goodbye

All good things must come to an end.

I believe that time has come for this blog.

It started out I needed it.

I needed 'you', the reader I didn't know.

I needed support from those who have walked the same path as I.

I needed to see my counter go up, up, up, every day from readers I don't know from here to Russia, in hopes that they would show me how to love myself and be proud of who I am.

I needed so much love.

I believe I've found that love, for myself.

I've fought through the tears of those in an entire 'community' who intentionally hurt me.

I've fought through the tears of losing my butch.

I've fought the good fight with anorexia and depression, and I still continue to give my chemical imbalance a work out, only now it's with a machete instead of boxing gloves.

Still, none of that changes the fact that I've needed a life change to change me.

Oh, how I got it.

It's time to move forward.

It's time to finish writing those novels I started.

Maybe on the balcony with my morning coffee as I look out at the white noise.

It's time to get up in the morning and turn on my programs to compose music just like I did before the motorcycle accident.

Which is really why we are here.

To have a life beyond the suffering I was dealt from my bitch of a back.

I'm almost at the 5 year mark of healing from that disaster.

My Living Day Anniversary.

It can't heal my brain injury and subsequent memory fail and loss of balance, but I can strive for the life I once led.

As a different person.

I have changed.

We all change.

We all grow, if we try.

I grew.

It's time to put that growth to music now that I have the ability, with the help of loving tropical heat, to sit to do so.

I'm not saying I won't return.

Of course I need my soapbox every once in a while.

My opinions are strong and I lead them with conviction, regardless of how many people try to silence me.

Perhaps it's time to start a wave here?

Power to women?

Power to those with cancer and chronic pain who are denied the simple, ethical relief from that hell I know so well.

To not give local anesthesia to a child who needs stitches in his head is barbaric.

I've suffered 4 months of pain of a torn ankle ligament without meds.

Perhaps I need to make some pain relief in the form of cookies to help those who need it.

There's a lot in this country that could use a voice.

I may keep my voice for here.

Or, I may just knowingly live with the 'rules', then break them.

I don't know.

What I do know, is it's time to step away from my morning ritual of blogging.

I'm not saying goodbye to 'you'.

I'm just saying it' time to start that New Life List.

i am the only 'sign' i need

Papi is a thug.

Of course, when we see someone we love, we see them in a much different light than those who don't know them.

To most people, I seem like the sweetest, most innocent person around.

I've got them all fooled.

Well, there was Papi, coming back from doing something while I was patiently waiting in the car, ...

... sorry, no details because my brain isn't giving them to me ...

... and I saw what some people see.

Thug.

He's put on a few pounds in the last year, which is great!

Not that he was too thin or anything, but it means that his body on the whole is finally healing from C Difficile.

... ah for fucks sakes!!! ... i JUST spilled coffee on one of my last 'un-spilled' white tees i own ... aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!! ...

He couldn't keep anything in his gut for more than 20 minutes it seemed, but now he's keeping it in and eating like a madman!

I'm so happy that he's put on weight.

Papi, not so much.

As for me, I'm not impressed that the pain killers I've been on have given me a dose of the 'pharmaceutical poof'!

Anyway, I digress.

So, there he was coming out of the cat clients house, ...

... ooooh!  i knew if i didn't think about it, it would come!! ...

... and I saw it.

Thug.

Tattooed from knuckle to neck, hair cut of a marine and a nice dinner shirt that is at least a size too small for him.

If I didn't know him, I may look at him from a different perspective.

Instead I just giggled and realized that nobody is going to mess with him.

We were at Xmas lunch with the 97 year old, Alzheimer's afflicted G'ma, and her 98 year old, dementia stricken sister didn't recognize Papi.

They kept saying who he was.

As in 'was'.

Old school.

Old name, old pronoun etc., because it's the only way she could remember this person in front of her.

Poor old fart kept saying, "No!  That man!  I'm talking about HIM!" as she'd point at Papi again.

I'm sure she wasn't impressed that some asshole brought a thug to lunch!

Papi would never be mistaken for a female now.

When I was making his Xmas present video, I saw him before the male transformation.

These are two completely different individuals.

I love them both.

I still miss my old butch and those perfect Butch Tits every now and then, but right now, I'm just impressed that I'm married to a thug.

I love thugs.

We all know they're just soft teddy bears who would cry at the drop of a hat, don't we?

i am the perfect weight for 'me'

clearing things up.

So, yesterday, I was really hurried in my writing and was also on a hefty dose of pain killers first thing in the morning and I created a bit of a wave in TransLand.

I believe the combination was a bad mix, and I unintentionally hurt people by my words.

I hope to clear things up for you with the 3 topics that have been brought up on my Facebook page both publicly and in private messages.

topic #1

I was speaking about how I am attracted to butches, but that I see I am also attracted to trans guys.

I am not attracted to bio-males, where as some women and men are.

We are all different, and I brought up my baby sister, when first faced with my coming out of the closet, was trying to learn from me.

I used my past of dating only butches to segue to the present and people thought I was saying my love is a butch.

My love is no longer a butch, and I'm still as attracted to him as I was the day I married that butch.

Presently, I am seeing that I am attracted to people with multi-leveled energies, like my love.  I am attracted to the beauty in people's vast differences in being.

topic #2

When I said 'people ... blah blah fucking blah ... freaks', I was really talking about the zealots who like to picket our lives with their signs of Jesus burned to a crisp on a cross at our Pride Parade in the great U S of A.

'They' call gays and lesbian freaks.  'They' call trans people freaks.  'They' call me a freak because I'm attracted to butches, and trans guys.

They can fuck off, because from what I've seen at Gender Odyssey, there's a whole lot of love and acceptance in this world, and their hatred will soon be squashed by the love the world has.

Really, all I wanted to say was, I'm in that boat with all the people I fit in with.  We're all in this together, and it has nothing to do with what anyone else sees us as.

For instance, I am not a 'straight' woman, but I'm seen as such.  Papi is not a woman, and he is not seen as such, luckly for him.

He is seen as the male he has always felt was there, and I'm attracted to my love, but I was afraid I wouldn't be.

I found attraction for another person who carried that energy.  A male being who had a spark of different energy from another part of him.

That made me feel so good, that I could recognize this, and I tried to write about it.

