Here's your YouTube Show.
A little tardy, I must say.
Just came out of a 3 week mosquito borne virus.
But here it is!
A little tardy, I must say.
Just came out of a 3 week mosquito borne virus.
But here it is!
Showing posts with label YouTube show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label YouTube show. Show all posts
Sunday, May 4, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
non-consensual flogging
We only wanted to have fun.
We wanted to experience a cultural celebration called 'Carnival'. It is a month long celebration of Dominican Republic independence.
We took a chartered bus to La Vega with locals for the excursion. That was fun.
The people we traveled with were lovely. One man, whom I'm sure is in the closet, needed a hairband for his braids. I obliged.
Moments later, he gave me his bracelet, simply because I told him I liked it.
There was singing and carrying on, and of course an en route visit to an outhouse so I could practise my Dominican squat.
When we arrived, I noticed vendors selling footballs of varying colours, filled with water giving them solid pressure. I couldn't understand what they were for, so I simply shook my head when anyone tried to sell me one.
Many people had them, but to me they seemed pointless, until we meandered through the crowd, and I would randomly be hit in the ass by them.
It really hurt and I was stinging from the floggings within minutes of arriving there.
But it was time to go to the parade where my eyes were treated to colours of costumes that were incredible!
Gorgeous! My only intention was get every costume on my video to show everyone the detail that went into these outfits.
I found out later why every single costume had an evil face. They were the Diablos Cojuelos, and demons they were.
As I tried to film these demons, it donned on me as to why I was occasionally hit by these strange footballs by various men in the audience.
I began to be brutally belted by the Diablos Cojuelos.
When I was hit by one, I would turn around from the pain to protect myself, only to be hit by another man standing waiting for his turn to beat me.
They hit me with those rock solid footballs with all their strength.
This I know because I saw how hard they hit other women as well, and in a country where you're born with a baseball bat in hand, the swing is strong.
Yet, the women around me only received a seldom hit.
I stood out in the crowd because I am a gringa with blonde hair. I was a target, and my beatings were repeated well beyond 20 times.
No matter where I went, children and men would attack me with these balls.
At one point, I found a tree and stood in front of it, pressing my ass up against it with my arms fastened tightly around the back in hopes I would be safe.
There was even a point where I was being chased by a few of the Diablos Cojuelos through the crowd, and people parted to give them access to get to me.
Then they cheered as I was assailed repeatedly.
One of the hits I took was so painful I came close to vomiting and passing out within seconds.
Someone told me to sit down, but I was in so much pain, I couldn't even sit to save myself. I explained this only to have them laugh, thinking I was kidding.
I was in tremendous pain, so much so that it hurt to walk and I could feel the swelling of welts through my shorts.
Inflammation of blood created pressure as it bled beneath my skin, and even the lightest touch from someone brushing against my ass sent pain shooting through my mid-section.
There was one more problem: I still had to get back to the bus for 6 o'clock.
As I darted through the crowd, I did my best to keep my backside protected by grandmothers, food carts, walls and trees.
I was in full panic anticipating the next beating, looking over my shoulder in fear for 2 hours.
During the weaving in and out of the crowd, still being occasionally hit by anyone who had enough space to do so, we found our group. The tour guide for the day was sweet enough to give me a barrier to watch for anymore sneak attacks.
Our group on the bus really didn't understand the gravity of the attacks I endured.
Girls told me they hurt as well, but they sat on her bus seat pretty easily, and jumped around with energy.
It took me quite a bit of time to finally settle into my seat.
I had to do it millimetre by millimetre until my entire ass was placed. I sat, breathing through the pain.
We finally got home from our long day at Carnival and I went straight to the bathroom mirror to look at how badly I was violated.
Here is the 'end' result:
However, yesterday, it was even worse. The bruising has spread down my legs and the the sides of my hips, and it's almost impossible to find any white skin back there.
I don't think I'll be going back to 'Carnival'. I'm done.
I'm also not too sure about being in large gatherings with men here anymore.
It's too unpredictable and I don't feel safe.
We wanted to experience a cultural celebration called 'Carnival'. It is a month long celebration of Dominican Republic independence.
We took a chartered bus to La Vega with locals for the excursion. That was fun.
The people we traveled with were lovely. One man, whom I'm sure is in the closet, needed a hairband for his braids. I obliged.
Moments later, he gave me his bracelet, simply because I told him I liked it.
There was singing and carrying on, and of course an en route visit to an outhouse so I could practise my Dominican squat.
When we arrived, I noticed vendors selling footballs of varying colours, filled with water giving them solid pressure. I couldn't understand what they were for, so I simply shook my head when anyone tried to sell me one.
Many people had them, but to me they seemed pointless, until we meandered through the crowd, and I would randomly be hit in the ass by them.
It really hurt and I was stinging from the floggings within minutes of arriving there.
But it was time to go to the parade where my eyes were treated to colours of costumes that were incredible!
Gorgeous! My only intention was get every costume on my video to show everyone the detail that went into these outfits.
I found out later why every single costume had an evil face. They were the Diablos Cojuelos, and demons they were.
As I tried to film these demons, it donned on me as to why I was occasionally hit by these strange footballs by various men in the audience.
I began to be brutally belted by the Diablos Cojuelos.
When I was hit by one, I would turn around from the pain to protect myself, only to be hit by another man standing waiting for his turn to beat me.
They hit me with those rock solid footballs with all their strength.
This I know because I saw how hard they hit other women as well, and in a country where you're born with a baseball bat in hand, the swing is strong.
Yet, the women around me only received a seldom hit.
I stood out in the crowd because I am a gringa with blonde hair. I was a target, and my beatings were repeated well beyond 20 times.
No matter where I went, children and men would attack me with these balls.
At one point, I found a tree and stood in front of it, pressing my ass up against it with my arms fastened tightly around the back in hopes I would be safe.
There was even a point where I was being chased by a few of the Diablos Cojuelos through the crowd, and people parted to give them access to get to me.
Then they cheered as I was assailed repeatedly.
One of the hits I took was so painful I came close to vomiting and passing out within seconds.
Someone told me to sit down, but I was in so much pain, I couldn't even sit to save myself. I explained this only to have them laugh, thinking I was kidding.
I was in tremendous pain, so much so that it hurt to walk and I could feel the swelling of welts through my shorts.
Inflammation of blood created pressure as it bled beneath my skin, and even the lightest touch from someone brushing against my ass sent pain shooting through my mid-section.
There was one more problem: I still had to get back to the bus for 6 o'clock.
As I darted through the crowd, I did my best to keep my backside protected by grandmothers, food carts, walls and trees.
I was in full panic anticipating the next beating, looking over my shoulder in fear for 2 hours.
During the weaving in and out of the crowd, still being occasionally hit by anyone who had enough space to do so, we found our group. The tour guide for the day was sweet enough to give me a barrier to watch for anymore sneak attacks.
Our group on the bus really didn't understand the gravity of the attacks I endured.
Girls told me they hurt as well, but they sat on her bus seat pretty easily, and jumped around with energy.
It took me quite a bit of time to finally settle into my seat.
I had to do it millimetre by millimetre until my entire ass was placed. I sat, breathing through the pain.
We finally got home from our long day at Carnival and I went straight to the bathroom mirror to look at how badly I was violated.
Here is the 'end' result:
However, yesterday, it was even worse. The bruising has spread down my legs and the the sides of my hips, and it's almost impossible to find any white skin back there.
I don't think I'll be going back to 'Carnival'. I'm done.
I'm also not too sure about being in large gatherings with men here anymore.
It's too unpredictable and I don't feel safe.
my life has value and others appreciate who i am
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
silent day
i just realized i never shared episode 38 with you! here's your sunday sillies a little late
After a few days of grieving heavily for the loss of our little baby-dog, Harley, my time got very busy to help me move on from the sadness and get shit done.
We had to prepare for the village.
It's been an intense week and I have had no time to tell you about everything.
We started off with playing Santa to the children in the village.
But first, we had to drive almost an hour to Puerto Plate to buy the toys. It was a store Housemaid told us about where the toys are inexpensive and we can get a discount.
That was of course, after the boss finished his chicken. No talking until his chicken was done.
On the day of giving, we walked out of our yard door to see the entire village of children jumping up and down, arms to the air with tight little fists pumping upon every bounce off the ground.
Of course, Papi and I had Housemaid to help us with wrangling the kids. As we approached the excited horde of short people, she yelled, "You don't get your presents unless you are at your house!"
Immediately, they ran home to wait eagerly for our arrival.
Later that same day, we were going to give out rum to the adults. The adults were very insistent about us giving them presents as well.
We also realized we couldn't just give to a few people, that we needed to give a lot more to the rest of the village.
Off we went, credit card in hand and bought a box full of bottles of rum. Let me tell you, the kids were easy to get back to their houses to wait for their gifts, but the adults? It was a very insane time.
Grabbing, yelling, frantically wanting their share and trying to get more than we had allotted for for everyone.
Next year, we will be giving out food and care packages instead.
That night, there was quite the party in the village, as we listened to sounds of gunshots.
Well, we thought they were gunshots.
It wasn't until being invited to the party last night that I realized what it was.
Housemaid and Dominican Daddy invited to me the Fiesta de Navidad.
My DR Family fed me a meal, in which they were so generous as to buy special Dominican chicken and rice.
I brought a huge salad, which we topped with the Dominican dressing.
I also brought the grapes, which are like a tradition for the dinner.
Oh, and a few bottles of red wine.
Another tradition is lots of apples.
People are lucky to be able to eat healthy, local, organic produce here, whereas in Canada, these foods are the more expensive of the choices.
Not here. Instead, junk food is expensive.
Anyway, back to the 'gunshots' I heard.
They have what looks like a bazooka, that is filled with some kind of explosives and they put all kinds of chemicals in and "BOOM!!!" it goes, as I startled with every firing.
Last night, people danced and drank, ate apples and grapes, while sharing their beer with children.
Yes.
Children.
It seems normal to everyone here, but when I saw a father giving beer to his 8 month old baby, it really disturbed me.
What can I do though? I'm not here to preach about anyone's culture and it seems this is what everyone does with their children.
The party then moved up to the street, where we found the village bar. Lovely woman serving, who's house is below the establishment.
She invited me in to see her house and while she walked I spoke to her about playing and singing at her bar, reminding her that it would be for free.
