shine on beautiful soul!

Fat-phobic.

I get it.

Some people are overly mean to overweight people.  That's really terrible.

I understand that sometimes it's an eating disorder, just as much as it is food addiction, but other times it's someone who's body is just built that way.

We are all different.

I have this food addiction and I do everything to abstain from the foods I gorge on.

Some people don't care that they're overweight and that is GREAT for them.

However, some of us have other feelings about it.

I, personally, have way too much pain in my knee and back when I put on weight.

Not to mention, I have a different sort of eating disorder that makes me lose my mind.

I would prefer to fit into my clothes so that I know I'm a healthy weight, even if the mirror doesn't allow me to see the same reality.

If I don't, I'm affected by obsession and can't function properly because all my energy is spent freaking out about the pants that don't fit, then I start having anxiety.

It's not fun.  I'd rather just stay at a healthy weight to send the Anorexia Monster back to its hole.

I have a very sweet friend who is working on losing weight.

She has been proudly posting the results of her efforts with glee!

I, and so many others, are so proud of her.

Then, we have the 'mean girls'.

They are being just as catty to her as they were to me and Papi.

Just as negative and hurtful.

The same fucking assholes as we all know they are.

Seriously.

Leave her the fuck alone.

She is doing a good thing for herself.

It doesn't affect YOU.

It makes her feel better.

But of course, 'you', have to try to make her just as miserable as you are.

You're going to run out of people to pick on, you know?

Maybe you'll all just have to start pegging off people in your clique one by one.

Then you'll be left with the king prick who will be lonely at the top.

Perhaps then, that person will have the leftover clique to ostracize them!

Oh, the irony.

Anyway, I'm fucking pissed off that people will harass my friend who is not hurting anyone, but only bettering her own life.

Me and Papi seriously don't think we will ever want to live in Vancouver again with these cretins.

These are some of the meanest people I've ever encountered.

Even being part of The Pariah Club didn't work out for me.

They ostracized me as well.

I doubt they're doing that to this lovely soul.  They are pro-health most of the time.

But still, the other uber-PC people?

I'm not shocked.

When this sweet soul started posting about her journey, I was counting the days before the 'mean girls' reared their ugly heads.

Sure enough, they appeared, spewing filth and negativity.

My sweet friend, you are awesome.

You are doing what so many people struggle to do.

You are paving a path to encourage others to feel better in their lives as well.

Healthy is strong.

You are lovely and don't let any of those creeps bring you down.

I, like the others who are ostracized from that 'community', wish you the best and are rooting for you.

We love you.

Shine on!

i achieve my weight loss goals

the gift

Papi is gone.

So is our electricity.

Tomorrow, I'll go see about buying a newer, used inverter.

I spend most of my day running to do things while I see the city power on.  "Quick!  Practise a set while you can!  Throw in a load of laundry!  See if Papi sent a message!"

Then in between, I try to find things to do without electricity: a little exercise, fold laundry, clean up dog poop, or just practise those Spanish lyrics over and over.

Today, the water gave out on me.

Back to flushing toilets with a bucket of water from the pool, not to mention a pool bath.

I'll be getting a super duper special 8 a.m. visit from our plumber tomorrow morning.

Maybe there will be electricity so I can get an extra couple of hours practise in.

I definitely need it.

This whole 'translating to Spanish' thing is consuming my days.

My obsession.

It's so lovely to sing all day, but when your memory leaves as MUCH to be desired as mine does, it's a little frustrating.

I feel like I'm forever going to be tied to a sheet of paper with words on it.

Anyway, while I was practising yesterday, I had a special visit.

No, not 20 children at my gate screaming my name in unison to be sure I heard it.

... you think i'm kidding ... don't you?? ... nope ...

It was Housemaid.

It never really occurred to me just how much it meant to people here that we played Santa.

But there she stood, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

Beautifully wrapped in a pink mesh type paper infused with lines of sparkly gold, and a gold ribbon bow to tie it all in a grand package.

Never have flowers ever looked so beautiful.

2 bright sunflowers, with gads of purple daisies, surrounded by little yellow buds peeking in from the not so empty spaces.

Oh, and a card, which read, "On behalf of the children and families in the village, Blessings."

This bouquet would be a VERY nice gift for someone, when you go to their birthday or any other time people want to bring some love to you, but this one?

It took about 15 people to scrape together the money to buy this gift.

I am floored.

They were so grateful for what we did for them for X-Mas.

When I was worried about dipping further into the credit cards to do this, I didn't really know that it would be as appreciated as it was.

I cried a couple of tears from the pure love I felt.

Papi wasn't here to receive this love, but he felt it from afar.

He could really use love.

His trip hasn't turned out so well.

The family he was staying with didn't quite treat him with much respect.

Imagine being alone at the house of part of your 'family' for X-Mas because your 'family' said you weren't invited to be with them where they were having dinner?

Then get kicked out on X-Mas night with no warm clothes and nowhere to go because you told this 'family' how you feel?

Yeah.  Merry fucking X-Mas to you, too.

Anyway, Papi will get to come home to love.

And hopefully electricity.

One thing is for sure, by not having any electricity, this house is sure tidy.

I've also managed to slim down a little from the ankle fat, as well as strengthen my ankle so much that I can almost get up and down stairs without pain!

Anyway, I better upload this before the electricity goes again!!

i choose to consciously surround myself with positivity

Beautiful

The dogs slept through the ENTIRE night!

As in snoring, dreaming of chasing cane toads, and letting out the stinkiest farts, due to the hotdog nibs I've been giving them for training rewards.

Do you know how I KNOW they slept the ENTIRE night?

Because I didn't.

Not a wink.

Full on fucking insomnia.

It may be a double coffee day.

I'm not good at having naps in the day then trying to sleep at night.

It has never worked for me.

But what could I do?

Those little pills Dr. Bob gave me knocked me out.

And they really worked.

My ankle is very close to being deflated and boney once more.

Anyway, all night long, I had the pleasure of running a song through my head that I worked on all day yesterday.

You know the song.

There's no way you wouldn't, unless you live in a time warp bubble of some kind.

Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful'.

I'm trying to find as many positive, inspirational songs for the kids as possible, because the songs they choose are just about sex.

This whole country is all about sex.

As much as they are songs I am drawn to as well, with their contagiously characteristic beats of the Dominican Republic, I can't have them singing that for people from other countries when it's time to perform.

I know it's culture here, but I just can't chance that there's a Canadian predator in the audience who speaks Spanish, getting off because my little innocent children are singing suggestive lyrics.

So, I am translating 'Beautiful' into Spanish.

The translation was already online, but not the pentameter.

I've had to go through every single syllable and beat, to try to figure out the placement of each word.

I'll tell you, my brain has not had this much stimuli since the motorcycle accident, and that includes rewiring from brain injury.

It's so good for me.

Like, REALLY good.

Except for the obsession part.

Before the accident, I would have sheer infatuation with whichever song I was working on.

It was just part of my everyday breathing, that reverence.

Before the accident, I felt emotion with music and would frequently cry when a song I was working on moved me in the right way.

