R.I.P.

When he took his last breath, it seemed that there was a sigh of relief for him.

He looked peaceful, his deformed jaw seeming less stately.

I touched his little paws with all the affection in the world to let him know I was still there, if his spirit was still in his casing.

The fact that he was no longer in pain was of great comfort to me.

Here, in the Dominican Republic, we don't have the luxury of the option of ashes, so as to place where we can see our deceased Fuzzy Family when we care to say a few words of hello what is left of physical energy.

Here, we must bury our animals.

"I have a graveyard in the back if you'd like," proposed Dr. Bob, "but I think you want him closer to you."

Yes.

We want our love to be near us.

As I asked him how much to pay him for his services, he replied, "No, I don't charge for this work.  To me, this is a gift."

We gave each other a hug, because we both know what that meant.  Truly a gift.

I wrapped his lifeless little body, still warm, in the blanket he passed away in and met Papi at the cement walkway at the entrance of the clinic.

He can't be there for the passing.

I need to be, because I need my little family members to have me as their last vision.

I need them to know that I'm with them while they traverse into that unknown place I secretly wish to visit every day.

I need them to read in my eyes that I love them and will never let them fade from my heart.

I need them to know that they don't need to be afraid, because they're going to a much better stead than what they have here on planet doom, even if it is without us.

They have friends waiting.

I also ask them to stay with me always, and that I will find them when it's my turn to be in that place of serenity.

I've never held a lifeless body before.

It felt so comfortable, that I didn't want to let go.

Please, just let me hold him like this forever.

I can't let go.

He was still warm.

He was still my friend while I had him in my arms, wrapped like a newborn.

I guess in a sense, he was a newborn to a new life.

Papi and I spoke of where to place his body so that he's relaxed and happy.

The coconut trees were much too far away from us.  Also, they're doing work on the roof, so the front of the house was out of the question.

I thought of the perfect place.

On the floor of my veggie garden.

I will see him every day.

He will be part of the life that grows around him.

He will support me as I stand and help my plants grow.

He will be the energy I feel in that space.

We placed him in and covered him with much love, only it still felt so harsh.

I'd never buried a loved one before.

Then, I cried some more.

And some more.

And today, my eyes are as swollen as they were in the beginning of my journey with 'you' here.

I thought I heard his voice last night.

He was always quite the talker.

Sleep my little love.

One fine day, we will be lucky enough to be with you in that place of peace, to become one of the angels I beg to every day for strength.

For now, we grieve.

all that i need will come to me at the right time and place in this life

plan 'b': follow your heart

I had to stop and remember that there are always 2 sides to every story.

I spoke to Our Fave's Mom with complete and utter honesty.

I told her that people have said her family could rob us, and that her son could as well and that I'm scared for our safety.

She knew who I meant by 'people' right away, saying her name out loud, and with my silence, I did not deny it.

On the flip side, I told her that all Papi and I have ever seen of Our Favourite, is that he likes to work, and that's the impression we get.

We do not get the impression that he's a thief.

I told her that from the day we met him, he has been Our Favourite, because he speaks to us like he is an old soul with wisdom.

I told her that I really want to be her friend, though so far, people don't want friendship, only money, so it has really hurt my heart and it's hard to trust.

She understood, telling me that she doesn't want to take.

She told me that in her family, the only people with drug and thievery problems is her one brother.

I asked her not to tell her family who we are, nor where we live.

She replied, "I won't.  I only speak to my parents, and nobody in the village speaks to me.  I keep to myself."

I know some people are threatened by those who don't follow the clique.

I know this to be my own experience and I told her so.

"I'm sorry people hurt your heart.  It can be the same from where I come from.  You need a friend.  I'd like to be your friend, because I need a friend too."

Then I started to think about the source which told me that she is not good in the first place.

This is the same person that I have trouble trusting, whom I have proof has stolen from us.

I've decided that I am going to follow my heart, not my head, and certainly not what a busy body says about another person.

Papi and I spoke about it, and our hearts say she is a sweet person, who has fallen prey to the clique of the village.

In every 'community', there are always the 'mean girls' who gossip and tell people lies about someone to get the others on their side, in a quest for power.

I've experienced these people.

Then there are those, like myself and Papi, who choose to judge a person on our own accord.

I don't listen to the queen bee very often, because I like to consider a person's worth on my own.

I know that others have stood by me when the Hen Peckers were in full force.

At the same time, I know others who have ostracized me, choosing to believe the lies, instead of asking me personally for my side.

My heart says she needs a friend, and oh how I can relate.

My heart says to try this out and if things don't work, I can always leave the friendship like I've done with other people who have broken my trust.

My heart says she is good.

I look in her eyes and I see love.

I have the feeling that she is drawn to me, because she doesn't follow the crowd, and that she sees that in me.

In her, I see a strong person.

Maybe she sees that in me?

In her, I see goodness.

