what to do?

All I want to do is sleep.

Pain meds will do that to you.

However, Housemaid has other plans for me.

After it took ALL DAY just to get downstairs, make breakfast, pay a bill and buy more pain meds, I told her, "I think I'm staying bed for a few days."

My intention was that I would just stay in bed until Papi came home.

She was shocked and said, "No!  Andréa!  My friend invited us to a party!  You HAVE to go!"

I'm not too good at these crutches.

My balance is bad enough with 2 legs.

I've tried to shower, but having that one leg out of the shower doesn't make for a completely clean body.

I feel like a sticky mess, and now I'm supposed to look pretty for a party?

Plus, I'm sweating so much from working these aluminum gizmos.

At least I got a lot of Spanish studying accomplished over the last few days.

I really was meant to slow down.

When I'm better though, I need to work hard.

We just figured out how much we owe for all the bills we incurred from Casa Paraíso, and damn, it's NOT good.

We're going to be living QUITE frugally for quite a while.

No problem.

Prince Papi will have a crash course in how it was for me for all those years when I lived EastSide.

I had MANY years of practise, and here, it's just part of life.

Most people live dangerously on the edge, yet still have enough money for beer.

I can get a sugary treat for 10 pesos when I'm jonesin' for it.

Or make a chocolate bar last 6 days by only having one chunk a day.

Then Papi told me that the wife of the creep has begged me to come back to teaching.

Part of me wants to go under the conditions that he's not there.

However, no money in the world can make up for the possibility that something could happen with this guy.

Yeah, I need the money, but is there a chance that I could get raped for teaching?

Or suffer more disgusting comments that he somehow thinks are appropriate?

Wife says he would never hurt anyone.  Of course she says that.

All I know is, I responded to the wife and explained that I would not be in a safe environment, but she asked if I could teach her child in a different house.  Like maybe a neighbour's house.

What if the creep sees me?

Do I continue, because I need the money, and trust that he will leave me alone if he sees me?

Or do I continue on, looking for other students, eating less chocolate?

Would I be doing the wrong thing by going against my word of keeping myself safe?

Or would I be empowering myself by attaining an income under my terms?

All I know is, the creep never told her what it was he did.

She said he mentioned 'something about my skirt flitting up with the wind'.

Right.

Dude.

You left out the part about your pecker standing at attention, pointing to it and telling me that was 'my fault'.

What to do?

I could really use the money.

i know my inner self will guide me to the right decision

the creep

your sunday sillies

So, I really wanted to sleep in today, but Papi was up to talk about what happened to me the other day, still processing the anger he feels, and the need to defend me.

I can't get back to sleep once I've started talking, so here I am.

Up.

Thinking about my experience.

I knew the guy was a creep, but I had to deal with him to teach piano to his daughter.

He was always commenting on what I wear.  I wear clothes that keep me cool.

Apparently, it's not right for a gringa to wear clothes that are to help with the heat here.

He would say, "I like your shorts," or "I had to laugh when you came in, because the wind lifted your skirt."

I would just take it, because I know that Dominicans are very forward that way, but thought that if I didn't give any indication that I was interested, he might get bored and cut it out.

Then the other day, I went to go in to teach, and when I let myself in the front door, there he was, sitting on the couch with his 'man zone' standing at full attention, sticking out of his pants!

I averted my eyes, thinking that the 'poor guy' would be embarrassed that I saw 'his issue'.

Looking down at the dog, I diverted all my attention elsewhere, giving him a chance to put that thing away, and went straight in to teach the child.

However, I learned the other day that his boner was NOT an embarrassment.

It was intentional.

Friday, having finished teaching his daughter, it was time for me to get paid and go home.

He walked me to the gate, with his usual comments about what I was wearing, "I like THAT dress you have on."

I tried to take it as a compliment, "Aw!  Thank you!" the way any polite Canadian would.

That was the wrong thing to do.

He immediately pointed to his crotch, "Look!  This is because of your dress," and there it was; his fucking pecker pointing straight out of his nylon pants that are meant for the gym.

I suppose they're great for an erection too.  They show the full meal.

Then as I shook my head and walked away as quickly as possible, he pointed to it again, saying, "This is all YOUR fault!"

I drove away as fast as I could, but I realized that I still have a lot to learn with my P.T.S.D.

I freeze when predators come too close, and can't defend myself.

I get this ridiculous nervous laugh and I can't control it.

I've always done it.

I get nervous, I laugh.

Some fucking defence mechanism!!!!

"Hey Andréa!  What's your super power?!?"

"Giggling."

Yeah.  Really good.  Couple that with the flashbacks I've been having all weekend and we're close to a Hurricane Andréa sighting.

Now, I see him as a full on predator.  That's what predators say, "It's YOUR fault I raped you, because of what you were wearing.  I couldn't help myself."

I can't go back, and I feel bad for the kid, because she was just getting somewhere with our lessons.

Then what we learned from the people on the DR1 Forum is that because I'm white, I can't wear tank tops, shorts or skirts above the knees.

If this was Canada, I could report the guy and be done with it.

Here?

They'd laugh me out of the office and do the same, or worse to me.

We are not in Canada.

I am a white woman.

I am fair game for the huntsmen.

i take comfort in the fact that i can always leave this situation

we are happy

... your sunday sillies: crash!! ...

Oh, how I love the children in The Garage Band!

Word is starting to spread and more are coming to join us.

Initially, I didn't want to teach the teenagers, I wanted to keep it to the wee ones, but I'm sure glad I chose to include them.

It was so nice to work with them, and I think they really enjoyed themselves.

I now have to split everyone up into 3 groups, because different ages need different instruction.

For instance, the 2 tiniest of them all.

The lowest to the ground prances around without any pants.

It makes sense.

If his parents can't afford diapers, then it's best to just let him do what he needs to do without the obstruction of clothing.

His pants would be messy to clean all day long, considering this little guy is only about 2 years old and accidents are in abundance.

So, there he was, with his little willy waving about in the air.

I figured there would be piddle all over our carport, but he managed to keep it in.

He wasn't there to do music, so much as just there to be with all the big kids.

The second small-fry was pretty in her best dress.

