Is this parenting?!?

I get to have lunch with my mother today.

We're working on our friendship and I'm really happy about it.

It seems to be a regular routine every Thursday now.  I go do my physio, then, while my body is cooling down and the ouch is setting, we chow down on lunch.

And chat.

Having told my mom that I felt she was never proud of me, she seems to be listening to my dreams instead of criticizing them now.

We are all different, and just because we come from the blood of another family member doesn't mean we have the same thoughts, views or feelings in this life.

I follow dreams, while others may follow the norm to feel secure in this world.

I've learned that there really is no security in this world.  Anyone who trusts in the security of this life will be in for a learning experience.

Which isn't so bad, as far as I can see.  Learning is why we're here, and every day is a new adventure!

We can make plans all we want, but it doesn't mean life is going to follow our wishes.

Life has it's own plans.  Life will never be fair.  It will be a balance of good and bad, and our only hope to get through it, is to focus on the good it brings.

Hard to see the good in this one, however.

Here's a jack-off who really believes he can change his son's sexual orientation by buying him anything he wants:

Now I know why all the fags of the world have so many good toys in their lives!

Daddy tried to bribe them with money!

All daddy is going to get is a hefty credit card bill and a son who really knows what love means, and it probably won't be for his father.

I had to dig a little to figure out if this was a joke.

It's not.

This mother fucker deserves all the strife he has with his son.

His anger and homophobia will eat him alive, cell by cell, while he rots his spirit to blackness.

Hopefully it will happen before his son matures, so that his son can live a life that is peaceful without having to deal with his fuckwad of a father in it.

Anger can really do a number on us.  If we live with it so deep, it truly will kill us.

Heart attack.  Cancer.  Stroke.

You name it, your homophobia will get'cha.

This is the only hope we have for these 'humans'; that they will die off like the dinosaurs.

Hopefully they'll die off before they brainwash too many youngins to think that they're horrible people because they love someone of the same gender.

I was 13 when I started to realize that I had feelings for girls.  I cowered in my fear for years before I could bravely tell my homophobic family members the truth.

If we're lucky, there comes a point when you can't scare us anymore.

This kid who's being coerced by his father by way of financial gain will find his strength.  I'm sure of it.  He's seeing the fun of getting anything he wants, plus seeing his loves on the side.

He'll lurk in the shadows with his lovers and collect all daddy's shiny gifts ...

... dude, i'd be asking for a porsche and a house before you out yourself!  get the good stuff! ...

... until he's realized that he doesn't need the security of his father's wishes.

It will come.

When it does, let's hope to hell this kid posts a Craigslist add about how fucking hard his father took it.

it's not about getting a chance, it's about taking a chance

nothing.

So, I can't really blame satan's revival yesterday on not having my coffee.

I can't really blame it on Sir Bark-A-Lot, nor Papi leaving the door open so that Sir Bark-A-Lot would feel the impulse to patrol Psycho Kitty who lives upstairs with G'ma.

Really, what it all comes down to is performing.

I've told 'you', my imaginary friend, that I've had anxiety before shows since I was a kid, and how I was the most horrid person to be around for a week prior to my piano recitals.

As a young adult, I would spend the majority of the pre-show time in isolation, occupying filthy bar bathrooms that were unfit for even the dregs of society.  I'd cross my fingers that nobody would see me leave and find out who was responsible for the 'odeur du death'.

As time went on, I became more accustomed to these nerves and knew how to deal with them, awarding me a feeling of excitement instead of anxiety before my appearances.

Then came the motorcycle accident and brain injury, forcing me into 2.5 years off from the big stage.

Now?

I'm healing.

Now.

I'm ready for bigger stages.

Now:

My stomach is reeling in anticipation of the crowd we'll be performing for tonight and tomorrow.

Now!

It's like I'm thrown right back to my childhood, being served a main course of the shakes with a side of butterfly twists.

i'm sure this coffee will help with shaking eh? not to mention a cranky stomach ...

I'm really no fun to live with before my spectacles.

Papi has figured out that I'm a 'bit' of a schizoid before presentations of my craft.

This is such a good thing, because Papi can say to me, "Aw, are you getting scared about the show?"

I want to deny it.

