Mi esposo es muy guapo.

Yeah, I thought I'd start out this first day of 2012 with sleep deprivation, because I was too lazy to get up to the drug store and refill my nerve pills, hence there was no sleep for this mangled body last night.


Honestly, I'm good with my title of 'Most Crazed Woman of Canada' as long as I get to stay in my pajamas.

Perhaps there is an inkling of a day to be had?  Perhaps it's a double coffee day?




Even if this day doesn't turn into much, I'm pretty grateful I don't have to be anywhere in this condition.

Speaking of gratitude, I received 2 great gifts for my New Year.

One was the gift of more gratitude.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with happy, positive thinking, so don't get your panties in a wad.

It's just that it was a strange phenomenon!  When I wrote the last gratitude entry to My Gratitude Buddy, I felt it was unfinished.  I almost felt like I should keep going for a little while longer, because it has done me good.

Well, what happened was, when I received My Gratitude Buddy's last return, she asked if I was into going on for a few more weeks.

there is still time to join in, oh ye non-believer of gratitude's magic ...
 
But, there is still the best New Year's gift yet.

I had a wild moment in TransLand last night!

My sweet Papi is still not feeling so well.  Who knew that a hysterectomy could wreak such havoc on a body!?!?

After 3 post surgery infections, complete with 3 emergency room visits, and the cherry on top of 3 rounds of antibiotics, my love's system has had to start from scratch and reboot.

So.

Papi is not well, to say the least.

However, the good news is, my love may get on a healthy food regime by no force of my own!

mwahahahaha!!!!!!  my positive thinking of health has made it's way to papiland!!!!!!

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my TransLand moment.  I just thought I'd throw that in there so you could have a lovely mental picture of why there haven't been any Tranny Terrorist exhibitions as of late.

Ok.  I'll get to the point now.

The point is, that even though mi esposo was not feeling so well, he's still handsome.

The moment when I saw the handsome Papi, I couldn't stop staring at my love.

Someone had seen Papi's picture change on Facebook the other day, and almost wrote, "Who's this dude?"

Everyone else gets to see the changes from week to week.  I only get day to day, so Papi doesn't really change for me.

It's too slow and gradual.

Yet still, I saw my handsome husband for a moment.

It wasn't my husbutch.

It was actually a husband.

And as Papi toddled off for another visit to the porcelain gods, my mind reverted back to mi esposo.

I don't really care which way my mind chooses to see Papi.  Point is, mi esposo es muy guapo.

Happy New Year Papi.

2012 is the year of Dominican Republic preparation!!!

Ready, set, GO!!!

My ass.

It occurred to me last night, that my physio has seen my ass more times than anyone I know.  Well, that excludes my mom, my baby sister, some long term lovers and my hus-butch excluded.

Seriously.

He's been shoving needles into my butt flesh 3 days a week now for over a year.

If I tally it up, that's around 140 times he's had me lying face down on a 'chiropractic' bed that puts straight line creases on my face.

It's oh so fun to leave there with vertical lines looking like scars down my cheeks.

My face cheeks that is.

My booty always looks like a swarm of bees got to it.

That and my t-shirts all have little spots of blood on the back.

I've decided that my favourite t-shirts don't get to come with me to physio.

I've also realized it's easier for him to get to my bum if I wear g-strings.

I don't need any more polka dotted shirts, and besides, g-strings look better in my yoga pants.  It's a sad day when I have panty lines bulging through my bubble butt.

I also know that I need to bring food with me after every visit, or it will be a miserable drive home.

After he's finished with me in the torture chamber, I have to exercise for about an hour and 15 minutes and that makes me hungry!

I like exercising, so that part makes me happy.

Well, if I'm being honest, the needles up my backside feel good too.

In that masochistic kinda way, that is.

Every time I go, I make my 'rough around the edges friends' proud.

I give a little song with every needle he digs down to my bones.

I'm pretty sure that new patients tremble in fear if they're there for the first time, and have to hear my croonings of pain.

My Needle Master gets a chuckle out of it.

He also likes the fact that I have high pain tolerance so that he can get right in there and leave permanent etchings on my bones.

Ok.

I'm exaggerating.

He doesn't leave designs on my skeleton.

However, it sure feels like it when he gets so far into my flesh that my muscles literally jump off the table.

Once when I was in there, another physio had to come in and take the stimulation machine out of the room, but was too embarrassed to wipe my ass clean of the jelly that was in place.

I left with a smear of goo all inside the butt of my pants.

It was not pleasant.

I would rather he saw my ass.

It's a good ass!

It's one of my best ass-ets!

i'm sorry ... but you had to see that one coming ...

The Needle Master said, "Well, he should have at least asked your ass out for dinner before he started taking a peek."

And on that note, it's time to get ready for today's torture, and he's going to have a good time with it today that's for sure.  I'm a little worse for wear after composing this week.  I sat way too much and my bitch of a back is thoroughly pissed at me.

Well, my coffee is cold and my eggs are finished.

That means my day has begun.

I hope your day finds you joy.

My Husbutch.

I have a Godson.

I refer to him as The Turkey.

Mostly because his little baby chub legs looked like you could break one off and have a Thanksgiving chomp.

He's walking now, so his legs are getting more svelte and are no longer appetizing.

Well, yesterday we celebrated his 2nd birthday party/Grey Cup party.

thank god we won ... i don't think i could handle another vancouver riot ...

