dear sir, you are loved.

So, there I was, amongst a bunch of people from our village at the Party At The Gas Station!!! the night I was practicing drunk crutching, and there was a moment that was more than a little difficult.

Homophobia is rampant here on this island of Dominican Republic and Haiti, and people can be killed for it.

Well, there was a young, flamboyant, out gay man out at the party.

The folks from our group looked to me to joke about this sweet soul with them.

I finally figured out what they were laughing at, realizing it was this lovely person whom I had greeted with a very friendly, "Hola!!" the moment he came in.

I thought he was a rock star for putting himself out there, and thought the girls he came in with were the best friends to have.

Real friends with real love.

The danger is very real, but he chooses not live in fear for whom he is.

He was splendid.

So, when I realized they were looking to me to join them in the belittling, I exclaimed, "You mean that beautiful man?!?!" I placed my hands on my heart to emphasize just how much admiration I had for him, continuing with as much zeal as I could, "He's SOOOOOO BEAUTIFUL!!"

Then, with as perky a positive attitude I could, I added, "He is wonderful and I LOVE him so much!" Hoping this would squelch the temptation to include me in the ritual of spitting out hateful comments.

I continued, "We have so many homosexuals in Canada.  It's wonderful!" not going into the truth of the matter, which is that there are plenty closeted gays here.

They all stopped and looked at each other, not quite sure what to say, or do, as they don't normally get this kind of reaction.

Then one of them said to the others, "Ohhhhh!  Canada."  They nodded, knowingly to one another that we think differently.

Papi said he didn't know how he'd deal with that.

However, Papi is in fear that they will figure out his secret.

It could be equally as dangerous.

I know that people are seriously in danger on this planet for being who they are, and it's a serious topic, but getting angry to teach people is not the answer.

With hate in their heart, people tried to accuse me of being racist and classist, and did it in such a mean hurtful way.

Their actions will never leave my soul.

But I do know, you don't have to be angry and hateful to teach people.

The people I was with that night got to see that there is a different way to react, even though they've been taught to react to adversely.

I wouldn't be able to teach anyone anything about homophobia in one night.

All they get to know, is that one person out there thinks that young guy is wonderful, special, and is loved.

That there CAN be a different reaction.

There is so much to be angry about in this world.

There is so much to take away from beauty, if we let it.

I certainly wouldn't be leaving myself approachable to anyone asking questions about the topic if I was an angry asshole.

I certainly wouldn't be influencing anybody if I treated people here the same way people I thought were 'friends' back home treated me.

Those expelling bad vibes are expunged from my life, and if any of them thought I had something to learn, and wanted to teach me, well, it's too late.

My spirit is closed to their negativity.

They were trying to spread more hate.

So much can be done with love.

Hate?

Nah.

You can't fight hate with hate.

Only love wins.

Dearest beautiful, gay man, you are SO loved!

i choose to stop apologizing for being me

too bad you're such assholes.

Everything is relative.  Like, for instance, how we in Vancouver react to the snow.

I found particular happiness in this day of pillowy poofs falling from the sky, but only because I was warm and dry.

A few years ago, Papi gave me a pair of Sorel boots.

Initially, Papi laughed at me when I left the house in these boots, because our snow doesn't usually warrant this kind of boot attention, but I assured him, I'm not messing around when it comes to being comfortable in this weather.

I refuse to suffer.  I don't care what I look like.

While waiting at the bus stop, for half an hour for a bus that should come by every 10 minutes, I noticed a woman with shoes on, but no socks or jacket.

It was clear she was mentally ill, by the way she was behaving.  So, I guess she dressed herself.  I was sure she must have been cold.

We can't just assume people want help.  She may have felt insulted if I asked her if I could buy her some socks, and who knows what kind of reaction I might have gotten, so I just watched for a while, hoping to ease into a conversation.

Then she started talking with the woman who was upset about missing her granddaughter's school play, because the bus just wasn't showing up.

She seemed happy enough, so I let it go with gratitude for my warm boots, scarf and coat.  Some people can handle the cold.

Along came a man who didn't speak English very well, but I could understand when he asked me how long the bus would take.

I assured him, "It will be here, it's just going to take a little time and patience.  The streets are a little nasty right now."

Like coincidental clockwork, the moment I said that, a car got stuck on the road in front of our bus stop.  I chuckled and said, "Well, I guess she's not going anywhere!  That's pretty funny!"

Of course I found it funny!  I wasn't the one stuck in the car!  No matter.  The guys behind the lady hopped out of their car and gave her a push.  She was moving in no time and these dudes were granted their karma for the day.

However, the man at the bus stop said, "You think it's funny?"

I had to admit, "Well yeah, kinda," even though my chipper mood was soon to be squelched.

He looked down at his feet, and my eyes followed his.  His feet were absolutely sopped, plus the wet, cold snow was crawling up his jeans towards his knees, no different from a sponge absorbing water.

He was obviously cold.  He replied, "I don't think this is very funny."

I asked him, "Do you not have boots?"  I was hoping he'd just say that he wasn't prepared and didn't put them on this morning.

"No," he said.  He sorta shrugged with a 'you don't get it' chuckle, looking down to the ground, "I'm poor."

I looked at his open jacket, "Well, can you do your jacket up to try to stay warmer?"

"No, my zipper is broken.  It's my only jacket."