Maybe she sees goodness that she can trust in me?

Yesterday, someone left an absolutely AWESOME folklore tale in my comments box.

Please stop by and read it.

We will find all kinds of people, whomever we choose to look for.

So do we choose to look for good?  Or do we choose to look for bad?

It's ok that my intuition doesn't work here.

My heart is good and I'm following it, because I like her.

It may be a mistake, or it could turn out to be a wonderful friendship with another member of The Pariah Club.

And oh, how I can relate.

i have every bit as much brightness to offer the world as the next person

i'm dying inside.

Remember all those mornings I would wake up with swollen eyes?

They would look like they were used as a punching bag while I was too busy crying to notice anyone beating the shit out of them.

I have them today.

Right now, my demons have a hold of me and are eagerly dragging me further into the rancid Pit of Doom.

I was supposed to be home, not in the Pit of Doom, but there's a small problem.

I won't go into massive details right now, but let's just say I won't live with drama that I never asked for.

I'm sleeping in someone else's bed, when I should have been sleeping in my own with my loving spouse while we celebrate the sale of the home, and our next adventure.

I thought I lost my phone, but at least, the very least, I found it in my friend's car as I did my usual, "Hey!  Why don't we leave it on the front seat?" game, and it wasn't stolen!

I guess I can say I'm grateful for that.

However, I excitedly looked to see a message from Papi, but there was nothing.

I left a message saying how much I love him, but that would not make sense to someone when at the same time, I left my home.

It's not really my home anyway.

I came home to The Yank having lived in our room for a few days, and it no longer looked like our room.

I came home to a 'Sold!' sign on our front lawn.

I came home to my spouse relapsing.

Besides, it's no longer my home anyway, and when Papi and I have a chance to deal with the current stressful situation, it still won't be my home.

So, I'm just getting a head start on not having a home, by sleeping in my friend's bed until the drama has ceased.

I don't ask for drama.

I ask for peace.

I ask for love.

I ask for the best life possible.

I ask for happiness.

I ask for gratitude.

Crying alone in fear for my spouse's safety is not the best life possible, is not happy times, is not something I'm grateful for, nor is it peaceful.

At least there is still love.

And yet, here I sit, crying so violently, that I can only wish each tear was one step closer to death.

If tears could kill, today I would wish for them to do so.

I suppose that Beatles song is right.  Love is all you need.

I'm being ripped and torn inside because I love so much.

I'm on an endless loop of tear after tear because my love for Papi is so deep, I could feel our connecting dissipate while I was away for the weekend.

I didn't get my usual texts of love, because Papi had a distraction.

A down and dirty, nasty distraction that will stray even the most loving hearts away.

I was chosen second over this demonic liquid.

This evil poison that will whisper in his ear, "You can drink socially!  You're fine now!"

From the phone messages I received last night, he is not a social drinker.

Every sip he poured into his mouth is a tear that is rolling down my face today.

I'm broken.

There are no kings men or horses to put me back together again.

There is only one person who can do that.

i have a wonderful spouse and we are both happy and at peace.

48 hours.

I really have wonderful things to say about Mount St. Joseph Hospital, but Florence was seriously the highlight of my short, but well taken care of stay.

I don't have much energy to really get much out right now, so I'll give you a synopsis in pictures.

I was pretty excited to get this ball rolling.

I was also pretty enamored by the headwear.  The anaesthesiologist asked if I had big hair under there.  You think?

It was sexy time.

So, of course I needed my documented Angelina moment.

However, I did need a good close up of the Peter Pan Knee High Socks.  How lovely of them to supply for a femme!

 

Right after the surgery, Papi started taking pictures.  I thought I looked bad in this one.  This was only the beginning.

 

 

This was a hospital filled to the gills with religious paraphernalia.  There was even a picture of Jesus holding the arm of a doctor holding a scalpel in and operating room.  It was the first thing you see when you walk into the lobby.

That was a bit creepy.

But Papi had to up the ante with a good old prayer session, complete with crucifix.

Jesus was looking a little skinny at this point.  They should be feeding him a little more.

 

Well, I ventured to the washroom and saw that there could be some trouble brewing in my face when I saw this. 

But honestly, the most epic moment was when I took off all the face goodies and cleaned my mouth on my own.

 

 

Who the hell is this person staring back at me?!?!

There it is folks!  The surgery I've always wanted.  I secretly had a desire to look like a chipmunk.  I fooled you all.

But seriously.

I'm pretty sure she looks a little like Manson.

Well, I wasn't feeling like leading a flock to homicidal tendencies, but damn!  Look at those eyes!

Anyway, the bruising is setting in.  You'll probably get a kick outta that too.

Oh!

My lips touch today.

i am receiving healing energy into all areas of need.

Hurt

It's so easy to be on the other side.

If I were someone else, it would be very easy for me to say, "Honey, they don't matter.  The only people who matter are the ones who love you."

