baby, baby, baby, oh!

your sunday sillies youtube show ...

Well, those little pills were sorta working.

The trade off is not worth it though.

I am up until 3 or 4 each night with acid reflux and nausea.

Not into it.

All I need to do is wait for the residency, then I can find some natural methods of getting me past this pain.

I wasn't looking forward to the weight gain either.

I've put on enough from 'resting' that I just don't know how much more the Anorexia Monster can handle before he makes life rough for me.

I have boobs.

That's when I know I've put on weight.

Nice and all, but I'll pass thank you.

Last night, I went against doc's orders and went out for dinner with Papi.

There really is nothing to eat in the house and I really can't cook.  It's too much for me right now.

Anyway, we got to talking to a woman who wished to give us her unborn child, because I can't get pregnant.

Papi got way too excited about it and seemed like he wanted to seal the deal.

He even went so far as to say that he wouldn't be drinking as much if there was a child to take care of.

Last night we had a friend say we weren't ready for taking care of a child because we had started drinking.

I dunno, I have to disagree.

We're not raging alcoholics hanging out down at Main and Hastings looking for a fix.

We're just enjoying ourselves in our new life.

And as for the worry about my mental health, well, I keep things under control with my meds.  Now that I've found the reputable ones, I'll be fine.

I've seen a lot worse with people who are able to have children.

We'd give a child a good home, with healthy food, and loads of love and life experience to teach them.

Fortunately, upon speaking to him this morning, he changed his mind about this particular child.

Phew!  I would love to adopt a child, but this woman had been drinking all night and I'm not into a fetal alcohol baby.

She also wanted to live on our property for 4 months at the end of the term.

Unfortunately, we could have an issue with this.

Within a certain amount of time, if someone is on your property and you're caring for them, you're actually responsible for them for all time to come.

That's a 'rule' here.

I tried to explain both of these points to Papi last night, but he was in a fog of, "I want a baby!!!"

I would love a little tyke to help grow.

But this child is not the right one for us.

Besides, we really don't have the money for an adoption right now.

When we do have the money, we'll find a child who is already born to someone who is too young to care for a child and raise the child for her.

There aren't too many unwanted children here, because the family helps.

It's sorta part of life here.

You get money from the government for helping to raise a child, so people have their children very young and keep them.

There aren't too many women here who don't have a child.

I'm sure there's a little bean out there who's spirit is waiting for us.

The right timing is all we need.

Our time will come, but if it doesn't, that's OK too.

I continue to go with the flow of life.

i answer questions about my dreams without getting defensive

A.W.O.L.

So, I've been off the blog for a few days.

I've been kinda 'troubled'.

I don't want to whine about the torn ligament in my ankle, because I've heard other people whine about being on crutches with a cast and thought, "Good thing you've never rolled off the hood of a car, flying through the air 15 feet, then landing on your head."

But now, I realize, that this is fucking brutal and feel for anyone who has to deal with it, as well.

At least after the motorcycle accident, I felt I was more able to try walking, and with the proper pain medication, I was able to push through the pain.

Now?  My other foot?  The one I've been hopping on for almost 3 weeks?

Well, it's royally fucked to the point that I can't walk on it, and they don't have proper pain meds here.

Not to mention, I can't even use the medicinal marijuana, because this month they're testing our blood again for our residency in the Dominican Republic.

I'm truly losing it now.

I have Breaking Bad to thank for keeping me company.

But seriously.

Instead of whining about lying around on my blob ass, that seems to be oozing and extending a mile a minute like a pancake spreading on a grill, I'll talk about Our Fave's Mom and her husband.

They keep asking for money, but doing it in a really sneaky way.

They told us that the husband's boss wasn't paying them and that they needed diapers and food.

We knew they were fishing for money, but didn't have any to give them anyway.

Then other day, we were out and saw the boss.

He told us it was a flat out lie and that he was considering firing the man because of other things he's been doing that are not tolerable.

Like stealing from him.

Then they told us they needed money to get the mom back to Gaspar Hernández, when all the while, she was still here.

I'm sorry, but I just can't be in friendships, or any other kind of relationship for that matter, with a liar.

I know they're desperate.

I understand how hard it is here, but we're not doing so great financially, either.  I guess we won't be seeing Little Angel anymore.

We didn't come here for dodging thieves and liars.

Neither did we come here for lying around in a fucking bed with feet up on pillows.

One thing I've learned, is wine is great to stop the whining.

It's kept me company while I lie around watching time pass by in my recent existence of 'my life is watching Netflix' a little more bearable.

So, no, I haven't been blogging for a few days, because I have fuck all to talk about, other than complaining about lying in bed and not being able to walk.

For that matter, I haven't been filming either.

Your Sunday Sillies YouTube show won't be happening this week.

It would be boring to watch me lie with my fucking legs up (and not in a sexy way), all day.

One foot with a torn ligament and the other with some weird ass fucking pain from using it too much.

Yeah.

Not very thrilling.

I haven't taught in days, because I can't walk and I miss the kids.

I didn't teach The Garage Band today either.

I'm just gonna lie here and fucking swear and whine a little more.

And for entertainment tonight?

Drink more wine to stop the whining.

i like long walks

Canada just took one step back.

So, yesterday, I touched lightly on the legalization of marijuana and how our grotesquely ludicrous Prime Minister is making it easier for gangs to stay in control of this medicinal option.

Our neighbours, the U.S., are getting it together.  They have a few states where it's legal, and for some time, they thought that we were ahead of them.

The tables have turned and Harper has gone the complete opposite direction.

We had a good program for people to get their medicinal cannabis legally, but now that he's all pissy about all us Canadians saying, "Hey, the U.S. is getting it, we want it too!" he's now making it impossible for someone who needs medicinal cannabis to afford it, just to prove he's in control of our country.

People who need medicinal cannabis are usually on disability, or working so little that they're in a much lower tax bracket to begin with.

Still, there went the good people of this country, paying more to get their medicine the legal way, so that they weren't harassed.

Well, I can see now that there are a lot of those same people who are going to be going underground and buying their drugs from some creepy stranger down the road, just to be well.

These pills I'm on work well, but not quite as good as the medicinal cannabis.  They also have side effects that I'm not too keen on, like twitching.

