haggard.

I have so much to talk about, but somehow, I don't remember what I was going to tell you.

I do remember one item; tomorrow is the first day teaching the village children's choir.

I better have songs for them to sing, don't'cha think?  I haven't even started to prepare!!!

I've been a 'tad' busy, between Mr. Lumpy, driving to Santo Domingo, volunteering with Dream Project and everything it takes to be prepared for the above.

I'm exhausted, the dishes are piling up and the dogs are being neglected.

We haven't had the Housemaid in for a week, because we haven't been around for her allotted time.

Today is the first day in almost a week that I get to blog with my coffee.

These days, it's about running out the door with travel mug in hand, and waking up on the go while that coffee gets into my system on the road.

Showering?  Ain't nobody got time for dat!

I'm sure the locals are having lots to talk about with the stinky tattooed gringa they gossip about.

I'm pretty happy that the accident occurred 45 minutes away from here.

People in Nagua don't know us and I don't have to bow my head in shame in my own area.

Somehow, I have to look presentable for the children's concert today.

Those little beans at Dream Project are going to perform for a jazz band today.

I look forward to seeing the jazz band, as well as seeing them play for the pros.

The MusicMan is well connected and I'm very happy I've been able to be his assistant for the past few weeks.

The day before, I realized my Spanish has so far to go.

Sometimes, when I'm so tired that I can't even be bothered to shower, I just don't have the energy to study, or for that matter, REMEMBER Spanish.

Yesterday, I had a tough time at the school, and I had a tough time in my Spanish lesson last night.

Thinking that hard is difficult with limited energy!

Well, I might as well tell you about my corn.

I planted some seeds along the wall at the very front of the yard against the wall.

I didn't realized they're like banana trees, in that they're typically like a weed.

You plant in one area, and they spread out.

I have corn popping up in various areas of the yard!

I was wondering why Dominican Daddy wasn't plucking them from the ground, until I realized that they look identical to the other ones I planted.

I hope corn looks pretty, because they're invading our yard and it seems that they'll be spread out in no time.

But I know it wasn't corn I wanted to talk to you about.

Here I am, almost done my blog, and I still don't know what it was I was going to tell you.  It couldn't have been that exciting or I would have remembered right?

Wrong.

My poor injured brain has selective memory when I'm tired or stressed.  I could forget the most important of items.

I'm sure I'll remember later, when I'm in the middle of trying to understand someone's Spanish shpeel and have no idea what they just said, because I was daydreaming about some event of days past.

It will be another moment of me cocking my head, raising an eyebrow with a pained face, saying, "Que?"  That's my go to now for everything.

I was so happy to be able to get up and blog with coffee, thinking it would be a lovely writing session today, then I just sat here staring out at the ocean, watching and listening to waves crash, stunned.

If it weren't for the coffee, eggs, toast and lime infused water I was stuffing down my yak, that bewildered gaze probably would have been accompanied by me drooling all over the dogs that jump on my lap the moment I sit down at this table to write.

Ever have a donkey on your lap?

The Donkey honestly believes she's little.

Anyway, maybe tomorrow will be a little more informative and I'll remember the news I was going to share.

Until then, all you get is puppies, corn and one haggard femme.

i feel good about myself and the lessons i learn from life

Say it isn't so.

Well, I'm back on the drama buggy.

You know how sometimes, you say things out loud and they don't come true?  You jinx it?

Well, I'm hoping that by writing this, that happens now.

I'm hoping that it's just 'nothing' and will be taken care of swiftly, because I needed to take one of Papi's clonazepam to help me stop obsessing about the tissue issue and actually sleep last night.

Sleep I did.

Then resumed thinking about it the moment I awoke.

My breasts have always been a little on the lumpy side, so I've had to get used to that when I check myself out on a regular occasion.

However, upon itching and scratching my boob a few days ago, there was something that didn't feel like my normal tissue.

Last night, I felt it again and it definitely didn't match the rest of my breast and it's nothing I've felt before.

One thing I wasn't completely honest about with my itchy boob post the other day, is that it's only the right side that's itching.

I sorta didn't want to say that out loud, when I coupled it with the fact that there is something there that doesn't feel 'normal'.