I want to say, "No way!  I'm a pro remember?  I was that 'up and coming' bass goddess until the accident."

But I have to admit.

Yes.

It's back to square one.  And this is in so many regards.

2.5 years is a lifetime in the entertainment world.

Everyone has forgotten about me and lost interest in my art, contacts have changed, and a few fans have actually reply with 'remove' from my email based promotions.

I'm starting all over again and having to win new devotees one more time.

This is why I think that it really is good to put HECTOR on the back burner and BlueLight in the forefront.

You can't make a come back when you're coming back from 'up and coming'.  It doesn't work.  You have to come out with something fresh and attack it with fire!

So, here I go.

Really, tonight I'm playing for such a fun crowd.

Fag-O-Rama!!!!

It's a big drunk fest leading up to the Pride Parade, where they shut down Davie Street, setting up an outdoor bar and people are drunk by noon.

It's a bunch of sparkly fags with boas and shiny hot pants looking as pretty as possible, along with a spattering of the occasional dyke and fag hag.

What's there to be afraid of?

Nothing.

And that's what anxiety is all about.

Nothing.

Butch for a day.

There was a time when shame would bring a thief to admitting their wrongs.

It was a time of innocence and respect for others, and this is where the G'ma still resides.

along with her cognitive memory

"I want to call her and tell her to give me my stuff back.  Maybe she will if I explain that it was a family heirloom."

Then for the 100th time, I explained, "Grandma, thieves don't care these days.  She's already brought it to a pawn shop and it's gone."

"Well, then I'll offer her money.  Maybe she'll give it back to me if I give her money for it.  I just want it back."

yes ... you're reading right ... she didn't listen to a word i said.

G'ma is going to ask us about 50 times a day until the day she dies.  It's starting to get to me.  I've written notes for her so she can remember, but she tosses them in the recycling after she reads them.

I wrote it down again today, but it won't make a difference.

The other day I was 10 minutes late for an appointment because I had to go through the whole chain of events as to why her jewelry box is missing.

We're all very upset that the person staying here while we were in the Dominican Republic invited a thief into the house.  Papi lost a $250 Canucks Jersey.  I didn't lose anything important that can't be replaced.

but it still pisses me off ... fuck you sister of friend.

But honestly, I can't hear about G'mas heirloom over and over every breathing minute of the day.

It will be the same conversation until something else happens to upset the G'ma.

Like the shrub Papi cut, or the stairs without the carpet and the list goes on and on like the annoying repeating conversations I have every time I just want to go let the dogs out.

gawd i hope i die before my brain does.

I'm going to start leaving out the basement door, climb the stairs, force this broken body over the dog gate and slink away from now on.  I can't handle repeating the same conversations from scratch when I'm trying to rush out the door for work or an appointment.

Sometimes, I don't even want to come home, because it means walking through G'mas space to get to our little love nest in the dungeon.

She's living in a world that doesn't exist past 5 minutes and I wish I were more patient.  It's a true test of your level of composure living with an elder who's lost their marbles.

I just wanted to come on here and have a giggle about Papi, but instead I'm venting about the 5 years short of a centurian.

Well, it wasn't really a giggle about my love, it was just that Papi texted me that they had gone to a fag bar.

I jokingly replied, "Are they flirting with you?"

Papi was very upset replying, "No.  Grrrr.  I'm obviously a woman."

With these words, I clung to the butch I married one more time, "Honey, you're better than a woman.  You're a butch.  I know you want to be seen as someone else, but to me you're perfect no matter what you look like."

I received love back from these words, but really, it was about being happy that my butch was still here.

A little less up top, but still here.

It was all about the moustache.  I have the feeling that caterpillar won't ever be shaved off again.

But then again, my love will have to deal with the 95 year old force.  Who knows, maybe G'ma will win again.

She's crafty, that old bird.

Papi's at it again!

First off, I have to say I'm sorry there aren't any pictures to show you yet.  Papi and I have been having so much fun that there just hasn't been time to get any computer time in.

which is the point i think?  so why am i here?!

However, I felt the need to get here and say hi to 'you', my imaginary friend, so here I am.  Papi is up doing money things.  For some reason, my card won't work here.

eek! the people love us, but the atm doesn't

I have to vent now.  I'm on holiday.  I shouldn't have to deal with tranny issues, right?

not if papi can help it ... my love has my undivided attention

Somehow I'm being held hostage by the Tranny Terrorist, who is yakking about things I just don't want to think about.

