man hair. everywhere.

I must be done with the processing, as the conversations we have are just plain silly and effortless about things that I didn't think I'd ever be able to handle.

Like hair.

Chest hair, belly hair, armpit hair, ass hair, thigh hair and chin hair.

Just plain ol' man hair.

Well, of course I'd love to talk about my hair, because it's usually all about my hair, but my hair is a fucking mess right now, because we have no heat in our suite, and I'm not going to sit around in the brrrrr chill while my mane air dries.

That doesn't make me feel comfortable and being such a hypochondriac, I'm too afraid of catching a cold.  So, it's hats and pins and pigtails for my hair.

Oops.

It all became about my hair again.

Oh, how I digress.

Ok, back on track.

I look at a picture of Papi and I on our engagement day in Cuba.

This picture is so full of happiness, yet also, it's full of uncomfortableness.

On both of our parts.

I remember on that day, that Papi had said to me, "I wanted our picture to look like the other people's picture."  You see, they were more comfortable.

I get very affected by homophobic people, and we never know when they're going to pop up.

Like the man behind the camera that day.

I don't know if he was or not, but two lesbians in front of him was a good opportunity to show his true colours.

Of course, he didn't, but still, I waited for it.

Then there was Papi, uncomfortable in his own skin, because he had a secret that he needed to tell me, but was too afraid to say it, due to the fact that I would say negative things about trans people.

My transphobia scared Papi, and rightfully so.

I would go on about how we're losing all our butches to male transformation, not to mention go on about how people were brainwashing younger people into thinking this was the 'in' thing to do.

It does happen, but I've only known about one pusher who did this.

So there we were.

Both of us were so happy because it was our engagement, but you could see we were both awkward.

Now, you'll find me in Costco asking some guy, "Hey!  You're a guy!  Which of these electric shavers would you recommend?"

They would steer Papi in the right direction saying, "I like this one.  For the money, it's the best one you can get."

Then there was last night.  Papi said, "I also need to get a new man-scaper.  That one also didn't make the trip out of the Dominican alive."

Off he went to get it and I didn't even think about it beyond that.

Until of course, later on when he lifted his armpit to show me how nice it looked because it was tamed with his new toy.

Then I had a moment that was epic.

We were going to get our criminal check done so we could apply for residency in the DR, and while I was at my wicket, Papi saddled up behind me.  The woman behind the counter asked in a very stern voice, "Ma'am, do you know the gentleman who is now standing behind you?"

Like flowing water, I looked, then turned back to say, "Yes, that's my husband."

My husband.

It's all very normal now.

Who knew I could do this?

i am a hero

Noodles in the sink.

OK.

So we all come from different cultures, and I suppose we sometimes need to learn more about other places.

Like for instance, upon reading more about the Dominican Republic, I've learned that as a gringo, when we are at a grocery store, we may be given candy instead of change if the cashier runs out of money.

They figure, that we being honkies, we're obviously tourists and don't need the change.  They assume we have a lot of money and that we'd rather have the candy.

Sweets for the sweets.  You know?

Well, I've been taking my Spanish classes for a few weeks now, and I saw last week that the washroom I would use had a broken sink.

We were left a note on the mirror to use the sink downstairs to wash our hands.

For O.C.D. folks like myself, it was more than an inconvenience to go to the lower floor to wash our hands after being in such a dirty, dirty room FULL of germs.

Anyway, my point is not to bitch about having to go to the lower floor to wash my hands, ...

... which i didn't btw ... i chose to obsess about my dirty hands and be distracted in the class instead ...

... it was to let you know about the new sign I found this week.

Now, I know that we all have differences, but what I don't know is, what are the sinks like in other countries!?!?

Here's a picture of the note in the bathroom of offense:

Perhaps you're not getting the point of the sign.

Maybe I need to really get it up close for you to see:

Now, what I'm thinking is, if this was a one off, they wouldn't have a sign.

I'm thinking, there have been more than one noodle experience in that washroom to warrant a sign.

The school has many different languages being taught at the same time, so I don't know which country would have sinks with drains big enough to handle noodles.

Which country would that be?

Does anybody know which country has drains big enough to handle noodles!?!?!

Our drains can't even handle the 'wookie' affect of hair.

Ass hair, armpit hair, belly hair, chin hair, thigh hair.

OK.  I may be exaggerating.  Papi is really good at grooming his man hair.  He's got all the fancy gizmos and even trims his armpit hair.

He's metro-sexual.  Besides, it's always about my hair, no?

Anyway, back to the noodles.

I'm seriously confused about it.

Is it just me, or is this just new to me?

I found this an odd thing topic that I felt the need to write about.

Tomorrow, I'll be putting up one of my super duper positivity posts up on that mirror.

i am interested in others

Cat Scratch Fever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was until yesterday afternoon.

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

I'm not kidding.

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

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

This was the aftermath:

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

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

Good god.

The Tranny Terrorist has risen.

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

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

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

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

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

Dare to dream, eh?

I'm married to a Werewolf

Papi told me my blog was boring yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm a sucker for attention.

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

This label is not far off the map.

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

I'm cool with admitting it.

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

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

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

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

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