Not everyone would be attracted to the same people I am and I do not think that everyone who is trans has both energies.

I am at peace with my queerness, and see the pattern in my life where, in THE PAST I've had so much attraction for trans guys when they were a 'butch'.

There is no malice meant from my post yesterday, but there were feelings that I had insulted people, because I didn't see others as the beings they are, which is incorrect. 

topic #3

Now.  About the 'tranny' word.  I will continue to stick to my guns and call dykes, fags and trannies as such in a general way, as long as they don't want to be personally called that.

Papi likes to be called that.  The dudes I met at Gender Odyssy like to be called that.

Some people don't and I would never call them that, yet still, as general blabbing here on my blog, I am not using the word in a derogative manner, but more like I would use dyke or fag.

We have taken back dyke and fag, and we use it with adoration and pride.  Why the hell can't tranny be taken back and used for strength?!

I'm not spitting venom when I use the word, and I use it pretty much the same as I would use dyke or fag.

new business/bonus topic #4

Perhaps I shouldn't write my blog in a hurry on pain killers?

I hope I cleared things up from yesterday, and if not and you're still pissed at me, well, as much as I love you stopping by, all I can say is, you are the one making the choice to be here reading.

today's daily mantra comes from my gratitude buddy:

mastakes teach you important lessons.  every time you make one, you are one step closer to your goal.

educating andréa

So, a Blogger Friend asked if it would have been easier to get through Papi's male transformation if it wasn't intentional.

I think the intentional part is what got me.

If my love was in an accident and his features changed, I would have loved him just the same.

I would not have been a lunatic grieving the loss of my butch.  I'd be too busy taking care of my love, and supporting him while he struggled through a rough time of accepting his own new body.

Which I would understand fully now.

I'm not the same after my motorcycle accident, or so Papi says.

Apparently I was different before the brain injury.

I don't know, because this new brain is all I know now, and I've come so far in three and a half years, that I can't imagine being any different.

Although, I do know that I didn't wobble around and tip over like a drunk, without drinking alcohol, prior to the accident.  I also didn't break as many things and forget so much that I have a permanent list just to get through my day.

However, having said that, I also wasn't as happy.  I won the lottery of life and I will never take it for granted again.

I can say, that I know that my body is not the same.  My days of rockin' out on stage with my lovely bass guitar are pretty much over.  Thank god I love scoring to film, is all I can say.

Anyway, I do believe that the changes being intentional were the hard part.

I believe it's human nature to want to fight for everything to stay the same.

Also, that decision that made mi esposo happy was truly a misery for me, and I'm pretty sure it's back to that human nature thing again, with having to control the situation we're not comfortable with.

I have no control of my life.  It's chaotic and it's the life I've been granted, no matter how much peace I strive for.

Ok.  That is not completely true.  I have control of my food.

It's about the only thing that I do have control over; what I put into my body.  It's been my way of dealing with the chaos since I was young.

Hell!

When I was a teen, I wanted to die so badly, that I actually tried to eat as many chocolate bars as I possibly could, every day, in hopes that I would follow suit with some of my family members and get diabetes.

Then, I decided that once I had diabetes, I'd kill myself with chocolate.

Yeah.  Even with suicidal idealism I'm creative.  And dramatic.  I've always been a nutburger, but don't worry, I'm cool with it, even if others are horrified.

Anyway, back on track: Papi's male transformation.

I have no control over his or anyone else's decisions.

That's a fact.

If we do try to control our better halves, we're sure to lose them.

We loved them enough when we met them to accept them as they are and fall in love, didn't we?

Why the hell do we get into this place of feeling like we have to control our loved ones after the love sets in?!?!?

What the fuck is that?!?!?  Seriously!!!!!

Whatever.  I don't try to control others anymore, but what happens on the inside of me is disastrous as I try to let go of that control.

I get so scared and jump to worst case scenario.

But you know that by now, don't you?

Anyway, my love is nowhere near my worst case scenario I envisioned 19 months ago.

Mi esposo es guapo!!!  Even with face fuzz!!!

My overly creative mind has been educated once more, and for that, I am truly grateful.

no education is wasted.  drink in as many new experiences as you can

tears for papi

You know what I think?

I think that Papi and I have been tested up the wazoo, and I think we're on to the next examination of our devotion to each other.

We've survived my motorcycle accident, along with all the brain injury and physical hell that my love has had to endure while watching me struggle to heal.

We've survived a horrible miscarriage, where I had 2 emergency D&Cs, 3 trips to ER, followed by the realization that perhaps, I can't carry a child to full term.

We've survived my love going through male transformation.

We've survived being ostracized by hateful crud in the 'community', who did their best to crush our hearts.

This has all happened in 4 years.

Well, we're now on to another chapter of survival in our relationship.

We're both going through life issues that are not the same, however, we're doing it at the same time.

Today, I begin working on dealing with my past of sexual/emotional abuse, abandonment, and low self-esteem due to my upbringing.

My love lost his mother at the tiny age of 10 and has never really worked on his issues, but now that G'ma is going downhill, he can see her time is coming, and I'm so grateful that he's going for support to deal with his grief.

It breaks my heart to see him in such pain.

We were upstairs organizing our recycling together, when we noticed G'ma didn't eat her dinner.

We tried to give it to her, but she said she's not hungry.

Alzheimer's will do this.

We're seeing all the typical textbook symptoms come to light now, and this is putting my love into a very difficult place; It's bringing up everything from the loss of his mother at such a young age.

It's interesting that we've both had stuff come up from our upbringing at the same time.

My dear sweet Papi is hurting so bad right now, and is afraid that I'll see his worst side and not be able to take it.

I'm not sure if my love has really taken a look at Hurricane Andréa lately, but she is not one to back down from any emotional challenge.

I didn't stick around after the year of grieving from losing my butch, only to take off after a difficult time comes up.

We're two peas in a fucking pod, I'll tell ya.  The 'CooCoo Couple'.

Even still, by having two people who know what it means to work on personal issues, we're very fortunate that we both understand.

My heart breaks to watch my love witness his G'ma getting worse.  It breaks my heart to see his tears roll down his face as he sees G'ma fading.

The one thing I do know is, he will get better.

Everything gets better with time, if you work on it.

Everything works out, no matter how hard it is at the time, even if it's not the result we want.