I almost cried and offered him my vibrant green, cashmere scarf Papi had bought me at a Xmas past.  I thought he'd look ridiculous in it, but his neck would be warm.  My boots certainly wouldn't fit him.

He giggled at my offer, "No, but thank you."

I discreetly asked him if he was on welfare, and when he said he was, I reminded him that there is available clothing for him and to should ask his social worker for help.

He told me he was actually just on his way to The Salvation Army today to get a coat.

I have always maintained that I would never give a penny to The Salvation Army, because they're almost as hateful as the Wesboro Baptist Church when it comes to their homophobia and lack of spirituality.

At least the bastards can be used by us gays in our own way.  The Salvation Army doesn't have to know if this guy is straight or gay, they will still give him clothing.

I would love to donate to help someone like the man I met yesterday, but I just can't.  I hope he at least gets a jacket that does up, but more importantly, boots for the winter.

I hope for today, you're all dry and warm, no matter what your sexuality is.

i matter, and also what i have to offer this world matters

man hair. everywhere.

I must be done with the processing, as the conversations we have are just plain silly and effortless about things that I didn't think I'd ever be able to handle.

Like hair.

Chest hair, belly hair, armpit hair, ass hair, thigh hair and chin hair.

Just plain ol' man hair.

Well, of course I'd love to talk about my hair, because it's usually all about my hair, but my hair is a fucking mess right now, because we have no heat in our suite, and I'm not going to sit around in the brrrrr chill while my mane air dries.

That doesn't make me feel comfortable and being such a hypochondriac, I'm too afraid of catching a cold.  So, it's hats and pins and pigtails for my hair.

Oops.

It all became about my hair again.

Oh, how I digress.

Ok, back on track.

I look at a picture of Papi and I on our engagement day in Cuba.

This picture is so full of happiness, yet also, it's full of uncomfortableness.

On both of our parts.

I remember on that day, that Papi had said to me, "I wanted our picture to look like the other people's picture."  You see, they were more comfortable.

I get very affected by homophobic people, and we never know when they're going to pop up.

Like the man behind the camera that day.

I don't know if he was or not, but two lesbians in front of him was a good opportunity to show his true colours.

Of course, he didn't, but still, I waited for it.

Then there was Papi, uncomfortable in his own skin, because he had a secret that he needed to tell me, but was too afraid to say it, due to the fact that I would say negative things about trans people.

My transphobia scared Papi, and rightfully so.

I would go on about how we're losing all our butches to male transformation, not to mention go on about how people were brainwashing younger people into thinking this was the 'in' thing to do.

It does happen, but I've only known about one pusher who did this.

So there we were.

Both of us were so happy because it was our engagement, but you could see we were both awkward.

Now, you'll find me in Costco asking some guy, "Hey!  You're a guy!  Which of these electric shavers would you recommend?"

They would steer Papi in the right direction saying, "I like this one.  For the money, it's the best one you can get."

Then there was last night.  Papi said, "I also need to get a new man-scaper.  That one also didn't make the trip out of the Dominican alive."

Off he went to get it and I didn't even think about it beyond that.

Until of course, later on when he lifted his armpit to show me how nice it looked because it was tamed with his new toy.

Then I had a moment that was epic.

We were going to get our criminal check done so we could apply for residency in the DR, and while I was at my wicket, Papi saddled up behind me.  The woman behind the counter asked in a very stern voice, "Ma'am, do you know the gentleman who is now standing behind you?"

Like flowing water, I looked, then turned back to say, "Yes, that's my husband."

My husband.

It's all very normal now.

Who knew I could do this?

i am a hero

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

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

Times. They are a changin'.

photo by Jezebel

It's only the beginning.

There is so much more we need to do to help heal those who have been harmed by homophobia and transphobia.

So many people are saying it's a 'risky' move before an election, but it's also a good move for humanity and morality.

I hope that this will help the thousands of homeless kids out there, who have been harmed by the ridiculous hatred from their families, who have been brain washed by religious leaders, who's hearts are filled with hate.

I hope that these kids who have come of the age to vote, will actually get out there and make a move to vote to keep this person fighting for them.

It's only the beginning.

For those of us who have our own struggles with acceptance, I hope that it transforms us as well.

I say us, because I'm looking at myself.

Where I was a year and a half ago, experiencing my love's male transformation, was a far cry from where I am now.

I know that my views have evolved.

We all have the ability to evolve.

If we want to.

I wanted to.  I wanted to be able to love mi esposo with the same eyes that saw him as a perfect butch I married.

He is still perfect.

As a matter of fact, he's even more perfect now.

He's a whole person, who is on a path to find himself, and I am only the lucky one to be walking along side of him on his journey.

The person who was in emotional hell a year and a half ago is not the same today.

Those thoughts that I had were terribly hurtful, yet people loved me through them.

My true friends allowed me to have those feelings, they steered me in the right direction, and they supported me when I needed it.

They watched me transform.

Unlike the Hen Peckers, mean girls and haters that I had to face, truly good people held me until I was ready to say, "I love my transgender husband.  He is perfect." 

Ah, the roller coaster of life.

When you're sliding down that hill, it can be exhilarating, or it can be scary if we don't know what to expect around that bend.

The moments where we get to come back up the hill are our times to reflect.

We might even feel the tendency to say, "Do it again!  Do it again!"  The fact that this ride comes around full circle is healing.

