it was only day one ...

You really have to laugh.

My baby sister saw a pic Papi posted of us while we were in the 2nd tow truck after our car broke down and asked, "Why are you smiling?!?!"

Because you have to laugh.

We have a car we bought from the devil himself.  We had it 'repaired' the day before we left for our trip to the nerve center of this country.

I've been having some troubles being stranded at the side of the road in our small town in the country, but there's one problem area you do not want to experience being broken down in, and true to our nature of never ending drama, this is where the car was grounded.

Now, I've spoken before about how we're living in a pretty vicious country, but just to recap for those of you who are new to my world, people in this country are so desperate to get their cerveza for the day, they will kill you for 5 pesos.

I am not exaggerating.

We set out to the capitol, Santo Domingo, to get my salt air impaired piano fixed by the best in the country.

But not only that, we had 2 computers, also slain from living too close to the ocean, along with our computer we've been sharing and an iPad for the other soul who doesn't get to the shared computer first.

Oh, and cash in case we got stranded.

Off we drove with our tinted windows, to be sure people couldn't see we were gringos right away in hopes that we don't get accosted, and drove on a highway where there is nothing for miles, except for the occasional horse.

It's an ideal stretch for serial killers to dump bodies in, but we don't have that problem in this country.  Generally speaking, that seems to be more of a phenomenon of white men in 1st world countries.

However, it is a great place to be dumped after desperate pirates take everything you own, then kill you so you can't identify them.

Satan's Sedan croaked and we were stranded in bum-fuck-nowhere, Dominican Republic, near 2 horses who seemed to salute us with an anxious, "Neigh!!!!"

We were fortunate that this toll road had an emergency number.  We called it and the woman who spoke speed Spanish did her best to get information out of me about where we were.

"Ummm ... near 2 horses and coconut trees."  It couldn't have been arduous to find the farcical gringos with a raised hood.

When they arrived, they found me searching the grass.  Why?  Because when I had taken the radiator cap off, the lid blew off like a volcano.

Not to mention, I had green coolant dripping from my face, hair and clothing.  The saving grace was that I had waited long enough that the coolant did it's job and I didn't get a 3rd degree burn from boiling fluid.

Papi had a good laugh at my face of disgust.  Yeah.  Really funny.

Anyway, thanks to our emergency crew we didn't get killed by fortune hunters.

The emergency crew called a tow truck for us, but he could only bring us to the first toll booth.  We needed a 2nd one once we passed that border.

Upon meeting the first driver, I had asked Papi to please sit in the middle, so that I didn't have to sit beside what my spidey senses told me was a creepy man.

"No!  You speak Spanish!" Papi said.  Oh yes.  This guy whispered things to me in Spanish that Papi couldn't understand.

Really, I couldn't understand the words, but I understood the energy quite clearly.

We got to the 2nd leg of the highway of hell without being raped and the new tow truck driver, who was a sweet family man, got us to a repair shop with our car and all it's belongings in tow.

This is where we met the garage owner who had two thumbs ...

... i'm not kidding ... it was QUITE fascinating ...

... who told us that our engine was dead.

Dead engine.  Stuck 3 hours away from home, no clue to know whether he was lying or not with one option: we had to accept that we were going to have to pay for a new engine if we were to make it home again with the demon's dump of a jalopy.

An engine takes a little time to be put into a car, so we had a forced vacation, but there's so much more to tell you.

Why I'm writing a blog instead of practising my piano that we went all the way there to get fixed?  Because I can't find my fucking piano power cord.

Jeeeeeezus have I left all my cords in Santo Domingo?!?!?!

We can't do anything without drama, which is entertainment for everyone.

Don't ever feel bad if you have a boring life.

I'm thanking my angels that we got through the trip and made it back home alive.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to a puking puppy.

And people wonder why I started drinking again ...

i allow my life to be filled with peace

no, no, no, no, NO!!!!

This stress is too much sometimes.

We had our first open house yesterday.  What came next may sound really good, but at the same time, it's problematic.

We didn't really expect the response, but 5 people are interested, which means we'll be homeless soon.

That's where the trouble comes in.

We have nowhere to go with our 5 animals yet.

If you're not from Canada, sometimes, you may think we live in igloos.

Well, we might be living in an igloo.

Ok.  Not quite an igloo, but we do have a place to go to that is free: Bum-fuck-nowhere with The Uncle.

