someone pissed someone off

I have more gratitude today than most days.

Some of my readers bought me coffee.  Lots of coffee.

And we're not talking a gas station special, either.  I mean an organic, fair trade, extra large, triple shot soy latté, with extra whip and sprinkles on top.

Oh, AND a bag of beans to take home with me.

We now have enough coffee money to last us the 20 days we have to wait for more coffee money.  It's a good thing living here is inexpensive.

I know I sent personal thanks to everyone, but still, I want to say thank you again, because you have no idea how grateful I am.

Papi got upset with me, because he doesn't like when people ask for money, but I told him, "Look, I've been writing a blog a day, almost every day since 2010.  If I want to start asking for donations for the entertainment that is YOU & I, then so be it.  I'm not telling people to pay me to read my work.  I'm just saying if you like it, and feel so inclined, buy me a coffee."

Some people really like it.

Some people who can afford to, may want buy me a coffee to show it.

Others write nice comments or private emails expressing themselves with their own words, about my words.  Either way, I'm grateful.

Anyway, I shared my coffee money with Prince Papi so he could go buy his OJ.

Should've seen him prance off to the city our village is considered part of; Gaspar Hernández.  Now are you complaining about me earning a few donations from my daily writing Papi?

I was a little worried though.

The day we emptied our credit cards, I had tried to drive The Carpenter to get more supplies, only we were diverted when we saw a rather large gathering, police and TV cameras.

Upon reading more on the DR1 Forum, it looks like someone from Sosúa got murdered then dumped in Gaspar.  Normally, I equate Gaspar with Whalley in Surrey, but upon looking at the stats of crimes in Canada, it looks like I should be equating it to Prince George!!

Back to the recently departed.  He was not a local, he was an Italian expat.

I have the feeling he may have earned the beatings.  We were brave enough to look at the pictures after the fact.  This was definitely personal.

He wasn't in the drivers seat of his car when he was found, he was in the back, so it seems he was killed somewhere else and dropped in Gaspar.  You don't go pissing people off here.  It WILL cost you your life.

He was hanging out of his fancy SUV like one of the slack, dead geckos I find in the house periodically, only intensely bloodied.

I think with the extreme beating he took, they will have to use his car for identification.

There was also other woman recently, a French Canadian, who was treating her employee horribly.

Looks like he had enough and killed her too.

I'm happy to say that we treat our workers as best we can, not out of fear, but out of acknowledgement of their work.  We feed them when we have extra, I put my water machine outside so that they can have cold water while they work and we bend over backwards to make sure they know how much we appreciate all they do.

Even if it means I drag my lazy ass outside to fill up on my own water, I don't care, because they're happy.  It's so nice when they're happy.

Even the crankiest man has become my friend, and today, he made sure my ripe papaya was plucked before it died.

Most people will just put the jug of water out and let them fend for themselves, but I can't do it.  They deserve cold water.

Normally, when the money is flowing a little better, in the afternoon they get a treat; ice tea, juice, soda or beer.

So hopefully, we won't be getting beaten any time soon.

Especially now, because the village knows we're broke.  Word travels fast when people are broke, because there's no point asking for anything.

We have nothing to steal when we're out and about, short of some coffee money.

Anyway, showing you like my entertainment feels like a standing ovation, and that just feels grand.

It's good to know that when I give, sometimes, I receive.

The angels are working.

But I still need a job.

However, it will not be in Gaspar Hernández.

i pay my bills with love as i know abundance flows freely through me

nails on a chalkboard.

So, I was super excited to get those tiny, steel jail cells off my teeth.

However, nobody told me what to expect.  Not even Papi, who just had his off a few months back.

There I was lying waiting for the 'magic braces removal' machine.

 

There was no 'magic braces removal' machine.  Just a little gizmo that went crunch and tore them off my teeth.

Sometimes, it felt like she was going to rip my pearlies right out of my gums!

Yet, that was no where near the worst part.  When all the crunching and snapping was done, they had to remove the glue.

There was no 'magic glue remover' machine, either.  Just a scraper.

Imagine having someone scrape the chalkboard with their nails for half an hour, IN YOUR MOUTH!!!

Scrape, shudder.  Scrape, shudder.  Scrape, shudder.  Seriously.  My toes were curling.

Then she was done, and told me to go rinse.

What I saw in the mirror was amazing.  It was like it really wasn't me!

I was worried someone was playing a cruel trick and I'd turn around and have shrapnel in my mouth again.

I couldn't stop smiling and giggling.

I did feel a little cheated though.

They let me leave without my 'Look who just got their braces off!' picture.  Everyone gets that picture!  I washed my hair for that picture!

