i am insignificant

I feel bad for The Yank.  She couldn't have come to visit at a worst time.

It's not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

Usually one can pick the other up, but we both have shit going on.

Papi is feeling like he has no purpose.

That when he left his job, he left his intent in life.

I've reminded him that when he gets to the Dominican Republic, he will have MANY people to help and he will not feel pointless in this life any more.

I feel insignificant.

Like I just don't matter.

There was a time when I used my music to feel like 'someone'.

I needed that.

I needed to feel like I was loved, even if it was through my craft.

I felt needed that way.

That option left me after the motorcycle accident.

Gone.

I was ok with feeling like 'nothing' for a long time.

However, yesterday really made me realize just how 'nothing' I really am.

I am insignificant.

I'm not needed.

There are a handful of people who love me, and for that I'm grateful, because if I didn't have them, it's times like this that I'd surely disappear.

I tried to say goodbye to a few people at the synagogue yesterday, but soon realized, not too many people cared, so I left in tears.

"We'll miss you," they lied, with a smile on their face.

No, you really won't.

Maybe one day, you'll look at that seat and remember when I'd sit there, but you won't miss me.

I'm not important enough.

That seat will be filled with someone else.

Probably the passive aggressive guy who likes to comment that it used to be his.

Yeah, buddy?

Well, then get your ass there on time and it can be yours too.

Early bird gets the worm.

It was mine.  Not any more.

He can have it with his daughter who really believes the world revolves around her.

Imagine how she's going to feel when she realizes it doesn't?

She'll feel insignificant.

She'll feel like nothing.

She'll feel just like I do right now.

Not very fucking important.

I have no place and it doesn't matter, because there's always someone to replace me.

I just fade into the woodwork like the pretty little wallflower femme I am.

Nothing.

I used to hold people's attention.

Last night, the saddest words I dread to hear came from Papi's mouth, "I wish you were with it like before the accident.  I wish you were lively again."

I had to remind him, "Yeah, morphine will do that to ya."

It's really not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

He hides it so much better than I do.

I just want to disappear.

Oh yeah, right.

That's what we're doing.

Sometimes, I wish I could really believe the positive daily mantras I write here.

i matter and what i have to offer this world matters

how dare i?!?!

I got kicked out of a store.  It's hard to believe.

I actually went in with the intention of asking if she'd be interested in wares from the Dominican Republic from the women in Haitian villages.

I want to help the people there so much, and I had a brilliant idea that I would have their wares sent to Vancouver to help them support their people.  I found one village that is making such items, so I thought I would check out the store I hadn't been in for quite a long time.

Not to mention, I always liked this woman's store, even if she had a reputation in our 'community' of not being the nicest to her customers.  Still, she was always nice to me.

I knew she wouldn't recognize me.  I do look a lot different than when I had the short cropped black hair.

Still, in I went to look at all the hippy dippy items I could, and enjoy that store for what I didn't know was the last time.

The moment I strolled in, I heard, "Hi there, let me know if there's anything I can help you find," in a rather monotone, 'I've been doing this way too long' sorta manner.

I replied, "I will.  I've just come in to admire the beauty of your store once more!"

She didn't like that.  I received a sarcastic rebuttal, "Well, try not to buy anything while you're here."

I was about to launch into my Dominican Republic story to ask about the wares of the Haitian women, but I suppose I started it off the wrong way.

"Well, I can't actually buy anything today, because we're going to the Dominican Republic and ..."  That was when I was cut short.  "Well, then we're just closing now.  Buh-Bye!"

She actually started herding me out with the items she was carrying.  I was so shocked I didn't even respond, but merely went along with the wave she created.

I thought to myself, "After all the money I spent in your store all those years?!?!"

I caught up to my Gratitude Buddy and told her the story, adding in that I'd love to go back and tell her how much money I've spent there in the past.

My Gratitude Buddy asked me if that would make me feel better.  I thought about it, then said, "No, not really.  I'll just let her rot in her stink of karma then blog about it."