Between the two of us, our reasons for healing are different, but we're in the same car on the road to get there, we'll just take turns driving.

There is so much work for both of us to do on our own ends, but we'll do it with love, and some more tears.  Not to mention, a few more difficult passages through our own personal hell.

All I know is, I'm ready to be Papi's advocate, support, and caretaker when the time comes for him to fall.

I'm also ready to start my counselling today.

After all the intake has been done, and my case presented to the BigWigs who decide whether or not I get free counselling for 6 months, I've been accepted.

Congratulations Andréa!  You're nuts enough for the government to pay for your counselling!!

I look forward to being even stronger and happier, even if I'm terrified to look at my past.

i am willing to let go

man hater?

Feel free to talk to me today.

I'm not feeling homicidal anymore.

But I am a little cranky at something someone said today.

Why is it that just because a woman is a lesbian, they are automatically deemed a man hater?

I'm just a people hater.

That is, of course, only with creepy people.

Male, female or trans.

And yes, this guy falls under the category of unpleasant.

It's not that I don't have anything to base it on.

He ogles.

Really disgustingly.

Not to mention, I witnessed him picking up a hooker.

That's right, he's a gross, repulsive john.

So, just because Sir Bark-A-Lot gave his best, 'Get outta my fucking house!!' bark he could, doesn't mean that I trained him that way.

Yes.

This person actually said, "C'mon!  You can't train a dog to hate men too!"

Nope.

Listen creepoid.  He just knows you're no good.

I didn't feel the need to tell him that Sir Bark-A-Lot even barks at my closest friends, including My Gratitude Buddy!

The sweetest butch on the planet even gets the rude 'Get outta my fucking house' barks.

He's just very bad-mannered.

Normally I would do my best to continue with the 'Please don't bark like that' training, but today, I figured the more I allowed him to yap, the less time this repugnant person would want to spend in my house.

Covering myself up with baggy sweatpants and a frumpy sweatshirt was my best option to hide from his leers.

It was successful.

Thank you oh yappy one.

You made my day.

Now I have to go fill my space with positive, loving energy.

Perhaps a little incense to wash away the air of your being in my presence?

Yup.

Now that I've got that out of my system, I feel much better.

Onward, ho!

i accept my inner beauty and feel it radiate from me

Femme Sandwich.

Goddam sorry I didn't get to chat to you yesterday.

I was having too much fun being fought over by 2 hot butches and a cute soft dyke at a Shul.

My Gratitude Buddy and our mutual lovely friend were sitting on either side of me and I felt like a femme sandwich.

Deliciously sandwiched between two sexy butches.

My Gratitude Buddy felt the need to have a chat with her pal and asked me to slide over to her seat so she could steal mine.

Of course I allowed her to have her butch time!  But I wasn't pleased that my sandwich was becoming open faced.

When I slid beside the cute dyke to my right, I heard My Gratitude Buddy's pal say, "Hey!  You took away the pretty girl!  Don't be so selfish and share!"

I giggled the sweetest most innocent giggle I've felt in a while.

We changed spots back again, when the stranger that was becoming further from me said, "Hey, but now you've taken away the pretty girl from me!"

I went to my first Jewish ritual ever.

If butches & dykes fight over femmes there, I'm in for good!  Goddam!  I'll be going every week!

Woohoo!

Anyway, I really did enjoy the positive messages that they sent.  It was nothing like the nuns I grew up with that would take any opportunity to belittle or abuse a child.

Oh, here's something I need to ask you.

So, this morning, I broke a mirror.

I'm not sure if I should find some magic potion to rid my existence of the 7 years of bad luck that's supposed to come upon me, or go with the fact that I'm usually quite the opposite of most bad luck theories.

You know how everyone freaks about Friday the 13th?  I look forward to it, because I have nothing but the best luck on that day.

Could this mean that I will have the very best luck for 7 years?

Seriously!

The last 7 years of my life have had a lot of bad luck thrown at me.  Perhaps it's because I hadn't broken a mirror!

Maybe I should break one every 7 years to ensure I have 7 years of good luck!!

So here's my dilemma.  Do I find some sorceress ...

... oh i think i know the right one already ...

... and potentially erase my 7 years of good luck?  Or do I go with the fact that I have good luck on Friday the 13ths?

Do you see my dilemma?

Anyway. 

I'll have to ponder that one while I bide my time until the next Shul.

Seriously.

I'm in.

i accept responsibility for my mistakes, as well as my successes

honky.

We humans are sick fucks.

I was just over at a blogger friend's site, and he made me realize something.  He was talking about how since he's let go of a lot of his anger, he's lost readers.

Nobody really wants to read about people getting happy!

Well, unless of course, they are already happy and the article is about how to become even happier.

There's a difference there.

We people love train wrecks.

We people love to rubber neck.

We love to read about others misfortunes and pain.

Why?

Well, I guess it's entertaining when it's someone else, and sometimes, it makes us feel better about our own lives when someone else has it worse off.

I see this blog moving further away from the grief of losing my butch, because I'm moving away from the pain.

This means, I'm starting to see a shift in the readers I have.  I'm not really losing readers, they're just changing is all.

Changing with me.

Of course, as life progresses, I'm sure it will switch from my dear tranny, to my personal struggle of well being, to our big move to the Dominican Republic.

You will then get to laugh at my failed attempts at milking a goat.

Better yet, you'll get to see a 1st world country, ignorant, honky woman try to mingle with those who only see me as 'white', with really bad Spanish.  Not as a potential friend to fill their heart with love.

There's racism all over the world.

Somehow, as a cracker, I fell like I deserve it though, because of all the wrong doings of my ancestors.

I'm embarrassed that people I may be related to harmed the First Nations here in North America, and it seems, continue to do so.

I'm horrified that great grandfathers used Asian people as a way to get into dangerous areas, because they were considered a 'lesser' human and expendable.

I'm so heartbroken for the stories of Black folks who can tell tales of their family being slaves and beaten for the colour of their skin.

I'm disgusted by the rantings of those in our neighbouring country, who go on about their neighbouring country Mexico being such a problem.

Would you not want to escape a country that is killing your families?  Would you not want to come to a country that was one step up from the perpetual mayhem that is?  It's what your ancestors did when they came over here and took over by killing the indigenous.

