Do you know who I am?!?!

We frequent an awesome li'l taco joint: Gordito's.

It's affordable, fast and damn good.

I've only been in once with the cast on, and the owners weren't there, so they didn't see me.

Or so I thought.

Also, Papi wrote them an email about an employee who had put her hands into the cheese and had a snack.

This actually happened months ago, but Papi felt the need to say something anyway.

He thought it would be more or less anonymous, because there are SO many people that go into that restaurant.

They do very well for themselves, and rightly so.

So, the day after the email we went in for some lunch and one of the owners was there.

Upon seeing me hobble in on crutches, he held the door for us.

When I came through the door, he said, "Hey!  No more cast!  Great!"

I was wondering how the hell he knew I had a cast in the first place.

He didn't see me before, right?!

Then he turned to Papi and said, "I got your email.  Thank you.  Did you read my response?"

All of a sudden I felt like our car and house were bugged.

Maybe I've been watching too much Breaking Bad, but I'll tell you, it was really creepy.

Papi and I have never lived in a small town before.

Forget about ME being the Papirazzi, we have a whole small town to do the job.

Lots of people now know everything we do.

People know who we are.

Talk about paranoia.

It was a bit shocking for Papi and I who could live without anyone knowing our business in Vancouver, with the exception of course that Papi likes to blurt out everything about our lives on Facebook.

And me?

Well, I blurt it out in much greater detail here on my blog.

But still.

There are plenty of people who don't know us in Vancouver.

The other day, I made a new friend who said, "Yeah, I've seen you around.  Hard to miss someone with as many tattoos as me."

We're not used to this.

All of a sudden I feel like I'm in a fishbowl.

We better behave, I'll tell ya.

That whole lunch at Gordito's, Papi and I offered options as to how the hell he knew I had a cast and how the hell he knew who Papi was by his email, when we've never given the man our names.

Besides, everyone here calls Papi, 'Hector'.  Not, 'Easton', which is how he signed the email

I'm sure if you live in a small town, you'll be giggling right about now.

We city slickers have a new culture to get used to.

Everyone knows everything.

It's the strangest thing ever, to me.

I don't know anything about anybody, but I'm sure, hanging out long enough we'll be part of the crowd and know what our neighbour a mile away had for breakfast and when they have their bowel movements.

This is something to get used to.

It's a whole new level of 'get to know your neighbour'.

They seem to already know me.

i am beautiful and smart and that is how everyone sees me

Gratitude 7/10
1. I am grateful for nice people.
2. I am grateful for a good sleep last night.
3. I am grateful there is less swelling in my ankle.
4. I am grateful the dogs slept so much last night.
5. I am grateful to have Spanish teachers everywhere.
6. I am grateful for my homemade toasted coffee.
7. I am grateful to be feeling like I can do more.
8. I am grateful my depressed moment has lifted.
9. I am grateful we are getting the house bombed for ants and termites today.
10. I am grateful I live in a village with such sweet people.

i am insignificant

I feel bad for The Yank.  She couldn't have come to visit at a worst time.

It's not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

Usually one can pick the other up, but we both have shit going on.

Papi is feeling like he has no purpose.

That when he left his job, he left his intent in life.

I've reminded him that when he gets to the Dominican Republic, he will have MANY people to help and he will not feel pointless in this life any more.

I feel insignificant.

Like I just don't matter.

There was a time when I used my music to feel like 'someone'.

I needed that.

I needed to feel like I was loved, even if it was through my craft.

I felt needed that way.

That option left me after the motorcycle accident.

Gone.

I was ok with feeling like 'nothing' for a long time.

However, yesterday really made me realize just how 'nothing' I really am.

I am insignificant.

I'm not needed.

There are a handful of people who love me, and for that I'm grateful, because if I didn't have them, it's times like this that I'd surely disappear.

I tried to say goodbye to a few people at the synagogue yesterday, but soon realized, not too many people cared, so I left in tears.

"We'll miss you," they lied, with a smile on their face.

No, you really won't.

Maybe one day, you'll look at that seat and remember when I'd sit there, but you won't miss me.

I'm not important enough.

That seat will be filled with someone else.

Probably the passive aggressive guy who likes to comment that it used to be his.