Can I tell you what an honour it is to have parents dress their children in their best clothes for the lesson?!?!

I showed up stinky, in dirty clothes, as I only woke up in enough time to get coffee into my system and open the garage door to begin teaching.

Having children dressed in fancy threads made me feel their gratitude for lessons.

In turn, I had gratitude for the children merely showing up!

Anyway, this little doll in her Sunday Best was really too young to keep up with everyone, but she tried.

OH, how she tried

Whatever anyone else did, she would attempt to copy, and do it with immense zeal!

Her voice was voluminous!

Her clapping was colossal and packed a punch!

Nothing was in the right time, nor were there proper words, but her intent was so strong that I could feel the music just waiting to come out when it's time for her to truly understand all the emotion that brews within her.

It made me tingle.

Even the dogs in the hood came by to watch.

Upon smelling the mutts that were invading their space, our hounds were barking at them through the door of the garage.

No matter.  We all sang loud enough to overpower their cacophony.

Speaking of the neighbourhood dogs, today is our day to volunteer to give them all heart worm medicine.

We were going to do it a few weeks ago, but I got so busy and so tired.

We are armed with hotdogs to entice them, and candy for the children as we go along.

Papi wants to win their hearts with candy, because he feels I get all the love and he's a tad jealous as we drive down our bumpy road, listening to the chorus of 'Andréa! Andréa! Andréa!' bellowing through the village.

Hopefully, as we pass through, I'll find the shyest of The Garage Band and give him a little boost of a quick lesson so that he will feel more confident next round.

The underdog.

I always love the underdog.

I want to help him shine amongst the others.

If you're reading this and you'd like to help the children by sending percussive instruments, we would all be so grateful.

Shakers!  Wood blocks!  Anything you have that you just don't use would be MORE than appreciated if you can send it:

Andréa Hector-Brown 

10800 NW 103 St. 

Ste. 5E

Medley, Florida 

33178

United States

Right now, we just clap.

And we are happy.

i compare myself only to my highest self

yeah! so fucking what!

Let's talk about offense.

Or rather, let me vent about it while you read and chuckle at the way I deal with my mental illness.

In the beginning of the creation of this blog, I had something to say that I felt I couldn't say to the world, lest I be judged harshly and made to be a part of The Pariah Club.

I did it anyway.

I gained so much from being an outcast.  I found people who also felt the same.  I found my strength from people who allowed me to speak my mind, but not diss me for it.  Instead, they allowed me my freedom of speech until I could heal from my pain.

I also found, I had said enough that I got the shit out of my head, through my mouth and therefore, out of my soul.

I grew.

I found that I didn't need to say much more, because I had the majority of my own shit worked out.

Now I have another level of my shit pile to work on, but this one, I'm tending to be very careful with my words, lest I 'offend' someone.

Then I read an awesome quote that was floating around Facebook.

Meet Stephen Fry, if you already haven't.

I immediately felt connection to this person.

I immediately shouted from my proverbial rooftop, "YES!!!!!!  Exactly!! So fucking what!!!!!!"

Some are offended by what I say, yet I, being part of The Pariah Club (not to mention the minority in my minority of a community), were to say what I really feel, I'd have even fewer friends.

I get offended by things people I love post, however, I don't berate them.  Rather, I allow them their freedom of speech and deal with my own shit.

All I do is I graze past their pics and statuses, so that I can move on to more non-offensive pics.

Like LOLCats.

I mean seriously.  I have fucking issues.

I have such horrid issues, that I bravely called a psychologist today, to plead for help with my P.T.S.D. from past abuses.

I see things that people comment on with ease, that put me into a tailspin, and give me the most fucked up dreams.

Like the dream the other day: the punishment for everyone else in my dream was to be pelted by volleyballs, yet MY punishment for the same error was to have to watch my love pretend to piss out of a hotdog held in his 'man zone'.

Sound fucked up enough?  Yup.

All because I saw a picture of a jello mold in the shape of a penis and balls with great hairy bits dangling from it.

Sound harmless enough?  Sure!  For everyone else, except this wacky brain that jumps into places that no cranium should go.  From a fucking jello mold people!!

Me?  I had 'offense', but it wasn't attached to my Great Non-Judgmental Friend, but by what my brain did when I saw it.

And that's MY shit, nobody elses shit.

So do I say I'm 'offended' by that?  Nope.  I just write a blog about how I need to get this fucking P.T.S.D. out of my life.

I hope my friends can keep getting much more enjoyment out of their happy, healthy brains.  I'll just keep grazing past it, and go to therapy.

Are you offended?  So fucking what.

i see each part of my life as a lesson

killed that dummy dead.

Oooooooh!  That was so much fun last night and I did good.

Of course, my 'rough around the edges friend' that joined me was REALLY good because of the shooting she did previously in the wilderness.

So there we were, 2 members of The Pariah Club, having the best time ever.

I did good for only my 2nd time ever shooting a gun.

Check it out:

I really need to give you a close up though to really see that only 3 shots went out of the lines!!!

 

At first, I used a .22 pistol to get my bearings on the zombie, but that blue, decaying wrongdoer was no good for my target practise.  His different tints all over the place made it too hard to see where I hit.

When the shooting ranger pulled the blue offender closer to take a look at my work, he giggled when he saw that I was aiming for the zombie's 'man zone'.

I just shrugged and said, "Well, yeah ... ya know."  We didn't need to talk about it.  I have the feeling I'm not the first girl who was aiming for zombie junk.

I then moved on to the 9mm for the target you see up above.

I can only get better!  My intention is NOT to hit someone, and only give warnings.

If I need to use to stop someone, I want to be able to aim for a leg, so that I don't kill a culprit, but only to maim them to keep them from doing anything to me.

I don't think I need anything more than a .22, but I want to practise with more so that I'm able to use a .22 properly.

I do the same thing with my practise bass guitar.  It has the highest gauge strings there is, so that when I play my performing bass, which have a lighter gauge, my fingers last for the full show with full power.

Now I can't wait to go gun shopping when we get to Casa Paraíso.  I kinda want to go window gun shopping here, just to look at those beauties.

