wild wild west.

It's bloody crazy here.

The wild west you could say, or the chaotic caribbean.

So, we had a guy attack a tourist right down from our house on beach the other day.

It doesn't happen too often, and actually there are more predators in Canada than there are here.

But I can't imagine how scared that poor girl was.

She was renting a house 4 doors down for a vacation, went walking along the beach and a guy grabbed her, tearing her bikini top off.

Police and the good men of our village were out scouring the beach trying to find the piece of shit offender.

I hope they found him.

Unlike in Canada, where men get to repeat their offences after a small stint in jail, here, well I probably don't have to tell you what happens to scumbags here.

They actually get what's coming to them.

I am grateful for my tattoos.  Men here generally think I'm an insane biker chick because of them and they don't attack me, even if my tattoos are just flowers and birds.

But today?  We had more to deal with than just the creep in the hood.

This morning, we started our day with a royal fight with the Housemaid.

You see, a few months back, we were going to get massive rocks out front our house to keep our pool and wall from being washed to sea.

We couldn't afford the rocks right away, but the Housemaid told us we had to pay Mr. Extortion now, or the price would go up later.

We did.

I then asked for the papers for permission and the Housemaid said, "Oh, you don't need it.  When it's time to do the rocks, I'll just talk to them and tell them you're starting."

I asked for the papers to make sure this was all on the up and up, but she assured me I didn't need them.

Today, we were getting a bandaid put on our property.  A bunch of sacks of concrete to keep until we can afford the rocks.

Mr. Extortion, also known as 'The Marina', who are the biggest fucking thieves in the country, came and said we had to pay to put the protective bags there.

We said we already did.

They said, "No, that guy isn't here anymore and there's was a 3 month window you had to do it in."

Right.

So, they conveniently left that part out, OR they know how things work here and know that the Housemaid took that money and are covering for her.

We have no way of really knowing which it is, but today, there was Papi, red hot in the face and ready to forcibly remove her from the property, because we've had enough of the lies and stealing.

I've never seen him this mad.  I was almost laughing, because of my super power, giggling, when I get too uncomfortable.

We played good cop, bad cop unti I got her to admit that she took the money from the building of the wall and that she stole our paint and lied about it.

I knew the truth about these things all along, but today, I got her to apologize for them and admit them.  All I wanted was honesty.

I then told her, "You fix this.  We trusted you.  If this gets fixed, you can still have your job here.  If not, you'll have to go.  I told you when you started that we can only have honest people.  We need to be able to trust you.  You are in our house!"

Honestly, the main reason we hire people here for work is because the entire village is their family and we know how protection here works.

We need to have the security of having everyone in the village on our side.

So we hire them for work, and everyone takes care of us, because we are paying for their children to go to school.

But still, we pay.  And pay some more.  And get robbed.  And then pay some more.

I've never experienced such insanity in the cushy country of Canada.

Well, except from the politicians who like to steal from us.

Here?  It's everyone.  Politicians, friends, workers, and that rat bastard Mr. Extortion 'Marina'.

I understand how people become so fucking jaded here.

And people judge us for having a wall and guns?

I think it's time to build a sniper tower.

i am redefining what it means to trust

Peeping Juan is back.

While The Guard was here, he noticed Peeping Juan staring in on our yard.

Normally, I would consider Dominican Daddy to be a sweet man, incapable of intimidating anyone.

With the exception of kids in the village that is.  Oh, but how they listen to him.

So, while he was looking at Peeping Juan staring into our yard, he gave the man the best stink eye I've seen in a while.

I was shocked.

Not just stink eye.

'Staring him down' stink eye.

'Barely blinking' stink eye.

That Peeping Juan never looked in our yard again.

That is of course, until he figured out we don't have The Guard anymore, and while Papi and I were in the pool, he realized I was topless.

We sorta thought we were free of the bastard, so we tried to enjoy our freedom.

I had wrapped my leg in plastic bags, put it up on the ledge and allowed the rest of myself to finally melt into the cool water, reclined on our seating area with my head resting poolside.

It was absolutely lovely.

I thought maybe I could do this more often.  Just have many plastic bags ready.

When Papi told me we had an issue, I damn near flipped out.

Papi said, "Don't freak out.  He has a gun."

I decided, "Fine.  Then I'll chop my mother fucking coconuts with my mother fucking machete and show him I'm capable of chopping his mother fucking dick off if he tried to come near me."

Off I crutched to my coconut chopping area, angrier than a stick poked hornets nest.

Every chop I did I said something that sounded good with exertion.

Didn't matter if it was in English.

"Can you!  Get me!  The!  Ant!  Killer!!!!"

There were ants everywhere.

It didn't matter.  He doesn't speak English.

For all he knows, my anger was saying, "I will!  Chop your!  Dick!  Right!  Off!"

It was my intention anyway.

Even though I was on crutches with a cast, I thought, if this is how I can yield this right now, give me a week, bitch.

