hungry?

Dominican dogs are not like Canadian dogs.

They're hunters.

Some are starved and will go after anything to eat.

It's been inbred in them for many generations.

They don't have the pampered lifestyle like we're used to.

Even Pathetic Puppy.

We got her as a baby, but she's still a wild loon in search of crabs, rats, geckos, frogs and anything else she can find to hunt.

She's not too keen on kibble.

She'd probably prefer the rice 'n beans diet most dogs have here.

Then there's Old Ghost Face and The Thug.

They have serious hunting mentality.

Especially when they want to kill the cats.

Which they tried to do the other night.

I was happily working my way through to the Dexter finale, when I heard Papi screaming, then tumbling above my head.

At first I thought it was a plain old dog scrap that we've become accustomed to, and cringed as I assumed Papi would use the greatest technique he's found; The Wheelbarrow.

Simply grab The Thug by the back legs and pull him off.

He can't fight while he's balancing on his front paws.

What I didn't know, was that when Papi tried to pull The Thug off The Mrs., well, Old Ghost Face went in to finish the task.

I could hear the fighting wasn't stopping.

Quickly I knew this wasn't a normal dog fight and my mind jumped straight to envisioning cat intestines strewn across the floor.

When I finally snapped out of the sights that had me frozen, swirling in my head, I hobbled upstairs as fast as I could, creating a lot more pain for my ankle.

When I got to the top of the stairs, all the dogs were outside and Papi was screaming, "It's not good!  It's not good!"

I figured my assumption was right and that I'd walk into a scene straight out of the Dexter show I was just watching.

But instead, I found lamps strewn across the floor, cables in a mess, and a cat in shock.

We thought she had internal bleeding or possibly a broken back, or both.

She wasn't moving.

Through our tears and panic, we called the emergency number for Dr. Bob, who told us to immediately go buy a serum.  "If anything is going to keep her alive through the night, this is it."

The next morning, we reached under the bed and thought she had passed in the night.

She wasn't responding when we touched her, but I got in close enough that could feel her chest cavity moving with her breathing.

I pulled her limp body out from under her hiding place, we brought her in, and were relieved to find that she is merely bruised.

Nothing broken, no internal bleeding, and no neurological damage.

Yes, she is VERY sore, and will take a few days to heal, but he said, "Her fur saved her."

Normally, we shave her, because she's always so hot with that thick, black, Persian fur, but we haven't found an adequate groomer.

Her fur saved her life.

Her fur is her super power.

She still hasn't come out from under the bed since the whole disaster, but she's eating.

This is not the life I thought these cats would have.

I thought they'd be chasing butterflies and geckos, enjoying their new country.

I guess it's just as well.

Here, people eat cats too.

Ours would make a nice meal.

Just ask the dogs.

every day, i learn more

looking at the good

Sunday Sillies:

The good news is, I found the Sosua Synagogue!!!

The bad news is, they don't have a rabbi, so no services.  I've written back home to Rabbi Laura to ask if she ever found the person who could teach me from afar.

Any rabbis out there wanna live in paradise?

There are places you can move into that are ready made, no problems, and you don't need a gazillion dollars like we need to fix Casa Paraíso.

This house is a money pit.

When you live on the ocean, rust never sleeps.

Just as you think you've finished, there's always something more.

This morning, I happily opened a window to let in the cool breeze from the ocean, only to watch the bracket fall from it's wood to the floor.

Well, at least we got the clean water now.

I had the world's most beautiful shower last night.

It's not crystal clear and super clean like in Canada, but it no longer smells like I'm showering in farts.

Tomorrow, our roof gets started and within a week I won't be dodging monsoon showers in our bedroom.

Tuesday, our bed mattress gets here, which means Papi and I will sleep in the same bed, sprawled out and definitely starfished amongst various animals who are allowed to be there.

100%, The Donkey is not invited, even though she thinks she's one of the little dogs, and the littlest ones think they're as big as her.

Everyone is equal when they're a dog.

I wish they would treat cats in the same light.

I'm a little worried about Old Ghost Face, as she clamped her mouth down upon The Mrs. the other day.

The Mrs. hasn't come out of the closet since, unless the bedroom door is closed and she feels safe.

Old Ghost Face seems to be stalking The Bastard Prince as well, and I have to give her a stern talking to every time.

It's hard to do with an abused animal, because one simple, strong, "No!" and she cowers like we're going to beat her.

At least now she understands her name, so I can simply say it with that slow, man-like, authoritative voice and she walks slowly away from the cats.

I believe she's starting to understand that we're not going to lay a hand on her, unless it's to give her love.

I'm relieved that nobody seems to be bothering Psycho Kitty.

I suppose it's because they all know he's not a threat, because he's dying.

I was worried that because he was weak, the others would try to put him down the way they would in the wild.

So far, everyone just leaves him alone.

The drugs are working SO GOOD!!!

He is cuddling like crazy, as I try my best to hold my breath from the stench of a smell of a dying animal.

I am getting used to it, because I'm so grateful to have him act like he did before.

Up on the counters!!!

He's even ass up in the sink, looking for remainders of human food he can hunt and kill!!!

Something else I'm very excited about is next week's baby shower for our secret godson.

We're just going to keep our tryst a secret, so we don't have to deal with the Housemaid and the wrath of her clique vengeance.

I watch the Housemaid in our cameras, as she stalks our property, looking for us to talk to about the fact that we were speaking with Our Fave's Mom the other day.