Twitching is soooooo sexy, no?

While I'm talking to someone, there's nothing better than my eye flipping out, making me look like I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

You'll know when I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown.  I don't need a rogue eyelid to tell you.

Then there's my twitching body parts.

It's so much fun when you're on the bus and your arm sorta flails and hits the person next to you, "Sorry 'bout that!"  They just look at me with a bit of that look, "Good g*d, the crazy one sat beside me today."

Oooooh, yeah, it's also great to non-stop be pressing return with my scalawag pinky when it decides to.  How many posts have I written on that I have to continue on another line because of my devilish twitching pinky?!?!

Not to mention, I'm tired.  When I first started these pills, they made me a bit manic and I couldn't stop cleaning.  Papi said, "I think I'm going to call the company and get them to put another side effect on the bottle, 'may induce O.C.D. symptoms of cleaning'."

Well, if you saw my kitchen recently, you'd see that that tide has gone out.  Wayyyyyy out.

It wasn't like that with the medicinal cannabis.  I got a little goofy and giggly at times if I accidentally took too much, and perhaps I had a little more of the 'duh' than usual, but I had energy.

Now, because we want to immigrate to a 3rd world country that is so behind in the times, we can't have cannabis in our system, hence the designer drugs I have to take that are filled with poison that I'll have ween off for a month.

So, here we are going to a 3rd world country, and leaving a 1st world country.

Wouldn't you think that we'd be a bit ahead?  Wouldn't you think that we'd be following the footsteps of our big brother country, the U.S.?

Oh, wait we do!  When it comes to taking away all the programs for seniors, children, abused women and people with disabilities.

Our farcical government can't see that they could use those tax dollars and help Canada get a little more bang for our buck.

Nooooooooo, our laughably senseless Prime Minister is now going the opposite direction.

He's just as bad as Mitt who drove with his dog on top of his car.

Who brings back a panda from China in exchange for selling off our country?

Our absurdly asinine Prime Minister.

Why don't the insane gunmen ever go after these idiotic fools instead of innocent children?

i choose to find hopeful and optimistic ways of looking at this

death is really a new beginning

Sometimes, I stare blankly at this li'l, white, blog page and wonder, "What the hell am I going to write about today?"

Other times, I have such pressing news about vomiting cats or silliness of the Papirazzi, that I feel I have to write it the night before and do my edit check in the morning.

Today is the, "What the hell am I going to write about today?" kinda day, which to me, is a good thing.

What that means to me, is there is no pain going on emotionally for me right now.  Perhaps I'm feeling some peace?

I won't bore you with the physical pain.  I'm sure you all know I could go on about my bitch of a back until we all die in 5 days.

I'm kinda excited to see the 'end of the world' on Dec. 21st.

While others may think we're going to implode, I'm actually thinking it's like the deck of tarot cards.

The death card is something people are afraid of, but it's not something to fear.

Death of one thing means birth of another.

What if all of a sudden, there was the birth of peace on earth?  Wouldn't that be a mindfuck?  We wouldn't know what the hell to do with that.

With my new found spirit friends, I actually ask them for this.

Peace on earth.

No massacres.

No wars.

No predators harming children and women.

No gangs.

Well, that gang one could be tamed a little if our fucking Prime Minister would get on the marijuana legalization train.

There would be less for those morons to fight about if people could freely get their peace pipes puffin' without the hassle of getting their goods from a dude named 'Spider' down on the corner.

Anyway, back to death.

I'm so not afraid of death, it's life that scares me.  If I'm here living, I want to feel like I've left behind something before I pop off.

I need to feel like I've made a change somewhere, somehow, to something or someone.

I need purpose.  I mean seriously, I didn't survive that motorcycle accident for nothing.

I'm here for something.

Every day since the Soul Activation happened Tuesday, I feel like I'm ready to find out my purpose.

I have so many ideas of how to help people, animals and the planet, that I think my mind is a bit obsessed and overwhelmed with all the options there are out there.

For myself, I need to feel what it was like before I got hit.  I have a yearning to be able to play my instruments for more than the half hour to hour I can do currently, before the pain sets in and I'm back to lying out flat asking, "What's my fucking purpose?"

Playing my instruments is my only version of meditation.  I'm taken somewhere that doesn't exist on this luminous body we call earth.

The Countdown to when I get to experience life without pain killers and without the exhaustion of pain is dwindling.  Day by day I'm closer to feeling my meditation again.

I'm feeling the pull of my next door opening.  It's as if it was a suction of air that drags me out of the plane door at 19,000 feet above the earth's crust, only in slow motion.

Yet first, we have to get through Dec. 21st and our new beginning.

If you could think about the new beginning for you, what would it be?  You know that you can choose whatever you want and make it happen, right?

I can't wait to see mine come to light, whatever it may be.

Well, I suppose I figured out what I was going to write about, and somehow, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

i believe strongly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

THIS is fucking ridiculous

I'm hiding in the bedroom, doing my best to write to you today.  This is one of the days I wish I was already video blogging.  You really would have enjoyed Papi's baboon-like behaviour.

Seriously.  Arms were flailing.

I have to remember, we both have a lot of emotion around losing The Golden, but for fucks sakes!  He pissed me off enough to have me lose my sleep last night, and then I get up to more of his antics this morning when he came home.

He's on a rant about what I'm bringing to Casa Paraíso.  He says it's ridiculous.  Let me tell you what ridiculous is.  I couldn't even make my coffee without him trying to tell me how ridiculous my reverse osmosis water system is.

I need to drink water.  I can't drink their water.  Water heals me.  I'm bringing a system so I can drink the water.

So there I was trying to put my coffee into my urn and he was actually body blocking me, as if we were in a basketball game, "I won't let it go until you admit how ridiculous it is to bring this system," while I was grinding beans for my 2nd round of coffee, because he distracted me so bad on the first round, I fucked up the process.

Round 2: Pivot, water.  Pivot, beans.  Pivot, cinnamon.

Yes, he had me cornered in the very small of Our Closet, with his peacock tail fluffed, puffed out chest body, like a fucking dude in a bar showing who's boss.

To appease his nonsense, I tried to test the 'I'll let it go, if you admit how ridiculous this is' theory, so I told him, "OK.  I can admit that it's a bit large."  But do you think that was enough for him to now 'let it go'?

