Do you know who I am?!?!

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

It's affordable, fast and damn good.

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

Or so I thought.

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

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

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

They do very well for themselves, and rightly so.

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

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

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

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

He didn't see me before, right?!

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

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

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

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

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

Lots of people now know everything we do.

People know who we are.

Talk about paranoia.

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

And me?

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

But still.

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

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

We're not used to this.

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

We better behave, I'll tell ya.

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

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

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

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

Everyone knows everything.

It's the strangest thing ever, to me.

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

This is something to get used to.

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

They seem to already know me.

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

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

butterflies

... your sunday sillies youtube show ...

I couldn't figure out why my tummy was rumbling with butterflies and I was irritable, then depressed, then angry all in a matter of an hour.

Then it dawned on me.

I've not been thinking about Mr. Lumpy, because I allowed myself to just go with it being a cyst like everyone said.

However, I did keep my 2nd opinion appointment, just to be sure.

I was going to cancel it until Jersey Girl told me not to mess around and get a 2nd opinion, considering the treatment she got at the same hospital.

So, tomorrow I won't be here to write to you, as Papi and I will be en route to the capitol 3 hours away.

It occurred to me that once that appointment neared, I got a little scared.

Even though I thought it was a cyst for a month, knowing I'm going in for tests makes me queasy and cranky.

I checked on Mr. Lumpy to see how he was doing, and it seems he's decided to get a little bigger.

No matter.

Cysts grow.

Then last night, I was lying in a different position and gave him a grope.

I just about puked.  There are 3 lumps now.

Do cysts do that?

Grown in clusters on a lymph node?

I'm going with that.

They grow in clusters.

Not to mention, even if it is only a cyst, that bastard has to get a move on, because it's starting to show on the side of my breast.

I don't need a third breast sticking out.

That's just not sexy.

Anyway, needless to say, Mr. Lumpy has made my stomach turn and I'm really uncomfortable with the fear that has returned.

For fucks sakes.

But!

The good part is, is I have had so much good happen in the past month with all the kids that they kept me pre-occupied and I didn't think about it much at all.

I had a little brain break.

Now, the stress headaches are back.

Even though we're going to Santo Domingo for the appointment, there's still some good to look forward to.

The music store!!!

I felt so good after I went on Google Maps and figured out my driving route to get me to the hospital and to the store.

I've pretty much mapped it out in my head and it's really easy.

There won't be any driving around aimlessly like last time.

Then I saw it.

Ikea!!!  It's on our route as well.

Yes!

Those two stores after the appointment will cheer me up.

Mr. Lumpy, you really have to go now.

Today I have another good distraction.

It's the Canada Day Celebration in Cabarete.

Crazy, eh?

They're giving us Canucks a day to remember who we are, even if we are living in paradise.

I wonder if there will be fake snow?

i let go of negative obsessive thoughts

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

a deadly combination

It was 'Accomplish Nothing Day' yesterday.

Except for hiding from gunshots echoing throughout the village.

I feel like I've gotten used to the sound of guns going off, but yesterday was a completely different story.

There was a lot of partying going on in the village.

In the whole country for that matter.

On the DR1 Forum, there was a lot of chitting and chatting about the drinking that is going on.  I thought maybe it was just in my village, but it sounds like my folks are not the only people self-medicating.

Things should be quiet until about 1pm today, when everyone goes for a bite of the hair of the dog.

Then the gunshots will probably resume.

Guns and alcohol.

A VERY deadly combination.

Scary enough, that it prompted me to keep mine close by, just in case one soul who's alcohol gave him more courage than usual were to come into my space and threaten me.

I was alone, because Papi was out trying to find propane for our stove and shower.

Old school.

Drive to the station and fill it up.

But of course, nothing was open, because it is Semana Santa.

Hopefully we'll find something open until noon today to make sure we can cook our food tonight.

As I listened to the gunshots, I would look out to see the guard next door standing on the property wall like a banshee.

It was either him shooting, or he was making sure whomever else was shooting knew he had a shotgun.

Not much unlike myself.

I walked around boldly with my gun in hand, holding it how I've been taught so as not to have any possible accidents, but obvious enough that anyone peeking through our gate would see it.

I would call Papi periodically to see if he was ok.

Sometimes, it was to appease my paranoia that he'd joined the country in the drunk fest.

However, he wasn't drinking.  It was just that it took him 3 times as long to get home, because everyone was driving 10 km/hr to make sure they didn't hit the staggering people all along the road.

When he returned, it was time to pay the Housemaid and Dominican Daddy.

They thought he was really there to join the party.

Poor love.  Pulled in every direction in the village, every person showing them how their party was better than the next, and each one of them begging for money.

All he wanted to do was gift our working family with some fiesta rum, and their paycheck.

Unfortunately, if you give a gift, it just means you're a target for non-stop begging.

It really is a drag.

I will be giving a gift of time soon.

That has no financial value to anyone, just 'time' to teach kids music.

Maybe it will be different then?

Maybe that gift won't prompt anyone to beg for more money?

It's honestly draining.

Day in, day out.

The moment someone sees your white skin, all they see you as is money.

It's hard to make friends.

I'd like to just have some friends.

I feel like in just a short, not quite 3 months, a lot of my friends back home have slipped away, just like the old adage: Out of sight, out of mind.

I feel like I have to hold on a little tighter to the ones who actually make an effort.