It's horrible to feel like we have to hide from her, but I just don't want the work of defending my decision of having Our Fave's Mom as a friend.

I want to live without the village clique trying to tell me what to do to fit in.

Hmmm.

Sounds an awful lot like certain people back home.

People are people.

Everywhere.

Only this time, I get a new slate where I can only receive the good.

I've learned from the cliques back home.

Beware of those who travel in packs.

Unless they have 4 legs.

i choose to see the light i am to this world

money, money, money

Ah, the gringo tax.

So nice.

When people here don't put price tags on things, it is simply so they can look at the colour of your skin and charge accordingly.

Seriously people.

Have you seen the truck we drive?

We are not the 'rich' gringos.

All we want is an affordable car that will return us back home.

We're searching for a car lot that isn't near the tourists now, as they may have price tags on them.

It's the same with anything here, really.

If they give you a really high price, you say, "We're not tourists, we live here," and even if it's in a really bad Spanish accent, most of the time, they'll give you a better price.

Yesterday, we were looking for dressers and end tables for our bed that will be here in 3 more weeks.  They went crazy trying to charge us $1,000 for them.

We just said, "We're going to Ikea."

They actually have one here in the capitol, Santo Domingo, and we'll be there next week to work on our residency.  They'll deliver it as far as Santiago, where we can hire someone to pick it up.

I'm not driving The Moca again until we have a new vehicle.

We got the carpenter started on our bed frame.

We're getting the bed built tall enough that puppies can't get up and pee all over the place.

That is of course, with the exception of The Donkey.  She can pretty much go anywhere she pleases.

Like the roof.

Have I told you about the new roof we need?  Now we need it even more.

The balcony roof has been used for a litter box.  It's that grass roof style.  Perfect for piddling on, no?

The Mrs. figured out that she could just walk on out there and do her business, and not have to dirty her paws in the stink pit that would be shared by her two smelly cohorts, The Bastard Prince and Psycho Kitty.

And now, this means that the puppies are following suit.  And by puppies, I also mean The Donkey can fit through the barrier as well.

As much as she's very tall, she's quite thin, true to her breed.

We keep feeding her more thinking she's starving, but we'll have to get a handle on how much is enough, or we'll go broke feeding this girl.

Imagine a massive donkey/goat/dog on your roof, along with 2 naughty side kicks.

Thinking of it, I can see vet bills rising from broken limbs.

So, not only do we need a new roof, but we need a better barrier so those buggers don't get out there anymore.

I am now considering concrete and tiles, like the house, instead of grass.  As much as the grass looks cute, it has to be replaced more often.

Not to mention, The Mrs. will just pee on the new grass too.

She also has found another nice place to pee.

Our main bathroom shower.

We don't use the upstairs shower while we're living downstairs in the guest area, until we get our bed.

So, I guess The Mrs. decided it was for her.

I have 3 weeks to un-stink that shower.

I've already scrubbed twice.

If you're ever feeling bored, come to our house.

You will be grateful for your boredom and I will explain to you what it is to have 'down time'.

I would love some.

And a little more money for a new roof, rocks so we don't wash away, and a car that will get us from A to B.

i visualize myself having abundant wealth.  that is who i am.

even the waves can hear our sadness ...

I hope one of the 'taxis' will take us with a cat crate today.

They should.

They took a lady with her big basket of wares.

Besides, he's not very talkative right now, so he won't disturb anyone.

He has a fever.  He's so hot, and his mouth is so swollen that you can visibly see the infection growing in a short 2 days, never mind feel the bulge.

He just looks at me with eyes of pain.

His mouth hasn't stopped bleeding all weekend.

True to Murphy's Law, he got at his worst on the the days the vet isn't in.

What is that about?  Why do they always have to pick Saturday and Sunday to be at their worst?

Neither Papi or I slept all night worrying about how uncomfortable he was, not to mention, feeling the pang of unwarranted guilt because we can't do anything to help him.

I cried a few tears and stroked him, allowing him to head butt me like he loves to do, regardless of how much infection or blood got on my head or face.

It may be his day.

I'm so heartbroken, because he was supposed to kill more geckos and chase more butterflies and tear apart more cockroaches.

He was supposed to live the life of a Dominican cat.

He had a few good days, but the majority of his time here has been really miserable.

Feeling how hot his head was last night made my sorrow all the more pungent.

Then there was more death outside, by the hands of The Bastard Prince.

There was a dead mouse sitting on the patio furniture when I first got up.

However, there is no more.

The Pathetic Puppy, our new one eye, disappeared about the same time the dead mouse did.

Not too much later, she showed up licking her chops and there seems to be mouse intestines on the newly laid grass in front of my seat with an ocean view.

The reason I know it was The Bastard Prince who killed it initially, was because it was bigger than The Mrs.

She wouldn't take someone that big on.

But The Bastard Prince would.

Then there's the Jake-A-Like.

He's our fearless cockroach hunter.

Dominican animals really know how to take care of business.

Maybe our cats are bucking up because they see the competition.

That is of course, except for Psycho Kitty.

He's not moving too much, as he stays under the bed to feel sick all alone.

The vet had told us the reason he's not healing is because he's just too old to do so.  His body can't do it, and that if he doesn't get better on the heaviest duty drugs we just gave him, it's the end of the line.

I'm just so sad.

I want to bury him in the sand at the end of the pool, where we look out to the ocean.

I want to allow his little body to be the gate keeper of our home.

Forever our protector.