It'll be my practise gig when I'm ready in a few months.
Anyway, that has been my week, and rest assured that it was all on video!
Today I settle in for a quiet day, while I wait eagerly to hear from Papi who is somewhere in Vancouver.
And it's a silent day in the village.
The dogs have had nothing to bark at.
After a few days of grieving heavily for the loss of our little baby-dog, Harley, my time got very busy to help me move on from the sadness and get shit done.
We had to prepare for the village.
It's been an intense week and I have had no time to tell you about everything.
We started off with playing Santa to the children in the village.
But first, we had to drive almost an hour to Puerto Plate to buy the toys. It was a store Housemaid told us about where the toys are inexpensive and we can get a discount.
That was of course, after the boss finished his chicken. No talking until his chicken was done.
On the day of giving, we walked out of our yard door to see the entire village of children jumping up and down, arms to the air with tight little fists pumping upon every bounce off the ground.
Of course, Papi and I had Housemaid to help us with wrangling the kids. As we approached the excited horde of short people, she yelled, "You don't get your presents unless you are at your house!"
Immediately, they ran home to wait eagerly for our arrival.
Later that same day, we were going to give out rum to the adults. The adults were very insistent about us giving them presents as well.
We also realized we couldn't just give to a few people, that we needed to give a lot more to the rest of the village.
Off we went, credit card in hand and bought a box full of bottles of rum. Let me tell you, the kids were easy to get back to their houses to wait for their gifts, but the adults? It was a very insane time.
Grabbing, yelling, frantically wanting their share and trying to get more than we had allotted for for everyone.
Next year, we will be giving out food and care packages instead.
That night, there was quite the party in the village, as we listened to sounds of gunshots.
Well, we thought they were gunshots.
It wasn't until being invited to the party last night that I realized what it was.
Housemaid and Dominican Daddy invited to me the Fiesta de Navidad.
My DR Family fed me a meal, in which they were so generous as to buy special Dominican chicken and rice.
I brought a huge salad, which we topped with the Dominican dressing.
I also brought the grapes, which are like a tradition for the dinner.
Oh, and a few bottles of red wine.
Another tradition is lots of apples.
People are lucky to be able to eat healthy, local, organic produce here, whereas in Canada, these foods are the more expensive of the choices.
Not here. Instead, junk food is expensive.
Anyway, back to the 'gunshots' I heard.
They have what looks like a bazooka, that is filled with some kind of explosives and they put all kinds of chemicals in and "BOOM!!!" it goes, as I startled with every firing.
Last night, people danced and drank, ate apples and grapes, while sharing their beer with children.
Yes.
Children.
It seems normal to everyone here, but when I saw a father giving beer to his 8 month old baby, it really disturbed me.
What can I do though? I'm not here to preach about anyone's culture and it seems this is what everyone does with their children.
The party then moved up to the street, where we found the village bar. Lovely woman serving, who's house is below the establishment.
She invited me in to see her house and while she walked I spoke to her about playing and singing at her bar, reminding her that it would be for free.
It'll be my practise gig when I'm ready in a few months.
Anyway, that has been my week, and rest assured that it was all on video!
Today I settle in for a quiet day, while I wait eagerly to hear from Papi who is somewhere in Vancouver.
And it's a silent day in the village.
The dogs have had nothing to bark at.
i am grateful for the time shared with those who have left to be with angels
Monday, December 2, 2013
Sunday, October 13, 2013
sunday sillies
your sunday sillies ... no blog, but a short flick this week ...
lotsa chaos, as per usual, and a few hot babes thrown in for good measure.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
baby, baby, baby, oh!
your sunday sillies youtube show ...
Well, those little pills were sorta working.
The trade off is not worth it though.
I am up until 3 or 4 each night with acid reflux and nausea.
Not into it.
All I need to do is wait for the residency, then I can find some natural methods of getting me past this pain.
I wasn't looking forward to the weight gain either.
I've put on enough from 'resting' that I just don't know how much more the Anorexia Monster can handle before he makes life rough for me.
I have boobs.
That's when I know I've put on weight.
Nice and all, but I'll pass thank you.
Last night, I went against doc's orders and went out for dinner with Papi.
There really is nothing to eat in the house and I really can't cook. It's too much for me right now.
Anyway, we got to talking to a woman who wished to give us her unborn child, because I can't get pregnant.
Papi got way too excited about it and seemed like he wanted to seal the deal.
He even went so far as to say that he wouldn't be drinking as much if there was a child to take care of.
Last night we had a friend say we weren't ready for taking care of a child because we had started drinking.
I dunno, I have to disagree.
We're not raging alcoholics hanging out down at Main and Hastings looking for a fix.
We're just enjoying ourselves in our new life.
And as for the worry about my mental health, well, I keep things under control with my meds. Now that I've found the reputable ones, I'll be fine.
I've seen a lot worse with people who are able to have children.
We'd give a child a good home, with healthy food, and loads of love and life experience to teach them.
Fortunately, upon speaking to him this morning, he changed his mind about this particular child.
Phew! I would love to adopt a child, but this woman had been drinking all night and I'm not into a fetal alcohol baby.
She also wanted to live on our property for 4 months at the end of the term.
Unfortunately, we could have an issue with this.
Within a certain amount of time, if someone is on your property and you're caring for them, you're actually responsible for them for all time to come.
That's a 'rule' here.
I tried to explain both of these points to Papi last night, but he was in a fog of, "I want a baby!!!"
I would love a little tyke to help grow.
But this child is not the right one for us.
Besides, we really don't have the money for an adoption right now.
When we do have the money, we'll find a child who is already born to someone who is too young to care for a child and raise the child for her.
There aren't too many unwanted children here, because the family helps.
It's sorta part of life here.
You get money from the government for helping to raise a child, so people have their children very young and keep them.
There aren't too many women here who don't have a child.
I'm sure there's a little bean out there who's spirit is waiting for us.
The right timing is all we need.
Our time will come, but if it doesn't, that's OK too.
I continue to go with the flow of life.
i answer questions about my dreams without getting defensive
Sunday, September 22, 2013
i want to be an angel
How did 2 days go by without doing a blog?
For that matter, how did a week go by without being able to get to editing my Sunday Sillies?
It's Sunday, and there won't be any YouTube show sillies today.
I'll be working on them, but I think that with the amount of insanity this household and life brings, I will be publishing every 2 weeks now.
Really, right now, I'm supposed to be at a birthday party.
It's basically right outside my door.
But Papi said I'm not allowed to go, because I've been treating my ankle too horribly.
He says that most people with this injury are laid up for at least 3 months, that I have to rest more and do less.
We all know how much I like to rest.
I'm a work-a-holic outside of the house.
In the house?
I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.
I don't know what it is, but as soon as I'm out of the house, my depression lifts. Yet I can't relax in my yard, or I'll have every child in the neighbourhood screaming for me through the fence. Relentlessly.
It doesn't help that I'm bitchy from pain.
I also have a sneaky suspicion that I got fake Prozac.
They do that here.
They make fake pills and it's Russian Roulette as to whether or not you're going to get the real thing.
Don't they know better than to fuck around with Prozac?!?!
Assholes.
Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?
I've been extremely agitated these past few weeks and I could blame it on the chronic pain, but there's something more.
The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.
Normally, it's a fleeting moment before I go to sleep at night.
I've had it every night, for longer than I can remember.
I envision myself blowing my head off.
Every night.
I don't know why, but it just is, and there's not much I can do to stop the vision.
However, through the years, I've just learned to live with the vision and shake it off with a 'what the fuck??!? Must we do this every night?!?!?'
These past few weeks though, they've been coming throughout the day.
Everything seems so difficult to do.
Everything seems like I just want to give up.
I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with my newest Gratitude Buddy. I still know that EVERY DAY there is something to be grateful for.
But still, as I go on through my day, I can't help but feel the aftershock of all the hurt I've received over these past 9 months of living in what we thought would be 'paradise' and who we thought were 'friends'.
I feel exhausted from fighting to stay out of the Pit of Doom.
Everything feels like a battle, and both Papi and I had the thought at the same time last night, "This life here is not what I expected."
The vision I see in the mirror is disturbing as well. The Anorexia Monster is in full force and the weight I see in the mirror is the weight that presses on my mind.
I'm having anxiety for no apparent reason at all. I just feel terror and I don't know why.
This is not rational.
This is the underlying depression eating away at my heart, and I'm a fucking bitch when I'm depressed.
I'm having a really hard time hiding it from everyone around me, and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't been getting enough medication in to my system, having been sold fake pills.
I feel the pull of demons can't find my strength from the angels.
Instead, yesterday, I begged the angels to take me with them.
I want to be an angel.
For that matter, how did a week go by without being able to get to editing my Sunday Sillies?
It's Sunday, and there won't be any YouTube show sillies today.
I'll be working on them, but I think that with the amount of insanity this household and life brings, I will be publishing every 2 weeks now.
Really, right now, I'm supposed to be at a birthday party.
It's basically right outside my door.
But Papi said I'm not allowed to go, because I've been treating my ankle too horribly.
He says that most people with this injury are laid up for at least 3 months, that I have to rest more and do less.
We all know how much I like to rest.
I'm a work-a-holic outside of the house.
In the house?
I'm some kind of depressed lunatic.
I don't know what it is, but as soon as I'm out of the house, my depression lifts. Yet I can't relax in my yard, or I'll have every child in the neighbourhood screaming for me through the fence. Relentlessly.
It doesn't help that I'm bitchy from pain.
I also have a sneaky suspicion that I got fake Prozac.
They do that here.
They make fake pills and it's Russian Roulette as to whether or not you're going to get the real thing.
Don't they know better than to fuck around with Prozac?!?!
Assholes.
Do they really want a crazed gringa roaming the streets?
I've been extremely agitated these past few weeks and I could blame it on the chronic pain, but there's something more.
The ideation of suicide is coming more frequently.
Normally, it's a fleeting moment before I go to sleep at night.
I've had it every night, for longer than I can remember.
I envision myself blowing my head off.
Every night.
I don't know why, but it just is, and there's not much I can do to stop the vision.
However, through the years, I've just learned to live with the vision and shake it off with a 'what the fuck??!? Must we do this every night?!?!?'
These past few weeks though, they've been coming throughout the day.