Oh, no.  He moved on to acting like a girl in that bar fight, snapping his fingers with, that 'bitch, I told you' attitude, all the whilst, spilling my coffee as he pranced about with every single thing I want to bring.

What's ridiculous?  Dragging it all out into the living room so that I could put it on my blog, in hopes that everyone would tell me I'm being ridiculous in wanting to bring things I can't buy there along with me.

I honestly can't even convey the act that's going on right now.

I can't even write without the feeling that he IS the Papirazzi.  The camera bulb is flashing, Papi's stomping around like an anger gnome, and the cats are nowhere to be found.  He's one step short of running to the mountain tops to scream out, "This is ridiculous!!!!!" in hopes that his bellowing echo could be heard all the way to the Dominican Republic.

Oh, here's the newest one he's brought out.  He's telling me they're going to think I'm bringing a bomb, which has quickly gone into him telling me it's just going to get wrecked.

THIS?  Is letting it go?

No, like I told him at the very beginning of his rant, "Even if I DO say it's ridiculous, you'll probably go on about it for the rest  of our 56 days."

Don't worry, I have ammo.  I'll just bring up the hissy fit about me wanting me to stop the medicinal cannabis because we're going somewhere they won't accept me using it, but then he goes on taking HIS medicinal cannabis for another fucking 3 weeks!!!

Yup, I'll be hearing about this until my dying day.  There I will be lying in my bed, all wrinkled and old, trying to gasp out my last breaths, with Papi telling me, "I won't let you die until you tell me how ridiculous it was."

Ridiculous is him purposely trying to get me to get pissed off.

He worked his magic of trying to piss me off all night last night and all morning today.  He just can't accept that when he goes into an anger rant, I shut down and don't say much, because I need to keep myself from showing my anger.

However, onward Papi went to test the theory.  Right down to, every time I poured myself a glass of water, he'd drink it.

Well, now I've locked myself in the bedroom to escape his shenanigans and enjoy my cup of coffee without it being spilled all over the floor every time he stomped by, ranting about how ridiculous this all is. 

This was seriously nothing you could ever capture in a few words.  Oh, how I wish I had a video blog up and running.  You'd understand my pain.

Here's his ridiculous photo:

 

You see that pink spot on the very right of this photo?

That was me trying to enjoy my mother fucking coffee.  You don't mess with my mother fucking coffee.

 i drink plenty of water to keep myself healthy

one pill makes you taller ... coffee is god.

Can't write too much, because my head is pounding too hard from a pain med hangover.

Pills are the devil.

But they don't suck as much as pain I suppose, or I wouldn't suffer through them.

My most recent little batch of bullets make me twitch.

So if you're having a conversation with me and my left eye begins to flutter, I'm not winking at you.

If my limbs involuntarily kick you, I didn't mean to do it.

Papi said, "Oh, you'll have to take another pill to stop the twitching."

No fucking way.  Then I'll need a pill to stop the side effects of those pills.  And so on and so on and so on.

Pills are little demons straight from the belly of hell.  I never believed in hell until I started taking pills.

Now, I CAN believe it exists.  This headache proves it to me.  Hell is wrapped up in a tiny little silicon package filled with powder.  Once released from it's containment, the devil flies right on out and destroys your body.

Oh, but the original pain you felt is gone.

Not only do pills have horrible side effects, but when you try to get them out of your system, they won't leave.  They attach themselves to you like the talons of a raven of death.

They leave you lying in bed, praying your eyes will go into R.E.M.  Then, after way too many days without sleep, scratching, shaking and just doing your best to keep a meal down, you feel you'd have been better off suffering through the original pain to begin with, because your torment now is making you wish you were dead.

And these, are legal.

Cannabis has one negative side effect: a case of the 'duhs'.

But that's illegal where we're going, and they will check our blood to be sure that there is none in our system.

They'd prefer I had morphine in my system and figure all of the above hell is more worthy than some 'happy' people.

This cannabis prohibition is being currently being voted on in the U.S. election right now.  Of course not all the states.  Some of them are still hanging on to keeping it illegal so they can fill their jails and give them something to do.

But the West Coast here, with all the sane people, they get to vote.

It will be fantastic if they finally vote to make it legal, because then our home town here in beautiful B.C. will have more options and less hassle.

Still doesn't fix MY problem.

Well, my problem gets fixed in 74 days.  The Countdown.  We're moving along.  In 74 days, I'll start my weening and detoxification from the addiction to these current pills.

Then a few months after that, I'll be feeling great!

At least while I'm going through the jonesing of the demon pills, I won't have to deal with back pain.

My poor Papi.  He's stressing out about the results of the election today.

We both know, that if that evil republican gets in, our country of Canada will be affected and our current Prime Minister will be doing the happy dance, because he can pretty much cut off anyone in our country that doesn't make him money.

ie:  seniors, people with disabilities, children.

Oh U.S., please do us, and the rest of the world good, and vote for the democrats.  I beg of you.

Interesting.

I was only going to write two lines saying why I can't write.  Yet here I am with another coffee downed, feeling much better and a vent written.

Coffee is god.

i know how to promote my emotional and physical well-being

anger management

I think I really do need anger management.  They say that depression is only anger turned inward.

That would make sense in this case.

The foreshadowing of the next three months here in the frigid, teeming weather in Vancouver hit me when my back went into spasm upon leaving the Dominican Republic.  Unfortunately, carrying my bag definitely wasn't a smart idea.

The anger hit when I realized that can no longer use my medicinal cannabis once we got home.

To us, in this hemisphere of the orb for we, who have 1st world knowledge, this will sound crazy, but I have to get back on pills, or the Dominican Republic won't let me live in their country.

They'd prefer I take morphine for the pain.  Seriously!!

I can't have the natural pain killers in my blood stream, as they will test my blood upon entry as a landed immigrant, so it's back to mother fucking pills.

Once more, they'll destroy my stomach and rob me of energy and happiness.  Hence, I got a little bit pissy in anticipation of taking them.

So much so, that as we were leaving the Dominican Republic, I had to relieve the angst by joking with the custom's officer about my bitchy attitude, and matching malicious face.

In Spanish, I told him I'm tired, hot, and added in, "La perra," the bitch.