A space for us to think of him every day as we look out to the freedom he's soon to have.

I know I'm having troubles getting going today.  I've been up since 1 a.m. and Papi wasn't too far behind me.

I don't want to wake Papi up to say, "Ok my love, it's time to say goodbye."

That is just such a bad way to start a day.

It's a sad day, and even the waves seem to be lamenting in such a way that they feel my ebbing of happiness.

They seem slower today.

There are clouds in the sky.

The brightness of the Dominican morning is not as sweet as it has been most days.

with love, i listen to this inner conflict, and reflect on it until i find peace around it

what's xmas without an ER visit?

So, while I was lying in emergency last night, I came up with a poem for y'all:

'Twas the night before Xmas
and all through the house
all the creatures were stirring,
including the mouse (aka: Sir Bark-a-Lot).

Papi dropped me off
to the ER with care
and all I could think was,
"How bad is my hair?!?"

The nurse gave me drugs
to help ease the pain,
and Papi and I were amazed
that we were here again.

The drugs didn't help,
but at least I felt better,
but damn!  I was cold
as I eyed up my sweater.

I'll go for their cat scan
to check out my head,
but it's just so damn painful
I wish I were dead.

Had me a bit of a migraine from hell.

I guess my pain killers have run their course and my pain had to go somewhere, so up it went to my head.

They pumped me up with morphine, gave me a cat scan to make sure there was no tumour, and sent me on my way.

Merry Xmas, you get a Pain Med Party.

Today, I'm not staggering all over the place and my eyes are open half way, so I'm doing a hell of a lot better than I was 24 hours ago.

So, for your Xmas pleasure, I made a video for Papi.

You are entitled to see it.

I threw in a few of my tunes as well, so you may want to have your speakers on.

Or not.  Hehehe.  Just don't tell me that.

No need in breaking my heart, eh?

I hope this day finds you all well.

i fill this day with hope and fill it with joy

squirmy shudders!!!!

Oh, but the Tom Cat Operetta was in full swing.

We needed to get the Fuzzy Family cats their microchips for traveling.

We had 2 cats in one cage, one in another.

Not to mention, we brought along 2 dogs for the trip, if you can call a Chihuahua a dog.

And by 2 dogs I don't mean we had the ashes of our dead dog.  We have a visitor to Our Closet.

Remember The Galloping Gazelle?  He's back!

Actually, lives in our building.

Actually, his mom is our landlord, who lives in the building.

She's away and The Galloping Gazelle is staying with us.

The cats are NOT impressed.  At all.  Psycho Kitty is losing more hair.

Anyway, we had to get their microchips.

The needle man!  I've never seen anything thicker in my life.

I was wondering how Dr. Bob was going to put that chip in there.  I thought at least they'd have a numbing agent before he went to town.

I asked if it was going to hurt, not knowing how it was done.  He just laughed at me.  I wish I didn't go in there.

The entry point of this long needle was extremely visible.

You know how the needles we get, you'll have to squint to see the entry point?

Oh, not this one.  Big.  Not to mention, the gizmo to push it into their skin.

Poor Psycho Kitty.

He has thick skin and Dr. Bob couldn't get it in there!

He had to push a few times to get it to go in.  I asked him if the needle was sharp enough!!  Maybe it was flawed!!  Good g*d man!!!

Of course, he just rolled his eyes at me, because I was being 'dramatic'.

I was almost sick to my stomach.

In the other two, the needle just went in like a knife through butter that's been left on the counter for the day.

They were brave.  That was of course, until they had to go back into the cage.

I would hate to share a kennel with The Bastard Prince.  He gets scared and craps himself.  Then The Mrs. has to hang out with that stench until we get home.

Imagine how much fun she'll have being stuck in there for a plane ride?

Overall, I do have to say the cats did very well.  I'd be squirming all over the place with that thing stuck in my shoulder blades.

The singing in the car though?  That was something.

So there they are, all 3 of the cats are squealing and along comes a siren.

Now we've got 2 small dogs howling and 3 cats squawking.

Well, the Fuzzy Family is being tracked by big brother.  Except our visitor, The Galloping Gazelle.  We didn't get him a chip.  I'm sure mom will be happy about that.

Hey!  How about you bring your pets to Andréa and Papi's house!  The visit comes with a free microchip and trauma to go along with it!

But seriously.  The amount of paperwork they need to go visit another country is crazy!

There are a gazillion strays there and they want to know every single thing about our animals.

I'm surprised they didn't ask for a stool sample or a DNA swab.

Do they have that for animals?  DNA swabs?

Anyway, I'm still shuddering from the experience.

i am pleased with how i handle my emotions

a day in the life ...

The game is, whomever gets to The Countdown first in the morning gets to rip a tab off.  Sometimes it's Papi coming home from a Graveyard shift, sometimes it's me waking up from slumberland.

 

I usually piddle a little from joy when I get to look at this:

 

Papi gets a boner when he looks at this:

 

Then, before I hit the washroom to clean up the mess I made from excitement of getting my braces off, I light The Golden's candle to say good morning and stare at the love we've given him over the past 2 weeks.

 

I've been writing him love notes and begging him to come show me he is OK.  He finally did last night.

He came bounding through the door of my dream, jumped all over me and I told him I love him so many times.  He kissed me over and over and I woke up with a healed heart.

He's happy, youthful and very, very well.

Then I went back to playing in a band with Keith Urban.  I'm not sure why I dream about that guy so much, but I do.

