chemo cat & cake

G*d I love peanut butter on toast.  It's gotta be the best treat out there.  I sometimes go to bed anticipating my morning glory, peanut butter celebration.

Just had to share that.

Don't worry.  This is not a blog about peanut butter toast.

Nor will it be a blog about complaining of how little sleep I've been getting this week, yet last night was the first night I slept all the way through without drugs to help me.

I will also spare you the details about how I'm suffering through the weather erupting my bitch of a back.

So what's left to talk about?

Cat's on harnesses and Papi's birthday.

Let's start with Papi's birthday.

Every year, I buy him his favourite cake.  Of course, it's very difficult for me to keep in mind which is the flavour he likes, because it's only once a year I buy it for him.  My brain injury does not do me justice in the memory department.

There I was staring at Safeway cake, ...

... just fyi, it's the only one he ever asked for ... i would never buy him this by choice ...

... trying to recall which vanilla cake he prefers.  Is it the one with the filling of vanilla icing?  Or the one with custard filling?

I banked on the custard, because he has such strange taste buds.

Only one problem; there were no 'single' slices of the vanilla custard cake.

Only one thing left to do!  Buy a whole cake!  Yeah!

I proudly took the bus with his cake, with onlooking passengers drooling at the sight of a flat of sugar.  I prayed my brain injury didn't give me balance issues, as I limped with the weight of the package.

I waited patiently until Papi slept off the Graveyard Coma, and, "Happy birthday!" I screamed at him while he was still wiping the sleep from his eyes.

Oh, I got the right cake!  I was so pleased.

Alas, there was one 'wee' issue.  I forgot that last year, he asked me not to buy him the cake anymore because his tastebuds have changed since starting on hormones.  He doesn't eat sweets anymore.

Well, I hope the ladies at his job enjoy it.

Let's move on to cats in harnesses.

We have to train them to be on harnesses so that we can bring them outside for their piddling.  This is how they'll be traveling on planes.

Pee breaks on leashes.

Well, I got the harnesses on the cats, but the cats were not impressed, to say the least.  I can't tell you how many bite marks I'm nursing, but I did it.

Now picture this: Cats walking with their belly so low to the ground you'd think they were hover cats with legs 1/4 the size of a normal feline.

It was odd to witness our cats not moving from one spot for hours at a time.

Oh!  But when they did move, it was in reverse, as they were trying to back out of the nylon, pseudo straight jackets they were in.

Then there was Psycho Kitty.  He was so distraught with the prospect that he started to lick his fur off his body.

He already has a kitty version of male pattern baldness from the stress of being trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft with The Bastard Prince.

Now?  His loss of hair has extended all the way to losing some of his tail fur.

Good thing we never made it onto Psycho Kitty TV.  This hair issue just won't do for his national debut.  He would need a toupée.

Normally, he's such a pretty kitty with all that long grey fur.  However, he now resembles a cat on chemotherapy.

I figure he'll look really good with a shaved lion cut.

Silver miniature lion!  A rare breed.

So there ya go.  Papi's birthday and cats on harnesses.

Aren't you glad you stopped by?

everything i do turns into success

Queer as Fuck!

As we prepare meals for the Fuzzy Family, we stand in our kitchen of temporary home #1 and realize that this room is probably about the same space as our living room and kitchen put together in Our Closet.

It occurred to us that we're going to be wading through four legged fiends to get to the bathroom.

454 sq. ft. is crazy!  If Papi and I don't fight in this tiny place, then damn, we can live anywhere!

I'm going to be without a dishwasher as well.

Good god.  That will be the most frightening part.

Did you know I make every meal from scratch?  This creates a lot of mess in my kitchen.

Papi doesn't have to worry about that part.

He's on a special diet of McDonald's for breakfast, Quizno's for lunch and Tim Horton's for dinner.  He chases those down with a muffin occasionally.

That and his pop.

He'll be responsible for bringing out his fast food garbage I guess.  He'll be doing that while I'm cleaning the kitchen.