As per The Turkey's momma's wish, I brought balloons galore to the party.  They were a magnanimous hit with The Turkey!  Now I know what I have to do every time I visit, so that I may be dubbed his absolute favourite tall person of all time!

Anyway, his Godfather was there too, and we are both so proud to be the Godparents of this little guy.

The Godfather offered to help me in with my balloons aplenty, as did The Turkey's brother that I refer to as The Porkchop.  He also had little baby chub legs that looked like you could break off a piece and have it for Christmas Dinner, but now he's all tall and lanky.  No meat on his teenage bones.

hey ... i know what you're thinking ... but i'm probably your favourite cannibal.

So, as we were heading to do the balloon deed, The Turkey's biological father ...

... and one of my best friends, who was best man at my wedding ...

... made a reference to The Turkey's baptism day when The Godfather and I had to repeat the vows from a pastor, then walk down the aisle, receiving beautiful smiles from the fellowship in their pews, to the back of the church.

But what these people didn't know about the newly dubbed Godparents, was that neither of us believe in God, nor follow religion, so it was completely awkward having to suffer through all the God talk just to be blessed as The Turkey's Godparents.

As we walked down the aisle, and all the good, God believers sang their song of praise, I leaned over to The Godfather and whispered, "I feel like we're in Whoville," which got a great laughing snort out of him.

Fast forward to yesterday, and there we were walking toward the door to get balloons, when The Turkey's bio-dad said, "There goes Andréa with the only man she'll ever say vows and walk down the aisle with."

I wanted to agree, but then I had this moment of thinking about Papi.

I married a butch.

A masculine woman.

The world's most perfect masculine woman, I may add.

One day, when I was clawing my way out of the catatonic tranny spell, my love had asked, "Do you think we could have a 2nd wedding, so that we can be pronounced man and wife?"

Of course, in response to the Tranny Terrorist, I quickly barked out, "No fucking way!!"

I mean really!  I've had my perfect wedding with my perfect butch.

How on earth could I ever marry a 'male', and live to tell the tale?!?

But there was a memory in this that I had spoken to a friend about.  I thought about how happy it would make my love to have his marriage certificate say male and female, instead of female and female.

I'm not rushing out to change our marriage certificate.

Hell fucking no!!!!

That bitch is mine!

But you never know.  Through this whole journey, I have learned a lot about the word, 'never'.

Never say, "Never", or it will come back and bite you in the ass.

At this point, I'm loving being married to my husbutch, and that's where I am 'right now'.

Lessons in transgender language.

There was a tense moment last night, when one of my blogger friends referred to Papi as my wife/hubby.

Apparently, my love dislikes the word 'wife' more than the pronoun 'she'.

oh how we learn something new every day ...

I've actually never called my love a wife, so I didn't know how much it bothered Papi.  We adopted the term 'husbutch' from someone in our community.

It worked for my masculine spouse.

When Papi wanted to change his given name, we searched for a long time to find one that would suit mi esposo.

I found it while I was playing a brain injury game to get my noodle rewired.  It was a game of serving people in a cafeteria, and I had to remember their order, plus their name.

One of the customers had the perfect name, and mi esposo's name change began.

It was easy for me to switch to Papi's new name, because of three reasons;

1) I was the one to find it,

2) I, too, didn't feel mi esposo suited the girly one he was born with, and

3) I didn't know the name would attached to a male transformation.

I mean really, my love is not a 'wife' in any way shape or form.

Ok.  Papi has one feminine attribute.  Have you ever heard a masculine person scream while killing a spider?  You would have to experience it to really know the full affect of it all!

Anyway, back on track!

So, now that I'm venturing back into the closet, mi esposo will be deemed my 'husband'.

I don't like it.  It makes me crawl out of my skin.

A lot of the time, when I have to refer to Papi in conversation, I use 'my spouse'.

I don't like that either, but it's the easiest way to get around it.  From the moment I call Papi 'my spouse' people automatically refer to my love as 'he'.

the invisible femme ...

I flail about with my pronouns and proper labels, while I skirt around the issue of it all, letting people figure it out on their own.

Papi doesn't really want any attention brought to the topic when we're out and about, but in the privacy of our own home, my love is stringent about training me with pronouns and labels that my love wishes to be addressed as.

I'm still not able to say 'he' out loud.  Somehow, writing it here is the only place I don't cringe.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true.  I do flinch when writing it here and I still try very hard to walk around the topic, using labels such as 'Papi', 'my love' and 'mi esposo'.

Something very interesting is happening, however.

Now that I'm hyper aware of pronouns and labels that people like or dislike, I've started becoming free of pronouns all together, even when it comes to strangers.

That's the time when I can use 'they'.  I refused to use that word not too long ago because it is grammatically wrong, but I have started to use it when I'm stuttering about labeling and pronouns.

It's like I have pronoun PTSD, and I don't use any for fear that I will insult someone.

In the queer community, people have become extremely sensitive about labels and pronouns, and some of us are having a hard time catching up.

I'm not a political person.  I'm just a creative person who loves people for their hearts, not their politics or gender.

I really do my best to conform with pronouns/labels in the way people prefer, but I'm human, and sometimes I screw up.

At the same time, I suppose it's my job to pass it on to the next person who's learning about transgender people as well.

My hope is that before I die, I get it flowing comfortably.  Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

I mean really, I have a lot of time to get it down before I expire.  People keep trying to kill me while I'm on the road, but somehow, I keep bouncing back.