the dream is not exempt from nightmares

No sleep.

Fucking insomnia.

I guess I have too much going through my head.

Excitement, fear and holy fuck the nightmares every goddam night!

I have the feeling it's because there's no pain meds to block them out.

I had nightmares every night before the accident, but after the accident, I would wake up knowing I had one, I just couldn't remember a lot of them because they had me so wired on pills.

Well, with no drugs to dim the din, the horrors are in full force.

One was that I had to relive all the ICBC crap all over.  In my dream, I said to my lawyer, "I thought you said once this was all done, that was that!"

He replied, "They changed their mind."

Last night was all my musical instruments in the middle of an intersection and people stealing them, but I couldn't get to them because the speeding cars wouldn't let me get there.  Then everyone laughed at my disdain.

Not to mention, every night, I dream I'm in excruciating pain.

However, I do wake up to a lovely sigh of, "Oh god, I feel so much better."

Actually, it's a hell of a lot better than those dreams where you win a gazillion dollars, only to wake up broke and wanting to go back to sleep to relive the dream.

Speaking of psychological torment, I'm not sure what it is that has Papi chasing me around with his LifeLike penis every day.

The Tranny Terrorist is another frightening ordeal.

Mi esposo will intentionally leave that Plastic Penis dangling out of every crevice he can find, poised like a rattler, just waiting to attack it's prey.

I am the prey.

He will wiggle it around with only one intention.

To make me squirm.

I'm surprised my dreams aren't filled with penes like they used to be when I was younger.

Did I ever tell you about the nightmare where there was a glass container, the size and width of a massive wall, filled with penes and balls, floating in blood?

Yeah.

That was a nice one.

That one will forever be burned in my brain.

Hopefully, the vision won't be etched in yours now.

Sorry about that.

Every time I wriggle away, horrified in my P.T.S.D. triggered state, my love will add, "I don't know what you're afraid of!  It's not like it's going to come out and attack you!"

My love, they have before.

He also likes to add, "I don't see how you can enjoy being fucked by a dildo!"

Ok.

Because a dildo is not life like.

It's not even in the same shape or colour of the real thing, not to mention, I get to control it, it's not attached to a predator, and it doesn't have weird stuff coming out of it.

Too much info for ya?

I guess you thought I'd be going on about our big exciting news today.

Well, if you're my long term reader, you should know better than that.

If you're here just visiting, you poor, poor soul.

Welcome to my madness.

i express my needs and feelings

got'cha papi.

Of course, we all know Papi likes to torture me, hence he has been dubbed the Tranny Terrorist.

His most recent femme fright was not really meant to make me crazy, but it does.

His relapse of alcohol began on a trip alone to see his sister get married in Mexico.

Leave the bugger alone for 10 minutes and he's into trouble!

Well, for this trip, he continuously mentions that he's uncomfortable with going to an all inclusive where there is drinking going on from the moment people hit the beach!

He talks about it, because he needs to.

I just keep asking him when he's going to tell his sponsor.

He doesn't have one.

So, yesterday, nonchalantly mentioned that I was going to take one of my pain killer infused muffins along for the trip.

"Nobody would know.  They would just see them as muffins and banana bread!"

Oh, the tizzy I got my tranny into.

The foul language he used!

The redness of his face!

The bulging eyeballs that seemed to pop out, not much unlike a cartoon character.

I have found my ammunition.

Of course, I was half honest, because the only other option for me to bring is morphine.

I hate pills.

Hate them.

But the Dominican Republic will not let us in if I have any traces of my medicinal cannabis in my system.

This means that I have to take morphine for the last month of us living here, and be off my natural pain killers for 2 months, in hopes that by the time they test my blood, I'll just look like your average pill poppin' femme.

And I'll be puffy.

Puffy, bitchy and tired.

But the whole point is, I am moving somewhere where the hopes are that I won't have to take those devil pills anymore.

Or at least, not very often.

The amount of prep for this is almost mind blowing.

Just to get ready for our short trip is enough to get the tummy squirreling around in there.

We bought two MASSIVE, and very ugly suitcases to bring some of our belongings that will be living there on this trip.

We're going to put them in storage there.

So, we have to go to our storage here.

To bring stuff to the storage there.

It's sorta ridiculous, and we hope to hell we can find a place to keep them there so that the next trip isn't as expensive with 5 animals.

Well, one of the animals is a little lighter.

Seems the stress has Psycho Kitty losing all his ass end fur.

It's really ugly.

This will not do for his television appearance.

And now, off to the vet we go to find out how to fix it, make him pretty and perhaps get a manicure for The Bastard Prince who lost one of his nails in the last Tom Cat Operetta which had him scrambling to a higher level.

Blood everywhere.

No, this is not sexy enough for their television appearance.

i accept abundance

'Just Married'

Anyway, there's this walkway in downtown Vancouver that is just that.

A walkway.

We were going to help a sweet friend take apart her free elliptical machine so she and Papi could fit it into the elevator, get it up to her suite, and send her off on a cardio filled living.

My love wanted to be on the road that was on the other side of said 'walkway', so what did he do?

He drove through it.

Next, there were pedestrians looking at us like we're possibly from Mars, or Nunavut.  I would have too.

Mind you, as someone with a fair amount of P.T.S.D. from terrifying drivers who keep trying to kill me, I probably would have had a few words for the person I saw making such a maneuver.

As we rolled only slightly faster than the pace of a walk, I slouched in my seat, feeling like we were some pervy predator old man in a paneled van stalking the pedestrians.

I then looked at Papi with the same shock as the walkers.

At the end of the torture, I was in full humiliation and asked my love, "Do you do these things when you're alone?  Or do you just do them to make me crazy?"

I already knew the answer to this rhetorical question, however, he admitted, "I really only do it to get a reaction from you, because it's so easy."

Yes, this is the Tranny Terrorist I love.  It could be one of the reasons I love him so much; he's just as crazy as I am.