Fuck 'em.  I decided I would just have to make my own photo and post it around everyone's texts and a 'few' people online.

 

Then I decided to eat with my new teeth.

Ahhhhh, the feeling of eating without it all being stuck in my braces.  Not to mention the feeling of NOT spitting it at every person in my vicinity.

Oh, and chewing with my mouth closed is pretty classy too.

I bought myself a wheat free, dairy free brownie, cupcake and piece of cake and ate them all in a matter of a few hours.

Then I flossed, because I could.

Twice.

No more Brace Face.

Yesterday, I smiled at every person I passed.  Even the depressed ones.  Yeah, I'm sure they really appreciated that.

Nothing like seeing a happy person when you feel like you'll never smile again.

Maybe I gave them a dose of my good energy for that one moment?

i love and approve of myself aside from my accomplishements

karma.

I'm sorry if you came by yesterday to find a blog that seemed to be posted, however was not there.

Papi told me to remove it, as it may put another person in danger if the offender figures out who I was speaking about.

So.

Let's just talk about karma.

You can still say karma is a bitch, and I'm it's queen.  I feel like a bit of a sick and twisted person for enjoying this, but when karma actually comes to existence, it makes me happy for the process of life.

When we're done wrong by people, if it's bad enough that we can fall into great despair. 

I just can't tell you how many times in my life I've been attacked by cliques and their leader.

There is always a ring leader.

There are always minions.

There are always going to be people who believe the lies of the head honcho, because they want so badly to be accepted by the person they idolize.

In every case of my life, I have silently writhed in pain from these groups of people.

This re-occurring theme in my life seems to be a bit monotonous.

Yet, every time it happens, I withdraw and allow the lies to be believed.

There's not much I can do to stop the lies and gossip, so I let it be.

I sit back like a tarantula in my web, waiting for the opportunity to strike when someone else has had the same experience.

I can allow people to believe the lies about me, because it weeds out the scum mother fuckers who don't deserve my friendship.

I just found out the worst of their personality.

These people would use my 'friend'ship on Facebook to go through my pages and laugh at my misfortune.

Can you believe that they would go through my pictures and laugh at me being in a wheelchair from brain injury?

I can.

I know whom I'm dealing with.

Well, one person has come forth believing what I've gone through.

All it takes is that one person for me to feel that I'm vindicated.

I know that karma will have her day on all the many cliques who have decided that they can prey on my weakness.

Right back to high school bitches.

Only this time, I'm stronger.

This time, I'm not afraid to say fuck you.

my instincts can be trusted.

Papi's Birthday Suit.

The Papirazzi was in full swing yesterday.

Papi is getting his male transformation documented by a great friend of ours, who was our wedding photographer, as well as official BlueLight photographer.

She has a nifty ability to capture my love's masculinity.

The first picture took me a while to get used to.  That was one quite some time ago, near the beginning of the bomb drop.

I wasn't really ready to see the 'male' to appear at that point, so I just chalked it up to good angling.

And of course, I didn't go the first time, because I was too far into the Pit of Doom to think about it being 'fun'.

No, I don't know what I did that day, but it had nothing to do with seeing Papi in his ever changing birthday suit.

Well, yesterday I went along like it was any other day, excited to see my sweet friends and their family.

And really, it was like any other day, except my love was completely nude, as opposed to his usual upper torso being the only skin barer, at which point under age, short people were sent to another space in the house.

I love Papi's body.

Honestly, I see his butt as one of the sweetest visions ever.  It's why I have such a great time smacking it, with a flat palm to achieve maximum sound and contact, whenever I get the opportunity.

My absolute fave, is when I've done it on the exact cheek, on the exact day that my love has given himself the hormone injection.

yup ... still not into knowing who, what, where, when or why about anything to do with that poison that stole my butch ...

I can tell I've done this to precision, when I don't get an 'argh' out of my love.  I get a great breath in, then those eyes that widened with my hands contact on his ass slowly make their way toward mine, and I quickly cover my mouth with an 'oops, sorry'.

But mostly, I'm just giggling.

yeah, every once in a while, the masochist becomes the sadist ...

Yesterday was eye opening to me.

I got to sit behind the camera, and with every click, the photographer would take a peek at the pic, but didn't know I was doing the same.

Papi looked great.

And masculine.

With every day that passes, my love is growing into a person that is nowhere near the ogre I was afraid of appearing as my spouse.

He's looking like my love, only more confident.

There's someone in there that I got to see yesterday.

I was silent as I watched.

It was calming to see my love look so proudly courageous, with not a stitch of clothing on.