Everything seems so difficult to do.
Everything seems like I just want to give up.
I'm still doing my gratitude list every day with my newest Gratitude Buddy. I still know that EVERY DAY there is something to be grateful for.
But still, as I go on through my day, I can't help but feel the aftershock of all the hurt I've received over these past 9 months of living in what we thought would be 'paradise' and who we thought were 'friends'.
I feel exhausted from fighting to stay out of the Pit of Doom.
Everything feels like a battle, and both Papi and I had the thought at the same time last night, "This life here is not what I expected."
The vision I see in the mirror is disturbing as well. The Anorexia Monster is in full force and the weight I see in the mirror is the weight that presses on my mind.
I'm having anxiety for no apparent reason at all. I just feel terror and I don't know why.
This is not rational.
This is the underlying depression eating away at my heart, and I'm a fucking bitch when I'm depressed.
I'm having a really hard time hiding it from everyone around me, and I'm wondering if it's because I haven't been getting enough medication in to my system, having been sold fake pills.
I feel the pull of demons can't find my strength from the angels.
Instead, yesterday, I begged the angels to take me with them.
I want to be an angel.
it is always too early to give up, so let me give it some more
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Ring My Bell!
your sunday sillies ...
So, Papi and I went to Kahuna's Sports Bar last night.
My love wanted to feel like he was living a life here like a typical expat.
Sit at the bar, watch some sports, and be a normal guy, instead of hiding in the house alone.
I just wanted to stay at home and finish my editing, but that would mean Papi would be alone, then driving home after drinking.
So, I said I would go if I could finish editing my YouTube video at the bar.
Thinking he'd be embarrassed by the thought of me sitting at a bar working, I thought he'd say no, but he was thrilled!
I felt like I'd look a tad silly, but at least I could get the work done and be out of this house that tends to feel like a jail cell because we're so far into the country.
Not to mention the fact that I need a change of scenery after staring at 4 walls for a month.
Anyway, our plan was just a calm Saturday night hang out in a Cabarete bar, but dammit if they didn't have a pay per view boxing fight going on, which meant a lot of people.
No matter, we were there early enough for me to set up shop at the only plug in the place and start on my work.
I thought Papi would thoroughly enjoy himself taking to the other men, but he kept interrupting me.
I kept trying to ignore him, but he just had too much excitement to leave me be.
Then the disaster happened.
Remember the creep?
Well, dammit if the only fucking seats left for him and his wife were next to us.
Yup. Right fucking BESIDE us.
At this point, I was MORE than grateful I had my computer to keep my nose in. It meant there was no need to look their way, even though I could feel them looking at me.
That poor woman looked very uncomfortable, and him? He had the perfect douchebag look with his sunglasses on at night, so we couldn't tell if he was looking our way.
We moved our table a little closer in when a little bit of rain came, but it was still not good enough to keep me from feeling anxious and triggered with fear and flashbacks.
... it's all your fault ...
He was still too close.
Then! Miracle of all miracles! 2 seats opened at the bar right beside the DJ.
The DJ and I were both on computers, so I felt a little more normal.
This is when we finally started to have fun!
The DJ has to ring this siren type bell every time something cool happens in whatever game happens to be on, which meant he had to keep leaning across me and apologized every time he did so.
However, he then put Papi to work.
Papi was rip-snort-drunk, so it gave him a job to do, a way to bond with some new friends, and the glee of being the teacher's pet who gets to ring the bell, and kept him out of trouble with the escalating serum of strength kicking in stronger.
A few times he said, "I feel like I need to say something to them!"
Oh, Papi, you just stick to your bell. That guy would kick the shit out of you!
And he did stick to the bell. He was having a blast.
Every time he would ring it, he would get a look on his face like a child.
It was so much fun to watch him enjoy himself.
By the end of the night, the DJ said, "You guys should come here more often." The DJ and all his friends decided to take us in as part of their clan.
We have new friends, including a physiotherapist who wants to help me with my ankle.
He also informed me I have a long road ahead of me; a good 6-8 months for it to heal properly, IF I do the work.
Fuck. Anyway.
I didn't have any more energy to obsess about the creep, because I was enjoying myself so much.
My angels were with me last night.
I'm no longer in my fog blocking their healing energy.
So, Papi and I went to Kahuna's Sports Bar last night.
My love wanted to feel like he was living a life here like a typical expat.
Sit at the bar, watch some sports, and be a normal guy, instead of hiding in the house alone.
I just wanted to stay at home and finish my editing, but that would mean Papi would be alone, then driving home after drinking.
So, I said I would go if I could finish editing my YouTube video at the bar.
Thinking he'd be embarrassed by the thought of me sitting at a bar working, I thought he'd say no, but he was thrilled!
I felt like I'd look a tad silly, but at least I could get the work done and be out of this house that tends to feel like a jail cell because we're so far into the country.
Not to mention the fact that I need a change of scenery after staring at 4 walls for a month.
Anyway, our plan was just a calm Saturday night hang out in a Cabarete bar, but dammit if they didn't have a pay per view boxing fight going on, which meant a lot of people.
No matter, we were there early enough for me to set up shop at the only plug in the place and start on my work.
I thought Papi would thoroughly enjoy himself taking to the other men, but he kept interrupting me.
I kept trying to ignore him, but he just had too much excitement to leave me be.
Then the disaster happened.
Remember the creep?
Well, dammit if the only fucking seats left for him and his wife were next to us.
Yup. Right fucking BESIDE us.
At this point, I was MORE than grateful I had my computer to keep my nose in. It meant there was no need to look their way, even though I could feel them looking at me.
That poor woman looked very uncomfortable, and him? He had the perfect douchebag look with his sunglasses on at night, so we couldn't tell if he was looking our way.
We moved our table a little closer in when a little bit of rain came, but it was still not good enough to keep me from feeling anxious and triggered with fear and flashbacks.
... it's all your fault ...
He was still too close.
Then! Miracle of all miracles! 2 seats opened at the bar right beside the DJ.
The DJ and I were both on computers, so I felt a little more normal.
This is when we finally started to have fun!
The DJ has to ring this siren type bell every time something cool happens in whatever game happens to be on, which meant he had to keep leaning across me and apologized every time he did so.
However, he then put Papi to work.
Papi was rip-snort-drunk, so it gave him a job to do, a way to bond with some new friends, and the glee of being the teacher's pet who gets to ring the bell, and kept him out of trouble with the escalating serum of strength kicking in stronger.
A few times he said, "I feel like I need to say something to them!"
Oh, Papi, you just stick to your bell. That guy would kick the shit out of you!
And he did stick to the bell. He was having a blast.
Every time he would ring it, he would get a look on his face like a child.
It was so much fun to watch him enjoy himself.
By the end of the night, the DJ said, "You guys should come here more often." The DJ and all his friends decided to take us in as part of their clan.
We have new friends, including a physiotherapist who wants to help me with my ankle.
He also informed me I have a long road ahead of me; a good 6-8 months for it to heal properly, IF I do the work.
Fuck. Anyway.
I didn't have any more energy to obsess about the creep, because I was enjoying myself so much.
My angels were with me last night.
I'm no longer in my fog blocking their healing energy.
i have abundant courage
missed my a.m. gratitude yesterday ... oops! Gratitude 6/10
1. I am grateful to have made more new friends last night.
2. I am grateful I had the strength to stay at the bar, despite being triggered.
3. I am grateful for a little less pain today.
4. I am grateful for my creativity.
5. I am grateful I unplugged the doorbell and slept in today.
6. I am grateful for internet to keep in touch with friends.
7. I am grateful I know I'm loved.
8. I am grateful to be feeling positive again.
9. I am grateful I found someone to work with my ankle.
10. I am grateful The Thug is becoming less aggressive.
Monday, September 9, 2013
emasculation
Jeeeeezus ... I needed that.
I needed to look at a beautiful sight of people being happy and enjoying themselves.
I needed The Chef Extraordinaire to fry up some Dominican barbecued chicken, traditional side plate of fried bananas, and purple potato salad.
I've never seen that one before, but I suppose, here, it's normal to put beets in potato salad and it tasted just as good.
They laughed when I said, "Why is it red!?!?!?"
It was torture for me, walking to our spot, but once I was there, the only time I moved was to go pee in the bush like everyone else.
OK. Forget about drunk crutching through a crowded bar with the potential of slipping in beer.
Let me tell you, if you've never tried to walk with crutches in the beach, it's a feat upon itself.
... hehee pardon the pun ...
It felt like every step I took, I was going to disappear like sliding into quick sand.
Then, once out of the sinking sand, I had to find a spot to piddle, bushwacker style.
Papi held me up by the armpits and I hoped for the best.
I obviously didn't think about the fact that there wouldn't be a toilet on a public beach. The public beach IS a toilet for most folks who don't have one.
We watched children playing, teens making music with a güira and conga, and hawks flying above us all looking for their feed of fish.
We didn't bring the princess chair when we realized we were the transportation for everyone. No room for the chair.
But what they do here is rent out chairs and tables at the beach, so we just rented it.
The funny part is, when these folks want to go home, they come and take back their chairs and tables, kicking you off the beach.
It's a riot!
Partway through our fun time, I noticed Papi was getting a little overzealous with the beer, so I stopped my wine intake quite early.
I was now the driver.
Papi said, "But I feel like it emasculates me! Here the woman can't drive!"
What?!?! Who are you trying to kid?
When it comes to wheels here, there is no problem to have 3 grown men groin to butt on a motorcycle.
In Canada? You wouldn't even have ONE male on the back of your bike.
People are so weird about that in Canada and the US.
Here, I've seen women riding scooters with their boyfriends riding bitch.
The men here hug each other.
They touch each other on the arm, waist, whatever.
They wear bright pink, and are more metrosexual than ANY guy I've seen in Canada.
They don't have anything to prove of their sexuality and here, men just seem to come out of the womb macho. Could have something to do with the fact that they're put to labour as soon as their arms can wield a machete.
Besides, as far as their concerned, there are NO gay people here.
With the exception of the male hookers, but even then, people rationalize, "They're not really gay. They just need the money."
So, no, Papi, you will ride shotgun when you've drank more than your share.
And off we went with the portable BBQ to drive our newfound friend back to Cabarete, dropping our DR Family off along the way at our tiny little road to our village.