Even though all the people stare and judge me for being with a person that would drive through a gaggle of walkers, I still wind up laughing at the end of every antic this brat can muster.

When he tells me he does it just to irk me, I don't know why, but it makes me laugh even harder.

It's kinda like when I was a kid and my family would tell me, "If G'pa didn't tease you, it would mean he doesn't love you."

Even though the 'teasing' he would give me created a lack of confidence and I'd wind up in tears.

OK.  When I think about it, it's really nothing like that.

Papi doesn't diminish my self esteem.  He just makes me crazy by driving down a walkway while everyone stares.

But wait!  There's more!

Not only are they staring because of the ridiculousness of mi esposo's capers, they're also staring at the stickers on our four wheeled bulletin board.

Well, now there's a new one: the 'Just Married' sign.

Mi esposo found the 'Just Married' sign during The Great DR Purge, and in all his silliness decided to put it on the back of our filthy X-Terra.

Let me tell you, if you're an asshole on the road, your best bet would be to get a magnetic sign that says 'Just Married' on your car.

People will actually give you more forgiveness when you have that sign.

I'm not kidding you.

It's also really quite fun to be driving down the road and have carloads of people honking and waving with really big smiles, so proud of our new venture in life.

I guess you could say we're 'Just Married'.

Really, we were married 2 years ago, but with someone like Papi in your life, there's enough excitement that time flies when you're having fun, no?

So, we can say we're 'Just Married' in the scheme of things.

None-the-less, the verdict has come through.

If you're an asshole on the road, get the 'Just Married' sign.  You'll get away with a lot.

Then the people you've pissed off won't feel so bad for the blushing bride in the passenger seat.

Smile and wave, baby.

With all 5 fingers.

i rejoice in the love i encounter every day

Hello PeeCock!

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

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

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

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

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

However, I did get a lot done yesterday. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember that happy dance?

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

It's time to practise once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because we all know I love to talk about food.

i am healthy since my practises are healthy

Storm has passed.

So.

I scraped my way out of the Pit of Doom.  Fortunately, Papi was there to save the day when my pain killer packed smoothie spilled all over my composing desk.

Yeah.  That was a nice effect to put on the already fucked up day.

Oh, and the reason I was in my music room was because I was going to try to compose to take my mind off everything.

Alas, my cords have gone missing from the video and I had no AC to make music.

So.

I spent half the day crying tears of frustration.

I spoke to me dear aunt who stopped the tears with some chuckles.

I stared at the wall, drooling for a few hours.

I finally got hungry and I made some dinner.

I am still on a quest to make Papi healthy food that he likes.  Last night I made my usual steamed veggies with quinoa, and some broiled chicken.

I was thrilled that my love was even entertaining eating my lovely organic veggies on this day, so the steamer was put together with ardor!

Carrots on his side, kale on my side, shared broccolini and daikon in the center, and a nice sweet pile of quinoa on top to heat with the steam.

I excitedly brought the dish to my love, even though it looked boring in comparison to mine.  I like a little tahini drizzled on top for added calcium and protein.

True to any spoiled child, I heard, "There are people who eat things separately, and people who eat things together.  I'm one of the people who eats things separately."

listen mother fucker, i just spent a day sobbing over bureaucratic bullshit, and made you and i a nice dinner ... eat the fucking food and be grateful for fucks sakes!

Papi is a manchild.  If I want my Tranny Terrorist to eat well, I have to suffer the supper of perfection.

"It's just that I don't like all my food mushed together in the same plate!  I want to eat each thing separately so that I can only taste one thing at a time."

Oh, dearest Papi.

You make me forget all about what I was upset over, with your zany ways.

My love had a great idea for our evening.  He brought out the Wii Guitar Hero.

This game is insanity for any actual musician.  The beats are counter-intuitive.  You actually have to play the note ahead of where it should be.  I sucked!!  I wanted to play on the beat!!!

So, after failing a few times and letting down my band mate, because I was playing music the way it should be, I was demoted to singer.

This should have been better, except the songs were stuff I'd never heard before.

I sounded like a polecat in heat.

So bad in fact, that Sir Bark-A-Lot actually started to howl when I'd follow that little line up when it told me to.

As I crooned with the rat dog, Papi was trying to maintain his composure and nail his guitar hooks, the Bucket Head whined, and the cats ran around trying to find shelter from the pain of the din.

It was perfect.  It was exactly what I needed.

I was able to finally laugh at the end of the day.  It may have taken me all day to get to the point of my daily mantra, but I did it.

I laughed.

This morning I'm feeling much better, because 'today' is the 'tomorrow' I waited for 'yesterday'.

It's always a better day 'tomorrow', and besides, there's no mail to bring me down today.

All I have to worry about is getting my love, the new found chauffeur, to drive me around, considering I temporarily have no license.

That and trying to figure out how the fuck I'm going to make food for Papi 'his way' so he'll eat the goddam veggies!!!

'Today' is good.  I weathered the storm of Hurricane Andréa, and lived to tell the story.

i have hope ... i am able to see hope

Cat Scratch Fever.

Mr. Sickie is feeling a little better from the antibiotic poisoning.

I've been the one tended to for a few days, and the greatest part is having my love make me food.

I'm entertained with award winning monologues of, "Ohmygodthisisgross," and "How do you eat this shit?!"  Not to mention, the gagging sounds that mi esposo is prone to, when trying to hit it home about how my whole food diet disgusts him.

This is coming from someone who eats an entire bag of Mini Eggs for dinner.

We're talking Costco size, not just the corner store bags that are an appropriate amount of sugar for our systems to work with.

Yeah, they're pretty tasty, yet they embody the yum that I must skip out on, or we'd wind up with a visit from Hurricane Andréa, narcolepsy and a sinus infection from hell.

Anyway, point is, my dearest Papi is definitely feeling better.

The other day, we invited My Gratitude Buddy over, and my love cleaned the kitchen for the visit.