This would terrify me, for ridiculous reasons that my brain sees as enemy number one.

They asked if I'd like some pics with Papi.

"No, not this time.  I'm not feeling so 'hot' today."

I had on one of my prettiest bra and undies matching outfit, beneath my pants that disguised my angst.

But no, no pictures today.

Let me hit the gym for a few weeks and trick my mind into accepting I'm a healthy weight.

The virus has ended, and now it's time to fight that monster that dogs me so.

Then, maybe I'll be ready for nudie pics again?

Anyway, the whole point.

Papi looks great.

Mi esposo just keeps looking better with every week that passes.

It's proof that beauty comes from within.

when i believe in myself, so do others...

Video Pics!

I'm feeling a little more coherent today.

That was worth the level 8 pain and exhaustion.  Just glad I don't have to perform like that every week, or even every month.

Regardless of how much I hurt, the video for BlueLight is going to be great!

The company Green Couch are amazing.  Their style of filming is going to give our video absolutely astounding life.

Here are a few shots:

I thought I'd share this one first, because it makes me giggle every time I look at it.

I'm not actually attached to a noose, however, this song is about Papi's male transformation, so a noose would be appropriate.

It was us looking 'upside down', which is also how I felt during the worst part of tumultuous emotions I had around my love dropping the F-M bomb.

Anyway, this is the hair that took an hour of picking, and half my conditioning products to undo.

I've never had my hair stand on end before.  I never knew it could.

I mean, you'd think I experienced my hair on end through the 6 weeks of catatonic crying over Papi's male transformation.

But no.

It was Zed the amazing hair stylist who did this with ease!

That's not a spider in my hair, even if it gives me the creeps looking at it.

These ghouly pics don't quite catch the way Green Couch was filming it.  You'll have to wait for the video to actually see the effect they were going for.

You can see Lin Gardiner in the background playing keys, but this is a better look at the two of us together:

If you look at the bottom of the pic, you'll see the company, LMG Photography.

The couple are very good friends of ours who do amazing work.  It's Meredydd Gray on makeup, and Lara Gray behind the camera stills.  They are the same friends who did our wedding pics.

They are amazing.

Here's a nice close up of Meredydd's amazing makeup job:

Yup.  I look like I belong on set for Disney.  However, I'm not sure they're keen on a gay princess with tattooed arms and full metal shrapnel on her teeth.

None-the-less, between Zed and Meredydd made such a fantastic look, I have never felt so childlike in all my adult years.  Goddamit it was so much fun!

But I know what you're waiting for.

The Dress.

Yes.  THE Dress:

Well, we didn't really get a great close up with these pics, because there was so much in the way for filming, but here it is:

There may be more shots to share with you to get a really good idea of why I worked so hard for a week to fit into it.

But for now, you get to see how absolutely frivolous I felt in this get up!

It's probably the last time I wear this gem.

My ass gave the boning in the back a run for it's money.  It slowly creeped straight through the material, jabbing me in the butt for a good 2 hours.  Not to mention I couldn't sit, because that dress would have ripped open if I did.

There's a nice war wound on my ass.

Ah, the suffering we do for our art.

thank you pain killers ... you really did a great job!!!

Or in this case, an overly absurd statement of goofiness.

But my favourite of all, was a pic of pouty me.

Yes.

I do pout.

There's that spider again, only this time, it looks like I have black roots.

Anyway, these are the only shots I have to give you right now.  There's so much more, but I think I'll just wait for the end result to show you.

I can't wait for it to be edited and polished!!!!

Biker Granny

It was the G'mas 96th birthday the other day.

When someone is at this age, you don't know when the 'last day' will be .

However, with this old bird, we're pretty sure she'll be living well past 100, because there's much more guilt to be dished out before she retires and gets to see her dearly departed husband and daughter again.

The moment I wake up, there are orders being barked and screamed at me from the Fuzzy Family.  Not to mention, when I walk up the 'my, didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs, I am forced to do the old bird's bidding as well.

There is no, "Good morning," or, "Hello."

There is only, "The dog needs brushing!  The flowers need watering!  I can't seem to get the TV on!  Listen, when are you going to get me a new nighty?  Is my laundry done?  I need more underwear!  Andréa, do you hear me?!?!" ad infinitum ... 

yes ... oh i hear you ... but lord knows you can't hear me!

With my eyes half open, my only desire is to get The Golden out to have a morning pee, so I can start the coffee proceedings.

I have to take the orders and just smile and nod, knowing that my job as Cinderella will be ending in the next year when the poor old thing has to go to a home, and Papi and I really start to plan out our dream of moving to the Dominican Republic.

