a raindrop in the ocean

Tomorrow is save the puppies day.

So many dogs here are wild, and the ones that have a family generally aren't spayed and neutered.

This means, many puppies.

Here, people think the only solution is to drop them off in the wilderness, allowing them to die.

Sometimes, they're nicer and kill the puppies quickly so they don't suffer by starvation.

Well, one of the people we have painting Casa Paraíso has 5 puppies.

We can't take one of them, as we have already agreed to take one that is currently in another dog's womb.

Taking one more would put us over the edge with insanity.

6 Bathroom Buddies are enough.

Seriously.

Anyway, when our great painter/Spanish tutor came to work at the house today, he said he and his cousin were going to bring the dogs into the wilderness to let them die, because they can't keep them.

I begged them, "Please, don't do this today.  Tomorrow I will bring them to the AAAS and surrender them."  I explained he'd have to surrender the mother as well for the babies' sakes.

He agreed to the terms.

I know full well that even though I can't do this with every single cat and dog in the country, at least I can do it for one litter.

Sometimes, I just can't handle all this.

The other day, I was frantic when I saw a girl throw a dog into the water with all her force.

I'm not talking play.  I mean it looked like Serena Williams serving in a tennis match.

The rip tide here on our side of the island can drown a human, never mind a small size dog.

Didn't matter to her.

Every time the dog would run back out of the waves, she would pick her up (usually by the collar, choking it) and with every bit of her strength, she would throw it into the ocean one more time.

The dog would eventually surface, gasping for air, ears back and whites of her eyes showing.

This is how she was 'washing' her dog.

I expected her to stop after the 2nd time, but upon the 3rd, I ran to her, screaming in my broken Spanish, "Please stop!  Look at your dog!  She's shaking because she's afraid to drown!  You will kill your dog!"

Then to add an empty threat to the monologue, hoping she wouldn't take me up on it, I added, "If you don't want that dog, I'll take her.  She needs love.  You're going to kill her."

The girl simply apologized to me as if it was only a matter of my problem being sensitive, not having any regard for the animal and what she was doing to it.

Everyone else who watched her do this thought it was normal.

They laughed at me and my panic.

This is one of the hardest things about living here in the Dominican Republic.

The lack of respect for animals.

Then there's road kill.

There are no predators here, so when there's a dead dog at the side of the road, it sits in the sun until it rots.

You see road kill at least once every 2 days.

Then?

You see the remains for a good week after, and being that there is only one road you can travel, you are forced to see it time and again.

The last remains we saw were there for so long that after a while it was completely unrecognizable as a dog.

How does an animal lover get past this?

You don't, I guess.

I suppose all I can do is bring those 5 adorable puppies in and surrender them and the mother, in hopes that they will all keep their lives and find a family.

Tomorrow, we save 5 puppies and a mother.

It's like a rain drop in the ocean compared to all the other that are dying.

i accept what i can not change

the gift

Papi is gone.

So is our electricity.

Tomorrow, I'll go see about buying a newer, used inverter.

I spend most of my day running to do things while I see the city power on.  "Quick!  Practise a set while you can!  Throw in a load of laundry!  See if Papi sent a message!"

Then in between, I try to find things to do without electricity: a little exercise, fold laundry, clean up dog poop, or just practise those Spanish lyrics over and over.

Today, the water gave out on me.

Back to flushing toilets with a bucket of water from the pool, not to mention a pool bath.

I'll be getting a super duper special 8 a.m. visit from our plumber tomorrow morning.

Maybe there will be electricity so I can get an extra couple of hours practise in.

I definitely need it.

This whole 'translating to Spanish' thing is consuming my days.

My obsession.

It's so lovely to sing all day, but when your memory leaves as MUCH to be desired as mine does, it's a little frustrating.

I feel like I'm forever going to be tied to a sheet of paper with words on it.

Anyway, while I was practising yesterday, I had a special visit.

No, not 20 children at my gate screaming my name in unison to be sure I heard it.

... you think i'm kidding ... don't you?? ... nope ...

It was Housemaid.

It never really occurred to me just how much it meant to people here that we played Santa.

But there she stood, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Beautifully wrapped in a pink mesh type paper infused with lines of sparkly gold, and a gold ribbon bow to tie it all in a grand package.

Never have flowers ever looked so beautiful.

2 bright sunflowers, with gads of purple daisies, surrounded by little yellow buds peeking in from the not so empty spaces.

Oh, and a card, which read, "On behalf of the children and families in the village, Blessings."

This bouquet would be a VERY nice gift for someone, when you go to their birthday or any other time people want to bring some love to you, but this one?

It took about 15 people to scrape together the money to buy this gift.

I am floored.

They were so grateful for what we did for them for X-Mas.

When I was worried about dipping further into the credit cards to do this, I didn't really know that it would be as appreciated as it was.

I cried a couple of tears from the pure love I felt.

Papi wasn't here to receive this love, but he felt it from afar.

He could really use love.

His trip hasn't turned out so well.

The family he was staying with didn't quite treat him with much respect.

Imagine being alone at the house of part of your 'family' for X-Mas because your 'family' said you weren't invited to be with them where they were having dinner?

Then get kicked out on X-Mas night with no warm clothes and nowhere to go because you told this 'family' how you feel?

Yeah.  Merry fucking X-Mas to you, too.

Anyway, Papi will get to come home to love.

And hopefully electricity.

One thing is for sure, by not having any electricity, this house is sure tidy.

I've also managed to slim down a little from the ankle fat, as well as strengthen my ankle so much that I can almost get up and down stairs without pain!

Anyway, I better upload this before the electricity goes again!!

i choose to consciously surround myself with positivity

All hail the baby sister!

The pain kicked in.

It's amazing how much of a relief I get from the weather in the Dominican Republic.

All I can say is, I am so very grateful my brother-in-law shares his pain meds for his own horrible chronic pain.

Although, I will be suffering through the pain instead of utilizing his offer from now on.

I've had 2 rounds of awesome upchucking, and the bags under my eyes make me look like I am 100 years older.

Classy.

I haven't had to deal with my bitch of a back for 10 months, so it was a shocking reminder of how much pain I was in for all that time.

I really understand the need for morphine, codeine and all the other little pills I took all those years.

Yesterday, I had my family there to push me around in a wheelchair in the snowy streets of Banff, which was an amazing X-Mas gift from the family, not to mention the flight out here they helped pay for.

