Here's to you, Chaz Bono!

So, yesterday, I was pissed about the she/he comments on a Facebook photo of Chaz Bono.

It had actually started out that people were saying horrible things about his weight.  He has been verbal about asking for help with his weight loss, so somehow, this give people the green light to say hurtful things.

However, it went even further.  On this one post, he has been harassed about his weight, then disrespected with his gender, and now, called disgusting by some cretin.

On all three accounts, I got my nips in a knot.

But really?  Disgusting?

His exact words: "She was disgusting as a women and is disgusting as a man, give us a break."  It hasn't stopped there.  He's still going on about it, yet he's only 1 person.  There are more on others pages in others worlds.

This is how our children learn how to bully.

This is the evil people ape, spreading the virus of hate to another sheep soul who can't think for themselves yet.  This is a disease that gets passed from one to another.

I've never been a fan of Chaz as in, "Ooooh, he's my idol!!!" but I am a fan of his wife.  Understandably, I relate to her in a very deep way.

However, I do see Chaz as a human being who is being exceedingly judged by the public.

For that, I see him as damn brave, and I'm finding great respect for his difficult journey.

He put himself out there as a mainstream trans person, to blaze a trail for more people to have a safer place in this world.

Of course he's going to attract people who will mock him and say horrible things, because he's the first celebrity to make the word 'transgender' more common.

We are slowly seeing the world accept gays, lesbians, bisexuals, ad infinitum 'labels' we could think of being accepted country by country, person by person.

We are also seeing more countries in the headlines, jailing people for loving someone of the same sex.  People are being told it's 'illegal' in some countries to have love for another person.

Even still, something's happening.  The world is finally waking up and we, of our lifetime, get to see it with our own eyes.

It's an amazing time for people to start thinking differently.

I know that I have.  I started out with fears and quite a bit of ignorance.  Papi taught me how to live life of higher esteem.  He has given me the grace to go through all the feelings, until I finally made it to this place of seeing who and what a transgender person deserves.

A transgender person is a human being that is worthy of respect and dignity.

That's all we need to do is treat each other with courtesy.

No matter how big someone is.

No matter what someone's sexuality or gender is.

No matter how mentally ill someone is.

No matter what colour someone is.

No matter what heritage someone comes from.

We are all human beings and we are all sharing this planet.

Nobody is disgusting.  Perhaps, their actions are.  Perhaps their words can be.  

As are my rotting dishes in the sink.

... my g*d ... where's the dish fairy when someone has the flu, bitches?!?! ...

Anyway, I'm having a lot of, "You really piss me off!" moments over these last few days and what I can say is, it's because I'm paying too much attention.

When I think too much, I get angry.

I like my bubble.

I like to think that the world is full of positivity and love.

I hate it when someone bursts my little happy place.

Chaz, I'm proud of you.  For all you are enduring, you are becoming my hero.

i am grateful for my teachers

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

clearing things up.

So, yesterday, I was really hurried in my writing and was also on a hefty dose of pain killers first thing in the morning and I created a bit of a wave in TransLand.

I believe the combination was a bad mix, and I unintentionally hurt people by my words.

I hope to clear things up for you with the 3 topics that have been brought up on my Facebook page both publicly and in private messages.

topic #1

I was speaking about how I am attracted to butches, but that I see I am also attracted to trans guys.

I am not attracted to bio-males, where as some women and men are.

We are all different, and I brought up my baby sister, when first faced with my coming out of the closet, was trying to learn from me.

I used my past of dating only butches to segue to the present and people thought I was saying my love is a butch.

My love is no longer a butch, and I'm still as attracted to him as I was the day I married that butch.

Presently, I am seeing that I am attracted to people with multi-leveled energies, like my love.  I am attracted to the beauty in people's vast differences in being.

topic #2

When I said 'people ... blah blah fucking blah ... freaks', I was really talking about the zealots who like to picket our lives with their signs of Jesus burned to a crisp on a cross at our Pride Parade in the great U S of A.

'They' call gays and lesbian freaks.  'They' call trans people freaks.  'They' call me a freak because I'm attracted to butches, and trans guys.