That's a good points winner, right there.
         
Something else tells me that Papi is feeling better.

There was a bit of a showdown between 2 members of the Fuzzy Family yesterday.

Actually, the introduction of the two Alpha maples has been going quite well.  There have been the ever so classy cat call of the wild between the The Bastard Prince and Psycho Kitty, but not too much in the way of physical attacks.

That was until yesterday afternoon.

Papi thought it would be a good idea to throw the cats together so they could work it out.

I'm not kidding.

There was a screeching of doom, roars of pain, and pet food dishes added a ring to the upper register of this Tom Cat Operetta.

Of course, this was complete with a foreboding of death like all good dramas.

This was the aftermath:

As well, during my few days of flu delirium, there was another sign of mi esposo feeling well.

My love felt the need to show me just how much ass hair is forcing it's way through his orb, in an effort to run to the light, and added, "Yup!  All that is goodness is going to spread over to my ass cheeks."

Good god.

The Tranny Terrorist has risen.

As much as Papi is working up his newest routine of ways to toment me, there has been no interest in sex for my love.

I suppose feeling like a gargantuan bag of pus for the past 2 months would be the reason, no?

That's no problem, however, this also includes cuddles.

Right now, I wanna cozy in with my love, but he just feels so horrible.  The only thing I get right now, is a vertical hug, or a bedtime snuggle with his right arm.

When I saw Papi flaunt his ass crack in pride, I got my hopes up that perhaps, just maybe, this is the last round of illness, and that this is all going to be over soon.

Dare to dream, eh?

Mi esposo es muy guapo.

Yeah, I thought I'd start out this first day of 2012 with sleep deprivation, because I was too lazy to get up to the drug store and refill my nerve pills, hence there was no sleep for this mangled body last night.


Honestly, I'm good with my title of 'Most Crazed Woman of Canada' as long as I get to stay in my pajamas.

Perhaps there is an inkling of a day to be had?  Perhaps it's a double coffee day?




Even if this day doesn't turn into much, I'm pretty grateful I don't have to be anywhere in this condition.

Speaking of gratitude, I received 2 great gifts for my New Year.

One was the gift of more gratitude.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with happy, positive thinking, so don't get your panties in a wad.

It's just that it was a strange phenomenon!  When I wrote the last gratitude entry to My Gratitude Buddy, I felt it was unfinished.  I almost felt like I should keep going for a little while longer, because it has done me good.

Well, what happened was, when I received My Gratitude Buddy's last return, she asked if I was into going on for a few more weeks.

there is still time to join in, oh ye non-believer of gratitude's magic ...
 
But, there is still the best New Year's gift yet.

I had a wild moment in TransLand last night!

My sweet Papi is still not feeling so well.  Who knew that a hysterectomy could wreak such havoc on a body!?!?

After 3 post surgery infections, complete with 3 emergency room visits, and the cherry on top of 3 rounds of antibiotics, my love's system has had to start from scratch and reboot.

So.

Papi is not well, to say the least.

However, the good news is, my love may get on a healthy food regime by no force of my own!

mwahahahaha!!!!!!  my positive thinking of health has made it's way to papiland!!!!!!

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my TransLand moment.  I just thought I'd throw that in there so you could have a lovely mental picture of why there haven't been any Tranny Terrorist exhibitions as of late.

Ok.  I'll get to the point now.

The point is, that even though mi esposo was not feeling so well, he's still handsome.

The moment when I saw the handsome Papi, I couldn't stop staring at my love.

Someone had seen Papi's picture change on Facebook the other day, and almost wrote, "Who's this dude?"

Everyone else gets to see the changes from week to week.  I only get day to day, so Papi doesn't really change for me.

It's too slow and gradual.

Yet still, I saw my handsome husband for a moment.

It wasn't my husbutch.

It was actually a husband.

And as Papi toddled off for another visit to the porcelain gods, my mind reverted back to mi esposo.

I don't really care which way my mind chooses to see Papi.  Point is, mi esposo es muy guapo.

Happy New Year Papi.

2012 is the year of Dominican Republic preparation!!!

Ready, set, GO!!!

Turning the corner.

It started with consoling my love, by stroking his naked thigh.

You see, 'someone' has a touch of hormone madness from the hysterectomy.

I can't remember why Papi needed comforting, but that's how it began.

I didn't realize it, but I was stroking mi esposo's man hair leg, and to my surprise, it didn't feel like a nasty Brillo Pad, raring to cut my flesh like a knife through butter.

I was enjoying the feeling, as if it was a member of our Fuzzy Family.

"It actually doesn't feel so bad.  It's pretty soft!  I think I'm getting used to it."

Papi responded with, "Yeah, I'm finally getting used to it too.  It was weird at first."

It shocked me, that Papi had to get used to it as well.

I really thought he would feel connection with every aspect of the transformation.

I suppose all the joking and terrorizing was really my love's way to deal with the changes.

I guess it's an adjustment for everyone that takes getting used to.

I mean, it must be!  It's huge for me, so it must have some impact on the person who's morphing, leaving their prior 'self' behind.

One of the most amazing therapists I ever had, once explained our reactions to loss, change, hurt and even joy.

She explained that every person is unalike, and is therefore cut from a different cloth.  We all have distinctive strengths and weaknesses.

When you press an iron at a high setting on varying materials, they each have individual reactions.

If someone is made of silk, well, you can imagine what the heat will do to them.

Honestly, I'm 100% sure that there will be more challenges in life, because that's just the way life is.

But perhaps, my silky fabric has changed into denim.

Anyway, I thought about how lucky I am to have found this person I love, who loves me as deeply.

I no longer care if my love has extra hair, although there will be waxing in Papi future.

I mean really!  I keep those areas tidy for sexy time, skirt exposed legs and armpit stink.

So yes, there will be waxing, Papi.

However, I really don't care if my love talks, walks, acts, or looks different anymore.