My 10 year old niece did a good job of pushing me into walls and into the middle of street intersections against the red light.

She loves me.

I think.

My baby sister is so very thoughtful.

She understands my food allergies and tries her best to accommodate me, while at the same time, taking care of her entire family.

She's a good sis.

I can't do too much while I'm lying around, so I just watch my teenage nephew go through the cupboards and fridge non-stop.

Since writing this, he's opened the fridge about 12 times and never really taken anything out.

Now the pantry.

Now back to the fridge again.

Of course, all of this is in between playing on his phone.

He hides in his phone and when he gets in trouble for it, he simply walks over to the fridge and pantry to pretend he's looking for 'something'.

With all the effort it takes to try to fool his parents into believing he's busy, he could actually do something with his time.

Most of the footage I have here is of him: "Look who's on his phone again!"

My baby sister has her hands full.

When she's not yelling at my nephew, she is repeatedly yelling, "No!" to my sugar addicted niece, as she incessantly begs for more candy.

Oh, there goes my nephew again.

He's switching things up and opening both the freezer AND the fridge at the same time.

Moving things around, sniffing something to see if it's any good, and now, putting it right back in again when it was not an odour he was impressed by.

Now, back to the pantry, staring at nothing, picking things up, putting them back down and walking away again.

Wait!

He actually took something out of the pantry!

Cereal!

Not that he's pouring himself any.

He just took it out and left it on the counter while he investigated what's on the stove.

And now, he just put the cereal box in the fridge.

Seriously.

I don't think Papi and I would be able to handle a teenager.

We would lose our minds.

Then again, it seems my sister already has.

i love my family for who they are

only happy when it rains

Everything is in Dominican Time here.

Including my healing.

But my steps are getting stronger, and yesterday, I made my first home cooked meal in 3 months.

Nothing special.

Canned diced tomatoes stewed with onions, garlic and red pepper, over top quinoa.

These past few months of the Papi diet, aka: eating wheat and sugar every day, have taken a toll on Bubble Girl.

My food allergies definitely add to my chemical imbalance.

My obsessing and anxiety are out of control.

Non-stop.

A lovely Blogger Friend, and amazing writer at Lesbians In My Soup!, really got the essence of what I was trying to say yesterday.

I'm only happy when I have something to bitch about.

I bitch about anything.

Everything.

So, when I'm happy about something, you really know it's genuine.

I'm generally a happy person, and on a regular basis, I catch myself off guard thinking to myself, "I really love my life," but I was brought up to bitch and complain.

It's the way I remember my family as a child.

I think the reason the waves have made me crazy, is because I haven't had enough of anything else to focus on.

Lying around like a bloated manatee will do that to me.

I'm not very good at staying still.

I'm also not very sane when you take music away from me.

It's my meditation.

I also need regular exercise to release the endorphins that help me stay on top of my mood swings and eating disorder.

All of a sudden, as I was making healthy food yesterday, followed by playing my piano, I realized I didn't hear those waves all too often.

The white noise disappeared with the crackle of onions and garlic sauteing in my cast iron pan.

The action of cooking drowned out the drone.

Playing my piano, doing my best to memorize lyrics to the 3 Spanish songs I know, really took me away from everything.

Hell, I didn't even hear The 6-pack barking.

And I know THAT never ceases.

So, moral of my story is, this has been a tortuous 3 months with this ankle from hell.

But I'm making healthier meals as of yesterday.

I'm playing my piano as of this week.

I'm taking baby steps without my crutches.

I even started teaching as of Friday that just passed.

No, I am NOT good at sitting still.

This I know.

Maybe now that I'm literally getting back up on my feet and eating healthier I'll stop obsessing as well.

That would be nice.

I can only handle one obsession at a time.

It's time to search for my SuperGirl Panties again.

I know they're in here somewhere.

I suppose I'll have to do the laundry to find them.

I also need a little more music, healthy foods and some gentle, seated yoga.

That should bring me closer to them.

developing healthy eating habits becomes easier every day

Bubble Girl

Hallelujah!  I can walk!

Well, if you can call it 'walk'.

I'm allowed to walk lightly with my crutches and my brace.

My sexy, oh so sexy brace, that I have to wear a stinky sweat sock underneath because this here 'Bubble Girl' is having an allergic reaction to the plastic on the brace.

Seriously.

There isn't much I'm not allergic to.

It's a bit frustrating.

And a bit ridiculous.

I am Bubble Girl.

It's amazing that I've lived this long.

I should be dead by now with all that my body rejects.

If you want to know if something is bad for you, let me try it out.

My body will tell you in a second.

Or a day.  Sometimes, there's a delay.

Anyway, as much as it hurts, I used my ankle a little more today.

Mostly to help out the workers who are busy with our temporary sea shield until we can afford the rocks.

Right now, the workers sound like they're fighting, but that's just men and their machismo ways.

Plus I can't understand all they're saying, so it just sounds like anger.

Speaking of which, Housemaid managed to patch everything up and work her manipulation with the marina, Mr. Extortion.

We're not paying anymore and our DR Family gets to keep their job.

Really, Papi and I figured out that they are indeed family.

Only family can get that upset with each other, then the next day go on about business like nothing happened.

It's sorta the way people are here.

People blow up and have a meltdown about something, then they're friends again the next day.

It really reminds me of heated Italian lovers in a tumultuous relationship.

But I know how Mr. Extortion was tipped off in the first place.

There's this old man who rides around on his motorcycle just being nosy about everything.

He's the one that called Mr. Extortion on us when we first moved here.

Goddammit if our contractor, The Carpenter, didn't hire him to help with the ocean's bandaid!

There he was, all smiles at me today.

I was thinking, "Mother fucker.  You goddamn bastard.  You're the one that gives us trouble all the time!"

I just about tore through the gate to give him a wallop, straight up the ass.

But we all know Bubble Girl on crutches with a sexy, filthy, grey, sweat sock brace can't move very fast.

So, I just cursed him under my breath.

I can't stand the fact that he's working for us and that I have to pay him.

But The Carpenter hired him, and we don't have to pay Mr. Extortion, so I guess I'll just let it be and continue to give him the evil eye when I see him.

Oh, but I will NOT forgive this bastard with nothing better to do than try to cause problems for us.