Nova Scotia.

compliments of wikipedia

See that little red island off the coast of Canada?  Colder than cold.

This is where people go to retire, not start a new life, because there's nothing there.

This is where my piano will be living.

So, we could move to my personal version of hell, or waste all our money sticking around a city that is way too expensive.

It won't take long to get super broke, super fast, in this way beyond our means city of Vancouver.

I'm quite a bit less than impressed.

While Papi was driving around with 5 animals in the car yesterday, listening to either panicked panting from dogs, yowling death screams from cats or hyperventilating from me, ...

... thank you ptsd ...

... neither of us knew that we'd come home to this news.

It's too soon!  We're going to be homeless!  With 5 animals!

Fuck.  This is a bit warped and wacky.

Ahem.  Hello!!!  Our dream is the Dominican Republic.  Not fucking iceland.

Nothing against Iceland.  I'm sure they're a beautiful country.  I'm talking ice-land.

Brr-fucking-chill.  But it's free.

... yeah ... there's a reason ...

I suppose it's ok, because there won't be any distractions and maybe we'll get some rest.

Oh.  Speaking of no rest for the wicked, there was an 'issue' with the pussies.

One of them now has a black eye, that could have easily been a loss of it.

Psycho Kitty took a bit of a beating from The Bastard Prince.

I actually thought it would have been the other way around, but nope.

Psycho Kitty had blood flowing out of his eye at 3:30 a.m., and I thought that we now had 2 one-eyed Fuzzy Family members.

We cleaned him up a bit and found it was cut on the eyelid, only millimetres away from actually hitting his eyeball.

So, he has a bit of a swollen black eye right now and is looking a bit droopy in the lid.

However, I am now armed with spray bottles in every doorway entry.

Fuck I hope this is was the fight that ends the battle.

Do I sound like my mind is blown yet?  I'm pretty sure I'm ready for that straight jacket.

And this is the journey.

my future looks great

Time to get a gun.

That's what I'm thinking.

Interesting that this Miranda Lambert song was the song I sang the most yesterday.

Some songs are made for the day better than others, however, I didn't know why I played this one over and over, other than the fact that I love it.

You see, Papi had a birthday surprise for me.

He told me to be ready by 3 and not to eat a big lunch.

How could I not eat a big lunch?

I have $350 worth of food to eat before it goes bad.

Including a wheat free, dairy free birthday cake, filled with sugar to throw my chemical imbalance into a tizzy.

Fuck it.  I ate it.

I ate the whole fucking thing.

That's right.

That's what you all get for missing my birthday:  Hurricane Andréa, complete with zits from head to tits.

What fucking ever, I don't fucking care, and I finished that bitch off last night.

Today I'll be starting on the salmon and shrimp.

Anyway, back to my wonderful surprise.

For starters, we went out to a wheat free, dairy free restaurant and I had a Reuben Sandwich.  It was good times having sauerkraut hanging from my braces.  It made for good Brace Face.

When I was finished brushing my teeth after an hour of hogging the only bathroom in the joint, he got out the GPS and we headed out of town.  As we drove closer to bum-fuck-nowhere, I got more and more curious about where the hell we were going.

Oh, but when we got to the door, I can't tell you how ecstatic I was!!!

A fucking shooting range bitches!!!!!!

I blasted those mother fucking bullets into the pretend person's head and chest. 

I didn't really have anyone in mind for a kill list, so you can all rest easy.

Goddamit, I can't tell you how fucking good it felt with every kick back that little canon gave me.

BANG!!  BANG!!  BANG!!

Take that mother fuckers!!  And that!!  And that!!

I've always wanted a gun and nobody will allow me to have one.

... can't imagine WHY?!?!? hehehe ...

I do have to say, it was probably the best birthday present/surprise ever.

It felt so good.  It felt just like I've always expected it to feel, but it was over too soon.

At the end, when my heart was pulsing with adrenaline, this is what I looked like:

Do you see that look in my eyes?!?!

Oh, how I enjoyed it.  Maybe just a little too much?

It's interesting that the song I played on repeat over and over all day was foreshadowing my day.

Indeed.

Time to get a gun.

life is a joy filled with delightful surprises

I'm Getting Out the Cattle Prod

There was a little bit of panicked entertainment last night.

My dear Papi had a little scare from the post-surgery healing.

We phoned the nurse's line who directed us to go immediately to emergency.