Anyway, then I stagger to the kitchen to make my coffee, and this is the first thing I see:

 

Chaos of preparation.

However, there is one cute thing to look at.

 

You'll have to look really close to see it, but in the depths of this darkness, there is a kitten that goes by the name of The Mrs.  She's decided this is her new home.

She's gonna be pissed when she finds out she has to share it for 8 hours with The Bastard Prince.

After I've fed all the Fuzzy Family, a certain member doesn't want to go outside for his morning tinkle.

This is where he hides, because he actually thinks he's invisible here:

 

Don't ask me why.

But dammit!  It would sure be nice if the li'l puto used it for it's purpose, instead of me walking him outside in my worst outfits possible and skanky hair to go along with it!

A femme should never have to look that horrible in public!

So, there ya go.

Our Closet.

Our life.

i feel radiantly full of abundant energy and health

let's make a deal.

So, Papi comes home, bright and early from a long graveyard shift, and announces, "Ok.  We need to make a will."

Fair enough.

We now own property together, and I've been given the green light to start a retirement savings plan that is for people with disabilities.

It's really cool!

I'll tell ya, it isn't too often the government will actually give us money, so I jumped on it.  They will actually match up to $3,500 I put in.

So we did some wrangling with our finances and got'er did!

Not to mention, Papi has the nest egg from his partial early inheritance.

Oh, and the fact that we're taking some big risks soon is another reason we perhaps should be thinking about it.

So, I agreed, "Yeah, we need a will."

But then he continued, "If you cheat on me or leave me, I get The Mrs."

Not the house.

Not the RRSP, or the nest egg.

The Mrs.

He believes that he loves that cat more than I do.

Let me tell you, with the fucking animal kingdom we have to deal with in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft, she really is the only good one.

Perhaps, it's because she's the only girl and the rest of the orangutans are boys?

... like we need to ponder the nurture vs. nature theory ...

It's just her and I in this male soup.

Anyway, he really only wants to make a will because he wants The Mrs.

Now, the other half that made me giggle, was the 'fooling around' or 'leaving him' part.

People just don't get the depth of my monogamy.

I am probably the most monogamous person on the planet.

Honestly.

Once I fall in love, there is only one person my heart is given to and with all the P.T.S.D. this femme has to deal with, 'fooling around' isn't taken lightly in my books.

No, there has to be trust in my bed.

I'm lucky in the fact that even though I've had numerous partners cheat on me, I've never been jaded by it and turned into a cheater myself.

I just kept on keepin' on until I found the one that wouldn't cheat.

So, Papi, you're safe there, and I trust you like nobody else.

As for the leaving thing.

Did you not hear the first part?  I mate for life.  I've only left because I wasn't treated like I deserve to be, or I haven't found what I want in a relationship.

Seriously.

Do you not see how much we've endured since the beginning of our relationship, not to mention the past few years of all we've toughed out?

Oh, I think you know I'm not going anywhere.

I'm pretty sure it was only a joke about the will.

Besides, this isn't a will we're talking about here.

We're talking about a contract or a post-nup.

Ok.

Here it is in black and white for the world to witness.

"I, Andréa Hector-Brown, do attest that if I ever leave or cheat on my dearest Papi, I will relinquish all rights to The Mrs."

There ya go baby.

Oh how I love you, Papi.

i am loved

no reality here.

Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

Foiled by Our Closet!

The Psycho Kitty TV show was going to come by for our pre-taping interview, until they found out that we only live in 454 sq. ft.

They said the producer couldn't come film, because it's just too small.  They filmed in a place 800 sq. ft. and it was too small for them, so 454 won't do.

My poor li'l putos won't be television stars.

Now what will we do?!?!

It was our only hope to making it big!!

OK.

I'm removing my tongue from my cheek now, but damn, I was really hoping for the kitty psychologist to come on in and help us with our kitty issues.

I guess I'll just have to keep drugging them with Rescue Remedy until we reach the great open land for them to chase bugs, instead of the real Psycho Kitty obsessively guarding the litter box so that The Bastard Prince and The Mrs. can't use it.

I did however, ask them if they'd like to do a reality show about two city slickers who are moving to a 3rd world country with not a fucking clue what we're doing.

I'm sure people would enjoy that insanity in our lives.

For now, you'll have to read about it, unless I actually figure out how the hell to make a video blog to reach people with A.D.H.D. and brain injury.

Example: people like me.

As much as I can write a blog, it sure takes me forever to read one.  Not to mention, read emails and navigate websites.  I read things without really knowing what the hell I'm reading, and wires are crossed in no time, all the time.

Anyway, I'm going to practise making our video blog of our journey, so that people can really get the gist of what a crazy adventure this will be.

I'm sooooo not technology savvy, unless it is my composing program.

Mind you, I taught myself the composing program without any classes, so perhaps I can teach myself a video editing program as well?

Speaking of adventures in reality, I didn't tell you about the word we got from My Boifriend about the adventure he had while house sitting our Fuzzy Family here.

You see, someone scaled the wall of our apartment.  My Boifriend startled him and he took off, but this is really troubling to me.

Here in Canada, if we try to defend ourselves, we'll wind up with an assault charge.

We're not allowed to take things into our own hands.  We can only call the police after the fact and wait for them to arrive long after the happening, then file a report.

Filing a report does not give me as much satisfaction as the thought of sticking a gun in someone's rancid mouth for trying to endanger my life.