They can fuck off, because from what I've seen at Gender Odyssey, there's a whole lot of love and acceptance in this world, and their hatred will soon be squashed by the love the world has.

Really, all I wanted to say was, I'm in that boat with all the people I fit in with.  We're all in this together, and it has nothing to do with what anyone else sees us as.

For instance, I am not a 'straight' woman, but I'm seen as such.  Papi is not a woman, and he is not seen as such, luckly for him.

He is seen as the male he has always felt was there, and I'm attracted to my love, but I was afraid I wouldn't be.

I found attraction for another person who carried that energy.  A male being who had a spark of different energy from another part of him.

That made me feel so good, that I could recognize this, and I tried to write about it.

Not everyone would be attracted to the same people I am and I do not think that everyone who is trans has both energies.

I am at peace with my queerness, and see the pattern in my life where, in THE PAST I've had so much attraction for trans guys when they were a 'butch'.

There is no malice meant from my post yesterday, but there were feelings that I had insulted people, because I didn't see others as the beings they are, which is incorrect. 

topic #3

Now.  About the 'tranny' word.  I will continue to stick to my guns and call dykes, fags and trannies as such in a general way, as long as they don't want to be personally called that.

Papi likes to be called that.  The dudes I met at Gender Odyssy like to be called that.

Some people don't and I would never call them that, yet still, as general blabbing here on my blog, I am not using the word in a derogative manner, but more like I would use dyke or fag.

We have taken back dyke and fag, and we use it with adoration and pride.  Why the hell can't tranny be taken back and used for strength?!

I'm not spitting venom when I use the word, and I use it pretty much the same as I would use dyke or fag.

new business/bonus topic #4

Perhaps I shouldn't write my blog in a hurry on pain killers?

I hope I cleared things up from yesterday, and if not and you're still pissed at me, well, as much as I love you stopping by, all I can say is, you are the one making the choice to be here reading.

today's daily mantra comes from my gratitude buddy:

mastakes teach you important lessons.  every time you make one, you are one step closer to your goal.

not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Here's something Papi sprung on me this morning.  "Do you know what happened a year ago today?!"

I thought about it and freaked out.

What have I missed?!?!

What important day have I forgotten?!?!?

My love enlightened me with a proud face, "One year ago today you were sobbing your eyes out because I had my top surgery."

Oh god, yes.

Now I remember.  The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida.

I have selective memory.  That, and I've concluded my 5 stages of grief and moved on to acceptance.

I do look back at that time and realized that I may have been a little more dramatic about the whole thing, but hindsight truly is 20/20.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

But isn't that the story of our lives?

It's why we're here in this beautiful life.

To learn.

My love's scars on his chest are calming down now.  They seem to be less angry.

So do I.

Everything seems back to normal now.

I guess.

Here's something funny.

I think Papi's chin hair is kinda cute.

Yes.  I said cute.

It used to freak me out, even just to think about the fact that there would be hair there.

It's no longer just face fuzz.  It's more bristly now, but it's sweet looking.

Maybe, it's because it's on my love.

I suppose it's because I love mi esposo so much that it just doesn't matter that there's fur there.

People see my love's changes so much more than I.

That's because I see him every day.  The changes are too slow for it to be drastic.

However, I realized that I'm seeing my love a little differently.

Still, it's hard for me to consciously think of my love as a male.

I'm not sure when that will happen, if ever.

I just see Papi as Papi.

I still can't say 'my husband'.

It's always 'my spouse'.  Other people will just jump to 'your husband' immediately in conversation.

They automatically assume that it's a male, because to this world, I'm just a straight girl.

Even as a lesbian in gay relationships, the world still sees me as straight.

It's hard to be a femme in the gay community.  We are completely invisible.

And disrespected.

And adored.

We are who we are.

Anyway, this femme is no longer searching for peace around Papi's male transformation.

I have found it.

It's called unconditional love.

we look forward to the time when the power of love replaces the love of power.  then our world will know the blessings of peace. ~ William Ewert Gladstone

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?

My Old Lady Cart

It occurred to me yesterday that referring to my love as my spouse, and 'he', has now become effortless with only a slip up here and there.

I'm not cringing every time I have to say it, and I don't have the urge to want to tell the person I'm speaking to, "But I started out married to a 'she'!!" every single time.