I've had a good year to get it out of my system, and at the same time, grow with the changes.

I'm still attracted and madly in love with mi esposo.

Hey.

That doesn't mean I'm going to let go of all my opportunities to share TMI about his antics here in my blob/blab.

There's just too much fun to be had with the DIY exploits of the Tranny Terrorist.

But what I do get to let go of, is that comatose, weeping wife of an F-M.

Over the past week, I've unconsciously started to rub Papi's chest.

Through my love's t-shirts, I let my fingers softly rub over the scars.

There may be loss of pillowy softness, but that loss doesn't compare to the love I have for Papi, which was really my worst worry.

Now that I know my attraction and love are here to stay, I'm ready to get on with life and talk about other important things.

Like my ass.

My love thinks it's imperative that I get a pic of my ass in this here blob/blab, because, "It's a great ass," my love pleaded, "You have to show everyone your ass!  Look at that ass!  It's better than a 20 year old's!"

Yeah it is, but no.

Other than when my cheeks are nicely tucked into a pair of yoga pants, or skin tight Dominican Republic jeans for the world to see, my butt belongs to Papi.

Well, except for when I lend it to the Needle Master.

Would you like a little chard with that?

Well looky here!

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, I really hate winter.

Ok, that's a lie.

I always hate winter.

Anyway, new topic.

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

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

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

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

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

I was hoping that he just wouldn't notice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh!

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

I don't think I did.

I had to wait until after I told Papi.

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

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

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

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

Indeed Safeway bakery lady.

Don't you know it.

Oh, you laugh NOW, eh Papi?

Papi.

Oh, dearest Papi.

We have an 'issue'.

It has nothing to do with my love being a transgender F-M.

It has nothing to do with The Great Breast Disappearance.

It also has nothing to do with the hormones that are rapidly stealing my butch.

It's all about the kitchen sink.

You see, my love doesn't like the 'oogies' that culminate in the drain catcher.

Papi would rather have the chunks of inedibles go down the drain, instead of them being caught and disposed of.

But you see, the problem is, there's a reason for a drain catcher.

It keeps our drains clog free muthafuckah!!!!

Leave those bitches where they belong!!!

Day after day I toddle into the kitchen, roll my eyes and growl, "Papi!!!!" through provoked, pursed lips.

I will inevitably receive the gratuitous, "What did I do now?" with the usual sigh of regret.

Imagine my surprise when I went to make my morning coffee and there was no drain catcher.

Do you see a drain catcher here?!?!

When I say no drain catcher, I mean it wasn't even in the vicinity, never mind the usual place I find it, which is usually an inch away from where it should be to do it's job.


While this would normally create an angry state, I realized that because it was nowhere to be found, that this could very well be the result of the Tranny Terrorist.

Mi esposo is getting better every day, which means I'll be experiencing more of his antics I'm sure.

When I realized there was no sign of this drain catcher, the light bulb turned on.  I thought, perhaps, just perhaps, I should check g'ma's sink upstairs.

Check!

No drain catcher there either!

Aha!

Papi's up to no good again.

My love is lucky I know him well, or I would have woken him to tell me what he did with the goddam drain catcher!



But I knew it was just mi esposo doing what he does best when he feels better.

It just so happened that my love was up 'early' today.  By 'early' I mean 11 am, and I jumped at the opportunity to find out where these little gems were.

My love snickered as he opened the toaster oven.  Perfect place to hide them, considering I wouldn't be using it until the afternoon, hence making me crazy for the majority of the day.

The best part was Papi telling me how he could barely contain himself as he hid my treasures.

Well, I hid something on my love.

Let's see how long it takes for him to realize it's gone.

>enter evil laugh here<

Say Uncle!!

Sometimes I like to harass my Tranny Terrorist in return for his antics.

Things have been very quiet on the Tranny Terrorist front lately.  It's hard to get in any kind of trouble from your La-Z-Boy while healing from a hysterectomy.

"Here try it!" I said.  I wanted my love to try my sugar-free coconut water, because I thought it would taste like a Pina Colada.  "I put it in my protein shake and it tastes awesome!"

I'll try anything to get my love to eat properly and find treats in healthy foods.

Well, Papi tried my shake, and for a moment I thought it was a hit.  However, aftertaste kicked in and the face of "OMG that's awful!!" was fully animated and I had my very own giggle-fest.

Papi asked me, "Did you do that on purpose because of the piano thing I did to you?" 

i would never do something like that Papi ... hehehe ...

Honestly though, it was a little bit of payback for the trick my Tranny Terrorist tried to play on me.

You see, my love almost put his protein shake on my piano.

Well, you don't put anything moist on my piano and live to tell the story.

ask the guy i once slammed against the wall who pissed himself in fear ...

I jumped at mi esposo bearing fangs and claws sharper than a cheetah, "Fuck no!!!!!!"  I growled.

That's when I saw the twinkle in Papi's eyes, followed by, "I knew I'd get a reaction, but I didn't think it would be so fast!"

Yes Papi, you got me, but I got you to swallow healthy food.

I think I win.

Eh?

Papi is starting to feel better and is getting his Tranny Terrorist mojo back, and I appreciate it, because I am going to need my distraction from that dastardly time we call x-mas.

I didn't think we'd be doing anything, but we will be going to my baby sister's house for brunch, then dinner with Papi's aunts.  Our day will be full of family.

When I spoke to my baby sister about the x-mas plans, she had such a sweet story to tell me.  She had told my niece about mi esposo and the male transformation.

The reaction from my niece was probably the most amazing comeback I could ever imagine.

"Really?"  She asked excitedly, "That's soooo cool!!!  Now I get to have an uncle!"

Yes, I suppose you do.

Then there was the talk about my love's caterpillar moustache and my sis had this to say:  "Oh that's perfect!  Because your nephew has the same thing, so they can go through puberty together."

While my love and I waded through the frenzied shoppers trying to get their deals, we spoke about how lucky we are that we have family members who love and accept us for who we are, who we love, and allow us to be who we wish to be.