Now, normally, that would be something to panic about, but unfortunately, we're sorta used to being there because of me.

However, I was overjoyed that we weren't going there as a result of my bitch of a back.

I've been in so many times, that I now have a 'rule'.  I am not to be taken to emergency unless my eyes, ears and nose are all bleeding simultaneously.  There was no blood spewing from my head, so I was happy to be going there for mi esposo.

Good times at the hospital.  Let me tell you.

Remember I told you that the nurses, docs and admitting people out in bum-fuck-nowhere could teach the Vancouver hospitals a few things about bedside manner and customer service?

Well, one of my friends who works in a Vancouver hospital said, "That's probably because out in bum-fuck-nowhere, they don't have all the assholes downtown that we have to deal with on an hourly basis."

So true.

I mean, even though my fellow bird of a feather crazies seemed to find me at the hospital in bum-fuck-nowhere, they weren't quite as intense as the people who visit emergency in Vancouver.

oops ... off track ... i'll get to the point ...

My first experience with bringing Papi, was that they weren't going to let me sit with my love.

You know how a cat will relentlessly meow at you for their food?  I was a bit like that last night with the volunteers, nurses and admitting people, because they weren't going to let the 'spouse' be with their better half.

c'mon people! don't you know i'm famous??!? you don't want me to write about you!

Eventually, Papi came out and I was back to happy again.  But damn!  They're lucky I needed a whole wackload of pain killers yesterday.  Those little drops keep me much sweeter to those around me while there's pain shooting down my legs.

Anyway, the most fun was when the admitting nurse saw 'male' on my love's identification, but that Papi was there for possible post-surgery infection due to a full hysterectomy.

This nurse addressed Papi, "Ok, so there's no easy way to ask this ..."

Before the question was answered, she looked up from her computer screen to two Cheshire Cat, shiny, brace face smiles.

Papi relieved her by saying, "I'm a transsexual female to male who just had a hysterectomy."

The woman was much nicer to me after having to ask her embarrassing question.

Well, I got mi esposo lying down to ease the pain, and Papi and I proceeded to spend some quality time together.  This was when my love decided to tell me that I didn't do as good of a job as the g'ma used to when it comes to taking care of him.

well my love, that's probably because i'm not a passive aggressive control freak ... ummm ... well not anymore, that is ...

So, when Papi told me that, I decided that I needed to be more forceful, and not ask if my love would like something.  I should tell my love he's going to have it.

So I tried at the hospital to make Papi drink more water.  I was presented with a stubborn mule who kept turning his head away, in an attempt to evade the glass.

Really Papi?!  This deserved the remark in mi esposo's face, "You fucking bugger!  Do you see?  I do try to take care of you, but you're a fucking manchild and don't let me!"

Yes.

I am a good caretaker.  My love, if you thought you saw caretaking before, you'll be seeing it now with a riding crop in hand.

Perhaps even a cattle prod.

Oh, yes.  I'll be making you drink your water and eat your meals.

Oh, by the way, Papi's going to be fine, as long as he complies with my orders, that is.

Ok, so Papi didn't die ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ok.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, I ate the rest of my food.

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

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

Oh, the droopy face was awesome.

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

So, Papi didn't die.

Now I don't have to kill him.

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

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

Yesterday, Papi asked me, "Are you nervous about Friday?"

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Because you seem like you are," he added flippantly.

Huh?

I didn't know I was giving off heebie, jeebie vibes.

But then, it is me we're talking about.  I'm not really good at hiding my feelings.

We had good news from the benefits.  Papi gets a private room.

this is good, because nobody will see me force feeding papi vegetables.

I figure I can feed my love anything I want, because he won't be able to do anything about it.

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

I'm on a mission to force feed my love different things that normally he would turn his nose up at.

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

The other good part, is mi esposo is having a positive experience using medicinal cannabis for anxiety.

Well, the inevitable will happen and you will get the munchies.  Then we reach for carbs, sugar and salt.

But honestly, when you have the munchies, anything will taste good.

So, in my evilness of health food persuasion, I'll be making sure Papi gets to try new things when those munchies kick in.

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

I forgot that tomorrow is the day that mi esposo keeps speaking about as bum-fuck-nowhere doomsday with Dr. Scissorhands.

The only reason I can't completely forget is because Papi keeps talking death talk.