I HAVE forgiven Housemaid.

I'm hoping that after having to stoop so low as to apologize, that perhaps she'll stop the nonsense and no longer be our worst thief.

And now, Bubble Girl is going to go hand wash clothes, as our brand new washing machine has yet again crapped out on us.

Envy me here in 'paradise'?

i will conduct myself in such a way that i can be proud

blame it on the rain

This week, we haven't been able to keep up our 'excursion to the beach' bargain.

It seems that when our friends back home in Vancouver have a lot of sun, we get all their rain.

I don't mind so much.

The rain here is warm.

Plus!

When it rains it means our lazy asses don't have to go water the garden.

That saying, 'When it rains it pours', is MORE than true here.

A lot of the time, Vancouver's bad weather is that horrible misty rain, which floats up and under people's umbrellas.

No point in an umbrella when it's that fine mist.

Here?

No such thing.

Never fine mist.

When it rains, it literally pours.

Everyone runs for cover.

Our Favourite was here yesterday, to find out what time we could drive Our Fave's Mom to her sister's house.

She has a best friend in her sister.  Her sister will make her happy.

Even though we eventually went for that walk on the beach yesterday, I know that a best friend always makes us much more content.

We are her personal chauffeur, as we gather all her, our godson, and the kids' belongings and pack them into our little Carolla.

I always make Our Fave's Mom sit in front, even though every time she tries to sit in the back, because it's the rule in our car.  Visitors in front.

Most folks have motorcycles, so as we drive along that narrow street of her family's village, people look in at her like she's something pretty fancy, and I feel like all she's missing is a tiara.

Anyway, it was raining and Our Favourite was here to find out when we'd be leaving.  I asked him to go tell his mother that we'd be there in 10 minutes.

20 minutes if you count in that everything is Dominican Time.  Even ex-pats get stuck in that time warp.

He told me he couldn't go tell her until it stopped raining.

I thought maybe my lack of Spanish was hearing the wrong thing, but nope.

He couldn't walk to his house because it was raining.

The kids here don't go to school when it rains and even shops shut down.

But it wasn't until his mother said that the rain hurts her and gives her a headache that I finally understood.

In Vancouver, the rain debilitated me, as every injury I had from the motorcycle accident was inflamed and I would lie writhing, unless I was whacked out on pain meds.

Here, the rain is warm, and to me it's lovely, but when you've lived here from birth, well, the rain is cold and it hurts.

It's pretty amazing how one woman's pain is another's joy.

It's so true to everything in life.

It's all relative.

Like my Big Sister reminded me, even though I see our house as the size of an average abode in Vancouver, here it is a mini mansion.

Everything is relative.

All I know is, here, I am grateful for the rain, and people look at me like I'm nuts as I walk around in a tank top and shorts, smiling, because I know once the sun comes back out, I'll be dry in 10 minutes.

I put my most admired, heaviest sweatshirt on Our Favourite, and off we went to drive around our royalty.

Indeed, I did my best to make her feel comforted yesterday.

Even if our lack of Spanish somehow had us buying her sister's chicken their feed for the month.

OK kids.

The buck-buck-BUCKAW stops here.

... did you get my chicken joke? ...

Time to put up some more boundaries.

And learn some more Spanish.

i love my family and friends, even if they don't understand me completely

family.

What a day!

What a hospital.

Oh man.

You're there to heal and hold a fresh little baby that has just come into this world who needs all the help he can get with his fledgling immune system, and the bathrooms don't have toilet paper to wipe your ass, nor do they have soap to clean your hands while you're drip drying.

Seriously.

Then you're going to hold a little bundle of love who just breathed air for the first time.

Of course, I did it anyway, for as long as my bitch of a back would allow.

Which was just long enough to fall in love.

What a sweet little soul.

To Our Fave's Mom, it was nothing, as she's had 2 others before.

She giggled at our silliness with the little bean.

As did everyone else who thought us ridiculous.

The family has taken us in, and I believe I have found the DR Family we have been searching for.

Including the gangster brother who scares the hell out of me now that he knows where we live.

But at least, I won't be alone for those three months Papi was talking about.

He was indeed having a grief breakdown.

You know the one if you've had it.

You're not only grieving, you're experiencing every bad thing that ever happened to you in your life along with the pain of loss.

Well, Papi isn't going back to Canada to stay with G'ma for 3 months.

He was just having 'a moment' of weakness.

I won't be alone for all that time, but I would have done it to make Papi happy.

We do know that G'ma is in the best care she could have.

She is surrounded by other family and friends.

She is taken care of with her Alzheimer's better than we could do.

She is where SHE wants to be, near her church people who mean the world to her.

We have asked her to come with us, but she didn't want to.

So, there in Canada, with the BEST care, she stays.

Best care, with toilet paper, and soap to wash her hands.

Best care, with people who know how to care for her condition.

Good thing she's not here.

She would not have survived the heat first of all.

Second, she would have a fit about all the repairs she would have to live with.

Third, we wouldn't be able to have the dogs to protect us, because they would knock her down.

She wouldn't be able to handle Papi firing off a gun every night, just because he enjoys it.

You know that story?  The boy who cried wolf?

I fear that people will get too used to my dingbat husband firing off a gun and not come to help when they hear the real thing.

Well, at least the gangster brother will know we have it.

Today, we will have a full house, because all the repairs we needed yesterday couldn't be done, because we had to be there to bring the new life into this world.

Not to mention, I also have a visitor.

Another dog lover from down the beach.

Her New York accent is very thick, and I love it!  We're going to share coffee along with some papaya straight from my tree.

I don't know where we're going to sit, as there is no deck to sit on right now, but I have a visitor.

And workers.

So, I best go get that veggie garden watered before all hell breaks loose.

Day begins ..........

NOW!

i let go of all lies i tell myself

Gratitude List Day 4/10
1. I am grateful to be a godparent a 2nd time over.
2. I am grateful to be accepted into a family here in the Dominican Republic.
3. I am grateful to have experienced a brand new life yesterday.
4. I am grateful Papi is feeling so much better.
5. I am grateful I am feeling so much better.
6. I am grateful Papi heard Psycho Kitty tell him that he's happy and doing well.
7. I am grateful for papaya straight from my tree.
8. I am grateful to be making friends.
9. I am grateful for my angels supporting me.
10. I am grateful for friends back home, who help me through the hard times.  You know who you are.