But never mind a gun, if I was here and kicked the guy off causing him physical damage, it is I who would be charged for endangering someone's life.

I was getting very heated about the neighbourhood Spiderman, so I decided to distract myself from the anger, and go do my recycling.

Only, when I went down to do so, I found the thieves in the neighbourhood stole our goddam recycling bins.

Mother fuckers.

We came home from the land of smiling faces, to find out about a gay bashing in our hood, a border guard shot in the neck, a child committed suicide because of online bullying and someone scaling our apartment walls.

I know that a recycling bin is only a mere inconvenience for my paper that is overflowing, but when you put it all together with the scum of the earth we're surrounded by in this 1st world country, it makes me want to move to the DR TODAY.

Well, we're one day closer to getting the hell out.

Not to mention, today's the day I get to go do target shooting.

We really do need our own reality show.

However, it's not going to happen in Our Closet.

i strive to improve myself

please be specific.

When we ALL said, "It won't fit," we weren't very specific.

Seriously.  You have to be specific.

My love is used to his prize possessions, one being his couch, the other being his TV.

The TV isn't here yet, but shortly, it's gazillion inches of screen will be right up front, literally in our faces.

The couch is here though, and like I said, we weren't precise.  We should have said, "It's not going to fit, because it's going to stick out the side of the wall and into the hall and that's just wrong."

I had already expressed my fear of this, stating that I wasn't too keen on my usual, 'bounce off the walls like a pinball' mornings.

My brain injury still has me wonky in the morning.  So, imagine staggering around like a drunk first thing to go make my coffee.

Once, I torn a knee ligament tripping over a couch.

I didn't want that to happen again, but my love wants his couch and considering the fact that he moved practically everything alone on this move, I suppose he can have his couch any damn place he pleases.

The Mrs. likes it, because she can see everything in Our Closet from this spot. 

The Golden could care less, as long as he can fit through to get his attention.

 

Anyway, the couch is in and all it means is we have a little bit of a bottleneck leading into our living room/kitchen/office.

Oh, there should also be a 'slash dining room' as well.

Our dining room is pretty much anywhere we place our little wooden TV trays.

Which we'll use while we watch Papi's gargantuan TV from.

But hey!

He also fit in his La-Z-Boy.  Can you see it in the upper right corner there?

It's good thing it's here, because he's having a case of the Pit of Doom.  This whole journey has been a bit rough for him.

G'ma in the care facility with Alzheimer's, moving from his home he's been in since birth, his old one eyed Golden showing his age and having troubles getting up the stairs, fighting to keep his sanity after a very recent relapse, and the stress from moving for the first time.

Papi is in the Pit of Doom and those demons are nipping at his heels.

Still, his couch and La-Z-Boy are here and that's all that matters.

You know the most exciting part?  We can watch his colossal TV from the bathroom!

No more missing a show because of a piddle emergency!  Good thing.  I wouldn't want to boogie as fast as I can down the hall and trip on a couch.

home is where the heart is

an anonymous encounter

At the very least, The Mrs. forgives me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know that meeting?

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

Yeah, that meeting.

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

Well, last night, guess what the topic was?

Yup.  God.

... for fucks sakes people ...

And guess who was the first person asked to share?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End rant.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

Hell of Halitosis!

It's such a beautiful day.

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

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

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

... you know the drill ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

It adds to the sadness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I believed the worst.

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

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

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

Nor is it good for my breath.

Yeah.

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

Or the Malboro.

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

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

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

I felt embarrassment like you could never imagine.

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

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

Apparently, neither does Papi.

i heal all issues affecting my self-confidence

dream a little dream with me ...

Oh dear.

We decided to move the cats up to our new floor of the house.

It was a bit of a gong show and Papi was the gong.

Up we went, while protecting our faces from the possibility of becoming The Golden's one eyed kin.

We brought them to the new pee box space.

Immediately, The Bastard Prince was placed in the box and proceeded to tinkle.  It was, in our minds, excellent that he went right away.  We thought we were at a good start.

The Mrs. however, when placed at the top of the stairs, hissed at 'nothing'.

Or perhaps Papi's mother's ghost, or even the ghost of G'pa, but none-the-less, there was nothing we could see worth a kitty spit.

When we were back into the kitchen, hoping everything went well, I noticed it.

Piss.  Allllllllll down Papi's pants.

... no, it wasn't papi ...

The Bastard Prince was so scared of coming up into Psycho Kitty's space that he pissed himself.  I knew he was afraid of him, but I didn't realize just how badly.

We all meet our match in life, and well, it looks like The Bastard Prince is no longer the king of his castle.

In the past, he would even scare the dogs in the neighbourhood wherever he lived.  Not anymore.  It was so sad and pathetic.

Then there was The Mrs.

She made herself at home on Psycho Kitty's tree, and when the loony cat came to say, "Hey!  That's mine!" The Mrs. told him, "Not anymore, bitch!"

It blew me away.  The one I thought was tough is the chicken and vice versa.

Meanwhile, Papi and I have switched spots on the bed now that it's in a different room.

Well, when I heard my alarm go off, I did my usual 'slap around the bedside table to find the alarm', only I almost clocked Papi in the head.

Fortunately, I had removed my eye patch just enough and just in time to see my possible mistake.  It truly would have been a rude awakening for my love.

One thing I can say is, moving up to the bright sunny floor has definitely helped our moods.

The Dungeon Syndrome is leaving me for sure.  Papi actually relaxed last night.