We can choose to step off the ride and say, "Damn that was fun!" or we could leave with a sick feeling in our stomach.

Either way, we got through it.

Personally, I love a good roller coaster.  I love the thrill.  I also love the thrill of life.

After the pain subsides, I am free to love the surprises we get, as I'm also given moments of reflection.

The same week a country's leader made a bold statement, my mother actually invited me to a Mother's Day Brunch.

I am shocked and impressed.  She really is going against Mr. Homophobia's wishes.

It's nice to see my mother fighting for my love.

It may be a small step to her, but to me? 

Massive.

Times.  They are a changin'.

what would you do if you were NOT afraid?

Nirvana!

I don't have a ton of time to chat today.

I didn't even have a second yesterday.

But I had a really great day yesterday, as I do every Friday the 13th.  I don't know why, but there's a really amazing energy that I find on Friday the 13th.  It's always wonderful.

This day hasn't started out too great.

Papi made me laugh and a piece of my egg went from my throat, to my sinus cavity, and out my nose.

Yes.

I had to blow egg out of my nose.

How's that for a day starter?

And it was a burnt egg.

But!

I get to see My Gratitude Buddy today, so it should go much better once I'm out and living the day.

We're experiencing so much positivity in our lives.

We're starting to see it happen in every aspect of our lives, even in the smallest things.

Just amazing.

There was a moment yesterday when I felt what people mean by living at a higher vibration.

There was a twinkle of feeling connected to everything positive.

I was living in a moment of pure nirvana.

My mission every day is to find that place.

If I can find it once a day, I can start to make it a place to live all day, every day.

Well, that's my mission today.  To enjoy the company of another positive living person, and for us to stay in that place of goodness.

I do get to see my second gratitude buddy, my MC Guru on Monday as well!

It's all about positivity this weekend.

This weekend, I'm going to work really hard to live in a good place in my heart.

I'm over feeling hurt by not being included by mean people.

I am included with my baby sister who is having us over for a BBQ tomorrow!!!

She means more to me than any homophobic, resentful person in my family.

I love my baby sister so much.

sometimes, good things fall apart, so better things can fall together

Crying Sucks.

Sometimes, it really hurts.

Basically, my mother has chosen her husband over her daughter.

Can't blame her.

She's had such a rough upbringing being beaten by nuns and living with certain dysfunctional family members could really screw someone up.

Then being knocked up by my deadbeat dad would've given her more issues.

So, she met Mr. Homophobia and they're living happily ever after.

She's not even so much as allowed to speak her dirty disgusting dyke daughter's name, or the man of the house who rules the roost will start a fight with her.

She can only see me when she has managed to get out of the house without him knowing she's coming to see me.

So, I don't really have a relationship with my mother.

But it still really hurts when I see my baby sister talking about going to her house for dinner tonight.

I should know better than to be hurt by it.

If I allow this to affect me each and every time, I'll only be harming myself.

I get to go to Swiss Chalet with the most wonderful spouse there ever was, and a crazy old bird who will make it quite interesting.

Why the hell would I even want to be over there with Mr. Homophobia?!?!?!

My love doesn't hold grudges like I do.

... yup. another one of my shortcomings that i have to deal with ...

However, my love would never disown his own daughter because his spouse told him to.

Good god!

It just happens everywhere to me!

In my 'community', within my friends, in my family life and even strangers who believe the lies all of the above say about me.

I'm lovely goddamit!

Why do I get ousted all over the fucking place!!!!!!!

No fucking wonder I want to run off to some 3rd world country and start new.

I would rather be with goats.

Knowing my luck I'll get the only fucking goats that know how to judge me as well.

So, while I sip my coffee, hoping that my artificial happiness will stop my tears from burning my skin, I have to remember that my life is what it is.

Never ending extremism.

Either really, really good, or really really painful.

It's been like this since I was a kid.  I should be used to it by now!!!!!

But I'm not.

My sperm donor left me with abandonment issues that are still harming me today.

I see that this pattern of being banished from various groups and people really needs to be looked at.

In life, when we have something to work on, life passes it to us non-stop until we learn how to deal with it.

Any fucking suggestions on how to deal with constantly and consistently being ostracized and banished?

I have started my Victim Support Counselling.  I hope that in the 6 months they allow me my counsellor, that I can deal with as much as possible.

However, I'm really only supposed to be dealing specifically on the sexual abuse of the hands of bio-males.

Does abandonment fit in there?

I fucking hope so.

Because this hurts.

Someone told me crying is good for you.

Fuck you.

i am attracted only to those people and situations that support and nourish me

Word of the Papi.

Things are starting to look up in the health area of our home.

Yeah, just in time to enjoy it while running around doing the G'ma's bidding.

At least we're feeling better enough to handle the summons of the old bird.

We're starting to eat real food now.  Perhaps the chicken pakoras last night weren't the right idea, but hey, they tasted so much better than crackers.

So, as I was making veggies to attempt another round of, "Please, please, please my dearest stomach!  I've been so good to you for so many years.  How about we allow a little chard in that empty hole?" I asked my love if he would like to have a few greens in his healing tummy too.

I got the face of squint.

I asked again, in more or less of a rhetorical question, and managed to get him to allow a 'few' on his organic brown rice.

Of course, this will be chased with Dr. Pepper, but at least there's an attempt.