Yeah, buddy?

Well, then get your ass there on time and it can be yours too.

Early bird gets the worm.

It was mine.  Not any more.

He can have it with his daughter who really believes the world revolves around her.

Imagine how she's going to feel when she realizes it doesn't?

She'll feel insignificant.

She'll feel like nothing.

She'll feel just like I do right now.

Not very fucking important.

I have no place and it doesn't matter, because there's always someone to replace me.

I just fade into the woodwork like the pretty little wallflower femme I am.

Nothing.

I used to hold people's attention.

Last night, the saddest words I dread to hear came from Papi's mouth, "I wish you were with it like before the accident.  I wish you were lively again."

I had to remind him, "Yeah, morphine will do that to ya."

It's really not good when Papi and I are depressed at the same time.

He hides it so much better than I do.

I just want to disappear.

Oh yeah, right.

That's what we're doing.

Sometimes, I wish I could really believe the positive daily mantras I write here.

i matter and what i have to offer this world matters

no, not she/he, asshole.

Maybe I'm just bitchy and short fused because I'm sick, but seriously, people really piss me off.

Someone thinks I'm a lazy ass and that Papi does everything.

Really mother fucker?!?!

Papi and I do different things, because I can't lift heavy items or walk for long periods, but I pull my weight.

I promise you.  I pull MORE than most people with my bitch of a back would.

I work my ass off just to keep up, so relatively speaking, I do more than most.

When I was healing in the chronic time from my motorcycle accident, people would say to me, "You know, most people only choose one area of rehab to work on then move on to the next."

I said, "Fuck that.  I've got to get better now."

So, when someone says that they feel bad for Papi, because he has to do everything, I really want to slap them upside the head.

I really want to scream at them and tell them to take their judgement somewhere else.

Go look in the mirror and tell me that you're working just as hard as me.  I can almost guarantee I'll win that game.

I know this because I'm a stubborn mother fucker.  I will win or hurt myself trying.

Earlier on in the day, another asshole pissed me off because he wouldn't respect that Chaz Bono is a male.

Can you believe it?  Me!!

This femme was pissed off because someone wouldn't give the proper respect for a trans person.

Who is that!?!?  Definitely not the same girl from two years ago, that's for sure.  That absolutely blew me away.

Then I realized, we all have a path of learning.

Really though, what it comes down to, is that we all pass judgement, whether we want to admit it or not.  We get really pissed when someone passes judgement upon us, but we turn around and do it straight back at them, tit for tat.

We're all human, but we can all learn to keep our minds open to things we don't understand.

This girl has no idea how hard I work just to keep up with everyday life like a healthy able-bodied person does.

This guy has no idea how hard it is to be a trans person and be disrespected in being called by the wrong gender, even by the person they love the most.

I mean really, look at Chaz Bono.  Is there anything in there that you can say is female about him?  The only way this person could say 'she' about him was because he had prior knowledge.

The other day, Papi and I were in the cop shop getting our fingerprints done for the consulate of the Dominican Republic, and there was a spot for previous names or aliases.  Papi had put his previous 'female' name in this spot like a law abiding citizen.

The woman thought my love had put my name in there by accident, because there's no way he could be named with such a feminine name.

When mi esposo proceeded to explain that he is a transgender person, the woman stated, "Wow!  Good for you!  I would have never known!"

That made Papi proud.

However, then she had knowledge.  She knew a secret; that Papi was called by a former pronoun.  She respected him though, and treated him like a male being.

Unlike this crud of a Facebook guy that called Chaz a she/he and a she.

As much as I'm pissed, I realize, we all pass judgement.

As soon as this girl assumed I do fuck all for our relationship, I jumped straight to judging her path, in an energetic way to hurt her back.  Good thing I didn't text her and say anything I would regret today.

I had a chance to sleep on it and realize that she only sees one side, because I never allow her to see mine.

We all judge.  Nobody is exempt from it.  But perhaps, we can try to see another person's view in the story.

It's far better than being pissed off.

i balance my self-confidence with modesty

Gender Odyssey!

I'm at Gender Odyssey!

Remember last year, when I was supposed to go, but performing put me on a stretcher to the hospital instead?