I asked Papi, "Please, can you appease my paranoia?"

When I told him what for, he felt the problem and when he touched it, it really hurt, because he wanted to get in there to make sure he was feeling what I was feeling.

He immediately started crying.

My dearest Papi went into trigger mode, from memories of having to watch his mother suffer from cancer, only to lose her in the end.

We calmed ourselves down by trying to remember that if this is a problem, they do great things now.

Great things other than just cure that damn disease.  But then the cancer industry is too big to do that.  They'd lose a lot of money if they cured it.

Anyway, off my soap box.

A lot of women have a lump and they get it removed to find that it's really nothing.

Well, yesterday, we didn't get to the hospital for my ear that isn't hearing properly, but today, we'll be going for a mammogram, no matter the cost.

We'll be accompanied by Visa, MC and Amex, our good buddies as of late.

If there is an actual problem, I'll be getting back to Canada pronto, again, regardless of the cost.

So, there.  I said it out loud.  Now it won't be true.

Right?

One of the reasons we never made it to the hospital yesterday was because our neighbours (you know?  the people everyone judges about me back home, because they're supposed to be allowed to steal from us?), called Mr. Extortion to say we were doing work in our yard.

They cut a kick back for tattling and they do everything they can to get money out of us.

No matter how hard we try to be friends, even after we see them steal our concrete and our cement blocks, steal our wood, paint, they still only want MORE money from us.

They don't want to be friends.

I told the Housemaid, who has the biggest gossip problem in the village that they are not our friends, because friends wouldn't do that.

... friends also honour their contracts ... sigh ... say goodbye to another friend back home i loved ... you've officially put a stake through my heart ...

They don't WANT friendship, they only want our money.

So fuck it, I'm done.

Judge all you need to North America's West Coast uber political.

Call me racist if you need to make yourself feel superior and try to put me down, but from this point forward, congeniality will be the name of the game, not giving.

I'll still teach their children music, because those little innocents didn't do anything wrong.  Their parents haven't taught them the best ways to steal.  Yet.

As for Mr. Extortion, I don't care HOW big his fucking gun is, I'll be telling him I know the 'rules'.  You can only take from us for a new building.  It's not new.  It's a repair of the old.

Go away.

Shoot me if you have to, but you're not stealing anything more.

I have much bigger things to worry about than your non-stop theft.

i replace my anger with compassion and understanding

no rest for the wicked

Perhaps there's a reason why my music studio is taking so long to get built back up.

Perhaps it's because I'd be pissed at how little time I have to actually play.

Yesterday, I was trying to write a blog about how I don't have enough time to do music, when I didn't have enough time to finish writing the blog.

I realized yesterday, that I work 6 days a week now.

I truly am making up for the 4 years I was off from my motorcycle accident.

I am working.  Make no mistake.  This is not the 'semi-retired' vision I had of moving here.

With the exception of Sunday, I am up with my alarm every morning to deal with workers.

On Sunday, I hide from everybody, locking all doors, in hopes that I get some alone time.

My day 'off' from village clique, gossip, and workers.

While everyone is getting drunk on 'g*d's day', I'm busy talking to the angels, thanking them for the quiet time to myself.

Puttering and cooking alone!

It sure would be nice if I could do some music, but I'm too busy catching up on everything on Sundays.

Everyone keeps saying, "It will end," but I'm not sure I believe them.

I have to say, that one day off is sure nice.

I am so happy when Sunday comes.

What I realized yesterday (as I ran around while every worker was calling my name, including once when I THOUGHT I had time to jump in the shower, only to be stopped mid bathroom entrance to come out in my towel to say give me 20 minutes please!!), was that I am ABLE to do all this.

It's a revelation I am amazed at every day!!!

I know that I feel better here, it's just that I didn't realize just HOW much better I would feel.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still the Limping Lesbian, but instead of limping about while all groggy on pain meds, I'm limping about with energy and the ability to do things.

It still hurts, but not enough for morphine.

Yesterday, the Dominican Daddy showed up for his gardening shift with a blood infused gauze on his knee, limping around the yard.

He had been in a motorcycle accident.