I remember my grandfather had a collection of rifles.  They were kept in the attic in their very safe chest, but I was able to look at them all the time, which I did.  I can still see the brass engraving on their hilts in my mind.  They were so beautiful and I felt I could touch them with my eyes.

Papi and I realized that there is a possibility that I won't even be able to have a license, because of all the labels of mental illness that have been placed upon me by the ICBC case.

That's ok.  I don't need my own license, because I can still practise.  Having 'no license' doesn't mean that I'm not going to protect myself.

I found out from the pretty li'l gun toter behind the counter that at this particular range, Friday nights is Ladies Night!!  All I pay for is ammo!

So, you now know where I'll be every Friday night.

Don't bother stalking me.  I'll have guns.

success comes effortlessly in my direction

check mate, papi!

"Why would you do this to me?!?!"

"Because you wave your penis at me all the time."

Papi just doesn't understand the depth of my P.T.S.D.

It may look like I am laughing when he leaves that plastic one eyed monster lurking beneath items, but it's a laugh of fear.

I am one of 'those' who laughs nervously.

If I'm laughing too much, chances are I'm on edge.

When I first meet people they just think I'm always happy.

Nope.

I'm scared shitless of strangers.

People are capable of a lot of damage to one another.

They scare me.

As people get to know me, they see that I'm really quite mellow and shy.  I just overcompensate amongst newbies.

So, yeah, when those Plastic Penes are coming at me, mi esposo just doesn't understand that I'm actually quivering from flashbacks of past predators.

My way of making light and protecting myself is to make it seem like it's funny.

I deal with a lot of life's challenges through humour.

If I don't laugh, I'll cry.

If I cry, I have snot running down my face and my eyes swell, making it look like I've been in the ring with Mike Tyson for a moment.

That's just not sexy.

So, the torment I endure from my love's penis antics is less than pleasing, even if I do trust him.

I'm constantly saying, "Why do you do this to me?!?!"

Yesterday was Papi's turn to shudder in terror.

We all have our fears.  Anyone who says they don't is lying.

Papi has severe social anxiety, whereas I'm perfectly comfortable in the limelight.

One of my journey's of late has been to explore my Jewish heritage and Judaism.  I feel that my family keeping it a secret for so long is not honouring my ancestors struggles when they escaped the holocaust and fled to Canada.

I have had a great instinctual pull toward Judaism my whole life, but I didn't know why.

When I learned the reason for this connection, I searched for my people and I've been welcomed by an extremely positive Reformed Judaism community.

In fact, they're so inclusive, that even though I've only been attending the Sabbath every Saturday since this past spring, they've decided to give me a Farewell Blessing Ceremony.

It blows my mind that I could be included into this kind of love.

Anyway, my point is, they created this opportunity to send us off, and asked if I wanted to invite friends to be there to add to the awesome positive energy that will be bestowed upon us.

I didn't really tell Papi about it, because I know him too well.

If I had've told him, he would have put on his big boy whitey tighties and said, "Oh, HELL NO!!!!!"

Hence, I went ahead and did it anyway.

Now he's going to have attention.

Hehehehehe.

Sometimes, our marriage seems a bit like a back and forth game of 'got'cha!'

Your move, Papi.

And now, I'm off to go snorkeling to go find The Hotel Shark.

i enjoy my affluence and share it appropriately

the dream is not exempt from nightmares

No sleep.

Fucking insomnia.

I guess I have too much going through my head.

Excitement, fear and holy fuck the nightmares every goddam night!

I have the feeling it's because there's no pain meds to block them out.

I had nightmares every night before the accident, but after the accident, I would wake up knowing I had one, I just couldn't remember a lot of them because they had me so wired on pills.

Well, with no drugs to dim the din, the horrors are in full force.

One was that I had to relive all the ICBC crap all over.  In my dream, I said to my lawyer, "I thought you said once this was all done, that was that!"

He replied, "They changed their mind."

Last night was all my musical instruments in the middle of an intersection and people stealing them, but I couldn't get to them because the speeding cars wouldn't let me get there.  Then everyone laughed at my disdain.

Not to mention, every night, I dream I'm in excruciating pain.

However, I do wake up to a lovely sigh of, "Oh god, I feel so much better."

Actually, it's a hell of a lot better than those dreams where you win a gazillion dollars, only to wake up broke and wanting to go back to sleep to relive the dream.

Speaking of psychological torment, I'm not sure what it is that has Papi chasing me around with his LifeLike penis every day.

The Tranny Terrorist is another frightening ordeal.

Mi esposo will intentionally leave that Plastic Penis dangling out of every crevice he can find, poised like a rattler, just waiting to attack it's prey.

I am the prey.

He will wiggle it around with only one intention.

To make me squirm.

I'm surprised my dreams aren't filled with penes like they used to be when I was younger.

Did I ever tell you about the nightmare where there was a glass container, the size and width of a massive wall, filled with penes and balls, floating in blood?

Yeah.

That was a nice one.

That one will forever be burned in my brain.

Hopefully, the vision won't be etched in yours now.

Sorry about that.

Every time I wriggle away, horrified in my P.T.S.D. triggered state, my love will add, "I don't know what you're afraid of!  It's not like it's going to come out and attack you!"

My love, they have before.

He also likes to add, "I don't see how you can enjoy being fucked by a dildo!"

Ok.

Because a dildo is not life like.

It's not even in the same shape or colour of the real thing, not to mention, I get to control it, it's not attached to a predator, and it doesn't have weird stuff coming out of it.

Too much info for ya?

I guess you thought I'd be going on about our big exciting news today.

Well, if you're my long term reader, you should know better than that.

If you're here just visiting, you poor, poor soul.

Welcome to my madness.

i express my needs and feelings

grow papi, grow

Oh how I'm reveling in the goodness that is my Dominican style coffee.

For my grand return, Papi and I didn't get to have much quality time, considering the whole afternoon was spent at the casino with the old fart celebrating her 97 golden years.

She can't even remember how to push the buttons on the machine, but she only lost $40 which is better than I can say for Papi and I.

I don't really get the addiction to gambling.  I could go out and hand someone $20 and they'd smile.