So, we try to keep our cool, remembering that our days are numbered with the old fart.

One thing that Papi has always wanted was to have a picture of the G'ma on one of the many motorcycles that have lived under the carport.

Being the matron of the house, the G'ma has always vehemently replied with, "No, I will not!"

Well, on the crazy old lady's birthday, we were bringing the G'ma home after a nice drive through Stanley Park, which we do every year on her birthday, Papi decided that today was the day for a G'ma pic on the bike.

No questions asked.

As soon as the frail old lady got out of the car, and stepped only a few inches away from the vehicle, Papi snatched he walker away and told her, "I want a picture of you on my bike."

G'ma's response?  Obviously, "No, I don't want to!  Give me back my walker!"

Naturally, the Tranny Terrorist ignored the warden's orders and forced the almost Centurion's ass on the motorcycle, leaving me to just smile and nod at the G'ma.

My love zipped around the other side of the bike, and made progress by turning the old bird around, then demanded, "Put your hands on the handlebars.  Give me your leg."

Papi leaned G'ma back and I was there to hold her from falling completely backwards while her brittle old neck was having trouble holding up her head!

My love didn't take notice that I was doing my best, with what little strength I have right now, to be sure the old thing was safe.

No, mi esposo just pulled G'ma's rickety leg up and over the wind visor like G'ma was a Can Can Girl doing a high leg kick, minus the sexy nylons.

Poor ol' thing shouted, "You're hurting me!  I don't like this!"

Didn't matter to my love.  Papi was getting that picture on the bike no matter what the cost.  G'ma's days are numbered and my love wants to remember her with a picture on the motorcycle.

Well.

Once the old boss was actually on the bike, let me tell you.  There were smiles of pride and happiness like I've never seen on this cranky old thing.

 

She looked like life had just begun again, and she was posing for the camera like the young spirit that is inside her.

Of course, my love was so happy that we finally got the pic of a lifetime, he needed to be documented for this event as well.

 

Next came trying to get the old fart off the bike, and we had to go through the same procedure in reverse.

After the Gramma Drama was over and she was back to shuffling along with her walker, she got to the end of the carport and the only words that she said were, "You do some strange things."

Yes, indeed G'ma, Papi does.

No matter.

Papi got the picture he always wanted.

Say hello to my little friend.

I have to rationalize about why there hasn't been any sexy time.

First it was the braces.  I didn't want to get locked into Papi's brace face.  That could be scary.

Then it was the top surgery.  My love was so fragile that I couldn't even get a hug.  That left me longing for mi esposo's cuddles, but was another justification as to why we weren't having a romp.

Well, last night Papi ordered me into bed.

i like it

Yet, that didn't stop me.  I tried another excuse.  I felt like I had to share that my stomach wasn't top shape right now.  Perhaps we didn't want to 'scents' the wrath of my issue?

Oh, no.

That wasn't a good enough reason for my love.

The truth is though, ever since the 5 Foot Clitoris moved in, I'm very uncomfortable with sex.

It wasn't like it was before, where I knew my love's body and could just jump on in with no hesitation.  I knew what to do and when to do it.

Things have changed.

Papi has changed.

It's like starting all over.

My love was adamant that I'd get a little up close and personal time with the 5 Foot Clitoris.

you're really going to make me do this now aren't you?!?!

At first, all I wanted to do was look at it and introduce myself.

"hey how are ya?  i'm new in town and i thought we could grab a bite to eat?"

But I quickly realized that this exploration wasn't really sexy.  It was more like I was a gynecologist looking at a specimen.

No.

Not sexy.

So I dived in.

I didn't know what to do.  Honestly!  The 5 Foot Clitoris is intimidating!  It was beyond that little nut I'd play with with my tongue.

It really did feel more like a miniature penis.

It was so difficult not to revert back to the dislike of the bio-male anatomy that I had to endure in my stint of oh so many years in the closet.

I would have to be snap drunk or sky high to go anywhere near those man bits, and here I was, face to face with the mini-me version who was sticking out it's own tongue, taunting me.

My love's smell was also different and will take some time to get used to.  It wasn't like the Man Stink that occurred near the beginning of this roller coaster, but indeed it was not what I was used to.

time to get out the chocolate sauce?

None-the-less, I did my best, and dammit, I just felt like I was flailing.  I have no fucking idea how to work with this.

I guess I'll have to practise.

*******

A side note to Tricia, one of my blogger friends, here is the updated photo of Papi, the Tranny Terrorist.

And no, this was not taken after sexy time ...