I've stuck up for the owner in the past, with an understanding about chemical imbalance and how it can make people miserable.  A lot of people in the 'community' boycotted her because she's been labeled as brash and rude.

I honestly don't know how on earth she stays in business!!!  Her store is called Beckwoman's, and it's on Commercial Drive.  Personally, she is on my boycott list now.

There's another store that I'll go talk to about the Haitian Village wares: Ten Thousand Villages.  They definitely know what customer service is and they definitely have social responsibility.  In their own backyard!!

Meanwhile, Papi is leaving me all alone today to go down to Lucky Devil Tattoo to get some of The Golden's ashes put into his remembrance tattoo, and probably have a nice visit with The Yank.

The Golden will be right there with 'G'pa' and 'mom'.

Jason, the artist, teased me on the phone when I called to book for Papi, "What?!?  You're not coming down too!  That means she gets a tattoo and you don't!"

I pouted, "I know!!!  Fuck!!" but I didn't correct him on the 'she' part.  He hasn't seen Papi since The Great Breast Disappearance, not to mention, there was no face fuzz the last he saw Papi, either.

My love said "He's going to think it's really strange."

I reminded him, "We like Jason because he's easy going and a good soul.  Just tell him straight out.  He won't have any problem with it.  He adores you."

Such is the life of someone in transition.  Always explaining and always wondering who will understand and who won't.

In the meantime, while I'm stuck up here, maybe I'll go try to get in trouble somewhere today to make up for not getting a tattoo.

Perhaps I can find another store to get kicked out of?

people respect me

i'm dying inside.

Remember all those mornings I would wake up with swollen eyes?

They would look like they were used as a punching bag while I was too busy crying to notice anyone beating the shit out of them.

I have them today.

Right now, my demons have a hold of me and are eagerly dragging me further into the rancid Pit of Doom.

I was supposed to be home, not in the Pit of Doom, but there's a small problem.

I won't go into massive details right now, but let's just say I won't live with drama that I never asked for.

I'm sleeping in someone else's bed, when I should have been sleeping in my own with my loving spouse while we celebrate the sale of the home, and our next adventure.

I thought I lost my phone, but at least, the very least, I found it in my friend's car as I did my usual, "Hey!  Why don't we leave it on the front seat?" game, and it wasn't stolen!

I guess I can say I'm grateful for that.

However, I excitedly looked to see a message from Papi, but there was nothing.

I left a message saying how much I love him, but that would not make sense to someone when at the same time, I left my home.

It's not really my home anyway.

I came home to The Yank having lived in our room for a few days, and it no longer looked like our room.

I came home to a 'Sold!' sign on our front lawn.

I came home to my spouse relapsing.

Besides, it's no longer my home anyway, and when Papi and I have a chance to deal with the current stressful situation, it still won't be my home.

So, I'm just getting a head start on not having a home, by sleeping in my friend's bed until the drama has ceased.

I don't ask for drama.

I ask for peace.

I ask for love.

I ask for the best life possible.

I ask for happiness.

I ask for gratitude.

Crying alone in fear for my spouse's safety is not the best life possible, is not happy times, is not something I'm grateful for, nor is it peaceful.

At least there is still love.

And yet, here I sit, crying so violently, that I can only wish each tear was one step closer to death.

If tears could kill, today I would wish for them to do so.

I suppose that Beatles song is right.  Love is all you need.

I'm being ripped and torn inside because I love so much.

I'm on an endless loop of tear after tear because my love for Papi is so deep, I could feel our connecting dissipate while I was away for the weekend.

I didn't get my usual texts of love, because Papi had a distraction.

A down and dirty, nasty distraction that will stray even the most loving hearts away.

I was chosen second over this demonic liquid.

This evil poison that will whisper in his ear, "You can drink socially!  You're fine now!"

From the phone messages I received last night, he is not a social drinker.

Every sip he poured into his mouth is a tear that is rolling down my face today.

I'm broken.

There are no kings men or horses to put me back together again.