I'm sorry for every colour of skin out there that has been harmed at the hands of white people.

All I can say is, I'm so proud that I have Jewish heritage, even if it was only from my Great Grandmother's side.  At least I have something of virtue to hang on to other than my honky background.

Jeeeeezus.  How did I get on this rant?!?!  I was just talking about goats for fucks sakes!!

Anyway, my point was, nobody like to read about boring topics like how Sir Bark-A-Lot just tangoed with Psycho Kitty and lost the fight this morning.

Oh it was good folks.  He didn't start squealing until he broke free.

What kind of idiot chihuahua takes on a cat 3 times his size?!?!

Sir Bark-A-Lot.  That's who.

Sorry if this wasn't angry enough for you.

I'm sure I'll have something to bitch about tomorrow.  I can't really go too long before I'm back on my soap box.

i am sure of my ability to do what is necessary to improve my life

Butch Tits.

Tranny.

I thought I'd say it again just to piss 'them' off.  If I'm going to be bitchy from insomnia, then the rest of you must suffer with me.

Besides, how could I live up to my shit disturber title, if I didn't poke the hornets nest on a daily basis?

One thing I thought about last night until the sun came up this morning, was why I got on those little pharmaceutical puff pills in the first place.  It was to stop the pain and help me sleep.

Well, tough titties.

I'm still going to search for a way to get through the night.

Oh, and speaking of titties, another thing I thought about last night, was how much I miss them.

I grieve them.

I miss just rolling over in bed and having a palm full of pillowy, plush puppies to paw.

I feel like there's something missing from my life now.

I realized, they're never coming back.

If I want to feel those soft familiar friends, I'll have to play with my own.

However, they're not as fun.

I suppose I could take up Papi's offer and play with other women's mammillas, but they still aren't the breasts I married.

It's those breasts I want.

As I listened to Papi snore away the night, I cursed him.  Not for permanently taking away my funbags, but for sleeping better than me and not doing his evening chore of putting Psycho Kitty upstairs.

I was exhausted enough, that I merely laid and listened to the Tom Cat Operetta till the wee hours of morning.

And no, that has nothing to do with boobs, but I thought I'd throw that in there because I'm mother fucking tired and bitchy.

Back to boobs.

Every Wednesday, I volunteer for Queer Arts Festival for 4 hours.

4 hours of sorting papers that have been thrown into boxes for years upon end of neglect gets a little monotonous, so I look around at the walls of the office.

Basically, I get do this in a gallery of photos taken by S.D Holman.

Butch Tits.

Everywhere.

Some I recognize, ...

... not from personal experience ...

... some that look like they'd be days of funbag fondling, others that are pert enough to cut glass.

But Butch Tits everywhere.

It saddens me.

I sit in my composing room and create music, while staring at the only pic I have of my love exposed in all his prior butch glory.

With Butch Tits.

This is one of the hard parts of this transformation.

I know there's a few, but most of it has calmed.  I suppose with any loss, there's a certain amount that will never really go away.

I guess I'm no different.

Butch Tits.

I miss them terribly.

i release all fear ...

Papi's Birthday Suit.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

Papi is getting his male transformation documented by a great friend of ours, who was our wedding photographer, as well as official BlueLight photographer.

She has a nifty ability to capture my love's masculinity.

The first picture took me a while to get used to.  That was one quite some time ago, near the beginning of the bomb drop.

I wasn't really ready to see the 'male' to appear at that point, so I just chalked it up to good angling.

And of course, I didn't go the first time, because I was too far into the Pit of Doom to think about it being 'fun'.

No, I don't know what I did that day, but it had nothing to do with seeing Papi in his ever changing birthday suit.

Well, yesterday I went along like it was any other day, excited to see my sweet friends and their family.

And really, it was like any other day, except my love was completely nude, as opposed to his usual upper torso being the only skin barer, at which point under age, short people were sent to another space in the house.

I love Papi's body.

Honestly, I see his butt as one of the sweetest visions ever.  It's why I have such a great time smacking it, with a flat palm to achieve maximum sound and contact, whenever I get the opportunity.

My absolute fave, is when I've done it on the exact cheek, on the exact day that my love has given himself the hormone injection.

yup ... still not into knowing who, what, where, when or why about anything to do with that poison that stole my butch ...

I can tell I've done this to precision, when I don't get an 'argh' out of my love.  I get a great breath in, then those eyes that widened with my hands contact on his ass slowly make their way toward mine, and I quickly cover my mouth with an 'oops, sorry'.

But mostly, I'm just giggling.

yeah, every once in a while, the masochist becomes the sadist ...

Yesterday was eye opening to me.

I got to sit behind the camera, and with every click, the photographer would take a peek at the pic, but didn't know I was doing the same.

Papi looked great.

And masculine.

With every day that passes, my love is growing into a person that is nowhere near the ogre I was afraid of appearing as my spouse.

He's looking like my love, only more confident.

There's someone in there that I got to see yesterday.

I was silent as I watched.

It was calming to see my love look so proudly courageous, with not a stitch of clothing on.

This would terrify me, for ridiculous reasons that my brain sees as enemy number one.

They asked if I'd like some pics with Papi.

"No, not this time.  I'm not feeling so 'hot' today."

I had on one of my prettiest bra and undies matching outfit, beneath my pants that disguised my angst.

But no, no pictures today.

Let me hit the gym for a few weeks and trick my mind into accepting I'm a healthy weight.

The virus has ended, and now it's time to fight that monster that dogs me so.

Then, maybe I'll be ready for nudie pics again?

Anyway, the whole point.

Papi looks great.

Mi esposo just keeps looking better with every week that passes.

It's proof that beauty comes from within.

when i believe in myself, so do others...

Schmooze-0-Rama!

Well, it's the time of year for parties.

I've been so busy trying to keep up with all the advantageous moments to be amongst friends, acquaintances and BigWigs!

Last night was the BigWigs.

Fortunately, my brain injury has donned me with horrid facial recognition, so when the BigWigs would talk to me, I was calmly myself.

You know how you get when you meet someone important, and you choke up?  Well, that doesn't happen if you don't recognize them.

For example, they were handing out lovely little treats, and I was so hungry that I had to have it, but when I tried to bite in with my Brace Face, it was too hard.

No biggie.