1st world problems in a 3rd world country

Did'ja miss me?

Or were you relieved my cheeky ass was gone from cyberspace?

Well, love me or hate me, I'm baaaa-aaaack.

We had a NASTY 5 days with no power.

No power means no water.

But more importantly, no internet and no contact with family and my dwindling list of friends that is now down to about the 5 people who care to stay in touch that I am grateful for.

Truly, quality NOT quantity.  The rest of them, well, buh-bye.  My Trust List has almost been abolished.

Each day that passed I became more depressed, thinking that this was it.  We will never have clean dishes or clean bodies again.

My hair looks like a fire hazard.

I'm supposed to look all purrrrrty today for Our Fave's Mom's baby shower.

Oh well.

I can do some kinda up-do-ish thing and give it a wrap to hide the frazzled ends that are, by now, turning into dreadlocks.

There's really no time today to try to wash that bitch out.  I'll need a weed eater to get through the mats.

The cockroaches are having a fucking fiesta with all the dirty dishes.

I managed to get one load cleaned while they thought they had the power going.

Then it was gone again and the rest of the dishes sat as a jungle gym for bugs.

The street power isn't working.  Our generators are not working.  And as soon as dusk hits, this house is blacker than black.

Kinda terrifying actually.

5 days.

We have our lanterns we walk around with, in hopes that we'll see the dog lounging on the floor BEFORE we kick the poor li'l critter.

Our guns are secured in the back of our undies when the night comes.

We're not taking any chances.

The bathroom water still isn't at full bore, but at least I can have a wench's bath; wet sponge, and applied to areas that could offend the general public.

I have layers of dirt on my dirt.

When I clean one layer off, then towel dry, the towel shows me that there is yet another layer that is in need of attention as the dirt rolls into tiny little balls on my skin.

How the hell could I ever be this dirty?!?!?!

I have what looks like permanent stains of dirt on my stomach.

No matter how hard I scrub, it just turns my skin red.

No, the dirt doesn't leave.  I think I need a power washer for that bitch.

Well, I woke to power in the house this morning, and the thrill of all thrills that I was able to talk to 'you'.

I don't know how long this will last.

However, there is one thing that I'm grateful for.

A gas range.

You don't need power to cook.

We also have bottled water, so I was able to drink water while I made sure I took my Prozac, to be sure I didn't have a nervous breakdown.

I also chased it down with a happy little clonazepam pill.

That kept me from climbing the walls and possibly going down to the electricity company and opening fire.

It also had me sleep all the way through workers working, and the Housemaid cleaning all around me.

Here in the Dominican Republic, they have a T-Shirt.

I really need it for when I realize that we're not in Kansas anymore.

It reads, "Remember Where You Are."

It's really hard for an East Van Princess.

Prince Papi seems to be handling it just fine.

Oh, but don't you worry, he will have his time where I'll be picking him up off the floor from something that has him in fetal position.

We take turns.

i have lots of friends

scary ocean!!!

When we say we're living on the ocean, we really mean it.

On a stormy, windy day like today, the waves are actually pounding our property.

Time to buy those massive rocks we were told to get.

And those waves are honestly are so high, they look like they're going to come into the pool.

It's a little scary actually!

I keep looking out expecting there to be a shark in the yard.

I went out for a minute to film for you, and the damn waves were so strong, they got me in the face and pants, and I was standing behind the gate!

If there's a tsunami here, you can be sure we're gone.  But hey, we had a really good time, so don't feel sad if it happens.

We would get to go together, and we get to go looking at paradise.

But seriously, one little tsunami and we're dead.

Anyway, enough of that.  Now I'd like to tell you how bad I feel for my poor baby sister!

She came to the Dominican Republic for a vacation, and it's been horrible weather so far.

To be fair, they came from -15 and it was snowing, so this HAS to be nicer than that.

But still.

When you go to a tropical place, you at least want a tan for chrissakes!!  She says she tanned before she came to make sure she didn't burn.  So now she's afraid she'll go back whiter than when she came!

Well, regardless, we had fun at the Monkey Jungle.  Well, again, except for my baby sister.

Poor thing had a little case of travelling tummy trouble on her trek, so she gave me her ticket for zip lining.  She was afraid she'd be running into the bushes to relieve herself, and there was a group of guys that would probably be a bit less than sympathetic toward her.

I guess Papi didn't have too much fun just filming us and waiting around, either.

Well, today, the family are just going to come and watch the waves.  Perhaps, go into the village and give all the kids candy.

When it rains here, the kids have no school.

Very much like a snow day back home.

Can you believe it?!?!  They don't get rainy days like this too often, but they cancel school because all the kids have to ride in on the 'taxi' motorcycles, and they get too wet.

Lordy.  These li'l critters would be horrified at the conditions they'd be forced to live with in Vancouver.

Anyway, because of the rain, there should be a ton of kids around for them to give candy to.

That will make them happy.

So, today is the sad day to say goodbye to Mr. Majestic.  We almost thought that perhaps we'd just muzzle him and he could be safe here with the other animals.

However, that wouldn't be much of a life, would it?

Not to mention, the cats wouldn't understand that there is a steel barrier between them and they would still be cowering in fear.

It's not fair to them that they can't go outside, and we only get to see them at night when Cujo is outdoors.

Outdoors crying.

Crying man!

He's such an intimidating, ferocious guard dog, but when we put him outside he cries.

It's a bit much I have to say.

But he is an emotional dog, very sensitive and needy, if you can believe it.

... yeah. needy of blood! ...

Anyway, he just needs a one family home, with at MOST a new puppy introduced to HIM.

That would work.

I'm so sad.

I hope the angels listened when I asked for a perfect home for this guy.

i know this situation will work out for the higher good

cujo must go.

Here's your Sunday YouTube Show.

I'm quite sad today.

We have to bring Mr. Majestic back to the AAAS.

He attacked old Ghost Face.

Even when she retreated, he went for her again.

I was quite grateful we have a wall to make our space private, as I stripped my shirt off to cover his face and get him off the old girl.

She was doing so well.

She had finally come to greet us when we returned back to the house.

She gave a little jump of joy that we were home.

Then Cujo went and attacked her, and it was quite scary.

All the animals have been lunged at now.

Nobody is exempt.

The poor critter just needs a home where there's no kids or animals.