Yesterday, while working out the piano part for the song, that grace returned.

I was singing the English lyrics to get my singing/playing coordination down for the Spanish parts, when all of a sudden, I felt my heart being overtaken with elation.

The instrumentation, the melody, the words, they all came together to give me that feeling of the real reason I make music.

It actually happened.

I wiped the tears of joy away, thanking the angels for that moment.

I've been working towards that feeling since the accident.

I honestly thought I was broken.

I accepted that I would never feel like that again.

I felt I would just fake it for the rest of my life, but the real thing happened.

I spent 4.5 years rehabbing my body and mind from the accident.

Now it's time to rehab my musicianship.

And it is something beautiful.

Beautiful.

i fully approve of who i am, even as i get better

peace?

What is this I hear?

Nothing?  No workers?  No children?  Silence?

It's almost as if I feel 'peace'.

Other than the puppies crawling all over me.

There's no more money to do the last of the finishing touches The Carpenter wants to do, so there's nobody working.

The dogs are free.

I'm free.

Papi has no money for his drugs of choice, so there's a forced sobriety at the moment.

I get a ray of peace in every corner of my day.

Of course, there is the Housemaid coming in an hour and a half, but that's only for an hour of work today as I won't have her clean upstairs to allow Papi rest.

Papi will be sleeping quite late today, as I gave him one of my pills I used to take for nerve pain, that tripled as an anti-depressant and knocked me out so I could sleep through the pain.

Papi will be knocked out for quite some time and have one of the best sleeps he's had in a while.

He's going to go through withdrawal from the clonazepam, because he ran out, so he definitely needs some sleep.

There's usually a silver lining to every hardship.  Being broke means he can't go buy pills and beer.

Anyway, I have some herbs I'll be force feeding him, without him knowing it, that should help wash the drugs out of his system faster.  "Here baby, have some orange juice," or, "I opened you a pop."

It doesn't matter how I get it in him, as long as I do.  It's tasteless thankfully.

Still, I feel like there's someone around me in the yard.

Every noise I hear I think it's the workers coming to ask for a trip to the hardware store, or to oversee something they're working on, or a question.  "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!"

Every time the dogs run toward the gate I think it's another child just wandering in because they can.  "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!"

It's almost like I have a bit of a P.T.S.D. reaction to people in my space calling my name.

There is a very good possibility that I have a line on work for the month of July though, so I'll be away from the house a lot, leaving Papi to fend for himself with the dogs and tail end of work that needs to be done.

Not to mention, chasing away the kids from the yard, yelling, "No Andréa aqui!"

It's also possible that I have a piano student.  Here, it's all about how cheap you can get things, so she's searching for the best price of a teacher, not the best teacher.

However, ANY money is money and that's how it goes here.  Everyone charges a lesser amount than the first person, just to get the job.

Desperation.  I feel it too.

So my normal charge of $40/hour piano lessons will be chopped to $15/hour.  I'm not shitting you, but it's balanced off by how affordable it is to live healthy here.

Nurses here only make $200 a month.  You don't come to the Dominican Republic to make money.

I have no idea how much the other month long job pays, I'll just be proud if I get it, because I would be teaching music to children with the Dream Project at their summer camp.

I went there looking to volunteer, and found that there's a possibility of work.  Not that I'll be making very much money, but I'll be meeting other musicians and people who speak English.

Who knows?  Maybe I'll meet that physical friend I need so badly?  Or that female percussionist I so badly want to collaborate with to get a new feel for music.

I went in to the Dream Project office on the way back from getting my negative results from Mr. Lumpy, which also happened to be the day the shit hit the fan with Papi's 'normal drinking'.

I needed to feel like I was starting a new life, with or without my love.  I needed to feel like I could still HAVE a life whether Papi was going down or not.

Anyway, the results were negative and I'm trusting their test that says that rat bastard lump is just a cyst now, and really don't feel like going for a 2nd opinion.

I'm done fretting over Mr. Lumpy.  If it turns out to be something that grows and is sinister, it means I get new boobs.

Not a bad trade.

But my time can be better spent right now.  I don't need to have the obsession of fear.

I need to experience peace.

i feel total peace with my powerful self-esteem

pass the clonazepam

Today is a lovely day for a biopsy, no?

Sound like fun?

Massive needles stuck into my boob.

Nice.

I did really good in the fear departement yesterday until bedtime.

What is it about bedtime that makes my mind crazy!?!

Since I was a kid, I've had anxiety galore before going to sleep.

When I was a kid, I was afraid I'd go to sleep because I thought I would forget how to breathe and die.

Yes.

I'm a well trained drama queen.

I didn't know that our bodies were just equipped with the know how to continue breathing.

Well, that is of course until you have a panic attack.

Then there is no breathing.

Which is what would happen when I was a kid, when I worried about not breathing when I slept.

Or when I'd get overwhelmed with learning that the universe just kept going on and on forever.  I think that was the day I blew my mind and the rest of my insanity is history.

Then there were the times I wouldn't breathe when I was a teen, worried about the next predator that was hiding behind garbage cans and bushes as I walked home alone from the bus stop after a shift at McDonald's.

And the big ones?

They really started coming after the motorcycle accident when I had flashbacks of smashing into the car ... over ... and over ... and over ... echoing as if edited in a loop, blinding me with a movie screen that drops in front of my eyes, hindering me from seeing any beauty in life.

I've been having panic attacks since finding Mr. Lumpy.

And now?

As I write this, I just gave myself another one thinking about all the panic attacks I had and from what.

Seriously.

I know there's going to be nothing wrong with whatever Mr. Lumpy has in store.

I know that it's all going to be OK, because everyone else's intuition says it will.

I'm going with everyone else's intuition, because mine is so fucked up right now.

I had a very successful pajama day with Papi yesterday.  The kids didn't find us until much later when they realized they could see us up in our bedroom, then the chorus of, "Andréa!  Andréa!  Andréa!" began.

I just didn't move from my spot, pretending I was asleep.

I did my best to distract myself with editing, trying my hardest to get my new keyboard to work so that I could at least make some music to help ease my mind, and then there was that daunting task that we all hate but need to do; cleaning up my computer files.

There came a point, however, that all of that had to stop and I needed to try to sleep.

That's when the thoughts of today came.

Terror for the pain they will inflict upon Mr. Lumpy, who will in turn, bite my nerve endings having me jump to the heavens.

Papi said to take some pain killers before we go in.  He's always thinking, my love.

They don't really give you pain killers here like they do at hospitals in Canada.

If you need them, the doc comes, gives you a prescription and whoever is your caretaker has to go and get them from the pharmacy.

Seriously.  So odd.

So, having that information after seeing it happen with Our Fave's Mom after her C Section, we at least can take matters into our own hands and take the pain killers BEFORE he starts the torture chamber proceedings.

Am I scared?  Hell ya.

Then there are the two days I have to wait for results, even though, like I said, it's all going to be OK because all my Eternal Friend tells me so.

Still, she's not here in my brain.

Mr. Lumpy is.