I'm feeling a little desperate for love.

It's kinda lonely and scary out here.

i keep my heart open to the possibility of new friendship

I'm a fucking wreck.

Here's your weekly YouTube show:

Yesterday, a Blogger Friend asked me why I'd need a vacation, if i live in a house on the beach with a pool.

I didn't even have the energy to tell him how much work this was, but I tried.  How could I explain to someone that this is not easy?

Everyone out there believes we've moved to paradise, because we believed we moved to paradise.

We didn't.  We moved to a gorgeous view and wonderful weather that heals my wounds, but it's more work than I've ever experienced in my life.

More work than I had before, and healing from, my motorcycle accident.  More work than Papi has ever experienced as well.

We try to convince each other that it will get better.  He reminds me that my Eternal Friend told me to give it three months.

Supposedly, it will calm down after that.  I feel like it will never end.

It is part of the reason Papi drank.  Again.

I found him on a floaty in the pool, beer in hand.  I screamed his name but he didn't hear, because he was too drunk.

I pulled his floaty to the front where I could pull him out, then smacked him in the face until he woke up from his drunken stooper.  I then convinced his drunk ass to get out of the pool before he killed himself.

I tried to get online to book a ticket home, but there was not enough money in my bank account, so I asked him to book it for me from the credit we had in his JetBlue account.

He said he wouldn't.  Right.  Then if you aren't going to help me leave, we're going to talk.

Every single time he started to doze off in bed, I sprayed his face with the spray bottle intended for disciplining the animals.

"Stop it!!!!  Why do you keep doing this?!?!" he begged.

"Because, if I'm going to be awake, crying and miserable all fucking night so are you.  Then you're going to tell me why you think it's ok for me to possibly find my husband dead in the pool?  I'm not sticking around to watch you die.  You can be alone to do that."

But he was dozing during my monologue again.  So I sprayed.  "Stop it!!!  I'm awake!!!  Why do you have to keep spraying me?!?!?!"

"Because I feel like hitting you, and this is the only other option."

"Well, why don't you hit me then if it will make you feel better!"

"It wouldn't make me feel better, that's why I'm spraying you," as I sprayed him again.

That must have woken him up enough to talk.  He cried violent tears from the guilt leaving the G'ma alone in a home with Alzheimer's, and how tired he is from everything we have to do here.

Between the guilt and the exhaustion, he's wanting to escape reality.

I get it.  I would love to as well.  Reality is, nothing comes for free.

There is no paradise without a cost.  Our cost is a stress level every minute of every day, that is beyond belief.

It is waking up every day to work that doesn't quit until we actually sleep.  Even then there's work to do, because when you hear a gun shot in the middle of the night, Papi is up stalking the grounds with our gun, and I'm chasing after him to see what's going on.

Nothing is free.  Even our relationship.

He has vowed to start going to the only AA meeting there is here, and I've decided to find the spouses of these folks and start an Al-Anon meeting, or perhaps some reasonable facsimile thereof.

We all know how I feel about the 'g*d' word in these rooms, but still, I need it.

I'm crazy with running around, sniffing him to see if he has drank again, checking the garbage for ber cans, hearing him open doors and running out to find out where he's going (because obviously he's going to go to Cabarete and drink again, not let the dogs out to pee, right??!?!), begging him not to drink when he's up past my bedtime.

Seriously.  I'm a fucking wreck, but I can't leave the relationship yet.

He has promised to work, not that you can EVER trust an alcoholic's word.  Not ever.  I'm just going to have to have some faith that he does want this relationship to continue like he says.

Trust comes with time and every time he rolls his eyes at the evidence of my paranoia of him drinking again, I tell him to cut it out, because his drinking the reason I'm in this position of hyper-triggered P.T.S.D.

I see every ex who has harmed my trust and faith, I see my father who cared more for his addiction than he did for his children, I see no good endings.

I don't believe in good endings with addiction, because I haven't experienced any, and losing the greatest relationship I've ever had makes me feel like life isn't worth anything.

So, I stay, and I work, hoping that he will too, in every other corner of our lives.

We need a vacation.

i must know what awaits me at the end of this rope, so i do not give up

a VERY unwanted visitor

How do you say, "eating disorder" in Spanish?

I don't think they really get it here.  Mental illness is not on the docket.  It's not spoken of.

Oh, you can go into Google Translate and find the direct translation, 'trastornos de la alimentación', but it doesn't mean they're going to 'get' it.

Why would anyone who's starving from lack of money have a 1st World problem so silly as to cry about not being perfect?

I've been stress/depression/anxiety eating.  Corn chips.  Chocolate.  Pasta.  Gads of rice with butter and bacon bits.  All things I would normally eat sparingly as a treat, I've been gorging on, with the back of my mind begging to stop the madness.

When I eat like this, it's like I'm on autopilot and my hand won't stop going to my mouth.  I haven't even swallowed the last bite and I'm stuffing more in my yak with fervor.

I barely taste the food, other than 'salty', or 'sweet'.

Well, the other day, I went to put on a pair of my cozy pants, and dammit they were uncomfortable.  That evening, I was almost in tears, because it was confirmed that I had put on weight.

Papi knows better than to be honest with me if I have put on weight, "I don't notice anything.  You still look good to me," is his usual response.  Sweet of him, but I can't trust those words, just like I can't trust anyone else who tells me I'm thin.