It's about to make me want to purge even more.

I swear to god, I've never had so little to move in my life, thanks to The Great DR Purge.  We have nothing.

I couldn't believe it, when we went to the attic to organize what we have to put in my baby sister's storage, and it only took 15 minutes to prepare.

To be honest, the anxiety that comes with 'stuff' never occurred to me, because I've lived the life of a hoarder since I was taught to do so by my grandparents who survived the depression.

Keep EVERYTHING!!  Good god man!!!  You never know when you'll need it!!

This was my way of living.

So, when I found out that I had won a gift from Queer Arts Festival, I felt that I was uncomfortable with something more coming to our home.

That reaction really surprised me.

I realized that I'm actually stopping the packrat mentality!

Anyway, here's what I missed out on:

I won the 'Queer As Fuck Award' for all the volunteering I do for them every week for 4 hours!

When I was offered a ride to temporary home #2 by Papi, I skipped out of the award festivities and took my ride to the other side of the pond.

I left that night before the awards were given out, because I never get awards and didn't think I'd be missing out on anything personally.

Then I found out what they'd given me, because they took a video of it and sent it to me!!!

They gave me a gift that I appreciated immensely, only it doesn't go to me.

They gave a family in Haiti a goat, in my name, and a super duper dog tag to wear around my neck, with my award engraved upon it.

I just about cried while I watched this.

Then, being true to my personality, I berated myself for not being there to accept such a great moment.

... stupid! stupid! stupid! she says ... fuck! she's so mean!! ...

However, I probably would have cried in front of the whole audience, and cleaning up that mess is just nasty.

People may have thought I was bipolar and called the authorities.

... does this blog make me sound BPD? ...

Anyway, this was probably one of the greatest awards I've received, and for my 'rough around the edges friends' to know me so well, to give a family the goat they need, well, that made my year.

I'm so fucking grateful and proud.

 i am somebody, and i count

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...

This is where I heal.

i wanted to let you know that i've received another beautiful award from another wonderful Blogger Friend of mine ... it's here in my awards page :)

I can't let go of the fact that Papi went ahead and started hormones and the male transformation without discussion first.

It's been almost 10 months, and the feeling of my love taking the plunge, with me following in his wake, won't leave.

So much so, that the moment mi esposo starts speaking about 'other' options as an F-M, I panic, thinking it's not just discussion.  It's my love telling me he's moving on to another surgery.

I have shell shock.

Papi is like a bull in a china shop, destroying everything in his wake so that he may get to what he wants.

I try so hard to keep up. 

It feels like the moment I begin to breathe easy, there's another bomb to be let off.

Today, my love started speaking about a surgery similar to phalloplasty.  "The thing is I would like to penetrate you.  You wouldn't like that?  I just thought we could talk about it.  It's what couples do."

I could barely make a sound, but I was able to peep out, "Your idea of talking, is you talk about it, then you do it."

"I haven't looked into doing it and I don't have plans for at least 5 years.  Don't start crying and getting stressed out.  I understand that with the hormones I didn't have a conversation about it and I just did it.  I'm not going to just do this.  I want you to know that, but I just wanted to show you the options and discuss it because I don't have anyone to talk about it with.  I don't want the big penis.   This is different!  It's not phaloplasty it's just a lengthening of the clitoris."

so ... what you're saying is you'd like the 5 foot clitoris to be made a reality?

"It feels so much like ... "

"Like what, sweety?"

I just couldn't speak.  I could only stare forward.

memories ... horrid feelings brought up by ghosts ... don't speak ... if you ignore it, it will just go away ... memories ... nightmares ... they fog my vision ...

Papi was concerned that I went off to never-never-land.  "I just wanted to talk.  We'll discuss it together, and if it's going to disgust you, then I'm not about to do it, because I want be able to have still have sex.  It's just that there's a different option.  We don't even have the money, so I'm not going to spring it upon you and do it."