I think I'm going to be sick.

every cell in my body vibrates with energy and health

OK Mr. Lumpy. Bring it on.

... your sunday sillies are HERE as blogger just wont let me share them on my damn blog ... but they can't stop me from linking them mwahahahaha!!!  um ... yet ...

Sometimes, when you're worried about a health ailment, the WORST thing to do is Google information about it.

However, in this case, some of it was a good thing.

80% of breast lumps are non-cancerous.

94% of women who get biopsies find the bastard offender to be benign.

So I'm going with that.

I'm also going with positive thinking for the worst case scenario.

'They' keep trying to kill me.

Whomever 'they' are.

I can't tell you how many times in my life I've been inches from death, but I never die.

Only the good die young.

You can't kill me.

So, I won't die.

That doesn't mean I won't agonize.  Sometimes, I feel that my lot in life is to suffer and show other people how to do it.

Never-the-less, I haven't really spoken about this because there's never been a need to, but since I was a budding adolescent, I've never wanted my breasts.

I've wanted them gone.

If this little bastard on my lymph node is sinister, the presence of my fat sacks will be dismissed and the Hector-Browns will be on round two of The Great Breast Disappearance.

I'm perfectly happy with that.

Get rid of them.

Because of the cancer in my family, they've been nothing but a fear trap anyway.

I guess that's why I'm so good at giving myself self-examinations.  I learned young and have been avid enough that I found a lump that wouldn't even show on the mammogram.

They had to use the sonogram to see it, even though they could clearly feel it's inhabitance beneath my tissue.

Ladies, check yourselves.  Every day.  Every goddam day.  Thoroughly.

OK.

Off my soap box.

So, with knowing that nothing can kill me, and that worst case scenario I finally have the reason to lose these dumpy duffels, really, is there anything to worry about?

I slept without too much help last night.

I used the natural stuff; Rescue Remedy.

When I woke up in the middle of the night and my first thought was that bastard leech on my pouch, I zotted myself with another dose and quickly fell to sleep again.

So, I'm feeling much less afraid today, and tomorrow is the biopsy.

Then I have to wait 2 days for results.

What's the point in freaking out?

It won't change any outcomes.

Every time I start to get scared, I'll just think, "Bring it on bitch.  I've been through enough in my life that you don't scare me for a second."

I'll also think, "You can't kill me.  Many have tried."

I've already moved into joking about it, as if Mr. Lumpy is a separate living being.  If Papi isn't doing something I want, I say, "But I have a lump."

From now on if I want him to do something he doesn't want to do, "Mr. Lumpy says to do it."

Fuck it all.

I've cried, I've been nauseas, I've been depressed, I've obsessed and none of it has changed anything.

You can't kill me.

But damn, this headache and exhaustion can certainly take me down a few notches.

i have abundant courage

thermo-nuclear meltdown

Meltdown.

Not because of the lump in my breast, per se.

The doctor relieved a bit of my fears by telling me that a lump wouldn't hurt to touch, plus it can move around, so it may be ok.

However, it is RIGHT on my lymph nodes, so it's worth investigating.

Calmed my fears a bit, but still, the stress is difficult.

It's not just the stress of the breast.

There's just so much to deal with and sometimes, it's overwhelming.

I can only do so much and with Papi having debilitating depression, I'm kinda left holding the ball.

When I have enough energy and time to clean the house, it's still a disaster no matter how hard I try.

I have people calling my name at all hours until the sun goes down.

We've got people trying to make our lives miserable by threatening to call the police on us for cutting down some trees that are impeding our electricity lines.

The land isn't theirs, but they saw the banana tree first, so they claimed it.  The land belongs to an American who hasn't done anything with his acres, but they decided the banana tree was theirs.

Bananas grow like weeds here.

I'm not kidding.

I just removed 5 from my yard that popped up and already there's two more to get rid of.

Did you know they are actually weeds?  Yeah.  I didn't either until now.

I'm constantly running around pulling them out of the ground as fast as I can.  I don't like bananas, and if I let them grow, they'd push out my mango.

I am in love with my mango tree.

You don't fuck with my mango tree.

Anyway, when our 'friend' threatens to call the police on us about a tree that ISN'T on his land, it makes us a little more than upset.

We apologized profusely, stating that we didn't know the tree was his, because it's not his land, then bought him a beer of regret, and told him I'd give him MY bananas when they're ready.

Then he went ahead and cut down more stuff in the lot that doesn't belong to him and told us WE have to pay for it.

When his family and friends got involved in supporting him that we needed to pay, we caved and gave him the money to keep the village from forming a mob attack.

Yeah.

This is living with the people that my one 'friend' judged then dissed me about for putting up a wall.

Well, she's not really a 'friend' anymore.  She's part of the cool kids now.  On the 'hate the Hector-Browns' bandwagon.

Put that all together with never ending work and the fear about how we're going to eke through with what little money we have, and you have Hurricane Andréa.

It's not just the lump in my breast, but I'll tell you, that definitely put the cherry on top.

I lost it last night.

I rib Papi for taking too much clonazepam, but sometimes, I'm just so happy he has it in his possession, because when I can't stop crying out of fear, exhaustion, anger and frustration, those little gems just knock me out and I sleep through the night.

Well, after my sleep and my meltdown, today all I'm left with is depression.

That's a little better than all-out, hysterical, hyperventilating crying.

After 2 pm, we'll find out how everything is with the mammogram I had yesterday.

Which, I might add, was VERY uncomfortable having a male nurse push my little teets all over the place.

I know he's a pro, but damn, can't they find a woman for these sensitive times?

He was nice enough, but I'll tell you, I was grateful I was stinkin' to high heaven with smelly armpits so that I didn't have an ounce of 'sexy' in me and he ran for the door when finished.

Since my visit to the doctor, I'm pretty sure it's just a cyst.

It's just that until I get final word, all I do is obsess.

Obsession is bad for my brain.

Not much I can do about it until we get this day over with and hear the good news from the doc himself.

Meltdown.

hardship helps me grow into a better person

Say it isn't so.

Well, I'm back on the drama buggy.

You know how sometimes, you say things out loud and they don't come true?  You jinx it?

Well, I'm hoping that by writing this, that happens now.

I'm hoping that it's just 'nothing' and will be taken care of swiftly, because I needed to take one of Papi's clonazepam to help me stop obsessing about the tissue issue and actually sleep last night.

Sleep I did.

Then resumed thinking about it the moment I awoke.

My breasts have always been a little on the lumpy side, so I've had to get used to that when I check myself out on a regular occasion.

However, upon itching and scratching my boob a few days ago, there was something that didn't feel like my normal tissue.

Last night, I felt it again and it definitely didn't match the rest of my breast and it's nothing I've felt before.

One thing I wasn't completely honest about with my itchy boob post the other day, is that it's only the right side that's itching.

I sorta didn't want to say that out loud, when I coupled it with the fact that there is something there that doesn't feel 'normal'.

I asked Papi, "Please, can you appease my paranoia?"