Well, here's a little bit of irony for ya.

They couldn't give me a refund, so I had to put the money toward the following year instead.  So, I decided I would go.

My Person and I packed up our stuff and left our trans loves behind to celebrate Vancouver's Pride Weekend without us.

Now, in retrospect, I see that perhaps I should have just swallowed the ticket price, because my dearest Papi is home sweating through the tough process of bartering and bargaining for the house sale.

Anyway, here I am in Seattle.

I made it here.

About half way through the ride down, my bitch of a back decided to go into a fit and is in full seize.

Now, here I lie in the hotel room, doing the pain killer nod and realizing I'm yet again stuck flat out on my back.

We went for our sign in anyway, and as I hobbled and limped about, I had a chance to see so many people who have so much love for this conference.

Inclusion everywhere.

There is a beautiful air of comfort, knowing there's so many more people out there who understand one another.

Absolutely amazing.

My favourite was sharing a shuttle and an elevator with a family, whom of which, one, or possibly both, of their children is transgender.

We couldn't figure out their story, because we haven't seen them speak yet, but to me, being in their presence was amazing.  A family who loves their children enough to allow them a space to be who they feel they are in their soul.

I proudly placed my little identification 'happy faces' on my name tag.

A yellow 'happy face' sticker is for 1st time attendees, and an orange one is for friends, significant others, family and any other ally I've missed.

However, I haven't had a chance to use the damn pass, because I'm stuck lying here on the queen size bed in this hotel room.

Nice enough place, let me tell you, I recommend them 100%!

Here!  Check them out!

Anyway, as I write this, Papi is on the phone, wheeling and dealing with selling the house.

I am half in and half out of nodsville.

Not to mention, My Person has passed out from too much driving and we both had insomnia last night.

I look forward to giving you an update on the different workshops that I'm hopefully going to make it to tomorrow.

I won't be doing my usual coffee blog, but that's ok!

I'm doing it now and will give you an update tomorrow evening when I have more to talk about with this amazing conference.

Oh.

I realized something.

I saw many handsome trans guys during very the small amount of time we were hanging out in TransLand.

What I realized is, I'm 100% a Tranny Chaser.

I am attracted to trans guys.

And damn if I ain't lucky enough to be married to one of the hottest ones out there.

every day i learn more about myself, and open myself to even more self-exploration

but i'm not straight!!!

4.25 cups.

That's my threshold.

Mind you, I should specify here, that my one 'cup' of coffee is 16 oz.

Well, I couldn't drink anymore because my tummy was thoroughly offended and decided we were done. 

I had to appease the demonic organ by eating my version of white trash pasta.

Rice pasta, non-dairy butter and bacon.

It's a whole wallup of sodium, fat and comfort.

The Mrs. wanted me to share, but that wasn't going to happen, unless I happened to puke it all back up again.

I'll forget about this whole coffee debauchery thing for another year.

I also won't launch into how I didn't get to sleep until 3:30 because my heart was tap dancing against my ribs.

Some beautiful friends came by to indulge in coffee with me.  Well, one of them drank it.  The other celebrated with some yummy, creamy, sugary delight that had caffeine in it.

Still counts!

Anyway, we got to talking about my blog, and the experience I had with Papi's male transformation.

I was saying how we're going to be fine when we're in the Dominican Republic, because Papi is looking more male.

One of these lovely ladies told me, "I have only ever seen him as a dude."

It's so strange how perception is reality.

One person's view can be completely different than anothers.

While we were talking, I realized that there's something that I didn't notice, but I no longer sense that funky man stink that I'd been so uncomfortable with.

Either Papi's scent has calmed down, or I have calmed down.

One of us has calmed down and I'm not having that difficulty anymore.

Through talking, I found that the only problem I'm hanging onto is the fact that I'm considered straight.

People see me that way anyway.  They wouldn't jump to any conclusions about the fact that I actually married a woman, who transformed into a man.

Nope.

The moment I say, "My spouse ..." they just jump into calling mi esposo by a male pronoun.

It bugs the fuck out of me.

I can't just launch into, "Well, actually ... " with strangers.  I just have to allow them to think this way.

It pisses me off.

It makes me cringe.