I don't use the mirror to tell me, because no matter what size I am, that reflective demon always tells me I look bad.

But my pants?  Yup.  Direct indication.

I had troubles sleeping because I was obsessing about the fact that I can't stop eating and I'm putting on weight.

Then probably the worst thing possible could have happened yesterday morning.

Let me just set this up by telling you that the first week we were here, Our Translater told me what a beautiful body I had and that she really likes it.

It was a very sweet compliment.  It gave me confidence and was nice to hear, even though it was hard to believe.

Well, yesterday morning she said, "You look like you have more fat."  When my face turned into something akin to the devil, she added, "It looks good."

Good?!?!?!  Really?!?!?  This is my own personal hell!!!!

Oh, but it definitely was worse when the Housemaid chimed in, "You were much more fat in November when you were here."

Good fucking g*d people!!!!!  Have you memorized my every curve?!?!?!

Can I tell you what that has done to me?

I immediately started obsessing about limiting my food, putting on clothes that would hide my body and last night it was very difficult to get to sleep without feeling like I would go into a crying fit.

I kept venting to Papi about it and his response?  "You're obsessing about this!!"

My response to my sweet esposo who worked with mental illness as his career in Vancouver?  "You do know what an eating disorder is, right?"

Pure obsession.  100% demented thinking about nothing but food and my body.

Our Translator and the Housemaid have thrown me into a tailspin.

This is not good.  The whole day all I did was think about what I would eat next that would help me lose weight.

All I did was think about how much I would exercise to fight off the Anorexia Monster.

Going to the bathroom was torture, because I had to see the horrible image in the mirror that seemed even more distressing than it was the day before.

It's hell, and all because I got so over-stressed that I ate non-stop to deal with my emotions.

But the most horrendous part of this experience, is that now I KNOW people actually pay attention to my figure.

This will have me paranoid every second of every day as to what they're thinking about me.

It's ridiculous, because I shouldn't care, but an eating disorder is an eating disorder.

A fucking disorder of thinking.  I'm not in control of my mind.

I CAN be in control of what I put in my mouth, and yesterday I didn't harm myself, but ate as close to my food plan as possible, only a little more limiting.

How do you explain an eating disorder to people who don't really have this absurd dilemma of mind fuckery?

My only mission today is to continue to eat so as to not harm my body, and get some exercise.  Now there are no more strange men in our space today, because everything is done.

Yoga, fruit, vegetables, water, and loving, gentle talk to myself with as few tears as possible.

i see myself at a healthy weight and i achieve it

these are the people in your neighbourhood ...

Poor Papi.  He had his first bad experience living in an crowded city apartment block.

There are so many good people here.  This area is full of people who would actually wait a half an hour with my keys outside my car, hoping that I would return, so that nobody would steal it.

They returned my keys the next day with one request, "Do you have 10 bux you could spare?  I'm a little broke and need some food."

We gladly gave him two fivers, but if we had more, we'd give it to him as well, knowing the money ain't going to the food.  None-the-less, dude didn't steal anything from our car and he returned our keys.  Next time I see him, I may bring him out for lunch to get that meal.

Anyway, last night's experience wasn't as neighbourly.

My love is mostly the one to bring the dogs outside, as I can't carry The Golden up our flight of stairs.  He's being stubborn and refusing to get into the apartment, because it's not his home.  So, Papi has to carry him.

Obviously I can't, but I usually go for the walk with them and hold doors open while my love carries the flailing four legs to our floor.

Last night, my bitch of a back told me to stay put, so out went Papi on his own to explore his new area.

In this hood, there are a lot of people with addiction problems.  It's just been the way of this district for years.  It's much better now, but there's still some issues.

Sir Bark-A-Lot remembers when mi esposo was a big ol' drunk and subsequently, does NOT like drunks.

Hence, he did what he does best and tried to terrorize the guy by the nipping at his heels and yapping.  My love hasn't mastered the art of 'Alpha', and the little fucker of a dog behaves horribly when he's with Papi.

Our ghetto drunk was not impressed, and back and forth went the argument between the two.  However, the only thing I heard from the window was an angry, "Try going to an AA meeting!"

I called my love to tell him that everything he says is heard loud and clear up in our suite, which means that everyone else can hear it too.

That was when I got the full story.  This nutbar of a drunk waited for my love to return, because he knew our car, since Papi had put something in there while he was waiting for the one eyed big man to do his doggy biz.

As soon as the drunk saw Papi come back up the sidewalk, he had his revenge by approaching Papi, stating very loudly, "Next time I see your dog I'm going to kill him."

Papi retorted, "Next time I see your face I'll be calling the cops."  Instead, mi esposo came up and told me the story and called the cops then and there. 

While my love and I stood outside waiting for the police, this dude was doing his best to intimidate us from his apartment window, because his apartment is next door to us.

Now we have a neighbour who is threatening to kill our dog.  Not the nicest welcome to the hood we just moved into 5 days ago.

Not to mention, my love has come from spacious plots of land where nobody sees each other and nobody talks, never mind threaten death.

Papi was genuinely terrified, as this guy knows where we live and what our vehicle looks like.  It's hard not to spot our fucking vehicle with all the stickers on it.

Oh, dude also has our phone number, because that too is plastered on the side of our car for my love's pet care business.