It was a beautiful day.

Music, love and a movie with my 'rough around the edges friends' called, 'Tomboy', that I really recommend you see if you can find it.

Oh, and a wheat free power cookie.

That was the topper.

My Husbutch.

I have a Godson.

I refer to him as The Turkey.

Mostly because his little baby chub legs looked like you could break one off and have a Thanksgiving chomp.

He's walking now, so his legs are getting more svelte and are no longer appetizing.

Well, yesterday we celebrated his 2nd birthday party/Grey Cup party.

thank god we won ... i don't think i could handle another vancouver riot ...

As per The Turkey's momma's wish, I brought balloons galore to the party.  They were a magnanimous hit with The Turkey!  Now I know what I have to do every time I visit, so that I may be dubbed his absolute favourite tall person of all time!

Anyway, his Godfather was there too, and we are both so proud to be the Godparents of this little guy.

The Godfather offered to help me in with my balloons aplenty, as did The Turkey's brother that I refer to as The Porkchop.  He also had little baby chub legs that looked like you could break off a piece and have it for Christmas Dinner, but now he's all tall and lanky.  No meat on his teenage bones.

hey ... i know what you're thinking ... but i'm probably your favourite cannibal.

So, as we were heading to do the balloon deed, The Turkey's biological father ...

... and one of my best friends, who was best man at my wedding ...

... made a reference to The Turkey's baptism day when The Godfather and I had to repeat the vows from a pastor, then walk down the aisle, receiving beautiful smiles from the fellowship in their pews, to the back of the church.

But what these people didn't know about the newly dubbed Godparents, was that neither of us believe in God, nor follow religion, so it was completely awkward having to suffer through all the God talk just to be blessed as The Turkey's Godparents.

As we walked down the aisle, and all the good, God believers sang their song of praise, I leaned over to The Godfather and whispered, "I feel like we're in Whoville," which got a great laughing snort out of him.

Fast forward to yesterday, and there we were walking toward the door to get balloons, when The Turkey's bio-dad said, "There goes Andréa with the only man she'll ever say vows and walk down the aisle with."

I wanted to agree, but then I had this moment of thinking about Papi.

I married a butch.

A masculine woman.

The world's most perfect masculine woman, I may add.

One day, when I was clawing my way out of the catatonic tranny spell, my love had asked, "Do you think we could have a 2nd wedding, so that we can be pronounced man and wife?"

Of course, in response to the Tranny Terrorist, I quickly barked out, "No fucking way!!"

I mean really!  I've had my perfect wedding with my perfect butch.

How on earth could I ever marry a 'male', and live to tell the tale?!?

But there was a memory in this that I had spoken to a friend about.  I thought about how happy it would make my love to have his marriage certificate say male and female, instead of female and female.

I'm not rushing out to change our marriage certificate.

Hell fucking no!!!!

That bitch is mine!

But you never know.  Through this whole journey, I have learned a lot about the word, 'never'.

Never say, "Never", or it will come back and bite you in the ass.

At this point, I'm loving being married to my husbutch, and that's where I am 'right now'.

By the light of the moon ...

There's a very good reason for why I don't celebrate my birthday.

It's not because I've kept the secret of my age for so long and I'm afraid to admit I have a few crow's feet.

they're starting to look a little more like eagle claws with all the stress goin' on over here!!!! 

I don't celebrate my birthday, because there are so many expectations attached to the day.

It must be a fun day.

It must be filled with friends who adore me.

It must be a massive, positive celebration of how wonderful life is.

However, every birthday would come and all my expectations would be blown to bits, and I'd wind up crying in my beer.

That was, of course, in between chain smoking joints, and the beer could be exchanged with any other alcoholic beverage I could get my hands on, because it was my birthday dammit!  And I was going to be half lit so I couldn't remember any of it.

I stopped celebrating my birthday somewhere before I got clean and sober, and when that day would come along, I would silently tell myself how good my life is at that very moment in time.

Yeah, it hurt when nobody gave me a surprise party, but you know, nobody can give me a surprise party if they don't know when my birthday is.

See where I'm going with this?

Well, I'm shown again, that it's not ideal to place expectations on any day here on planet earth.  Life makes it's own decisions on how our day goes, and we have absolutely no control over it.

I was an utter emotional wreck, feeling like everything my love said was proposed in an angry manner.  The P.T.S.D. that I worked so hard to bridle was in full swing, and panic attacks were in abundance while being on the road, coupled with Papi telling me he had issues about this date as well.

This date represents so much for both of us, and I forgot that the other half of this relationship had to live through the motorcycle accident as well.

You'd think I would consider this, seeing as how I'm always fighting to be the other half that is respected in Papi's male transformation.

I mean really!  My love had to take care of me for a long time, from November 22, 2008 forward.  It's not that he is resentful for the time I had to be coddled, it's just that our life as we knew it changed on this day.

Mi esposo had a much different partner before this Living Day, as I was very strong emotionally and physically when Papi and I started dating.

On top of all of the above, this day is also the exact date that Papi started taking hormones, and I suppose I was too narcissistic about my Living Day, that I didn't pay attention to what was going on.

Consequently, I found out about the testosterone a few days later, and a psycho spouse was born, blubbering and catatonic in the La-Z-Boy, complete with drool and tears that could be confused for the epic snot from crying so much.

Not to mention the swollen eyes I'd wake to every day.

So, this is what this day brings for us.

My love and I don't ever fight, because we tend work things out with communication and humour.

However, on this day, Papi and I had the worst communication fail possible.  I wound up in tears and my love wound up feeling like he had to walk on egg shells, between saying the words I took as anger.

We had a ridiculous fights about nothing what-so-ever, really.

My day of gratitude ended when I swept The Golden's hair off the floor, and the rest of the day was a write-off.

Yet, it was still better than where I was 3 years ago.

