a kid.

if you ignore it it will go away ...

I was silent and scared.

Papi pressed on with the topic, and asked, "I don't understand why you can't see that it's me and not be afraid.  You know that I would never hurt you.  Has every single male you've encountered been horrible?"

Well, not every one.  But the ones that really fucked me up did a damn good job.

So, I recognized the phobia last night.

It is indeed a phobia.

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Well, as they say, admitting it is the first step.

It's a wobbly step, but it's done.

Now give me my fucking counseling appointment so I can wash that bitch outta my Honky 'Fro.

It's really all about my hair.

It's not good for a house to be ignored by 2 people.

That mess that I thought I had under control is pure mayhem.  It's so bad I don't know where to begin.  That is of course, if I can pick things up with this bloody back being a pisser.

Whatever.

It really doesn't matter until Saturday.

Today is all about rehearsal and making sure my Honkey 'Fro is going to behave itself for my performance tomorrow.

Yes.

I have to start a day ahead ...

hehe a head

... to get this 'fro to work out.  I will have to suffer through the fluffies today, then tomorrow it will be happy getting it's second dose of wax.

It would be worse if I was still using shampoo.

I haven't used shampoo since Papi dropped the male transformation bomb on me in November.

During that blow, I wouldn't wash my hair.  I would lie in the tub exposing only my nose for air, wishing the drain would expand enough to fit me in, washing me away with the water.

That was when I discovered my hair is so much happier without shampoo.

is that my fucking silver lining?  hair?!?!?

I just hope that our fans will even be feeling like coming out on Friday.

to see my hair

I'm not sure where my readers will be reading from on this calm Thursday, but last night our downtown core had a riot.

Our local hockey team didn't win the Stanley Cup, so like spoiled brats stomping their feet accompanied by a lip sticking out, young males destroyed our downtown core.

Honestly though, these are the same cretin who tried to start a widespread riot during the Olympics.  These are the same idiots who travel from town to town with the intention of spreading violence and hate to vent their immature frustration.

maybe they should try blogging

They have a choice to riot about our crappy Prime Minister and all the cuts he's giving to our education, health and seniors.

But nooooooooo.  They choose hockey.

The simpletons rioting last night weren't hockey fans.  The true fans cheered on the opposition with well deserved regard when they won the cup.

Those are the Canadians we'd like to be associated with.

The rioters actually brought in their own vehicle to destroy, to begin the proceedings of the riot.

It worked.

Our city is embarrassed and shamed that this is what we had to show the world at the end of a well played season.

I'm not a hockey fan per se, but it was a nice excuse to get together with friends and cheer on our team.  The feeling of oneness in our city is a good heart feeling.  It was just like during the Olympics when everyone rallied in pride.

I wasn't a fan of the Olympics either, but to feel that patriotic movement was enough to make me feel honoured to be a Canadian.

There was no pride last night.

So I wonder?

Will people who are disgusted with this showing of moronic values even feel like going out on Friday for our CD Release celebration?

We'll find out.

All I know is, my hair will be ready.

mess.

They say the state of your home is a direct reflection of your state of mind.

Right now?

This couldn't be more accurate.

You could really say that I've been out of my home for a month, with a bout of 3 days work between.

I made it through the last 2 days of work, but now I'm looking at everything I have to get done in a week and it's not pretty.

I have so much practising to do for our CD release party on the 17th!  I'm in dire need of some strong fingers after a month away from my instrument!

so the best thing to do is procrastinate and write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I also have to get the cd burned within a week ...

gawd i hope they will do a rush job

... get my promo done and somehow make some sense of this house that looks like a hoarder has moved in. 

oh! i got to drop off a real live one yesterday at work. it was something to behold!

Clothes strewn, 2 days of dishes in disarray, tumbleweeds of dog and cat fur everywhere and then there's my honky fro.  It's turning into natty dreads alright.

Oh, and the cat litter is almost extinct, so you can imagine how nice that must be for the cats to be doing business in only a few inches of sand.  Not to mention, the smell.