We spent some quality time writing out our 'dream home' list in the Dominican, and Papi had the audacity to laugh at my wishes!

~ land with fruit trees

~ space for goats, chickens, pigs and my donkey

~ walking distance to the beach

~ walking distance to stores

~ gas stove

~ granite counter tops

~ privacy from neighbours

~ a boat moor

Hey!  What's the point of making a 'wish list' if you can't dream big?

That's the point of a 'wish list'.  It's not an expectation!  It's hopes that maybe, just perhaps, those prices will keep coming down and we'll find the home we've always wanted.

One of the houses we looked at when we were there is down by $70,000!!!!!!  It's moved into our price range!

Who knows folks, we just may get what we deserve.

Stranger things have happened.  Remember the time capsule dream list I made in 1999?  I did indeed get a few things on that list.

I wonder what we'll get in paradise?

all the things i want and need come to me

A New Space.

So there I was, absolutely ecstatic about being able to do my blob/blab this morning in sunlight and my fucking plans were bamboozled.

You know how I have to have a routine in the morning to make my breakfast?  I'm a wreck in the morning.  My poor injured brain can't function, unless I have my routine.

Well, last night we moved upstairs from the dungeon, and I thought I'd moved everything I needed for making my breakfast.

Nope.  All I moved up was my coffee bodum and beans.

Good god.  If you've ever seen a comedy routine like the one this morning, you'd never forget it.

Up and down the stairs, trying to figure out what I need next, coffee beans hadn't been ground until after the water was boiled, apple sauce cups flying all over the place as I tried to bring them up the stairs while that kettle screamed at me to do something about it, and no spices for my eggs.

Not to mention, my first bite of eggs fell off my fork and on to the floor, and were now an awesome treat for Sir Bark-A-Lot.  After inhaling it in one gulp, he looked at me as if to say, "Please sir, could I have some more?"

I don't know about you, but my breakfast has to go well for me to get a good start in the morning.

Then came the worst decision I could make on this day.   I thought I'd check the mail.  Bad idea.

There was my little envelope saying all my benefits that I sent in for my Brace Face were not eligible.  NOT a nice thing to read before I've had my coffee.

The woman on the phone was absolutely wonderful, mostly because I told her my animosity was not directed toward her, but toward that horrid fucking company she works for.

She didn't disagree.  She only giggled.

I liked her giggle.  It calmed me down.

I asked her if she ever received a happy person on the other end, because every time I call I'm psychotic and want to fly through the telephone wire and strangle someone.

She giggled and replied, "Well, we get a mixture of satisfied customers and some not so happy."

I asked, "You mean bitchy people like me?"  Again, she only giggled.

She soothingly explained to me what nobody else has ever explained in my 4.5 years of dealing with them.  She broke down what every little number meant and how it works.

I cooled off and told her I hope the rest of her day was filled with the satisfied customers she spoke of.  She gave me one last giggle, "Thank you.  I hope your day gets better."

This blob/blab today was supposed to be about the fact that I'm up here writing in beautiful daylight upstairs, and not in the dungeon.

The gargantuan, acorn filled trees are my amazing picture as I write to you.  Every little wisp of wind helps the leaves wave at me to greet me to my new view for writing.

The sunshine coming through the window absolutely makes my heart feel so much more warmth and happiness.

That's what this was supposed to be about.

Oh.  And the cats.  They are not liking the fact that we're upstairs with Psycho Kitty.  I tried to get them to come up and eat, but they prefer living with Dungeon Syndrome.

At least while they're down there, they know their hiding places and are content that they can gang up on Psycho Kitty and run him outta town!

I'll continue to attempt to feed them up here, but The Mrs. won't eat.  She just paces the room meowing showing the whites of her eyes.

She's also not impressed that everything is gone from her space.

All alone sits her cat tree, amongst the vacant space of a room that holds only my piano and a few items that we won't be getting rid of until the house sells.

It occurred to me that the anxiety Papi and I are feeling is also being felt by the Fuzzy Family.  I can use them as my gauge as to why I'm feeling so unsettled.

This is an exciting venture, but there is also a little bit of difficulty when life is in chaos.

The critters are my mirror.  Another reason I love them so much.

Ah for fucks sakes.  I just spilled my entire water glass.

joy overflows in my life

more death talk.

He's baaaa-aaack.

The Galloping Gazelle.

He's really doing well with the cats this time around, but that doesn't matter to them.  They remember.  Oh, how they remember.

The Bastard Prince has taken root on our kitchen island, and The Mrs. won't come out of her office.

We have to carry them to the litter box in intervals to make sure they get there.

Then there's Psycho Kitty.  Psycho Kitty doesn't give a shit.

He'll just swat at him.

At this point, we are blessed with the cacophony of dog screams, because Sir Bark-A-Lot gets scared as well, even if he's ten feet away when the swatting happens, and it's not even directed at him.

Furthermore, Psycho Kitty doesn't even make physical contact with those claws of steel, so the song of dismay is pointless, really.

Here's the good part though.

Sir Bark-A-Lot actually likes him.

Now this may not sound like a big deal to you, but if you knew what an asshole he is, you'd be surprised that he could like any dog.

But he likes him.

Which means no barking.  Just tail wagging.

Well, a little growling.

He has to make sure The Galloping Gazelle doesn't move on in with the love.

The Golden ignores him.

Anyway, it's going to be a hectic weekend.

Not to mention, an emotional one.