He's the GREATEST guard dog ever!!!

He's just not a family dog that we can trust with the rest of our Fuzzy Family.

I am feeling like I failed a little bit.

I am so sad that we have to bring him back.

I'm feeling like I'm going to cry.

I'm going to have to talk to my angels and ask them to find a great home for this guy.

I fell in love with him a little bit.

OK.

Not a little bit.

A lot.

Anyway, I have some distraction from the sadness, because we're having fun with my baby sister and the crew.

Today, we're taking them to the Monkey Jungle!

Monkeys will jump all over you when it's feeding time, and all the proceeds go to helping the Haitian immigrants. 

The Haitians don't really have much support here.

They're kinda stuffed in villages, not much different than the way our ancestors treated the First Nations in Canada.

This project puts the proceeds towards giving Haitians medical attention when they need it.

Otherwise, they would go without, because the Dominicans don't want to help their neighbours.

Please decrepit old car.

Get us up the hill to the monkeys!!!!

We can always coast back down.

my family is a gift

you don't know me.

Can I tell you how much I hate thieves without being called names for it?

Any colour, age, class, gender, nationality or any other difference someone has from one another, I hate thieves.

To me, 'they' are only one step below a sexual predator.

Yet somehow, Papi and I were called racist because we referred to the thieves here as 'they'.

I'm back in fucking pronoun hell just like I was a few years ago when I struggled with my love going through the male transformation.

I'm so fucking sick of the Vancouverite, uber politically correct people and their finger pointing.

We got nothing but trouble from the 'community' in Vancouver for NOT being perfectly dishonest.  We thought we escaped it by coming here.

Well in the world of social media, 'they' just attacked us on Facebook instead.

We are supposed to keep our mouths shut about everything and anything that we don't like.

If we don't, we're called racist, transphobic, selfish, you fucking name it.

'They' stole from us, the thieves, yet we're called racist for being upset, because 'they' are of colour and from a developing country.

For fucks sakes.  The Pool Man's wife is Dominican and she's the one telling us how almost all the people will scam us here and how we've already been robbed.

Yet we're being racist by calling thieves 'they'.

I came here with so much love.

I poo-poohed anyone who said it's not a good idea give to the people here.

'They', who poo-poohed me, said, "If you give, they'll take too much and rob you."

I didn't believe it.  We wanted to give, give, give.

Give, give, give we did.

We brought gifts and every day we unpacked them we gave it to people we thought would be family.

What did we get for it?  Robbed.  I've now noticed my toiletries have dwindled in only 2 weeks of being here.

I wanted to bring my favourite treats to the people in my village when we got here as a 'hello' and 'thank you for letting me be here in your space'.

Now I won't.  Instead, I'll give my time to an organization where I can leave afterward without anyone knowing where we live.

We have a security guard in which we are overcharged for, but we keep paying it until the pool and walls are done.

Yet still, every time I go out to bring him water, juice, pop, beer, snacks he asks for more money, because he says his baby is starving, then turns around and tells me his baby is drinking lots of milk from the mother.

Sorry, but we are paying you fairly for your job.  We are not stealing from you.  We are giving.  We are not being selfish, but we are not responsible for the well being of every person we know.  We are dependent only upon ourselves.

We really can't afford to pay him, the house maid and gardener and are running out of money, but we hired people because we were told it helps the 'community'.

Yet we're called selfish because we don't want to be broke and living in a shack.

I received a settlement for my motorcycle accident, and we're selfish because we chose to give ourselves a dream life with the money.

Instead, we were basically told we deserve to be robbed because of it.

Let me tell you, if a white, Canadian asshole robs me, I hate them just as much.

Yet because we've come to another country where we're the foreigner, if we vent our feelings about things we worked hard for being stolen, we're called racists and selfish.

One person thought that because 'they' were stealing and are so broke, we should wrap up our things in a gift with a nice big bow, as to say, "Here.  You need this."

To thieves it will say, "Here.  Thank you for stealing from us.  You're welcome to take anything you like because we are just weak, stupid pushovers."

To some people, we're supposed to just take it and give them chance after chance.

I'm sorry, but there are no second chances.  I won't be fooled again.

Today, no matter what the uber politically correct say, I will not allow myself to eat in anger.  That was 2 nights in a row that I used food as a drug to soothe my emotions and both nights wound up nauseas, feeling crappy and having visits from the Anorexia Monster.

Go ahead.  Call me what you want.

I don't fucking care what you think about me and who you think I am.  You have no fucking idea.

I know in my heart I'm a good, generous person who came here with loving intentions and got fucked over for it.

i am aware of my eating habits and how they affect my moods

i see dead people

I wasn't going to write about this, because I was afraid of people labeling me as nuts, but then I realized, people already do.

So, fuck it.  I'm writing about it.

I get visits from my deceased Fuzzy Family.

Every time I've lost a Fuzzy Family member, they come back to tell me they're ok.  It's been happening since I was young.

I have to be honest, I've also had visits from a few people that I've felt a connection to, family or not.

I see dead people, and dead animals.  Sometimes, I even get visits from other people's dead animals.  But that's another story.

Anyway, I have been waiting for The Golden to come, and was fearing the worst; that I'd lost my deceased visitation rights.

Not true.

I talked about it a bit yesterday, but I didn't go into details, and didn't think I would, until I saw Madonna Badger on Piers Morgan last night.

This poor woman lost all her kids in an Xmas fire last year, but she feels her grief is more at peace, because her children come to her in dreams.  She thought she was nuts until she read a book by Eben Alexander called Proof of Heaven.

As much as I don't really believe in heaven or hell, I do believe in an afterlife.  Some cosmic plain that we go to.

Our energy can't just end when we die.  Our spirit must live on.

Well, every animal and human I've felt connection with will visit me as I sleep.

It's not just a dream, and if you've felt this, you'll know what I'm saying.  There's more to it than just fantasy.

When The Golden visited me 2 nights ago, it was really his spirit.  It wasn't just the wanting to see him again and the grief.

He came bounding through the door, knocking me over to the ground with all the love and misbehaving he had when he was here.  He was youthful and energetic again, and his Ghost Face was returned to a rich golden blonde.  He was happy.  He was so full of love and the feelings of love I had to give him, were returned.