This morning, our new friend who did all the cooking came bay with a gift. Sweeter than sweet.
There are some really good people here.
Yesterday, I watch the entertainment and forgot about my immobility for a while, not to mention, finished off the filming for this week's YouTube show.
It was wonderful.
In one hour, we go to the hospital to see if this damn cast can come off.
Wish me luck. Let's hope this is the day I have my legs back.
If it's not, I will do my best to find ways to enjoy myself none-the-less.
Enough of that fucking bed.
I needed to look at a beautiful sight of people being happy and enjoying themselves.
I needed The Chef Extraordinaire to fry up some Dominican barbecued chicken, traditional side plate of fried bananas, and purple potato salad.
I've never seen that one before, but I suppose, here, it's normal to put beets in potato salad and it tasted just as good.
They laughed when I said, "Why is it red!?!?!?"
It was torture for me, walking to our spot, but once I was there, the only time I moved was to go pee in the bush like everyone else.
OK. Forget about drunk crutching through a crowded bar with the potential of slipping in beer.
Let me tell you, if you've never tried to walk with crutches in the beach, it's a feat upon itself.
... hehee pardon the pun ...
It felt like every step I took, I was going to disappear like sliding into quick sand.
Then, once out of the sinking sand, I had to find a spot to piddle, bushwacker style.
Papi held me up by the armpits and I hoped for the best.
I obviously didn't think about the fact that there wouldn't be a toilet on a public beach. The public beach IS a toilet for most folks who don't have one.
We watched children playing, teens making music with a güira and conga, and hawks flying above us all looking for their feed of fish.
We didn't bring the princess chair when we realized we were the transportation for everyone. No room for the chair.
But what they do here is rent out chairs and tables at the beach, so we just rented it.
The funny part is, when these folks want to go home, they come and take back their chairs and tables, kicking you off the beach.
It's a riot!
Partway through our fun time, I noticed Papi was getting a little overzealous with the beer, so I stopped my wine intake quite early.
I was now the driver.
Papi said, "But I feel like it emasculates me! Here the woman can't drive!"
What?!?! Who are you trying to kid?
When it comes to wheels here, there is no problem to have 3 grown men groin to butt on a motorcycle.
In Canada? You wouldn't even have ONE male on the back of your bike.
People are so weird about that in Canada and the US.
Here, I've seen women riding scooters with their boyfriends riding bitch.
The men here hug each other.
They touch each other on the arm, waist, whatever.
They wear bright pink, and are more metrosexual than ANY guy I've seen in Canada.
They don't have anything to prove of their sexuality and here, men just seem to come out of the womb macho. Could have something to do with the fact that they're put to labour as soon as their arms can wield a machete.
Besides, as far as their concerned, there are NO gay people here.
With the exception of the male hookers, but even then, people rationalize, "They're not really gay. They just need the money."
So, no, Papi, you will ride shotgun when you've drank more than your share.
And off we went with the portable BBQ to drive our newfound friend back to Cabarete, dropping our DR Family off along the way at our tiny little road to our village.
This morning, our new friend who did all the cooking came bay with a gift. Sweeter than sweet.
There are some really good people here.
Yesterday, I watch the entertainment and forgot about my immobility for a while, not to mention, finished off the filming for this week's YouTube show.
It was wonderful.
In one hour, we go to the hospital to see if this damn cast can come off.
Wish me luck. Let's hope this is the day I have my legs back.
If it's not, I will do my best to find ways to enjoy myself none-the-less.
Enough of that fucking bed.
i have the ability to see the brighter side
Saturday, September 7, 2013
A.W.O.L.
So, I've been off the blog for a few days.
I've been kinda 'troubled'.
I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."
But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.
At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.
Now? My other foot? The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?
Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.
Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.
I'm truly losing it now.
I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.
But seriously.
Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.
They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.
They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.
We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.
Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.
He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.
Like stealing from him.
Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.
I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.
I know they're desperate.
I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either. I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.
We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.
Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.
One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.
It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.
So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.
For that matter, I haven't been filming either.
Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.
It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.
One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.
Yeah.
Not very thrilling.
I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.
I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.
I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.
And for entertainment tonight?
Drink more wine to stop the whining.
I've been kinda 'troubled'.
I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."
But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.
At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.
Now? My other foot? The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?
Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.
Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.
I'm truly losing it now.
I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.
But seriously.
Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.
They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.
They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.
We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.
Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.
He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.
Like stealing from him.
Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.
I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.
I know they're desperate.
I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either. I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.
We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.
Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.
One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.
It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.
So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.
For that matter, I haven't been filming either.
Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.
It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.
One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.
Yeah.
Not very thrilling.
I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.
I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.
I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.
And for entertainment tonight?
Drink more wine to stop the whining.
i like long walks
Sunday, September 1, 2013
switch.
sunday sillies ...
I have sleep anxiety.
If I know I HAVE to get up early, I just can't sleep.
Here, people get up with the sun.
Easily 6 a.m.
I remember asking the teens, "Are you up to make it to a class by 8 a.m.?"
They laughed at me.
It's not like the teens in Canada.
Teens in Canada will sleep until their mother finally drags them out of bed.
Or at least, that was me, and a handful of friends who can relate.
Not here.
They're up early and working.
Not me.
I try desperately to keep up with the schedules here.
Everyone is so bright eyed, and then there's me.
Don't talk to me until the coffee has done it's job.
But even on my Saturday to teach, I still find that coffee isn't enough because I'm so tired from not sleeping well the night before.
I'm not sure if you noticed a pattern, but there is very rarely a blog on Saturday.
I scramble to get up and out to The Garage Band for the first class of teens.
Then when I'm finished the last class of 7-12 year olds, I'm done and needing a nap.
So I nap.
I just need so much sleep on Saturday.
Anyway, this week, the regular group of teens didn't show up.
There were only 2 kids, who are not teens, but sing with the teens because they're friends with them.
Second group?
One child.
Third group?
One child.
Granted, it was nice to have private lessons that day.
The last child, she's something amazing.
She is absolutely brilliant and gets music quickly.
I'm teaching them some English words.
It was a riot!
I told them, "I sound funny speaking Spanish, so now you sound funny speaking English."
They got a kick out of it.
The hardest word for them was 'sleeps'.
Here, they really don't pronounce very much of the letter 's' in a word.
They drop that letter.
Making it even harder for me to understand anything.
Trying to get them to put an 'l' after an 's' was really hard.
They'll get it though.
And eventually, I'll be able to roll my 'r' properly.
Right now, I just do it at the back of my throat like I'm a growling dog.
I'll get it.
They'll get it.
And we'll help each other.
I have sleep anxiety.
If I know I HAVE to get up early, I just can't sleep.
Here, people get up with the sun.
Easily 6 a.m.
I remember asking the teens, "Are you up to make it to a class by 8 a.m.?"
They laughed at me.
It's not like the teens in Canada.
Teens in Canada will sleep until their mother finally drags them out of bed.
Or at least, that was me, and a handful of friends who can relate.
Not here.
They're up early and working.
Not me.
I try desperately to keep up with the schedules here.
Everyone is so bright eyed, and then there's me.
Don't talk to me until the coffee has done it's job.
But even on my Saturday to teach, I still find that coffee isn't enough because I'm so tired from not sleeping well the night before.
I'm not sure if you noticed a pattern, but there is very rarely a blog on Saturday.
I scramble to get up and out to The Garage Band for the first class of teens.
Then when I'm finished the last class of 7-12 year olds, I'm done and needing a nap.
So I nap.
I just need so much sleep on Saturday.
Anyway, this week, the regular group of teens didn't show up.
There were only 2 kids, who are not teens, but sing with the teens because they're friends with them.
Second group?
One child.
Third group?
One child.
Granted, it was nice to have private lessons that day.
The last child, she's something amazing.
She is absolutely brilliant and gets music quickly.
I'm teaching them some English words.
It was a riot!
I told them, "I sound funny speaking Spanish, so now you sound funny speaking English."
They got a kick out of it.
The hardest word for them was 'sleeps'.
Here, they really don't pronounce very much of the letter 's' in a word.
They drop that letter.
Making it even harder for me to understand anything.
Trying to get them to put an 'l' after an 's' was really hard.
They'll get it though.
And eventually, I'll be able to roll my 'r' properly.
Right now, I just do it at the back of my throat like I'm a growling dog.
I'll get it.
They'll get it.
And we'll help each other.
my pace is perfect
Sunday, August 25, 2013
drunk crutching.
... your sunday sillies ...
I didn't think it out too clearly.
Well, the party I was invited to was actually a hang out with the entire village at the Isla Gas Station.
Party At The Gas Station!!!!!
It happens every weekend.
Only this time I was on crutches.
Some people were helpful, some people would just stand in my way, while staring at the out of place gringa.
Then there were the washrooms.
Remember when I told you about thighs of steel from not being able to sit on the loo?
Alright. So, now that I only have one thigh ...
... ummmm ...
It was something short of a comedy routine.
This time, it was a task for my triceps.
They were shaking about while I tried my best to balance and hover over a toilet, all the while keep the crutches from slipping under the neighbouring stall, then falling on the urine infused floor with my shorts around my ankles.
At least, they were giving out napkins for toilet paper this time.
Not that it mattered.
By the time I was able to balance on one foot, reach in to my shorts pocket for the paper with the one hand that WASN'T holding me up with the other crutch, and hover just a little less to be able to do a functional reach around, piddle had dribbled down my leg.
Nice.
I was wearing white shorts.
Next came the task of wobbling back through all the people on the dance floor.
Now, this is hard enough for someone who has two feet.
Now, add in crutches.
Now, add in a pint of beer in my system.
Now, add in the assault of the speaker in your ear as you try to get past the distortion as quickly as possible, but not so fast that your crutches come out from underneath you, because the floor is slippery from spilled beer, and you have a frantic femme.
My balance is not so great at the best of times.
Alcohol will make that worse, crutches will make it even harder.
But I did it.
I finally made it back to my seat, sweating once more from the task I accomplished.
I was quite exhausted from the whole scene, and it made me not want to put any more liquid into my bladder.
Every single person who asked what happened immediately says, "Moto accident?"
Seems about right.
With the amount of people who drink and moto, there are so many of them who lose a limb on an average day.
To have a broken ankle from a moto accident isn't unheard of.
No, I do special stunts.