I want to jump up on to the couch, like a psychotic Tom Cruise.

But I don't.

I just sit there and do my best to pay attention to what the people around me are saying while the whole time I'm thinking in my head, "But I'm not straight!!!!!  I'm a femme!!!!"

Or better yet, "I don't do penes!!!!"

Yeah.  That one always seems to run through my head.  Probably a good thing that it just stays there.

That would really fuck people up to try and put 2 + 2 together.

i am safe

The Case of the Vagina

So, here's a good day in TransLand for you.

Remember when Papi was so sick for 3, almost 4 months?!?!

Yeah. 

That hysterectomy really did a number on my love. 

This meant many tests to find out just what was going on there.

Off we went to emergency, clinics, our own GP etc.  Every time, my dear sweet love would go through tremendous stress to have to deal with these personal invasions.

Well, we got a bill in the mail from our BC Medical Services Plan.

They wanted to charge us for one of the tests.

We have benefits.

This is Canada.

Yet they wanted us to pay?

There had to be some kind of problem.

As we looked a little closer we found the issue.

When they removed my love's uterus, they left the vaginal wall where it should be.

No surprises.

Point is, my love has a vagina.

The problem for the health system, was that they had a 'male' identified person going in for a test who needed a vaginal culture.

If you look below the 'total' we were expected to pay, you'll see the details.

"Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect."

Can you imagine the person who received the details of the individual for this test?

A male identified person with a vagina?

How utterly confusing for someone who has no idea about the transgender experience.

But how absolutely hilarious for us.

I think Papi and I giggled for a good hour about this one.

Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect?

Interesting.

So nice that one person in our health care system is able to make that judgement without having any idea about medicine whatsoever.

Stick to your day job creep.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, I did indeed write a lovely fuck you email to the skank who thought it was appropriate to laugh at someone in a wheelchair with a brain injury.

Then I blocked her and anyone else who is on my friends list that could allow the scum of the earth to see my Facebook page and laugh at someone for their misfortunes.

i attract good into my life

I Am Femme. You won't forget it.

It's funny how the waves are smaller now.  Oh, I still feel them, but they're weaker.

They're the kind of waves that won't knock you down while you're playing in the ocean.  You know those right?  They just bob your body effortlessly and you go with the flow.

Occasionally, you might not realize they're stronger than you thought, and you might get a little up your nose.

However, it's really only just enough to sting, and then you're back to playing on the edge of the vast sea once more.

Maybe it truly is Hurricane Andréa, and eventually it has to wane.

None-the-less, the wave I felt last night was manageable.

It usually starts with the memory of one comment in particular from an anonymous reader.

... wish i knew who you were to thank you properly ...

This person, male, female or trans,

... don't fucking freak on me if i've missed something bitches ...

... said, "You are always femme!"

I can't find the blog they commented on, or I'd link it.  However, it doesn't matter.  I know I was talking about the pending feeling of becoming invisible.

Once again, last night, I had that pang of anger about being seen to the world as a straight girl.

Being a creative person, I always find a way to get out of this with my lemonade I've made out of those lemons.

When faced with the fear of becoming another straight girl to the world, I've begun to be as visible as possible.

If you're going to judge me anyway, I better make my existence known in a loud manner.

I've put away the comfy jeans.

For me, they're not a good role model in my life.  They are what I judge myself so harshly in, and being baggy, they are really only one step up from sweat pants.

As a femme, I would wear my Levi's as girly as possible.

Not any more.

The only jeans I'm keeping are the ones with rhinestones on the ass from the Dominican, and a few other choice ones that make me feel like a supah-stah!

I've given away sweatshirts, except my favourites for the gym.  Because otherwise, you wear sweatshirts with jeans.  So fuck them.

I've re-arranged my entire wardrobe, so that all my pretty clothes are front and center when it's time to get dressed in the morning.

One perk of brain injury, is if it's out of sight, it's seriously out of mind.  Just like putting fruit in the front 'grabable' part of the fridge so that you'll grab them first, I've created a new system.

What's the difference if I slip on a pair of jeans or slip on a skirt?  Not much, except for the fact that I feel like an award winning femme.

I'm not hiding behind clothes to become the meager femme on the arm of her butch.