I'll just announce it to the world of BigWig TV producers and directors, and see if someone has a better idea for me than to bite into pork belly on a stick.

I was lucky enough that one of the BigWig's wives was accommodating and passed me some tissues so I could remove the swine on a stake from my mouth, and try to grab some class while finding the perfect place on the table to discard it.

my brace face has really removed the 'classy' in my life ...

But alas, Mr. BigWig took off his glasses when he started to feel a little more 'spirited', and I had no idea who he was.

The night went like that for me repeatedly.  My sweet butch of a friend was my seeing eye person, and I continuously followed her lead.

Although, there were exceptions when she was busy speaking to someone else and I took initiative and introduced myself again.  Only to see their face knowingly smirk, and then I'd ask, "Umm, did we already do this?"

I was greeted with great smiles of, "Yes," and a chuckle.

However, nobody really batted an eye at it and I didn't have to give my brain injury disclaimer, because they were all drinking, so I fit in quite nicely.

Nothing but a room full of nerdy creative types, and I was in my element.

Well, there is a lot more schmoozing to be had this weekend.

I don't usually oblige with the parties etc. at X-Mas, but this year, I'm feeling so happy that I will.

I believe this is the first X-Mas season that I haven't felt like a crying lunatic in years.

Last year, I had the male transformation bomb drop and flood restoration from hell.

2009 was my terrible miscarriage that had me in emergency 3 times within 2 weeks, and 2 separate D&Cs to get that demon out of my body.

2008 was my motorcycle accident.  'Nuff said.

2007 I was suing The Beast who had made me homeless by having a packing party full of rancid people who thought that was the right thing to do to another human being, along with changing the locks on my home.

2006 was alright.  I had finally gotten on meds to help my chemical imbalance stop making me think suicide is a great option in this world.

2005 my Dearly Departed Gypsy girl passed away and I had a nervous breakdown that lasted until after the awful winter season took a hold of my emotions.

Yeah, I could go on, further back into life's miseries, because it just seems that every winter something happens to make me a little more insane.

This year?

I am the happiest that I can ever remember.  I feel like life has finally stopped attacking me.

Well, perhaps I'm just being given a break, because we all know life throws us curves, but none-the-less, I'm taking this break and running with it.

I feel like I'm shining with love and happiness so much, that a perfect stranger said to me last night, "You have such a beautiful smile.  You're always smiling!  People could use a lesson from you in understanding that life is not so bad."

They don't know that I just spent a year grieving and am finally out of the woods.

They don't know that this is the most peaceful, loving X-Mas season I can remember.

Well, off I go to a film screening of the movie I just composed for.

Charmed life?

Indeed.

Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land

So here I sit, waiting for pain killers to set in, and letting brain settle from 2 days of catch up on the most current film score.

I wanted to chat about what I forgot ...

... who me? forget? ...

... to do: I failed to take a picture of my straightened hair.

Some people got confused, and thought that perhaps I'd accepted my role in this transgender relationship by letting go of my butch loving title.

Nope.  I'm not straight.

My hair was.

Emphasis on was.

My hair didn't take too long beat the heat of straightening.

It started to curl without permission of the chemicals, and from there it became a free-for-all of which of my locks could be the fuzziest on my head.

Anyway, I'll be heading back to my cousin's salon to get it done again, and I'll take pictures for sure.  I just didn't realize how quickly my hair would shoot back to Honky 'Fro status.

But as I sit trying to write about my hair, I am bombarded with notifications on Facebook.

Every last one of them has been for the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land.

Yes.

It gets an excessive title, as it seems to be the most important happening in Papi's world.

next to me of course ...

Mi esposo loves Sims so much, that he has 2 personalities' games he plays.

One of them is from my Facebook account.

People who are in my friends list may think that it's me playing.  I mean really!  I could be playing Sims the whole time I just gorged on film score composing.

It could happen!

I could have so little to do in my life that I've built a house in the Sims world.

But, no.

It's Papi.

I feel like I need to set this record straight.

Unlike my hair.

yes ... i will take any opportunity to talk about my hair ...

Anyway, the whole point of this was to talk about that little red notifications alert that comes on our Facebook pages.

So.

Here I sit, watching notification after notification come for Papi, under the guise of me.

sigh ...

If only I was as popular as my 'wack job' character that Papi has developed for me.

No really.

My love asked me what the name of this Sims person should be, and it happened to be on a day when I was having giggle attacks about being called a 'whack job' here on my blob/blab.

So, if you're out there in Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land and you're telling 'wack job' that her mama is a llama, well, it's not me.

I will now return to my brain drain relax, where the only thing my noodle can handle, is to watch Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

Oh, you laugh NOW, eh Papi?

Papi.

Oh, dearest Papi.

We have an 'issue'.

It has nothing to do with my love being a transgender F-M.

It has nothing to do with The Great Breast Disappearance.

It also has nothing to do with the hormones that are rapidly stealing my butch.

It's all about the kitchen sink.

You see, my love doesn't like the 'oogies' that culminate in the drain catcher.

Papi would rather have the chunks of inedibles go down the drain, instead of them being caught and disposed of.

But you see, the problem is, there's a reason for a drain catcher.

It keeps our drains clog free muthafuckah!!!!

Leave those bitches where they belong!!!

Day after day I toddle into the kitchen, roll my eyes and growl, "Papi!!!!" through provoked, pursed lips.

I will inevitably receive the gratuitous, "What did I do now?" with the usual sigh of regret.

Imagine my surprise when I went to make my morning coffee and there was no drain catcher.

Do you see a drain catcher here?!?!

When I say no drain catcher, I mean it wasn't even in the vicinity, never mind the usual place I find it, which is usually an inch away from where it should be to do it's job.


While this would normally create an angry state, I realized that because it was nowhere to be found, that this could very well be the result of the Tranny Terrorist.

Mi esposo is getting better every day, which means I'll be experiencing more of his antics I'm sure.

When I realized there was no sign of this drain catcher, the light bulb turned on.  I thought, perhaps, just perhaps, I should check g'ma's sink upstairs.

Check!

No drain catcher there either!

Aha!

Papi's up to no good again.

My love is lucky I know him well, or I would have woken him to tell me what he did with the goddam drain catcher!



But I knew it was just mi esposo doing what he does best when he feels better.