There is only one person who can do that.

i have a wonderful spouse and we are both happy and at peace.

i'm truly a voyeur ...

Papi is my chauffeur.

As much as he gets a little ruffled at the fact that he has to periodically drive me when I can't get a 'short bus', once we're in the car, it seems to be our only quality time alone these days.

Between The Uncle, The Yank and the many visitors we've been having due to The Great DR Purge, we don't get much alone time.

Yesterday, I thought I would accompany my love to the dump.

We make a lot of trips to the dump lately, and I know what those smelly dump boys are thinking when I don't get out of the car to help.

'Princess'.

No, it's not that, it's just that I had my sparkly silver flats on.  I don't need garbage gunk on my fave summer shoes!!!

Well, it's really because I shouldn't be shucking heavy items out of the car.  My bitch of a back would protest greatly.

Anyway, on our way yesterday, I noticed mi esposo smiling as he drove.

I didn't question it.

It's not unusual to see Papi smiling when he's getting rid of a load of crap.

But then I hear him say, "I like playing with my chest hair."

There he was pulling at his little chest hairs.

He wasn't pulling them all the way out of the root, he would just pull and let go, pull and let go, ad infinitum.

He was like a little boy sitting there in his comfort of playing obsessively with a toy.

I got a moment of sitting back and merely loving who he is.

He's just mi Papi, with a few changes to his body.

He used to pull on the facial jewelry he had, but he let those go.

Now it's all about his man hair.

It also gave me a moment to take stock of my current feelings about The Great Breast Disappearance.

I'm growing more comfortable with the loss of those pillows.

Still, I miss them.

I'll never get to touch them again.  They are only a memory of the feeling of that cool nipple against my cheek and the fullness of those perfect breasts in my gentle hands.

Even though my love has told me I could touch other people's breasts, it's just not my thing.

I love Papi.

I loved his Butch Tits greatly.

I had a dream the other day that we were at some swingin' party that Papi wanted to go to, and all I could do was look at everyone and say to myself, "But I don't want to do anything with any of them.  I only want mi esposo."

I made Papi chose for me in the dream.

Fortunately, other things happened so I didn't have to get busy with anyone else and wake up all fucked up like the time I dreamed I got down with Keith Urban.

Keith Urban?!?!?!

Really?!?!?!

I mean he's handsome, a great guitar player, has a gorgeous voice and great sense of melody, but I wouldn't be into anything more than a concert from him.

Back to the hair.

He's got these little teeny weeny hairs that are so damn cute.  They're not taking over his entire chest leaving him to look like a walking carpet.

Just some teeny tiny little whisps of hair that poke out in the sweetest, most innocent way.

He likes to play with his chest hair.

I like to watch.

i am becoming better every day

normal? really?!?

So, Papi told me it's normal to get depressed after surgery.

Having that information is good, because I can tell myself that it's going to end, and that it's not coming from any other reasons.

I suppose all the sugar in my diet didn't help matters.

Like I told you, sugar is very problematic for my system, emotionally and physically.

Anyway, I feel like my body is one big sack of rotting potatoes, molding and morphing into another organic substance.

I'm so exhausted, that to just lift my arms isn't worth the effort.

So I won't even bother reaching for a drink of water.

My Boifriend called and I was so grateful he had more to talk about with himself, so I could just listen.

It was fun to mumble on the phone the other day to The Yank as well, but I can't feel my lips so it's hard to move them around.  They might fall off.

Oh, I'm obviously too tired to stay on topic.

Depressed.

Normal?

Horrible.

Every muscle in my body sinks into the couch.  If I got a little warmer, maybe I'd just melt into the leather.

Sir Bark-a-lot would probably just lick me up.  Actually, I'm pretty sure the whole Fuzzy Family would join in.

Part of what got me into this state was that yesterday, I decided today I would work on some music, but I just didn't have the will.  I just didn't have the strength.