I could feel and smell his breath on my face.  I could feel every lashing of that tongue, every wash of wet nose and every tickle of whisker.  I could smell his scent and as I looked into his eyes (yes, he had both of them) I knew he was here.

He was here.

He came back to me to show me that I can stop grieving.  That he'll never leave me.  His spirit has now forged with mine, and he will never leave my heart, nor my soul.

He has a place right there with My Dearly Departed Gypsy.

When Gypsy came to me, it was so quickly after her death, that I couldn't believe it was a visit.  I said to the woman in the visit (whom I didn't recognize until later), "But she shouldn't be here!  She should still be in the hospital!"

This woman calmly told me, "Just enjoy your time with her right now.  This is your opportunity to be with her.  Just be with her."  I did so, sitting with this woman for a very brief moment, until Gypsy partook in her favourite pastime, ripping up the flower beds of the nearest garden.

I recently found the picture of my Great Grandmother, and immediately recognized her as the woman was from the visit.

Not dream, visit.

What I really feel from The Golden returning, is a piece of my heart has been healed.  I am almost in tears from the joy of feeling that he came to me.

It means I am forgiven, or rather that I can forgive myself.

It means I am loved, and I am able to know he's aware of how much I love him as well.

It means I am still allowing these spirits to come back to heal my heart, and I trust I will be able to do so for my next loss.

Thank you so much for coming back old man.

I'm sure you know how much you've healed me.

i recognize and honour my talents, abilities and skills

on track.

She sent me home with a care package containing leftovers from the scrumptious meal she prepared for our get together.

It was a short and very sweet visit with my Eternal Friend, accompanied by the animated presence of Java the Mutt.

I'm so very grateful we're living close to transit, so that I can see her more often.

What was really important for me about our visit, was that she understands my current flux of emotions.

She moved to Guatemala from our hometown, then back again.  It was with this life experience that she was able to tell me I'm right on track.

The tremendous anger I felt by coming home to hearing about bullies, abundant violence and criminal activity was just a typical state of beginning to detach from something I love.

We actually all do it a lot in our lives.  For example, when we know we're leaving a job, we start finding everything we hate about it, so that it's easier to leave.

The other area I'm on track with, is the pull of family and friends.

I'm feeling extremely needy about the fact that I'm leaving people I love.

My mother and I have had a terribly tumultuous relationship since she became a single mother.  We've struggled right into this past year when I felt the sting of not being included in a family dinner.

I was about 10 when she was tossed into a laborious life with 2 broken children, weakened by the split of an emotionally sick family, and no support from a deadbeat dad.

The lawyer she hired to fight him told her, "You'll spend way too much money trying to get anything out of this guy.  You'd be better off using that money to support your children.  You'll never get any support from him.  He's a deadbeat."

And so the walk on our path began.

Here we are, two adults doing our very best to be friends, because we both realize how much we love one another, regardless of the differences and difficulties we have.

Yesterday, I showed her my exercise regime, because there's a gym in her new condo.

I instructed her to lie on her back, so I could teach her how to initiate her core muscles.

There was this woman that had the same body as me, albeit a little softer with an extra layer.

Here was this woman who had the same eyes as me.

Here was this woman who I immediately felt a connection with and found instant forgiveness for anything she put me through.

In that moment, I was forced to remember that I put her through a lot as well.

Imagine living with a child who kept trying to kill herself?  I honestly can't picture myself in her position.

Yet I put her through this, not to mention, the horrendous mood swings that came for a child ruled by an eating disorder and chemical imbalance, further exacerbated when drugs and alcohol were introduced into her blood stream and mind.

Regardless, there she was lying beneath me, as I squeezed her lax muscles and showed her how to hold them tight.

It put her in a place of trusting her child.

I, above her.

It didn't matter that Mr. Homophobia was standing right behind us.  He can't allow my Mother to be alone with anyone, as he needs to control everything my Mother does.

However, yesterday she was all mine, regardless of the black cloud that loomed above us.

I connected with my Mother.

I'm connecting with the spirit of my Great Grandmother.

I'm connecting with family and friends, while at the same time, I feel I'm repelling my city.

My Eternal Friend tells me I'm right on track and that these high and low emotions I'm feeling are typical.

And this, is the journey.

i am loving and accepting of myself for who i am becoming

Goodbye.

Today is the official day where Papi has to say goodbye to the house.

I can't imagine how he feels, because I've been so transient all my life.  It seems I'm constantly saying goodbye and starting anew.

I really don't know what it's like to have that kind of stability torn from me, but I can say, that even as I think about the home I was in with my love, g'ma and all the critters, that my tummy ripples a bit with loss.

I suppose it's because I have to say goodbye the home my love created for me and it's the longest I've ever lived somewhere.

Papi, you showed me love I've never experienced before in that house.  It's so sad to say goodbye to that, even if we have amazing dreams for the future.

I can't imagine how it feels to leave the castle you were born in, not to mention the never ending memory of loss of your mother at the tender age of 10.  I'm sure that's more than a flutter of sadness.

Somehow though, I know that the spirit of your mother, Mr. Moustache, g'pa, and all the other critters I never got to meet, including the hamster buried under the cherry tree in the back yard, are all coming with us to the Dominican Republic.

I feel them with us even in Our Closet.  I swear to god I see movement out of the corner of my eye in this space.  Maybe there's another spirit, but I swear it's Mr. Moustache jumping from desk to chair occasionally.

I sense them, and I know it's because they love you so much, they would follow you anywhere you go.  So would I.

Goodbye, house.

Goodbye to all your growth that brought you to this point, Papi!

Goodbye to everything you learned from your elders.

Goodbye to the tangible feeling of cool doorknobs on your hands and a solid oak floor beneath your feet.

Goodbye to the water everywhere no matter how hard we tried to keep things dry.

Goodbye to the flowers you lovingly planted for our wedding.

Goodbye to the memories of everyone, including the Mariachi band who helped celebrate our lives coming together as one, the wedding cake on the floor, and the silver hearts that we found in the carport and house right up to the last sweep we did on Monday.

Goodbye to the birds, who trusted us enough to eat from our bird feeders, allowing us to witness their beautiful life every day.

Goodbye to our bedroom, which we had to build our kingsize bed into, taking up the entire room.  We didn't care.  It was a true bedroom.

Goodbye to the carport g'pa lovingly built with his own two, hard working hands.