I like to fall off a wall, tearing a ligament in my ankle.
Now I just have to be sure that while I'm on crutches, I don't incur any more injuries.
The humiliation of piddle dribble was enough.
I don't need my 2nd cast of my life time on an arm because I slipped and fell because of crutches.
No, I stopped drinking quite early to be sure I didn't have a rebound injury.
Drunk crutching.
I don't recommend it.
I didn't think it out too clearly.
Well, the party I was invited to was actually a hang out with the entire village at the Isla Gas Station.
Party At The Gas Station!!!!!
It happens every weekend.
Only this time I was on crutches.
Some people were helpful, some people would just stand in my way, while staring at the out of place gringa.
Then there were the washrooms.
Remember when I told you about thighs of steel from not being able to sit on the loo?
Alright. So, now that I only have one thigh ...
... ummmm ...
It was something short of a comedy routine.
This time, it was a task for my triceps.
They were shaking about while I tried my best to balance and hover over a toilet, all the while keep the crutches from slipping under the neighbouring stall, then falling on the urine infused floor with my shorts around my ankles.
At least, they were giving out napkins for toilet paper this time.
Not that it mattered.
By the time I was able to balance on one foot, reach in to my shorts pocket for the paper with the one hand that WASN'T holding me up with the other crutch, and hover just a little less to be able to do a functional reach around, piddle had dribbled down my leg.
Nice.
I was wearing white shorts.
Next came the task of wobbling back through all the people on the dance floor.
Now, this is hard enough for someone who has two feet.
Now, add in crutches.
Now, add in a pint of beer in my system.
Now, add in the assault of the speaker in your ear as you try to get past the distortion as quickly as possible, but not so fast that your crutches come out from underneath you, because the floor is slippery from spilled beer, and you have a frantic femme.
My balance is not so great at the best of times.
Alcohol will make that worse, crutches will make it even harder.
But I did it.
I finally made it back to my seat, sweating once more from the task I accomplished.
I was quite exhausted from the whole scene, and it made me not want to put any more liquid into my bladder.
Every single person who asked what happened immediately says, "Moto accident?"
Seems about right.
With the amount of people who drink and moto, there are so many of them who lose a limb on an average day.
To have a broken ankle from a moto accident isn't unheard of.
No, I do special stunts.
I like to fall off a wall, tearing a ligament in my ankle.
Now I just have to be sure that while I'm on crutches, I don't incur any more injuries.
The humiliation of piddle dribble was enough.
I don't need my 2nd cast of my life time on an arm because I slipped and fell because of crutches.
No, I stopped drinking quite early to be sure I didn't have a rebound injury.
Drunk crutching.
I don't recommend it.
i know how to adequately fuel my body
Sunday, August 18, 2013
i need my love ...
... your sunday sillies ...
OK.
So, if it's not bad enough that those of us with O.C.D. check our alarm clocks non-stop, what happens when that damn thing doesn't work?!?!?!
Well, then, we with O.C.D. are going to be EVEN MORE frantic about checking the time throughout the night.
I had mine set. All ready to go.
My new Samsung Galaxy actually tells you, every time you save or make a change, that the time is set for 'X' amount of hours and minutes from now.
Great for someone with O.C.D. Unless that fucking thing doesn't go off.
OR!
It's possible the alarm isn't loud enough to wake me up. That may be the case as well. I might download something REALLY obnoxious to wake me up.
Never-the-less, as per my usual checking of the time all night long, I looked at my clock, only to realize I was supposed to be out for The Garage Band kids 5 MINUTES PREVIOUS!!!!!!
Seriously. I woke up 5 minutes after 8. I was supposed to be up at 7 to prepare for the niños!
I limped out as fast as I could, because when I woke up in the morning, my damn ankle had ballooned again.
I suppose I did something to it the night before when I went to the birthday party in the village for the Housemaid.
You see, I brought the birthday girl some red wine, and of course, I indulged, as it seemed myself and the birthday girl were the only ones they were pouring it for, and everyone else drank beer.
I wasn't out to get snapped, as I had to get up to teach the next day, and besides, the object of the game isn't about getting corked anymore.
It's just for pleasure of some relaxation.
No pain. As in, no fucking hangovers!
Surely, I wouldn't want to have a Buffalo Breath while singing for the kids.
Nor would I like to have a llama shitting in my mouth the night before teaching, as I wouldn't have the time to shave my tongue before class.
Alas, the wine I brought ran out.
People just kept sending children off to buy more beer, and I just stuck to sipping my wee glass of red wine, giggling at the drunken antics of others.
Then someone showed up with a bottle I'd never seen before: Dominican wine.
"Try some!" they said. So I did. I thought they tricked me into drinking some kind of whiskey.
I had to ask them a few times, "True? This is wine?" They explained that it is made from apples. Who knew apples could be so evil!
I just kept saying, "This is strong!" as they laughed at the lightweight gringa. I didn't need to tell them who I used to be in a former drinking stage of my life.
I only needed the one glass, even though Mr. Gummy kept prodding me to drink more to match his own level of alcoholism.
They kept asking, "But who will drink all this?!?!"
I'm sure you did fine without me, folks.
Off I went to my house, and as the wine wore off, with the help of time and a lot of water, that damn ankle began its wailing of disdain of my treatment toward it.
I guess I walked around too much, not realizing it, because I had that magic elixir that took away all pain, allowing me to walk MORE!
I thought little sleep would take care of that! I'm in the land of healing, no?!?!
I guess it doesn't count when you've done something 'new' to yourself.
So, I lied in bed all day yesterday, trying to get the swelling down with my legs up, doing my best to ignore my throbbing toes. It is bloody angry.
I listened to dogs fart and snore all day, and I suppose that's my lot again as I rest it today.
I have the feeling I did something a little ominous to my dear wee ankle. Oh, how I wish I had pain meds.
Come home Papi!!
9 sleeps left.
Oh, how I need you, but how I miss you even more than that.
OK.
So, if it's not bad enough that those of us with O.C.D. check our alarm clocks non-stop, what happens when that damn thing doesn't work?!?!?!
Well, then, we with O.C.D. are going to be EVEN MORE frantic about checking the time throughout the night.
I had mine set. All ready to go.
My new Samsung Galaxy actually tells you, every time you save or make a change, that the time is set for 'X' amount of hours and minutes from now.
Great for someone with O.C.D. Unless that fucking thing doesn't go off.
OR!
It's possible the alarm isn't loud enough to wake me up. That may be the case as well. I might download something REALLY obnoxious to wake me up.
Never-the-less, as per my usual checking of the time all night long, I looked at my clock, only to realize I was supposed to be out for The Garage Band kids 5 MINUTES PREVIOUS!!!!!!
Seriously. I woke up 5 minutes after 8. I was supposed to be up at 7 to prepare for the niños!
I limped out as fast as I could, because when I woke up in the morning, my damn ankle had ballooned again.
I suppose I did something to it the night before when I went to the birthday party in the village for the Housemaid.
You see, I brought the birthday girl some red wine, and of course, I indulged, as it seemed myself and the birthday girl were the only ones they were pouring it for, and everyone else drank beer.
I wasn't out to get snapped, as I had to get up to teach the next day, and besides, the object of the game isn't about getting corked anymore.
It's just for pleasure of some relaxation.
No pain. As in, no fucking hangovers!
Surely, I wouldn't want to have a Buffalo Breath while singing for the kids.
Nor would I like to have a llama shitting in my mouth the night before teaching, as I wouldn't have the time to shave my tongue before class.
Alas, the wine I brought ran out.
People just kept sending children off to buy more beer, and I just stuck to sipping my wee glass of red wine, giggling at the drunken antics of others.
Then someone showed up with a bottle I'd never seen before: Dominican wine.
"Try some!" they said. So I did. I thought they tricked me into drinking some kind of whiskey.
I had to ask them a few times, "True? This is wine?" They explained that it is made from apples. Who knew apples could be so evil!
I just kept saying, "This is strong!" as they laughed at the lightweight gringa. I didn't need to tell them who I used to be in a former drinking stage of my life.
I only needed the one glass, even though Mr. Gummy kept prodding me to drink more to match his own level of alcoholism.
They kept asking, "But who will drink all this?!?!"
I'm sure you did fine without me, folks.
Off I went to my house, and as the wine wore off, with the help of time and a lot of water, that damn ankle began its wailing of disdain of my treatment toward it.
I guess I walked around too much, not realizing it, because I had that magic elixir that took away all pain, allowing me to walk MORE!
I thought little sleep would take care of that! I'm in the land of healing, no?!?!
I guess it doesn't count when you've done something 'new' to yourself.
So, I lied in bed all day yesterday, trying to get the swelling down with my legs up, doing my best to ignore my throbbing toes. It is bloody angry.
I listened to dogs fart and snore all day, and I suppose that's my lot again as I rest it today.
I have the feeling I did something a little ominous to my dear wee ankle. Oh, how I wish I had pain meds.
Come home Papi!!
9 sleeps left.
Oh, how I need you, but how I miss you even more than that.
i believe i can be kinder to myself
Sunday, August 11, 2013
i'm back!
your sunday sillies ...
Hallelujah I am healed!
Well, mostly. Enough to type anyway. I'll try playing piano today.
Just bumping it on something brings great pain, but the swelling is down.
When we brought in Old Ghost Face to see Dr. Bob, because of the fight, he saw that I was wounded as well.
He gave me some anti-inflammatory pain meds and they REALLY helped!
Sad news is, The Thug has attacked Old Ghost Face once more, then attacked Pathetic Puppy.
I'm trying to get that damn dog obedience trained, but he's a wee bit thick in the head.
Or perhaps, with all his abuse he endured, he has a little bit of brain injury from being hit in the head too much.
He's very sweet most of the time, it's just he gets a little over excited with the 'play' and he reverts back to his old days of fighting.
He didn't attack long enough to take a chunk out of Pathetic Puppy, though. Forget about grabbing his collar. This time, I grabbed the fur at the back of his neck and lifted him off the ground.
I tried leaving The Thug out with Dominican Daddy, while he was The Guard for the night.
I felt too guilty to do that to this sensitive dog. I had to bring him in.
Oh, why do we have a guard?
Papi has left me all alone for a few weeks. He's gone back to Vancouver to see g'ma and tidy up some of our loose ends.