Wrath of the Tranny

"I don't know why you even expected a phone call from him on your birthday anyway.  How many times has he called you since we've been together?"

I didn't have to think about it very hard, "Once."

I just received a phone call from my sister who got the worst treatment from our sperm donor.  She gets depressed and anxious every father's day.  So we chatted and what did I have to say to her?  "You don't owe him a thing.  There's nothing he did for you in your life.  Please don't feel guilty."

He never calls my sister because she won't pay for his living.

kinda like how you gave us fuck all growing up?

So, in honour of my sister, I will do my best not to feel guilty.

good fucking luck.

Good thing I have the Tranny Terrorist to keep me entertained.

Papi was thrilled, "Look at my nipples!  They're looking so much better!"

My love then proceeded to walk them straight into my face, "Lick the nips!!"

I was cringing in a corner screaming for Papi to stop.

All mi esposo did was laugh.

Yup.

This is my love.

Then I had to help Papi with the dressings, and there was a pseudo compliment, "You did good this time and you're not having a panic attack!"

Not too long after this, my love says, "I have another birthday gift for you!  Guess what day it is?!"

oh for fucks sakes.

Yup.

It's hormones day.

I hid in the bedroom sifting through Facebook friends to keep me occupied while Papi just chatted away, injecting poison into that ass.

Later on, I'm lying in bed with my love ...

feeling extremely bloated and wiped from the horrid food i ate for my birthday

... and there's this fondling of my breast going on.

No, it wasn't sexy time.  It was more like groping and mushing my breast this way and that.

"What the hell are you doing?!  You keep fucking around with my breasts!"

"I don't have mine any more so I get to play with yours."

Oh really?!

This is the new rule?

Papi also said, "You should post the gross picture for your readers to see."

ummm ... why would i want to torture you?

Ok, I suppose if I have to suffer then 'you', my imaginary friend get to see what mi esposo puts me through.  I guess you have to pay something for reading my train wreck every day.

Here ya go:

Yes.

The Tranny Terrorist was in full force for my birthday.

Happy birthday to me.

Oh, and to my dear sperm donor, enjoy your day alone.

Papi's at it again!

First off, I have to say I'm sorry there aren't any pictures to show you yet.  Papi and I have been having so much fun that there just hasn't been time to get any computer time in.

which is the point i think?  so why am i here?!

However, I felt the need to get here and say hi to 'you', my imaginary friend, so here I am.  Papi is up doing money things.  For some reason, my card won't work here.

eek! the people love us, but the atm doesn't

I have to vent now.  I'm on holiday.  I shouldn't have to deal with tranny issues, right?

not if papi can help it ... my love has my undivided attention

Somehow I'm being held hostage by the Tranny Terrorist, who is yakking about things I just don't want to think about.

The chin hair.

I look at it frequently.  It's hard to take my eyes off it.  Now I will admit that there is definitely more there than there was before.

Then there was the back of the leg hair that just jumped out and decided to give us a scare.

jeeeeeeeezus!  where the fuck did that come from?!?!?!

I've been strict with Papi about shaving leg hair because I still want to hang on to my butch for as long as I can.  I would never date anyone with the hairy lesbian look, so I've not wanted my love to have any hair there.

It will look quite ridiculous if my love has upper leg hair and no lower leg hair, you know what I mean?!?!?

So I suppose the 'rules' are changing.

I did catch a glimpse of the 'male' my love is morphing into.  It was a bit disastrous for me.  It made me want to cry about the life I'm losing.

While we were enjoying our time, we saw two very pleasing fags who looked to be completely in love.  It made my heart melt.  I had pride that in this day and age, we queers can show our love in public without fear.

to a point ...

Then I realized that Papi and I would never be seen as the sweet dyke couple anymore.  I will now be just the boring straight girl.  I will no longer be the femme.

It really is difficult here in the Dominican when men won't speak to me when it's Papi and I together.  They speak to my love as the 'man' and I am just the sidekick wife.  I am not equal.

It is really hard to be seen as a straight couple, and I'm having my first glimpse of forever being just that.

One thing that was really strange today was seeing my love's beautiful breasts in a different light.

Papi finally bared those gorgeous breasts and I looked at them with contradiction.  They really didn't look like they belonged.

I've never seen this before, but there it was.  Papi is really just having a breast reduction in a different way.  They're not going to hang and flop like some dude who has man tits.  They'll be perk and flat.

As a matter of fact, that sweet belly of Papi's will be sticking out more than those flat pectorals.

Ok.

So, there's some good, some bad, some strange, but overall?