Yeah, I did.

But now I have a 'he'.

A gorgeous, big-hearted, loving, generous, animal loving 'he', who describes 'fun' as the ability to taunt me by asking me, "Here!  Touch it!" as he pulls at the little hairs on his chest.

I am so glad I have this opportunity to get used to it all before we get to the Dominican Republic.   I don't need my love getting tranny-bashed when we get to paradise by my slip of a tongue.

It wouldn't be paradise anymore.

Speaking of paradise, I started my trek with counseling.  It was a teary hour, but it will get better.

I also want my paradise to include a P.T.S.D. free life from past traumas.

I want my life to be free of anything that would hinder our relationship.  I don't really have the energy to drag all that luggage to the Dominican.

I gotta get rid of it.

It's all a part of The Great DR Purge.

Oh ya!

Today was my first day riding the 'short bus'.  It was so nice to have a stress free ride to get out of my isolation and the Dungeon Syndrome.

AND!!

I went to the surgeon for my 3 week checkup and the splint and elastics are now gone!

Not that it makes any difference to the amount of food that trails down my chin in an effort to stain my favourite bra.

Oh, it's so nice when it's a sticky sweet substance.

That's my fave.

Anyway.

I don't have to wear the mouth crap and I look a little more normal now.

With the exception of the chipmunk cheeks.  They're still a bit round.

I do feel less stressed about time.  I have nothing but time until my next appointment.

I had enough time to go buy myself a handy dandy cart.

Yup.

My new fancy dancy old lady cart.

I have an old lady shopping cart to drag around with me so that I am able to bring my water, snacks and this here computer.

It's not so bad.  It actually feels really good to not be wasting gas in our monster of an SUV.

No, I don't like them, but we needed it and now we're stuck with it.

Or, I should reiterate, Papi is stuck with it.

My ride is much bigger than his.

My mantra today comes from my MC Guru:

 even through the thickest rain and darkest clouds, i can still see the light

Candida!!! Horror of all horrors!!!

You may be pleased to know that I've showered.

It's amazing how much body hair can grow in a week.

Wow.

I think the only time in my life that I've had longer armpit hair was when I first came out and noticed all the lesbians around me grew their pits.

So, I thought, "Hey!  If they don't care then neither do I!"

That was short lived.

I'm not that kinda girl.

They were shaved.

I remember the performance I had and I exposed my newly shaved underarm to the club.  "I shaved just for you!" I belted out between songs.

As soon as I flashed my flesh, one of my silliest friends came to the stage and licked my freshly barbered pit.

I squealed with laughter!

Today was not as monumental.

I just shaved that shit off.

But you'll be happy to know I'm less stinky now.

AND!!

I can open my mouth wide enough to take pills without squirming in pain every time I tried to shove those horrid little bastards in my yak.

I was told yesterday that I wasn't drinking enough liquid or getting enough nutrition.  They said I was malnourished and dehydrated.

They told me I need to be drinking orange juice, pop and any other kind of sugary liquid I can get my lips on.

This is problematic in so many ways.

I have candida.  I've never really talked about it to much with 'you', my imaginary friend.

I mean really, when I started talking to 'you' about Papi being a transgender person and ...

... oh whoa is me ...

... how the fuck am I ever going to get over it?!?!

... hehehe ... silly wife ... we'll always love papi no matter what ...

How the hell would I make a segway from my love going through male transformation into, "Hey, by the way, I have candida."

Well, I guess I did today.

I don't eat sugar in my diet and I only eat one serving of fruit a day.  I've always just told people I'm allergic to it, because it's easier than talking about what it really is.  Not to mention the fact that too much sugar makes me a lunatic and homicidal.

But now?   I'm shoving in Canada Dry Ginger Ale, Tropicana OJ, SunRype apple juice and coconut ice cream by the litre.

My body is telling me it's not impressed.

And it's not just the sugar I'm cramming in my belligerent beak.  It's the fact that I had to be on antibiotics for a week.

Both of these add up to a nasty time in candida-land.

Oh.

Dearest boys, if you don't know what candida is, stay in your little bubble of ignorance.  You don't want to know.