This is as much strength as it is truth.

However, when you're on the receiving end of the hurt, it's very hard to just 'let it go' and heed the words of sweet security from friends and loved ones.

I'm just like anyone else.

I can't be loved by all.

I am well aware of those who hate me, because they make it very clear.  Those are the people I can 'let go'.

Yet, there are ones I can't do this with.

They are in my community, in my circle, all around me, all the time.

They don't make it clear, they just exude the energy of disapproval.

No, I'm not politically correct enough.

No, I'm not popular enough.

No, I'm not cool enough.

Yes.

I'm honest, and no totalitarian wants to hear honesty that could challenge the fascist who say, "Follow us or be the outcast!"  You must never speak your candor, nor may you ever show tears or fears.

I could never be good enough for 'them'; those who are dictated by the political, popular and cool kids.

if you think high school ended in grade 12, try being in the gay community

I stay hidden, invisible to those who stand in my scarred sight, as they look everywhere but into my eyes.  They feel my deprived reach for their gaze.  They repel this option by averting and giving a half grin.

don't bother, andréa, you're not one of us ...

I am only a visitor.

Only 9 months ago, they spoke words of false love and tried to connect with me.

Now, I don't exist.

I have social anxiety for a reason.

Here lies the biggest fear: I'm not good enough.

My foreboding fears were earnestly validated.

The pain killers were roaming my blood, searching for a place to lie, waiting to change my chemical balance.

Those little poison pills found their site to incite affliction; my sensitivity to hate.

Walking body after body I witnessed were part of the malevolent mass.

I counted them in my mind, "One, two, three ..." until finally I couldn't handle the pain anymore, and my biggest enemy appeared: my tears.

Of course, with those who love me, I used my truth for a lie, "Yeah, I'm in a fair amount of pain right now."

It was a great cover up of the reality, that those who attempted to hurt me, succeeded.

I closed my eyes and listened to the readers.

i am not here ...

The readers would take me away in their story and I would emotionally vanish, the way some hope I would forever.

poof! i'm gone.

I am still the weakest chicken in the coup.

They broke my skin with their pecking, and even today, I'm still bleeding.

I'm not ready for the big world yet.  I still need to stay with my grass floor, eggs that other hens have laid, and the smell of the stench from a fowl who has laid their feces in my home.

I still my Trust List.

this moment brought to you by the letters W,T,F

It's a strange phenomenon.

You know how men just can't help but stare at breasts?  Or more precisely, cleavage?

I get it now.

Papi parades around topless and all I can do is stare at The Great Breast Disappearance.

It's so damn weird.

I can talk to Papi about 'who knows what' and my eyes leisurely gravitate lower, and lower to the nipples that seem much happier than they were a month ago, not to mention the scars that look less ablaze.

My love is using serum meant to diminish the scarring.  Every morning, when mi esposo comes home from the graveyard shift, it's applied with love after the, "Yikes that's cold!!!" healing water cleans off the area.

I actually haven't seen the wreckage (or lack thereof) for a few days, as the morphine oblivion has had me in quite the state of lassitude.

However, after my IMS treatment yesterday, I haven't had to take the nasty drugs that make me look like a hippy from the 70's, with meager slits for eyes and a pseudo-grin.

dude, pass me another ...

All I've needed to are my usual muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories.

Hence, today when I got up, I had a glimmer of the spirit of Andréa, and there they were.

The flattened, AWOL breasts in all their glory.

As I speak to Papi, my eyes keep lowering without my intention.

I stare.

I look back up at my love and again my eyes start falling like a moose in quicksand.

Lower.

Lower.

And bingo!

Nipples.

Man nipples to be exact.

What the hell?  I just can't keep from staring at them.

Well, there is one thing that will keep me from staring at them.

Papi using the brand new beard trimmer.

Here's another unavoidable casualty for my eyes to lay upon.

My love now has what is a small mass of fur at the chin's end.

Just at the tip.

Can't really call it a beard, but there's something there and it actually is growing on me.

hehehe ... sorry ... couldn't resist ...

I'm not sure what's happening to me, but I do believe I'm starting to either a) get used to it, b) am entertained by it, or c) thinking it's kinda cute.

WTF?!?!?

It actually doesn't offend me, and it suits Papi.

again, WTF?!? and who just said that?!?

So there stands my love in the bathroom mirror, shaving and trimming so that it looks like an intentional mass at the chin's end, and I watch.

I watch mi esposo making it look perfect.

I don't cringe.

I smile.

who is this person?!?

Honestly, because it's on Papi, I don't mind it.

Is this what they call unconditional love?

politics, politics

Our home has been invaded by Americans!!!!

And it's nice to have them.  Especially when one of them is on your Trust List, and the other is an honorary Trust List newbie as of last night.