He smirked, then looked at Papi as if to say, "Oh, you poor, poor soul."

However, to be honest, it was not just because my bitch of a back was biting at me, it was also because I didn't want to go home to deal with people who trigger my social anxiety, preventing me from leaving my home.

This one moment of returning home was just an appetizer of what's to come for the next three months.

There I went, the Limping Lesbian, to the washroom.  I sat on a toilet and sobbed, hoping nobody would come in to hear me.

I especially didn't want anyone to come in because I started talking to myself, begging to nobody in particular, "Please!  I don't want to go home!"

After a while, my ass got a little numb sitting there, so I decided to return to Papi.

Upon leaving the washroom, I saw the rows of Dominican rum that whispered very seductively to me, "You could have some pain and stress relief, right over here!"

Oh, sure I could, but then I'd be dealing with pain of another level, so I cried some more.

There I was, amongst all the happy travelers, in tears.

I pouted and gave people the stink eye when they'd stare at my state, and for a moment, was grateful that I actually had those miserable pills in our bags.  I took those, plus the anti-anxiety pills Papi stuffed down my yack.

I know I'm not alone in these feelings.  Vancouver is heading into it's depressive state, where a lot of us tend to be affected by it.  S.A.D. is real, and in Vancouver, it's in abundance.

My challenge for the next 3 months will be to stay positive while having horrid chemicals roaming through my blood, poisoning my mind and destroying my stomach.

Positive.  Stay positive.  Don't fall into the Pit of Doom, please!  Let's not have any Hurricane Andréa sightings, for the love of god!!!

I'm pretty sure right now would be a really good time to get on to my food plan 100%.

I brought Dominican chocolate home, but perhaps, this is going to be for giving away.  It's necessary to keep my body physically well, to keep my mind emotionally stable.

I really need to do this, because unlike some fortunate others who don't have a chemical imbalance, I need to work very hard to be happy.

I'm going to put a massive calendar on the wall to cross off the days until we leave, and know that eating very well every day is for a specific reason, not just a flippant 'diet'.

I need to get serious about my physical and mental health.

Not to mention, there's a third part of this equation; spiritual.  I'm pretty sure that thinking about stuffing my gun down potential predators' throats is not spiritual.

I could have better thoughts roaming through my brain.

i choose nourishing and healthy foods

got'cha papi.

Of course, we all know Papi likes to torture me, hence he has been dubbed the Tranny Terrorist.

His most recent femme fright was not really meant to make me crazy, but it does.

His relapse of alcohol began on a trip alone to see his sister get married in Mexico.

Leave the bugger alone for 10 minutes and he's into trouble!

Well, for this trip, he continuously mentions that he's uncomfortable with going to an all inclusive where there is drinking going on from the moment people hit the beach!

He talks about it, because he needs to.

I just keep asking him when he's going to tell his sponsor.

He doesn't have one.

So, yesterday, nonchalantly mentioned that I was going to take one of my pain killer infused muffins along for the trip.

"Nobody would know.  They would just see them as muffins and banana bread!"

Oh, the tizzy I got my tranny into.

The foul language he used!

The redness of his face!

The bulging eyeballs that seemed to pop out, not much unlike a cartoon character.

I have found my ammunition.

Of course, I was half honest, because the only other option for me to bring is morphine.

I hate pills.

Hate them.

But the Dominican Republic will not let us in if I have any traces of my medicinal cannabis in my system.

This means that I have to take morphine for the last month of us living here, and be off my natural pain killers for 2 months, in hopes that by the time they test my blood, I'll just look like your average pill poppin' femme.

And I'll be puffy.

Puffy, bitchy and tired.

But the whole point is, I am moving somewhere where the hopes are that I won't have to take those devil pills anymore.

Or at least, not very often.

The amount of prep for this is almost mind blowing.

Just to get ready for our short trip is enough to get the tummy squirreling around in there.

We bought two MASSIVE, and very ugly suitcases to bring some of our belongings that will be living there on this trip.

We're going to put them in storage there.

So, we have to go to our storage here.

To bring stuff to the storage there.

It's sorta ridiculous, and we hope to hell we can find a place to keep them there so that the next trip isn't as expensive with 5 animals.

Well, one of the animals is a little lighter.

Seems the stress has Psycho Kitty losing all his ass end fur.

It's really ugly.

This will not do for his television appearance.

And now, off to the vet we go to find out how to fix it, make him pretty and perhaps get a manicure for The Bastard Prince who lost one of his nails in the last Tom Cat Operetta which had him scrambling to a higher level.

Blood everywhere.

No, this is not sexy enough for their television appearance.

i accept abundance

zoom! there she goes!

Pain med hangover.

Fucking ouch.

I need pain meds to get rid of the fucking hangover from the pain meds.

Goddammit I hate pills.

I can't take the medicinal marijuana at night because they make me a bit, shall we say, 'creative', and my mind just won't slow down enough to catch some sleep.

But between the jaw pain and the back pain last night I needed to do something to help me sleep through the ouch.

So, today I suffer for sleeping last night.

However, I'm up and getting ready to head out the door.

I get to see two very sweet people today, one of them being My Gratitude Buddy.

So, I have to go get ready and look as pretty as this day will be.

I also gotta get out of this basement before the Dungeon Syndrome kicks in again.

Enjoy your Saturday.  I know I will.

all my relationships are loving and harmonious

Hurricane Andréa

Today's blob/blab was a difficult one to muster.

I had to take pain killers upon wakening.

Just getting to my compose page was hard enough.

Anyway, you know how it's so easy to tell someone what they need to be doing, but when it comes to us doing it, we fail to live up to the dare?

Yeah.

We all do it.

Well, just the other day, a friend had a meltdown.  I told her it was necessary to her healing to allow the feelings to come out.

Sure.

Sounds about right.

However, when I have a meltdown, I can't find anything positive in the behaviour.

There I was, looking like a crazed woman, because The Mrs. peed in The Golden's bed.

Now this would be expected of The Bastard Prince, and quite positively I could say that Psycho Kitty would do the same.

Hell!

We all know Sir Bark-A-Lot would do it.

But The Mrs.?!?!

Anyway, the real reason I had such a meltdown over it was because I had just washed the floors.

Ok.