It's really creepy being here all alone sometimes.
Then other times, I'm so damn busy that I don't have time to fret.
I thought I would get a lot of sleep while Papi was gone, because he makes a lot of noise in the night while he's on his graveyard shift.
But I realized now that it's not really him making the noise that wakes me up.
It's those damn dogs. They have a 3 a.m. pee clock.
However, when I get up at 3 a.m., some dog, or rather, shall I say dogS, as in plural, have already relieved themselves on the floor.
How nice it is to mop up piss and pick up shit in the middle of the night.
I'm sure Dominican Daddy gets a kick out of me coming out all bleary eyed, frog voiced, saying, begging, "Go pee."
Of course, why would they? They don't need to. They already did. All over the fucking floor.
Puppies. Big puppies.
It's a bit much for one person to handle all day every day.
I know Papi is busy with a lot of work in Vancouver.
I think we are both working very hard, except his life isn't being surrounded by masses of children ringing the doorbell to bring me more plants as a thank you for lessons.
Masses of children interrupting me as I edit or practise, asking if they can have their turn in the pool at the Hector-Brown Amusement Park.
Masses of children screaming my name as I quickly shut the doors, hide in the designated music area and unplug the doorbell.
The other day someone was ringing the doorbell that I had unplugged.
When that didn't work, he yelled my name for an hour.
When I saw him later, I told him that I can't hear him when I'm practising and that the doorbell is broken.
I think the doorbell will conveniently be broken every Sunday.
Maybe I'll put a sign on it.
'Go away!', but nicely. Still. Go away.
As much as it's hard to be alone without Papi here, even if it's just to stare at him while he sleeping off the Graveyard Coma, still, I want to be left alone.
Lord knows I don't have time for children while chasing around 5 hairy mongrels and trying to convince the 6th that she really, really needs to go out to pee some time.
Old Ghost Face is a bit afraid to go anywhere near The Thug now, and holds it in.
It's only been 2 days. I want Papi back now.
He really needs to take over the puppy graveyard shift so I can sleep.
Hallelujah I am healed!
Well, mostly. Enough to type anyway. I'll try playing piano today.
Just bumping it on something brings great pain, but the swelling is down.
When we brought in Old Ghost Face to see Dr. Bob, because of the fight, he saw that I was wounded as well.
He gave me some anti-inflammatory pain meds and they REALLY helped!
Sad news is, The Thug has attacked Old Ghost Face once more, then attacked Pathetic Puppy.
I'm trying to get that damn dog obedience trained, but he's a wee bit thick in the head.
Or perhaps, with all his abuse he endured, he has a little bit of brain injury from being hit in the head too much.
He's very sweet most of the time, it's just he gets a little over excited with the 'play' and he reverts back to his old days of fighting.
He didn't attack long enough to take a chunk out of Pathetic Puppy, though. Forget about grabbing his collar. This time, I grabbed the fur at the back of his neck and lifted him off the ground.
I tried leaving The Thug out with Dominican Daddy, while he was The Guard for the night.
I felt too guilty to do that to this sensitive dog. I had to bring him in.
Oh, why do we have a guard?
Papi has left me all alone for a few weeks. He's gone back to Vancouver to see g'ma and tidy up some of our loose ends.
It's really creepy being here all alone sometimes.
Then other times, I'm so damn busy that I don't have time to fret.
I thought I would get a lot of sleep while Papi was gone, because he makes a lot of noise in the night while he's on his graveyard shift.
But I realized now that it's not really him making the noise that wakes me up.
It's those damn dogs. They have a 3 a.m. pee clock.
However, when I get up at 3 a.m., some dog, or rather, shall I say dogS, as in plural, have already relieved themselves on the floor.
How nice it is to mop up piss and pick up shit in the middle of the night.
I'm sure Dominican Daddy gets a kick out of me coming out all bleary eyed, frog voiced, saying, begging, "Go pee."
Of course, why would they? They don't need to. They already did. All over the fucking floor.
Puppies. Big puppies.
It's a bit much for one person to handle all day every day.
I know Papi is busy with a lot of work in Vancouver.
I think we are both working very hard, except his life isn't being surrounded by masses of children ringing the doorbell to bring me more plants as a thank you for lessons.
Masses of children interrupting me as I edit or practise, asking if they can have their turn in the pool at the Hector-Brown Amusement Park.
Masses of children screaming my name as I quickly shut the doors, hide in the designated music area and unplug the doorbell.
The other day someone was ringing the doorbell that I had unplugged.
When that didn't work, he yelled my name for an hour.
When I saw him later, I told him that I can't hear him when I'm practising and that the doorbell is broken.
I think the doorbell will conveniently be broken every Sunday.
Maybe I'll put a sign on it.
'Go away!', but nicely. Still. Go away.
As much as it's hard to be alone without Papi here, even if it's just to stare at him while he sleeping off the Graveyard Coma, still, I want to be left alone.
Lord knows I don't have time for children while chasing around 5 hairy mongrels and trying to convince the 6th that she really, really needs to go out to pee some time.
Old Ghost Face is a bit afraid to go anywhere near The Thug now, and holds it in.
It's only been 2 days. I want Papi back now.
He really needs to take over the puppy graveyard shift so I can sleep.
i embrace the peace and quiet of the night
Sunday, August 4, 2013
a full plate
sunday sillies...
I need to manage my time a little better.
Papi will tell you this is an understatement.
This actually has nothing to do with my brain injury.
I've been like this forever, but still, WITH a brain injury, it makes things really tough.
I forget what I'm supposed to do all the time and then at the last minute, I'm scrambling to get things done.
Then I'm stressed.
Then I'm a nightmare to be around.
I stressed myself out so bad that I didn't sleep all night Friday and couldn't teach the kids on Saturday.
I got Papi to put a 'no class today, Andréa is sick, sorry!' sign on the garage.
Sick is one way of putting it.
When I'm in that state of not being able to sleep from anxiety, 'sick' doesn't come close to describing it.
Then I spent all day yesterday frantically editing the YouTube show, and today, my panic is to get a song prepared for the kids at Dream Project tomorrow.
That one was sprung on me yesterday by MusicMan.
I'm not really responsible for that procrastination.
When a musician asks me to prep something, I never say no.
I just pull my hair out all day trying to show the world I'm good enough.
I feel like I'm always hanging by a thread.
I've always felt that way.
I see other musicians carry on with their jobs and I never see them sweat.
Mind you, they don't see me sweat.
I do that alone.
Then I show up and try to act like I'm a pro.
Perhaps that's what everyone else does too?
I don't know.
All I know is, today's mayhem will be learning the Marc Anthony song, 'Vivir Mi Vida' on the piano.
Thank g*d I know all the lyrics and the main themes of the song from teaching The Garage Band for the past month.
Phew!
At least I have a leg up on that one.
But the other night, I realized, I'm supposed to be having fun here.
This morning, someone asked me if I could teach them bass.
I actually said, "Not until September."
Me!
I admitted I was too busy!
I'm proud of myself.
However, it does have a lot to do with Papi.
He repeatedly tells me what he's learned from other expats; that here, you have to choose one thing a day. You can't possibly do more than that in this country.
It's true.
I'm learning.
I'm here to enjoy my life, not be stressed!!
Alas, off I go to fret over a song for the kids tomorrow.
My only thing today.
Of course, that is other than washing my hair, toasting my coffee, cutting up the pineapple before it rots, doing the dishes, paying attention to the dogs, and more.
What's Papi doing?
His one thing a day.
Sleeping.
I need to manage my time a little better.
Papi will tell you this is an understatement.
This actually has nothing to do with my brain injury.
I've been like this forever, but still, WITH a brain injury, it makes things really tough.
I forget what I'm supposed to do all the time and then at the last minute, I'm scrambling to get things done.
Then I'm stressed.
Then I'm a nightmare to be around.
I stressed myself out so bad that I didn't sleep all night Friday and couldn't teach the kids on Saturday.
I got Papi to put a 'no class today, Andréa is sick, sorry!' sign on the garage.
Sick is one way of putting it.
When I'm in that state of not being able to sleep from anxiety, 'sick' doesn't come close to describing it.
Then I spent all day yesterday frantically editing the YouTube show, and today, my panic is to get a song prepared for the kids at Dream Project tomorrow.
That one was sprung on me yesterday by MusicMan.
I'm not really responsible for that procrastination.
When a musician asks me to prep something, I never say no.
I just pull my hair out all day trying to show the world I'm good enough.
I feel like I'm always hanging by a thread.
I've always felt that way.
I see other musicians carry on with their jobs and I never see them sweat.
Mind you, they don't see me sweat.
I do that alone.
Then I show up and try to act like I'm a pro.
Perhaps that's what everyone else does too?
I don't know.
All I know is, today's mayhem will be learning the Marc Anthony song, 'Vivir Mi Vida' on the piano.
Thank g*d I know all the lyrics and the main themes of the song from teaching The Garage Band for the past month.
Phew!
At least I have a leg up on that one.
But the other night, I realized, I'm supposed to be having fun here.
This morning, someone asked me if I could teach them bass.
I actually said, "Not until September."
Me!
I admitted I was too busy!
I'm proud of myself.
However, it does have a lot to do with Papi.
He repeatedly tells me what he's learned from other expats; that here, you have to choose one thing a day. You can't possibly do more than that in this country.
It's true.
I'm learning.
I'm here to enjoy my life, not be stressed!!
Alas, off I go to fret over a song for the kids tomorrow.
My only thing today.
Of course, that is other than washing my hair, toasting my coffee, cutting up the pineapple before it rots, doing the dishes, paying attention to the dogs, and more.
What's Papi doing?
His one thing a day.
Sleeping.
i do well in all my assignments and i love learning
Sunday, July 28, 2013
the creep
your sunday sillies
So, I really wanted to sleep in today, but Papi was up to talk about what happened to me the other day, still processing the anger he feels, and the need to defend me.
I can't get back to sleep once I've started talking, so here I am.
Up.
Thinking about my experience.
I knew the guy was a creep, but I had to deal with him to teach piano to his daughter.
He was always commenting on what I wear. I wear clothes that keep me cool.
Apparently, it's not right for a gringa to wear clothes that are to help with the heat here.
He would say, "I like your shorts," or "I had to laugh when you came in, because the wind lifted your skirt."