I see myself as transphobic a lot.  I assume this is because I have adverse feelings about my love's male transformation.

I'm reminded time and again that there are other people out there who would feel the same way if their love decided to switch camps.

It was really nice to be understood last night.  I forget that when I'm overwhelmed with feelings about the transformation that I have people to go to.

time for a trust list pow-wow i think!

It was not a berating of F-Ms.  It was an honest 'this is my opinion' or 'this is my feeling' or 'this is my veiwpoint' bull session.

We went from the slip of a pronoun to me making my claim again, "I can't call E a male, because all I will ever see is my butch," to "the M-Fs who want to be at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival don't want to come to bond with women, they only want to make their politics loud."

Women's spaces are a touchy subject in our community.  For many reasons.  The Yanks told me about some F-Ms who will go as 'she' to this Festival just so that they can find the femmes and get laid.

Yes.

There is a reason it's a touchy subject.

When Papi and I go to play parties, there have been numerous occasions where we will engage in sexy time.

hey, what can i say, i'm an exhibitionist.

I only feel safe to do so if there are women in the room.

Just like the times I would partake in the art of stripping for our yearly women's strip show, Diva's Den.

In front of women, I am free to be and do whatever and whomever I want.

However, this year, the organizers started allowing bio-males into the play party.  I understand.  It's a business, but it certainly put the halt on my sexual escapades.

I am completely uncomfortable with anything to do with sex around bio-males.

I imagine this is because of issues from my childhood.

duh!

Regardless, I just don't feel comfortable.

This is where it gets messy.

I know F-Ms want to be seen as male, and to the general straight community, they are.  Yet to me, I can spot one pretty fast and all I see is an F-M.  Not a male.

I feel bad for this the moment I see them as such, because they want to be seen as male, but you can't hide those female eyes and female interactions.

You won't see an F-M pissing on a wall in front of a femme who is saying, "Really buddy?!?  Do ya have to do this right here?  There's a washroom right inside the hospital!!"

This bio-male told me to, "Fuck off," and continued wagging his willy right in front of my bus and the clients.

No, this is not the action of an F-M.

This is because an F-M is still a third gender.  They are neither.

I only wish my love could be comfortable as such, and not feel the need to swing the pendulum to the other side of male-ness.

dream on hard on

Anyway, this rant was a leftover from my Trust List and honorary Trust List newbie.

It felt good to be understood and told, "No.  You're not transphobic.  You have a certain taste of what you find attractive."

One more little stone to build my wall of strength.

I'll see what I want

Another added Trust List friend.

She came over last night to keep me company, have a chat, just be with me.  She had seen me on the never-ending day, and asked if I'd like to hang out for a talk.

This is someone who has a very similar heart to mine.  I almost called this gem in December while I was feeling suicidal.  I knew she'd understand, because she has also frequented the Pit of Doom.

More than once.

We are kindred hearts.  I've always been attracted to her energy, yet somehow we just have never bonded.  It's just the way it goes.  Right place at the right time brings what you need in life.

You never really know what you need until it hits you.  It's at that point you have the 'ah-ha' moment.

Last night we talked a mile a minute without so much as a break in the conversation.  We could barely catch our breath in our repartee, because there was too much to share.  There was too much to agree with in each other.  There was so much in fact that we really need a few more of those hangouts to even catch up to each other to get on the page.

You know the page.

The one where you don't even have to say anything to know what the other one means?  We were almost there last night.

We have just been waiting in the wings for the opportunity to come together and now is that time.

She is very much like me in the sense that she will upfront ask a butch if they intend to transform into an  F-M.  She's attracted to the androgyny just as I am.  She wants the anomaly of this beauty.

She doesn't want to be with a transgendered person who will change into someone else before her eyes.

Papi just doesn't understand this.  "But, I'm still me," mi esposo will plead.

Yes, my love, inside you are.  But outside you are becoming a stranger.  I married the perfect butch.  I was ready to live happily ever after with my butch.

I got to be married to my butch for 4 months.

enter the morph ...

I adore my love.  I cherish every piece of that sweet soul that I'm so fortunate to love, and be loved by.

As my tears fall, Papi's will well up with the sorrow of hurting me.  "I'm so sorry I'm doing this to you."

"You're not doing anything to me my love.  It's just our path in our relationship."

I will always see my love as the butch I married.  Papi can become as masculine as the next, but I will always hold the wife I married in my heart.

This is the reason for my resistance.

I battle all notions of this male I must accept, so that I may win the fight to see what I want to see.

My butch.

This person behind the mask.

When my added Trust List heart and I spoke about The Countdown, she made me realize something.  I was actually ok with Papi have top surgery before the news that there would be a transition.

I suddenly felt the removal of my love's breasts would negate the feminine side of my dear butch.

No, this is not the case.

My love has never had a true feminine side.  My love has always been a masculine woman.

The Countdown is really about the finality of loss.