It just so happened that my love was up 'early' today.  By 'early' I mean 11 am, and I jumped at the opportunity to find out where these little gems were.

My love snickered as he opened the toaster oven.  Perfect place to hide them, considering I wouldn't be using it until the afternoon, hence making me crazy for the majority of the day.

The best part was Papi telling me how he could barely contain himself as he hid my treasures.

Well, I hid something on my love.

Let's see how long it takes for him to realize it's gone.

>enter evil laugh here<

Loss.

It was such a lovely start to my day today.

Morning coffee with one of my sweetest friends.

Of course, I was late.  I didn't set my alarm properly, because our hang out wasn't documented in my phone, hence I forgot.

sometimes, i think i'll never get better from this ridiculous brain injury!!!!!

That was of course, until I woke up and saw the message from her,"I'm in the coffee shop, see you soon!"

That brought on the 1 minute brushing of horrid morning breath, a hat to conceal my almost dreadlocked curls, a backwards shirt that now has toothpaste on it, and my day old socks I'd slept in to keep my tootsies warm at night.

Can you say, "Classy?!?!?"

Hey.

I never admitted to being classy in the first place.

I'm just your run of the mill white trash verging on redneck femme who managed to get out of the house in 5 minutes flat.

I got the the coffee shop, had a quick cuddle with my sweet friend, ordered coffee and went to squeeze my dose of honey in, when I was duped by some mother fucker who left the cap off.

So.

The entire lid and a really massive glop of honey went 'gloop' into my coffee.

No worries!

They made me another one, and handed me a really clean honey bear.  It's not often you get to have the 'cleaned' honey bear at a coffee shop.

From there it got better.

We did our best to catch up in a half hour, but it's never enough with her.  We need a full day to really get caught up.

But we did get to talk about Papi and I.

It's interesting to see someone you haven't seen in a while and be able to look at your current life situation and see how much has changed.

It's a bit akin to writing out your work résumé.  I don't know about you, but I feel pride when I see my life's attainments in one page.

Well, what I realized through our chit-chat is that I am doing well.

But I am feeling loss.

Those pictures of butch breasts at the Queer Arts Festival office still have me missing my love's soft tender breasts.

While talking about it with my friend, I could almost feel my love's cool plump nipple against my cheek.

I could almost feel the encounter of rubbing my fingertips along mi esposo's ample mounds.

I'll never get to feel them again.

The Great Breast Disappearance has created a huge loss.

The good news is, I am now at the place where I can stroke the healing scars on mi esposo's empty cavity, that was once an abundance of supple sweetness.

My love has always said that if I wanted to touch other women's breasts, that there would be no issue on Papi's behalf.

However, none of them are the beautiful mamms that I once held and felt against my own bosom.

Loss.

I suppose I'm now at the acceptance part of the 5 stages of grief.

Now that I'm here, is it supposed to stop hurting?

Well, it doesn't.

i yam what i yam

The funniest part about me asking Papi if he is gay, is that he's now backtracking everything he says in terms of the topic.

"I'm just saying I find them attractive, but it's not that I'm gay."

That is just one of the examples.

My love doesn't understand how much I trust him.

If he tells me he's not gay, then I believe him.

However, methinks thou dost protest a tad too much.

hmmmm ... maybe my love needs another panicked wake up to me hovering over him in bed, after accidentally taking too much medicinal cannabis crack butter, and bark out ridiculous questions ... that would be fun ...

But you see, I'm not even asking Papi anything about it.

He'll be speaking sweetly about someone who he admires and out will blurt, "But I'm not gay!"

It's a bit like a game now.

Last night, we were discussing My Boifriend.

He claims to be gay, but is now in full throws of love with a woman.

That doesn't make any sense with the statement that he's gay.

When it comes to being transsexual, it's really only a one sided sexual preference term anyway.

Seriously.

If Papi is now in the 'man zone', and he loves me, outsiders would consider him straight.

But I'm not straight, and I don't consider myself so.

I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm always going to be who I am, and nothing that Papi has done to his body and chemistry has made me change into someone I don't want to be.

I am a butch loving lesbian.

I have been so since I was a teen.  I've been so since that time that I couldn't really understand the feelings that I was having about the girls on sports teams.

Hott!!

I'd watch them be masculine in their own way.  They didn't know the feelings I had about them being butchy with their basketballs and soccer balls.

good god ... that was wayyyyy too many balls in one sentence ...

The ones I thought were sexy turned out to be straight anyway.  It was only the idea of them being butch that I was attracted to, but I honestly didn't even know what I was feeling back then!

I'd see bull dykes on the bus and wonder why I was getting so hot and bothered.

I thought these emotions were because I wanted to be like them, but this femme could never be butch.

As much as I'm more like a tomboy in every day life, I like playing dress up too much.

I like to sashay my way through a crowd of dykes, in my best ass outfits, in hopes that the butchiest of the butches will notice my overly round booty and appreciate it.

Yes.

I'm a true femme.

And just because I still love mi esposo despite the changes that are taking place does not make me any different than I was when I fell in love with the world's most perfect butch.

Well, I do have to admit, I think a bit differently since the bomb was dropped last year.  I'm growing, learning and accepting so much more about this male transformation.

I guess I'm the lucky one.

I got the last tidbits of the world's most perfect butch.

'She's' all mine.

I see her light in the twinkle of love in mi esposo's eyes.

Nobody will ever take that away from me.

Ignorance is Bliss.

So, it came to my attention when I wrote my last blog.

I'm not talking about this one that I wrote after my composing panic attack.

I'm talking about the actual blog that I wrote here.

You see, I have this little 'matter' with my brain.

It got scrambled in the motorcycle accident, and occasionally, entire happenings merely go missing from my brain files.

It's kinda like what arose the other day when Papi attempted to use my composing tower to print out the needed papers for his medical EI.

Bad Papi!  He lost all my current composing files.

and has now been banished from my composing tower ... he may only play his 'sims' game on my laptop where lesser important items are kept ...

One of my BFFs, who is also my BlueLight partner and boss from Boomsmack Records, told me that's not possible.

oh! and btw ... if you'd like to help me do my job, take a moment and 'like' each of these here links on facebook. it will make my boss happy hehehe

Oh, but yes it is possible, because in my world, the strangest things will happen, and happen it did.  No files.  Nothing.  Fuck all.  Gone.