No, if I'm going to be an invisible straight woman on the arm of my Tranny, it won't suffice.

I have decided that every day is an opportunity to look as pretty as I possibly can.

Straight?  Let me show you how 'straight' is done.

My whole gay life, I've put that high femme into a back pocket, because I so badly wanted to be recognized in my community.

Fuck everyone.  It didn't work anyway.

I don't care if you think I'm straight or a big ol' dyke in a skirt who happens to have long hair.

You won't be missing me anymore.  Watch me strut as I walk away with my booty following in my wake.

The world can judge me however the fuck they want.

It's time to stop hiding behind clothes and shine my light with every breath I take.

I am femme.

I am always femme.

i create abundance in all i say or do

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 ...

Turning the corner.

It started with consoling my love, by stroking his naked thigh.

You see, 'someone' has a touch of hormone madness from the hysterectomy.

I can't remember why Papi needed comforting, but that's how it began.

I didn't realize it, but I was stroking mi esposo's man hair leg, and to my surprise, it didn't feel like a nasty Brillo Pad, raring to cut my flesh like a knife through butter.

I was enjoying the feeling, as if it was a member of our Fuzzy Family.

"It actually doesn't feel so bad.  It's pretty soft!  I think I'm getting used to it."

Papi responded with, "Yeah, I'm finally getting used to it too.  It was weird at first."

It shocked me, that Papi had to get used to it as well.

I really thought he would feel connection with every aspect of the transformation.

I suppose all the joking and terrorizing was really my love's way to deal with the changes.

I guess it's an adjustment for everyone that takes getting used to.

I mean, it must be!  It's huge for me, so it must have some impact on the person who's morphing, leaving their prior 'self' behind.

One of the most amazing therapists I ever had, once explained our reactions to loss, change, hurt and even joy.

She explained that every person is unalike, and is therefore cut from a different cloth.  We all have distinctive strengths and weaknesses.

When you press an iron at a high setting on varying materials, they each have individual reactions.

If someone is made of silk, well, you can imagine what the heat will do to them.

Honestly, I'm 100% sure that there will be more challenges in life, because that's just the way life is.

But perhaps, my silky fabric has changed into denim.

Anyway, I thought about how lucky I am to have found this person I love, who loves me as deeply.

I no longer care if my love has extra hair, although there will be waxing in Papi future.

I mean really!  I keep those areas tidy for sexy time, skirt exposed legs and armpit stink.

So yes, there will be waxing, Papi.

However, I really don't care if my love talks, walks, acts, or looks different anymore.

I've had a good year to get it out of my system, and at the same time, grow with the changes.

I'm still attracted and madly in love with mi esposo.

Hey.

That doesn't mean I'm going to let go of all my opportunities to share TMI about his antics here in my blob/blab.

There's just too much fun to be had with the DIY exploits of the Tranny Terrorist.

But what I do get to let go of, is that comatose, weeping wife of an F-M.

Over the past week, I've unconsciously started to rub Papi's chest.

Through my love's t-shirts, I let my fingers softly rub over the scars.

There may be loss of pillowy softness, but that loss doesn't compare to the love I have for Papi, which was really my worst worry.

Now that I know my attraction and love are here to stay, I'm ready to get on with life and talk about other important things.

Like my ass.

My love thinks it's imperative that I get a pic of my ass in this here blob/blab, because, "It's a great ass," my love pleaded, "You have to show everyone your ass!  Look at that ass!  It's better than a 20 year old's!"

Yeah it is, but no.

Other than when my cheeks are nicely tucked into a pair of yoga pants, or skin tight Dominican Republic jeans for the world to see, my butt belongs to Papi.

Well, except for when I lend it to the Needle Master.

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.

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.

And now, I'm back in the closet.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

You see, this blog of mine is supposed to be about me.

It's called: Andréa's Healing Journey.

However, it seems that the majority of my posts are about the Tranny Terrorist, or the DIY phenomenon I occasionally experience.

Yeah, sometimes I hijack this blog and actually make it about me, sneaking in a little bit of wining about my bitch of a back, or ghosts.

Well, the point is, it's still much more entertaining to talk about mi esposo and the amusement he brings.