You will not be messing with me.

He caught me on a Hurricane Andréa day.

I took all my anger out on that coconut, and the best part was, when I was finished, I had some lovely coconut water to enjoy from my labours.

I imagined myself as a cannibal serial killer, drinking his fucking blood.

I watched his perch as I drank the beautiful healing water.

I'm so angry now about this prick.

When the new people move in, I will tell them what their guard does and request they find someone who isn't a creep.

The new neighbour will understand.  He's an Canadian ex cop.

He won't want a person staring into someone's yard like a predator on his dime.

Anyway, I'm feeling much better now.

Mother nature gave me a nice fucking visit, so now I am not an old bag.  Yet I'm still cussing out my uterus for doing the only fucking thing it knows how.

I stopped eating the wheat so my brain is much more manageable.

I have accepted this fucking cast and crutches and am trying to tough out the pain like I did with my bitch of a back for 4+ years until we finally got here to Casa Paraíso.

I managed to play my piano yesterday and just sucked up the pain in order to give my heart some well needed practise, learning the new song MusicMan and I are working on: Jesse & Joy - ¡Corre!

And I showed myself I can still cut a fucking coconut despite my current situation.

Guess what tomorrow's task is?

Coconuts galore!

i am badass

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

Beautiful

The dogs slept through the ENTIRE night!

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

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

Because I didn't.

Not a wink.

Full on fucking insomnia.

It may be a double coffee day.

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

It has never worked for me.

But what could I do?

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

And they really worked.

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

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

You know the song.

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

Christina Aguilera's 'Beautiful'.

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

This whole country is all about sex.

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

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

So, I am translating 'Beautiful' into Spanish.

The translation was already online, but not the pentameter.

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

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

It's so good for me.

Like, REALLY good.

Except for the obsession part.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It actually happened.

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

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

I honestly thought I was broken.

I accepted that I would never feel like that again.

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

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

Now it's time to rehab my musicianship.

And it is something beautiful.

Beautiful.

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

more than i knew ...

The Garage Band students are beginning to all line up with plants now.

I don't have enough room for them!

Now I'm making up places for plants that weren't intended for it.

But you see, word got out that some of the boys swam with me in the pool after they gave me plants.

I wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere, so I had the time for some play.

5 boys in the pool whoopin' and hollerin', doing back flips off the ledge and enjoying the swimming antics of The Donkey joining them.

But later when more children came, I didn't have the luxury of watching them.

These were little ones.

I definitely couldn't take my eyes off them in the water.

The cable guy was here, and being in my house, I definitely couldn't take my eyes of him either!

I assured them that another day I would have a little more time to watch them in the pool.

Tomorrow, we sing.

I'm quite lucky to have these teen boys who sing in the choir.

You see, last night at 9 p.m., the doorbell rang, and I was a little more than afraid.

Nobody rings the doorbell here at 9 p.m.

I thought maybe it was the predator, having finally tracked me down, coming for his revenge.

I don't think I'm that far off.

He calls me non-stop.

He scares me.

And it's not hard to fathom that he'd be able to find the 2 tattooed gringos near Gaspar Hérnandez.

I was grateful to have all the hounds follow my lead and swarm the door.

However, it wasn't the predator.

It was the teen boys telling me my garage door was open.

I couldn't figure out how that could happen, until I realized, I had picked my keys up off the ground when I looked for them to open that door.

How would they end up on the ground?

Gee.  I wonder.

Maybe something to do with 4 legs and a lot of fuzz.  Perhaps with one eye?

Then I realized that after they pulled them to the ground, they must have stepped on the automatic door opener.

I was very grateful the boys came to tell me.

They're looking out for me.

I feel like I have a lot of protection.

I think that if the creep does find me, he'll have to make his way through the boys, Dominican Daddy, and the guards next door who keep looking over the wall to make sure they're not missing a skin show.

Dominican Daddy will be The Guard while Papi is visiting Vancouver.

He, and all the teen boys will be sure nothing happens to me.

I have more support than I ever knew I would.

Oh, and would you look at that.

Just like clockwork.

The creep is calling again.

I'd be careful, scumbag.

I have a lot of protection, and I'm not only talking about the angels.

i commit to listening to my intuition

it is possible!

I'm tired and I want to kill the Fuzzy Family today.

Apparently, so does Old Ghost Face.  We're all a little cranky.

I'm sure it was Pathetic Puppy who tore into the garbage.

The Thug has been hunting cats all night.  That is of course, when he wasn't panting from the heat.

The Donkey has been jumping on to the bed, causing Sir Bark-a-Lot to do what he does best, and Jake-a-Like has been sprawled along my body, making me warmer than I thought possible.

This is the first day here that I can actually say, "I'm too hot."  This will be the first day I'll experience what gratitude for a pool really means.

It's not so much the heat, so much as what comes with it.

Our air conditioner doesn't work when there's not enough city power to juice the batteries.