The chin hair.

I look at it frequently.  It's hard to take my eyes off it.  Now I will admit that there is definitely more there than there was before.

Then there was the back of the leg hair that just jumped out and decided to give us a scare.

jeeeeeeeezus!  where the fuck did that come from?!?!?!

I've been strict with Papi about shaving leg hair because I still want to hang on to my butch for as long as I can.  I would never date anyone with the hairy lesbian look, so I've not wanted my love to have any hair there.

It will look quite ridiculous if my love has upper leg hair and no lower leg hair, you know what I mean?!?!?

So I suppose the 'rules' are changing.

I did catch a glimpse of the 'male' my love is morphing into.  It was a bit disastrous for me.  It made me want to cry about the life I'm losing.

While we were enjoying our time, we saw two very pleasing fags who looked to be completely in love.  It made my heart melt.  I had pride that in this day and age, we queers can show our love in public without fear.

to a point ...

Then I realized that Papi and I would never be seen as the sweet dyke couple anymore.  I will now be just the boring straight girl.  I will no longer be the femme.

It really is difficult here in the Dominican when men won't speak to me when it's Papi and I together.  They speak to my love as the 'man' and I am just the sidekick wife.  I am not equal.

It is really hard to be seen as a straight couple, and I'm having my first glimpse of forever being just that.

One thing that was really strange today was seeing my love's beautiful breasts in a different light.

Papi finally bared those gorgeous breasts and I looked at them with contradiction.  They really didn't look like they belonged.

I've never seen this before, but there it was.  Papi is really just having a breast reduction in a different way.  They're not going to hang and flop like some dude who has man tits.  They'll be perk and flat.

As a matter of fact, that sweet belly of Papi's will be sticking out more than those flat pectorals.

Ok.

So, there's some good, some bad, some strange, but overall?

I'm not feeling the grief quite as much as I thought I would with The Countdown to doomsday.  I'm just enjoying my time with Papi.  I'm looking at the beginning of my life changing along with Papi.  It's terrifying and I want to resist, but I'm still going along with this crazy ride.

Except for when Papi starts asking things like, "Ok, so when we're in Florida and the operation is done, you have to contact 'x' and 'x' and 'x' and tell them I'm ok."

Then when I don't answer my love asks, "Why aren't you speaking?"

"Because my dear.  I'm on holiday.  There will be no Tranny Terrorism while I'm on holiday."

O gawd.

Here it comes.

I go with my love to an appointment today.  The hysterectomy doctor.

Today may prove to be difficult.  I'm going as support for Papi, but my stomach is not happy.  I need something to support my stomach.

what about me?

This is just a consultation, but it signifies so much more.

Another step towards the abyss.

Another step toward losing my 'wife'.

Yesterday, we went out for brunch with a couple on my Trust List.  I was amazed at how I was able to joke around about 'it'.

Mind you, it was expected of us.  We were at The Elbow Room.  This is a restaurant where you have to have your wits about you, as the staff are instructed to verbally abuse you in any way they see fit.

When I told the fine fag I was allergic to wheat, and could I please have hashbrowns instead of a muffin, he stated, "Well, not having your regular muff must be hard for you!"

I retorted with a sideways thumb point at Papi, "Yeah, well, this one's transgendered, so I don't get it anyway."

I couldn't believe that I joked about 'it'!

damn!  who's that girl?! 

Then we openly spoke with our friends and the flamboyant waiter about the whole process.

It was a rather quiet day at the diner of debasement.  The lovely gentleman got to be himself a little, letting his corrupted character of the show have a well needed break.

He was very sweet.  I gave him a free 'Bitch, Bitch, Bitch' cd :)

Papi forgot that I'm sensitive about the mutilation of that beautiful body I love, and did the 'whoosh' action that kills me so much.  There was a quick reminder and then an apology.

All in all though, I was surprised at myself.  I am getting stronger.

Maybe my Trust List friends are right.

Maybe I am stronger than I think.

Well, here we go ...

I must eat and leave with my love.

I hope my food stays put.