So, I filled my bowl and drizzled with some lovely tahini sauce, I asked my love if he would like anything at all on his bowl of rice.

"Sweety, do you want anything on your veggies?"

"Honey no!!  No vegetable weird shit!"

Word of the Papi.

No vegetable weird shit.

These are the times that I realize he's feeling much better.

That and harassing the old fart upstairs.

She has been quite adamant that she will not allow my love any freedom to be who he needs to be.  We've been hearing about it while she gave us a breather being in Alberta.

"I refuse to call her a man!"

Our sweet aunt said, "Well, you're going to look pretty silly when he has a beard and you refer to him as a woman."

I was told that one had her thinking for a moment.

The cranky ol' thing started in on Papi pretty quickly.  No less than 24 hours into the return and I heard, "You look like you have a moustache."

"That's because I do."

"Well I don't like it.  Please get rid of it."

"There's going to be more to come, so you might as well get used to it."

Oh, but wait, this was also done topless so that the G'ma had to face the facts about the top surgery.

There's just no point in sugar coating it anymore.

The old poop is going to hate everything about anything regardless of what it is anyway, and she's going to be nasty about it on top of that.

So, as I sat downstairs waiting for the conversation to turn into either a religious debate or a homophobic/transphobic slamming of my love, I was pleasantly surprised.

The G'ma gave in.

It was a most shocking moment.

This could be the beginning of a calm household, right?

Or perhaps the old coot is just warming up.

I bet on the latter.

i am glowing with health and wellness

Sorry. Try again.

I'm exhausting Papi with all the driving around I'm making him do for me.

It may be trouble for my love to drive me to all the places I need to go to in a day, but I like the non-stop company of mi esposo.

At least in the car I can have a conversation with him.

That's hard to do when we're home, because my love has put down the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land, and taken up his extra breathing moments with Rock Band.

Which I was confused about.  I didn't realize there's more than one guitar game.

I was corrected.  It is not Guitar Hero.  It is Rock Band.  All I know is you don't want to be a musician to play this game.  It will reverse any schooling you've had in music.

Anyway, yes.

When we're home, my love flits off into never never land and plays games.   I can think of worse things to be addicted to, really.

Yesterday, we were given a blog to read about the word 'Tranny'.  Of course, I read it, while my love played with the whammy bar, and tilted his guitar up like any other rock god.

In a nutshell, the blog was asking that people refrain from using the word 'Tranny', as it can be used as a derogative term.

Kinda like when people spit out the word, "Dyke," at those deemed scum of the earth to the bigots and homophobes around the world.

I don't mind being called a dyke.  Even when it's spit out at me in hatred.

I mean really, as a femme, being recognized in my own community is like asking the world of people.

As if having long hair and wearing a skirt makes me any less attracted to butches.  I come across my own struggles in my community.

I also understand the need to keep our community safe.

However, using the word 'Tranny', and other words like "Fag," is not the problem.

Not using these words will not keep anyone safe while the world has bible thumping zealots brainwashing their children to hate those who don't follow their rules.

My love likes being called a 'Tranny'.  Why should that be taken away from him, because there are crud in the world that will stop at nothing to kill off those who think differently?

Do you really think for a second that not using that word is going to make anyone person any safer from evil?

It's not.

The only way to make this world safer is to expose to the zealots that we are living creatures who believe we deserve to live our lives with love.

Fine!

Be a zealot!

It's not going to hurt us, unless you physically use it for hate.

What if I promised a zealot that I would never ever use the word again?

Do you really think that's going to change their mind?

Nope.

They'll use the word instead while they're in the process of thinking how to kill the young transgender person, in the name of their god.

I'd rather continue saying the word and making it more common in our vocabulary, so that these hateful people can't make others feel bad when they hurl these terms at them through their venom.

Call me a dyke?

Why, thank you very much!  I'm glad you noticed.  Lord knows the lesbians in my community can't tell.

Call Papi a Tranny?

Why yes he is.

Let's see you try to use it against my love.  Sticks and stones bitches.

reality is in our perception of it ... no matter what happens externally, it's all about how we perceive and deal with whatever comes ...

Gimme all your turkey and nobody gets hurt.

You can really tell someone's level of homophobia by their X-mas cards.

People who are accepting of us will send a card to both of us, by either Mr. & Mrs. Hector-Brown, or Andréa & Easton Hector-Brown.

But then again, there's those who choose the latter, because their level of transphobia won't allow them to put a 'Mr' on that envelope.

That doesn't bother me as much, because at least they feel that we're one married unit.

Together.

As one.

Alas, then there's the others.

Homophobic #1 will write us each a separate card, without any reference to Mr. or Mrs., enforcing their belief that we are not 'one' in our relationship.

They continue to view my love as female, and myself as a 'pretend' wife.

They won't accept that we are just like any other married family member who deserves the same treatment as the straights in the clan.

They are passive aggressive in nature and won't budge on their stance.

However, Homophobic #2 is even worse.

We will receive separate cards, and on our cards, both prefixes will say 'Miss'.

'Miss.'

Both.

Not even a thought that we're married, or that my love is going through male transformation.

She got both painful digs in at one time.

Crafty, that old fart.

To the elderly, religiously brainwashed, old coot of 96, we will remain single women, even though she actually walked Papi down the aisle for our wedding.