When I told him what for, he felt the problem and when he touched it, it really hurt, because he wanted to get in there to make sure he was feeling what I was feeling.

He immediately started crying.

My dearest Papi went into trigger mode, from memories of having to watch his mother suffer from cancer, only to lose her in the end.

We calmed ourselves down by trying to remember that if this is a problem, they do great things now.

Great things other than just cure that damn disease.  But then the cancer industry is too big to do that.  They'd lose a lot of money if they cured it.

Anyway, off my soap box.

A lot of women have a lump and they get it removed to find that it's really nothing.

Well, yesterday, we didn't get to the hospital for my ear that isn't hearing properly, but today, we'll be going for a mammogram, no matter the cost.

We'll be accompanied by Visa, MC and Amex, our good buddies as of late.

If there is an actual problem, I'll be getting back to Canada pronto, again, regardless of the cost.

So, there.  I said it out loud.  Now it won't be true.

Right?

One of the reasons we never made it to the hospital yesterday was because our neighbours (you know?  the people everyone judges about me back home, because they're supposed to be allowed to steal from us?), called Mr. Extortion to say we were doing work in our yard.

They cut a kick back for tattling and they do everything they can to get money out of us.

No matter how hard we try to be friends, even after we see them steal our concrete and our cement blocks, steal our wood, paint, they still only want MORE money from us.

They don't want to be friends.

I told the Housemaid, who has the biggest gossip problem in the village that they are not our friends, because friends wouldn't do that.

... friends also honour their contracts ... sigh ... say goodbye to another friend back home i loved ... you've officially put a stake through my heart ...

They don't WANT friendship, they only want our money.

So fuck it, I'm done.

Judge all you need to North America's West Coast uber political.

Call me racist if you need to make yourself feel superior and try to put me down, but from this point forward, congeniality will be the name of the game, not giving.

I'll still teach their children music, because those little innocents didn't do anything wrong.  Their parents haven't taught them the best ways to steal.  Yet.

As for Mr. Extortion, I don't care HOW big his fucking gun is, I'll be telling him I know the 'rules'.  You can only take from us for a new building.  It's not new.  It's a repair of the old.

Go away.

Shoot me if you have to, but you're not stealing anything more.

I have much bigger things to worry about than your non-stop theft.

i replace my anger with compassion and understanding

gee ... haven't had a hater in a while ...

Dear most recent commentator on my disclaimer:

You signed it from 'someone I did wrong to'.

I'm sorry, but you'll have to be more specific.  There are many who feel this way.

They're mostly people I don't agree with, and am not afraid to be verbal about it.

I'm thinking, you are either one of two most recent people I've pissed off:

a) A person who condones pedophilia and NMBLA that I informed I couldn't be your 'friend' because of it. (Oh, btw, do I need to alert the authorities about you?  Are you a predator raping children too, because they 'like it'?)

or

b) A person I couldn't be friends with anymore, because you felt I did 'nothing for you' and that your view is I am a racist, selfish asshole for not going broke and giving you everything I worked for.

Or you're less recent:

c) Someone who's been holding resentment for way too long.  Perhaps some therapy would help you stop obsessing over me?  But hey!  It's sure nice to know you think about me so much.

OK!  Let's get to the note shall we?  I'd like to say thanks for the advice on our well water.

Yup!  I'm completely aware we're living in filth, hence the fresh water well is almost finished.  We are fortunate that we didn't actually get a parasite.  We're both feeling much better now.  It was just a virus.  But thank you for your concern!

As for living in shit water, it's better than living with the shit that your head is swimming in right now.

At least I can wash it mine off with my water from my reverse osmosis machine.

Oh, and also, the advice on a raised veggie garden!  Thank you so very much, but I already have the model for my raised garden underway, but that info would have really helped me had I not.

Now, to say we have everything is a bit silly and exaggerating a tad.

We don't have everything, but dude next door?

Now, HE has everything.  Wowee you should see his place!  Acreage and a place for horses!  You'd hate him for sure!

Ours?  Well, it's what they call 'shabby chic'.  Papi and I are very fortunate that we could afford to buy it with inheritance Papi received and money I got from my accident.  It's a bit of a fixer upper, so we got it at a good price.  One day it will be worth a lot!

But, we don't have everything.

Maybe we have more than you, and that pisses you off, but with some hard work and a little good karma, I'm sure you'll get to where you need to be as well.

And of course I know we live in a developing country!  It's the only way we could afford to buy something, silly!  I'm finding really good people in this country.  Not all of them are out to harm us.  I've learned something I'm going to pass on:  it's not fair to generalize.

I thought I'd also let you know that we have a Colt .45 in case someone does try to murder us.  It really is nice to hear your concern for us, though.

Now, let's address the 'stupid girl' comment.

Fortunately for me, when I was undergoing all my testing after brain injury, I learned that my IQ is well above normal.

That's probably why I'm such a nutbar.  Hey!  Maybe that's your problem too!

So, perhaps what you're confusing for 'stupidity' is my issues with coherence and memory?  I do have troubles there.  These things happen after you fly through the air at 50 km/hr and land on your head.

However, you'll have to adjust your wording a little bit.

Maybe you could get a thesaurus?  They have lots of other words that would work for you.  Besides, 'stupid' is so boring.  I'm far from boring.

The last thing I want to address is the fact that I change names.

Of course I do!  I don't want to get sued!

And writing about people that piss me off?

That's why I have a blog in the first place!  To get things off my chest.

Kinda like I'm doing now.

So, if you'd like to continue calling me names, that's really ok by me.

Not sure if you've read my blog the last few years, but I have many haters, and none of their words or intimidation have stopped me yet.

Oh!

One more thing!

Fuck off.

all false messages about me are now dissolved in total grace

my padded room ...

Do you have troubles understanding what an eating disorder is?

Here.

Let me help you with how insane it can be.

I have an allotted amount of chocolate for each day in my cupboard.

That right there is part of an eating disorder.  Limiting how much I allow myself.

Anyway, it gets MUCH more entertaining.

Then there's the fact that I won't allow myself to eat it before 5 o'clock.

If I eat it before 5, then I will just obsess for the remainder of the day about the rest of the chocolate that is in the cupboard and will eat everything else I can get my hands on, even though all I really want is the chocolate, so I try to fill myself up with other things until I'm bloated and sick to my stomach to fill the void that which is the chocolate.

So, I try to eat super healthy until it's chocolate time.  After that, all hell breaks loose.

However, having said that, I have to eat it before 6, otherwise the caffeine will keep me up.  There's this magical 5 - 6 pm time that is like my happy hour.

Seriously, I might as well just stick to the rules and all will go much smoother.

Furthermore, I don't allow myself any more than the allotted amount of chocolate, or I will:

1) have too much sugar in my system creating Candida, then,

2) obsess about what I see in the mirror, then,

3) get on the 'wtf, I already ate that much, I might as well eat the whole damn thing' wagon, then, 

4) eat all the chocolate in the cupboard and have no happy hour the next day, which just sucks, then, 

5) get sick from too much so that I'm lying in a tub like a beached whale, calling my friend to say, "Omg.  I'm so sick.  I just couldn't stop eating it!  And now I can't move from the tub or I'm going to hurl."  (true story)

Anyway.  Among all of the above is also the incessant nattering, the worst of which starts around noon.