If I'm being truthful, it's because I didn't take any pain killers later on to counter attack my house cleaning, and was at a level 8 on the pain scale..

Well, actually, if you factor in that I gorged on sugar the day before, hence, feeling a negative psychological effect, ...

aka a sugar induced temper tantrum ...

... then watched the only 'good' cat in the house do a nasty, I lost it.

From that point forward, I was taking a stroll to hell.

I tried to put my almond butter in the fridge, and instead it spewed all over the floor I had just washed.

I tried to get paper towels to clean it up, because the cleaning rag was in the wash after having cleaned up The Mrs. gift, and the entire paper roll just unwound in my hands.

ok ... slight exaggeration ... it was only about 6 feet of it ...

Then as I tried to clean off the almond butter jar, my dear sweet Papi said, "You're attracting your bad energy right now.  That's why this is all happening.  Can you just laugh at yourself maybe?  It's not the end of the world."

It was at that moment my bitch of a back had her revenge on me and I slumped into a crying, fetal position monstrosity, muttering words about how this fucking gratitude list 'isn't working'.

The Big Xmas Meltdown.

So, as I tell my friend it's necessary and healthy to have a meltdown and let it all go, there I was being so hard on myself because my gratitude list wasn't working.

When I proceeded to relocate my fetal position to our comfy bed, complete with watching on Jon Stewart to cheer me up, I realized that I did do this to myself.

I stopped taking pain killers because they made me slow, ate a box-full of wheat-free, dairy-free sugar cookies because I saw them, and took the cat piss as a personal attack on me.

You know, living like a pissy grumbler from hell because my bitch of a back didn't like that I cleaned the house is no way to live.

Fuck this rancid pain.

I won't live like that.

I'm grateful that I have a pain reducing method that helps me get through my day.

I'm grateful that my spouse understands why I get in the moods I do, but allows me the space to have them.

I'm grateful that I have new programs to play with for composing, so that I may be taken away into another world filled with peace.

I'm grateful that I am able to see the effects sugar, pain and lack of self-care, and am able to take steps in changing these for the better.

I'm just plain grateful ...

i yam what i yam

The funniest part about me asking Papi if he is gay, is that he's now backtracking everything he says in terms of the topic.

"I'm just saying I find them attractive, but it's not that I'm gay."

That is just one of the examples.

My love doesn't understand how much I trust him.

If he tells me he's not gay, then I believe him.

However, methinks thou dost protest a tad too much.

hmmmm ... maybe my love needs another panicked wake up to me hovering over him in bed, after accidentally taking too much medicinal cannabis crack butter, and bark out ridiculous questions ... that would be fun ...

But you see, I'm not even asking Papi anything about it.

He'll be speaking sweetly about someone who he admires and out will blurt, "But I'm not gay!"

It's a bit like a game now.

Last night, we were discussing My Boifriend.

He claims to be gay, but is now in full throws of love with a woman.

That doesn't make any sense with the statement that he's gay.

When it comes to being transsexual, it's really only a one sided sexual preference term anyway.

Seriously.

If Papi is now in the 'man zone', and he loves me, outsiders would consider him straight.

But I'm not straight, and I don't consider myself so.

I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm always going to be who I am, and nothing that Papi has done to his body and chemistry has made me change into someone I don't want to be.

I am a butch loving lesbian.

I have been so since I was a teen.  I've been so since that time that I couldn't really understand the feelings that I was having about the girls on sports teams.

Hott!!

I'd watch them be masculine in their own way.  They didn't know the feelings I had about them being butchy with their basketballs and soccer balls.

good god ... that was wayyyyy too many balls in one sentence ...

The ones I thought were sexy turned out to be straight anyway.  It was only the idea of them being butch that I was attracted to, but I honestly didn't even know what I was feeling back then!

I'd see bull dykes on the bus and wonder why I was getting so hot and bothered.

I thought these emotions were because I wanted to be like them, but this femme could never be butch.

As much as I'm more like a tomboy in every day life, I like playing dress up too much.

I like to sashay my way through a crowd of dykes, in my best ass outfits, in hopes that the butchiest of the butches will notice my overly round booty and appreciate it.

Yes.

I'm a true femme.

And just because I still love mi esposo despite the changes that are taking place does not make me any different than I was when I fell in love with the world's most perfect butch.

Well, I do have to admit, I think a bit differently since the bomb was dropped last year.  I'm growing, learning and accepting so much more about this male transformation.

I guess I'm the lucky one.

I got the last tidbits of the world's most perfect butch.

'She's' all mine.

I see her light in the twinkle of love in mi esposo's eyes.

Nobody will ever take that away from me.

My Living Day Anniversary.

They postponed my discovery until February.

In doing this, they allowed me to enjoy this day for living, instead of pounding out the negativity of the past 3 years.

It is a great day to be alive.

I'm going to enjoy everything about my life today.

This includes cleaning up the house with a little help from my Medicinal Cannabis.

I'm grateful to have a pain med option that will allow me sweep The Golden's tumbleweeds of hair, that seem to have taken over the floor since my most recent flare up.

I'm grateful to be in love with a wonderful spouse, who is my soul mate and best friend.

I'm grateful I actually have a Fuzzy Family to keep me remembering that love is all you need.

I'm grateful to EI actually helping me out today, so that I may finally have income after one very long month without enough money for organic, luscious greens to help my body feel well.

I'm grateful that I can still play my instruments, even though I can't play as long as I used to.

I'm grateful that I have a creative ability, so that I have an outlet to deal with life on life's terms, not mine.

I'm grateful.

I'm just truly grateful.

It's a great day to be alive.

Today, I am a lot further than where I was at 3:00, 3 years ago today, when my life changed.

This is my Living Day Anniversary.

I'm going to use it's joy to it's full capacity.

This includes folding laundry.

Yes, I'm grateful that I can actually fold the laundry that seems to be piling to the ceiling.

I now realize house chores are a privilege.

They are.

They are, because I am able to do most of them now.

Today is my Living Day Anniversary and I'll be experiencing it with every moment I breath.

If you're struggling, I hope that today you will find at least one moment of gratitude, peace, joy or all of the above.

Everything always works out.

Everything.

You just have to keep your eyes open, so that you may witness it.

Uh-Oh!