But to even add more salt to the wound, the G'ma will put my love's chosen ...

... and legal for fucks sakes!! ...

... name, then Papi's birth name in brackets with 'aka' written before it.

I don't know.

I really don't think the old fart is doing this because of Alzheimer's.  She's just an abusive, manipulative woman, who grabs any opportunity to show us how she really feels.

Even though we're miles away in another province right now, the miserable old poop has to find a way to irk us.

There's really no break from the g'ma's nagging either.

She has to call and make sure that she belittles our levels of responsibility.

In other words, we are both stupid and immature, we had a pretend marriage, and are just roommates.

And people wonder why I don't celebrate X-mas?

Because the sheep who talk to imaginary beings in the sky can be so full of hate, and g'mas level is so deep with hate that even her pastor is trying to persuade her to be more loving and accepting.

Why the fuck would I want to celebrate some dead guy who has followers with this behaviour?

No thanks.



But I'll still eat your turkey.

tomorrow ...

When the rain sets in for the winter, those voluptuous drops of water are like little shards of glass pelting my body.

Every one of them wreak havoc on my injuries, and people say, "You're limping!  Are you ok?!"

I just want to get to the Dominican Republic and stop the ouch.

Even though we can't leave until all my legal crud is cleared up and the G'ma goes to her new home in the sky, I'm feeling like I'm really going to be there 'tomorrow'!

It was pointed out to me last night, that Papi not only has to pass as a guy for his safety, but for my safety too.

That part didn't really occur to me.

I'm such a romantic idealist, that I just think we're going to move there and people will love us automatically, because we're loveable dammit!

I forget that they are a country where the people could homicidally judge us, if there's any evidence of my love having been a woman in the past.

When we were last there, we became friends with a sweet, young, single father, who was the official photographer of the resort we stayed in.

He showed us a video on his camera of the after effect of a fight.

It involved a machete and a head.

The head was in the gutter, and the machete was nowhere to be seen.

This was a fight over a girl.

They fought to the death for her, and only one head rolled.

So, if they're really going to behead someone who wanted the same girl, imagine how easy it would be for them to dismiss us from the planet.

i have even worse fears that go on in my mind, but i don't want this to get over the top serious with my mind's eye ...

My friend that reminded me that I, too, could possibly suffer at the hands of religious, homophobic people that have been brain washed.  "I'll give you 4 years," I was told, with an added, "you'll miss your queer community too much."

Yes, I will miss my 'rough around the edges friends', my Trust List and my biological and chosen family.

In terms of the Hen Peckers, I can't wait to get away from them and their Rah-Rah-Tranny cohorts.

Good fucking riddance.

I'd rather hang out with goats.

Anyway, I'm not going to get on to the 'ick' that are in our community, but rather get back on track about our haven.

Papi and I are city slickers, born and raised in Vancouver.

Some way, some how, we have to learn what it's like to be country bumpkins.

We will be building our own house, and will probably have to live in a tin roofed home for the first while.

That or a Winnebago.

At the same time, we have to learn how to live off the land.  I can see that my first 2 years are going to be an ample distraction from the fact that I'm nowhere near another queer person, other than Papi.

And the goats.

Goats are queer enough for me to talk to.

Not to mention, I've also been told, by some of my lovely Blogger Friends, that goats do make good listeners.

In my mind, I'm leaving the rain, snow, cold and Hen Peckers behind for good.

I know it's 20 months to 2 years away, but like I said, to me it feels like 'tomorrow'.

At this point, I'm not thinking about how much I'm going to miss my friends, because my romantic idealist brain keeps saying, "No worries! They'll all be coming by to visit you in those beautiful, luscious, healing, rolling hills of beauty."

... tomorrow ...

 

The day has come ...

The videoshoot was awesome.

I was told to stand in one place and, "Don't move." 

there's some orders i like to take ...

I can do that well, as long as my feet are grounded I won't wobble.

The best part of the day was when I was told there was too much boob in the shot.  Never has that happened in my life.

Anyway, they were so amazingly sensitive to my bitch of a back's needs, that I didn't wake up unable to get out of bed.

I woke up to a mewing of desperate cats, a cacophony of small dog barks, coffee in hand and a beautiful day to share with you the amazing phone call I received two days ago.

It's given me new ambition for what I'm doing here.

A friend, who has very quickly risen to Trust List stardom, called Papi and I the other night.

Papi calls him My Boifriend.  He's one of my favourite people right now, that's for sure.

He showed my article to some friends, who happen to have partners who have gone through the transformation with their loves.

The partners of the transitioning folks in these relationships cried when they read my article, saying, "This was exactly how I felt, but I couldn't say it."

They were afraid to speak.

Oh, how I understand.  And oh, how I want so badly to hold them and take away their fears, but I can't.  I can only support them, doing it on their own.

When My Person came over on the eve of a new year, she had no idea how much she would change my life from chronic, catatonic, La-Z-Boy dweller to the roaring lioness I feel I have become.

There have been a few opinions spewed onto my blob/blab, that I'm appreciative of having.

One of my ex's said it perfectly.  I was shocked that people would allow horrid homophobic words to be published.  This wise ex said, "It's important for everyone to know what's out there.  We need to know what we're up against."

And this is how I feel about the name calling that I've been subject to since the article.  I know what I'm up against.