The other part is the G'ma.  I was invited out to a games night/St. Patrick's Day sleep over with My Person, and originally I had said yes, however, Papi brought up a good point: we'd both be out of the house while G'ma was sleeping, because my love has to work another graveyard. 

That's not going to work.  We can't just leave the 96 year old Alzheimer's patient alone throughout the night.

I just saw all my freedom simmer away, like those little bubbles of water in a frying pan.  They just fizzle and burn, until eventually all they are is a tiny 'poof' of steam.

I just was told to stop driving, which isolates me in the furthest depths of my city.  Then the option to actually get out of the house to escape the dungeon was crushed because someone has to babysit the old fart and my love is working.

Yup.  Wallowing.

My bottom lip is swollen from the surgery, and a little bit more from the pouting.

After I succumbed to the acceptance of not going out, I realized, I'm too fucking tired to do anything anyway, so I started to keep a tally.

Every time that crazy old fart yells down the stairs, "Is the cat down there?" and then rolls her walker throughout the house bellowing for Psycho Kitty, I mark it down on a tally.

She was at 10 before she started drinking her sherry.  After the sherry she calmed down.

... hmmm ... i think i see a plan forming here ...

At least it was something to giggle at, instead of curse her, every time she screams down to my space reminding me that this is not really my home.

It's hers.

I thought about eating again, but eating means I have to actually remove myself from this spot.  Not to mention, I would have to clean up my mess of a mouth afterward.  That's a big commitment to make.

I just need to sit here and wallow until I get out of the Pit of Doom.

What's good however, is that I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with My Gratitude Buddy and now, also with my MC Guru.  I get a double helping of gratitude every day!

I thought that I wouldn't have anything to be grateful for, because I just lied here all day, but I was wrong.

There's always something.

I'm grateful that this depression is normal and will end.

it's not about getting a chance, it's about taking a chance

Always the Princess.

So, I've been trying to let go of the 'father' that hasn't been a dad.

I have abandonment issues from him that strengthen my insecurities to this day.

I am so afraid of abandonment that I expect everyone to leave eventually; friends, family, Papi.

It was the the way I grew up.  I would wait for everyone to leave, or my mom would move us around so that I was the one leaving friends I worked so hard to discover.

It makes for a clingy person who is desperate for love, and willing to do anything to have people in my life.

I also would add up the patterns in my existence that were difficult and obsess about the fact that I'm doomed to repeat that same pain, over and over.

When the chemical imbalance had me suffering from a nervous breakdown, it obviously affected my last relationship.  I thought that once I was better and on anti-depressants, everything would run smoothly.

Instead, I was dumped in an epic way by The Beast.

and boy am i grateful ... 

However, my 'issues' are now poking at the flesh wound of the past year of struggle with Papi's male transformation.

My fear is, now that I'm cruising on a happy plain, that Papi will leave.

Last night it really hit me to the point that my love asked what was going on.

All I could say is, "Nothing," which eventually turned into, "I don't really want to know the answer."

Cryptic?

Yes.

I've become been quite the professional at hiding feelings in my sober, adult years.

Papi nudged a bit more and I said it.  "I feel like now that I'm feeling better about the transition and all, that you'll leave me because I feel strong enough for you to do so."

My love was quite confused.

In all reality, so was I.  Yet, Papi reaffirmed that it's all going to be ok, "I'm looking at houses for us to buy in the Dominican Republic!  Why would I be doing that if I was thinking of leaving you?"

Well, you have a point, Papi.

Then The Yank had words of wisdom around this, by telling me that this past year is proof that mi esposo isn't leaving.

Well, I have all this dread to thank dear ol' daddy for.

I'm not sure why I feel guilty about not calling the person who could care less to call me on my wedding day or my birthday.

I stopped calling after that.  I refuse to be the one to always be reaching out to someone who doesn't reciprocate.

I have at least learned that from my abandonment issues.  I can't be chasing down love.  I can only give love to those who want it and have the ability to return in kind.

Anyway, that man, who's sperm brought me into this world, was so horrible to my baby sister that I don't really want to have anything to do with him.