I'm mourning because it is the signification of the end.

I have to accept this ending.  I have to say goodbye to my butch.  It will be at this point that people will see Papi as more male.

Me however?

I'll see my butch, minus a bit of chest fat.

Chapter Three: Ella

I've had to save a life from heroin overdose before, and seeing this man doing the funky chicken looked very similar to the one that almost died in my arms.

What was more terrifying though, was the fact that there was a four legged life with him whose leash was being yanked every time he jerked with the drugs' power of involuntary seizures.

"Oh my god sweety, we have to pull over to see if they're both ok!"

Papi reversed as all the street dwellers wondered what we were doing in their area.

I jumped out disregarding any imminent danger that could possibly be in this space.

save the dog, save the guy 

I was mostly worried about the dog.  I know what to do with the guy, but this poor little friend was so scared.

Papi was in the sidelines, securing our car from theft and taking stock as to who was around us.

My love works with all these people and knows that they are opportunists.  The scariest of all are the meth-heads.  They will kill you in a moment of paranoia.

It was clear that this man was on heroin, but those around us could be on anything.

I kept speaking to the man, trying to get his attention, asking him anything to keep his mind from falling into a coma and slipping away permanently.

The only thing that got his attention was one statement I said in anger, "Dude, you're hurting your dog!!"

He snapped out of his fit and you could see the moment of clarity in his eyes, "How?"

"You keep yanking on her leash and it's choking her."  I knew her name was Ella.  One of the street dwellers told me.

I kept holding Ella's leash and keeping the restraint so that she wasn't being tugged anymore.  At this point, Papi had secured the car and taken stock of who was around.  Now my love had the dog's leash taken away from this man, so Ella was safe.

I noticed a few things about our overdosing man; first off, he had a hospital bracelet on.  He'd obviously been in within the past 24 hours, as the plastic was clean and undisturbed.  His name was on this bracelet, allowing me to speak his name and get his attention better.

What else I noticed?

Braces.

He had braces on his teeth!  This man is a new member of the streets.  People don't have braces down here.  You don't get braces unless you have a fortunate life and you are trying to better yourself.

"Donavan, I'd like to take you and Ella home so that you'll both be safe.  Can we get you home?  These people will take your dog and take your wallet.  Do you have your wallet?"

His seizuring continued between words and moments of seeing us in front of him.

It took us quite some time, but we did get Ella into the car, and that prompted Donavan to get there too.

He was flipping around in our back seat, and between the wiggling, I would manage to get small amounts of directions as to where to bring them home.

My main concern was the dog.  I was ready to steal Ella, and tell this jerk that when he got his shit together, I'd return her.

When we got to his home, his very waif-like girlfriend answered the door and Donavan and Ella both went in.

ok ... the dog is alright, the guy is in and now we can continue on our venture.

Papi and I got back in the car a little bit speechless.  It was a quiet ride to the Sexy Sauna Party.

Chapter four begins with the hardest part of my day.  The last part of the day to get through.

This truly is a day worth remembering.

the incredible shrinking woman

"Night baby.  Sorry u have to go through this," was the goodnight text I received.

I have been told by others that a person going through the transition will be the most selfish they could ever be.  It's not on purpose, or vengeful, it's just a rite of passage.

Yesterday, I really got to see what this means.

I don't even want to look at my swollen eyes yet.  Let me have my coffee first, then I can sift through the rubble and see what crying myself to sleep has resulted in.

I usually get an I love you text from Papi at the days end, but all I got was an apology.  I was torn to pieces so small I felt I could vanish.  I felt all the words I'd said prior were ripped in half and then again to shreds, so they no longer exist.

The tears rolled as I let a piece of myself fall to the pillow where I laid.  I just wished to have my veins crimped so as to stop the flow of oxygen.

please just let me disappear

I wrote back, "Take the ring."  I'll find another way to have my jaw surgery.  I've got a year to save.  It will be fine, and Papi is really good at paying off credit cards.

The money isn't the reason for my tears.  I know we'll both get what we need.

The tears fell because I know I now have to step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.  If I stand as an obstacle in any way, shape or form, I will be the resentment in a marriage.

Papi needs me to be the caretaker after the surgery, but after taking 2 years off work from the motorcycle accident, then another 4.5 months from a simple fall at work, my neck is already on the chopping block.

If I take anymore time off work that isn't scheduled, the Americans will rub their hands together with glee, in anticipation of axing one more full time worker.

Then I won't have braces, never mind jaw surgery.

Ergo, I can't take care of my love if the top surgery is done anywhere other than right here in our city.

I could feel Papi's resentment of this already.  That my love couldn't get what was wanted right here, right now.

I feel I'm the one holding back mi esposo.  I am the irritant that created Papi's ire.  I am the massive boulder in the path of an addict who always get their way.  My love is not used to thinking about the other half and admitted so in a text.