So, is this reflecting my state of mind?

Hell ya.

Papi comes home tomorrow.  I miss my love terribly, but I'm so scared to see the end result.

Mi esposo said I don't have to look at it.  Does this mean there won't be anymore visions of my naked Papi running around the house?

No, I think not.  My love is a streaker for sure.  I won't be coddled from the view of the new Papi.

My mind is an absolute mess from thinking of everything that has to be done and the emotions that I'm experiencing.

This house has got nothing on me.  I win the disaster game.

I'm also in the process of working on a scar on my face.  The stress has made me find a little spot to pick on my cheek.

Do you think I can tell myself to leave it alone?  Nooooooooooooo.

I can't remember the movie, but there's an artist who was pals with ...

oh fuck here we go ... brain injury alert ... not even going to try to remember names right now.

oh! got it!

... Andy Warhol and he would just pick at that scab and it got bigger and bigger.  I'm pretty sure that's what I'm doing here.

gonna look hot for the release party for shoooooo-er

Then there's the mirror dysphoria.  There is a girl in the mirror that is much bigger than my jeans tell me.

Mess?

You betcha.

I can't wait to see my love tomorrow.  I realized something over the past few days upon returning without Papi.  Something that I've never felt.

I need my love.

I've never really needed anyone before.  I've never had someone in my life that can take this mess of a femme and calm me down.  I've never had someone who understands my insanity and doesn't run for the hills.

My love is good for me.

I need mi esposo almost as much as I love mi esposo.

would you leave that fucking scab alone for fucks sakes?!?!?!

Ok.

I'm going to go tackle the first thing on my list.

Oh, did I tell you my tattoo is infected?  Niiiiiiiiiiiiice.

Namaste

So, today we looked at property in a place called Sosua.

The area is a tourist trap, but it's accessible and easy for foreigners to live in.

It looks feasible that we'll actually be able to afford to live here comfortably.  At first I thought I would have to grow a lot of veggies and get a goat to make my own cheese and dairy, but the realtor told me about all the little farms in the area that sell it to me and I'll get inexpensive food, along with supporting their farm.

This I like.

I want nothing more than to support the people here.

yes ... even the little buggers who swarm our car ... 

I'll get to know people as well by being a patron of their farm, and this is appealing to me.  I want to know how to be of service to people here if I'm going to live on their beautiful healing land.

I'll tell you though, the rules here are a bit wild.

You'll find mothers riding bitch on the back of a scooter, and they'll have their bambino tucked under one arm riding side saddle.

It's so common!

Another common occurrence?

Propane tanks being delivered by 100 cc motorcycles.

Seriously!!!

One guy today almost lost his container and all I could think was, we're going to fucking blow up.

I got the fear of propane drilled into me as a professional bus driver.  I forgot that there needs to be something to actually LIGHT the propane on fire in order for it to explode, but none-the-less, I was in fear.

I definitely need to find a way to get my hair to obey in this humidity.

The Honky 'Fro is LOOSE!

Well, I'm a blonde again, but you get the idea.

They have a section in the hair aisle for afro hair.  I'm so damn happy!!  A fucking SECTION!!  Not just an option like we occasionally get, but a whole area dedicated to wild hair.

I had to use Papi's glue to hold my hair down today.  I got sick of the 80's look going on over here.

I went into a music store to check out their selection of bass guitars, but they really have little to choose from, and the ones they do have are not really what I'd prefer.  So, it looks like I'll be bringing mine along with me.

sorry baby ... my basses are coming along for the journey ...

Sitting in the sun takes away my pain.

Locals smiling at me takes away my fear.

Searching for homes with my love takes away my stress.

A new life to live here in the Dominican will be all I need to take a breath of our future.

Now.

I just have to remember that when I want to say 'I'm hungry' that I don't mistakingly say 'I have man'.

Hombre?  Hambre?

Small difference in lettering, big difference in sound.

What they don't realize, is both are true.

Peace.

Felize.

Amor.