My love tried a different angle to get me to speak and not stare off at ghosts, "I am pretty happy that I have facial hair and no breasts.  I don't want you to get upset about it, but shouldn't couples talk about these things?"

"I feel like every time I begin to relax, you spring more on me and I'm just not ready to move forward.  I just want to get my head around what I've already accepted."

"There's nothing to spring on you, it's an option and I won't do it unless we decide together that it's all right.  I'm not even sure how much it would hurt, it's just that you can pee standing up.  I can perfect the Pee-cock until I can get better.  I just have to practise because I don't want to piss on myself again."

Papi could see I still have troubles trusting that he isn't going to run off and do it.  "Well, you always knew I wanted the top surgery, but the hormones I did spring on you.  The hormone thing wasn't very good of me.  I regret that whole situation and should've brought you into counseling.  I'm not saying I'm doing it I just want to discuss it it.  I won't bring it up again."

Now I felt bad, so I timidly squeaked out a few words.  "When we discuss things, they immediately happen, and I don't have any say."

"You can you have a say.  I'm not married to the the decision."

"But if you were wanting it, you'd just do it.  I don't have a say in anything with this transformation."

"If I'm thinking something, I should be able to tell you.  Don't you think that is right?  If you're thinking something you should tell me.  I'm not just going to go do it.  I promise you that.  I'm telling you I'm happy right now and I want you to believe me."

"It's hard."

"I know, but can yo please just trust me?  I do know that getting a penis would be a deal breaker for you."

My love then took the initiative to call the hotline for adult survivors of sexual abuse to start the ball rolling for my healing.

Papi asked me if I have to write about everything in my blog when it comes to our discussions.  Mi esposo would like it if we could just have a conversation without me writing about it.

Sorry Papi.

This is where I heal.

This is where I'm heard, and can speak.

This is safety for me when I'm feeling there is none, and right now, I'm scared.

Papi's reality show

Ya know?

I think Papi enjoys being the Tranny Terrorist a bit too much.

When Papi dropped me off at work, and I was harassing my love in regards to the leg hair, "Farewell hairy monster," my love revealed a new area that was growing man hair that I never even thought about.

Stomach.

Not impressed.

I guess if I'm going to irk my love with cheeky words, there will always be a comeback that doesn't even require words now.

Later on, while Papi was changing massive bandaids on still raw looking nipples, I was yet again awarded another look at them.

"Look!  The nipple is going to look like this when the scab falls off!"

Nice.

That's lovely my dear.

I tried so hard to look and have actual interest, but my face unfortunately, cannot lie.

"The look on your face is hilarious!"

Is this why Papi torments me?

Could it be that this is mi esposo's entertainment every day?  The object of the game is to see just how puckered my lips can get, how many wrinkles I can extend on my forehead and how much I can raise my nostrils as I crimp the skin between my eyes.

Maybe my love is enjoying being the star of the blog show.  Really, I say it's my healing journey, but most of the time, it's all about Papi and the ridiculous antics I have to endure.  This is possibly like a reality show you read and mi esposo is addicted to the attention!

Or, perhaps this is my love's way of giving me something to write?  Yesterday I received a review of my blog from Papi, "Your blog was boring today."

Well, damn!

I better get something better to write about then.

the moral of the story is, if my blog is boring, then so is papi, no?

Enter stage left: the nipples.

The doctor appointment Papi had yesterday was great for Papi.  My love came bounding out of the office, "She said they looked incredible!"

I'll have to have a word with my doctor. 

please don't feed the animals

I guess to a doctor who's having one of a very few F-M patients, she has probably seen worse.

I mean, this is really why we flew all the way to Florida; to get the very best surgeon.

There are some that are really awful.

We have seen some really bad jobs where people have gotten tired of the top surgery wait list, and gone to someone they could afford.

Goddam!  You don't want to be mucking about with top surgery!

Anyway.

Just got my paycheck from that unpaid time off from said surgery.

No cash and a kick in the teeth.