That means nobody in the village has had any power for a good day and a half.

At least we had enough to run our water.  People in the village have nothing.  It fucking sucks and don't get me started on how the government doesn't care about the people here.

Anyway, it was hot last night, but I don't usually mind the heat.

However, when there's no air conditioner, it means windows are open.

When windows are open it means mosquitos come in looking for snacks.

When they use my body for a meal, I'm up all night scratching.

Every available body part was eaten.

I was ready to tear my skin off last night.

Then, couple that with sweating and bug spray, and you have a sticky mess of dirt that beads and rolls on your skin as you scratch, making it look like you have miniature mouse shit all over your body.

Of course, the mosquitos are NOTHING compared to the ants that bite.

Seriously.  Way to harsh my mellow.

Thought I'd have some wine to help me sleep through the heat, and the ants thought it was a great idea as well!!!

In no time flat, I was flailing from being covered in ants who were biting my hands and arms, and those bitches hurt!!!!!

Then there's the itch that comes with the welts due to their chomping.  It's like the devil himself has crawled under my olive casing, adding salt and vinegar to the wounds.

When the ants nip me, I scratch until I bleed, leaving my derma with great gashes guaranteed to weep with pus later in the day.

These are the kinds of days I wish I didn't have to wear a bra.  A bra in the heat is pure hell.

It's not just the fact that it's tight up against my sweaty skin, but trying to get it on is like a game of twister.

It sticks to my shell before I can get it into place, then trying to adjust it once it's stuck is game of skill.

Forget about trying to get a sports bra on.  That will NEVER happen.  It will just roll along my skin, looking like the world's thinnest tube top.

It's the kind of day where you can shower away the sweat, but once you dry yourself from the shower, it's back in mere seconds.

It could be that I can't handle the heat because I had no sleep last night from the dogs' antics, and Papi up all night trying to get power back on.

That could be why I'm not enjoying this amazingly beautiful day.

Or, it's the fact that the heat has made it hard to sleep, leaving me a bitchy mess.

Today, I made my coffee extra strong.

Not to mention, I don't give a shit what I'm 'supposed to wear' as a white person to keep me safe from predators.

At this point, I'm wearing my fucking tank tops and cool, short, breezy skirts.

I'm bitchy enough that if anyone violates me today I won't have any problem telling them to fuck off.

Even if it's in English.  They'll know what the hell I mean by the nasty look on my face.

Maybe I'll pack my stun gun.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go scratch.

Indeed, it IS possible for ME to be TOO hot.

i sleep soundly and beautifully through the night

rest

I took the opportunity to sleep in today.

Considering I wasn't going to a lesson.

I was awoken at 5 minutes past 11, the time that our lesson would be ending, by a phone call.

A repeated phone call.

No message.

Someone was definitely trying to get a hold of me.

Perhaps they didn't see the email Papi sent?

Papi decided on the sending of the email in the middle of the night while I was sleeping.

I had another friend, who lives here, suggest to walk away and never look back, because we couldn't trust the guy may look for revenge.

But it was too late.

Papi already sent the wife an email.

It was quite nice, just saying that where we come from, this behaviour isn't acceptable, even if it is normal in this culture.

He explained that I had previous troubles with this sort of thing and that it's not good for me to be in this kind of environment.

However, he sent it to her DR1 Forum email.

Not sure how many times she checks that, but we'll see.

None-the-less, with no message on my phone, I have no option but to assume the repeated phone calls are from the predator.

I can't block it until I know for sure, but I can't answer it, because I surely can't talk to the guy.

Hey, I could always change my number a 3rd time.

It's not like I have the hundreds of people in my contacts list that I used to.

I've spent the last couple of days appreciating the ocean and relaxing in the pool.

It has been really good for me to rest and remember why I'm here.

Yesterday, when I went to the ocean, a few of my students from The Garage Band were there with their mothers.

The greetings of hugs I received were so wonderful, and they made up for what I went through on Friday.

They ran to me from down the lane, arms open with glee!

As I kneeled down to accept the offering of sentiment, I was swarmed and squished and loved.

The transfer of energy was of immense value to my heart.

These children are so damn grateful for their lesson and I had a surprise to tell them!

We have our first donation of a percussive instrument!

The Carpenter had come by yesterday afternoon with a gift for myself and the children.

A Güira!

It is an instrument that originates from here in the Dominican Republic, and I love it!

I just might play it in Papi's ear to get him out of bed today.

I want to get him up go to Sosúa beach.

I want to enjoy my days.

I'm not here for bullshit from predators.

I'm here to live a beautiful life, with amazing musicians and loving children.

Oh, and a few psychotic dogs thrown in for good measure.

The Thug is working out quite wonderfully!

Well, other than the 'want to kill the cats' thing.

my life is a joy filled with fun, love, and friendship

what next?

To get through this, I need to remember that there are some really good men here that would protect me.

I think I'm going to ask them to help me communicate better with the creeps here.

They know what to say.