So!

I'm getting my article published on Thursday, and the paper didn't want a picture of only the actual writer.

No!

They want Papi in there too.

Why?

Because it's alllllllll about Papi.

And that's ok.

Takes a bit of the heat off me.

Anyway, we got these pics done and the sweet photographer we met yesterday will choose the best one.

Hopefully, she won't choose one of me that looks like I'm in trauma.

Or worse, choose one of me that looks like a beaming, braces infused, bucktooth grin that only a mother could love.

I tend to do these things with my mouth:

nobody said the brace face was going to be sexy ...

So, we'll see which one makes it into Xtra on Thursday.

After our photos were done, we didn't celebrate.

No.

Papi drove me around the city, and changed all his I.D.

You see, my love received a birth certificate that has been changed to a male gender.

It has been quite the process for Papi.  All his ID has to be changed; driver's license, SIN card, medical, you name it.

However, there is one that I'm not happy about: Our marriage license.

It now says I'm married to a man, and I begin my first step to becoming an invisible queer.

I can't really accept that part yet, and I'm still grasping with all my strength to the butch I married.

I don't want my marriage license to be ambushed, so I did something slightly wrong.

I kept our old marriage certificate, and we told the lady at the counter that we lost it in the sewage flood.

Right now, it's sitting beside the sexy picture of the butch I married.

Pretty much looks like I'm starting a shrine to remember my dearly departed butch.

is that so bad?!?!

It's right there in my composing room, so I get to see it every day as my eyes wander around the room, listening to my musical mind about what note, sound or feeling I need to find to portray the essence of a film.

I keep my love frozen in time to keep me company.

one day at a time.

Bring it on already!

Papi was going on line to a forum or some other social site and asked me, "So, now what am I?  I don't wanna say straight, because you're not straight and it would imply that."

i'm back to losing my identity.

My love said he needs a t-shirt that says, "My wife is a lesbian."

People would just look at it and think it's funny.

They wouldn't think it's serious when they see two 'straight' people walking down the street.

The other day when I had my, "Are you gay?!?!" freakout, it is really what I was getting at.

Now that my love is changing gender, both of our identities will change.

Not internally, but from the outside world's judgement.

Papi just finally ended up saying, "Well, i'm not straight because you aren't either, and I'm bi-curious because I'm attracted to F-Ms, but I'm not gay either."

Finally my love came up with, "I'm Gender Queer."

Sounds good to me, but no matter what we feel on the inside, the world will label us to fit into a perfect little box so that they have a way to identify us.

That's the part I hate.

I was terrified of coming out of the closet, and what people ...

... family ...

... would think of me.

When I finally found the support I needed to help me come out in a safe place filled with love, I took the plunge.

I was proud, because the people around me made me feel that I was loved, no matter whom I loved.

Well, looking back, I see that pained young lady who was stuck in a closet with her 'secrets', and I never wanted to visit there agin.

I suppose it's why I'm so adverse to having people think I'm straight.

A lot of people who stay in their closets will never know the freedom they could have when they are finally able to love whom they want to.

I guess some people just deal with it best they can, and stay put in their misery.

I can't do that.

But now, it's like I'm being forced back into that place.

It's fucking amazing how my love's male transformation has inflicted me with old Ghosts and Demons.  It's crazy that I am now obligated to look at the pain I had at a younger age, and finally deal with it.

You know, that old saying is so damn true.

If you don't work it out when you should, it will come back and bite you in the ass.

My ass is feeling rather raw right now.

Those teeth are having a feast back there.

I really have to look at why I'm so afraid of being seen as straight.

I honestly can't put my finger on it yet, but judging from how Ghosts and Demons have reared their ugly, skanky, pussing heads, I'll be finding out soon.

Everything in life happens for a reason.

Everything.

We can look at all the affliction we've dealt with in our lives and see how it worked out.  It makes us stronger.  It teaches us lessons of life.

it prepares us to deal with harder moments ... they never seem to stop coming ...

Well, just like how my body being in 'near perfect' strength saved my life in my motorcycle accident, my moments in life that were so difficult bred backbone to deal with life's curve ball now.

It always works out.

So let's just bring it on and get it over with, shall we?