grow papi, grow

Oh how I'm reveling in the goodness that is my Dominican style coffee.

For my grand return, Papi and I didn't get to have much quality time, considering the whole afternoon was spent at the casino with the old fart celebrating her 97 golden years.

She can't even remember how to push the buttons on the machine, but she only lost $40 which is better than I can say for Papi and I.

I don't really get the addiction to gambling.  I could go out and hand someone $20 and they'd smile.

Yet, when I watch that little bill slink or slither into a machine, it just disappears, somewhat like Java the Mutt would eat the treats I'd give him.

There's no joy as we watch the $20.00 nonchalantly dissolve into 5 cents.  How can someone get addicted to throwing away money like that?!?!

Oh, but they were there, and we saw them.

My favourite was the one who, every time we'd finish our $20 spree on a machine, would briskly glide in to our seats right after us.  She must've thought that we were lucky.

Maybe with my hair up and fluffed out on top of my head I looked like a lucky bingo troll?

Then we watched her whispering to each other, "If she wins I'll be really fucking pissed."

She lost as well, but onward she went to the next $20 to throw in again, thinking that this would be the winning round.

Then, when we got home, Papi decided to inform me that he has finally healed in his 'man zone' from C. difficile and is indeed again, packing.

Packing as in a Plastic Penis, the grand PeeCock.

Packing as in it's time to start putting out the seat wipes again.

Which reminds me of what I found fascinating about hanging out with the dudes from Gender Odyssey.  I was enthralled at how they mentored the younger, newly arriving dudes.

I had wished that Papi was there, because he would have appreciated the conversations.  I mean, I know he reads a lot about trans issues, and he's very verbal ...

... understatement ... ahem ...

... when it comes to getting people talking about things on his Facebook wall, but he really would have enjoyed listening to how these guys advised others.

"You have to figure out what kinda guy you want to be.  Then you have to study their walk, their clothes, their gestures.  It's about making that decision, then eventually growing into the part."

I suppose we all do that to a degree, we just don't honestly think about it.

Human behaviour can be learned, and we can become anyone we put our minds to.  We can be happy if we choose to be, by simply following the steps a happy person would take.

I studied the harshest, meanest people around me for quite a long stint in my life.  I wanted to come across as strong, because I felt so weak, meek, and had the self esteem of a gnat.

So, I learned how to act the part of a rock goddess, to entice the world to listen to my music.  It worked, but when I'd step off stage to find people wanting to shake my hand to say, "That was so awesome!" in my post performance procession line, fans would be confused.

They thought they'd meet that girl that was on that stage, but once I took a step off that platform, I was no longer the rock goddess.  What I found was, people were let down that I was actually shy and sweet.

People were attracted to that girl up there.  Hell!  So was I!  Why do you think I chose her?

Well, she left the day my head hit the ground after flying 15 feet through the air at 50km.

I can't hold that bass and rock out since the motorcycle accident, but more so, the whack to the head changed me.

It's taken me a bit, but I've figured out how to be who I am now, and I don't need to study who to be next.

I don't need to emulate someone new.

No, now I get to settle in to my new life, and serenely allow time to help Papi grow into his.

people like me

Hello PeeCock!

May is here!!  Still, that doesn't mean the warm is here yet.

You know, people all over the USA believe that we live in igloos and they're not far off.  We live in houses here in Vancouver, but dammit, I'm still donning a fucking parka.

There are ominous clouds outside that look like they're preparing for the climax of a Stephen King novel.

My bitch of a back told me the black billows of 'brrr!' were rolling in without me even needing to open my eyes this morning.

Lord knows I won't be doing anything for The Great DR Purge today.

However, I did get a lot done yesterday. 

We're going through things and getting rid of stuff.  I'm also finding little gifts to give away as I come across my nice things that people may want.

As Papi and I were going through the jungle of shelves he has, we were re-arranging things to be more organized.

Well, I was trying to organize.  Papi was just interested in being a Tranny Terrorist for the day.

"What do you want me to do with your tampons?"

I'd prefer if he'd just leave them where they were, but quite quickly after asking his question, he answered it for me.  "I'll just put them on my penis shelf."

All I could do was calmly negate his offer, "Sure sweety, because that's the first place I'd go looking for them."

... seriously?!?! leave those fuckers where i had them!! ...

The last thing I need is to be wading through penes to find what I need to put up that hole in that monthly emergency.

Or in my case, my every 3 weeks emergency.  How the fuck did I wind up with a body that likes to torment me so often?!?!??!

... sorry if that was tmi for ya boys ...

Anyway, one of the reasons the penes were out to play is because Papi is going away for a week to his sister's wedding in Mexico.

Remember that happy dance?

Anyway, he's going to be a needing to get his PeeCock action going again, because he has to pass as a bio-male when he gets into that male washroom amongst the drunken college boys in Mexico.

It's time to practise once more.

I've got the handy dandy clean up wipes ready for action for when the bathroom gets messy again!

My love is out of practise since all the surgery hell begun.

He's afraid that he'll make a mess all over himself in the washrooms at the resort.

There's a simple way to deal with that and I told him, "If you make a mess, just jump back into the ocean!"

Besides, at resorts, people are half cut by noon anyway.  As if they'll even notice a little leak here and there.  They'll be too busy waiting for the bar to open.

My love was packing to get ready for his week of R&R last night.  He's not even leaving for another 2 weeks.

Anyway, seeing my love get up and move around for his exciting week away from reality was lovely.

I spend every second I can with Papi while he's up.  He is still sleeping so much from the pain, healing and depression, that I miss him, even though I can look at him while he sleeps.

He's now working on his diet, because he's found out he has food allergies.

I'm working double time to try to find foods that I can make for my my love to keep him on the upswing and eating properly for his new regimen.

Apparently, I did well with the gluten-free, dairy and egg free banana bread I made him.

I'm thinking his little burst of energy this week was because he took those nasty foods out of his system.

I'll keep you posted on that one I'm sure.

Because we all know I love to talk about food.

i am healthy since my practises are healthy

Urinal training 101

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

Men's washrooms.

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

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

This phenomenon is different in the men's.

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds a bit barbaric to me.

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

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

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

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

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

When Papi realized this, he removed himself ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously.  They're pumped full of liquid courage.

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

There should be some sorta grooming school.

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

Papi needs some male coaching.

I'm definitely not the one to ask.

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

But really.

This lining up at the stall rule.

Dear males: What the fuck is that about?

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

Practise makes perfect.

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

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

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

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

It really wasn't all that bad though.

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

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

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

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

There it was!

My love has confirmed my suspicion.

Ego.

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

I understand.

So, it's back to practising for Papi.

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

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

Was it a few months?  YEARS?!?!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still wasn't good enough for Papi.

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

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

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

thank you for my lesson of the day papi

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

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

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

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

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

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

One just for the toilet seat.

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

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

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

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

This pleases me.

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

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

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

I'm getting there.

Talking about Plastic Penes is probably a good start.

Laughing about it is going to heal me faster.

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