"We get chocolate in a while!"  It says.

Then around 1 o'clock.  "I can't wait until we get chocolate!  Here!  You better eat some veggies, brown rice and tahini to calm yourself."

Then around 2, "Oh man.  I don't know if I can hold out much longer!  Here!  Have some goat cheese!  Stat!!"

Around 3, I can be rational and say to myself, "You know, if you eat that chocolate, you're going to be really tired from a sugar crash and you won't get anything done."  That curbs me for a while, because the reality of the mid-day crash is enough to not allow me to make it worse.

But at 4, I seriously start to lose it.  "Omg!  I can't wait much longer.  How about we just eat it now and 'behave' for the rest of the day?!?!?!"

It's at this point that I start to snack on whatever I can find that is snack-able to try to convince my brain that the chocolate has to wait, or make the biggest plate of veggies in the world to keep my mouth busy.

At 5, I RIP THE PACKAGE OPEN AND GORGE IN A PANICKED STATE THAT LOOKS LIKE A COUGAR WHO JUST CAUGHT HIS PREY AFTER NOT EATING FOR A MONTH!!!!!

By 5:10, it's done, and I'm sad that I have to wait another 24 hours before I get to have more.

For the rest of the evening however, I must fight my brain off about the chocolate and remind myself that it just isn't going to happen.

Not to mention, my sugar crash usually keeps me down for the count, and I don't much feel like moving anyway.

This is how I live.

Every day.

This is only part of an eating disorder.

The obsession is manic and I have no control over telling it to shut the fuck up.

I could stop the obsession by abstaining from chocolate all together.

Yes!  I could!

Which I've done in the past.

But I'm in the Dominican Republic people!!!!  The best chocolate and coffee in the world!!!  Why would I want to deprive myself?!?!?!?

So, I obsess.

It must be worth it.

I keep doing it.

i learn from my mistakes

ah forums. so full of useless crap.

It was either:

a) the gads of wasabi I stuffed down my throat at my Thursday Lunch with my mother that burned it out of my head

or,

b) the sweetest going away gift that I received from my Eternal Friend that melted my heart so greatly that it chased the pain away

or,

c) the love note I wrote to my migraine, leaving it no option but to abort the mission when it felt the positivity that oozed from my blood.

or,

d) all of the above, with the timing of the migraine choosing to have run its course.

Whatever it was, my head definitely feels a bit lighter today.

I can still feel it, but it's definitely not morphine worthy at this point.  I still took a tiny bit to make sure I didn't launch into puking from withdrawal.  I also didn't want that nasty rebound headache you get from taking the poison out of your system.

I don't need to write a love note to my body for going through withdrawal.  I've already met my love note quota.

Anyway, I woke up feeling a bit better, only to receive panicked texts from Papi.

You know how EVERYTHING you read on the internet is true?

Papi got a dose of it today and it scared the shit out of him, and in turn, he tried to bring my migraine back with stress and fear.

"Talked on the forums, looks like we need a guard.  They poison the dogs and then rob.  A big fence is going up!!!"

I rolled my eyes at Papi, even though he couldn't see me, because he's sleeping off the Graveyard Coma.

I decided to read on with what he wrote a few seconds later, "I think we made a mistake not getting in gated community."

Sorry Papi, but we are going to be enjoying Casa Paraíso.  No mistakes what-so-ever.

The next text showed Papi's disdain through the four little letters, "Fuck!!!"

Now I giggled at Papi, wishing he wasn't asleep so I could remind him we wouldn't have beachfront property in a gated community, nor would we be allowed the gads of dogs we want to adopt, because some control freak with a pickle up her ass wants to make sure she gains the respect now that she didn't have in high school.

Three and a half hours of obsessing later, he wrote, "Pay Albert to watch the house??"

Seems logical.  We want to employ our DR family somehow, but the way I see it, Albert will be there full time trying to teach this gringo how to garden, anyhow.

He had three more hours of consuming worry before he wrote the last text, "We should return your laptop.  It will be stolen.  I think our 2 computers is too much as it is!  I'm selling my gold necklace here.  I will make you read the DR1 thread about safety in the DR.  I will not get a safe because that will attract people.  I wish the gun shop was open on Sundays!"

Well, that pissed me off.

Papi, sell your own damn computer.

I need to make our documentary of our travels and you're always hogging your computer with your Facebook and Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land infatuation.

Seriously.

The people who are writing these things are just trying to put the fear into you that someone else put into them.

Misery loves company and bored people are everywhere.

These people need a migraine.  That would shut them up for a while.

Papi has the worst anxiety I've ever known in a person.  He's not a candidate to be going on these forums full of people trying to scare one another.

There's always 'that guy' who likes to instil panic in others.

He's probably sitting in his mother's basement, snickering about all the people he's terrified, because he's jealous of the fact that he hasn't taken any risks in life, other than eating the moldy sandwich that he stuffed under his bed for safe keeping, just in case his mother ever kicked off.  Lord knows he's never had a reason to make is own sandwich, never mind do his own laundry.

Besides, like I've maintained from the start, if we treat the 'community' there like our own family, why would they treat us any less than their own?

No, we're not going to hide away, we are going to engage in living WITH our neighbours.

Great.  The pain is back.  At least I had a good run of bitching for a few minutes there.

Bring on the morphine.

i surround myself with people who treat me well

grief hurts us all

They call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

Really, I only bark to protect my dog they call, 'The Golden'.

Yesterday, they took him out without me, but they never brought him back.

I'm still waiting for him.

They brought his collar home, so he has to come back for them to put it on, right?

I sniffed around his bed today.  Something smells different.  It's not right.

Not to mention, his bowl isn't the same.  It's clean.

I'm feeling really tired.

There's something else that was out of the ordinary; they never take me out for walks alone.  I always have my big one eye.

I don't want to leave Papi's side.  I'm kinda scared.  What if I'm stuck here with 3 cats and no big brother?

One dog.  Alone.

My bitch person says I'm not a dog, but I am!  Really!

I feel the same as my one eyed brother, only he's a gentle giant.

My people keep crying.  I know something must be really hard for them, so I'm just going to be sad along with them, so I feel like I belong.

I don't know why they seem different when they hold me.  It feels like they hold me a little tighter.  I guess I'll endure their obsessive cuddling.

Even the cats are acting different.

The Bastard Prince won't even go on his bitch person to claim her.  He's acting weird.

It's also much quieter here now.  Not just the sound, but the energy.  Quiet.

When I came in from my walk, I expected my brother to be here.

Something is definitely wrong.

It's not right without the one eye.

I'm pretty sure he'll be back for tonight's shift.

He has to show up for work.  He has a job to do.  He makes everyone feel so happy.  He would never leave those ladies alone.

I'm so confused.  I'm never without him.

It smells so different around here.

The call me Sir Bark-a-Lot.