I was grateful that the only thing that was really horribly wrong was that he had a piece of his knee skin re-attached in a utilitarian way of shoddily sewn stitches.

Unlike the work done in Canadian hospitals, it was not sewn to look good when it heals, but simply to re-attach what could have been left behind at the scene.

Also, they don't wear helmets here, so he could have been dead, or worse, paraplegic or a brain damaged.

I had to tell him about 7 times that I wanted him not to work, but to go home with pay and heal.

He kept refusing, being the dedicated worker he is, "It's no problem," he would say time and again, but he was obviously in pain.

I almost felt I needed to wrestle the hose out of his hand!

Eventually he agreed, I finished off the rest of the garden watering, and later on we brought him the gift of his very own stash of pain meds.

That should keep him calm in a Pain Med Party for a few days so he just loafs around, forcing him to rest his body and heal.

I remember the pain med days as such.

I couldn't do much more than watch TV and become addicted to so many shows.

Now?  I have one show that I wait all week to watch, 'The Following'.  Oh, it's such a dismally good one.

It will keep me going on the off season of 'Dexter'.  I love me some gore and thrill.

Anyway, I have one show a week, and last night I didn't get to watch it, because the street power was off for 6 hours, and neither our inverters were working.

Papi and I had a nice romantic meal by lamp.

Good thing the gas range still works without electricity.

It made for a really hot sleep without circulating fans, if there was any.  I kept waking up in a pool of wet thinking I was drooling all over my pillow, but it was sweat.

However, the point is, I get so much done!!!

Except music.

i am doing work that i enjoy and find fulfilling

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

Aping the apes.

A wedding with guns!  Well, the groom had a knife, but the rest of them had guns.

I felt so much for Papi, as it was a difficult social time in the 'man zone'.  He's still learning how to fit in with the bio-males.

He relates more to the women, and sometimes, the man on the arm of a woman will react a little adversely, confusing my love's 'relating' with more than friendly chatter.

My love expressed his feelings about his strife and all I could come up with was, "I think you should just ape them.  Whatever they do, you do."

He had good practise with the suffering addict at our reception table.  That poor soul was so hammered, he just kept giving mi esposo fist bumps along with the occasional, "Dude!  Right?!"

Sometimes, for no reason at all.  He'd just come out of his stupor to join in the conversation for a moment and agree with whatever was being presented at the time.

None-the-less, he was a great practice person for Papi.

My love looked so handsome.  I was proud to be on his arm.

Especially, when the typical 'mean girls' in the parking lot didn't like the fact that my dress was hugging and exposing every curve of my healthy figure.

Oh, how I had my booty out proud yesterday.

I suppose those catty girls didn't like it, and when they were being the usual 'point and gossip bitches', my love silenced them with an aggressive, "Knock it off," in Papi's way of meaning business.

I couldn't be bothered to look and see if they adhered to his warning.  All I cared about was that my love was proud of how I looked as well.

I'm getting more accepting with being seen as the straight couple.  At least we're donned in tattoos, and don't look like the 'normal', conservative couples that were looking toward us with curiosity.

It will definitely make life easier in the Dominican Republic.

On our last visit, I was accosted by homophobic bible thumpers who told me if I prayed, their god would take away my being gay.

It took everything I had not to fight with them.  I know that this will be my biggest challenge when we're there.  The religious zealots are everywhere.

Even at the wedding last night, I had a very difficult time, when before we ate, they gave a prayer for food.

They asked us to stand and bow our heads.  I cringed, sarcastically sighed and rolled my eyes at their 'oh heavenly father' thanks for food.

I would rather thank The Chef Extraordinaire for their hard work.

I seriously just found my ability to understand my own spirituality over the past couple of years.

The accident woke an aspect of my belief system, but when faced with the crap I had to grow up with, I get a rather repugnant taste in my mouth.  Not to mention the little grunts of 'oh for fucks sakes' will sneak out when I'm not paying attention to my mouth.

My love will give me the eye of 'don't be a bad one, honey', coupled with a nudge, that will nip my discourse in the bud.