Dear girls, stop squirming with the thought of a yeast infection.

Dear helpful healthy tips people, yes, I'm taking my acidophilus.

Anyway, I don't stink.

Now I just have to deal with the fact that I'm fucking hungry and have been craving bacon for two days now.

you never know how strong you really are, until being strong is the only choice you have

man hater?

Feel free to talk to me today.

I'm not feeling homicidal anymore.

But I am a little cranky at something someone said today.

Why is it that just because a woman is a lesbian, they are automatically deemed a man hater?

I'm just a people hater.

That is, of course, only with creepy people.

Male, female or trans.

And yes, this guy falls under the category of unpleasant.

It's not that I don't have anything to base it on.

He ogles.

Really disgustingly.

Not to mention, I witnessed him picking up a hooker.

That's right, he's a gross, repulsive john.

So, just because Sir Bark-A-Lot gave his best, 'Get outta my fucking house!!' bark he could, doesn't mean that I trained him that way.

Yes.

This person actually said, "C'mon!  You can't train a dog to hate men too!"

Nope.

Listen creepoid.  He just knows you're no good.

I didn't feel the need to tell him that Sir Bark-A-Lot even barks at my closest friends, including My Gratitude Buddy!

The sweetest butch on the planet even gets the rude 'Get outta my fucking house' barks.

He's just very bad-mannered.

Normally I would do my best to continue with the 'Please don't bark like that' training, but today, I figured the more I allowed him to yap, the less time this repugnant person would want to spend in my house.

Covering myself up with baggy sweatpants and a frumpy sweatshirt was my best option to hide from his leers.

It was successful.

Thank you oh yappy one.

You made my day.

Now I have to go fill my space with positive, loving energy.

Perhaps a little incense to wash away the air of your being in my presence?

Yup.

Now that I've got that out of my system, I feel much better.

Onward, ho!

i accept my inner beauty and feel it radiate from me

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.

Baby Steps

We see what we want to see.

Most of us anyway.  Papi is included in this 'most of us'.

I received a text last night as I was ready to make my way home, "I almost fell off the toilet when I saw you referred to me as 'he' on my status area."

my sweet papi, so addicted to facebook that my love can't even go to the bathroom without it

I was confused.  "I did?!  Lol!!"

I thought that maybe I was subconsciously moving along much faster than I was aware of.

I mean, I try to speak about Papi with no pronoun what-so-ever ...

... as you've probably noticed ... hope it doesn't drive you crazy as much as it is difficult for me to do so ...

I was truly surprised that my mind would just switch over without help.

I had to see for myself when I got home.  Most definitely.

When I arrived home, my ailing Papi was in bed still fighting off the flu.

My love said, "I read it wrong.  It was someone else who referred to me as he.  I was so happy when I thought it was you though."

so happy ...

I realized at that moment, Papi saw what my love was yearning for.

I realized at that moment, there was a way I could make my love feel joy:  Use a male pronoun.

I'm so not ready for this.

I fight it with obstination.

I throw around my love's name, and occasionally when I'm not thinking with focus, I will say 'she' and quickly correct myself to 'he'.

It's about the only time I do it, and it's only around people who already have taken the plunge in calling mi esposo 'he'.

However, now that I've grasped just how much it would mean to my love, I suppose I need to look at that.

We're both in this relationship to make each others lives richer, more full and meaningful.  Otherwise, it would be a loveless charade.

I mean for gawd's sakes!  Some of my closest friends are doing the right thing and using 'he'.

I'm the one Papi chose to be with.  Something as simple as dropping the letter 's' could make mi esposo happy, and I'm too tenacious to do so?

Well, when you're in a relationship that is successful, you will find compromise is a strong spot.

Yet still I feel the need to shout, "No!!!  I'm a lesbian!!  I'm not in a straight relationship with a 'he'!!!"

When I came out of the closet, I hit the new world with a boa, sparkles and 16" stilettos, strutting until I found my butch who would bare their soul to me.

please don't strip me of my boa and sparkles ... i can let go of the heels ... they hurt too much

I found my perfect butch, I married this gem.

So, yeah.

I'm wavering in the pronoun department.