Yet, when I watch that little bill slink or slither into a machine, it just disappears, somewhat like Java the Mutt would eat the treats I'd give him.

There's no joy as we watch the $20.00 nonchalantly dissolve into 5 cents.  How can someone get addicted to throwing away money like that?!?!

Oh, but they were there, and we saw them.

My favourite was the one who, every time we'd finish our $20 spree on a machine, would briskly glide in to our seats right after us.  She must've thought that we were lucky.

Maybe with my hair up and fluffed out on top of my head I looked like a lucky bingo troll?

Then we watched her whispering to each other, "If she wins I'll be really fucking pissed."

She lost as well, but onward she went to the next $20 to throw in again, thinking that this would be the winning round.

Then, when we got home, Papi decided to inform me that he has finally healed in his 'man zone' from C. difficile and is indeed again, packing.

Packing as in a Plastic Penis, the grand PeeCock.

Packing as in it's time to start putting out the seat wipes again.

Which reminds me of what I found fascinating about hanging out with the dudes from Gender Odyssey.  I was enthralled at how they mentored the younger, newly arriving dudes.

I had wished that Papi was there, because he would have appreciated the conversations.  I mean, I know he reads a lot about trans issues, and he's very verbal ...

... understatement ... ahem ...

... when it comes to getting people talking about things on his Facebook wall, but he really would have enjoyed listening to how these guys advised others.

"You have to figure out what kinda guy you want to be.  Then you have to study their walk, their clothes, their gestures.  It's about making that decision, then eventually growing into the part."

I suppose we all do that to a degree, we just don't honestly think about it.

Human behaviour can be learned, and we can become anyone we put our minds to.  We can be happy if we choose to be, by simply following the steps a happy person would take.

I studied the harshest, meanest people around me for quite a long stint in my life.  I wanted to come across as strong, because I felt so weak, meek, and had the self esteem of a gnat.

So, I learned how to act the part of a rock goddess, to entice the world to listen to my music.  It worked, but when I'd step off stage to find people wanting to shake my hand to say, "That was so awesome!" in my post performance procession line, fans would be confused.

They thought they'd meet that girl that was on that stage, but once I took a step off that platform, I was no longer the rock goddess.  What I found was, people were let down that I was actually shy and sweet.

People were attracted to that girl up there.  Hell!  So was I!  Why do you think I chose her?

Well, she left the day my head hit the ground after flying 15 feet through the air at 50km.

I can't hold that bass and rock out since the motorcycle accident, but more so, the whack to the head changed me.

It's taken me a bit, but I've figured out how to be who I am now, and I don't need to study who to be next.

I don't need to emulate someone new.

No, now I get to settle in to my new life, and serenely allow time to help Papi grow into his.

people like me

but i'm not straight!!!

4.25 cups.

That's my threshold.

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

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

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

Rice pasta, non-dairy butter and bacon.

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

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

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

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

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

Still counts!

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

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

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

It's so strange how perception is reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

It bugs the fuck out of me.

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

It pisses me off.

It makes me cringe.

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

But I don't.

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

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

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

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

i am safe

Hello PeeCock!

May is here!!  Still, that doesn't mean the warm is here yet.

You know, people all over the USA believe that we live in igloos and they're not far off.  We live in houses here in Vancouver, but dammit, I'm still donning a fucking parka.

There are ominous clouds outside that look like they're preparing for the climax of a Stephen King novel.

My bitch of a back told me the black billows of 'brrr!' were rolling in without me even needing to open my eyes this morning.

Lord knows I won't be doing anything for The Great DR Purge today.

However, I did get a lot done yesterday. 

We're going through things and getting rid of stuff.  I'm also finding little gifts to give away as I come across my nice things that people may want.

As Papi and I were going through the jungle of shelves he has, we were re-arranging things to be more organized.

Well, I was trying to organize.  Papi was just interested in being a Tranny Terrorist for the day.

"What do you want me to do with your tampons?"

I'd prefer if he'd just leave them where they were, but quite quickly after asking his question, he answered it for me.  "I'll just put them on my penis shelf."

All I could do was calmly negate his offer, "Sure sweety, because that's the first place I'd go looking for them."

... seriously?!?! leave those fuckers where i had them!! ...

The last thing I need is to be wading through penes to find what I need to put up that hole in that monthly emergency.

Or in my case, my every 3 weeks emergency.  How the fuck did I wind up with a body that likes to torment me so often?!?!??!

... sorry if that was tmi for ya boys ...

Anyway, one of the reasons the penes were out to play is because Papi is going away for a week to his sister's wedding in Mexico.

Remember that happy dance?

Anyway, he's going to be a needing to get his PeeCock action going again, because he has to pass as a bio-male when he gets into that male washroom amongst the drunken college boys in Mexico.

It's time to practise once more.

I've got the handy dandy clean up wipes ready for action for when the bathroom gets messy again!

My love is out of practise since all the surgery hell begun.

He's afraid that he'll make a mess all over himself in the washrooms at the resort.

There's a simple way to deal with that and I told him, "If you make a mess, just jump back into the ocean!"

Besides, at resorts, people are half cut by noon anyway.  As if they'll even notice a little leak here and there.  They'll be too busy waiting for the bar to open.

My love was packing to get ready for his week of R&R last night.  He's not even leaving for another 2 weeks.

Anyway, seeing my love get up and move around for his exciting week away from reality was lovely.

I spend every second I can with Papi while he's up.  He is still sleeping so much from the pain, healing and depression, that I miss him, even though I can look at him while he sleeps.

He's now working on his diet, because he's found out he has food allergies.

I'm working double time to try to find foods that I can make for my my love to keep him on the upswing and eating properly for his new regimen.

Apparently, I did well with the gluten-free, dairy and egg free banana bread I made him.

I'm thinking his little burst of energy this week was because he took those nasty foods out of his system.

I'll keep you posted on that one I'm sure.

Because we all know I love to talk about food.

i am healthy since my practises are healthy

What's up yer kilt?

Papi's body is changing.

I didn't see it before, but it's happening.

I've never seen anything so weird in all my life.  This truly is a trip!

I can't even tell you what it is that is changing, but there are changes.