But I only bark to protect my big brother.

I don't feel like barking today.

R.I.P. ol' one eye

Move it!

Tomorrow, we start moving into Our Closet.

We don't have to move it all in one go, which is nice in terms of stress, but difficult in terms of chaos.

Having been a transient mover all my life, I've noticed that the 'easiest' moves can turn out to be the hardest.

Like moving 'across the hall'.

That seemed like a dream!

However, I realized I made more trips than if I had moved further away.

The worst 'easy' move was the one I did a floor above my apartment.

I did it all with a laundry basket.

That was awful and I had blisters.

For this one, Papi said, "Let's just throw it in garbage bags."

No fucking way.

Done that one too.

You get halfway up a flight of stairs and the bastard rips on ya!

No, we're doing it the right way.

I've packed up the majority of the kitchen and it only took a few minutes!  We have nothing!

Our clothes?

No sweat!  There's hardly any!

The only part that is going to be difficult is watching Papi carry everything by himself.

Being the stubborn burro that mi esposo is, he refuses to ask for help.

Imagine him trying to get a couch up a flight of stairs all by himself!

I'm not joking.

These are the things he does.

There's one box I can carry; his Band-Aids.

You heard me right.

He has an obsession with them.

Here are some in the upstairs closet.

 

There's more downstairs.

Seriously.

Right now, Papi is telling me he needs to buy more, because he uses them for different things.

Different sizes for different things.

Obsession.

With Band-Aids.

They'll need a box all their own. 

However, I think my bitch of a back can carry that one, while papi is struggling with a king size, massive mattress all alone.

I won't be putting my back out trying to lift heavy stuff.

I'll just carry the Band-Aids and wait for him to have an opportunity to use them.

Tomorrow!

454 sq. ft. with a 5 animal Fuzzy Family.

Papi has handcuffed himself and says he's not leaving his mansion.

i strive to improve myself

We are not alone.

So, I've had an outpouring of people support me by telling me of the varying diagnoses they've been handed.

That's exactly what I wanted!  I want people to talk about it!

There is nothing to be ashamed of.  We all deal with life's difficulties in different ways.

Every single person out there who has told me their secret can rest assured that I'm not going to judge you.

I praise you!!!!!

The people who wrote in to tell me that they too have been told they have 'this' or 'that' diagnoses have done so bravely, but it also means that they have released a bit of the power that the interpretations of our mental health took from us.

I wasn't really disturbed by the allegations of my 'lack of sanity'.

I don't really care, because I know that I'm happy and my life is good.  That's all that matters.

What I do know, is nobody can say I created these mental glitches on my own.

One of my readers reminded me that it's not my mind that did this, rather the fact that I grew up with difficulty, and this is how my mind reacted.

I grew up with a deadbeat dad/sperm donor/drug dealer who could care less that we existed, unless he had a girlfriend who would convince him we were important, and his phone calls would come in at that point.

Not to mention, we moved around from school to school when we grew up with a single mom.  It was the best she could do, to give us the best home we could have.  She was also very young and really did what she could to take care of two out of control girls.

Still, having to make new friends over and over screwed me up a bit as well.  I'm pretty sure that's where 'performing Andréa' came from.  She needed to put on an act in hopes that people would like her, because she thought the 'real Andréa' wasn't good enough for anyone.

Dealing head on with all of the above, plus a little more I don't feel like blabbing about, made me stronger.

I write this blog without a care that my psycho ex, The Beast, is sitting there, right now, obsessively stalking my every word and literally laughing at my disdain with whichever sick and creepy friend is joining her. 

... hey beast! how's that divorce treating ya? karma's a bitch eh? ...

Now I feel sorry for every person who thinks that this is 'supporting' their 'friend'.

It's not.  I have true support and I know what true friends are.

The Hen Peckers who try to harm me don't even phase me anymore.

I have what is known as unconditional love in my life.

Something I realized the other day, when I looked back at those 2 weeks I gave Papi to clean up his act, was astounding.

Every time I've had to leave the current 'addict' in my life, I had to leave for good.

Time and again, I had to let go of security.

With a new breath, I had to start all over again and begin a new life, searching for new hope.

This time was different.

After the blip, I got to come home to be with my love.

I got to continue with my relationship and didn't have to start over again.

This is a new experience for me.  This is beautiful!

This is, what I call, success.

I don't give a fuck about scrutiny from the bottom feeders who would judge me.

I don't need to avoid life anymore, and I certainly don't need a little doctor's opinion to tell me I dealt with it by way of these mental illnesses.

They weren't there while I struggled through to find happiness on my own.

What I need, is for people to continue talking about mental illness so it loses it's power!

So please everyone.  Keep talking! 

We are not alone.

i rejoice for the success and abundance of others

Noodles in the sink.

OK.

So we all come from different cultures, and I suppose we sometimes need to learn more about other places.

Like for instance, upon reading more about the Dominican Republic, I've learned that as a gringo, when we are at a grocery store, we may be given candy instead of change if the cashier runs out of money.

They figure, that we being honkies, we're obviously tourists and don't need the change.  They assume we have a lot of money and that we'd rather have the candy.

Sweets for the sweets.  You know?

Well, I've been taking my Spanish classes for a few weeks now, and I saw last week that the washroom I would use had a broken sink.

We were left a note on the mirror to use the sink downstairs to wash our hands.

For O.C.D. folks like myself, it was more than an inconvenience to go to the lower floor to wash our hands after being in such a dirty, dirty room FULL of germs.

Anyway, my point is not to bitch about having to go to the lower floor to wash my hands, ...

... which i didn't btw ... i chose to obsess about my dirty hands and be distracted in the class instead ...

... it was to let you know about the new sign I found this week.

Now, I know that we all have differences, but what I don't know is, what are the sinks like in other countries!?!?

Here's a picture of the note in the bathroom of offense:

Perhaps you're not getting the point of the sign.

Maybe I need to really get it up close for you to see:

Now, what I'm thinking is, if this was a one off, they wouldn't have a sign.

I'm thinking, there have been more than one noodle experience in that washroom to warrant a sign.

The school has many different languages being taught at the same time, so I don't know which country would have sinks with drains big enough to handle noodles.

Which country would that be?

Does anybody know which country has drains big enough to handle noodles!?!?!

Our drains can't even handle the 'wookie' affect of hair.

Ass hair, armpit hair, belly hair, chin hair, thigh hair.

OK.  I may be exaggerating.  Papi is really good at grooming his man hair.  He's got all the fancy gizmos and even trims his armpit hair.

He's metro-sexual.  Besides, it's always about my hair, no?

Anyway, back to the noodles.

I'm seriously confused about it.

Is it just me, or is this just new to me?

I found this an odd thing topic that I felt the need to write about.

Tomorrow, I'll be putting up one of my super duper positivity posts up on that mirror.

i am interested in others

Fasting?

So, my sugar fast is going quite well.

... end sarcasm here ...

I've had a few litres of coconut ice cream, a couple bags of wheat free, choco-chip, oatmeal cookies and another  couple of chocolate bars since finishing off the vat of chocolate my fancy Easter Bunny brought me.

