Would you like a little chard with that?

Well looky here!

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

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

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

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

Sometimes, I really hate winter.

Ok, that's a lie.

I always hate winter.

Anyway, new topic.

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

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

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

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

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

I was hoping that he just wouldn't notice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh!

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

I don't think I did.

I had to wait until after I told Papi.

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

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

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

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

Indeed Safeway bakery lady.

Don't you know it.

Grant me the serenity ...

Papi says it was all a joke.  "I sat there with it waiting for you to see what I'd done, but you never looked."

fair enough, i do get a little obsessed on the coffee shop, and i was overjoyed watching the baby eagles too ... so maybe it's the truth

"By the time you saw it, I'd forgotten I'd done it and would have gone to work like that.  But you freaked out and started doing my hair."

hell fucking yes i did!

I'm a little more calm about that now.

Yes.

Now I can focus on the other things that are testing my serenity.

testing? i don't think so ... you're already gone. weren't you plotting how to kill the cat?!

I googled some nice chicken purée soups and veggie smoothies, then promptly went out to buy the ingredients.  When I came home however, there wasn't a clear spot on the counter to make anything.

oh i'll make a spot ... i'll just shove all you bastards to one side! haha i win!! goddammit!! where'd the mother fucking knife go?!

We're still living in the mayhem of boxes.  The Great Sewage Flood Purge is taking a long time.  Papi's down for the count with a never ending, tooth extracted, bleeding gum, and I'm too tired to do anything from lack of nourishment.

or at least that's my excuse ...

Fucking boxes.

Everywhere.

I managed to make myself my very first, raw food, vegetable smoothie.  I did exactly what they instructed.  I really need to get my greens in, and they recommended stuffing as many leafy beauties into my new VitaMix as possible.

After I blended up the fruit, I stuffed in my gems.

And stuffed.

My anticipating eyes were thrilled as I added the luscious, lovely greens!  My waiting mouth was ecstatic that they would soon be entering my anemic blood stream.  I'd be feeling better in no time!

I took a sip.

uh-oh

Honestly, I had to nurse that fucker for 3 hours.  Oh, I consumed it, but I had to take itty bitty sips through my straw.  It fooled my stomach into believing that I was full.  That was a good thing.

But the flavour?

Um.  Dirt milkshake anyone?

I still have 2/3 of a blender to drink.  It's going to be strictly a labour of love for my blood stream to finish off this puppy.  My body better fucking well thank me for the suffering I'm about to endure.

After I finally finished my healthy, veggie smoothie that tasted like I'd eaten the lawn, I ate a smooth, chocolatey, sweeter than sweet, bucket of coconut ice cream.

Yup.

Reward.

 How do these raw food people do this?

Thank god I still get my coffee.  There would be a police situation in the house if I couldn't.  It just might have to be double coffee days until I can find the counters and chew food.

I'm a fucking nutbar, but then so is Papi.

Is it depression?

Maybe it's my anemia upping the ante to bring me down me again.

Could it be cancer finally filling my uterus with black death like it did with my mother and grandmother?

goddammit i told you ... it's mine!  leave it the fuck alone!

I'm not feeling so great, and of course my mind would jump to cancer.  I jump to the most horrid outcome possible every time.

I've slept 23 of the past 34 hours.  I just don't feel good.

I do have an avid imagination.  I guess that's what makes me the creative artist I am.

But damn!

ok ... time for you squeamish boys to stop reading if you can't handle the girly stuff.

I have something going on in the womanly world.

It's so hard to think of myself as a woman.  I still consider myself a girl.  I'm probably the most immature of all my aging peers, yet I'm also one of the most youthful because of it.

age is just a number.

I have had strange goings on with my monthly sequel.  That rat bastard acted as if the world was coming to an end and didn't want to leave the comfort of my womb to see what's up.

I have had spotting for a total of 10 days now since the last visit of 'ugh'.

I thought my normal womanly situation would never come.  It was 4 or 5 days late, but sometimes, it's hard to tell with my finicky womb.  I get that stopover every 23 days or so.

Yeah.  Ridiculous.  I know.

At least it only lasts 4 days.  I guess that's to make up for the every 3 weeks of the blahs.

Anyway, it freaked me out, all this spotting and no getting busy with the deed.  This has never happened before and it scares me.

Behold!  Good ol' Rick the Red finally made an appearance yesterday, and at the same time I slipped into the off and on coma.

I haven't accomplished anything since Thursday, because the times that I actually WAS awake, it was all about Mr. Moustache.

He's had a resurgence of energy.  It's so nice.  We'll be enjoying him during this temporary 'up time'.

A small window of peace for us, and a new opportunity for my love to resume terrorizing me via a calendar that now hangs on the wall.

Papi thinks it's funny.  I can't stand looking at that ugly mug.

It's for "T-Boys" and Papi bought it at the same time as those playing cards we used on Valentine's Day.  Every month has a different picture of an F-M, none of which I find attractive.

Papi told me the money goes to support transitioning people.

"Fucking excuse me?!?!?!  Trannies have all the fucking support in the world!!!!  What about the wives who sit in a La-Z-Boy pit of doom and cry for 2 months straight?!?!?!  Give the fucking money to US!!!

Papi giggled, "But most wives wouldn't do that.  Most wives would leave."

It's hung right where I would be looking while working on my journey via my words to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Fucking hell.  You are an evil imp my love.  Why would I want to look at that when right behind it is a perfectly pleasing calendar with a picture of a mama frog and her baby!?!?

This is why I love Papi, however.

My wonderful bull in a china shop.

and now, i return the original obsessive fretting ...