So, I stood.  I bowed.  I behaved.  Still, I cussed them all in my mind, while concealing it with a smile.  I find it quite offensive that anyone would force another person of a different belief to pray to their god.

That's another reason I'm grateful to have found such connection with Judaism.  Their belief is that you don't actually say 'god's' name.

That's perfectly fine by me.  I'm happy when I don't have to follow the rules of my upbringing.

I remember being knocked upside the head for saying the usual teen phrase of, "Oh my god!" with that valley girl drawl we would all have.

"Don't you use the lords name in vain," I would hear as my head took a whoopin'.

Anyway, I survived their prayers to zombie Jesus and ate their amazing meal, appreciating every bite with my own gratitude for food, and the enjoyment of sharing a beautiful day with two people who allowed Papi and I to hear wedding vows all over again.

I found us nodding our head to some of the words during the service.

For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

Love is all you need.

i feel fulfilled and joyful

i am the fucking honey badger

Ok.  I'm mother fucking bitchy.

I spent the day yesterday at a 9.5 pain level.  10 would mean I passed out from the pain, or couldn't lift a limb.

I got sent home in an emergency cab.  They wanted to send me to the hospital, but I assured them, "All they are going to do is pump me full of drugs and send me home."

I would rather go home and pump myself full of natural drugs thank you very much.

So, today I'm mother fucking miserable, hence, with my bitchiness comes the inevitable bad feelings I am responsible for creating, from the actions of others.

On a good day, I am the honey badger.  I just don't give a shit.

However, when I've had to take pills for the pain to knock me out so I can sleep at night, well, Hurricane Andréa steps in and I feel the need to spit out the feelings that are like venom in my heart and head, so I can make room for good emotions.

There can't be both up there, so I need to get the shit out, and now, I will.

Well, I must be pretty powerful.

People block me on Facebook and G+.

Not because I stalk them.

Not because I'm verbally abusive to them.

Not because I spread hateful words about others there.

... no ... i just vent about them here to 'you', my imaginary friend ...

But because they like to collectively ostracize others, like a high school gang.

Good god, I hope these people aren't considering bringing up children.  What will they teach them about bullying?

Normally, I don't really mind being blocked, because then I don't have to see their ridiculous posts that are full of hate, or pompous words to try to make them out to be better than everyone else.

It actually weeds out what I am forced to see, leaving me with only positive, loving, inclusive people's words.

So, I suppose they've actually done me a favour, but damn, I must be powerful to have that kind of affect on people, eh?!?!

I'm really relating to quotes about honesty and truthfulness lately.  They're helping to keep me within my own inner power of peace and honesty.

I can't find the quote anymore, but my very favourite goes something like this: being truthful will make you enemies in those who have fear about your strength, but it will also win you good honest people.

It will bring us people who can handle the truth, and talk it out with us, and perhaps, people who can help us see the other side of the coin.

Abraham Lincoln said, "Truth is generally the best vindication against slander."

Only problem is, when you have a group of people telling lies about you, there is always and inevitably sheep who will believe their handlers.

One important thing the sheep have to remember is this Bosnian Proverb: Who lies for you will lie against you.

I am fortunate to be enriched with those who love me for my honesty.

I actually opened up to another person and told them who the 'mean girls' are, but, that backfired.

I won't go into details, because that's just negativity that doesn't need to be hashed out, but I see the truth in their game.

I'm not hurt.  I'm more enriched.  One more weed to pluck from my garden.

My Trust List has begun to shrink a little lately, but it's all cool.

I have enough hearts I've collected in my basket that the other ones I've taken out won't be missed.

Yeah, it hurts, but 'hurt' is just an emotion, and it won't kill me.  It's just a human feeling that will cease the moment I fill it with love.

So, block me bitches. 

'honey badger don't give a fuck'

Fuck you and your elitist panties.

I told Papi I wouldn't write about this to 'you', my imaginary friend, but it's so hard not to when I'm so angry.

This is where I work it out.

Hen Peckers.

I'm not the only one they've done this to.

They kicked another of my friends when they were down.

Seems the only way they can feel powerful, is to find someone who's hurting and twist that knife in their backs just a little bit more, to really hit home that they're not good enough for them.