Goodbye to the freezing pipes we had to use a blow dryer on in the winter.

Goodbye to the ceilings so low, that when my brain injured body couldn't walk, the ceilings were my cane.

Goodbye to the oak trees that line the streets, giving us gifts of acorns, falling leaves like confetti, and sap that you have to chisel off your car.

Goodbye to all the house modifications you made, which gave you practise for the home of our future.

Our first home together now has to leave, and our second home together is a proud moment of the first step to moving on.

Our third is the charm, and hopefully, we get to live there until we're grey and wrinkled from the loving, healing sun.

'goodbye' is an opportunity for a beautiful memory

home = heart

Anyway, back to regular biz.  I'm preparing to go home today!

I'll be leaving temporary home #2 to go to temporary home #1, to prepare for our move to temporary home #3; our closet of 454 square feet.

With 5 animals.

Regardless of where I go, I go home to Papi.

I don't get to see him much when I'm home anyhow, because I'm usually watching him sleep the Graveyard Coma.

That's fine by me, because when he's sleeping he can't deny that I'm always right.

Or drink.

... hehehe ...

Tried another anonymous meeting yesterday.  Guess what the fucking topic was?

Faith.  Yup.

Of course I got asked to share, and again, I told them, "I have utter faith in myself, not in your god, but somehow coming to these rooms kept me sober, so I'm going with it."

I spoke for the struggling alcoholic who approached me afterward to say, "I'm so glad you said that.  Can I have your number so I can talk about how I feel about this?  There's not too many people who understand."

Oh, I understand.  Still, the most important part of her calling me will not be about all that zealot bullshit, it will be about how we get a wonderful life because we don't drink.

I guess it's imperative because that's where all this keyed up chaos started 2 weeks ago.

I have great gratitude for being sober.

So do the people who still cross the street when they see me, because all they can remember is what a nutbar I was on the bottle.

Now that Papi has mightily worked through his 2 weeks, I get to go home, however, not before we take the G'ma out for her annual gambling birthday celebration.

The old fart is now 97!  97 man!

Not that it matters that we'll be celebrating her day, considering she's been 'neglected and thrown into a home so that everyone can take her house away from her'.

... oh the gramma drama ...

Back on track.

I'm leaving my temporary roommate, Java the Mutt and my Eternal Friend who has been so gracious in providing me space and comfort for 2 weeks.

I leave this peaceful, hotelesque, accessible condo, complete with a full body soaker tub.  I leave this for cats who are trying to kill each other.

And Papi.  Home.

I'm actually really good with transition and being transient, since I've been doing it from a young age, but goddam I have to tell you that living out of a suitcase fucking sucks.

Especially when you only have 3 skirts to choose from!!!  Good god it's been hard to be a femme these 2 weeks!!

I've never liked that, unless I'm somewhere beautiful and tropical.  Then I'll do anything to stay.

But here we are in the city that gets about 9 days of true summer, and today, it looks like winter's back again, so all those mother fuckers who complained those 9 days can gloat now because they have their fucking nasty weather again.

Whatever.  I'm going home.

Home is anywhere our hearts feel whole, peaceful and part of a family, no matter what that family looks like.

Papi and I could live in a grass hut for all I care, and I would call it home, because it's with Papi.

And 2 cats that are trying to kill each other, not to mention the other 3 critters who have to live with the furry fury.

Oh!  And my Dominican style coffee, my morning ritual, my awesome ionized water and my greens.

I've eaten enough junk food and carbs to get me through the apocalypse.

i share my feelings with others and they accept me

what's mine is mine.

Oh, what The Great DR Purge is bringing up.

As we go through our things and decide what goes and what stays, it brings out a lot of memories to relive.

Good, bad and ugly.

... i will have to scan and post my 80's hair for ya!!! ...

One such memory, is a picture of being reunited with my dad in '99.

It saddens me that I have a deadbeat dad who is a manchild.

Since that reconciliation, I've tried to have a relationship with him, but it's not possible with someone who doesn't know how to do it, or give back.

Having said that, I understand a little bit more about him.

He got a girl pregnant at 15, and I can envision how sad my dad must have been to always know there's a child of his out there that was taken from him at such a young age.

I sympathize with the feeling of grief.

I more than perceive the feeling of guilt.

I can picture how it stumped his emotional development, and even when I popped up as a mistake only two years after he let go of his first child, he didn't take that as an opportunity to work on himself.

Instead, he threw himself further into the abyss of drugs.

When I saw that picture last night, it flattened out my heart.  I had to put it down to remember why it is I can't have a relationship with him.

If you want a friend/family, you have to be a friend/family.

It's so hard to know I can never expect a birthday call from him, or for that matter, a belated congratulations on my wedding.

He can't be there for anything in my life that has importance to me.

There's nothing to share with him, because he's an empty shell.

Seeing it in that picture crushed me.

I could see the wanting of a father in my little girl in my face.  I was hunched over, shoulders turned inwards and was as small as I could possibly be, with the greatest smile I could ever muster.

He was my dad for that small girl who didn't have him to grow up with, if only for that moment.

I have a visual to remember that.

Having lived a life of a fair amount of loss, this photograph is another example of why I am responsible to fill myself up, because I could never count on anyone else to do it.

Certainly, he can't, won't and never will.

He abandoned me when I needed him most, which has made it very difficult to trust anyone as I grew to a woman.

Well, I have a brother out there who probably grew up in a wonderful 2 parent home, with so much love that he may never have had to feel this loss.

I found out his birth mother's name.

My aunt was gracious enough to give a phone call to my sperm donor to find out her name so that my baby sister and I can start on the journey of finding our big brother.

I've known of his presence from a young age, even if nobody believed me all these years.

I feel like he may be searching for us as well.

He's out there.

That little missing piece of our family.

I wonder what he's like.

Healthy?  Happy?  Successful?  Perhaps, none of the above?

It doesn't matter to me, because all I need to do is find him for whatever reason, because I've been psychically connected to him since I was a young girl.

As for dear ol' dad, I have so much love for you, but it's sad to say, love just isn't enough.

we have to accept that some things may never be ours, and learn to appreciate the things that are only ours and ours alone.

Would you like a nice slice of "Fuck-it-all?"

I'm not really in the mood to be writing today, but for you, I will anyway.

Here's my cake.

 

The two friends who actually showed up for my party wouldn't let me eat it as is.