He almost seems taller.  He definitely looks more masculine than before.

My love asked me, "Am I looking more muscular?  I was told all my fat will turn to muscle now."

Yeah.  You male fuckers really have an advantage there.

It takes us ladies 5 times more work to get the same result as you.

Then there's the wrinkles.  You get wrinkles and you look distinguished, but we are judged for our age.

You get grey hair and you look wiser, where we just look over the hill.

Anyway, we have one advantage over you.

Clothes.

Our clothes are way better.

There's only so much you dudes can do with your bottom half of your wardrobe.

Enjoy your fucking pants.

I hope you secretly pine to wear a kilt.

But please wear your whitey tighties under that outfit.  Nobody needs to see what's going on in the 'man zone'.

Well, at least I don't.  I'm sure I know quite a few more ladies who feel the way I do.

Let's get back on topic before I start having a panic attack about penes.

Papi.

Well actually, I'm done on that topic.  I wanted to tell you about our car.

We've been having electrical problems and finally brought our traveling advertisement to get fixed.

They called us back to let us know what the problem was.

Rats.

We had a colony living under our hood.  Every once in a while, we'd get this stink coming from our car and we couldn't figure out what it was.  It was a bit akin to that Seinfeld episode.

However, now we know.

Fricassed rats.

I'm horrified!  I love rats!  I know they're troublesome, but I could never intentionally kill them.  They're one of the smartest critters on our fine planet!

Alas, they removed their nest and we now have lights back on the inside of our car.

The other thing I wanted to tell you is that I'm not dead.

Just thought I'd let you know.

Throughout the day, I managed to hold down 8 crackers, a quarter cup of apple sauce, one can of ginger ale and have lived to tell the tale.

You bitches didn't get rid of me that quickly.  Remember?  You can't kill me.

But nice try.

fake it till you make it

Balls.

Right.

So, I just get a handle on things and there's no more talk about penes in the house while Papi has been not so well, out comes this:

"I just read that someone is growing balls from the transformation."

All I could do was sit and stare at my love, waiting for the punchline.

Then another gem was spoken by mi esposo.

"Is it too much information to share that on Facebook?  That some dudes get balls?"

My love has no TMI filter and has to ask me, then I, who has a filter, writes it here in my blog anyway.

Yeah, like I've said before, Papi and I are perfect for each other.

Mi esposo likes to share TMI on his Facebook status, and I share TMI in an entire blog entry.

There is someone for everyone.

Anyway, back to the balls.

I recall the line in the sand being drawn about a penis in my life, but I never specified about balls.

I really just thought that goes without saying.

No penis really just means no balls either, does it not?  Isn't that kinda like a breast without a nipple?

I contemplated how it was I was going to handle these jewels if I had to deal with them.

I quickly realized there would be no dealing with them.

Nope.

No can do.

I just couldn't imagine little nerds starting to hang from my love's already exaggerated 5 Foot Clitoris.

When I was in the never ending closet, I would have to be pretty drunk to even look at those little buggers.

I thought maybe it was a metaphor for something else?

Maybe it's like the butch cock some dykes talk about having?

Anyway, I still couldn't say very much about the ball situation.  I was still a little wiped out from Hurricane Andréa the day prior.

While I fretted, and had all kinds of imagery in my head about the next level of 'man zone', I was now being faced with having to ask myself how I'm going to deal.  Then I heard it.  Bittersweet words came out of my love's mouth:

"Ah, someone just told me it's a hoax.  People are getting implants and it got out that they grew them on their own."

At first I was elated!

Then the fear set in.

No!!!

Not another fucking surgery for ball implants!!!!

I suppose the look on my face told the story without me having to say anything, because Papi said, "Don't worry, I'm not going to get it.  It's too expensive."

Ok.

'Too expensive' is all right.  'I don't want them', would be better, but I'll settle for 'too expensive'.

I don't see balls in my near future.

That's all that matters.

pain is weakness leaving

My Brag Blog.

You know, I have wanted to get a few things in here to brag about.

It's important to brag!

The Video

We have to get a few more shots done for the video, but here's some snapshots of the first half of the filming.

i'm so spoooooooky

we're so spoooooooky

The Rings

I recall back in July, my Blogger Friends wanted to see my bling-a-ding-ding, so here ya go!

did i mention i'm a princess?

On my left hand you see my engagement, wedding and our 1 year anniversary rings.

On my right index, you'll see Papi's engagement ring that he outgrew.

"Men don't wear engagement rings," my love had told me.

And that's ok, because I get to wear it hehehehe.

The Amber Ring is an heirloom of the G'ma who let me wear it as an engagement ring while it was being custom made.

Papi had bought a massive ring for me for the engagement proposal and it didn't fit.  Anyway, G'ma still allows me to wear it and I love it so much.

My First Published Article Paycheck

This is the first step in my venture as a writer.

I'm pretty damn proud to have the opportunity for my voice to be heard.  I have received so much acknowledgement from others who love trannies telling me they needed to hear my words.

gimme my money bitches!

Secretly Loves Trannies

I realize now that I'm attracted to transgender people and have not really recognized it for a long time.

It's taken me a while, but I can honestly say that I could wear this t-shirt with pride now.

it's true!

Papi had bought it for me way back in early January '11, but I have not felt that I could wear it, as I was in too much turmoil around the male transformation.

The difficulty in coming to grips with this journey of gender modification have seemingly become more clear.

I don't like the poison of hormones that are in mi esposo's system.

This is the drug that steals my butch.

This is the elixir that magically transforms my love into the male being he feels inside.

I'm really not sure I could wear the Secretly Loves Trannies shirt because of what's on the the back.

ummmmmm ...

Yeah.

This is the other half of the hardest part about this transformation.

Penes.

Don't like 'em.

to put it mildly...

I would have to be hammered or drugged to get me to go there.

Well, I've been wanting to get my brag list done, and now that's done.

Ahhhhhh ...

Roar.

Well, I can't seem to stay out of trouble.

Am I evil?

Nah.

I just know that not speaking our truth is what will kills us.