Elitists are so fucking ridiculous.

In the grand scheme of things, they really don't matter.

They have no feelings for anyone except themselves, so when it's your turn to be in the Pit of Doom, they'll get you as well.  It doesn't even matter if you're best friends with them!

The queen bee will instruct all their minions to do as they're told.

These chicken shits who are afraid of losing their 'cool' status will adhere to their every word.

To me, these are the losers that are not cool enough.

I dealt with them in high school.  We all have, unless you were one of them.

But even still, I remember being part of the 'cool' kids until they turned on me as well.

These Hen Peckers are the same 'mean girls' that we all had to deal with in high school.  The only difference is they never grew up.

However, something tells me that when they were in high school, they were hurt by the 'mean girls' just like us.

Then, as a chronologically aging 'mature' person, they figure the only way to be more powerful than another, is to hurt someone even more, even when they need friends the most.

I'll tell you, the more I learn about my queer community and their elitist panties they put on every morning, the more I can't wait to move the the Dominican Republic and get the fuck out out this bullshit and hang out with goats.

Unconditional love from a non-elitist.

Come on people!

Who the fuck do you think you are anyway?

Where do you think all this hatred is going to take you?

Nirvana?

When we're all in the old farts home, I'll be talking about all the lovely souls that filled me throughout my time of need.  I'll be talking about how incredible my life was and that I lived it to the fullest with honesty.

And you bitches?

What will you be talking about?

You'll still be gossiping about how the lady at the next table doesn't deserve to be sitting at yours because she's not cool enough.

Fuck you.

This year, when I'm out and about in the community, I am going to hold my head higher than I ever have, because I know the truth about these 'mean girls'.

I am going to walk with all the friends who have been maimed by their harshness, and hug them every time the 'mean girls' cast their stares down their noses at my sweet friends who deserve the love we have for each other.

I think you'd better change your underwear.  They're getting a bit skanky now.

i attract only healthy relationships

Welcome back, Papi!

My love is sleeping off the Graveyard Coma right now, after his first week back to work since the surgery and antibiotic poisoning.

I was a little worried for Papi, as I wasn't so sure he was ready to go back to work after such a long illness.

However, sometimes, getting back to work is what we need.  It puts normalcy into our life again.

We're kinda like cats.  Our body physically relaxes when we have a routine.

Yeah, we all need to shake the routine up every once in a while, but we're truly creatures of habit.

Anyway, I remember all the flack my love got from the Rah-Rah-Trannies on their gossip/slander forum when news got out that my love wouldn't be quitting his current job.

Like children throwing a temper tantrum because they didn't get their way, it quickly divided my love's supporters vs. haters.

You have to be a woman to work there, and the community went into a melee about Papi transitioning to a male, but still having the privilege of keeping a woman's job.

I argued for my love until I turned blue.  Nobody really understands the relationship between my love and these sweet souls.

There are so many people who don't want to be labeled, but when given the chance, they will label someone else if it suites them.

The ring leaders of their sheep followers decided for my love that he couldn't work there if he wanted to be seen as a male.

Anyway, the whole argument that I had was not about a 'man' and his clients.

It was about Papi and the relationship that has been built between all of them.

There are some rules mi esposo must follow if he's going to keep this job.

My love is not permitted to have facial hair while working there.  He got himself a nifty little shave kit and I get to enjoy mi esposo fussing over himself in the mirror.

Kinda fun.

Kinda like my love gets to see why we femmes take so long in the bathroom.

Point is, Papi is loved by these women more than anyone really knows.

Here is an example of their gratitude for mi esposo returning to work:

This is the reason my love doesn't stop working, even through all the harsh criticism.

However, there is one part of my love's existence in this workplace that just may change his mind about the rules of the roost.

The fact that he doesn't get to grow that face fuzz.

I saw a twinkling of a moment toward change when my love said, "I hate that I have to shave off my hair."

I'm grateful to Papi's boss for setting this rule.  Now my love has a nice clean face.

Regardless, I'm just glad that mi esposo made it through the first week of work.

Now this means that he will get down to some good times of DIY mania.

First item on the docket?

The gutters.