I'd rather have people excreting the hate to my face, than behind my back.

For some reason, I like to hear the flip side.

And at the same time, I also flourish when those around me who love me fight back in my defense.

sticks and stones bitches ... sticks 'n stones ...

It's important for myself, and others who are like minded, that we hear what people are arming themselves with.

my favourite was 'crude' ... is it so wrong that i like it?!

One comment from the article asked, where on earth I heard such silencing words.  Where were these people who label us transphobic and hate us for our honest feelings?

Check the comments out, that's all I have to say.

They're there in black and white.

These were the people who kept me silenced for 6 weeks straight.

Well, for those who need someone else's voice to say it for them, I want to tell you, I'm here roaring louder with every day I get stronger.

You can speak about your grief, We will never see it as fear.

We'll see it as healthy growth, and will watch you remove each fear one by one, as you see your love change into the person that you didn't know was inside that previous confinement.

We are the luckiest people to have the experience of watching our soul mates be released to freedom, which in turn helps us grow into someone we never knew we could be.

I'm out the other side now.

I'm ready to be Your Person.

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...

oh. my. god. well actually, YOUR god.

I know I vent a lot about religious zealots, but here's one that I just need to get out.

So, there we were having the most BEAUTIFUL sights of nature that could ever be witnessed, at the top of the mountain in our area of Puerto Plata.

They call it the Tereferico, but basically it's a tram that takes you up to see the views of the ocean, the city and the local rolling hills of green.

So amazing.

We got accosted by the merchants at the top and got suckered into buying their wares.

It doesn't feel bad to give money for their wonderful goods, but damn they're aggressive!

At the end of our financial beatings, we were walking away and the nuts attacked us.

"Here!  You both get one of these!"  The man handed us 2 pamphlets that had a cover that read: 'How to get out of debt.'

This is a topic that is always interesting to me, as Papi and I are not too good at keeping the credit card put away. 

hence ... here we are in the beautiful caribbean thanx to mastercard

But when I looked a little closer it had all the markings of religious propaganda.

"No thank you," I passed the pamphlet back.

"Oh, you go ahead and take it.  You can read it later."

"No really!  We don't need it.  We don't follow religion."

"But you don't know when you'll need to call on god," he was getting pushy now.

I tried to explain in my 'spanglish' way that I don't believe in god and there's no point in me having the pamphlet, but this was when they begged me to keep it because ... 

oh get this ...

... because, "You don't know when later you will want to pray to god to change.  When you don't want to be gay, god will help you." 

WTF?!?!?!?!?

Seriously.

Who the fuck asked me if I WANTED to change?

Dearest religious mother fucking brain washed slime balls:

Please pray to your fucking 'god' for tolerance.

Please pray to your invisible leader in birkenstock shoes to ask what 'judgement' is and who is to be judging.

Please pray to your mother fucking, fear instilling, imaginary friend to learn what respect is.

Please learn that your mother fucking 'god' doesn't exist, because if he did, he wouldn't have fuckwads like you telling me that I should change so that your 'god' would love me.

I have all the fucking love in the world, and I don't need another imaginary friend.  The one I already have is fine thank you very much.

I have the joy in my life that most people would pay to have if they could.  Do you really think that I want to change that just to appease your imaginary friend?

CHANGE?!?!?!

Why the fuck would I want to change this life of joy and love and become a sad-ass loser like you. 

end vent.

So.

Papi and I went and took pictures of us holding jesus statues in our hands.

Yes.

We held jesus up. 

goddam ... i'm sure jesus would love your fucking love and tolerance you mother fuckers.

Other than that, hey, it was a beautiful day here in the Dominican.

Except for the power outages while we're trying to listen to the hockey play-offs.

Third world country indeed.

And what the fuck is a 2nd world country?  Do they have religious zealots there?

Kids with guns?

I am so happy to be in the warm.  My injuries are so grateful.

The crests of the ocean dance with me, bobbing up and down, pulling me further into the barren blue.  Yet I am not a mermaid, so I must resist against being taken from Papi, into the sea forever.

I feel closest to nature when I'm in an ocean that moves me.  This is a force that I could never battle.

Oh, last night's dinner was something else.

The first thing that greeted us at the restaurant door was a full pig on a platter.

Yup.

Head and all.

I haven't been vegetarian for over 10 years now, but that almost threw me back into the world of tofu.

Even my fish still had a head on it.  I looked into it's eye and apologized, "I'm so sorry, but I need to eat, and it wasn't me who killed you."

I had pumpkin soup that was so good I will never be able to eat squash soup in Vancouver again.

Papi is having troubles with showing breasts.  I didn't think I'd ever see the day when my love would feel the inability to bare those beautiful peaks.

My love has been wearing a tank top into the water and on the beach.  "I just don't want to show them."

I suppose it's because my love now sees the end is coming for them and they'll never be in the way again.  Now mi esposo won't be mistaken for a woman until they hear the more feminine than masculine voice.

People do call Papi 'sir' until they hear that voice, then look down and see breasts.  Now, they'll still be confused, but will probably stick with the male pronouns.

Ronnie, the towel boy said, "Your friend there, how long you both stay?"

I replied, "Papi's mi esposo and we'll be here for 2 weeks."

Ronnie was confused, "Esposo or esposa?"

"Esposo," I said, with an extra emphasis on the 'o' to be sure he got it.