Now it seems that Jesus and the devil are fighting for my attention!

You see, I drink ionized water.

Here's my machine that has helped me so much!

People think I'm a kook because it greatly increased my cognitive healing after my brain injury.  After a year of brain games and following doctors' orders, within 1 month, my 5 minute attention span became 20 minutes

yeah yeah laugh away ... i'm telling you ... it's the truth bitches!

I'm a bit of a water fiend/snob.

Don't bother asking me if I'd like a glass of anything when I come by your humble dwelling.  Well, unless it's coffee, but then I probably have had my one cup for the day and will refuse that as well.

Yup.

Off track.

Again.

Anyway, you have to change both the filters every once in a while when the tracking number gets to 9999, and the numbers are displayed on the front.

So, I approached my wonderful machine to fill my super thick Ikea glass full of oxygen filled love.

 As I got right up to the machine, I saw this:

I suppose that if there is a 'God', and Jesus is hanging around with G'pa in the attic, then The Devil should have a few words in as well, right?!

I mean, we can't really just listen to one side of the story, right?

It's only fair.

All I can say is I hope I don't start seeing Jesus in my toast, or The Devil in my dreams.

But really, all I want to say is I'm still waiting for my phone call from 'God'.

If this phone call does come, you're allowed to legally commit me to an institution.

No, really!

You might as well, because I'll probably be sitting in the corner sucking my thumb.

That would be the final straw that would blow my mind.

In the meantime, while I'm waiting for 'God' to surface and prove it's existence, I'll just keep trudging along with life as I know it.

I mean, it's super important to get in my America's Next Top Model quota, not to mention I'm starting on the next film score.

which has me sooooooo excited!!! this one will be right up my industrial music alley!!!

Now that The Devil has made it's appearance for this agnostic verging on atheist, I can see that my life is balanced again, and I will be back to slamming the door on the zealots that come a knockin'.

There ya have it.

I thought I was famous here in Blogger and Tranny Terrorist land!

Nope.

Even Jesus and The Devil want a piece of me.

Either that or the medicinal marijuana has fried my brain, leaving me delusional.

But then again, I do have pictures for proof!

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

Yesterday, Papi asked me, "Are you nervous about Friday?"

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Because you seem like you are," he added flippantly.

Huh?

I didn't know I was giving off heebie, jeebie vibes.

But then, it is me we're talking about.  I'm not really good at hiding my feelings.

We had good news from the benefits.  Papi gets a private room.

this is good, because nobody will see me force feeding papi vegetables.

I figure I can feed my love anything I want, because he won't be able to do anything about it.

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

I'm on a mission to force feed my love different things that normally he would turn his nose up at.

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

The other good part, is mi esposo is having a positive experience using medicinal cannabis for anxiety.

Well, the inevitable will happen and you will get the munchies.  Then we reach for carbs, sugar and salt.

But honestly, when you have the munchies, anything will taste good.

So, in my evilness of health food persuasion, I'll be making sure Papi gets to try new things when those munchies kick in.

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

I forgot that tomorrow is the day that mi esposo keeps speaking about as bum-fuck-nowhere doomsday with Dr. Scissorhands.

The only reason I can't completely forget is because Papi keeps talking death talk.

Now that I'm remembering, it's time to distract myself again.

I'm gong to go work on the film score and cook.

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Anyway.

I'm nervous.

And I just donned on me that I'll be in the throws of dressings and a stubborn patient.

Yeah.

Stubborn patient doesn't really even come close to what I'll be dealing with.

So, tomorrow is another change.

But that's what life's about anyway, isn't it?

Papi's DIY mojo is back.

It's DIY time again.

Papi will be in for his surgery on Friday.

o god, my heart just skipped a beat ...

After my love's uterus has suffered the art of Dr. Scissorhands, I will be taking care of mi esposo until Papi can care for himself.

So, while we're preparing, we did the obligatory massive shop at Costco, so mi esposo could carry heavy things that we may need.

ah for fucks sakes, we forgot kitty litter!!! aaaaarrrrrgh!!!

Furthermore, there's also a few things around the house that need to be taken care of before Papi is down for the 6 weeks.

One such thing?  Putting up curtains.

It's crazy, but since the sewage flood, we haven't had curtains on our window.

Being no stranger to stalkers, ...

and a few restraining orders required to keep me safe ... yikes there's scary folks out there!

... I figure that because the coocoos have come out to play, it's time to put the curtains up.  You never know, said scary folks may also be homicidal and feel the need to watch us before fighting their way past 6 animals to carry out instructions that the voices told them to do.

... nah ... me paranoid? i can't imagine why you'd think that!

Off we went to the cold room and found all the necessary tools: hammer, leveler, screws, chiprock anchors, and of course, the power drill.

Papi has been certified for medicinal cannabis for anxiety now, because my love has been getting panic attacks from fear of the surgery.  Well, yesterday was my love's first attempt at getting friendly with the little drops.

It was probably not the best time to think about putting up curtains.

The last ones we put up, someone pulled them down while we were in the Dominican.  I thought it was fine, because the curtains were crooked anyway.  It would give us a chance to put them up properly.

I asked if I could help, and of course was granted a, "Yes!" but it didn't work out that way.  I'm pretty sure the happy drops had  something to do with the manner in which Papi went full bore into drilling without measuring.

Well, here's the first attempt:

So I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to measure things baby?"

"Nah, It's gonna be fine."

After putting in the anchors, my love said, "Oh, that didn't work out so well."

At this point, I decided to document the famous Papi DIY project with the full fledged Papirazzi, because it's just so entertaining for you all to feel my pain.  Then I heard, "I thought we were going to do this together?"

"Yeah, so did I," I giggled with a reply, "but then you went all commando and started drilling without my help."

I thought I'd add in this pic just for the full effect.  Notice the cord dangling from Papi's thigh.

my what a big drill you have papi!

Next I heard, "Well I didn't mean for that to happen."

oh, you mean this?

I think there will some new 'rules' in the house:  No power tools while under the influence of medicinal marijuana.

Papi put the anchors in anyway, and as we put the curtains up, Papi said, "Ok.  So just don't pull on the curtains and it will be fine."

Ok, but I'm pretty sure the hole is supposed to be round to hold in the anchor, no?