It was just so hard to see the let down in Papi's face when my love said it wasn't me who used, "he".

Maybe I need to take baby steps?

Perhaps just start with the people who know who I am?

Maybe right now it's time to put in to use some of those cliché sayings that were burned into my brain during my days at that anonymous group for drunks.

One day at a time.

Fake it 'til you make it.

(dear sponsors who thought i wasn't listening:  i was.)

hairy business

It's gets messy to share the same experience with my love, yet we come from polar opposites on the topic.

"Look!  My arm hair is getting thicker!" Papi said with excitement.

"Do you say these things just to torment me?" I asked my love.

"No!  Can't I just talk about things with you?  I just want to be able to say things that I think."

I suppose mi esposo has a point.

What's the harm of letting Papi yack about all the things I don't like?  I can have an internal eye roll I guess.

Then I think, if Papi's allowed to express joy in man hair, then I should be able to express my dislike, no?

My love started to talk about chest hair and I almost crapped myself right there.

fucking chest hair?!?!?!??!?!

I guess I've managed to deal with all the other issues.  I assume I'll take each step of this as it comes.

That doesn't make it any easier.  In my mind, I'm just getting over The Great Breast Disappearance and it will be replaced with great gobs of man hair on that smooth silky chest.

One of my blogger friends Rafa, said I was honoring my vows more than anyone.  That this is the sanctity of marriage.

I just blew it off as my stubbornness.  Give me a challenge and I'll see it through.

I'm worse than a fucking mule.

Hell, I challenged myself for 2 years with brain injury.  In the most pigheaded way.

no. i don't accept ANY of this. heal goddamit. ah crap ... thank you brain injury, here I go again getting off topic.

Ok.

So, the point is, if Papi gets chest hair, I'll have another fucking meltdown and have to get through that as well.

There's so fucking much to deal with after each part of healing that it's like being in the ring with Mike Tyson.

The hits keep coming and coming, and I keep blocking them.  I never get in a jab or an upper cut.  I'm too busy in blocking hell.

When the bell rings, I get a short reprieve.  I can wipe the sweat from my forehead to keep it from stinging the fresh wounds on my skin.  I take a gasp of air along side a chug of water, then I'm up again and preparing for the next hit.

How the hell is a lesbian ...

that's me btw ... don't you DARE consider me straight just because my spouse looks like a man.

... going to enjoy a fucking hairy man chest?

The caterpillar moustache is slowly growing on me.  Obviously, because everyone notices it and I can't even see the difference.

It was funny when the 95 year old G'ma came home and said, "What's that on your lip?!  It looks like a moustache!"

Then it was even more entertaining watching Papi wriggle through the conversation of why my love can't lift anything.  "I had chest surgery."

The G'ma panicked, "What?!?!  Do you have cancer?!"

"No grandma, nothing major to worry about, but I can't lift anything for a month."

No use explaining though.

G'ma has no memory.  We have to go through the same conversation a few times a day.

But at least Papi shaved that shit off the lip so there's no more harassment from the old bird.

Ahhhhhh ... thanx G'ma.

Dominican Time.

I'm on Dominican time.

I'm very much in recline mode.

In our slow mod, we took a drive to Santiago and on the way, we saw chickens crossing the road. 

yes ... we laughed at the joke

People don't use turn signals to pass here, they just honk to let you know they're coming, or put on their left turn signal to tell you to pass them. 

get off my ass shit head ... i'm on dominican time!

Donkeys stand at the side of the road waiting for their person to come get them for work.

Our lights go out intermittently in our room during the evenings.  We give up on waiting for them to come back on and fall asleep, but then are awoken by them coming back on.  We've asked what's up with it, but they look at us with that dumfounded look, "Really?  Has this happened more than once?"

Just laugh.  It's the way it is here.

But there are a few things I find difficult.  The cock fighting is something that I really can't handle.  Fortunately, I don't have to go in and watch, but to see it advertised at the side of the road is brutal.

Then there's the dead animals hanging in tiny, off-road, tin roof shacks.  Buy your dead chicken, goat, pig or whatever you want for dinner at the side of the road. 

not this femme ...  i don't want to see where my neatly packaged food came from originally

People SWARM your car trying to sell you things.  Mostly fruit.  You know, if we lived here, I might buy it, but when you don't have cutlery, it's a little hard to deal with a pineapple or mangoes without the proper utensils.