We need to get things out of our head and through our mouths before it will leave our souls.  At the same time, we need to find friends that can understand us, and in turn help us learn new ways of thinking.

We all don't fit in together which is what makes this life so beautifully fucked.

I love my life with my perfect soul mate.

except for when my bitch of a back wakes up or when papi eats mcdonald's ...

This soul mate that I saw as perfect before, is slowly, day by day becoming even more perfect.

The scars are easing like the fear I had of losing those soft pillows I loved so much.  The changes that I had hoped to come in my thinking are surfacing, and this amazing soul I'm married to is the same sweet soul on the inside.

It occurred to me when I read yesterday's comments that I was defending Papi and Papi was defending me.

I remember when this all started out, that my biggest fear was those with voices louder than mine.  I feared they would squash me like a bug for having feelings.

I felt I was the only one that felt the way I did, because all those who were vocally, supportively and visibly part of pushing this trans movement forward were the only voices my community wanted to hear.

So I wrote to an imaginary friend who wouldn't judge me.

that's right! don't double cross me bitches ... i'm craaaaaaaazy !!!

I felt I couldn't defend Papi if I wasn't strong enough to defend myself.  This is not a feeling of being whole.  I was grieving and needed to find my strength.

I have.

I'm good with how I handled some of it with imagery that helped me cope.  I like humour to heal.  I envisioned all of those who could 'potentially hate' my feelings as cheerleaders of gender transformation on the sidelines, who could shout louder and kick their legs higher than mine.

It's much nicer than the scary monster that kept me oppressed.

We're all different on the inside, and man, sometimes our insides are nasty bitches!

I'm not sure where all this is leading, but I'm going to tell you something, I like the dialogue.

I LIKE that people are talking and getting it all out.

Talk!

But try to put humanitarianism before politics, and know that we can't all live to better suit anyone else's ideals.

they tried to do that to me with religion.

No thanx.

I'm not sure who the language police are, but they haven't strapped me with a fine for using the word tranny yet, so, I will continue to label my spouse as such.

Papi is a tranny.

I'm married to Papi.

I have had to take a year to transition along with my spouse, and you can't tell me how it is I'm supposed to do it is wrong, or right.

I may have offended those with penes, by saying that I don't like them, but which part of lesbian don't you understand?

I am attracted to trans people, and this is the realization that I've come out of this whole thing with.

I love trannies.

I never knew I did, but now that I'm out of denial, I know this as my truth.

I also know that once you try to silence me, I yell a little louder.

So, go ahead.  Leave me comments telling me I'm not allowed to do something.

Ask my mother how well that went.

Urinal training 101

Here's something I never, ever thought that I would have to think about.

Men's washrooms.

Apparently the men have different 'rules' in regards to waiting for the cubicle toilet than in the ladies do.

We ladies line up, and in a civil manner, we wait for one of the stalls to open and the next in the queue is granted their turn.

This phenomenon is different in the men's.

You know how when you go to the grocery store, you look for the 'perfect' lane?

We think, "Ah-ha! This is the fastest lane!" and we make the choice to park our overfilled buggy, in hopes that we'll move faster than the lane beside us.

Sometimes, we're the winner in the race, and other times, we realize we have a dud and start ogling the other lines in hopes that we can still make up the time we've lost.

Well, I've learned that men eye up the stalls in a very similar manner, choose the perfect one, and wait in front of the door.

So, even if the dude next to you was behind you in the line, and they chose the fastest stall, they get in first.

Sounds a bit barbaric to me.

Anyway, last night my love went to a football game and found himself waiting in a men's washroom line up.

This is where things could be dangerous for Papi, and where fear could set in.

Men are mostly oblivious to the fact that Papi is transitioning to a man.

However, there was mi esposo, waiting in the men's line that wasn't moving fast enough for his liking.

As a knee jerk reaction, Papi scooted over to the women's line, forgetting that this is no longer an option.

When Papi realized this, he removed himself ...

just thought i'd let you know that i now feel more comfortable writing male pronouns ... i just realized it myself, so i thought i'd share mid-thought ... because that's how i roll ...

... and proceeded to park his ass with the boys again.

They probably didn't notice, because really, all they want to get in and out of the washroom fast enough to refill their bladders with beer again.

This is when my love finally got into the washroom and saw the bathroom stall phenomenon.

My love is still a bit nervous about his PeeCock craft, so he uses a stall until he feels confident that he can tinkle just as good as the next.

Also, that brings us to the other moment of 'hmmmm ...'.

Mi esposo asks me, "When men go to the urinal, how far down do they unzip?"

i'd like to point out that my love asked me ... how the fuck would i know?!?!  remember?!?!  penis phobia over here!!!

However, Papi has a good point.  You can't just go in and study men at a urinal.  Especially at a football game!

The testosterone is flying high in these kinda settings.  Mi esposo would be due for a beat-down if he stood there studying manly mens' actions at a urinal.

Seriously.  They're pumped full of liquid courage.

So there I was, listening to my love's verbal pondering and thought, "Damn!  Someone needs to help F-Ms out!"

There should be some sorta grooming school.

I know that some people will coach M-Fs with their fledgling female swagger and womanly nuances.

Papi needs some male coaching.

I'm definitely not the one to ask.

So, if you care to leave your suggestions in the comments box down below, I'm sure Papi would be happy with the support.

But really.

This lining up at the stall rule.

Dear males: What the fuck is that about?

**update, i thought i'd mention something about the Rah-Rah-Tranny issue ... well, this is my blob/blab and i think i'll stick to my guns and keep my blob/blab the way it always has been.  sorry charlie ... but i'll only be restricting it when it comes to outside sources.  thank you.  you may now resume you previously scheduled reading**

Practise makes perfect.

Papi said, "Can I talk to you about my PeeCocks?"

Fortunately, I had had enough pain killers to just slide through this one with ease.

"Sure," I said, while thinking of worst case scenario that this could be about.

perhaps one that gets sewn on to papi's body?

It really wasn't all that bad though.

It was just my love comparing the difference between the two.

"Well, one is easier to use, but the other one I like more."

I thought there must be a reason that the easy one is not good enough for my love, so I asked, "Well, what could make the other one as good as the easy one?"