I believe this is what hurt the most.  That my love would have had this done yesterday if it weren't for that pesky little marriage in the way.

This truly is a time of 'it's all about me' for Papi.  I really have to respect that I am not in the equation.  I must step aside and allow my love to do whatever is needed.

There will be no room to fight for my importance right now.  I see it.

Why this is so hard, is there is a second addict in this relationship that wants what they want as well.

Me.

All I want is a normal, "I love you, goodnight," text.  It's just what I want.

Instead, I got an apology and then, "I think San Fransisco is the best bet."

I am so small.

The transgendered person's world is so large.

I am a shadow in an afterthought.

Shift ...

It's possible I'm thinking more of my love as the male Papi desires to be.

Mi esposo wants me to join the same gym.  I don't like Papi's gym.  I love MY gym, where I've been a patron for 15 years.

My gym is owned by a gay couple, and the clients are all very respectful, straight or not.  Papi's gym is more of a pick up joint for the heteros.

I gave my love's gym a try yesterday.

In Papi's gym, men's eyes will peruse the room, creating fantasies of the women.  I get extremely uncomfortable with those heterosexual dances in every corner.

seriously ... don't bother checking out MY ass ... you won't get the desired reaction, THIS i promise you.

Not to mention, when I go to the gym, I'm in ratty work out clothes with no make-up.  I don't get dressed up for the gym.  I don't feel comfortable in the glitz 'n glamour of this environment.

I'm there to sweat, not to look good.  When I want competition in the gym, it's for how much weight I can push, not my attire.

However, what made me the MOST uncomfortable was when Papi followed me into the women's change room!

houston we have a problem.  there's a tranny in the changeroom.

Papi is 'in between' right now.  While my love worked out, people had their sheltered minds blown, wondering how there could possibly be a guy with breasts.

Mi esposo has never been intimidated by anyone.  It's the other way around.  Papi is quite tall with full sleeve tattoos that crawl up that gorgeous neck, and peek out along those strong hands.

People get uncomfortable until they hear words from my love.

Papi has a personality that is appealing to even the most conservative of folks.  My love wins hearts in the most adverse places.

Yet, when it comes to the ladies room, women will give my love a hard time. 

there's a man in the women's washroom!!!!!

I just look at them with the death pan stare.

don't you DARE say anything, or you'll have to deal with ME!  the tattooed amazon is the least of your worries!

But this visit to the changroom?

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  I was so very uncomfortable that there was a half man who followed me in!

I realized at that point that there has been a shift in my thinking.  An allowance of the thoughts that the 'wife' I married is no longer that.

So.  Where does Papi fit in then?

Imagine if my love went into the men's room without those delightful breasts being bound?

I now slightly understand how my love feels.  Those breasts are the culprit of not being that man Papi sees in the mind's eye.

This world needs a special place for the 'Papis' of the world.  This world needs a trans washroom.

But when the courts in our neighbouring country have condoned the homophobic hatred of religious zealots who terrorize grieving families that have lost loved ones in a fight for their country, a trans washroom is not going to happen.

We still need to get past homophobia ... never mind transphobia.

This world is a fucked up place, and I suppose I don't help matters.

Hairy details.

Today may very well be the day, but do I wake Papi from the graveyard coma?

Nobody would like to be woken after a 10 hour vampire shift with, "Honey, I think we need to put Mr. Moustache down today instead of tomorrow."

If I do wake my love, it has to be done soon, or we'll have to wait until tomorrow.

Papi and I have an orthodontic appointment to get our teeth filled with clay muck to see how crooked mi esposo's teeth have become (because Papi didn't want to wear that retainer as a kid, so naughty!), and to see just how much work it will take to correct my 100% overbite.

sexy ... thank gawd i'm not bucktoothed!!!!

We would have to say farewell before, then go to the appointment in tears, and that just doesn't sound appealing.

hello!  we're your new patients and we like to come to appointments crying ... you don't mind do you?

Besides, Papi wanted to spend the day with the Goat-ee Kitt-ee for our parting; the 'it's all about the cat' day.

Yet, I don't know, Smokes from Okotoks is looking like he REALLY doesn't want any company.  I try to pet him, but he looks uncomfortable.

You know cats, they want to be left alone to pass on.  It's so humiliating to them to end their lives with someone looking.

not proper!  do you mind!?!?!?!

We will take the selfish route though, and give him a goodbye in our presence, so that we have our closure.

It seems so wrong, but us humans are not like cats.  We can't just toddle off to the wilderness and allow mother nature to be the last eyes upon us.

No, we need appropriate goodbyes.  We are a strange bunch, us humans.

Papi has the fortunate luck to be on a work-a-holic bender right now.  So, my love is able to use work to distract.

I'm not back to work yet, 

(soon though ... phew!  let's get 'er did you muther fucker of a back!!!)

but when I am, I'll be able to use work as a wonderful commotion to keep me from thinking about 'life' and 'it'.