They know what to do.

They know how to help me protect myself without getting decapitated by a machete for doing so, and perhaps build my confidence in this new culture.

I have my Spanish lesson on Thursday.

I think the focus will be about what to say and how to say it.

I won't be going back for the lessons with the kid.

We have a day to figure out what to do about it.

Do we write an email to the mom?

That could cause real problems.

I saw a picture of her before her boob job.

She wasn't anorexic then, she seemed healthy.

She didn't have botox then, she had natural facial features.

Her hair wasn't dyed a brassy blond then, it was light auburn hair.

She was a drop dead, natural gorgeous, with beautiful energy in this photo.

She's still gorgeous, just more like stripper gorgeous.  However, she doesn't seem to have the light she did in the photograph.

She's probably trying her best to get the attention of her husband who is too busy looking at all the other women around, not her.

If I say to her that her husband disrespected me, would that cause harm to her already fragile state?

Would it cause problems in their relationship, and in turn, the scary guy would figure out where I live for his revenge?

I don't know what this man does for a living, but my instincts say it isn't good.  Not to mention, his own child doesn't even know.

That doesn't sound reassuring to me that he's an upstanding citizen.  He scares me.

Or do I just not show up for our lesson, block their phones, and hope I don't run into them down the road?

That's not really what Papi and I want to do, but the people on the DR1 Forum seem to think it's 'the Dominican way'.

It just seems rude.  I'm not rude.

Or do I lie?  Say that I had to take on a full time job?

All I know is, I can't go back there.

He IS a predator and I refuse to be prey.

A sweet girlfriend of mine commented yesterday, stating that it wouldn't matter what I wore.

She's right.

I can't go back.  I didn't stick up for myself.

I blushed, giggled and shook my head.

To a predator, that says, "I won't fight you, go ahead."

Which is how I was violated so many times in my life.

Which is why I now have P.T.S.D. around predators.

Why on earth do I freeze?

But honestly, I just wanted to teach the joy of music to a child that was JUST starting to REALLY enjoy playing staccatos and slurs.

I didn't go to be violated.

Today, I go teach piano at Dream Project, then when I'm done, I'll play some tunes with the MusicMan who doesn't disrespect me.

He sent me an email asking that I bring my bass today so we can play music together.

He is one of the good men.

He is someone who sees me for who I am; a human being who just wants to enjoy music.

There are good men out there, and I will be grateful for them every minute of every day.

i refuse to fall victim to a state of panic

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

pass the clonazepam

Today is a lovely day for a biopsy, no?

Sound like fun?

Massive needles stuck into my boob.

Nice.

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

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

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

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

Yes.

I'm a well trained drama queen.

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

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

Then there is no breathing.

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

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

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

And the big ones?

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

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

And now?

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

Seriously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's when the thoughts of today came.

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

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

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

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

Seriously.  So odd.

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

Am I scared?  Hell ya.

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

Still, she's not here in my brain.

Mr. Lumpy is.

I think I'm going to be sick.

every cell in my body vibrates with energy and health

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

Dear most recent commentator on my disclaimer:

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

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

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

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

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

or

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

Or you're less recent:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, we don't have everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And writing about people that piss me off?

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

Kinda like I'm doing now.

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

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

Oh!

One more thing!

Fuck off.

all false messages about me are now dissolved in total grace

always a solution

Yesterday, a sweet Blogger Friend left a comment that I'm strong and loved.

Well, maybe not strong enough, but resourceful?

YES!

You see, I chickened out.

I got ready, preparing for my adventure, then had a thought.

There's a man here who made our wall, fixed a bunch of stuff in our yard and I've grown to trust him over the past month.

... yes folks ... it's already been a month!!!!!! ...

He has a truck.

His truck is just like the truck the last man drove us in, a Toyota 4 cylinder, although circa 1980.  A little more modern.

I realized, hey, we had hired him to build the new well, and if I'm paying him to work, I'll ask him for help.

I asked him to drive me to Cabarete, because Papi was sick.

I told him I needed phone cards, to talk to the car dude and get to the bank to get his money.

He agreed!

I filled his tank with gas and off we went, 1st stop to talk to the car dude.

Well, all I wanted to do was tell the car dude we couldn't go to the lawyer today to get the papers, because Papi was sick.

However, he's a bit of an alpha and told my chauffeur to drive us to Sosúa, which was another 20 minutes south.

You could see my chauffeur wasn't happy about it, and I tried to say I don't want to bother him because he's working at my house, but the car dude wouldn't hear of it.

Off all 3 of us went in the little truck, that didn't seem to want to drive beyond 20 km/hr, but I got to my lawyer, I got my phone cards, I paid the chauffeur after a stop at the bank, AND we got our placard for our car.

Done!

Now it was time to head home and I said in very broken Spanish how thankful I am for his help and could I put more gas in his truck.

Right after we left the gas station, there was a sound in his truck that didn't sound like a healthy bang.