Well, we have curtains.

But if you ever are invited to come to our house, don't touch them, or look behind them K?  We'll just pretend that they're perfect.

And that concludes Papi's DIY for the day.

There will be more.

We still have 4 days.

oh my stomach ...

Supah-Stah!

So.

I've been racking my brain injured noodle as to what kind of job I would be able to do and still be able to take my medicinal cannabis as pain relief.

And I came up with it!

A supah-stah!!!!

That's the ticket!

So.

Today I'm off being just that making our music video.

I hope your day finds you joy.

The Concert of the MRI

Papi's bad.

Papi gave me the flu.

Papi will receive lashes when I'm feeling better.

Normally, I would just sleep it off, but we've had plans for about a month now to go to Seattle.

I did the film score for Mette Bach's film Ms. Thing, directed by Karen X. Tulchinsky.

So the director, and one of the personalities who acted, S.D. Holman, are meeting Papi and I to see the film at the Seattle Lesbian and Gay Film Festival.

The Yank will join us for the film as well.

So, anyway, we've been planning this for a few weeks, and I feel like crap.

grrrrrrrr ...

Yet, the only thing that would really keep me from going is if my bitch of a back told me we weren't.

or if my ears, nose and eyes were all bleeding simultaneously ...

Anyway, that bitch of a back is trying to tell me she'd rather stay in bed.  So, I shut her up good with a little dose of my Crack Butter.

She would have squawked anyway, whether I was sick or not, so fuck her.

I love going on road trips, but damn, that bitch hates it.

I had my MRI yesterday and I really hope it shows something that can be fixed.  Both my doctor and physio say it won't, but I'm being optimistic and hoping to prove them wrong.

Seriously.

Shut that bitch up.

While I was in the MRI, I was happy on Crack Butter.

i figured out the right dose ... not to be mistaken with the MC OD that i had on friday.

The radiologist corked my ears with plugs, and put little pads on my ears to muffle the 'noise'.

This 'noise' was a samplers dream!

I had the most fun I'd had in a while.

There were about 5 different sounds that took their own turn, and each one of them would last a few minutes.

I found rhythm in each and every one of them, and I also found melodies to sing along.

Just as I'd gotten the song down however, the 'noise' would change.

Due to the free thinking I had going on, when the first 'noise' changed I forgot that I was in an MRI and said, "HEY!!"

I wanted to continue with, "I was listening to that!"

Fortunately, I realized that if I continued, I would look like I was in need of more than just pain relief.

Song after song played, I hummed along, and before I knew it, my concert was finished.

I really want to go back and ask if I could get samples of the sounds that were going on in there.

There were acid, arpeggiated tones that you'd find akin to The Crystal Method or The Chemical Brothers.  If you took one of the 'sounds' from their music, then imagine it going on for 2-3 minutes, that's what it was like.

It was a programmers party!

Anyway, now that the proper dose of today's Crack Butter has set in, I've had my coffee and the Oil of Oregano has made my throat feel like I can speak to humans, I'm going to get ready for the road trip.

I will have to remove Sir Bark-A-Lot from my lap surgically first, I'm assuming.

i think he's just using me for my warm fever ...

I hope you find joy in your day.

I'm pretty sure I will too.

Medicinal Marijuana Fail.

I feel like I've been hit by a truck.

While crossing at a crosswalk.

Head on and flattened.

So, there I was cooking up some pain killers in butter.

The Dispensary has been out of my favourite pain killing gem, 'Whoop Ass Butter', for a while and I've been relying solely upon the 'Snake Oil' to get me through.

So.

My brain injury didn't knock out the memory of how to make my own infused butter, and I decided that I would take a crack at it.

really ... no pun intended ... but this was beyond crack let me tell you ...

And oh, I made it good.

Real good.

Too good.

Once, during my 'abusing of anything to take me from reality' days, I had made a batch of pot brownies for a party I was invited to.

I annihilated the party.

Too strong.

People were hallucinating, vomiting, hiding from paranoia, and by the end when everyone decided they were able to be around other humans, we all came together and watched TV.

I was told to never ever bring anything to a party again.

Turns out, I was never even invited to any more shindigs.

we don't want your kind round here ...

So, on Friday, I decided I would make my own pain killers.

As I was letting my butter become infused with happy herbs to heal my biting back, I heard it: 'clink, clink clink'.

The Bastard Prince had gotten to the spoon I was using to stir my concoction.

"FUCK, NO!!!!!!!!!  What the fuck!?!?  You didn't seriously just lick that fucking spoon!?!?!?!?"

Indeed, he had.  Not the whole spoon, but enough for a little being of that size that it may create some 'issues'.

Instead of rushing him to a kitty hospital, I put a quick poll out to my Facebook friends, to find out how a cat would react from this.  I got a lot of mixed emotions from people really upset that I could allow this to happen to my cat, to a few who giggled at the fact that my cat had droopy face and would soon have the munchies.

The poor guy really wasn't his asshole self.

I left his favourtie room door open where he could pounce on half full bags of dog food and hunt for the rat that is no longer there, but he just laid on his bed and looked.

Didn't even move a paw.

I had to make sure he was breathing, and sure enough when I got too close he bit me.

Yeah.  He was going to fine.

Just a little too far out in kitty koo-koo land.

At about that time was when the effects of my pain killers hit me.

Yup.

Too strong.

Fuck.  I was not enjoying myself.

Being clean and serene for 12 years, I appreciate living my life.  This is no longer a feeling I choose to have.

So, I had to ride it out, and found that this batch of pain killers I made had lasting powers right until the next day.

Hence, I didn't sleep for a full 24 hours.

I finally got to sleep after my appointment with the film maker and her clan.  I managed to fake it through without the give away that I wasn't completely all there.

Being up all night, I had the time to ...

... play my bass, compose music for the most current film score, catch up on emails, shower, organize my office ...

... hide my pale face behind blush and my red tired eyes behind some lovely shiny mineral makeup.  I looked 'fresh', even though I felt far from it.

i'll just blame the red eyes on my contact lens ...

But I mean, c'mon, people are used to at least one band member to be a flake and a candidate for the 'short bus', eh?

It was my turn.

Now that I've slept 16 hours, I am much more coherent ...