Well, cops showed up, and after speaking to the sloppy drunk, he told us that we should just ignore him.  Seriously.  Anyone who would threaten to kill a 'chihuahua', stating 'it's owner sicked it on him' has to be a little off kilter.

"Do your best to keep your distance from him," was the end result, with the tag, "If anything else happens, call us."

Then through my love speaking to the cop, he informed him that we just moved from the West Side, where he's lived all his life, and having this experience really scared him.

Cop stopped for a second and tried his best to understand, "Why on earth did you move HERE?!?!?"  There's always a punch line.  Even from a cop.

I explained to my love that this is what it's like living in this 'community'.  There are wonderful people, but that also means there are sick people.

Just so happens, the sick one knows where we live, what our car looks like and wants to kill our dog.

Having said that, he probably won't remember a thing today and may even tip his hat all neighbourly like the next time he sees Sir Bark-A-Lot.

It's just the law of the big city.

i feel completely at ease, and comfortable with all types of people

a restraining order will be the LEAST of your worries

Everyone should just understand I'm always right, then there wouldn't be any problems.

Our dearest ol' G'ma has a 'friend'.  This 'friend' has been a part of G'ma and G'pa's lives when G'pa was still around.  This 'friend' propositioned her for sex when she was 95 years old after the G'pa passed away.

When she told us he did that, we kept a close watch on him.

... i watched a little more aggressively ...

He actually wanted to bring her away for a weekend outside of the city.  Well, not only do we know about the proposition, but he also carries a flask with him and drinks and drives.

Papi was diplomatic in saying, "No."

I would have other words for the creep.

Since she was put in the home, he was instructed that he is not to be taking her out of the building.

Like any typical asshole, he didn't listen.  No, he completely disrespected our words.

He strolled right in to the home, and took her to lunch.

Sounds harmless?  It's not.

She was drunk when we visited her.  That's not the worst part.  She had her clothes half on.  She would never allow herself to look like that.  She's a perfectionist.

Of course, having my experience with predators, I jumped to worst case scenario when she was so drunk she seemed as though she'd been drugged, then put that together with her disheveled clothing.

I'm sure you know where I'm going with this, and if you don't, you live in a much better place in your mind than I. 

... lucky you! keep it up! enjoy your bliss! ...

However, we've gone down and banned the guy from the home.  If he actually gets in there again, there will be a restraining order.

Our little family, who are trying our very best to make sure our almost 97 year old G'ma is safe, are livid and terrified.

I'm so grateful that the woman in charge could understand the severity of the situation and was stern with The Uncle enough that he listened.

Because we don't usually listen to family, do we?

She is an unbiased individual who's responsibility is to be sure she's safe, as well as keep safe any other potential victims.  She managed to get the job done.

I am sickened.  I am disgusted.  I've never liked the guy from the get-go.

I told Papi, from the moment I met this guy, my spidey senses have informed me that he's a creep that shouldn't be trusted.

Predators can smell a victim, this is why they go after said victim.

What people don't understand, is that I can smell a predator.

I feel as though I'm a dog.  The moment I sense the dangerous person, the hair on my back stands up.

Occasionally, I feel the need to let out a growl along with a snarl of my fangs.

People just call me paranoid.

My instincts are not paranoia.

I'm no longer a victim.  I can smell YOU mother fucker.

I don't recommend playing games asshole.  You have nooooo idea who is on her side now.

Momma bear is angry and she has you in her fucking radar.

If a restraining order gets put into place, then you won't have to deal with me.

Trust me.  You'll wish for your fucking restraining order.

i trust my instincts

Papi withdrawal.

So, I went from amitriptyline withdrawal, to caffeine withdrawal ...

... haven't been able to drink it since the egg disaster day ... will attempt to stay off it until after my jaw surgery next month ... wish me luck on that one!! ...

... and now Papi withdrawal.

I have a question for you.

I'm going to do a poll.

When I am not well, I like to be nurtured, coddled, my back or head stroked, or just plain cuddled.

I like the feeling of being touched, because it over rules my feelings of the illness.

Papi on the other hand?

He doesn't even like to be spoken to.

He says his skin actually hurts to touch.

Hence, since the hysterectomy, there has been no chance for intimacy.

I miss my love so much.

I almost broke down last night, because I just needed to hold mi esposo.

Ok, maybe I'm P.M.S.ing and I'm a little over the top needy.

But dammit I want my mother fucking cuddles!!!!!!

My love explains his sensation to me every single time there's something that has him not well, but still, I just want to hold him.

I remember a flu we shared at the same time.

We had a shower together as our offending odors were permeating the household.

We stood in the shower, so sick that we couldn't do much but hold each other.  It's really all we could do.

But feeling my love's skin upon my skin was so beautiful.  It wasn't about sex, it was about intimacy.

I need it back.

I need Papi to be very well again so I can have my cuddles.

I've been neglected in my cuddles this year.  First, I was a lunatic wife grieving the loss of my butch, and that's just not cuddly.  Next, the top surgery took my love away from me for many many months.

Just as he was starting to allow me to touch him, the hysterectomy came.  There have been no cuddles since.

My love is starting to really feel better, as he attempted the gutter cleaning yesterday.

I'm sorry I have no pictures for you, because we aborted the mission when the ladder started wiggling and it scared us.

Papi made a good choice of allowing me to go across the street to the guy cleaning gutters there and ask to hire him.

Great decision Papi!!!