Oh, but the truck was NOT happy.

We drove 8 km all the way home.

A normal 30 minute drive with Papi was now taking more than an hour, but I'll tell ya, it was sure nice to let everyone pass us as I looked at the view.

When I'm with Papi, I'm so busy holding on to the 'holy fuck handle' above my head, white knuckling it while fighting off panic attacks, and saying, "OMG!!!!" so many times that I really don't have time to enjoy the view.

I'm too concerned with oncoming traffic as we pass car after car and think this is the end.

Yesterday was beautiful.

I got to look at goats, cows, kids, donkeys, chickens, stores that seemed like it was just a house with a few clothing items on hangers on the balcony, and people being hard workers.

I had the best time, and I had a body guard.  Hell, at one point I had 2!

2 men that I could trust to get me where I need to go without trauma.

I have to say, Vancouver has scarred me for life with the amount of times I've been attacked and worse.

I'm terrified of people and like the comment yesterday reminded me, predators can smell fear.

How do you just stop being afraid, though?

After spending the majority of my life with P.T.S.D. brought on by the hands of rancid monsters, I just don't know how not to be afraid of strangers.

I suppose it will take time, and hey, we almost have our car, which I'll drive without a license before I take a 'taxi'/'bus'.

I really think that horrible experience in India has really had an impact on my fear, and considering the amount of times I've been attacked on a bus, I'm not just being paranoid.

I don't want to die like that.

I've already lived through enough in this life and reality is, in this world people can be terrifying.

I'll take that solo 'taxi' ride some other time.

In the meantime, I'd rather drive my car illegally.

Apparently, I'm good with illegal actions now.

every problem has a solution and i seek my solution with resolve

you don't know me.

Can I tell you how much I hate thieves without being called names for it?

Any colour, age, class, gender, nationality or any other difference someone has from one another, I hate thieves.

To me, 'they' are only one step below a sexual predator.

Yet somehow, Papi and I were called racist because we referred to the thieves here as 'they'.

I'm back in fucking pronoun hell just like I was a few years ago when I struggled with my love going through the male transformation.

I'm so fucking sick of the Vancouverite, uber politically correct people and their finger pointing.

We got nothing but trouble from the 'community' in Vancouver for NOT being perfectly dishonest.  We thought we escaped it by coming here.

Well in the world of social media, 'they' just attacked us on Facebook instead.

We are supposed to keep our mouths shut about everything and anything that we don't like.

If we don't, we're called racist, transphobic, selfish, you fucking name it.

'They' stole from us, the thieves, yet we're called racist for being upset, because 'they' are of colour and from a developing country.

For fucks sakes.  The Pool Man's wife is Dominican and she's the one telling us how almost all the people will scam us here and how we've already been robbed.

Yet we're being racist by calling thieves 'they'.

I came here with so much love.

I poo-poohed anyone who said it's not a good idea give to the people here.

'They', who poo-poohed me, said, "If you give, they'll take too much and rob you."

I didn't believe it.  We wanted to give, give, give.

Give, give, give we did.

We brought gifts and every day we unpacked them we gave it to people we thought would be family.

What did we get for it?  Robbed.  I've now noticed my toiletries have dwindled in only 2 weeks of being here.

I wanted to bring my favourite treats to the people in my village when we got here as a 'hello' and 'thank you for letting me be here in your space'.

Now I won't.  Instead, I'll give my time to an organization where I can leave afterward without anyone knowing where we live.

We have a security guard in which we are overcharged for, but we keep paying it until the pool and walls are done.

Yet still, every time I go out to bring him water, juice, pop, beer, snacks he asks for more money, because he says his baby is starving, then turns around and tells me his baby is drinking lots of milk from the mother.

Sorry, but we are paying you fairly for your job.  We are not stealing from you.  We are giving.  We are not being selfish, but we are not responsible for the well being of every person we know.  We are dependent only upon ourselves.

We really can't afford to pay him, the house maid and gardener and are running out of money, but we hired people because we were told it helps the 'community'.

Yet we're called selfish because we don't want to be broke and living in a shack.

I received a settlement for my motorcycle accident, and we're selfish because we chose to give ourselves a dream life with the money.

Instead, we were basically told we deserve to be robbed because of it.

Let me tell you, if a white, Canadian asshole robs me, I hate them just as much.

Yet because we've come to another country where we're the foreigner, if we vent our feelings about things we worked hard for being stolen, we're called racists and selfish.

One person thought that because 'they' were stealing and are so broke, we should wrap up our things in a gift with a nice big bow, as to say, "Here.  You need this."

To thieves it will say, "Here.  Thank you for stealing from us.  You're welcome to take anything you like because we are just weak, stupid pushovers."

To some people, we're supposed to just take it and give them chance after chance.

I'm sorry, but there are no second chances.  I won't be fooled again.