I'll be sure to have my camera ready.

i deserve to have and enjoy prosperity and affluence in my life

Introducing, The Hector-Browns

I suppose we're famous now.

The other day, a friend was with some acquaintances, who brought along another friend.

does that make sense? damn i hope so ... the friend that was brought along didn't know that my friend knew us ... god i think i've made it even more confusing ...

Well, my friend had this little gathering somehow get on to the topic of Papi and I.

It was at that point that someone who has no idea who we really are said, "Oh, you mean 'The Hector-Browns'?" with a forked tongue and a little bit of venom spewing.

I know people say when you're married that you become one, and damn.  We really are.

We are no longer independent human species.

We are one:  The Hector-Browns.

But the point is, we're fucking hated by people who have no idea about what is between the lines of our relationship and feelings toward one another.

I'm ok with this grand title.

You see, I've had pods of lesbians hating me for ridiculous rumours all over the city from the moment I came out of the closet.

It hurt at first, but I soon learned that if you want to have your creativity out in the world, people will love you and people will hate you.

It's polarity.

I actually dealt with cliques from a young age, so I'm used to it.  It doesn't mean anything to me.

Papi, however, has not.

Mind you, my love, had a stint with being hated while being an active drunk.  There was a while where my love really enjoyed getting a rise out of the uber-politically correct.

None-the-less, I really think it's pretty awesome that we are known as The Hector-Browns.

I love giving people titles.  It's easier than remembering names sometimes.

And I'm not talking about pronouns and sexual orientation.

For example: My Person, My boifriend, and now the most recent inductee: The Chef Extraordinaire.

I haven't really mentioned him yet, but damn.  Papi and I were given an amazing 5 course meal by The Chef Extraordinaire.

This was for My Boifriend's last Vancouver meal.

He's gone back to his island.

goddam off topic ... again ... where was i? o ya right ...

Anyway, what I was going to get at was that only a year ago, I was afraid of being hated by the Rah-Rah-Trannies.  This left me comatose, but I'm good now, and I'm ready for the people who may fart in our general direction as Papi and I walk down the street.

But honestly, to be given our reigning title was a huge compliment to me.

If my love and I were boring, nobody would even care.

Being disliked so strongly means we're interesting.

So, there ya go.

I'm pretty sure we're famous now.

We are The Hector-Browns.

We are one unit.

Now I will go tend to chores, in our Hector-Brown house and our Hector-Brown Fuzzy Family.

We got a whole lotta love over here.

Back off bitches!

The Hen Peckers are at it again.  Only this time, they're attacking Papi.

don't you fuck with my baby, bitches!! i don't care if your a he, a she, both or none of the above, your behaviour grants the title 'bitches'!!

The Trans Clique is spewing their defamation about my love on forums.

They have no idea about mi esposo's situation, but they feel that Papi should be following their orders.

like tiny little soldiers we all fall in line ...

Papi's job is a difficult subject that my love and I have spoken about numerous times, and mi esposo doesn't take this job for granted.  Papi is very aware of the transition being discussed amongst management at this company, and is waiting for them to figure out this issue on their own.

You see, my love started working at a transition safe house for abused, mentally ill women a few years ago.  Only 'women' can work there, and only 'women' can be housed there.  However, there has been an M-F who was taken in.

The women were uncomfortable with this transgender person at first, because she still had a penis and walked around with a short house coat.

Yet, over time, they became used to the soul inside and accepted her as one of their own.

Stress the words; over ... time ...

The women there adore my love.  Rightfully so!  Papi has the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known.  Mi esposo is perfect for the job, because of this.

Abused, mentally ill people need to have this love in their lives, just as much as they need consistency.

I know that these souls would be heartbroken if my love were fired from this job, or even if Papi left by choice.

My love has been slowly telling these broken souls in a sweet way, that they have to be prepared for the day when mi esposo must say, "Farewell."

Slowly ... over ... time ...

It's giving them a chance to mentally prepare for the day when they have to let go of Papi, when it's my love's own time to depart.

Papi knows that time is ticking and that there will come a day when mi esposo must say goodbye, but just like in a romantic relationship, right now is not the 'right time' to break up.