"That is your husband?"

"Pretty much."

Papi laughed when I told the story.  We both know that Ronnie will now be talking about this with everyone and they will soon figure out what's going on.

good ... figure it out for yourselves and don't ask me any more questions ... i'm on holiday

However, on the way to the pool, after our wonderful play date with the waves, a man came walking up and looked at Papi and said, "Oh, beautiful!"  He was enthralled with my love.  As I said before, I'd much rather have that than homophobia.

It's perfect weather here.  My all time favourite temperature.  Wind will take the edge off of the sun for small moments, then the heat will return to warm my muscles and heal my wounds.

I never did tell you about the car ride to the resort.

We got stopped at a light and some teen boys ran toward the car crouching down disguising objects in their hands as they approached.  They were hell bent for our vehicle and we knew it.

Papi cried, "Lock your doors!!  For the love of god!!"

I yelled, "Fuck they've got guns!  Those kids have fucking guns!!"

They ran straight for our windows as my heart pounded with fear.

They started cleaning our windshield.

No guns.  Only deprived kids who need to earn money with sponges and soap.

I pointed at the brat though my side window and said, "Malo!"  Then I shook my finger at him and he giggled with that smirk that says, 'you know love me.'

Papi gave them a dollar and that was it.  They weren't leaving until they got more.  I tried to tell them to bugger off but they ignored me, continuing to prod Papi for more cash.

kids know the sucker ... always ...

Finally, the light turned green, and we drove off laughing about it ever since.

It was so ridiculous, but honestly, it really did look like they were coming in to hijack our car.

Paranoid much?

Dear Facebook Stalker:

It's so beautiful here in the land of lush.

It's always brutal to get through the rude stares of people in the airport.  It always seems that this is where the coddled people of the world come out.

what? you've never seen a tranny before? close your fucking mouth ... and yes that IS the stink eye death stare i'm giving you.

It's such a strange experience being in a building with people from all over the world and such different places in life.

We drove to Seattle, where one of the sweetest, most generous friends from the Trust List gave us a ride to the airport.  She seemed to think that we could just show up a half hour before the flight and we'd be fine.

Damn good thing Papi and I are anxiety ridden.  We made sure we got a move on, and damn!  That check out point is where all your time goes.

not sure why the lady chose ME to give the pat down and swiping of hands to look for bomb material ... nobody else got the special attention ... maybe she thought i was cute

We flew from Seattle over the clouds to Newark ...

i always wanna call it norwalk 

... and when we got to our first hotel, it was full.  We were directed next door.  They had a room for us at the lovely Sheraton circa 1980.

While waiting to check in, who's the entertainment on the tv?  Chaz Bono.

Yup.

I may be on vacation, but I'm still forced to face my tranny issues.

Apparently, his wife had a hard time dealing with this as well.  I'm finding the only femmes who don't, are either a Tranny Chaser or Rah-Rah Tranny.

Anyway, Chaz's wife started drinking again to deal with the pain.  I'm so grateful that I chose THIS route to walk my way to healing.

One strange thing that I've really noticed about the Dominican Republic, is the interest the men here have for Papi.  They look at my love with lust that I have never seen by any of the gawking critters that look at mi esposo with that stare of 'wtf'?

Honestly though, I can't tell who they're more leering towards; the tranny or the blonde.  Don't come on to me.  Go ahead and stare, but dammit, keep your paws and words to yourself.

Seriously though, a couple of times, I really felt like telling some of these men to back off my butch!  So strange how they feel this animalism towards Papi, but honestly?  I'd rather have that than the homophobia we experienced in the airport.

Here's where it gets fucked up for me though.

Papi has a Facebook admirer.

The first Tranny Chaser.

Oh fuck ya.

Here it comes.

Seriously you bitches.  You might be lovin' the Papi cuteness, but you so much as lay a hand on my love, and all that anger that I'm feeling about my love morphing from that beautiful butch I married into the tranny I don't know, will be served on a platter of pain.

Trust me.

I'm not normally a jealous person, I mean really, I can't make anyone love me and if Papi falls out of love with me, I would have to accept it.  But if you Tranny Chasers think you'll be able to move on in because you like what you see, you'll painfully witness everything I've been through for the past 5 months.

YOU don't get to move on in after all i've gone through to fight for my love.

I hated seeing this jealous side of me come out.

Papi?  "I kinda liked it.  I've never seen you jealous.  It's good to know you'd fight for me."

maybe i should be wearing the secret Tranny Lover t-shirt

Yes my love.  I adore you more than the awesome local Dominican coffee I'll be experiencing tomorrow morning.

You're all mine, with cream and sugar.

Stalkers!

So.

I walk outside half dreary eyed and half in a hurry to get to my shift.  I strolled as quickly as I could to the sidewalk that leads to our vehicle.  As I approached, I noticed something on the windshield.

Upon walking closer, I realized what it was:

A fucking pamphlet on how Jesus loves me.

Sorry ... but he died a long time ago ... i'm pretty sure he has noooo idea who i am.

I'm hopping mad and in seconds I am now fully awake!

There have been many a 'god fearing', homophobic pamphlet mailed to my love from some crazy mother-fucking zealot, terrorizing Papi with their propaganda of insanity.  I'd charge them with harassment if they put a fucking return address on their envelopes.

what?!  too afraid that i'll come to your house and show you what fear REALLY is?!?!