And this, is the reason why I should probably take the same attitude with my Living Day that I take with my birthday: No expectations.

But hey, the evening got better, and I was also privileged to witness the full moon of the Tranny Terrorist.

That was Papi's way of making me laugh, and it worked.

Sorry I don't have pictures.

I'm married to a Werewolf

Papi told me my blog was boring yesterday.

It's always important to have a strong critique around our craft, isn't it?

I know that the 'boring' label was given, because my blog for the past 2 days hasn't been about mi esposo.

oh! btw ... i haven't had any more visits from jesus, g'pa, or the devil ... just fyi ... however, the tranny terrorist did stuff 'jesus on a stick' back into my jacket pocket for a giggle ...

The fact that it was probably deemed boring, strictly because Papi wasn't in it, was confirmed when my love asked, "Would you like to take a picture of my ass hair to talk about in your blog?"

No, I don't think you all need to check out the hair that is billowing from my love's ass crack now.

You'll be happy to know I stuck up for 'you', my imaginary friend.  I'm positive you don't need to see what I saw the other day.

To think I was concerned about facial hair!?!?!?

Oh, let me tell you, ass hair wins this one all the way.

There is also enough hair on Papi's upper thighs now to keep him warm all winter.  I'm pretty sure there is no need for long johns from this winter forward.

I'm also quite positive that the cloak of hair is going to be really hot for my love when we move to the Dominican Republic.

I've already informed my love that if there isn't any volunteering of hair removal after the thrill of looking like a werewolf has ended, that I will drug him in his sleep and wax that shit off.

Part of the reason I'd like to get rid of all the body hair is because my love likes to flaunt it in my face, while rubbing his thigh hair as if it was a prized dog, accompanied by a taunting, Tranny Terrorist smile that says, "How do you like this, my dear wife?"

My love is never short on props to use to his whimsical advantage.

It has indeed been quiet on the Tranny Terrorist front while my love is still healing from the hysterectomy.

Yesterday, when I was out for dinner with a sweet friend, we were talking about what's important in a relationship to each of us.  For me, I'll pick someone who can make me laugh over romance.

I can live without romance when there's a funny one in my life, however, I'm fortunate enough that my love is a massive romantic at heart, as well as someone who makes me laugh.

My friend said, "You must have laughs every day with that character."

I confirmed and upped the ante, "Yes.  Every day, and usually more than once a day."

I do love the Tranny Terrorist in a warped, sick way.

I'm a sucker for attention.

I was once labeled an 'attention whore' in a former relationship.

This label is not far off the map.

I was a little short on attention after my parents split up, and I'm pretty sure I've been trying to make up for it for the rest of my breathing life.

I'm cool with admitting it.

And it's probably why I fell in love with Papi so quickly.

My love gives me all the attention I could ever want, coupled with goofiness that keeps me laughing and rolling my eyes, not to mention gushing over what a romantic gentleman Papi is.

Well, that is of course, when my love isn't lying around healing in the La-Z-Boy.

Anyway, I hope this blog was much more interesting to Papi.

Even though I'm the one writing to 'you', it really is all about him isn't it?

Jesus lives!!!

Ok.

I'm pretty sure Jesus is stalking me.

Let's back up for a sec.

Remember the sewage flood and The Great Sewage Flood Purge?

It's been a while since I've been to the attic to see what clothing I have.

Well, if I'm being honest, the brain injury didn't even allow me to know about all that existed up there.

I now have a brand new bunch of dresses to choose from!

The real reason I was up there was to find my winter puffy coat.

Found it!

And guess what I found in the pocket?

Seriously.

Of all the people that could receive this little gem, this agnostic verging on atheist is the last one to actually appreciate this gift.

I'm pretty sure that if I believed in 'God', I would be shouting from the mountain tops that he's sending me messages.

No.

It's just Jesus, and here is my gift:

I thought it was probably the Tranny Terrorist making a funny, but my love assured me he didn't do it.

Honestly.

Who's the one who keeps getting the zealots at the door?

Who's the one who incessantly has to explain to the G'ma that I don't believe in her 'God'?

Who's the agnostic verging on atheist who gets royally pissed when people try to push their beliefs on her?

And who's the one who has Jesus in their pocket?

Me.

I don't really get it.

It definitely wasn't G'ma who put this gem in my pocket.  G'ma can't get up the stairs.

g'ma has just left for 3 months!! my blood pressure has resumed normal levels ...

So, there's a mystery in the house, and I'm pretty sure I know who did it.

Yup, it's Jesus, and he's stalking me.

I don't deny that he existed, but I have a hard time believing that he's always hangin' around me.

Though I just have to wonder, who's the devil who keeps taunting me with all this!!??!?!

Hang on!!

Maybe it was the ghost of G'pa.  I occasionally feel him in the house, and apparently he was a real joker.

So there it is!  I just figured it out!!

G'pa has combined forces with Jesus and they're playing games with me.

Papi always says, "I wish you got to meet G'pa."

I have, Papi.

I have, and he's a cheeky bugger.

Ok, so Papi didn't die ...

I think the most entertaining part about the day was that I ate all my food before 3:00.

I eat when I get stressed.  I ate my snack, lunch, dinner and desert all by 3:00.

While we were out in bum-fuck-nowhere, Papi kept asking me, "Are you ok?  Are you scared?  Did you take too much Crack Butter?"

no my love, i did not take enough crack butter ...

I didn't want to tell my love I was nervous, so I had to lie.  "No, I'm fine!" I said as convincing as I possibly could, channeling my inner, perky optimist.

Of course, I was then greeted by, "Good!  'Cuz if you said you were scared, then I'd be nervous!" 

yes, my love ... i do know that ...

The greatest Tranny Terrorist moment of the day award goes to Papi for the last words I heard him say before leaving my side for the surgery, "Oh!  You better kiss me in case I die!"

No, it wasn't a sweet nothing in my ear.  He said it to the WHOLE room.