I would just take it, because I know that Dominicans are very forward that way, but thought that if I didn't give any indication that I was interested, he might get bored and cut it out.
Then the other day, I went to go in to teach, and when I let myself in the front door, there he was, sitting on the couch with his 'man zone' standing at full attention, sticking out of his pants!
I averted my eyes, thinking that the 'poor guy' would be embarrassed that I saw 'his issue'.
Looking down at the dog, I diverted all my attention elsewhere, giving him a chance to put that thing away, and went straight in to teach the child.
However, I learned the other day that his boner was NOT an embarrassment.
It was intentional.
Friday, having finished teaching his daughter, it was time for me to get paid and go home.
He walked me to the gate, with his usual comments about what I was wearing, "I like THAT dress you have on."
I tried to take it as a compliment, "Aw! Thank you!" the way any polite Canadian would.
That was the wrong thing to do.
He immediately pointed to his crotch, "Look! This is because of your dress," and there it was; his fucking pecker pointing straight out of his nylon pants that are meant for the gym.
I suppose they're great for an erection too. They show the full meal.
Then as I shook my head and walked away as quickly as possible, he pointed to it again, saying, "This is all YOUR fault!"
I drove away as fast as I could, but I realized that I still have a lot to learn with my P.T.S.D.
I freeze when predators come too close, and can't defend myself.
I get this ridiculous nervous laugh and I can't control it.
I've always done it.
I get nervous, I laugh.
Some fucking defence mechanism!!!!
"Hey Andréa! What's your super power?!?"
"Giggling."
Yeah. Really good. Couple that with the flashbacks I've been having all weekend and we're close to a Hurricane Andréa sighting.
Now, I see him as a full on predator. That's what predators say, "It's YOUR fault I raped you, because of what you were wearing. I couldn't help myself."
I can't go back, and I feel bad for the kid, because she was just getting somewhere with our lessons.
Then what we learned from the people on the DR1 Forum is that because I'm white, I can't wear tank tops, shorts or skirts above the knees.
If this was Canada, I could report the guy and be done with it.
Here?
They'd laugh me out of the office and do the same, or worse to me.
We are not in Canada.
I am a white woman.
I am fair game for the huntsmen.
So, I really wanted to sleep in today, but Papi was up to talk about what happened to me the other day, still processing the anger he feels, and the need to defend me.
I can't get back to sleep once I've started talking, so here I am.
Up.
Thinking about my experience.
I knew the guy was a creep, but I had to deal with him to teach piano to his daughter.
He was always commenting on what I wear. I wear clothes that keep me cool.
Apparently, it's not right for a gringa to wear clothes that are to help with the heat here.
He would say, "I like your shorts," or "I had to laugh when you came in, because the wind lifted your skirt."
I would just take it, because I know that Dominicans are very forward that way, but thought that if I didn't give any indication that I was interested, he might get bored and cut it out.
Then the other day, I went to go in to teach, and when I let myself in the front door, there he was, sitting on the couch with his 'man zone' standing at full attention, sticking out of his pants!
I averted my eyes, thinking that the 'poor guy' would be embarrassed that I saw 'his issue'.
Looking down at the dog, I diverted all my attention elsewhere, giving him a chance to put that thing away, and went straight in to teach the child.
However, I learned the other day that his boner was NOT an embarrassment.
It was intentional.
Friday, having finished teaching his daughter, it was time for me to get paid and go home.
He walked me to the gate, with his usual comments about what I was wearing, "I like THAT dress you have on."
I tried to take it as a compliment, "Aw! Thank you!" the way any polite Canadian would.
That was the wrong thing to do.
He immediately pointed to his crotch, "Look! This is because of your dress," and there it was; his fucking pecker pointing straight out of his nylon pants that are meant for the gym.
I suppose they're great for an erection too. They show the full meal.
Then as I shook my head and walked away as quickly as possible, he pointed to it again, saying, "This is all YOUR fault!"
I drove away as fast as I could, but I realized that I still have a lot to learn with my P.T.S.D.
I freeze when predators come too close, and can't defend myself.
I get this ridiculous nervous laugh and I can't control it.
I've always done it.
I get nervous, I laugh.
Some fucking defence mechanism!!!!
"Hey Andréa! What's your super power?!?"
"Giggling."
Yeah. Really good. Couple that with the flashbacks I've been having all weekend and we're close to a Hurricane Andréa sighting.
Now, I see him as a full on predator. That's what predators say, "It's YOUR fault I raped you, because of what you were wearing. I couldn't help myself."
I can't go back, and I feel bad for the kid, because she was just getting somewhere with our lessons.
Then what we learned from the people on the DR1 Forum is that because I'm white, I can't wear tank tops, shorts or skirts above the knees.
If this was Canada, I could report the guy and be done with it.
Here?
They'd laugh me out of the office and do the same, or worse to me.
We are not in Canada.
I am a white woman.
I am fair game for the huntsmen.
i take comfort in the fact that i can always leave this situation
Sunday, July 14, 2013
we are happy
... your sunday sillies: crash!! ...
Oh, how I love the children in The Garage Band!
Word is starting to spread and more are coming to join us.
Initially, I didn't want to teach the teenagers, I wanted to keep it to the wee ones, but I'm sure glad I chose to include them.
It was so nice to work with them, and I think they really enjoyed themselves.
I now have to split everyone up into 3 groups, because different ages need different instruction.
For instance, the 2 tiniest of them all.
The lowest to the ground prances around without any pants.
It makes sense.
If his parents can't afford diapers, then it's best to just let him do what he needs to do without the obstruction of clothing.
His pants would be messy to clean all day long, considering this little guy is only about 2 years old and accidents are in abundance.
So, there he was, with his little willy waving about in the air.
I figured there would be piddle all over our carport, but he managed to keep it in.
He wasn't there to do music, so much as just there to be with all the big kids.
The second small-fry was pretty in her best dress.
Can I tell you what an honour it is to have parents dress their children in their best clothes for the lesson?!?!
I showed up stinky, in dirty clothes, as I only woke up in enough time to get coffee into my system and open the garage door to begin teaching.
Having children dressed in fancy threads made me feel their gratitude for lessons.
In turn, I had gratitude for the children merely showing up!
Anyway, this little doll in her Sunday Best was really too young to keep up with everyone, but she tried.
OH, how she tried
Whatever anyone else did, she would attempt to copy, and do it with immense zeal!
Her voice was voluminous!
Her clapping was colossal and packed a punch!
Nothing was in the right time, nor were there proper words, but her intent was so strong that I could feel the music just waiting to come out when it's time for her to truly understand all the emotion that brews within her.
It made me tingle.
Even the dogs in the hood came by to watch.
Upon smelling the mutts that were invading their space, our hounds were barking at them through the door of the garage.
No matter. We all sang loud enough to overpower their cacophony.
Speaking of the neighbourhood dogs, today is our day to volunteer to give them all heart worm medicine.
We were going to do it a few weeks ago, but I got so busy and so tired.
We are armed with hotdogs to entice them, and candy for the children as we go along.
Papi wants to win their hearts with candy, because he feels I get all the love and he's a tad jealous as we drive down our bumpy road, listening to the chorus of 'Andréa! Andréa! Andréa!' bellowing through the village.
Hopefully, as we pass through, I'll find the shyest of The Garage Band and give him a little boost of a quick lesson so that he will feel more confident next round.
The underdog.
I always love the underdog.
I want to help him shine amongst the others.
If you're reading this and you'd like to help the children by sending percussive instruments, we would all be so grateful.
Shakers! Wood blocks! Anything you have that you just don't use would be MORE than appreciated if you can send it:
Right now, we just clap.
And we are happy.
Oh, how I love the children in The Garage Band!
Word is starting to spread and more are coming to join us.
Initially, I didn't want to teach the teenagers, I wanted to keep it to the wee ones, but I'm sure glad I chose to include them.
It was so nice to work with them, and I think they really enjoyed themselves.
I now have to split everyone up into 3 groups, because different ages need different instruction.
For instance, the 2 tiniest of them all.
The lowest to the ground prances around without any pants.
It makes sense.
If his parents can't afford diapers, then it's best to just let him do what he needs to do without the obstruction of clothing.
His pants would be messy to clean all day long, considering this little guy is only about 2 years old and accidents are in abundance.
So, there he was, with his little willy waving about in the air.
I figured there would be piddle all over our carport, but he managed to keep it in.
He wasn't there to do music, so much as just there to be with all the big kids.
The second small-fry was pretty in her best dress.
Can I tell you what an honour it is to have parents dress their children in their best clothes for the lesson?!?!
I showed up stinky, in dirty clothes, as I only woke up in enough time to get coffee into my system and open the garage door to begin teaching.
Having children dressed in fancy threads made me feel their gratitude for lessons.
In turn, I had gratitude for the children merely showing up!
Anyway, this little doll in her Sunday Best was really too young to keep up with everyone, but she tried.
OH, how she tried
Whatever anyone else did, she would attempt to copy, and do it with immense zeal!
Her voice was voluminous!
Her clapping was colossal and packed a punch!
Nothing was in the right time, nor were there proper words, but her intent was so strong that I could feel the music just waiting to come out when it's time for her to truly understand all the emotion that brews within her.
It made me tingle.
Even the dogs in the hood came by to watch.
Upon smelling the mutts that were invading their space, our hounds were barking at them through the door of the garage.
No matter. We all sang loud enough to overpower their cacophony.
Speaking of the neighbourhood dogs, today is our day to volunteer to give them all heart worm medicine.
We were going to do it a few weeks ago, but I got so busy and so tired.
We are armed with hotdogs to entice them, and candy for the children as we go along.
Papi wants to win their hearts with candy, because he feels I get all the love and he's a tad jealous as we drive down our bumpy road, listening to the chorus of 'Andréa! Andréa! Andréa!' bellowing through the village.
Hopefully, as we pass through, I'll find the shyest of The Garage Band and give him a little boost of a quick lesson so that he will feel more confident next round.
The underdog.
I always love the underdog.
I want to help him shine amongst the others.
If you're reading this and you'd like to help the children by sending percussive instruments, we would all be so grateful.
Shakers! Wood blocks! Anything you have that you just don't use would be MORE than appreciated if you can send it:
Andréa Hector-Brown
10800 NW 103 St.
Ste. 5EMedley, Florida
33178United States
Right now, we just clap.