I'm just assuming at this point that this freak of a person has gotten frustrated that their ridiculous pieces of paper haven't scared us straight.  They religiously mail their crap about how we're going to hell for being gay.

good thing ... i wouldn't want to miss out on the party!  all my friends will be there!!!

But to come on MY property and put your shit on MY vehicle?!?!?!

Oh no, no, NO!!!

I'll be getting a video camera and finding out who's doing this and charge them with trespassing and harassment.  People who have a dose of the crazies can't just come on to my property and have my blood boiling at 7:45 in the morning with their spewing of brain washed lunacy!!!

some people should really be on meds ... i got mine jack

I also realized that my love had just arrived home from the graveyard shift no more than 10 minutes prior, so whomever this nutburger is, has obviously been stalking us to wait for mi esposo to come home so they can put their crap on our car.

Now the charges have gone from harassment to trespassing AND stalking!!  I'll also be sure to get a restraining order.  Nutballs are fucking scary and I don't want to have to deal with it, yet again, in my life.

Nope.  Been there, charged that.

At this point, I'm so angry that I will actually drive while talking on my cell phone, even thought it's illegal.  Even though I'm the one who will tsk-tsk my love for breaking this law.

I phoned Papi to vent about the pamphlet, but before I could even spout my ire, I heard my love answer the phone with a half weakened giggle for a hello.  I knew right then who had put that pamphlet there.

Papi really knows how to yank my chain.

"Oh my god.  Did YOU put this fucking thing on the windshield?!?!?"

Mi esposo giggled, "Yes.  I knew what this phone call was about!"  And the laughing continued on both ends of the phone call.

When we love someone, we know what to do to get the reaction we want.  We know what drives them mad, makes them laugh, pisses them off and how to push buttons.

Oh, Papi, you truly are an imp.

If I wasn't loved, I wouldn't be poked at, now would I?

Ah, love.

Ain't it grand ...

Hehe ... when I calmed down after our laugh, I had to think about how angry I got.

Yeah.  Who's the crazy one?

Mother, Mother

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder just where my insanity stems from.

Figured it out.

My mother.

We tend to take on the traits of our family.

On the drive up to my mother's retiring abode, I had to do my best to keep my mother low on the road rage attitude.  I worked on my anger issues enough that I was able to explain that getting mad about a situation won't change it, all that will happen is you will harm yourself.

Her aggitation started out 2 minutes from my house with a traffic jam because of a police incident.  My mother was getting so frustrated she almost honked at the police.

sounds very familiar

I had to pacify her short fuse throughout the entire 5 hour drive up to the Okanagan.  What really made me giggle however, was the O.C.D. that ruled her existence the moment we stepped in the door.

Dusting, cleaning, busy, busy, busy.  She just wouldn't stop.  She hadn't even taken off her scarf yet!  She cleaned the same spot for about 10 minutes.  A spot that I didn't notice had anything on it.

memories ... mother grabbing my hand and pushing the cleaning rag with rage, as if to pull my arm out of it's socket in an effort to punish me, "THIS IS HOW YOU CLEAN A COUNTER!!!!!"

I'm not a neat freak, but I definitely get obsessed with certain things; numbers, music, exercise and making everything symmetrical.

it must be even dammit!!!

There were also times that we would have the same hand gesture at the same time, and say the same things in the same breath.  Occasionally, I felt like we were two fish in a school, turning our heads with the same look on our face like twins.

The crazy part is, I'm not close with my mother.  I see her maybe 4 times a year.  I forgive her for being the abusive person she has been in the past, but I'm still not close with the less than maternal person.

She also has an overbearing homophobic husband who will demand her every breathing moment, and do his very best to keep my mother away from the sinful dyke.

the feeling of offense is mutual muther-fucker (pun intended)

I tried to ease my way in with talk about Papi's male transformation.  I showed her that I was wearing my love's engagement ring and she was shocked, wanting to know why on earth mi esposo wasn't wearing it?!??!?!?!?

"Mom, do you know much about transgendered people?"

"No, I have never really understood that."

"Well, it's a person who has both gender traits in one body."  I asked her if she ever noticed that my love looks more like a male, and my mother laughed as in, 'duh'!

I helped her understand transgendered people by talking about Papi being a 'masculine woman', and that there are also men who are feminine.  That helped a little.

more memories of growing up with my family's homophobic slander of gay men

I explained that some people will be hermaphrodites.  My mom had never really even heard of this.  I told her of the person having both the organs of a male and a female.  She seemed quite uncomfortable with this, so I was sure to let her know that Papi isn't one of them.

I made clear that Papi has more male attributes and is feeling drawn toward the masculine side.  I disclosed that an engagement ring is something worn by a female, hence I get to wear it until it's time for my jaw surgery.  At that point, we will sell the ring.

She got it.

This was the first day of actually defending Papi.  I felt like my mom was closer to understanding and I was closer to helping one person out of their fear, phobia, and any other feeling that would cause hate or disgust.

Monumental.

I'm really healing.

Next step, the 5 foot vagina.

Shift ...

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

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

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

I gave my love's gym a try yesterday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People get uncomfortable until they hear words from my love.

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

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

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

I just look at them with the death pan stare.

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

But this visit to the changroom?

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

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

So.  Where does Papi fit in then?

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

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

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

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

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

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