There ya go.  Papi gave me something to write.

how many stars will i receive today i wonder

More awards :)

I believe the awards I receive daily are the comments that I am given.  It's so sweet to see '1 unmoderated comment' in my dashboard.

But there are also people who will give me real shiny awards that I get to display on the side of my blog, for all eyes to see.  Each one I'm so very grateful for.

Here's two more I received:

this one is from 7ladybugs click on it! it is the second time i received it, so i think i don't have to repeat the words from the last time i received it :)

this one is the newest one and it's from borderline girl, so i'll be doing the work on this one yikes! but click on it to see her blog too!

You can click on these new awards and read their blogs ... I also have them on the side.

You may recognize one of them :) it is making it's rounds in many blogs, but I'm still pleased to receive it a 2nd time.

Just like with the 'Versatile Blogger' I received, the 'Stylish Award' also comes with rules:

these generous people are making me work!  especially because i have to find new people to give the latter to!

1. Thank the person who gave me the award, and link to them. (see above. I did!)
2. List 7 things about me.
3. Pass the award on to 15 newly discovered bloggers.
4. Contact them, and tell them about the award.

Anyway, here's more about me:

I'm envious of girls with nails

I have a man-crush on Jon Stewart's brain

I have a beautiful sister

I secretly want to play the oboe

My favourite flower is the Gerber Daisy (aka African Daisy)

I'm behind 2 years on my taxes

I'm in love with the most wonderful person on the planet 

(you'll have to settle for 2nd most wonderful, sorry)

Here's the blogs that are fancy and stylish:

http://brittanytsintx.blogspot.com

http://addictedtosugar.blogspot.com

http://mommyalternative.blogspot.com

http://lovedancingintherain.blogspot.com

http://fatuousanility.blogspot.com

http://lifebeginsatforty2.blogspot.com

http://gramme2006.blogspot.com

http://ididntdoithonest.blogspot.com

http://developadeeperconnection.blogspot.com

http://miller-blogmadness.blogspot.com

http://aliciatoday-alicia.blogspot.com

http://philenotfound.blogspot.com

http://smashtheowl13.blogspot.com

http://weespookeezdesign.blogspot.com

http://theisleofmulling.blogspot.com

Alright then, I'm off to inform the above fore-mentioned bloggers.  This could take me a while!

Thank you ladies ... again, you've made my day

xo

Another award :)

This one is so sweet.

This one is paying homage to being a reader.

A 'follower'.

An award for being a follower of one of my favourite bloggers and seriously, a talented, wonderful person.

Bio.

I strongly recommend you go check out Bio's store too.  Just click on the award and look to the right for her artwork.

I love it!

Thank you Bio.  You truly are a sweet, loving heart.

My awards ...

I don't normally post twice in a day, but today I will, as I just want to post about my awards I've received.

I hadn't gotten to this one, because it required work, but here it is:

I had received this from Shareena (you can click on the award to see her blog), and thank you my dear.  Now have to give it to 7 people and say 7 things about me.

I'm giving it to:

http://writingsofaprodigy.blogspot.com

http://timoslt.blogspot.com

http://rabblerousernyc.blogspot.com (unfortunately, you'll have to be invited to see this one)

http://myconfusiontheory.blogspot.com

http://dirtycowgirl.blogspot.com

http://itsagaylife-jamiessmiles.blogspot.com

http://www.boimeetsplay.com

And now 7 things about me?  God I don't like this part.

I'm the wife of a transgendered FtM

I play 5 instruments, 3 of them well: my voice, electric bass and piano

I love yoga

I am healing from a brain injury from a motorcycle accident 2 years ago

I'm almost 12 years clean and sober

Even though I'm a lesbian I shave ALL my body hair thank you very much

I only swim in water where I can see the ground.

And now the second one, it doesn't take work, just a sweet thank you to that Dirty Cow Girl.  (click to find her):

A few weeks ago, I received one from K Marie: (click and read)

Thank you all of you.  

I really appreciate it.

And to those of you whom I gave it to, thank you to you as well ... I enjoy reading your words.