This DIY attempt made me see that he's feeling much better and I'll get my cuddles back, but not quite yet.  There's still a little more to go.

The amitriptyline withdrawal destroyed my stomach.  The caffeine withdrawal gave me 24 hours of a headache from hell, along with a short fuse for anything remotely bothersome.

The Papi withdrawal is strangling my heart.

I need my love back.

I'll patiently wait until Papi is well, but that doesn't mean it will get any easier.

Oh yeah!  The question!

What do you need when you're sick?  Cuddles or space?

the more grateful i am, the more reasons i have to be grateful

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.

On the count of three ... one ... two ...

There's a lot going on.

I can always tell there's a lot going on when I go to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, and I'm stupefied.

It's all pretty good stuff, but the icing is a little bitter.

Working on 2 short film scores, taking care of the wounded tranny, taking care of the 96 year old coot, taking care of the 4 legged Fuzzy Family, 3 days a week at physio to get this bitch of a back to shut the fuck up so I may be employable, and preparing to prepare for the panel of ICBC lawyers whose job it is to convince everyone that I'm a liar.

yeah ... people just t-bone illegal maneuvering cars with their motorcycle, tumble over the hoods of said cars, then fly 15 feet through the air and land on their head all the time! there's nothing wrong with me ... right?

And at the same time, try to figure out what these feelings are.

I have no idea, really.  I mean, it's not every day we watch our loved ones go through sex changes.

There's just a feeling attached to it that I can't put my finger on.

I know we're very primal beings who, when connected to our instincts, can sense a lot more than we choose to admit.

It's just that as we go along, someone, somewhere tells us we're nuts for thinking our instincts are true.

I'm told I'm paranoid all the time.

Even still, I'm usually the one to say, "Told'ja so."

So, being connected to my instincts, I'm feeling something about Papi's most recent change, but I just can't figure out what it is.

Is it just the fact that I know my love has had the last procedure and the feeling of loss is final?

Is it that I'm sensing the shift in Papi's hormones now that they've taken away the last reminder of being born a female?

Is it that I can smell my love has changed?

I like to think I was a dog in a former life.  Maybe it's like in their world, where once a dog gets their 'bits' taken away, the other dogs can smell it and they are shunned from those who still carry their balls and ovaries?

It's a bit of a mind fuck thinking about my love as this new person.

I was so afraid of who this person would be that I'm married to.  I'm not afraid anymore.

I can safely say that.

But this other feeling?

It's almost like a letting go of some sort.

Perhaps my heart is finally speaking to my brain, "See, everything always works out.  Papi is still the sexy person you married."

Yet my brain is so damn stubborn that there is a battle ensuing.

'Stubborn' can be useful.  Like when you're learning to walk again.

In this case, stubborn is a curse.

My heart knows better than my brain.

Yet still, as I watch my wounded soul mate heal by way of rest, fluids and an arm to hold him while he tries to get up out of the La-Z-Boy, I don't know what this feeling is that looms.

I can't tell if it's happy, scared, content or indifferent.

Seriously.

I remember once an ex pissed me off, and I held in the anger.  It brewed and festered until they then did something as small as leaving the cap off the toothpaste and I lost it.

It wasn't about the toothpaste, and I can't even remember what it was that pissed me off, but I do know that if I had have figured out what irked me faster, I wouldn't have looked like a loon ranting about a cap and drying chunks of toothpaste congealing with air.

Maybe I'm just feeling that sigh of relief we feel when someone says, "Ok.  On the count of three I'm going to rip the bandaid off.  Ok!  Ready?"

Once it's no longer adhered to our skin, we get a rush of adrenalin, and the knowing that it's all over.

Well, the bandaid has definitely been ripped off.

Perhaps that's what's going on?

Nipples.

I went into The Dispensary and had a nice chat with my Medicinal Cannabis guru.

Apparently, I ate too much of the Budder Bar.  That's why I got a little paranoid and coocoo.

Well, lesson learned.  I can see now where that little gem could fit in.  Not really something I want for the all day, never ending, nattering of a bitchy back.  It's something that could be used for the really bad days where I can't lift my head off the pillow.

So, I've found the magical tincture Snake Bite Oil is the ticket for this femme.

I was actually able to sit for longer than 10 minutes making music yesterday without a screaming back.  Let me tell you, it was the greatest feeling.  I never knew three years ago that it would be a struggle just to get back to composing.

I'm pretty grateful that we live in a city that is so liberal that I actually have a choice about what to put in my body for pain management.  I really don't need residual liver damage from a motorcycle accident, ya know?!?

Anyway, I found another bonus to the Snake Bite Oil.

Another side effect of MC is being a little more brave.

Papi was wandering around without a top on yesterday ...

... which was never out of the ordinary prior to the top surgery ...

... and I looked at my love when Papi started talking about his nipples.

"I was told that they would take a while to heal."

I was finally able to look at them without the mask of denial!  I thought to myself ... wait a minute ... how did they create that nipple?? ... then proceeded to ask Papi. 

"It's my own nipple.  It's from my original nipple!"

Then I realized, I'd never thought about it.  So now, I'm looking at said nipple and I realized that there was no other scarring to make the big female areola hole shrink to fit into a small male areola area.

damn ... does that make sense?!

Well, I was surprisingly curious as I shocked myself by asking my love how the hell they did that!!

Papi didn't know.  Papi and I just looked at each other, wondering how they created this crazy illusion!