I'm not feeling the grief quite as much as I thought I would with The Countdown to doomsday.  I'm just enjoying my time with Papi.  I'm looking at the beginning of my life changing along with Papi.  It's terrifying and I want to resist, but I'm still going along with this crazy ride.

Except for when Papi starts asking things like, "Ok, so when we're in Florida and the operation is done, you have to contact 'x' and 'x' and 'x' and tell them I'm ok."

Then when I don't answer my love asks, "Why aren't you speaking?"

"Because my dear.  I'm on holiday.  There will be no Tranny Terrorism while I'm on holiday."

My Sperm Donor

Today I receive my beautiful 1910 Heintzman upright grand piano.

My fingers  have been waiting 5 months to play for my heart.  But, I have to be careful as to what I choose to play

Sometimes, it can pull me further into the pit of doom.  Sometimes, the most emotional of songs will reach that part of me that is aching, and those sound waves will whisper in my ear as if they are a living tortured soul, crying with me in empathy.

I've learned over the years as to which songs I should play for different feelings.  I am so sensitive to music, that when I'm feeling low, I can't listen to anything that would entice the demons to come for a visit.

When emotions are raw, I can only play classical music on those ebony and ivory keys.

These songs of intricate notes, filling the page, requiring every last bit of my attention will take my mind away from disaster and steer it into a more physical experience.

Once, I learned a song for my father.  He was a Supertramp fan, which means that I would be too.

anything to try to earn his attention ... it never worked

I learned 'Downstream' for him, because he liked it and had once said, "You should learn that one."

From that point forward, every time I played and sang that song, the tears would well up and I'd be crying through the words.

Last night, during The Great Sewage Flood Purge, I found a picture in it's frame that I've been hanging on to for about 12 years.  It was my reuniting with Dad.  I looked like a tiny child being held by her father, even though I was a grown woman.

I have hated the frame all this time.  It's ugly and dated, but I would hang on to it, because it's the only picture I have of Dad and I together.

I've seen him a couple of times since then, but it's still not the relationship that I needed so badly when I was a kid.

I finally took the photo out of the horrid frame and threw that bitch in the trash.  I put the depiction of falsity in a place with all the other photos Papi and I have found during our unpacking of mess.

It will go into a box with the rest of the forgotten images.

I feel as though the last ditch effort Dad could have made wasn't made at all, and he is now just as unimportant to me as I am to him.

Don't get me wrong.  I love Dad, because he's the sperm that brought me to this world, but I've never had a father.

I wanted Dad to be at my wedding and he and his lovely common-law wife said they couldn't make it down because of many reasons.  She has too much pain, they can't afford it ...

can't afford to come to my wedding, because they're too busy spending all their money on booze 'n smokes

... and the list goes on.

I understood the list.  I was a practising alcoholic/addict for years.  But what I couldn't forgive?  Not even so much as a congratulations, not a card, not a call, not a 'good luck'.

Nothing.

was it because it was a same sex marriage? 

Not sure what I was expecting from a dead-beat dad. 

andréa, haven't you learned? those damn expectations will get you every time.

The picture is being put away.  I hate that ugly fucking frame and I threw it in the trash with glee.

I will play my piano today for Papi and I.

I just might play Dad's song.  Somehow, I don't think I'll cry.

No.

Not anymore.

Detachable breasts?

Day one back to work.

I was a bit nervous, but I only had to work 4 hours as my gradual return.  At least they didn't stick me with the bible thumper.

phew!

It hardly brought up pain.

double phew!

But I'll tell you, I am not a morning person.  Getting up at 6:45 is not an ability of mine.  The snooze button was my best friend this morning.

It was good to wake up however, as in one of my dreams I was being raped by this intimidating bull dyke that's in our community.

YIKES!!!!

I may be a little nervous the next time I see her.  Ah, my dreams.   NEVER a dull moment.

So, I have to tell you, I am starting to find humour in the strangest places in my journey.  It's a good thing.  It's the only way to heal.  Especially when it's time to think about Papi's top surgery.

It's all about my love's top surgery.  Shit!  Even the fucking calendar is about top surgery.  Remember the calendar of F-Ms I spoke about?  The one where I pasted on mi esposo's face on every page, so I could actually look at it?

Do you remember that April was supposed to be a bad thing to look at and that all I thought it could be was that picture that scarred me for life?  You remember the pic don't you?  Well, if you don't, you'll have to do some forensic reading and go back a few months.

Anyway, I digress ...

This month's pic is not the one that scarred me for life.  It's one of someone who still had their fucking tubes in from the top surgery.  Why the hell anyone would want to have that as their pic of pride, I don't know.