'It'.

I think it's quite possible that 'it' is seeming a little more normal. 

normal?!?!?!

Ok.  Maybe not normal.

How about: it's seeming easier to help Papi put on that binder before work every day, so my love can hide those beautiful breasts from the world.

They are mine to see alone.

They will be taken from me too soon, only to be replaced by a soul patch and an emptied womb.

Oh, Papi tried to push leg hair through to wear like a 'guy' would. 

wrong!  shave that shit off.

Another 'rule'.

For now.

Now, to go clean up the bile that the dying kitty has just left for me.

Last day for our Smokey.

Time for an expedition.

It hurts Papi that I'm scared.

I don't ever want to be the one to hurt my love.

I suppose it's only balanced that if I'm hurting, then my love gets a dose of the poison as well.  We do share the same thoughts, after all.

My love just wants me to explore, and feels crushed that I won't go anywhere near the growing 5 foot vagina.

I know logically it's not going to be like that, but my brain is a funny thing ... even without a brain injury, I have always jumped to worst case scenario.

If you know me personally, I'll do my best to have you believe that most of my reasonings are positive thoughts.  It's a defense mechanism to battle my pessimism.

When I first got clean and sober, I wrote positive affirmations in a little red book all day long.  When a bad thought would come in, I'd write it out as a positive.

Eventually, the words that left my mouth would come out like that too.  I trained myself to switch the negative to the positive.

It worked for many parts of my life, and soon I realized that I don't need to be afraid of the emptiness of the future, because everything works out.

i hate the unknown .. i like order ... i want control dammit!!!!

If I look at every horrible, difficult, heart wrenching time in my life, I can see that they indeed have all worked out.

I do get my fair share of disaster around the twists and turns in this existence.  I get a little more doom than the average person, so I've had lots of practise.

I guess all the adversity is to prove to that scared little girl inside that she doesn't need to worry about what's in store for her, because it will all work out.

ok little one ... stop fretting about the fact that the universe never ends and go to sleep ...

It always does.  One way or another.

However, it's the 'other' that haunts me now.

I can make positive affirmations all I want, but the terror that my 'wife' is leaving me, replacing that wonderful person with a stranger to my eyes, is much too real.

I just keep staring into the smokey blue peepers of mi esposo and the positive comes back.

Those gorgeous windows to my love's true nature are the positive prove that everything is going to be ok.

"Can I just explore without any sex attached to the experience?"

Papi looked surprised, "Yes!  I didn't mean for us to have sex!  I just want you to see how it looks before it gets any different.  It will be too much for you then if you wait too long.  You need to watch the changes."

"But I can only deal with one thing at a time.  I can't take all of it at the same time."

My love understands, yet Papi's tears were being held down in agony, with the realization that the woman mi esposo loves is afraid of one aspect of the body that used to be cherished from head to toe.

I have to go on an expedition.

It's time to rediscover the embodiment that surrounds that beautiful spirit I love so much.

Time to take a step on that path.

Balance, don't fail me now.

It'll come back and bite you in the ass.

Sometimes, it's hard to measure the success of this journey.

Success:  I kept my breakfast down, and made it to and from the appointment with Dr. Scissorhands without glaring at him and crying afterward.

There were some moments where I felt I could have cried, but I didn't.  I just kept saying, "I can't talk right now."

don't speak

I know I promised my love that wouldn't happen anymore, but damn, there are some times that are really hard.

Yesterday was a wash of emotions that had me interlaced with demons.

It wasn't only hard at the doctor appointment.  As a matter of fact, he was a really good guy.  He made me giggle a few times.  He won my heart and I trust him to take care of Papi, even if I am devasted.

Part of the problem yesterday, was that we were in 'bumfuck nowhere'; Abbotsford, home of the bible thumpers, pedophiles and people who marry their cousins.

They would stare at Papi like I was in company with that alien I speak about.  I would wait for them to finally see me giving the death stare ...

(mama bear is gonna fuck you up if you say ANYTHING!!  THIS i promise you fuckface)

 ... and they would drop their eyes from my love in a moment of, "Damn I've been caught!"

While out for lunch, I tried to find 'food' that would be good for my allergies.  It's hard enough in Vancouver to find this at food courts, but in Abbotsford they even make healthy choices bad for you.

Deep fried, battered everything.

I ate it only because I was feeling so triggered by the people in this town, that I needed to stuff my throat full of food like a tub plug, to keep the fear down in my belly.

I started envisioning every man there in a mug shot after having raped a child or woman.  I was so fucked up by the time we left the mall that I was having panic attacks from fear of people.

We also had one of my love's very best friends with us.  It was two for one day at the hysterectomy office.

Just kidding, but it's a little odd to be sitting with two people who want a hysterectomy for different reasons.  I felt very possessive of my uterus during this time.

what are YOU looking at?!?!  i'll be keeping mine, thank you very much!  back off bitches!