Today, no matter what the uber politically correct say, I will not allow myself to eat in anger.  That was 2 nights in a row that I used food as a drug to soothe my emotions and both nights wound up nauseas, feeling crappy and having visits from the Anorexia Monster.

Go ahead.  Call me what you want.

I don't fucking care what you think about me and who you think I am.  You have no fucking idea.

I know in my heart I'm a good, generous person who came here with loving intentions and got fucked over for it.

i am aware of my eating habits and how they affect my moods

Paradise? Well ...

Too much has happened, so I don't even know where to begin to tell you.

Let's start with the fact that I'm writing this from the shitter, because I can't leave the bathroom due to my travellers squirts.

I'm so sick.  This happens every time, no matter how much black walnut tincture I take in.

We have a new chihuahua puppy for Sir Bark-A-Lot.  He's just as sick as I am and as uncomfortable as Psycho Kitty.

Psycho Kitty had to have dental surgery yesterday because his tooth rotted out and got infected as we were travelling.

We've also decided to take on a 2nd puppy, a little girl with one eye.  We'll get her in a few days when the chi-baby is feeling better.

Pretty sure this li'l lady has the spirit of The Golden.  Same eye missing, and same sweet temperament.

We have no hot water, nor do we have water pressure.

This is the cold season, so I'm actually donning a sweatshirt and pants.

Oh, my pants!  They are destroyed because the house maid put bleach in the water to wash them.  All my pretty city clothes are now donned with polka dots, which will turn into holes when they're washed again.  I will now fit in with the Dominicans.

We had to get her to wash all our clothes that we had at the storage facility here, because they were mouldy when we got to them.  They've only been here for 4 months and everything we owned had a layer of mould soot on it.  So lovely.

We haven't eaten a meal since we left Canada.

Our gas range only has one burner that works and when we finally had time (from running around all day, never stopping to the point of my feet throbbing), we bought groceries to cook a nice meal instead of corn chips for dinner again.

Well, the last functioning burner quit, so last night, yet again, we had more corn chips for dinner.

The sweet maid's boy brings me fresh fruit.  I hope he brings more today.  I'm starving.

All our clothes are still in suitcases, because we don't have dressers to put them in.  So, we can't find anything because it's a mess.

It took so long to find my underwear, because it was used to stuff into tiny little areas of the suitcase, that I wore the same skanky pair for 5 days straight.

Today I'm at the point of 'fuck it' and I'm going commando.

That was super great today, when we had to pull over to find a washroom to clean the vomit off my pants from the chi-baby.  2nd time he's christened me with his stomach acid now.

First time, yesterday, I just sent Papi in to go buy me a new skirt.  This time I just found a washroom at a restaurant, stripped down and cleaned my pants, then left the washroom looking like I had jumped into the sink.

We haven't even been able to find time or energy to get into the ocean that is mere steps away.

Well, with the exception of the time I had to run around the neighbourhood trying to find the new puppy that decided he was going back to where he came from.

I ran up and down the beach looking for him.  The vision of running up and down a Caribbean beach may sound 'nice' to you, but this this body is so broken that 'running' around put me into back spasm.

Oh, and our bed?  It's so uncomfortable that within 20 minutes of lying in it, even the bones in my fingers hurt from all the pain radiating from every blood vessel in my body.

This is not paradise, nor is it relaxation.  This is more work than I've done since my motorcycle accident 4 years ago.

I'm in agony and exhausted, on top of having a nasty case of the shits.  It's getting so bad, that pretty soon I'll be able to shit through the eye of a needle.

I laughed at Papi when he said we need to build a wall for our place to keep us safe.

I'm not laughing anymore.  Our house maid told us I'm never allowed to be left alone in Casa Paraíso, because the bandidos will come and overpower me to take everything, so I'm basically a prisoner.

My thoughts of writing on my laptop while having a beautiful view of the ocean are squelched.  I'm hiding in the back of the house in the spare room to be sure nobody sees my computer.

Not paradise.  No, not yet.

So, if you had even a remote moment or tinge of jealousy in your body about us moving here, don't.

Instead, enjoy your freedom as you move about the city to go to a store and instantly find what you need, have a warm shower and crawl into your comfortable beds that aren't filled with ants, sand, and cockroaches the size of my fist.

Go enjoy your own paradise.  Your life of accessibility is grand.  You really are living well.

I promise you.

everything will get better.  i know this, because it always does.  i trust this to still be true.

death is really a new beginning

Sometimes, I stare blankly at this li'l, white, blog page and wonder, "What the hell am I going to write about today?"

Other times, I have such pressing news about vomiting cats or silliness of the Papirazzi, that I feel I have to write it the night before and do my edit check in the morning.

Today is the, "What the hell am I going to write about today?" kinda day, which to me, is a good thing.

What that means to me, is there is no pain going on emotionally for me right now.  Perhaps I'm feeling some peace?

I won't bore you with the physical pain.  I'm sure you all know I could go on about my bitch of a back until we all die in 5 days.