Now that I'm remembering, it's time to distract myself again.

I'm gong to go work on the film score and cook.

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Anyway.

I'm nervous.

And I just donned on me that I'll be in the throws of dressings and a stubborn patient.

Yeah.

Stubborn patient doesn't really even come close to what I'll be dealing with.

So, tomorrow is another change.

But that's what life's about anyway, isn't it?

The Last Piece of the Puzzle.

2 more days until Papi changes again.

I get stomach flips and heart flutters.

I'm so lucky that I have friends out in bum-fuck-nowhere who will be keeping me company and keeping me distracted.

sorry if i've offended thee with my opinions of drunks, zealots 'n pedophiles out in your area ... i'm sure your area is lovely in your world ...

My love is no longer having panic attacks from the fear.  A little Clonazepam and medicinal cannabis has Papi in a very relaxed state.

I'm not used to it.  Normally Papi is a 'Frantic Go-Getter', as one of his clients puts it.

The only thing I am not appreciating is my love's talk of death.  "Well, what if I die on the operating table?!  Then you'll need to know stuff and I have to have everything in order!"

This is the part that I hate the most.

No matter how many times I ask, "Why are you talking like this?!" I get the same reaction.

In some ways, I just want Dr. Scissorhands to get in there and get out so I don't have to hear anymore doomsday talk.

papi, i swear to your god, if you die, i will kill you ...

People have hysterectomies all the time, so this one will be just another routine surgery and it will all be ok.

It will all be ok, because everything works out.  All the time.  Every single thing.

If Papi were to leave this planet, I have a La-Z-Boy that I'll just dwell in and the Fuzzy Family can just fend for themselves.

I'm sure the last one to be standing will be Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Mind you, The Bastard Prince can get up into cupboards where there are other treasures to find for food.

The Golden would probably peter out.  He's not too good at being bad and finding food on his own.  So, The Mrs. will feast on The Golden.

G'ma and Psycho Kitty will be fine upstairs.  Psycho Kitty will just eat G'ma.

See!  It will all work out just fine.

I will reside in the Pit of Doom in my La-Z-Boy.  I've been catatonic before.  I'm a pro.

What I've done recently is completely distract myself so that I don't even have to think about all this.

You know how it is, right?  I'm so good at denial.

Last night, my sister asked me if I'm nervous about my Discovery for the motorcycle accident coming up this month.

I had to remind her that because of the brain injury, I don't remember very well, and that I'd forgotten about it, so there's no point in worrying.

However, ever since she asked that, I've remembered.

argh that sucks ... my denial has been stripped!!

Mind you, I'm probably not worried, because I have nothing to hide.

It's pretty cut and dry.  I got hit on my motorcycle, flew 15 feet through the air after tumbling over the hood of her car, and landed on my head.

There's nothing really to discuss.  I deserve to be taken care of by my insurance, which is why we pay through the nose every year.

Oh right!

Back to the denial about the surgery!

I can officially say, I'm out of denial about it.

2 more days.

All I can say is, I'm happy it's the last piece of the puzzle that we have to go through to making my spouse the person he's always felt like inside.

There will be no death.  There will be healing with 'droopy face' from all the pain meds.

It's my turn to giggle at Papi for being zonked out on pain killers.

Drool away Papi.  Your friends who believe in their higher power are all praying for you.

I'm just going to sit with the energy of 'everything always works out'.

Thinking ...

Our day was good.

After the appointment in bum-fuck-nowhere that is.

You know when you know someone so well that there are things about them you learn that nobody else would understand?

One of those things I'm still trying to get wired into my brain.

When my love is anxious, it's hard for him to emotionally deal with anything else.

"Can we have a drive without any talking?" mi esposo asked me, as we were heading for our one and half hour drive.

omg ... no speaking for an hour and a half?!?

That's not so easy for me at the best of time, but when I've had pain killers, I get a little chatty.

to say the least ...

I also like to sing along with the radio on full tilt.  This was not going to work for someone who has cranky pants, so I asked, "Umm, is it ok if I hum?"

I was granted a nod of yes and that kept me happy.

My love is also sick with a flu.  That's not good for the mood either, but after the appointment everything was sunshine and rainbows again.

It took me that long to figure out that Papi was uptight about the surgery.

In the past, mi esposo had a secret stint with my codeine, and that made Papi an asshole.