There was some entertainment.  Today, when we were at the 'mall', a young man asked Papi in Spanish, "Are you a man or a woman?"

I replied for mi esposo as my love's Spanish is abysmal, "Papi is both."

The confused young man said, "Ah!  Lesbiana!  I'm ok," he said with a casual shrug. 

i'm glad you think it's ok ... i might not have slept knowing you didn't think it was

When we walked away, my love informed me that while we were here, just to identify mi esposo as a woman. 

ah for fucks sakes! i'm just trying so hard to please my love, and i got it wrong.

But Papi explained, "As long as people can still see these breasts sticking out everywhere, we'll just confuse people, so how about we just say I'm a woman?"

Fine my love.  I'm just so confused, I will continue how I always have.

No pronouns.

Nada.

Just Papi, mi esposo, my love.

Oh, on a side note, I got myself some damn hot, hoochie mama jeans and a pair of short shorts that all the smokin' girls here wear.

Hell fucking ya!

They make jeans here for girls with junk in the trunk.  None of these ridiculous jeans and shorts for anorexia assed women in North America.

Ass like a damn melon over here!

And the sales girls said, "Ah!  Mamasita!  Buennnnno!"

Yup.

I fit in nicely here.

S/He

The pronoun.  Feminine, masculine.  It tells us what gender category to put someone in.  Society needs to know if someone is a girl or a boy.  We keep our minds organizing people into little boxes to appease the 'norm' that we've been accustomed to.

don't fuck with my order!

For me, I'm trying not to use any label at all.  I just call my love by name.  But, I feel like some high school kid who's got her first relationship and all they ever do is say the name over and over and over.  It's a bit of a tongue twister, and I'm sure people are starting to notice.

It's really hard.  Let me tell you.

Then there's the times when I slip up.  I go on autopilot and forget to concentrate on what I'm saying.  For a person with brain injury, maintaining this much focus is bound to fail in mere minutes.

However, there are times where I'll use it to my advantage.  If I think someone is even remotely homophobic, it's a pleasant relief to say, 'my husband'.

But, it still feels so damn alien.

I flipped back and forth yesterday in a conversation with the road side assistance.  Said 'my wife' on the phone to call for service, and 'my husband' when the vehicle showed up to give me comfort and get me on the road again.

goddam car ... you really only have battery issues when i'm the one driving.  you jerk!

On that back and forth trip to Seattle, on one of the monotonous highway drives of tree after tree, Papi said to me, "You called me 'she'.  I know you're not ready to say 'he', but just saying when you are, I'd like it if you could."

here it comes ... papi is going to start demanding i use the right pronoun ... i'm not ready to let my 'wife' go just yet.

My love cringes if I call us lesbians.

(for the record, i fucking HATE that word.  dyke sounds so much better, but people get all weirded out by it)

I said the 'L' word the other day to friends when they didn't have room on their schedule for our tattoos.  Tongue in cheek, I played the gay card, "Apparently they're too busy to make appointments for lesbians!" and immediately looked to see if Papi heard.

nope.  phew!

When we were at Ikea getting our kitchen island, the man at the self-serve cash lineup called mi esposo 'sir'.  I almost blurted out a correction.  I stopped myself and went along with it, grinning, almost as if I had the world's best kept secret.

It was kinda fun actually.  It felt like I was playing make-believe.  I smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

There are times when people use the feminine pronoun for Papi and I get squirmish as well though.  I wait patiently for my love to correct them, but Papi never does.

The problem is, if my love speaks, people figure out that it's a female voice.  It truly is the clincher in this deal.

Oh, and for the record, my love has told me that it's not a '5 Foot Vagina'.  It's actually a '5 Foot Clitoris'.  I have been corrected.  Apparently, it only grows about an inch as opposed to the centimeters that most of us gals are born with.

This morning, while reading my blog, I hear from the living room, "I hate it when you call it the 5 Foot Vagina.  It gives me such a gross vision in my head!"

That's right my love.

That's why I'm scared.