They really did a good job!  I finally looked at it differently.  I didn't look at it from a place of queasiness.

well ... maybe i shouldn't go that far ... i was queasy ...

None-the-less, it took me a moment to really envision my own nipples being cut off, cut to size and placed back on my chest!

Oh yeah ... I couldn't really get past that, but the point is I really looked at them from a place of acceptance.

Here is the person I married.

My transgender, F-M esposo.

That's when I had a moment where I saw the person Papi wants to be.

It was quite a fleeting moment, but I saw it.

I saw the 'man' that people see when they just see Papi on the street and walk on by, without trying to figure out if this is a man or a woman.

I saw the male figure that Papi desires to see in the mirror.  It wasn't so scary, it was just a chance to see my love through different eyes.

Of course, the feeling I had in seeing my love in a different way vanished with one sentence.

"I don't think they'll fall off now."

Nice.

No, they pretty much look like they're going to be stuck there for good.

So, to my Blogger Friends Dirty Cowgirl and Sandra, you can stop worrying about nipples being ripped off by the power of the shower head, then floating down the tub drain.

They're now permanent.

And small. 

**shudders**

Side effect: Paranoia

Ok.

So I started my first day of consciously learning.  Last night I started to read the first link that Papi sent me: Hudson's Guide: Myth's and Misconceptions about Testosterone, Transition, and Trans Men.

I read the first Myth's title and snickered a little.  It was the Myth I was terrified about.  I felt a little stupid in thinking that Myth number one was one of my biggest fears.

Myth #1: Taking testosterone ("T") for transition will make trans men uncontrollably angry and volatile, or cause "'roid rage."
This is one of the most common myths about FTM transsexuals who take testosterone, but there is no compelling evidence to support such a sweeping generalization.

No matter!  Papi has proven to me that I get the same silly love that I married.

Great.  Got that one down.

Myth number two stuck out a little.  I never thought about the negative, health side effects from the poison my love injects into his ass.

But good to know.  Hormones don't cause cancer.

The next few had me rolling my eyes as if to say, "C'mon.  I'm not that ill informed!  Gimme something I can learn!"

Really though, number three?!?  Hormones will make you taller?!?  I'm not completely daft.

Number four confirmed that taking hormones will not shrink breasts, and number five let me know that breasts won't grow back if Papi stops taking hormones.

Ok.  But then there was number six.

I was comfortable reading that it is a Myth is that hormones will make you gay.

Well, that was good enough for me, but then they had to add the disclaimer!

After telling me that it's a Myth, they went on to say that some people become gay after they transition!

Myth #6: Taking testosterone will make you gay.
Some trans men may find that their sexual feelings and attractions shift after starting testosterone therapy, while others may not.

That was enough to throw me into a tailspin!  Maybe Papi will be gay!!!

Oh, no!  My love likes to watch fag porn.

Then there's someone from my Trust List that told me their guy started sleeping with guys after the transition!

Oh my fucking God!

So, that was as far as I could read.  I started thinking that this was it.

I mean, I can't possibly just come to acceptance and now it's all roses.  My life is never that easy.

A new honorary Trust List member wrote to me and told me of her analogy of life.

I used to have a cat that loved to play with mice. he would catch them in the yard and terrorize them.  He didn't want to eat them, or hurt them, he just wanted to play.  Of course, the mice didn't understand this.  I can only imagine how terrified they were.

Last year I told my mom like I felt like "god" was the cat and I was the mouse.  I think the analogy applies to your life as well.  I have had a tremendous amount of adversity in my life, not quite as bad as yours, but pretty damn close.

At first all I could think about was that fortunately, I don't believe in a 'god'.  So that didn't instill fear in me.

I get the analogy.  Because, yeah!  I can't get off that easy.

Yesterday I said I was ready for acceptance, and what happens?!?

I may not believe in a 'god', but for sure there is some kind of cosmic force that just uses me as a science experiment to see how my a brain can really take.

I finally went to sleep last night after reading Myth #6, ...

... thank you nature's pain reliever ...

... but now I have all day to wait for my love to get up so I can find out if I might be left in the dust while Papi goes out and chases the fags down on Davie Street!

So, here I sit at noon, knowing my love won't be up to speak to until about 7 or 8, because Papi is executing the Graveyard Coma.

I'll have to wait.

Wait!

Papi's alarm just went off!  That's right!  Papi has an appointment.  I took this opportunity to ask the question as quickly as I could to relieve my ailing heart.  Before my love could make a move, I asked the blurry eyed rushing to the washroom esposo, "Are you gay?!?!?!?"

"Whata?!?!  Are you serious?!?!  You were afraid I'm going to leave you for a Tranny Chaser and now you're afraid I'm going to leave you for a fag?!?!  Honey!  I'm married to you!  I love you!  I can't believe you're afraid!  I have penis envy, but it's mostly curiosity.  I also am attracted to F-Ms but I've always been open about it!  You know that!"

I calmed down a little, then started to realize that it may have been a little bit because of the 'new meds' I'm taking.  "Well, I guess I shouldn't have read it while on the new pain killers."

Papi's indignance filled the room, "I knew it!  I knew it!  I thought it the other night and now I know it's true!  The pot meds are making you insecure about our relationship!!"

Oh.

Now I remember why I quit smoking it all those years ago.

Paranoia.

Now what?