Tomorrow we take care of The World's Loudest Snorer's ashes.

I can't call her a snorer anymore.

She's a dog angel.

We're going to her ceremony of releasing her ashes.

My poor, sweet, little friend, you have no idea how much you are missed by so many people.

We'll all be there tomorrow to see you off.

Today is another day to deal with death.

I'm going to the Relay for Life that my baby sister is at.

She's there to remember her best friend who died of cancer.

I'm there to support her in her venture.

She won the top prize for the most money raised!!!!

My baby sister is amazing!!!!

She beat out a corporation in fund raising!!!! 

My little baby sister.

She rocks.

There will be many people there today, who are remembering those they lost, and fighting for those who need financial support.

I'm going to be there for the living.

To date, I've only lost one person in my life to cancer.

And it was when I was a little girl, so I didn't really grieve, I just moved on and missed them for a little while.

Everyone else I know has fought and won!

Including my mom.

Cancer, you're a mother fucker.

don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines

Success!

So.

I went for my lunch with Mommy Dearest.

It was really nice!

She didn't tell me I wasn't good enough at all during our visit.

These kind of visits are the ones that make me want to see her again.

It is nice when she's nice to me.

It's even better with my baby sister around.  She always brings a new dynamic to the table.

However, my baby sister could only stick around for a quick kiss, hug and vent.

My poor sis.  She's such a hard worker and all she wanted was a lunch date with us.  Her class didn't allow it.  Everyone wanted lunch early, so we only got the flash of her.

While they sat across from me, all I could do was stare at their perfectly straight, white teeth that I didn't inherit from the family.

I smiled to show my mom to see if she noticed the difference since my jaw surgery, but she couldn't.

Papi wanted to know if she brought up the Easter dinner.

"No, no, no.  We don't talk about anything important," is all I could say to my love.

We don't.

As long as we keep things very surface, very much about the weather and keep all the attention off my life, everything is fine.

Today, I get to go for breakfast with some very sweet friends.

I just hope my jaw calms down enough to chew.

You see, last night, I tried to help The Golden up to the bed.  Now that he's older, he has troubles with his front legs, and can't jump up.

As I bent over to place his front paws on the bed to help him out, he decided that this was the perfect opportunity to jump.

With full force.

Straight up into my still healing jaw.

I won't actually have a full bone in my jaw for another 4 months, hence, the pain was swift and the jarring to my already shaky brain threw me to the floor.

From there I squirmed in pain on my back, pushing myself across the hairy, stinky laminate.

That was pain.

It was a rough sleep let me tell you.

I woke up terrified that I'd see this again:

does anyone recognize this chipmunk?

 

But, everything was ok.

My teeth still match.

My jaw still opens and it's no more swollen than it is every morning I wake up.

I guess those little metal plates, pins and screws did their job well.

The worst part about the whole thing was The Bastard Prince knew I wasn't moving and decided this was the time to go through the dirty dishes, chase The Mrs. and torment Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Fucker.

He's no fucking help.

Ever.

Ok!  Off I go to get pretty for my favourite restaurant!  Jethro's Fine Grub! 

i am at peace

G'ma for sale.

Used.

Cheap.

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

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

All 96 Alzheimer's years of her.

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

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

Wrong.

We better stick to letting her gorge on cookies instead.

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

And I mean, repeatedly.

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

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

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

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

Repeatedly.

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

This is my space.

This is my home.

I will not entertain her passive aggressiveness.

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

Except last night.

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

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

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

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

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

Poor old thing is absolutely dependent upon us.

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

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

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

Yes.

We fed him.

Hours ago.

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

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

No mi esposo.

It will kill ME.

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

The Last Piece of the Puzzle.

2 more days until Papi changes again.

I get stomach flips and heart flutters.

I'm so lucky that I have friends out in bum-fuck-nowhere who will be keeping me company and keeping me distracted.

sorry if i've offended thee with my opinions of drunks, zealots 'n pedophiles out in your area ... i'm sure your area is lovely in your world ...

My love is no longer having panic attacks from the fear.  A little Clonazepam and medicinal cannabis has Papi in a very relaxed state.

I'm not used to it.  Normally Papi is a 'Frantic Go-Getter', as one of his clients puts it.

The only thing I am not appreciating is my love's talk of death.  "Well, what if I die on the operating table?!  Then you'll need to know stuff and I have to have everything in order!"

This is the part that I hate the most.

No matter how many times I ask, "Why are you talking like this?!" I get the same reaction.

In some ways, I just want Dr. Scissorhands to get in there and get out so I don't have to hear anymore doomsday talk.

papi, i swear to your god, if you die, i will kill you ...

People have hysterectomies all the time, so this one will be just another routine surgery and it will all be ok.

It will all be ok, because everything works out.  All the time.  Every single thing.

If Papi were to leave this planet, I have a La-Z-Boy that I'll just dwell in and the Fuzzy Family can just fend for themselves.

I'm sure the last one to be standing will be Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Mind you, The Bastard Prince can get up into cupboards where there are other treasures to find for food.

The Golden would probably peter out.  He's not too good at being bad and finding food on his own.  So, The Mrs. will feast on The Golden.

G'ma and Psycho Kitty will be fine upstairs.  Psycho Kitty will just eat G'ma.

See!  It will all work out just fine.

I will reside in the Pit of Doom in my La-Z-Boy.  I've been catatonic before.  I'm a pro.

What I've done recently is completely distract myself so that I don't even have to think about all this.