It hurts to know that I was his princess and my baby sister was less to him.

That's what keeps me from calling.  The fact that he treated us differently is enough.

I love my baby sister so deeply, that I will defend her to the death.

that's the dog in me ...

So, someway, somehow, I've got to get over this guilt thing.

For years it was the reason I would call my father.

Out of guilt.

I don't really get anything out of a relationship with him.

It's so sad, and my heart aches.

All I ever wanted was a dad.

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.

On the Upswing.

It's amazing how the moment we speak about 'secrets', they begin to lose their power.

I believed that nobody would think my 'secrets' were something to be affected by.

As a young teenager, I went to my mother for help with my emotions, and was told, "You've got nothing to cry about."

I replied with, "Well, the counselor told me I do have something to cry about," and I proceeded to tell my mom I'd been abused.

The reaction I got from my mom was very difficult, "Was it dad?" she asked.

As far as my memory was concerned at that point, I could only shake my head 'no', because it wasn't the memory I was talking about.

However, hearing your mother jump straight to assuming it was my father has left me with questions to this day.

did he?

Anyway, it's all related; the reason I went off the edge over papi's male transformation.

I know I was looking for something to explain why I reacted so bad.  I know it's not normal to become catatonic for 6 weeks in a La-Z-Boy when your spouse tells you they're going to go through gender transformation.

Well, I get it now, and it really has lost it's power.

I've connected the dots.

I now realize why I slipped into the Pit of Doom when the bomb was dropped.  It was a familiar place of fear, same furniture, and the silence was the same reaction.

It was somewhere I would frequent, until I figured out how to work with the pain and stay out of the Pit.

Now that I'm out, I realize there is another layer to work on, however I can see that it really can't hurt me this time.

I've learned too much from life to allow it to win.

Yeah ... I needed to really look at my 'secrets'.

I also needed to 'check out' in my every day life for a few days.

Papi and I took a little drive down to the U.S. to visit the Yank for her birthday.

During our drive back, it really kicked in that there were dots to connect.

I felt the fear of my 'secrets' dissipate when I spoke about them to Papi.

I didn't ever want to admit my 'secrets', because I couldn't handle another person saying, "That's nothing to cry about."

Papi didn't even come close to laughing at my story.

Instead my love wanted to find one of the fuckers that created my pain and have a 'word' with them, "No, that's something to be upset about."

I had confirmation that I'm not just wallowing for no reason.

I don't know where it comes from, that as the victim in assault, we tend to negate our own feelings and pass them off as 'no biggy'.

We downplay.

We decide not to press charges.

We don't want to talk about it, because someone may laugh and tell us we're being ridiculous.

We all do it, but why?

Now that I have strength from my love telling me that it was a big deal, I'm feeling that I can overcome it.  My fighter instinct has risen once more.

It's going to be work, it always is, but all I need is support.  It was all I needed to get moving to the next level of healing.

I was able to hold Papi close, give loving kisses on his cheek and say, "I love you soooo much," without any exceptions.

Bring it on bitches.

There is no way it's going to keep me having adverse feelings about my love's male transformation.

Indeed, if I believe mi esposo has such a massive, understanding heart that they would make an exception to his line of work, then damn!  I should feel very fortunate that I too get to experience my healing of this 'male' figure as a good teacher.

I didn't marry any of my offenders, and that's all I need to remember.

Clique.

My performance went great!

thank you coffee

Only problem with my voice was the lower part of my register.  If that's all the fever took, I'm cool with it.  For now that is.

I'll be keeping the chatting in the ice box at work today.  Gotta make sure my voice is up to snuff for the next 2 shows Friday and Saturday.

It was just wonderful to see so many people last night and receive so much love.

My Person was there.  I told her I was going to the Gender Odyssey and asked if I could catch a ride.

Again I was one upped.  "Sure!  There's even room for you to stay with us if you want!"  This sounds like a great idea, considering the fact that it's right near the conference.