Coo-Coo

Psycho Kitty had to go on valium, because he's truly bloodthirsty.

After the first dose of drugs administered to the Psyhco Kitty, Papi says, "He seems better!"

I snicker and reply, "It's all in your head.  It's like the same thing as you saying you have a moustache now because of the hormones."

Oh, I received the stink eye on that one.  I like to rib my love in the same way Papi will bring out the Tranny Terrorist every once in a while.

There may be a little more of a caterpillar on that lip, and Papi's excited about it.  But a moustache, no.

In terms of Psycho Kitty, maybe he's not acting like a homicidal freak, digging his claws into us in an effort to get past the human barrier to kill my cats.  So, it's an improvement. 

hey i have an idea ... how about valium for everyone!?!?!

We could all use a little of that relaxing magic pill.

The Golden one eye might be less neurotic, Sir Bark-a-Lot, the chihuahua, might stop shaking, The Bastard Prince might stop hunting for food non-stop and The Mrs. might stop hiding from affection and actually allow us love and be a cat for fucks sakes!

Papi would enjoy the mellow.  And me?  The valium might take me down a notch as well.  Especially after seeing a certain 'someone' requesting 'friend' status on my Facebook account. 

i obsess.

I have a few questions before I press 'accept', so I answered with an email: i have to say, i'm surprised to see you here ... i'm not sure what i did to make you not want to have anything to do with me for years, but i do have to say that it hurt.

i'd love to hear from you in honesty, and whatever i did i can take responsibility for it ... take care

But was it really something I did?  Or was he just following the orders of The Beast.

I waited and was pre-occupied by checking my inbox between every task I did all day, overstimulated with curiosity. 

where's that valium?

I was fully consumed in waiting to find out if he flipped sides and chose to believe the lies of The Beast. 

i could see them in the bar drinking, laughing over my dismay.

He wasn't one of those revolting people leaning on the balcony, staring down at me in triumph after seeing me come 'home' to my belongings having been packed for me.  He helped me move my gems to storage after they were sitting in the hall.  But what happened?

Did you listen to her lies?  Did you believe the reasoning she gave you as truth?  Did you become one of the sheep who followed, and terrorized me, leaving me homeless that day?

Are you one of them?  Or are you truly a friend?

maybe you're a mole sent to find out if my life improved or got worse so there can be more laughs

Wait!  There it is!  A returned email! 

now we'll find out!   **rolls up sleeves ready for a fight**

Oh.

Life seems to have happened to him as well and he had to leave the country.  Oh dear, there I go again, envisioning the worst for 3 years.

Well, looks like we'll be getting together for a catch up.  Looks like he'll be trusted friend once more.

God I'm nuts.

When Papi woke up from the graveyard coma and asked what I did today, I replied, "Obsessed all day."

I hear a giggle and, "Oh, that sounds nice."

The road less traveled.

It was quite a day yesterday.  I thought perhaps I may have been falling into the pit of doom.

It was just a visit from my demons.  The ones that tell me I couldn't possibly be loved.  They tell me I mean nothing to anyone.  They put blinders on my eyes, so that I can't see truth that stands before me.

I believe I mistook excitement for lack of love or selfishness.  Papi's urgency for this top surgery didn't take the place of my love's caring for me, although I thought it did.

just like the ex who chose heroin over me ...

We went to a friend's 9 year clean cake.  I had been crying before we went and was feeling extremely emotional to begin with, then going to one of the rooms full of nutballs like me, I was even more stressed.

What if they recognize that I'm one thought away from using drugs myself?  What if they see beyond my swollen eyes and perceive the craving I had the night before?  Would using those pills stop the tears?

one moment at a time I stay clean and sober.

When I looked around the room, I honoured those who still suffered.  They in turn could see the fear in my own eyes.  The impending relapse.

Then my love did something that I just could never have believed would happen.  Mi esposo admitted to having used drugs to get past the pain of Mr. Moustache's passing.

I cried.

In front of many strangers that I could recognize in myself, I cried.

I couldn't stop.

I know that I've spent many a day in those rooms in tears.  I think people just seemed to get used to it.

"Oh yeah, that's just Andréa.  She'll stop crying as soon as she leaves."

Just the way it is for this highly emotional being.

After we celebrated our friend's 9 years, Papi and I were able to speak about the night before.  My love didn't know I had cried myself to sleep, because I didn't want Papi to know.  It's bad enough for one person to be in pain.

When I told mi esposo how I was feeling, I realized yet again, that I am just as important.

I admitted that I have been feeling unloved.  Mi esposo allowed me to express that feeling, but confirmed that it just may be I'm a little more sensitive right now.

It's so very true.

Ever since that moment of paranoia just over a week ago, I have been feeling not quite right.  It just may be the demons tugging at my sleeve.

they whisper when you're not paying attention

I have been in quite a state of disarray for a few weeks now.  Something is going on, and I'm not sure what it is.

A friend posted on her Facebook wall about not knowing what she needs.  I know this feeling so well.

Unrest.

Unsettled.

Unsure.

Just under.

It's not the first time I've had this feeling, but it's certainly the first time I've had someone to love me through it.

I'm usually alone and scared when these feelings come up.  Right now, I have my love.  I also have my Other Person who is diligently keeping contact to help with my heart.

I have friends who are giving me little gems of support and one friend who helped me realize that the stress I've been under for 4 months is the reason for all the strange goings on in my body.