... i haven't re-read yesterday's blog ... i apologize if it didn't make any sense what-so-ever, though i did have 230 reads on it ... guess it was ok ...

... and I'm ready for my long awaited MRI today.

I think no matter how much pain I am in today, I won't be venturing toward the butter.

I think I may have killed a few too many brain cells Friday night.  However, the sliver lining was, I had 24 hours where I felt absolutely no pain.

Hell, maybe I should market this little treasure to the hospitals!

Thinking ...

Our day was good.

After the appointment in bum-fuck-nowhere that is.

You know when you know someone so well that there are things about them you learn that nobody else would understand?

One of those things I'm still trying to get wired into my brain.

When my love is anxious, it's hard for him to emotionally deal with anything else.

"Can we have a drive without any talking?" mi esposo asked me, as we were heading for our one and half hour drive.

omg ... no speaking for an hour and a half?!?

That's not so easy for me at the best of time, but when I've had pain killers, I get a little chatty.

to say the least ...

I also like to sing along with the radio on full tilt.  This was not going to work for someone who has cranky pants, so I asked, "Umm, is it ok if I hum?"

I was granted a nod of yes and that kept me happy.

My love is also sick with a flu.  That's not good for the mood either, but after the appointment everything was sunshine and rainbows again.

It took me that long to figure out that Papi was uptight about the surgery.

In the past, mi esposo had a secret stint with my codeine, and that made Papi an asshole.

I didn't figure out that he was dipping into my stash until our conversations turned into processing the bearish attitude that was raging in Papi.

However, there are no more of those horrid pills in the house, so when Papi's bad-humoured, it's for another reason.

I mean really, I should know what it's about.  I should know that I haven't done anything to make the crabby come out.  I get the same way just before a gig.

When I was a kid, you couldn't even be around me for a week prior to a piano recital.

sorry mom 'n sis ...

Anyway, after the appointment my love was happy again, and I realized that it had nothing to do with me.

I then had permission to be loose-lipped and sing along with the radio, which also came with apologies from Papi, who also figured out why he was so miserable.

One thing I do have to say about the hospital out there, is the people in Vancouver hospitals could use a bit of 'customer service' training from these folks.

The nurses were so nice there that I was shocked.  We don't get that kind of treatment here in the big city.

I suppose it's that laid back mentality of being in the sticks.

Whatever it was, I was impressed.

They treated Papi with respect and had absolutely no transphobic indications.  They asked curious questions which helped them learn more about transgender people.

There wasn't a creepy person in sight in the hospital, and Dr. Scissorhands was no where to be found.

The whole day went well, and I got to thinking about my own reproductive health.

Now normally, I would never let anyone near my uterus.  I've finally made friend's with that body part, even though it can't bear children.

However, I got to thinking about the risk of cancer in my family, and specifically that my mother and grandmother both had ovarian cancer.

Then I switched to thinking about the bloating and cramps that I could bid adieu if they snagged my uterus out of me.

Putting together the risk of cancer, cramps and inability to bear children got me thinking about whipping that organ out.

Thinking.

That's all.

I am feeling very positive about Papi's hysterectomy now.

It's a far cry from where I was 11 months ago.

I assume that once I see how much pain mi esposo will be in after surgery will stop my thinking about my own uterus.

I'm pretty sure about that one.

Let me introduce myself ...

Last night we went out for a birthday dinner for Papi's step-sister.

Once I got the awkward brain injury greetings out of the way, everything went fine.

Of course, my brain injury embarrassed me yet again.

"Hi, nice to meet you!  My name is Andréa," I would say with eagerness to meet 'new' faces.

Then it happened like it happens every time.

Papi says to my 'new' acquaintances, "Andréa has brain injury and doesn't remember meeting you."

aw for fucks sakes ...

Yup.  I don't recognize faces very well since the epic bonk to the head.

As people came to join us awaiting the birthday girl's arrival, Papi would whisper in my ear, "Ok, so you have met these people before.  Don't say nice to meet you."

Papi is kinda like my seeing eye dog when it comes to greetings.

It's so disconcerting to have to be in a setting where I don't think I've met people.

If I haven't seen your face for a while, or I've only met you once, you have to expect that I may have a brain injury moment.

Anyway, really what I wanted to talk about was what came after the extending of hands and the uncomfortable greetings I had to fake through.

Next came the genuine, "Ok, so we don't know these people," whisper from Papi and of course, after the 'nice to meet'chas' got out of the way, one of the conversation starters happened."

"So, how do you know the birthday girl?"

For some *reason, I was very chatty and decided to jump in and answer.

*reason: medicinal cannabis.

Not good to do when you've taken double dose of pain killers just to be able to sit at a restaurant.  I am definitely more social when I'm hopped up on Snake Oil and the pain is not registering in my brain.

I stuttered, "She's ... "

oh shit, don't call papi a 'she'!!!

"She's the stepsister," I said in hopes that they knew I was talking about the birthday girl this time.

I was so relieved when I heard, "Oh!  So you're her step-brother!" as they addressed Papi.

I was relieved that I didn't out my love, and then I was weirded out that they saw mi esposo as a man.  It still gets me, because I still see my butch.

In my office I have a gorgeous picture of Papi with his shirt undone, and you get to see a hint of the breasts that used to be there.

No facial caterpillars on his lip, or wisps of little hairs sticking out, pretending to be sideburns.

The butch I married stays next to me forever remembered in a photo.

Papi and I were supposed to go to a friend's house and get more photos today.

Our friend is documenting the changes over time and I will definitely share them with you when they feel Papi is 'done' with the gender transformation.

At the same time mi esposo was getting these pics done, they were going to get me in there so that Papi and I could have some sexy pics to hold on to until we're old, wrinkled and flabby.

Unfortunately, the photographer had to cancel.

However, last night the Tranny Terrorist was up to no good practising poses for the shoot.

Bugger came around the corner with a Detachable Penis on, holding it in his right hand, looking like he was ready to pee.  Mi esposo then asked if it would make a good pose for the documenting pics.

It disturbed my brain, "I don't like it," I said, "but maybe you should ask someone else.  To me it just feels creepy."

Papi laughed and said he'd ask our photographer friend.

Now that we're not going out of the house, I declare today a pajama music day!

Pajama music day commencing ...

NOW!