I still have 1 more bucket of the coconut ice cream treat left.  I'll have to eat it to get it off my mind.

This is a fast?

Very fast!  I eat these treats like nobody else.

Gorge?  Why yes I am, thank you very much.

I was starving for so fucking long that I just don't give a shit what I'm putting in my body, I suppose.

I wanted that last bucket of sweet, creamy heaven last night, and had to stop myself from getting it by eating a bag of popcorn and a wheat free bagel with peanut butter.

Then I went to bed and obsessed about my peanut butter swirled, chocolate, coconut ice cream some more.

Seems that this morning, I'm still obsessing about it.

Anyway, I think that once I get that last bad boy out of my freezer and into my belly, I'll be well on my way to eating my normal diet of absolutely no sugar.

It's making me a bit crazy.

The sugar that is.

Like I said, if you want a Hurricane Andréa sighting, just add sugar.

Not to mention, I'm on the verge of a candida eruption!

I was not feeling so fresh last night I'll tell ya.

But today, I go see my baby sister, and I'm sure there will be much more sugar to be had.

Normal people can eat sugar all day, every day without it being an issue.

... or so they think ... right papi?! ...

I'm the odd woman out with my healthy diet of whole, organic foods and no processed crap.

I have to work double time to keep my brain thinking of the positive when there's sugar running rampantly through my blood.

I'm one step ahead of the evil demons who plant horrid thoughts in my head.

I was actually paranoid that my baby sister was influenced by Mommy Dearest and her evil sidekick, Mr. Homophobia, and didn't want to talk to me anymore.

Seriously?!?!?

I know my baby sister loves me oodles and I love her even more than that!

Yet, there I was, writing an email asking if she was mad at me, because she didn't get back to me as quickly as she usually does.

Of course she wrote back to explain how busy she was.  She has a family that's more than busy.  It happens all the time that she can't get back to me.

However, because this happened after the dinner I wasn't invited to, my sugar filled blood whispered sweet nothings to my brain, leaving me hypnotized by my demons.

Blammo!

Instant: 'nobody loves me'!

So strange, isn't it?  How can I be so messed up, just from eating too much sugar?

Oh yeah right.  I'm 'special'.  I have the world's most sensitive body.  You can call me bubble girl.

If you want to know if something is bad for you, feed it to me.  My body will let you know in an instant.

But then, you'll probably just keep eating all those delicious yummies even if they do turn me into a monster, right?

I'm so envious.

i love and respect my body

Always the Princess.

So, I've been trying to let go of the 'father' that hasn't been a dad.

I have abandonment issues from him that strengthen my insecurities to this day.

I am so afraid of abandonment that I expect everyone to leave eventually; friends, family, Papi.

It was the the way I grew up.  I would wait for everyone to leave, or my mom would move us around so that I was the one leaving friends I worked so hard to discover.

It makes for a clingy person who is desperate for love, and willing to do anything to have people in my life.

I also would add up the patterns in my existence that were difficult and obsess about the fact that I'm doomed to repeat that same pain, over and over.

When the chemical imbalance had me suffering from a nervous breakdown, it obviously affected my last relationship.  I thought that once I was better and on anti-depressants, everything would run smoothly.

Instead, I was dumped in an epic way by The Beast.

and boy am i grateful ... 

However, my 'issues' are now poking at the flesh wound of the past year of struggle with Papi's male transformation.

My fear is, now that I'm cruising on a happy plain, that Papi will leave.

Last night it really hit me to the point that my love asked what was going on.

All I could say is, "Nothing," which eventually turned into, "I don't really want to know the answer."

Cryptic?

Yes.

I've become been quite the professional at hiding feelings in my sober, adult years.

Papi nudged a bit more and I said it.  "I feel like now that I'm feeling better about the transition and all, that you'll leave me because I feel strong enough for you to do so."

My love was quite confused.

In all reality, so was I.  Yet, Papi reaffirmed that it's all going to be ok, "I'm looking at houses for us to buy in the Dominican Republic!  Why would I be doing that if I was thinking of leaving you?"

Well, you have a point, Papi.

Then The Yank had words of wisdom around this, by telling me that this past year is proof that mi esposo isn't leaving.

Well, I have all this dread to thank dear ol' daddy for.

I'm not sure why I feel guilty about not calling the person who could care less to call me on my wedding day or my birthday.

I stopped calling after that.  I refuse to be the one to always be reaching out to someone who doesn't reciprocate.

I have at least learned that from my abandonment issues.  I can't be chasing down love.  I can only give love to those who want it and have the ability to return in kind.

Anyway, that man, who's sperm brought me into this world, was so horrible to my baby sister that I don't really want to have anything to do with him.

It hurts to know that I was his princess and my baby sister was less to him.

That's what keeps me from calling.  The fact that he treated us differently is enough.

I love my baby sister so deeply, that I will defend her to the death.

that's the dog in me ...

So, someway, somehow, I've got to get over this guilt thing.

For years it was the reason I would call my father.

Out of guilt.

I don't really get anything out of a relationship with him.

It's so sad, and my heart aches.

All I ever wanted was a dad.

Oh, the mayhem that will be ...

What a great day yesterday!

We had to work really hard to fit everything into one day of video prep for BlueLight, but taskmaster Lin and her beautiful wife Carol are absolutely amazing at getting things organized.

And boy, do I need that.

I used to be that way before the brain injury, but now I need help, and that's ok.

I appreciate the details that they are so good at picking out.  This is going to be so much fun!!!

Except for the part where I can't fit into my dress that I performed in on one of our last gigs.  You know remember that gig?  The one that I put my back out for and had a ride in an ambulance after?

Yeah.

I go big.

I don't just leave a show in a limo, I leave on a stretcher in an ambulance.  Top that bitches!

Anyway, the dress.

It's hard enough for me to actually see myself as a healthy weight, but to not fit into a dress has my Anorexia Monster whispering in my ear ever so seducingly.

For those of us who have an eating disorder, you understand the dysphoria that occurs when we look in the mirror.

Carol tried to help ease my 'Oh no, I'm too fat!' drama, by showing me that she has some fat on her healthy body, and that it's ok.  She tried to reassure me with, "We could find another dress if we need to."

anorexia monster has something else in mind ...

The problem is, every time I look in the mirror, I see great gobs of fat that shouldn't be there, hence, I never really know I've gained true weight if I'm not performing, because I'm not attempting to slide into fancy clothes.

Well, I have 6 days to get this body into that dress.

I can't accept that I would have to rent a dress for the day because of weight gain.  I cannot do that.

I know that as we age, it's only natural to gain weight, but my Anorexia Monster won't accept it.

So, here we go.

6 days of gentle, yet pin-pointed exercise to help that booty slide into that outrageous, fuschia, taffeta gown, and my waist line closer to what it was a few months ago when I felt like wearing my sexy jeans.

a little xmas meltdown had me wearing sweats for a good month there ...

Think I can do it?