My love answered, "Well, the other one looks better than the easy one.  I don't want to be going into the men's washroom and pulling out a small dink."

There it was!

My love has confirmed my suspicion.

Ego.

To be honest, I wouldn't want to stroll in there and whip out some itty bitty dinky.

I understand.

So, it's back to practising for Papi.

I'm so curious about how much little boys sprayed pee all over the bathroom when they practised for the first while.

How long did it take to perfect how to aim and not spam the toilet with golden showers?

Was it a few months?  YEARS?!?!

My love is practising, but there is certainly a lot of talk about how much went on the floor, how much went on the toilet seat and how much went down mi esposo's legs.

So then I asked Papi, "Why don't you lift the toilet seat up?"

Seems there's enough chatter about leaving toilet seats up in other mens' relationships!

"Ew!  No!  I don't want to touch that!"

"But I just cleaned it!" I answered with indignance.

evidence is here ... on day 4 of a seized back!

Still wasn't good enough for Papi.

So, now every time I go into the washroom to be kept in the company of Bathroom Buddies, I know I'm sitting on urine that has merely been wiped off the seat.

Not cleaned off the seat, just mushed around until it seems there is no appearance of the culprit.

So, then my love went on to say, "I never knew there was actually a flusher on the urinals in men's washrooms."

thank you for my lesson of the day papi

No, I didn't know there was a flusher, so I definitely know more about mens' washrooms.

I'm not one of those who would forfeit a line in a women's washroom to jump into the men's with ease.

The only time I've done that is when I'm filled to the gills with alcohol and don't know any better.

However, being the seasoned drunk I used to be, my mission was to get in and get out as fast as possible to get back to my beer.  Hence, I really don't know what goes on in there.

Other than the pocket camera porn I saw once of a guy jacking off in the bathroom mirror.

Anyway, I think there may be a new cleaner in the bathroom.

One just for the toilet seat.

I'll go looking for an un-toxic, earth friendly cleaning sheet.  I'm sure there has to be one out there like the heavily toxic Lysol ones that exist.

If my love is going to sprinkle when he tinkles, he's going to need to clean that puppy off for me.

That will be the new 'rule' in the house.

One thing that I'm truly grateful for, is my love closes the bathroom door for privacy of the penis.

This pleases me.

I'm still needing a bit of work around my phobia ...

... a bit ... yeah ... that's right ...

... and Papi is being very respectful and hiding that new addition to our family.

I'm getting there.

Talking about Plastic Penes is probably a good start.

Laughing about it is going to heal me faster.

But what would make me even happier would be my love taking over being the bathroom janitor and scrubbing the christened floor, seat and wherever else he may be aiming.

Phobia.

I remember thinking how crazy it is that people are afraid of dogs.

People would cross the street when they saw me coming with my Dearly Departed Gypsy.  She was my doofus of a rottweiler who left me for that fire hydrant in the sky 6 years ago.

i still miss my baby every day ...

She was the sweetest soul who needed to be loved by everybody to feel whole.

sound familiar?!

So, when people would be afraid of her I couldn't understand it.  I would think to myself, "If they only knew the soul inside of the brute physique, they'd see that all dogs are not fear worthy."

Hell, my drummer was terrified of dogs from a childhood trauma, but he loved Gypsy.

Anyway, I spent years thinking that people were ridiculous for being afraid of these wonderful companions.  Granted there are a few who have been brought up to be vicious by their owners, but they're not all corrupt.

One day, my friend sent me a picture of a massive spider that was making it's way to Canada.

It was a hoax, but having a phobia of spiders, I couldn't get into the shower for a week because I was afraid they'd come down from the ceiling.  I haven't eaten grapes since that day either, because I found one in my grapes. 

Yeah.

pho·bi·a

 [foh-bee-uh]

noun

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Stress the word irrational.

So, from that point forward, I understood how people can be afraid of dogs.  I had a little bit more appreciation of their irrational fears.

Well, Papi doesn't understand my fear of men, and more specifically, male body parts. 

Ok, that wasn't so specific.

Penes.

So, the other day, my love thought it would be funny to stand in front of me, lift the lower edge of his boxers a tiny bit, and expose the tip of the Plastic Penis.

I almost crawled out of my skin and was pretty grateful that I'd just had a dose of pain killers to numb my senses.

It affected me greatly.  I haven't stopped thinking about it for days.

sorry i didn't tell you papi ... 

Yesterday, my love informed me that I got my thoughts wrong in the blog.  You can't pee out of the Lifelike Penis.  Mi esposo then announced that he would indeed be buying the LifeLike Penis.

I couldn't really talk about it.  I would just continue to fondly slice Papi's veggies for a turkey sandwich made with love.

"Why do you always stop talking?" my love asked.

I answered honestly, "I don't know," because I've been like that since I was a kid.

if you ignore it it will go away ...

I was silent and scared.

Papi pressed on with the topic, and asked, "I don't understand why you can't see that it's me and not be afraid.  You know that I would never hurt you.  Has every single male you've encountered been horrible?"

Well, not every one.  But the ones that really fucked me up did a damn good job.

So, I recognized the phobia last night.

It is indeed a phobia.

a persistent, irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation that leads to a compelling desire to avoid it.

Well, as they say, admitting it is the first step.

It's a wobbly step, but it's done.

Now give me my fucking counseling appointment so I can wash that bitch outta my Honky 'Fro.

Pee.

When Papi reads my blogs, it seems I always have portrayed the body of the story wrong in terms of my dialogue.

You know?

He said/she said?

So the other day when there were an abundance of penes around the house, my love was sad that I didn't explain that each of them has a specific purpose.

you're kidding right?

I just see a Plastic Penis.

Well, now I must tell you that one is for packing, another for peeing, and yet another for sex.

Apparently, you just stick a rod in it to get the full male effect.

ummmmmm ... i say no thank you.

I'm quite satisfied with Papi without toys.  I enjoy myself.  I don't need the lifelike penis coming at me.

Then there was the Good Vibrations card that my Blogger Friend has given me.

I told my love to pick out the better harness, because that nasty one that he's using looks like it's been in a few too many rugby games, hanging to dry on the shower rod.