Anyway, I digress yet again.  That has nothing to do with my brain injury.  That's just my personality.  I'm all over the map.

So, I wrote this blog the other day with absolutely no recollection that I had already written about it here.

Now, the difference between the two, is that one is telling you about the marriage certificate that we already had changed to 'male & female', and the other blog is telling you that if Papi asked to have the marriage certificate changed from 'female & female' into 'male & female' that I'd put my wobbly foot down and say, "Hell fucking no!!"

However, it has already been done.

This example of insanity was brought to you by the letters and punctuation of: WTF?!

But you know what?

Sometimes my brain injury does me justice.  I get to pretend that things are in my brain they way I like them.

That is of course, until Papi bursts my bubble.

Yes.

It already happened.

Yes.

I still have my marriage certificate in my office where I get to see it along side of my sweet Papi pre-male transformation.

It's a hot 'n sexy pic of the most perfect butch ever, with breasts peeking ever so naughty between my love's opened leather vest.

Well, I was volunteering yesterday at the Queer Arts Festival office and there were scrumptious picture of butches all over the walls, complete with a few butch breasts proudly displayed for my perusal.

It made me so sad to know that I'll never get to touch my love's breasts ever again because of The Great Breast Disappearance.

I almost cried, but fortunately for me, I forgot they were even there when I got obsessed with organizing papers for filing.

You see?

Brain injury is not so bad.

It's good in an, 'i'm not really here', sorta way.

Ahhhh.

Ignorance is truly bliss.

Lessons in transgender language.

There was a tense moment last night, when one of my blogger friends referred to Papi as my wife/hubby.

Apparently, my love dislikes the word 'wife' more than the pronoun 'she'.

oh how we learn something new every day ...

I've actually never called my love a wife, so I didn't know how much it bothered Papi.  We adopted the term 'husbutch' from someone in our community.

It worked for my masculine spouse.

When Papi wanted to change his given name, we searched for a long time to find one that would suit mi esposo.

I found it while I was playing a brain injury game to get my noodle rewired.  It was a game of serving people in a cafeteria, and I had to remember their order, plus their name.

One of the customers had the perfect name, and mi esposo's name change began.

It was easy for me to switch to Papi's new name, because of three reasons;

1) I was the one to find it,

2) I, too, didn't feel mi esposo suited the girly one he was born with, and

3) I didn't know the name would attached to a male transformation.

I mean really, my love is not a 'wife' in any way shape or form.

Ok.  Papi has one feminine attribute.  Have you ever heard a masculine person scream while killing a spider?  You would have to experience it to really know the full affect of it all!

Anyway, back on track!

So, now that I'm venturing back into the closet, mi esposo will be deemed my 'husband'.

I don't like it.  It makes me crawl out of my skin.

A lot of the time, when I have to refer to Papi in conversation, I use 'my spouse'.

I don't like that either, but it's the easiest way to get around it.  From the moment I call Papi 'my spouse' people automatically refer to my love as 'he'.

the invisible femme ...

I flail about with my pronouns and proper labels, while I skirt around the issue of it all, letting people figure it out on their own.

Papi doesn't really want any attention brought to the topic when we're out and about, but in the privacy of our own home, my love is stringent about training me with pronouns and labels that my love wishes to be addressed as.

I'm still not able to say 'he' out loud.  Somehow, writing it here is the only place I don't cringe.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true.  I do flinch when writing it here and I still try very hard to walk around the topic, using labels such as 'Papi', 'my love' and 'mi esposo'.

Something very interesting is happening, however.

Now that I'm hyper aware of pronouns and labels that people like or dislike, I've started becoming free of pronouns all together, even when it comes to strangers.

That's the time when I can use 'they'.  I refused to use that word not too long ago because it is grammatically wrong, but I have started to use it when I'm stuttering about labeling and pronouns.

It's like I have pronoun PTSD, and I don't use any for fear that I will insult someone.

In the queer community, people have become extremely sensitive about labels and pronouns, and some of us are having a hard time catching up.

I'm not a political person.  I'm just a creative person who loves people for their hearts, not their politics or gender.

I really do my best to conform with pronouns/labels in the way people prefer, but I'm human, and sometimes I screw up.

At the same time, I suppose it's my job to pass it on to the next person who's learning about transgender people as well.

My hope is that before I die, I get it flowing comfortably.  Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

I mean really, I have a lot of time to get it down before I expire.  People keep trying to kill me while I'm on the road, but somehow, I keep bouncing back.

And now, I'm back in the closet.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

You see, this blog of mine is supposed to be about me.

It's called: Andréa's Healing Journey.

However, it seems that the majority of my posts are about the Tranny Terrorist, or the DIY phenomenon I occasionally experience.

Yeah, sometimes I hijack this blog and actually make it about me, sneaking in a little bit of wining about my bitch of a back, or ghosts.

Well, the point is, it's still much more entertaining to talk about mi esposo and the amusement he brings.

So!

I'm getting my article published on Thursday, and the paper didn't want a picture of only the actual writer.

No!

They want Papi in there too.

Why?

Because it's alllllllll about Papi.

And that's ok.

Takes a bit of the heat off me.

Anyway, we got these pics done and the sweet photographer we met yesterday will choose the best one.

Hopefully, she won't choose one of me that looks like I'm in trauma.

Or worse, choose one of me that looks like a beaming, braces infused, bucktooth grin that only a mother could love.

I tend to do these things with my mouth:

nobody said the brace face was going to be sexy ...

So, we'll see which one makes it into Xtra on Thursday.

After our photos were done, we didn't celebrate.

No.

Papi drove me around the city, and changed all his I.D.

You see, my love received a birth certificate that has been changed to a male gender.

It has been quite the process for Papi.  All his ID has to be changed; driver's license, SIN card, medical, you name it.

However, there is one that I'm not happy about: Our marriage license.

It now says I'm married to a man, and I begin my first step to becoming an invisible queer.

I can't really accept that part yet, and I'm still grasping with all my strength to the butch I married.

I don't want my marriage license to be ambushed, so I did something slightly wrong.

I kept our old marriage certificate, and we told the lady at the counter that we lost it in the sewage flood.

Right now, it's sitting beside the sexy picture of the butch I married.