I'm kinda excited to see the 'end of the world' on Dec. 21st.

While others may think we're going to implode, I'm actually thinking it's like the deck of tarot cards.

The death card is something people are afraid of, but it's not something to fear.

Death of one thing means birth of another.

What if all of a sudden, there was the birth of peace on earth?  Wouldn't that be a mindfuck?  We wouldn't know what the hell to do with that.

With my new found spirit friends, I actually ask them for this.

Peace on earth.

No massacres.

No wars.

No predators harming children and women.

No gangs.

Well, that gang one could be tamed a little if our fucking Prime Minister would get on the marijuana legalization train.

There would be less for those morons to fight about if people could freely get their peace pipes puffin' without the hassle of getting their goods from a dude named 'Spider' down on the corner.

Anyway, back to death.

I'm so not afraid of death, it's life that scares me.  If I'm here living, I want to feel like I've left behind something before I pop off.

I need to feel like I've made a change somewhere, somehow, to something or someone.

I need purpose.  I mean seriously, I didn't survive that motorcycle accident for nothing.

I'm here for something.

Every day since the Soul Activation happened Tuesday, I feel like I'm ready to find out my purpose.

I have so many ideas of how to help people, animals and the planet, that I think my mind is a bit obsessed and overwhelmed with all the options there are out there.

For myself, I need to feel what it was like before I got hit.  I have a yearning to be able to play my instruments for more than the half hour to hour I can do currently, before the pain sets in and I'm back to lying out flat asking, "What's my fucking purpose?"

Playing my instruments is my only version of meditation.  I'm taken somewhere that doesn't exist on this luminous body we call earth.

The Countdown to when I get to experience life without pain killers and without the exhaustion of pain is dwindling.  Day by day I'm closer to feeling my meditation again.

I'm feeling the pull of my next door opening.  It's as if it was a suction of air that drags me out of the plane door at 19,000 feet above the earth's crust, only in slow motion.

Yet first, we have to get through Dec. 21st and our new beginning.

If you could think about the new beginning for you, what would it be?  You know that you can choose whatever you want and make it happen, right?

I can't wait to see mine come to light, whatever it may be.

Well, I suppose I figured out what I was going to write about, and somehow, I still don't know the answer to my own question.

i believe strongly in my powerful, positive self-esteem

big honking mess.

I didn't think it was going to happen.  I'm bloody nervous.

I could tell something was up a few days ago, when my appetite was becoming a tad ravenous, yet I'm not having PMS.

I'm eating so many carbs that I've actually felt my clothes tightening.  That doesn't do good things for my bitch of a back.  Keeping my weight low is wayyyyyy better for the pain.

Not to mention, my candida could errupt.  Too many carbs are about the same thing as eating processed sugar all day long.  I don't need to deal with those repercussions right now!

Then, for 3 nights in a row, I've had a pounding heart.

I'm no stranger to panic attacks, only mine are usually limb flailing dramatic, taking form of a lack of breath and my body parts disappearing one by one.

OK.  It's not that I can't see them.  I'm not delusional, yet.  It's just that I can't feel them.

When they happen, even my head feels like it's a mile higher than my neck.

Anyway, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest.  It actually made my fists begin to clench.

I remember being so tense in life that it was normal that I had that much tension in my body.  I would brush my teeth with one hand, and the other hand was a full fledged fist, ready to pop any predators who tried to sneak up on me in my compromised state.

Well, I had clenched fists the other night as I was trying to do my nightly 'distract my brain so I can sleep' crossword puzzle.

I texted Papi, my pill pusher, and asked, "Do you have anything for anxiety?  I think I'm going to have a fucking heart attack!!"

He offered up the only thing he had in his bucket of fun, a sleeping pill.

The next night it happened, he had some low dose benzos to offer.  They helped.

Last night?  He decided to suggest the big kahuna: a combo sleeping/anxiety pill.

I popped that little culprit, then set my alarm to wake up for my Google+ skype coffee date.

This morning?  My eyes man!  They wouldn't open as I very ungraciously groped around for the suspect siren that was going off.

I would have actually preferred to stay in the nightmare I was experiencing, rather than try to reach consciousness.

My head!  I was counting the seconds until my pain killers kicked in.  That and I prayed the coffee fairies would 'poof' make my coffee appear like magic.

Oh.  Speaking of the coffee?  I cracked my morning egg into my coffee urn.  That was nice.  Then, I cleaned it out and started again.

With a lack of patience, I waited for my water to boil.

And waited ...

And waited ...

I would've been waiting a long time if I hadn't have noticed the burner was never turned on.

But hey!  My toast was ready before everything else.  That's a tragedy.  At least it got the toast in my yak to start my brain thinking better.

Jeeeeeeezus!  That little pill won't be a repeat tonight.

Somehow, I have to find a way to get through the night without Papi's magical pills.  He's trying to turn me into a zombie!

I thought my eye twitching from the new pain killers was already annoying enough.  Well, they certainly are flickering faster than a fluorescent bulb now.