People chuckled and I shook my head uttering threats, "I will kill you if you die."

Of course this was just a few minutes after I had a near thermo-nuclear melt down with the control freak nurse who must have been a cat in a former life.

"Who moved my cat toy?!?  Why is that door closed!?!  Don't you know I like to be fed here and not there anymore?!  Capiche!?!"

Ok.

She wasn't freaking about cat toys, but she certainly didn't like that I had our knapsacks and personal items were on a wheelchair in her space.

The sweet intake nurse knew my back pain, and he, with his magical moustache, ...

... no seriously ... you have to see this thing to believe it!!! ...

... suggested I use the wheelchair to push my stuff along, rather than try to walk two feet and stop to say, "Ok.  Which way to emergency?  I've put my back out again."

Control Freak Nurse just couldn't handle this foreign article in the nurses' area.  When she realized that I just may cause a stink, she decided to let it go.

Which was a good choice, because that's when I finally gave in to my inner bitch and the rolling of eyes, death stare and deep breathing were activated.

I have to admit though, I was feeling rather edgy when I didn't get to see Papi right away.  Why do they do this to me all the time?!  It's worse than security at an airport sometimes!

I was expecting them to kick me out the room I because Papi wasn't there yet.  You see, after all the coocoos found me at the hospital, I managed to secretly find out what room Papi would be in and flew in there with my knapsack and bag wheelchair home.

I set up camp with my 'house' and when they came in, I said, "So, this is our room right?"

listen ... do you see me eating?  I'm married to the patient ... my room ... 

They kinda just looked at me ready to tell me I had to leave, then changed their minds, because they were sweet, lovely people.

So, I ate the rest of my food.

I then proceeded to listen to Papi snore for the rest of the day.

My love is doing fine and is all kinds of fun to laugh at.

Oh, the droopy face was awesome.

The only problem is that I don't like to leave Papi there.

So, Papi didn't die.

Now I don't have to kill him.

I get to bring him home in just a few short hours.

Belly Hair and Chicken Lips

Well, that leg hair that was crawling toward Papi's groin has surpassed it's destination.

It's now overflowing up my love's stomach.

Mi esposo had lifted his shirt to display his pale white belly, accompanied by, "Do you want to touch it?!"

I'm sure you know what my reaction was.  "No, I don't want to touch it, it probably feels like a Brillo pad."

"No!  It's soft!"

Yeah Papi, for now it is.

The Tranny Terrorist was on turbo yesterday.

We went for our Thanksgiving dinner with G'ma and my love jumped into harassing the old bird.

The topic at the dinner table was her demise.

Sounds nice eh?

My love started to arrange G'ma's post mortem affairs.

I just continued to eat food that is really bad for me.

ah french fries ... you are so good, and yet so bad for me ... 

G'ma just continued to eat her Caesar Salad and Chicken Pot Pie.

True to any elder turning back into a child, the majority of her salad was on her lap.

At one point, there was a piece of Romaine lettuce hanging from her mouth that was so long, it was still touching the plate.

With this old bird, it's possible to have a secret interaction between Papi and I without her knowing.  Merely cover your mouth and don't react like there's a conversation happening and she will never know the difference.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" I asked while trying not to move my lips and look like I'm focused on my meal.

"Oh yeah," Papi answered while be both used our peripheral vision to watch as the piece of Romaine lettuce got bitten at tooth level and the rest of the lettuce fell to G'ma's lap.

But neither of us really reacted.

Wouldn't want to embarrass the old fart, y'know?

We swapped covert giggles and waited for the next piece of dinner evade G'ma's mouth.

As we neared the end of our dinner, ...

i was already feeling the effects of the potato.  droooooopy eyes and a headache ... really?! are the fries worth it?!?  ahem.  yes.

... we decided to get some pictures of the old coot.

You never know.

This could be her last Thanksgiving.

At this age, you don't know when she's going to expire, so every event could be the last.

However, she always seems to 'one up' us and lives to see another one.

96 years and still kicking.

So, I thought I'd share the picture with you.

Now, you see a loving grand-tranny with the old poop in a nice Thanksgiving portrait.

However you don't really get the full effect unless you zoom in.

Like this:

This is how you can see Papi's chicken bone hanging out of his mouth is upstaging G'ma's food that's hanging from her lip.

We have nothing but class in our small family.

Class I tell ya.

Thank you.

Well, it looks like Papi isn't the only one poking sticks in the hornets' nest.

My article got some opinions flowing.

Some were supportive, and some were loathing my very existence. 

It's good, because it also helps me to see more of how my actions and words may affect people.

Lord knows I've learned a lot through this process, and some of the ways I felt in the beginning are not the same as how I feel now.

I've had to make a few enemies during my lessons, but the flip side is, my real friends have gracefully pointed me in the correct direction with only a few loving words.

There's always going to be someone who doesn't agree with us, because that's the law of nature.

If someone were to just jump right into my sea of words without starting from the beginning, it would be like jumping into a stream that's making it's way toward a vast body of water.

Turbulent.

Rocky.

I'm pretty sure it would ruffle anyone's feathers.

None-the-less, there was one comment that I really had to listen to and think about.

One person spoke about how using 'Tranny' is demeaning, as if I was using it the way people use, "That's so gay," as a way to make something sound distasteful.

Well, I can see why someone who is only jumping in mid-stream would find this offensive.

While I do have feelings for anyone I've irked ...

not my intention, but knew it would happen ...

... these folks really don't know that calling my love a Tranny Terrorist or referring to the overly zealous folks who are more than supportive of their fellow trans people is not coming from a derogatory place.

Papi and I talked about it and we both realize that the Rah-Rah people don't get me and I could never get them.

We have different opinions.  We will never make good bedfellows that's for sure.

However, our opinions are both merited.

My spouse is a transgender person.  It's not degrading, it's the truth.

When my fellow fags, dykes, or queers speak about each other using these 'descriptives', they use the word in an identifying way.