It was really difficult to listen to two people talk about the operation like it was having a wart removed.  I was quite silent for the entire trip.

When I got home, I was fully exhausted from emotions and bad 'food'.  I had a headache from hell.  I jumped on the 'coffee shop' to have giggles of distraction from the terror I'd endured, and what happens?

I get into my first heated debate on the 'coffee shop' about the very people I was provoked by all day long.

My heart was breaking that this one person sounded like he was sticking up for the crud of the world who I think of as less than flea excrement on my dog's back.

My poor injured brain couldn't handle it.  I had to calm myself and really look at what the guy was saying.

focus ... focus ...

He was saying I lived in a fantasy ...

(fair enough ... i like my bubble) 

... if I thought that the world would start to use these creeps for medical testing instead of animals.  I finally got that he wasn't PRO pedophile/rapist, nor was he fighting for their rights.

I'll tell you, it was very hard to get to sleep last night with visions of detached uteri and predators dancing through my head.

I did not like yesterday at all.

Now it's today, and I've promised to speak to Papi about the conversations I deferred.

NOW I feel like crying.

Self-Mutilation

What's good for the goose should be good for the gander right?

Somehow, to me, what Papi wants to do to those oh so perfect breasts is not the same.

There are a few plastic surgeries that I'd entertain having.  Yet, when it comes to how I feel about my love, top surgery is permissible dismembering.

I suppose it's because of the difference between the reasons for our reconstructions.  Mine would be to maintain the pretty femme who seems to be aging, and Papi's are to become more of a beefcake.

Just getting my head around this is going to take a while.

I'm not attracted to femmes, and I'm not attracted to males.  I am definitely attracted to masculine women.  Transgendered women, really.

So, why then, is it so hard for me to understand that this is just an extension of this masculinity that I find so damn hott?

Yes, double 't' hott.

I would be more creeped out if my love got breast implants.  This would be a deal breaker.  Just the thought of my love parading around great DD breasts makes me laugh with absurdity, however my love would like it if I had them.  Papi half jokes and is half serious about this.

Well, here's a question; why do transgendered people have to go to a psychiatrist to get their psyche probed about getting breasts removed, but any woman can just walk in and get them enlarged?  Isn't it the same slicing and dicing of our bodies?

All these surgeries to 'improve' ourselves are out of control.  To me, it's a bit like the youngster I was; slicing my arms in an attempt to declare visible hatred to the person I loathed.

Modern day self-mutilation.  Chop ourselves up to become the person that our mind's eye sees.

I'm more inclined to starve myself to become that person in my head.  Taking the miniature cleaver to my body is not ever going to change the gobs of fat I see in the mirror.  I see a person who is way too big for her liking.  It's just part of the eating disorder that I will live with for the rest of my life, I'm sure.

You see, I know that rationally, being a size 7ish person is not overweight.  But the mirror lies.  I see someone much different than what that waistline says in those pants, dresses etc.

It would be nice to never have to live with a mirror in the house, but then what about doing my hair?

Oh dear.  I've gotten off topic.  I should never start talking about my hair.  It would create a novel.

OK ...

Hacking body parts.

In the horror movies I love to watch, I giggle with glee when parts are severed and butchered.  I know it's not real.  It's entertainment, and I have a sick mind to amuse.

But to think of the real thing in a surgeon's chair of 'let's make ya pretty'?

It saddens me.  I'm not afraid or sickened.  It causes me to cast my eyes down in reduced joy.

I have more respect for myself now than I have ever had, yet I know that given the right lump of cash, I'd get my breasts lifted; I don't want them bigger, I want them smaller.

I'd get that little sagging part of my outer eyelid lifted so that it would stop welcoming the proof of my age.

I'd get the skin under my chin tightened, so that I have a few more years of fooling the world that the turkey neck is not happening.

No.  Not to me!  I couldn't possibly be aging.  I haven't succeeded in all my attempts in life.  I can't be aging yet!

Yes, I'd do these things to my body to cease the itch that is an uncomfortable obsession.

Why is this so different than what my love wants?

What is that all about?

Time for rationale.

hijacked again!

I had a dream I betrayed Papi by sleeping with Keith Urban.  What the fuck is that about?

Ew.

Then while I was feeling regret in my dream, wondering how the hell I was going to tell my love that I slept with a bio male, but can't get down 'n jiggy with my transitioning F-M soul mate, I was woken.

I awoke to two gorgeous smokey blue eyes staring at me.  Startling at first, followed by my heart being filled by a vision of beauty.

Then the words, "It's time to get up!  We're going to Bellingham."

Road trip.

Hijacked again.

I only have enough time to say that I'm so fucking grateful that those delightful eyes will not be something that will be changing after the male transformation.

I get to keep those beautiful eyes.

I love Papi.