The more realistic part of my brain says, "I think not," however, that won't stop the Anorexia Monster.  She will not stop at anything to fit into that dress.

Seriously!  It just fit this August past!

I know I put on weight after every re-injury of my bitch of a back, but damn!  This can't happen right now!!!

My mind has been obsessing about food every second since that bursting of my body image bubble yesterday.

Normally, I obsess about the goodies that I want.  God forbid they're in the house, because then it's like I have blinders on, and can only see the foods that whisper my name.  I have to eat them to get them off my mind.

However, right now, I'm obsessing about how little I can eat to stay healthy, yet not allow the Anorexia Monster take over.

It's a tough balance, but I can do this!  I have all the foods I need to make my body feel svelte, even if the mirror lies.

Oh.  Did I mention it's the same dress I wore in my teens when I was foolish enough to think that winning a pageant would convince me that I'm pretty?

Well, I won runner up, so I'm sure you can imagine what came next for that 'I'm not good enough' brain.  Yup.  Years upon years of thinking I'm not pretty enough.

Well, I know now that pretty comes from the inside, but my outside wants to fit into that fucking dress!!

Oh, this should be a great week for Hurricane Andréa.  I'm sure there will be many moments of mayhem for you to enjoy.

Or relate to?

Tranny Talk and Straight Porn.

After my Living Day Anniversary breakdown, I've calmed down and am back to obsessing about other things.

ah ocd ... never a dull moment of crazed thinking ... it's just good entertainment ...

I've stopped gorging to avoid the fear, and am now back on track with my diet, complete with the zits and dark circles under my eyes and narcoleptic tendencies.

Not to mention I'm wearing my fat pants right now.

You know, I didn't realize I was gorging and being a lunatic about my Living Day Anniversary until after the fact, and that I'm not the only one who freaks about the Discovery.

You see, we visited one of the absolute sweetest couples we know.

It's been a long time coming.  We've tried to make a hangout work forever, but last night was the magical night that it all came together.

And a beautiful night it was.

It was one on one time, and I didn't sob my eyes out when I started talking about this blog and Papi's transformation.

The best part of the night was when they showed us the wild world of bad straight porn that's on our movie list through our cable company.

Of course there's nothing there for lesbians.  When they say, "Girl on Girl", it really means straight women who will cringe at the scent of their counterpart's taco, have long fake nails that would never come near a real lesbian ...

... pap smear anyone?!?! those little fuckers would poke my cervix out of it's happy home! ...

... and will continuously look at the camera, playing it up for the men who are watching.

Because it's all for the men, not us.

Fuckers.

... no pun intended ...

We also spoke about how our insurance company will place the Discovery on the date of our accidents, in an effort to get us to spaz out, and that they then canceled it.

sound familiar?!?!?!  yeah ... at least i proved to papi that i'm not just paranoid, i'm also correct.

We yacked about the people in our community that make someone like me, and others, afraid to speak about our grief, hence the La-Z-Boy and the Pit of Doom.

yes ... it has been that long since we've tried to make the hangout happen.

Through it all, there was a moment when I looked at my love a little differently.

I had another moment where I got to see the male my love desires to be.

Of course, that fleeting moment flew by and denial kicked in again, but through speaking about my fears I concluded that I am indeed really doing well.

There are just a few ends to tidy up.

ghosts ...

However, Papi and I spoke about it like it was no big deal.

Well, it is a big deal, and mi esposo and I are on the hunt to find the perfect moderator to help us communicate better through this.

Sometimes we can work things out on our own.  We really do have honest open communication, and even if it stings the other to say how we're feeling, we open it up and sew it back together.

There are parts about this male transformation that we need someone to guide us through.

There is no handbook on "How To Talk To Your Tranny."

There is also no handbook that says, "What Your Crazy Wife Is Thinking Right Now."

So continues the healing of this wacked out world of transgender life.

Oh!  I've been corrected in my language and learned something new about this gender reassignment again.

Transgender is like a wide umbrella that holds people of all walks in their journey.

Papi is a transsexual.

Good to know.

At least I still get to call him a Tranny, and that's all that really matters.

And the beat goes on ...

Ah, my dear friend anxiety has come in for a visit.

again

When I was a kid, my mom would tell me not to worry so much.  That I'm going to give myself an ulcer.

then i worried from that day forward that i would get an ulcer.

Hell!

Even when I was a pot smoker, I'd be the paranoid one in the corner worrying about whatever.

Really!

Whatever!

that was of course after i got the giggles and munchies out of the way.

I could be in fear that someone was watching me ...

 

... or that my crazy loon religious family would figure out my dark secrets and I'd be homeless or worse; I would have to hear the rantings of brainwashed deranged kin who were spreading the word of 'god' through hatred and fear.

I used to think that my worrying, or rather, anxiety would go away once I got clean and sober.

fail.

All that happened is I was able to recognize what I was fretting about a lot faster.

Right now though, I'm having the willies about work.

among other things of course ... us anxiety ridden fucks can't stop at one issue ...

They had already called me into the office to talk about my days off due to my back injury, and right afterward, I take another week off.

not to mention i missed the pride parade and gender odyssey that i probably won't get my money back from ... guess i'll brood about that now ...
 
I'm pretty scared I'm going to get fired because they have decided I'm too much of a problem.

I really try hard to be there.

I actually like my job and am the kind of person who has to stay busy.

or i'll think too much and get anxiety.

But they can't have a limping, wincing in pain, polyester clad employee helping people with disabilities.

Some of my clients already feel like they have to help me sometimes.

That's just not good.

Yet right now, as I write this, I am not being paid for my sick days.  There is officially no income coming into our home on my behalf.

Oh, when I'm not thinking about work, there are far better things to worry about.

Really!

I mean, this agnostic verging on atheist doesn't believe in this 'god' that some people believe in, but damn, have you looked at the world recently?

If you look at it on the whole, there is so much going on that could very well be moving toward the apocalypse that the zealots talk about.

The 'touched' will hold their signs saying we're going to die on 'X' day, and it never happens.  However, the way the world is sliding, we could be heading for doomsday one breath at a time.

I don't believe we're just going to implode on any certain day.  I think that we're going to head towards it slow enough that we won't even realize it, and when we least expect it, we'll all be living in what the zealots think of as hell.

At this point, I really feel that living here on earth is another form of hell.

Don't get me wrong.

I'm not saying life is all doom and gloom, but damn!  When I see someone in the news who has beaten a woman by smashing her head continuously and raping her for days on end in front of her 2 year old, spits on the victims family as he's escorted past them, and finally smiles at the news camera in a moment of pride, I have to wonder.

Is it coming faster than I thought?

i'm pretty sure i feel that ulcer coming on ... my stomach is hurting again ...

There's so much more in life to worry about than my simple problems, aka: a soul mate who's going through male transformation.

I'm just a lucky person who has found love in this maniacal world, has food, shelter and a fuzzy family.

Yet, still, my blood courses through me and saps me with anxiety.

Why?

But I'll be damned if I go to my doc and ask for the medication that's needed to calm anxiety.

It will make me fat.

And then I'll obsess about that.