I have everything I need.

Now, my job is to tell those demons to fuck off and get back my strength.  I am still armed with my Trust List and it's time to have a going away party for the demons.

My love has proven yet again that I am still able to keep the heart I married.  I am still able to soak in those eyes that confirm truth and caring.

This isn't an easy road.  I believe it's the most difficult emotional turmoil I've ever had to deal with, but this time, I'm not alone.

We're both on the same path.  We have the same boulders to pass.  We just have different ways to conquer them.

Do I go over or around?

Denied Access!!

While we were out for the muddy walk with 2 of the four-leggers, I told Papi that there will be no more 'hiding' and running away in secrecy when the hormones are to be used.

Mi esposo is so respectful when there's no jester to be playing with.  Papi will use those nasty hormones and try to conceal it from me.

But I always know.

It's more stressful for me to pretend I don't know, than it is for me to have the information.  I think it will work out better if Papi just tells me, "I'm going to go do it now, so don't come in the bedroom."

Or whatever room happens to be the space for my love.

I guess I am healing and I am accepting.  I suppose this is how it works.

Whatever is going on, I felt so much more relief at saying those words to my love.  It felt like perhaps it was a moment of us walking on the same path.

Later on that night, my love came up to give me a goodnight kiss.  I saw it as my moment to pounce.

My version of pouncing is to 'hint' that perhaps I may want a little Papi time.

Mi esposo laughed and we went at it.  But, every once in a while we have the passion patrol to deal with.

The one eyed retriever.

Sometimes, I start getting a little Papi love and that crazy animal will bark at us.  It's not in a playful manner either.  It's serious!

We can't figure out if he thinks my love is hurting me or not.  There have been times that the 'hurt' is intentional and in a fun way.

The Golden doesn't like it.  He's terrified that Papi is hurting me without my consent and there's nothing we can do to calm him down.

Last night, when the lovin' was on the move, The Golden jumped on to the bed and sat on my legs with his back to us.  He was just staring at the wall.

When we didn't stop the good times, he moved over to Papi and tried sitting there.

Well, our laughing and loving kept moving right along and he finally left the room.

phew!  i can't have pillow lust with a furry staring at me!!!

Those kisses from my love are so addictive.  I don't know what it is.  Mi esposo's touch brings me to a place no other has ever taken me.  I can move with freedom knowing that those strong hands will always keep me hooked into their magic.

I felt the strength to explore the 5 Foot Clitoris.

Here it was!  The moment we've all been waiting for!!!!

Denied.

It just so happened it was one of those times that Papi doesn't want to be touched.

Goddamit!

First I almost cried.  I had a moment of paranoia.

papi doesn't desire me?!

My love said not to get any strange thoughts.  That I shouldn't be worried, "I just don't feel like it."

I trusted my love to tell me the truth.  I relaxed my brain, and went back to those enslaving kisses.

But damn!  Just when I thought I was brave enough to go exploring, I was denied access.

Guess I'll just have to try again.

4 strings that sing

It sucks that past crap comes to haunt us later in life.

My feelings of being unlovable come from deep memories of a time that deserves tears.

I'm not sure why it destroys us when our parents split, but it does.  My question is though, why do we have to find ourselves in the same predicament that proves repeatedly how abandoned we really are?

I did this.

I attracted only those who were bound to hurt me.  I needed to feel pain over and over again to relive those feelings that I couldn't possibly be loved.

If I was loved, then my deadbeat dad would sober from his drunken stooper, put down the heroin and return.  Wouldn't he?

I played with the devil.  Those who were like the machines that helped me replay those tapes.  I would be left alone with tears of confirmation that were as loud as a Stellar Jay who's beak screams to the skies.

The strange part is, somewhere along the way, I learned not only how to love myself, but how to find love in my life that I could trust.

Trust.

I trust to a certain point, I suppose.

Even in the greatest love I could ever have, I still have that nattering part of me that whispers to me through door cracks.

they're all going to leave you ... you will be alone again ...

I've been alone many times in my life, and it's not so bad.  I get past the hurt and rejection, then I get my life rolling with smiles and shiny friends.

I'm really good at being alone.

I'm not alone now.  I am married to a wonderful person, who has a heart so sweet and gentle.  The kind friend who would head out at midnight to bring their step-sister to the hospital.

not to mention, hott

This is no ordinary person.

Neither am I.

Two peas in a pod.

This I know.  I'm loved by this sweet soul. 

So why won't those desperate murmurs that threaten me go away?  I can even try to talk about it out loud like I did to Papi yesterday.  The venom of paranoia seeps into me and waits for clues to affirm I'm not loved.

I wish they had a magic pill for that.

Ah.  They probably do.  I've just spent my life trying to figure out how to abolish it on my own.

My only defence is to do the things I love. 

Yesterday, I had a bass session that sang the sweetest song.  My fingers flew around that fret board.  The rehab of brain injury in this department is concluded now I'm sure.

I would watch those digits moving, feeling the burn of my tendons.  I'd allow them to shriek their pain, but I wouldn't stop.  They'd give in eventually and endorphins would ease the sting.

I played until my heart had the strength to tell me, "This is why you're loved."

I'm loved because of what I love.  In my life the only way to be loved is to love myself.

And my bass.

I played those 4 steel strings and long necked mass of wood for both Papi and I yesterday.

I sang my songs to my heart.

Music heals.