Well, when my love was written about in the newspaper, the trans mafia read it, and are now spitting words of venom over the fact that mi esposo is still working in a facility that employs only 'women'.

What ever happened to free thinking, not being labeled by society, and supporting one another by understanding each other's own journey is just that; their own?

Nope.

The clan is saying that my love is double dipping and being a woman when it's convenient, and being a male when it's advantageous.

One of the biggest ring leaders is adamant that nobody label them as male or female, so how dare they label my love as only a male?

Papi shed a few tears from the hens pecking at my love's beautiful skin.

Cliques.

They are just insecure, scared beings who can't be alone from the clan.  They don't allow free thinking.  They demand you be just like them so they will accept you.

Papi and I are both one in the same kind, who allow each other to think how we feel.  We correct each other when we're too far away from PC thinking that may hurt another.  We love each other and the friends we have, because they, and we, accept each other for who we are.

We don't fit in to these mobs.

We and our friends don't fit in together.

So, in an essence, we are doing our very best to weed out the cliques one by one, find the real friends that we deserve, and feel the pain when the Hen Peckers break our skin.

My love is not hurting anyone by being at work.  Quite the contrary.  Papi's presence would be terribly missed.

If Papi triggered anyone into feeling that my love is an intimidating male, mi esposo would ask to be moved to a different facility in the company.

It's not the pack's choice.

Go on then.  Live your own life.

We'll be living ours with the people who show us love.

Looks like Papi will be making his own Trust List.

and yes.  it was difficult for me to type 'his', so shoot me.

Success

I didn't gag at the dump, but more importantly, had a nice beautiful day with my love without tears. I had to give the reminder of the 'no speak' day a few times, but it was a successfully dry day.

So, today it's time to start on the healing again. And I suppose that really does mean I have to cry it out until there's nothing left to weep. I've been told over and over that I have to talk about it, but to date haven't been able to.

There's many reasons; judgement, people gossip, people may not understand, transphobia, embarrassment, ego, and much more including the fact that I just don't want to cry. But today, I start my process of 'getting it off my chest', as my friend ordered me.

I have my first 'get it off my chest' day with one of my friends who was adamant that we get together so I can tell her what the hell is going on with me. I'm afraid she'll try to tell me if I'm this miserable, I should leave. But the tears are not because I feel trapped and want to leave, they're because I'm mourning the woman I married. I'm too weary to defend myself or my love. I just need understanding of what I'm going through. Support of the grief. No judgement and certainly no gossip.

When I made the date to go see her, I think that was the moment that I felt it was possible to heal. I've always healed through speaking out loud to healthy listening ears. I'm also the first person to say to people that you have to get it out of your head and through your mouth before it leaves your soul. But this time, I've been too afraid to let my words out to just anyone. I've felt I don't know who to trust. I've been ostracized in the community a few times from people's untruths to make me look like the villain. I don't want to have that happen again. People scare me. People have no idea what damage they're capable of.

Every person my love tells about being transgendered and going through the male transformation just looks at my love as if to say, "Duh ... I thought you already were!" It's like we were both living in denial that it would happen. Without any effort, I accepted the binding, the packing, using of the male washroom and anything else that my love needed to do to feel better about the body my love was born with. And I suppose I just hoped that that would be enough, because it was what I was comfortable with.

It wasn't enough. And the process begins. For both of us. We're on our paths walking hand in hand with that tiny fence between us. The fence that separates our feelings about the transformation while we walk on our own sides.

Today I surprised myself. I was telling one of the many pets we have that he couldn't go upstairs to the attic. I said, "Sorry Smokey, Papi is sleeping."

Papi. Not Mami.

I've never used that term before, but it felt the only thing I could use that wasn't feminine. I suppose I am getting closer to acceptance. I can't use 'he' ... it's just too much for me ... but I suppose I could use él. We do plan on moving to the Dominican Republic and by then I'll really need to have my fem/masc down because for the most part they are homophobic and of the religious types.

So, I suppose today is a start. I can call my love Papi and él. I will go and cry on my friend's shoulder and tell her 'what's going on'.

Today's mission is to find more healing. That's all I'm asking for. That's my success.