I had asked The Yank if I could stay there, but it may make more sense for me to be somewhere I don't need to take a cab to.

When My Person asked if it was just me who would be attending, I confirmed that it was, only to hear My Person squeal like a teenager with joy!  She took my hands and we were having a moment of bonding and allegiance to the femme club.

She told me about all the different kinds of people we will experience in our workshops.  She told me there would be Rah-Rah-Trannies, there would be Tranny Chasers, and that there would be tranny haters that will make me look like I'm carrying the pom-poms for the Rah-Rah-Tranny cheering foundation.

I told her I just want to find more love and acceptance, and perhaps more allies.  She told me that even she is still at odds.

She told me that there is really nothing wrong with living in both worlds.  Take one hat off and put another hat on.

Sometimes, she's seen as straight, sometimes she's seen as queer.

I just hate the straight part.  I'm so angry that I get thrown into the closet against my will.

When Papi and I go into public, I'll just be the normal straight girl that I fought so hard to leave behind all those years ago.

Then there's the Trans Clique.  There's a very large clique in the transgender community who support each other.  Which is needed.

However, when Papi told me I need to start hanging out with the Trans Clique, I felt uncomfortable.

I don't just accompany femmes just because we're femmes.  I convene with femmes who touch my heart and fill me with strength.

I pal up with straight people who are the sweet souls whom I've loved since before I came out of the closet, and more that I've encountered along my journey of life.

I get together with trans people whom I've watched go through the changes and loved them along the way.

I buddy up with butches that I adore, who have hearts bigger than most people, even though they look so tough on the outside.

There isn't just a clique of people I consort with.  I don't want to hang out with the Trans Clique just because Papi is trans.

I collect my hearts one by one.  I connect with souls who are like minded, sensitive and intuitive in our hearts, and keep them as a prize I've won.

So when Papi told me I need to support mi esposo by hanging out with the Trans Clique, I got very uncomfortable indeed.

Cliques scare the fuck out of me.

They have done damage to me like no other humans on the planet.

Time and time again, they attack the weakest chicken in the coop.  They segregate and plan their attack behind my back, "Ok, so don't talk to Andréa anymore."  They just whisper into one another's ear as they cast their death stare toward me.

Over and over they gang up on one individual and oust them with no effort.  They laugh as a group, pointing from the balcony as I meekly walk away from the home they stole from me.

Repeatedly, they find a way to ostracize one individual to make themselves feel power.  They confirm my fears, and add to the torment of my social anxiety.

Dearest Papi, don't bring me into a place that could take away all the strength I've worked 8 months to build.

I'm still at a point where I am the weak hen who could be pecked to death.

warning: rant.

Every morning, I look like a shaman blessing the air with a tea towel.

Do you have one of those fire alarms that goes off when you make toast?

If you do, then you know what I'm talking about.  While my 2 eggs cook in my miniature iron pan, I wander around waving a blue and white terry cloth.

sans caffeine for 2 weeks **sobs** ... i'm on a food cleanse ... ouch

All I know is, if there is the remote fear of a fire, we're good.  However, that doesn't count emotional ones.

You know, since Papi and I have both been blessed with the Brace Face, there's not too much heavy kissing going on.  I guess that's why I dreamed that Papi and I are making out the same way we did before the bomb was dropped and I cried sitting in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks.

Then when the braces came, well yeah, the kisses are little pecks most of the time.

It was nice to wake up to a dream about nookie with Papi.

One of the last things my love said to me last night before I dozed off into my sexy time coma was, "Honey, can you please not roll your eyes every time I talk about someone who's become an F-M?"

I knew this was going to be conveyed, because while the Americans were invading our house, there was another outing of another F-M, and I, in all my opinionated glory, rolled my eyes.

I know that most people who go through the male transformation really are transgendered, however I fear for the young bucks who feel like they'd fit in better if they joined the crowd.

I have spoken about this before, but I really do think that when you're 18/19/20, you just don't have the life experience to figure out who you are.