So, Papi goes online, and instead of looking at the harness, what does he look at?

Lifelike penes.

Lifelike.

No, I don't want lifelike.

My love went on to explain that it can do all of the above.

Ok, then it's a definite no.

My love could have the 2 out of 3, but that thing is not coming near me for sexy time.

I prefer the ones that don't look anything like the real specimen.

Besides, they're better.

That is of course from what I remember.

I did spend my time in the closet wacked out on whatever my addict brain could find to keep me obliterated, and as far away from reality as possible.

Well, after my 'hell no!' came for the 'lifelike' torpedo, it was decided that I will now use the gift certificate for something that I want.

Anyway, the whole point of this is not about that 'lifelike' penis, it was really to get to the point about the one penis that pees.

The PeeCock.

I told my love to practise.  Practise makes perfect after all.

So, my love tries, and tries, and tries to get it right, but bathroom time is full of cussing.

"Fuck!  I peed down my leg again.  Guess I'll have a shower," or, "Why does everyone say this is so easy!  It's not easy!  I'm constantly peeing down my leg!  Fuck!!  I'm pretty sure I cleaned it all up from the floor."

Yesterday's was most bizarre, however.  My love was complaining that everyone says it's easy and that the Top Surgery didn't hurt at all, and the hysterectomy will be a cake walk.

Yeah, I don't know who these people are that say it's easy, but I remember my mother being in the hospital after cancer and having her full hysterectomy.

It was not easy.

Papi will get through it, but when I'm really looking at everything that my love has to do to achieve inner peace, I find I want to support mi esposo even more.

I had so much trouble accepting all of this, but where we are now, I feel more compassion for Papi and the difficulty he must have had to get to this place.

Now looking at what lengths my love will go to, it's pretty eye opening, and I'm now at the point when people call my love female, I look at them like they're crazy.

Papi's transformation is indeed changing my mind along with my love's body.

This confirms my statement in the beginning: It's not only mi esposo who will be going through life changes, it is indeed changing my life too.

And it's not so bad anymore.

The Rise of Dr. Scissorhands!

Sometimes, I'm curious about just what it is we do with our faces when we get our picture taken.

You know?

We take bad pics that have our face in some contorted fashion, to be captured on film forever!

We had been to a wedding, and Papi and I had a couple of pictures taken.

There were pics of so many people posted on the newlyweds web site, but none of ours made the cut.

And I know why.

Here's the reason:

Now at first glance I just look a little psychotic.

But what you really need to do is take a closer look at my face:

What the hell is that?!?!

Look at Papi all handsome and then there's me.

It looks like I've just seen another penis hanging in the bathroom.

There was a nice one as well.

I look a little more sane here.

And again, Papi looks handsome.

Upon looking at the pic, my love said, "I look more masculine now."

Mi esposo then strolled over and lifted my glasses so I could see up close, "There's more sideburns coming in!"

I favoured being in denial, "I can't see it.  It's too dark in here," I said, blaming it on the cheerless days that are heading our way for our next 6 months (or more) of our bleak West Coast weather.

Papi chose to get even closer saying, "C'mon, you have to be able to see it!'

I couldn't discount those straggles of hair by Papi's ear, "Ok, maybe."

"Yes!  That means you can!" my love said, while expressing joy with a gyrating Elvis move.

I've seen this move a few times in our relationship.

It comes when we have our plans booked for a holiday, or we acquire money we didn't know we'd be receiving, or the excitement leading up to another of my love's surgeries for the male transformation.

Recently, we were told that Papi's hysterectomy will be in November.

Yet when my love was told this, there wasn't an Elvis Gyrating session, there was only nervousness.

I can't say that I'm proclaiming a sense of allay, even though I'm feeling more durable.

Dr. Scissorhands will be taking care of removing the last of Papi's female identity; my love's uterus.

I was really messed up for the Top Surgery, and my love has asked me, "Are you going to be able to be there for me?"

Mi esposo didn't feel like I was able to be a caregiver, because I was so disturbed about the loss of Papi's breasts.

Yes, I was a disaster for The Great Breast Disappearance.

This time, I may be better, even though I thought I'd be ok for Papi's Top Surgery.

I didn't know I was fucked up until the day I was leaving on a plane to go support my love in Florida.

We'll see, I suppose.

At least I don't have to look at the carnage when this one is over and done.  There will be nothing more than an itty scar on my love's belly button and pubic hair line.

Phew!  No nipples slipping down the drain on this one!

Can I get a witness?

How does this make you feel?

I'm sure you know I'll tell you how I feel.

There are penes everywhere.

It's almost become comical!

I was about to start my evening brace face brush and floss and I found another one.

It's a little bit like Easter around here, only the eggs to find are not edible chocolatey goodies of delight.

I like my coconut chocolate balls better than the ones I'm finding strewn around our home.

Oh dear, I got going on a rant about chocolate balls when really I was meaning to talk to you about the next place I found a penis.

Right.

Back on track.

So, I was about to do my evening routine and here's what I found:

If you can't figure out which item does not belong here, then I'm sorry but I can't help you.

Yes.

A penis in my pampering shelf.

I also never really got to show you what the penis looked like that I found the other day.

Here's what I thought would go in the wash:

And here's what I found when I picked it up and realized that there was something squishy inside:

Yes, there was a surprise inside.

I've now been told by Papi that if I see a clump of towel lying around that it's best I don't pick it up.

Oh, my love, this kinda negates your argument about the lack of cleaning skills I have.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share.

I needed a witness to my mayhem of penes in the house.

If I don't go crazy first, it just may be what I need.

Maybe I need to see them everywhere so that I can be ninja girl and realize that they're not going to jump out and attack me.

I will be poised for every surprise penis I find!

Actually, she look a bit like she is holding her taco.

Oh, and by the way?

The World's Loudest Snorer has slept in the bed every night since she's been here.  We worked it out.

She gets to do what she wants and we just accept it.

It's too hard to hear her whimper and cry to be let on the bed.

Good news is though, I'm so fucking tired that I slept through her trying to push me off the bed last night.

I just woke up with a corner, and that was ok by me.