But it's all about top surgery.  Papi said, "I feel so sorry for you.  These breasts are so nice.  It's really too bad.  Some pictures of people I've seen in the gallery are just not so nice."

I nodded.

memories of hairy breasts ... horrible scars ...

Papi continued, "Why can't they be detachable so I could put them on and you could have your way with them?!"

I laughed, "Maybe they could sew them on to me.  I'd rather have yours."

Detachable breasts.

Maybe one day they'll come up with this option?  Then when those who have gender dysphoria experience a day where they feel like they could have breasts, they could wear them.

Not sure how many people are feeling like they're both female and male, but I do know they're out there.

I like my love's pillowy fun bags and I really wish I could have them.

It's such a shame.  They really are gorgeous.

One of my blogger friends told me that upon looking at pictures of Papi, that they just couldn't imagine breasts there.  That it didn't suit my love.

I suppose so.

But damn!  Couldn't I have them?  A breast transplant?

If you're going to just hack 'em off anyway ...

Time for a holiday

The fear of the unknown is what's scary.

Well, to me anyway.

I need to know what's coming.  I need to have a good vision in my head of what will be.

This truly is why I've had anxiety since I was a kid.

I remember lying in bed at the ripe age of 8, and had just learned more about the universe.  I had learned how it goes on forever.

My immature brain just couldn't comprehend this information.

to be quite honest, i still can't get it

I would think to myself: but it has to end because everything ends.  So what's at the end?  A pasture of cows?  But then that has to end too!  So what's after that?!?! Something has to be after that!!!!

I would lie awake and my thoughts would go on and on and I'd get more panicked because it just didn't make any sense.  Everything has edges!

Even a circle has an outer edge!  And after that edge is air, but then the air would end with the next article full of molecules that may be beside it.

I wouldn't sleep because of the terror of this new information that just wasn't logical.  It was my first experience of anxiety driven insomnia.  I didn't know there would be more to come.

The unknown.

it's amazing i don't have an ulcer by now

I was looking at the cute 4 pane picture that Papi and I got at a photo booth in Seattle on one of our tattoo expeditions.

Mi esposo es guapo!

Si, Papi es caliente!  This is something I know.  I look at that pic full of love and laughs, and I see such a gorgeous spouse.

My fear of the unknown is that Papi will be unattractive.  I'm starting to see this as a wee bit silly.

If my love is attractive now, then that should stay the same, no?  It's not like mi esposo is going in for the 'hideous plastic surgery package'.  There's no appointments for getting a larger nose, buck teeth, a wandering eye, a triple chin, a very high forehead and lack of neck.

No, this isn't what's happening.

I look at this picture in terms of the now.  It was only taken a couple of weeks ago, and Papi is still as attractive and good hearted as that day.  I'm still feeling gratitude that I'm married to an amazing being.

But that little girl?  Oh, she's in there.  She's telling me lies about how the unknown is utterly terrifying.  She's telling me that there will be one scary being to look forward to.

The vision she throws at me is really not nice.  All she can see is a middle aged, pot bellied, male pattern balding 'man', with a gross bushman beard.

I'm not a fan of facial hair.  Papi knows this.  But my love really wants the experience of having that manly trait.

all i see is that picture that has scarred me for life ...

The little girl is so afraid of this happening.

The little girl needs to take a chill pill.  But then, that would probably have her cascading into another fit of addiction.

The eternal get away.

She just wants a 'thought vacation'.

I'm too slow

One day this week I came home to a new t-shirt splayed proudly on the La-Z-Boy for me to see.

It reads, 'Secretly Loves Trannies'.  When I first looked at it I laughed, then I quickly thought to myself, 'hell no, ain't wearing that thing!'

That changed when I started to think about how funny my love is.  We both like to deal with this transformation in humour when we can.  It takes the edge off.

My thoughts turned to Papi ordering this shirt.  I could just see that snickering face and eager fingers typing in that credit card number.  I could also see the little devil horns poking through that salt and pepper hair.

That's when I thought the shirt was pretty funny.  I texted my love to express the amusement I found in my new attire.  I received back a text, "Yeah, and most people won't even know what it means, so they'll think you love car transmissions."

True.

Most ignorant people will.  The ones that know what it means will assume I'm one of the "Rah-Rah-Tranny" types.  That's cool.  I can handle people thinking I'm more on their page than I really am at this point in time. 

i'm still trying to catch up!  i'm just not as fast a runner as you papi!

Papi's silliness came this same week I made light of that damn calendar.  You know the one.  That monthly reminder of my love's transition that has faces of F-Ms sticking out everywhere?  These faces are just not people I'd be attracted to, no matter how sweet of a heart they have.