And is there something so wrong with being a minority within a minority?

No.

Butches are beautiful.

Butches are special.

Butches are becoming an endangered species.

I just need to know that there will be some butches left for the femmes who adore them.

So yeah, when I hear of another butch being pricked by the needle with poison, going through modern day mutilation, and asking the world to change their personal pronoun ...

... leaving all of us stuttering while trying our best not to insult ...

... I roll my eyes.

another one bites the dust.

Yet, I am hurting my love's feelings when I show my disdain.  So it will now have to be curbed and kept for my inside voice, until I am with the femmes on my Trust List who are also feeling the pinch of our butches leaving us.

One of my Blogger Friends, Tricia, made a great point.  That when breasts are removed, so is the tact.

Yesterday, Papi called that 'murdering tot mom' ...

... no need to put a name here ... we all know who i'm talking about ...

... a slut.

My Trust List Yank and I looked at each other a little shocked, and from out of the Yank's mouth came, "You sound a bit slut-phobic."

There was laughter, but it just sounded odd coming from Papi who back-stepped saying, "I'm not, I really don't care, I'm just saying ..."

It's interesting, because it seemed like Papi no longer was allowed to call a woman a name, because mi esposo has denounced all ties to femininity.

Sorry my love.

You will be getting flack for speaking like a guy now.

politics, politics

Our home has been invaded by Americans!!!!

And it's nice to have them.  Especially when one of them is on your Trust List, and the other is an honorary Trust List newbie as of last night.

I see myself as transphobic a lot.  I assume this is because I have adverse feelings about my love's male transformation.

I'm reminded time and again that there are other people out there who would feel the same way if their love decided to switch camps.

It was really nice to be understood last night.  I forget that when I'm overwhelmed with feelings about the transformation that I have people to go to.

time for a trust list pow-wow i think!

It was not a berating of F-Ms.  It was an honest 'this is my opinion' or 'this is my feeling' or 'this is my veiwpoint' bull session.

We went from the slip of a pronoun to me making my claim again, "I can't call E a male, because all I will ever see is my butch," to "the M-Fs who want to be at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival don't want to come to bond with women, they only want to make their politics loud."

Women's spaces are a touchy subject in our community.  For many reasons.  The Yanks told me about some F-Ms who will go as 'she' to this Festival just so that they can find the femmes and get laid.

Yes.

There is a reason it's a touchy subject.

When Papi and I go to play parties, there have been numerous occasions where we will engage in sexy time.

hey, what can i say, i'm an exhibitionist.

I only feel safe to do so if there are women in the room.

Just like the times I would partake in the art of stripping for our yearly women's strip show, Diva's Den.

In front of women, I am free to be and do whatever and whomever I want.

However, this year, the organizers started allowing bio-males into the play party.  I understand.  It's a business, but it certainly put the halt on my sexual escapades.

I am completely uncomfortable with anything to do with sex around bio-males.

I imagine this is because of issues from my childhood.

duh!

Regardless, I just don't feel comfortable.

This is where it gets messy.

I know F-Ms want to be seen as male, and to the general straight community, they are.  Yet to me, I can spot one pretty fast and all I see is an F-M.  Not a male.

I feel bad for this the moment I see them as such, because they want to be seen as male, but you can't hide those female eyes and female interactions.

You won't see an F-M pissing on a wall in front of a femme who is saying, "Really buddy?!?  Do ya have to do this right here?  There's a washroom right inside the hospital!!"

This bio-male told me to, "Fuck off," and continued wagging his willy right in front of my bus and the clients.

No, this is not the action of an F-M.

This is because an F-M is still a third gender.  They are neither.

I only wish my love could be comfortable as such, and not feel the need to swing the pendulum to the other side of male-ness.

dream on hard on

Anyway, this rant was a leftover from my Trust List and honorary Trust List newbie.

It felt good to be understood and told, "No.  You're not transphobic.  You have a certain taste of what you find attractive."

One more little stone to build my wall of strength.