They made me cut it.

Here's the inside.

When 12 of the 14 people called on the day of the party to say they couldn't show up, at first I thought, "Woohoo!  More cake for me!"

But it's a hell of a lot of cake to eat all alone.

... alone ...

I've been giving away a lot of it, and I've learned my lesson, yet again.

15 years ago, I told myself I would never celebrate my birthday again, because people don't show up.

When they don't show up, I get let down.

I would get so hurt, because I felt I wasn't important/loveable/popular enough for my close friends to give a shit to come celebrate my life.

This round, I know I'm loved, but the cosmos just do not allow me to honour my life by way of a gathering of loved ones. 

I guess being gathered by people I love is just never going to be in the cards for me.  Every time I'd be left alone on past birthdays, I would spend my whole day crying, wondering why I'm not good enough for the people I'm close to to show up.

Granted, this time, every single person had a good reason for not being there, but it still didn't take away from the fact that it hurt that everyone but two bailed on my day.

Of course, My Gratitude Buddy showed up later on just to be here on my day, even if it wasn't for the party.  I can always count on her and the other two that showed up.

Even on my actual birthday yesterday, only one person called me.

Here's ironic for you; it was my mother.

I spent the day wishing I never said I'd celebrate.  I spent the day wondering what the fuck is wrong with me?

... i spent the day crying and admitting to someone about how on my birthday, every year, i secretly wish i was dead and i hide from the world... shhh ... don't tell anyone ...

Being left alone this time around is different.  I know they love me.  It's just that I went against my better judgement and thought that people would actually show up because it is my last birthday here in Vancouver.

Didn't matter.  People got sick or whatever and again, yet again, my heart was broken.

I spent $350 on steak, salmon, cake enough to feed an army, alcohol for my drinking friends/family and the list goes on.

I could've used that for the bills that are screaming at me.

I'm pretty much just going to cancel my week, eat cake and cry the sugar out of every pore in my body.  I haven't actually stopped crying since My Gratitude Buddy left late Sunday evening.

And people always ask me, "Why don't you ever celebrate your birthday?"

Well, when even the closest loving people in my life are somehow energetically stopped from coming, there's just no fucking point.

You can bet I won't be bothering with a 'leaving the country party'.

Nobody will show up.

I'll just go away quietly and build a new life with Papi.  I can always count on Papi to make my day wonderful. 

And to give me clonazepam to stop the tears.

if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting

Mmmmmmmm ...

Today's the day!!!!

I ordered my wheat free, dairy free birthday cake a week ago and TODAY IS THE DAY!!!

Of course, it's also exciting that I get to see my chosen family/closest friends.

They'll be here to celebrate my birthday, which is actually tomorrow, but really it's all about the cake.

I might even share.

... might ...

Papi and I have so much to do to get ready for everyone, so I won't have too much time to chat.

But I had to tell you.

At 11 a.m. I pick up my round, luscious, chocolate raspberry cake.

Seriously.

If you had to spend $50 on a cake every year, you'd be pretty excited too.

I don't usually celebrate my birthday, but I thought I should, considering this might be my last one in Vancouver.

It better well be.

I'm not sticking around this cold as an igloo fucking city anymore.

I'm in too much pain from the brr-r-r-r!!

But anyway, my cake celebration will commence at 2, but then I have to wait patiently until it's time to eat it.

I figure, since it's my party and all, that I should be allowed to have cake for dinner and fish for dessert.

Whad'ya say?

Should I fight for my right to party down with my cake?!?!

I think so.

But there may be a few people who have something to say about that.

Oh, heavenly birthday cake.

How I will enjoy your decadent raspberry filling and divine chocolate fluff.

Oh, how I am drooling already.

It's really quite evil to make me wait for cake.

Oops, I forgot to tell you.

It's loaded with sugar.

Enjoy the happy Andréa today, as there may be a Hurricane Andréa sighting later this week.

I don't fucking care.

I'm eating my cake.

mmmmmmmmmm

airing the room

I am a hoarder.

Or so Papi says.

I'm seeing how he would see that, though.

I've spent my life working day jobs, only to support my music habit by way of being an Odd Job Jack, or Jack of All Trades.

Except for music.

That one, I can safely say, has been the only thread in my life since I was 2 and a half.

I'm pretty sure I came out of the womb a musician.

Not kidding you.

At 2 and a half years old, I was giving concerts on my toy piano at the end of my parents bed.

At 6 a.m.

Every morning.

Yet here I am, looking at all these stints I've done just to survive.

I have recycled papers upon papers of tourism notes about Vancouver and our Vancouver Island from when I was still driving tour buses.

I can't drive anymore.  I'm letting it all go.

I am releasing books upon books of instruction for my 13 year stint as a piano teacher.

I am not able to keep up with the stress of being self-employed.  This new brain just can't hustle like it used to before the motorcycle accident.

None-the-less, I am thoroughly enjoying The Great DR Purge.

At the same time I'm purging, I'm seeing a direct correlation to what focus of energy means.

I've been so insecure about letting go of day jobs, because I never felt that I could make a living from my music.

It's hard!  You've seen countless starving musicians, haven't you?

However, now I see how letting go of everything will allow me to be open to what I'm supposed to be doing.

Granted, in music, it's not about how much of a genius you are.  It truly is who you know.

Even back to Mozart's time, his gift of genius was really only given to the world, because he had a patron of the arts.

Back then, they would feed, clothe, and house the musician, so they could be asked to play whenever the rich folks wanted.

Hey!  I'd be into that!

Anyway, my point is, I'm only so lucky to have My Gratitude Buddy who has been mentoring me on how to get the composing work I deserve.

I have met my patron of the arts. 

She doesn't feel I should be doing anything but earning an income through music, and she knows the BigWigs who can get me there.

OK, I'm now getting to my point of this blob/blab.

My point is, this motorcycle accident has taken a lot 'away' from me.

By taking away from me, it has allowed me to earn the enlightenment of how to let go of what I don't need anymore.

I am purging my life's past, except for what I need.

All I need is what I require to make music, mi esposo, my Fuzzy Family, my blood and chosen family/friends and love.

I am purging my past.

Everything is zeroing in on right now, and right now, my life is coming into it's fate.

I'm releasing my past clutter, to make room for what I deserve.

i pursue my life's purpose

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