And we are happy.
i compare myself only to my highest self
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Garage Band
... your sunday sillies ...
Well, it wasn't the throngs of children I thought it would be.
No, it was quite a bit different than how I had it pictured in my mind.
I waited patiently, sitting on my little foot stool, outside Casa Paraíso.
In hand, I had my Sharpie Pen drawings of the first two notes I'd teach them, along with the list of names I had compiled of all those interested.
Nobody came.
Eventually, I saw one child nearing my direction.
Ah! Dominican Time! I see!
But alas, he was only going to watch them build the house next door.
So, I decided to take a stroll through the village.
Once more, I felt like the pied piper.
Not to mention, a little like the town cryer, "It's music day! Do you want to sing with me?"
All I need is a solid brass hand bell to ring it on Saturdays when it's time to start!
One by one they'd follow, and when I was done, that list of 40 children was reduced to about 12.
No problem! I'm good with that!
We all scampered to the beach in front of our house, and the children automatically planted themselves firmly on a log.
One problem: I had to yell above the waves!
By the time we were done, my voice was so weak, it sounded like it used to after an ear damaging concert when I was a teen.
No, this is not going to work.
I can't have them in my yard, because of the danger of the pool and puppies.
My foresight was right in that they'd be like Mexican jumping beans. It's hard to teach, PLUS keep an eye on these little critters.
I don't need someone drowning in the pool or harassing a dog so much that they get bit.
So, next week, we're in the garage! Our new digs! The Garage Band.
No yelling, shelter from rain and safety from The Donkey who is sure to bowl over anyone who is close to the height of my hips.
Not to mention, we'll have the acoustics of an A-Frame room!
Furthermore, I won't have to watch them pee on our property.
I'm not kidding.
Middle of the lesson, they had to pee, and one by one they walked to the corner of our lot and peed on our wall right in front of me.
I think they had a bit too much fun doing this.
Papi was a bit appalled when I laughed about it, but I assured him, "Honey, they pee on our wall anyway, so it's nothing new. The ocean is their washroom."
I can't tell you how many human feces we've seen along the shoreline.
Anyway, there are always a few trouble makers, but I'll tell you, if I'm not getting paid to teach, then I won't have them in my class.
I gave one a strict warning with the first set of 'rules', "You're here to sing. If you don't want to sing, you go to your house. I've told you twice, third time you go."
My Spanish was sufficient enough to get the point across, so he adhered to my wishes, however, I'm pretty sure I'll be learning his name first.
All in all, it was a fun 30 minutes and they learned 3 notes, 2 beats and a chorus of the song.
Afterward, one of the mothers, seeing that I was teaching children for free, took it upon herself to announce that she is Christian.
I suppose because it's something some people with religion do; help the children with no pay.
I told her, "I'm Jewish."
She touched my arm as if I needed consoling, and said, "Oh, that's OK. You're still doing it for the kids."
Well!
I'm really glad that's 'OK' and that I have your approval!
She told me her son plays the piano at his school, so it looks like I have the beginning of the band I need!
Slowly but surely, we'll make it.
And I'm positive that more will join us next week.
I need that bell.
Well, it wasn't the throngs of children I thought it would be.
No, it was quite a bit different than how I had it pictured in my mind.
I waited patiently, sitting on my little foot stool, outside Casa Paraíso.
In hand, I had my Sharpie Pen drawings of the first two notes I'd teach them, along with the list of names I had compiled of all those interested.
Nobody came.
Eventually, I saw one child nearing my direction.
Ah! Dominican Time! I see!
But alas, he was only going to watch them build the house next door.
So, I decided to take a stroll through the village.
Once more, I felt like the pied piper.
Not to mention, a little like the town cryer, "It's music day! Do you want to sing with me?"
All I need is a solid brass hand bell to ring it on Saturdays when it's time to start!
One by one they'd follow, and when I was done, that list of 40 children was reduced to about 12.
No problem! I'm good with that!
We all scampered to the beach in front of our house, and the children automatically planted themselves firmly on a log.
One problem: I had to yell above the waves!
By the time we were done, my voice was so weak, it sounded like it used to after an ear damaging concert when I was a teen.
No, this is not going to work.
I can't have them in my yard, because of the danger of the pool and puppies.
My foresight was right in that they'd be like Mexican jumping beans. It's hard to teach, PLUS keep an eye on these little critters.
I don't need someone drowning in the pool or harassing a dog so much that they get bit.
So, next week, we're in the garage! Our new digs! The Garage Band.
No yelling, shelter from rain and safety from The Donkey who is sure to bowl over anyone who is close to the height of my hips.
Not to mention, we'll have the acoustics of an A-Frame room!
Furthermore, I won't have to watch them pee on our property.
I'm not kidding.
Middle of the lesson, they had to pee, and one by one they walked to the corner of our lot and peed on our wall right in front of me.
I think they had a bit too much fun doing this.
Papi was a bit appalled when I laughed about it, but I assured him, "Honey, they pee on our wall anyway, so it's nothing new. The ocean is their washroom."
I can't tell you how many human feces we've seen along the shoreline.
Anyway, there are always a few trouble makers, but I'll tell you, if I'm not getting paid to teach, then I won't have them in my class.
I gave one a strict warning with the first set of 'rules', "You're here to sing. If you don't want to sing, you go to your house. I've told you twice, third time you go."
My Spanish was sufficient enough to get the point across, so he adhered to my wishes, however, I'm pretty sure I'll be learning his name first.
All in all, it was a fun 30 minutes and they learned 3 notes, 2 beats and a chorus of the song.
Afterward, one of the mothers, seeing that I was teaching children for free, took it upon herself to announce that she is Christian.
I suppose because it's something some people with religion do; help the children with no pay.
I told her, "I'm Jewish."
She touched my arm as if I needed consoling, and said, "Oh, that's OK. You're still doing it for the kids."
Well!
I'm really glad that's 'OK' and that I have your approval!
She told me her son plays the piano at his school, so it looks like I have the beginning of the band I need!
Slowly but surely, we'll make it.
And I'm positive that more will join us next week.
I need that bell.
i believe in my ability to change the world on a small scale with the work i do
Saturday, July 6, 2013
joy.
Papi has been helping out with the dishes.
I am so grateful.
I have been so busy it hurts.
I'll turn him into Mr. Mom yet.
Maybe I'll have to get a little instructive on how to put away cutlery.
When he puts the utensils in the drawer, I open it up in the morning to find soup of forks, knives and spoons.
This way, that way, never in the proper piles.
It's torture for someone who is 'a little' O.C.D.
Anyway, I'm still happy, because it only takes me minutes to rearrange them into their allotted piles and start my breakfast.
Last night, I was up until 1 a.m. preparing for the kidlets.
I'm so excited to work with them today.
After seeing the kids at Dream Project perform their concert for well over 100 people last night, I am so pumped to get the village children up on a stage.
I dragged along Papi, who I thought would die of boredom, but I did it anyway.
When they were done and we were walking back to the car, he said he almost had tears in his eyes.
I said to him, "Do you understand now why I get get up 5 days a week at 6:45 and teach for FREE?"
Indeed, he understood.
I'll have it on the YouTube show in 2 weeks for you.
Papi has a GREAT idea for our little squirts!
I'm going to get them prepped and ready, then we'll take them to perform at all inclusive resorts.
They'll get an awesome meal!
Maybe I'll get their taxi paid for.
Damn.
I wish I had a bus!
I counted 40 children I'll be teaching.
I figure by X-Mas, when the rush of tourists come, we'll be ready!!!
Today, I'm starting with a Marc Anthony song:
It's funny, because I've never been a fan and never understood the big deal about him, but it is probably because I didn't understand Spanish.
But I'll tell you, thinking of these little beans singing the chorus, just like the choir of angels in the background of this song, I have chills.
The lyrics of the chorus sing:
And blammo! I love the song.
I'll have the older ones sing the hard parts.
It's going to be so wonderful!
Can you tell I'm excited?
Anyway, I don't really have time to go on about it, because I have to prepare.
My Spanish has a lot of work to do.
Good g*d.
Perhaps learning songs will further my fluency as well?
And today's positive mantra is influenced by Mr. Anthony himself.
I am so grateful.
I have been so busy it hurts.
I'll turn him into Mr. Mom yet.
Maybe I'll have to get a little instructive on how to put away cutlery.
When he puts the utensils in the drawer, I open it up in the morning to find soup of forks, knives and spoons.
This way, that way, never in the proper piles.
It's torture for someone who is 'a little' O.C.D.
Anyway, I'm still happy, because it only takes me minutes to rearrange them into their allotted piles and start my breakfast.
Last night, I was up until 1 a.m. preparing for the kidlets.
I'm so excited to work with them today.
After seeing the kids at Dream Project perform their concert for well over 100 people last night, I am so pumped to get the village children up on a stage.
I dragged along Papi, who I thought would die of boredom, but I did it anyway.
When they were done and we were walking back to the car, he said he almost had tears in his eyes.
I said to him, "Do you understand now why I get get up 5 days a week at 6:45 and teach for FREE?"
Indeed, he understood.
I'll have it on the YouTube show in 2 weeks for you.
Papi has a GREAT idea for our little squirts!
I'm going to get them prepped and ready, then we'll take them to perform at all inclusive resorts.
They'll get an awesome meal!
Maybe I'll get their taxi paid for.
Damn.
I wish I had a bus!
I counted 40 children I'll be teaching.
I figure by X-Mas, when the rush of tourists come, we'll be ready!!!
Today, I'm starting with a Marc Anthony song:
It's funny, because I've never been a fan and never understood the big deal about him, but it is probably because I didn't understand Spanish.
But I'll tell you, thinking of these little beans singing the chorus, just like the choir of angels in the background of this song, I have chills.
The lyrics of the chorus sing:
I will laugh, I will danceI live lifeI'm going to enjoy laughing
And blammo! I love the song.
I'll have the older ones sing the hard parts.
It's going to be so wonderful!
Can you tell I'm excited?
Anyway, I don't really have time to go on about it, because I have to prepare.
My Spanish has a lot of work to do.
Good g*d.
Perhaps learning songs will further my fluency as well?
And today's positive mantra is influenced by Mr. Anthony himself.
i will laugh, dance and enjoy life
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