A way that is no where near the use of "That's so gay!" that is used in a demeaning manner.

It's a shortened version of the word transgender, and it doesn't apply to only to one gender or another as someone pointed out in their comment.

My spouse is a tranny.  I'm pretty sure that because I'm married to a transgender person, I can shorten the word can't I?

However, I do see how the 'Rah-Rah Tranny' label would offend.

As much as I've seen an opinion in favour of this by a trans man, I will now be dropping the Tranny word.

Oh don't worry!  I will still be using 'Rah-Rah', because I still see people on the sidelines waving their pom-poms without one hair turning grey from the stress of it all.

But as for the good ol' tranny word on it's own?  I can't see myself lengthening 'transgender' every time I refer to mi esposo.

So, I say thank you for your opinions.  Every one of them had something to learn from.

And now, I'm back in the closet.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

You see, this blog of mine is supposed to be about me.

It's called: Andréa's Healing Journey.

However, it seems that the majority of my posts are about the Tranny Terrorist, or the DIY phenomenon I occasionally experience.

Yeah, sometimes I hijack this blog and actually make it about me, sneaking in a little bit of wining about my bitch of a back, or ghosts.

Well, the point is, it's still much more entertaining to talk about mi esposo and the amusement he brings.

So!

I'm getting my article published on Thursday, and the paper didn't want a picture of only the actual writer.

No!

They want Papi in there too.

Why?

Because it's alllllllll about Papi.

And that's ok.

Takes a bit of the heat off me.

Anyway, we got these pics done and the sweet photographer we met yesterday will choose the best one.

Hopefully, she won't choose one of me that looks like I'm in trauma.

Or worse, choose one of me that looks like a beaming, braces infused, bucktooth grin that only a mother could love.

I tend to do these things with my mouth:

nobody said the brace face was going to be sexy ...

So, we'll see which one makes it into Xtra on Thursday.

After our photos were done, we didn't celebrate.

No.

Papi drove me around the city, and changed all his I.D.

You see, my love received a birth certificate that has been changed to a male gender.

It has been quite the process for Papi.  All his ID has to be changed; driver's license, SIN card, medical, you name it.

However, there is one that I'm not happy about: Our marriage license.

It now says I'm married to a man, and I begin my first step to becoming an invisible queer.

I can't really accept that part yet, and I'm still grasping with all my strength to the butch I married.

I don't want my marriage license to be ambushed, so I did something slightly wrong.

I kept our old marriage certificate, and we told the lady at the counter that we lost it in the sewage flood.

Right now, it's sitting beside the sexy picture of the butch I married.

Pretty much looks like I'm starting a shrine to remember my dearly departed butch.

is that so bad?!?!

It's right there in my composing room, so I get to see it every day as my eyes wander around the room, listening to my musical mind about what note, sound or feeling I need to find to portray the essence of a film.

I keep my love frozen in time to keep me company.

one day at a time.

Let me introduce myself ...

Last night we went out for a birthday dinner for Papi's step-sister.

Once I got the awkward brain injury greetings out of the way, everything went fine.

Of course, my brain injury embarrassed me yet again.

"Hi, nice to meet you!  My name is Andréa," I would say with eagerness to meet 'new' faces.

Then it happened like it happens every time.

Papi says to my 'new' acquaintances, "Andréa has brain injury and doesn't remember meeting you."

aw for fucks sakes ...

Yup.  I don't recognize faces very well since the epic bonk to the head.

As people came to join us awaiting the birthday girl's arrival, Papi would whisper in my ear, "Ok, so you have met these people before.  Don't say nice to meet you."

Papi is kinda like my seeing eye dog when it comes to greetings.

It's so disconcerting to have to be in a setting where I don't think I've met people.

If I haven't seen your face for a while, or I've only met you once, you have to expect that I may have a brain injury moment.

Anyway, really what I wanted to talk about was what came after the extending of hands and the uncomfortable greetings I had to fake through.

Next came the genuine, "Ok, so we don't know these people," whisper from Papi and of course, after the 'nice to meet'chas' got out of the way, one of the conversation starters happened."

"So, how do you know the birthday girl?"

For some *reason, I was very chatty and decided to jump in and answer.

*reason: medicinal cannabis.

Not good to do when you've taken double dose of pain killers just to be able to sit at a restaurant.  I am definitely more social when I'm hopped up on Snake Oil and the pain is not registering in my brain.

I stuttered, "She's ... "

oh shit, don't call papi a 'she'!!!

"She's the stepsister," I said in hopes that they knew I was talking about the birthday girl this time.

I was so relieved when I heard, "Oh!  So you're her step-brother!" as they addressed Papi.

I was relieved that I didn't out my love, and then I was weirded out that they saw mi esposo as a man.  It still gets me, because I still see my butch.

In my office I have a gorgeous picture of Papi with his shirt undone, and you get to see a hint of the breasts that used to be there.

No facial caterpillars on his lip, or wisps of little hairs sticking out, pretending to be sideburns.

The butch I married stays next to me forever remembered in a photo.

Papi and I were supposed to go to a friend's house and get more photos today.

Our friend is documenting the changes over time and I will definitely share them with you when they feel Papi is 'done' with the gender transformation.

At the same time mi esposo was getting these pics done, they were going to get me in there so that Papi and I could have some sexy pics to hold on to until we're old, wrinkled and flabby.

Unfortunately, the photographer had to cancel.

However, last night the Tranny Terrorist was up to no good practising poses for the shoot.

Bugger came around the corner with a Detachable Penis on, holding it in his right hand, looking like he was ready to pee.  Mi esposo then asked if it would make a good pose for the documenting pics.

It disturbed my brain, "I don't like it," I said, "but maybe you should ask someone else.  To me it just feels creepy."

Papi laughed and said he'd ask our photographer friend.

Now that we're not going out of the house, I declare today a pajama music day!

Pajama music day commencing ...

NOW!