I didn't figure out that he was dipping into my stash until our conversations turned into processing the bearish attitude that was raging in Papi.

However, there are no more of those horrid pills in the house, so when Papi's bad-humoured, it's for another reason.

I mean really, I should know what it's about.  I should know that I haven't done anything to make the crabby come out.  I get the same way just before a gig.

When I was a kid, you couldn't even be around me for a week prior to a piano recital.

sorry mom 'n sis ...

Anyway, after the appointment my love was happy again, and I realized that it had nothing to do with me.

I then had permission to be loose-lipped and sing along with the radio, which also came with apologies from Papi, who also figured out why he was so miserable.

One thing I do have to say about the hospital out there, is the people in Vancouver hospitals could use a bit of 'customer service' training from these folks.

The nurses were so nice there that I was shocked.  We don't get that kind of treatment here in the big city.

I suppose it's that laid back mentality of being in the sticks.

Whatever it was, I was impressed.

They treated Papi with respect and had absolutely no transphobic indications.  They asked curious questions which helped them learn more about transgender people.

There wasn't a creepy person in sight in the hospital, and Dr. Scissorhands was no where to be found.

The whole day went well, and I got to thinking about my own reproductive health.

Now normally, I would never let anyone near my uterus.  I've finally made friend's with that body part, even though it can't bear children.

However, I got to thinking about the risk of cancer in my family, and specifically that my mother and grandmother both had ovarian cancer.

Then I switched to thinking about the bloating and cramps that I could bid adieu if they snagged my uterus out of me.

Putting together the risk of cancer, cramps and inability to bear children got me thinking about whipping that organ out.

Thinking.

That's all.

I am feeling very positive about Papi's hysterectomy now.

It's a far cry from where I was 11 months ago.

I assume that once I see how much pain mi esposo will be in after surgery will stop my thinking about my own uterus.

I'm pretty sure about that one.

Evil Eye

We're taking a drive out to Dr. Scissorhands.

It's the pre-hysterectomy appointment.

My love has PTSD about the evil eye that I hand out occasionally.

You see, when we went in to have an orientation about the top surgery, I really wasn't ready to support my love, and the guy who was talking about the surgery had to feel my wrath.

I am really good at dirty looks.

Not something to really be proud of, but I've had it down since I was a kid.

Once, someone, somewhere, pissed me off at the ripe age of 4, and they made the mistake of coming to my house to ask me if I could play.

I was busy playing with my toys at the front door, so when she came up the stairs, I was ready.

After she knocked, I peeked through the mail slot and spat out, "Whadda you want?" with obvious disdain.

She asked me if I wanted to play and I let the mail slot with close with an echoing, "No."

That was when my first evil eye was noted by my parents.

From that day forward, it was my secret weapon.

And ohhhhhhh how I used it on the dude at the top surgery office.

Yeah.

I wasn't ready.

And I was pissed off.

Papi never let me forget it.

Every appointment we've been to that has to do with the male transformation, my love asks about a million times before we go, "Ok.  You're not going to give the evil eye right?"

Of course not Papi.

Where on earth would you get that idea?

I mean really, last time we went to see Dr. Scissorhands, I didn't give the evil eye.

I sat quietly and listened to doc explain how they're going to take my love apart.

I had my 'pretend' face on.

The one where you just turn the outer edges of your lips up, and smile with your eyes.

It was hard to hold the whole time, but I did it.

I'm a proud executioner of 'Fake it until you Make it".

Today I don't feel as rancid as I did back then.

Yes, I've opened my mind a lot more.

I'd rather that my love has this operation anyway, because there were pre-cancerous cells brewing there in the past.

Get rid of them.

I want to spend a long life with mi esposo.

Mind you, what the cancer can't get to, the bad eating will take care of I'm sure.

Did I ever tell you that I have to make food for my love if I want him to eat healthy?

I'm sure I have.

My cookie monster chases his pizza dinner with a chocolate bar.

Mind you I'm pretty psychotic about my health.

My version of junk food is a can of soup, and a cup of coffee.

Anyway, back on track.

Today, we're driving out to bum-fuck-nowhere for the pre-surgery appointment.

I, Andréa Hector-Brown, promise to play nice.

I will not slam the mail slot on his face and give the evil eye.

I will fake it until I make it.

Besides, he was kinda nice, and because of the long drive, I'll be hopped up on pain killers which will put a smile on my face whether I like it or not.