You know how it is, right?  I'm so good at denial.

Last night, my sister asked me if I'm nervous about my Discovery for the motorcycle accident coming up this month.

I had to remind her that because of the brain injury, I don't remember very well, and that I'd forgotten about it, so there's no point in worrying.

However, ever since she asked that, I've remembered.

argh that sucks ... my denial has been stripped!!

Mind you, I'm probably not worried, because I have nothing to hide.

It's pretty cut and dry.  I got hit on my motorcycle, flew 15 feet through the air after tumbling over the hood of her car, and landed on my head.

There's nothing really to discuss.  I deserve to be taken care of by my insurance, which is why we pay through the nose every year.

Oh right!

Back to the denial about the surgery!

I can officially say, I'm out of denial about it.

2 more days.

All I can say is, I'm happy it's the last piece of the puzzle that we have to go through to making my spouse the person he's always felt like inside.

There will be no death.  There will be healing with 'droopy face' from all the pain meds.

It's my turn to giggle at Papi for being zonked out on pain killers.

Drool away Papi.  Your friends who believe in their higher power are all praying for you.

I'm just going to sit with the energy of 'everything always works out'.

Introducing, The Galloping Gazelle!

This is The Galloping Gazelle.

He's visiting us for a week.  We're on day one.

He's new to the cat world.

No, I know he's not a cat, nor is he a gazelle.

But he thinks like both.

Well, he decided to take on The Mrs.

The Mrs. is not afraid of dogs, and she will teach him how to behave around a lady.

Unfortunately, like those before him, The Galloping Gazelle just may have to learn the hard way.

However, he thought he'd push his luck and bounded ...

he bounds ... he doesn't run ... imagine a bunny and gazelle mixed in one ...

... toward The Mrs.

What happened next is the part that made me realize he had an unscrupulous ulterior motive when he broke all hell loose and chased cats.

I ran ...

... hehe ran ... you know what i mean ...

... in to break up the kitchen drama.

He listens well, and knowing that he did a 'bad', he bounded back to the couch to my blogging seat.

At this point, I decided to look under the kitchen island to see if The Mrs. was OK about the whole situation.

right ... dream on ...

She was pissed and definitely didn't want my consoling.

"YOU did this to me mom!"

That's when I realized what The Galloping Gazelle's real target was.

My breakfast.

Now, I thought The Bastard Prince was trouble around my food, but The Galloping Gazelle makes The Bastard Prince's  actions seem like child's play!

He's crafty.

And cuddly.

And he makes me laugh.

But back off my breakfast bitch!

I don't share!!!

However, I then realized what I saw in my blogging breakfast.

I found out he's an artist!

He was making an old man's face out of fried eggs!

He wasn't just getting into my food!

His momma taught him to be creative!

of course she did ... momma's a hot li'l leather dyke!

Now I can't stay mad, because he's given me a gift.

Well, I also can't stay mad because I've already shut that bitch of a back up with some Crack Butter, and I'm ready to start my day of composing with a little bit of help from my new BFF: Nyquil.

I'm working on a film score for a cool short.  It's by an up and coming director, James McPhee.

I'm behind a day, because yesterday I slept off the virus.

... i was so sick i didn't even have my coffee!!!!!

 I really have so much to tell you right now, but I'll have to get it out day by day.

With you, my imaginary friend, there will be a new chapter beginning soon ...

There's another girl in our bed ...

Sorry I haven't written for a few days.  We've been a bit distracted in the house.

For the past 2 nights, we've had a visitor sleeping over.

It's not The Yank, our honorary room mate.

No, this one has been sleeping in bed with Papi and I, and our king size bed no longer seems to have room.

She's a bit of a space hog and sprawls herself under the covers with us.

The first night she stayed it wasn't so bad, because Papi and The Golden were at work, so it was ok to starfish around her and find my space.

The 2nd night however, it was The World's Loudest Snorer, The Golden, Sir Bark-A-Lot and The Bastard Prince all up in the bed.

Oh, you know what I forgot mention?

Papi and I are supposed to be sleeping in that bed too.

Right.

We're all going to fit in this bed.

The Mrs. was the only intelligent animal and stayed in the living room, where she had all the space she could ask for.

As much as I had no sleep last night, The World's Loudest Snorer is a doll to have around.  I love her!

I adore her strong personality.  I also adore the drama queen posing she does for the camera.

I mean really.

This:

is the rest of the clan posing.

This:

... is The World's Loudest Snorer's posing.

You can see why I'd adore her.

I really thought by tucking her in to her own couch, with a pillow and a teddy skunk, she'd just want to stay there and live a lap of luxury.

I was wrong.

As soon as we got settled, she hopped up into the bed and started pushing Papi over to my side of the bed, until eventually, I was forced out.

She's only here for a few days and it's been so much fun having a bundle of strength as my bathroom buddy.

I will never have to fear being lonely on the loo.

Honestly, does it really look like all those animals could fit on a kingsize bed with 2 people and another cat who thinks he's a dog?

Nope.

Not to me either.

That's why right now I'm writing to you from the La-Z-Boy, and it's almost 6 a.m. and I haven't slept yet.

Of course, I'll have to edit this tomorrow after I upload pictures as well, so it will be a little neater than this disarry I'm currently staring at.

**update ... i made it through the day ... though my brain hasn't quite caught up to me ... i'll be back soon with my usual musings **


The bedroom door will be closed tonight to ensure sleep happens.

I will find my mind tomorrow.