what the fuck is in my hair?

So.

Papi asked me for a favour, "Can you bring these across the street to the mail box?  Will your back let you do that today?"

"Yes!" I said with utter happiness. 

There's nothing I'd like more than to be able to cross the street without my bitch of a back squawking every step I take, but to be in the sun pleases me, regardless.

Off I went, hobbling down front yard stairs, trying to ignore the manly men/construction workers next door, who are on a mission to build Club Med out of an inner city yard.

As I started along the sidewalk, I felt something from one of the beautiful acorn trees that line our streets fall into my hair.

Oh hell.

Things get stuck in my mop that you can't get out.

I figured I'd try anyway.

I ruffled my hair hoping that the leaf, stick, acorn or whatever was in there would easily fall out.

Nothing.

I fluffed my hair up a little more, my head leaning forward with high hopes.

Nada.

I couldn't even feel what fell in there, until I was just ready to cross the street to the mailbox.

I chose to wait to stop traffic, now that I found the dastardly item in my hair.

I can feel it!

But wait a minute!

It's moving!

IT'S MOTHER FUCKING MOVING!!!!!!!!

Goddamit, I can't believe I didn't vomit while I watched the beetle fall out into the grass.

We're not talking a little fucker.

We're talking some big, two body length beetle that had impeccable aim when it jumped from the tree for a free ride.

Worst part about the whole damn episode, was that all the manly men were laughing as I flailed, shrieking.

Sure, assholes.

I'm sure with those bald heads, you've never had to deal with this.

For fucks sakes, I've had a bee stuck in there before.  It was close enough to my ear that I could hear it panicking to get out of the tangled mess it was in.

It wasn't panicking nearly as much as I was, let me tell you.

I've had birds try to arrange my hair for a nest.

I've had goats and sheep try to come in for a snack.

I've washed my hair and found little pebbles and sticks that fall out.

And now, a beetle.

Once, I had a beetle crawl into my bikini top as I was sunbathing.

Fortunately for me, nobody could see me in the back yard as I whipped my top off in less than a second once I figured out what was crawling around MY TIT!!!

Yup.

I have a beetle past.  Now I have a beetle present.

And people wonder why my spider phobia has me constantly asking them to check my lid for spiders.

I'm telling you, they could be in there.

Anything could be in there.

>scratches head<

i am willing to release all fear

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**

Love Letter

I felt even more love for Papi yesterday.

My love apologized for making light of my phobia.

Mi esposo likes to rib me.  We have one of those relationships where one person does things to shock the other for fun.

Our life is full of laughs and 'stop its' and 'omg you're such a twit'.

Mainly coming from me.

I remember when I was a kid, my grandfather used to tease the hell out of me.  It hurt because I was so sensitive, but my family would say the same thing every time; "If he didn't tease you, then it would mean he doesn't like you."

I get that.

I also see that Papi's G'pa used to tease the hell out of G'ma, and in turn, my love teases G'ma and myself.

It's just a dynamic.

Some people don't like it, others, well, we enjoy the attention.

Like me.

I am a true attention whore and I'll take attention in any way shape or form.

insecure and needing validation much ?!?!

However, when Papi thought that teasing me with penes would be another way to get a rise out of me and a chuckle, my love didn't realize that it would do more damage than good.

Yet, the person that I love looked back at his actions and apologized, "I owe you an apology.  I have been insensitive about your issues."

My love admitted that it was just for fun, but didn't realize how it would make me upset.

While we were talking about it, I became that insecure little girl again.

I felt as though my words were a mere 'squeak' when they left my lips.

My shoulders rounded in to hide my body.

My head lowered and I looked up at Papi like I was infantile and repenting for being bad.

My hands were sheltered by the inside of my thighs.

I tried to disappear.

I shrank.

I squeaked.

It was so difficult to talk about it, hence I've kept it quiet for years.  I also kept the denial surrounding my fears down in the Pit of Doom.

I keep it there because I don't want to see it every day.

I saved it for when I felt strong, and I suppose that time is now.

I have the fortune of having a life partner who understands that he will never understand, but will try hard to be sympathetic.

I am not alone on this path.  There are many just like me who have been hit with the realization that it's time to deal.

This is why I have to wait 6 months to speak to someone about it.

We all have our own 'timing' when it comes to dealing with our 'stuff'.  It doesn't even matter what the 'stuff' is.

It's just 'stuff' and we've all got it.  You really can't get through this life without it.

We're all just guinea pigs on our own paths, and we don't know what each step will bring us.

I really feel my path is paved with love and good intentions.  My love has evened out the trail so that I don't have troubles walking on uneven ground.

Papi has also widened it so that I don't walk alone, but rather, mi esposo can hold my hand as we travel.

I fell a little bit more in love with Papi yesterday.

The apology gave me so much strength, and it wasn't even necessary.

I know my love's intention is never to hurt me, but we're human and we err.  Admitting our errs is what makes us a better friend, lover or partner.

I am safe.

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.