Up I go to the attic, and searched through pics to find the vision of mi esposo I love the most.  I printed it out 10 times over, cut out Papi's faces, and plastered each one on every uncomely face of every remaining month of 2011.

I hung it back up for Papi to see, but it just didn't happen. 

seriously!?!  i guess you're going to need a bit of a push ...

While my love was in the kitchen I yelled, "Hey can you tell me what the last Monday of the month is?"

I watched mi esposo walk over to look.

I wait ...

Then I hear these little giggles and pages turning, then more giggles.

Papi liked it.

These are the dippy moments in our journey together that I have to remember when I'm feeling like perhaps my not being caught up to Papi is causing our relationship to fail.

I'm so scared that my lack of speed will have mi esposo running into the sunset with a Tranny Chaser who will prove to my love that I'm not good enough, not accepting enough, not understanding enough.

Just not enough.

I have to remember on the days where Papi leaves early to work because of the horridness of our new suite, where there are lights hanging precariously from wires and there are empty sockets where the plugs should be.

This 'home' where there is no toilet or sinks.  This 'living space' without cable hookup, forcing Papi to Mickey Mouse something that works, because to my love it is 'the most important part'.

Papi couldn't wait to leave our tiny, dilapidated nest.  The agitation coming from my love was so thick that I started to think it was me that was the problem.

I get this way when there's raging hormones to deal with.  Sometimes, PMS gets bad, and this is one of those times. 

paranoia ... self destroyer ... but you have to sing it with the english accent like the kinks.

Papi quickly left our suite because it is just so unlivable, yet I took it as my love just couldn't wait to get away from me.

Yes, I have to remember during these terrible PMS times.  I have to remember right now.

please remember you're still loved ... even though you're slow ...

Sparkle and Shine

My drummer and I went for our promo shots for the newest HECTOR CD to promote.  Lara Gray did an amazing job.

That's the nice part about digital.  We now get to see straight away what the shots are like.  It is a blessing, that newfangled technology.

It would prove to be a comfortable photo shoot, as I would be with 3 people from my Trust List.  Another blessing, as I don't have to look perky to try to fool anyone.

All I had to do was give a sparkle in my eyes, exposing energy to translate in a picture.

While we were waiting for our photographer and her wife, my good buddy was talking to me about 'it'.

He has known me for years, and has known me very well.  He has seen my life take it's twists and turns, as well as watched me change with every scene in this lab experiment of life.

"Don't be offended by what I'm going to say.  You are someone who remains very calm in moments of crisis, but when there's nothing going on in your life, you seem to not know what to do with yourself."

"Yeah, it's my defense mechanism.  But don't you think it's fucked up that all the experiences I have are not something I run out to look for?  They just come to me."

He laughed and nodded with a silly squinty face of agreement.

He then said, "I usually run from things, where as you tend to go in head first and get it over with."  He explained that by running away from it, it comes back to hit him twice as hard.

I know this to be true in his life as well.

He also went on to tell me he doesn't know what to do to help, or what to say.  It's just not an experience that most people have to deal with.  It's pretty far-gone and out there.

However, one thing he did say is, "You married for the person, as the person is, good or bad."

True.

He also admitted that if I'm not happy, this is not something I should feel I have to stick out because of marriage.

Also true.  I told him I have been very honest with Papi in terms of my biggest fear; that I would no longer be attracted to mi esposo.

If it was mi esposo who had that awful accident 2 years ago, and became disabled for life, or if any other disaster was to happen to change my love, I would still remain married to Papi.

I love this person I married.  The level of my commitment is far deeper than that pit of doom.

Right now, I'm wearing Papi's engagement ring, and here's why:

One; my love only wants to wear the wedding band, not the engagement ring as it doesn't look 'manly' to have the great karat diamond hanging out on that ring hand.  Papi is afraid of someone recognizing it as a female trait and doesn't want to get tranny bashed.

Two; we are going to have to sell it to get my surgery for my jaw/orthodontic work done, and the ring will pay for it.  I get to wear it until it's time for me to get this 'eek' of a surgery done.

I get a piece of my love on my hand, day in, day out.

It's chunky and shiny and looks really good.  Too bad I'll have to give it up in a year or so.

and dammit!  i also have to be careful where i am ... i'm now wearing a total of 20 grand on my fingers.

Still, my love is there on my digit for me to hold and look at during every moment of every day.

And now, my dear imaginary friend, I must go tend to the fading, old, sick kitty.

He's still hanging on, barely, yet still.

as am i.