Pretty much looks like I'm starting a shrine to remember my dearly departed butch.

is that so bad?!?!

It's right there in my composing room, so I get to see it every day as my eyes wander around the room, listening to my musical mind about what note, sound or feeling I need to find to portray the essence of a film.

I keep my love frozen in time to keep me company.

one day at a time.

Let me introduce myself ...

Last night we went out for a birthday dinner for Papi's step-sister.

Once I got the awkward brain injury greetings out of the way, everything went fine.

Of course, my brain injury embarrassed me yet again.

"Hi, nice to meet you!  My name is Andréa," I would say with eagerness to meet 'new' faces.

Then it happened like it happens every time.

Papi says to my 'new' acquaintances, "Andréa has brain injury and doesn't remember meeting you."

aw for fucks sakes ...

Yup.  I don't recognize faces very well since the epic bonk to the head.

As people came to join us awaiting the birthday girl's arrival, Papi would whisper in my ear, "Ok, so you have met these people before.  Don't say nice to meet you."

Papi is kinda like my seeing eye dog when it comes to greetings.

It's so disconcerting to have to be in a setting where I don't think I've met people.

If I haven't seen your face for a while, or I've only met you once, you have to expect that I may have a brain injury moment.

Anyway, really what I wanted to talk about was what came after the extending of hands and the uncomfortable greetings I had to fake through.

Next came the genuine, "Ok, so we don't know these people," whisper from Papi and of course, after the 'nice to meet'chas' got out of the way, one of the conversation starters happened."

"So, how do you know the birthday girl?"

For some *reason, I was very chatty and decided to jump in and answer.

*reason: medicinal cannabis.

Not good to do when you've taken double dose of pain killers just to be able to sit at a restaurant.  I am definitely more social when I'm hopped up on Snake Oil and the pain is not registering in my brain.

I stuttered, "She's ... "

oh shit, don't call papi a 'she'!!!

"She's the stepsister," I said in hopes that they knew I was talking about the birthday girl this time.

I was so relieved when I heard, "Oh!  So you're her step-brother!" as they addressed Papi.

I was relieved that I didn't out my love, and then I was weirded out that they saw mi esposo as a man.  It still gets me, because I still see my butch.

In my office I have a gorgeous picture of Papi with his shirt undone, and you get to see a hint of the breasts that used to be there.

No facial caterpillars on his lip, or wisps of little hairs sticking out, pretending to be sideburns.

The butch I married stays next to me forever remembered in a photo.

Papi and I were supposed to go to a friend's house and get more photos today.

Our friend is documenting the changes over time and I will definitely share them with you when they feel Papi is 'done' with the gender transformation.

At the same time mi esposo was getting these pics done, they were going to get me in there so that Papi and I could have some sexy pics to hold on to until we're old, wrinkled and flabby.

Unfortunately, the photographer had to cancel.

However, last night the Tranny Terrorist was up to no good practising poses for the shoot.

Bugger came around the corner with a Detachable Penis on, holding it in his right hand, looking like he was ready to pee.  Mi esposo then asked if it would make a good pose for the documenting pics.

It disturbed my brain, "I don't like it," I said, "but maybe you should ask someone else.  To me it just feels creepy."

Papi laughed and said he'd ask our photographer friend.

Now that we're not going out of the house, I declare today a pajama music day!

Pajama music day commencing ...

NOW!

Gratitude comes in strange packages.

Lordy when life hits ya, it hits ya good I'll tell ya.

My brain is being pushed to the limits right now.

I haven't had a penny come in for over 6 weeks now, and I don't qualify for anything.

I just called to request an advocate for People With Disabilities.

I can't fight alone anymore, and one of Papi's friends at work recommended one of the best, so we'll see how this turns out.

I don't qualify for Employment Insurance, because I'm short 20 hours.

I don't qualify for Social Assistance, because I'm living with a spouse and have assets.

which i've already put into lists of what will be sold first to get food.

I don't qualify for Long Term Disability, because I used it all up trying to get back to work.

I am slipping through the cracks of some strange system and dammit, I'm fucking scared.

When I called, I did get 2 suggestions that should help matters.

I was recommended to go to the Food Bank instead of using my credit cards for groceries.

Perfect timing, because the credit cards are maxed and I have no wiggle room there.  However, I have to admit, it feels a little humiliating.

ok murphy, don't be throwing us anything that we can't handle financially right now please.  we've got enough.

It was also recommended that I start going to a support group for people with Brain Injury, because I'm so frustrated about the fact that I can't process what to do next.

Yeah.

I'm scared.

So, at this point in time, I'm pretty fucking grateful.

I'm grateful that I don't have to deal with pain on top of it all.  I am so damn happy with the results of the Medicinal Cannabis I can't even tell you.

Yesterday was a particularly painful day, and I still managed to get shit done with the help of the new pain meds.

I'm grateful that I have Papi's male transformation to think about instead of money.

My love always gives me something to think about rather than fret over the fact that I'm now eating the reserves in my kitchen.

Take yesterday as an example.

I was sitting on the loo with one less Bathroom Buddy ... 

The World's Loudest Snorer went home ... i may just go kidnap her back ...

... and it hit me!

I'm changing my behaviour around female stuff in the house.

I'm actually feeling self-conscious about tampons hanging about the bathroom.

I don't know why, but it's actually starting to feel like a male is in the house.

I think I'm beginning to see that stranger I was so afraid to see.  I'm seeing the person I didn't know would be in my life.

You know?  The horrible vision I saw of the person that was replacing 'my butch'?

Well, Papi is not the scary monster my mind told me he would be.

I still have the person I married, but it's just different.

For example, the feeling that there is now a male in my life.

It's weird, wacky and way out there!

I can't even begin to tell you when the switch came, but there was a slow gradual creeping of it and has left me wondering a few things.

Is Papi an illusionist and that's why I'm seeing my love differently?  Or perhaps I've actually lost my mind from being on pharmaceuticals for three years?  Or maybe I'm just on some strange trip from pain killers and I don't even know it.

Ya?

No.

All that's going on here is I'm sensing a shift in the house and it's pretty fucking bizarre.

See!

I've stopped worrying about money!

How lucky am I?

But I also know that everything works out.

Everything.

I've made it this far in life and I'm not going to be left behind now.