So, it's confirmed.  I'm scared.

I suppose I'm granted that, because people don't go through life changing moments like this every day.

My friends told me how proud they are of me and my bravery.

Would you like to come see me just before I pass out and say that again?

I'm a wreck.

i love and accept my body as it is, and work to make it better

guilt. please leave?!

Orange juice.

I only drink it when I'm sick.  It's tasting so good.

I don't know why I can't stand the taste of water when I have a sore throat.

Guilt.

I have it whenever my plans have to change for a virus.

It's feeling so bad that; (a) I made food for Shabbat and can't go because I'm sick, and (b) I had plans to go see the super fantastic band, Lisa's Hotcakes, and now I can't go.

It's not just any band, it's my friends' band.

Two of the lovely friends that are on the list to spend time with, and share their energy before I take off for my first long stint in the Dominican Republic.

So, I guess I have a good day of studying Spanish and Hebrew today.

I hope my foggy head will let those words and symbols set in!

I'll also have some time to study about Hanukkah.  This will be my first time celebrating it.

I don't have to deal with the guilt from those damn Catholics.

Fear god!?!?!

Right dudes.  I can't fear something I don't believe in.

Jesus was a Jew.

I can believe he existed.  But I don't believe he was magic.  He was just a good Jew soul that wanted peace in the world.

I've just learned Jews don't believe in hell.

Another good one is that I don't have to use the word 'god', but rather that you don't say it and it becomes g*d!!  I'm so grateful!

I'm finding so much more that I can relate to.

Don't worry.  I'm not turning into some religious zealot.  I still don't believe in g*d.

And the Jews are ok with that.

Mind you, I'm going to a reform synagogue.  They're much more liberal and inclusive. 

I get to be me.  No fucking guilt. 

Except for the fact that I swear too much and I know that occasionally, Rabbi Laura comes here to read and I feel guilty about the fact that I'm being myself on my blog.

That and that I have a bit of a violent energy when I'm talking about predators.

However, even with that, I've learned that I'm allowed to be myself, because there's no way I could be perfect.  I just need to know what I need to work on and it will get better.

Oh, I know.

I know that no matter where I go, day or night, I constantly and consistently look over my shoulder for the plausible creeps of the world.

I know that when I'm standing idle, I settle myself with my back to a wall, to be sure there's no crud standing behind me awaiting their opportunity to strike.

I know that when I cross the street, I look every direction, non-stop, for cars that could potentially hit me.  I do this until my feet hit the sidewalk, then start looking over my shoulder again for scum of the earth behind me.

I know that I need to stop thinking about the revenge I can get on all these people.

I know that I need to stop the P.T.S.D.

Only then will I be open enough to allow positivity in every way come into my life.

I know that I have a lot to learn.

I also know that the NyQuil has kicked in and I'm feeling a hell of a lot better.

I also know that I'm definitely sick.  I think I've jumped around about 5 topics.

Coma time.

i enjoy being positive and having positive feelings

gun therapy. oh yes.

While we were talking to the housekeeper at Casa Paraíso, telling her with all our sadness that we can't hire her full time when we move there, she told us in her broken English, "Get a pistol."

This is not because we won't hire her full time.  We told her she will be part of our family and that we'll take care of them best we can.  We already have plans in place to make them our DR Family.

She told us that the bandidos would come to rob us if they're not there full time, because we're gringos.

At first it was a little alarming, until I realized I finally get to have a gun and get to go back to the shooting range for practise.

Of course, people are a little worried about us, but I'm trying to reassure everyone we're going to be just fine.  

We're cool with it.  We love guns and I've always wished I had one to protect myself from predators.

I know that if I had one when I was younger, I wouldn't be living with P.T.S.D for the rest of my life.

I guess I will have to work on my anger management before we have an Uzi.

Also, there will be no sugar in my system to make sure there are no ocean side Hurricane Andréa sightings.

None-the-less, I promise you, this little femme will not hesitate to protect my home and family.

I also know, once we get the reputation for not taking any bullshit, the opportunists will leave us alone.

Not to mention, once we become a part of the community and show that we're there to help, not take, they will not want to diss us.

They don't diss family like people do here in our fair city of privileged white boys who don't give a shit about elders or children.

They respect those who respect family, and these lovely caretakers will be our family.

Dammit, I can't tell you how excited I am to start my target practise on Saturday.

I also have a couple of good friends who I've asked for help to get the best out of my practise.  One is my drummer from HECTOR who is the baby daddy of My Godson, The Turkey.

The other is the Godfather of The Turkey.  He's cleared to carry guns, and regularly goes to the shooting range to keep up his chops.

I'm sure they'll both want to get me the best I can be.

Envision this: I'm lying in my hammock, sipping on coconut water I got from our coconut palm in our yard.  The salty ocean breeze is drying my hair from the morning's ocean pain relief for my bitch of a back.  I may or may not have a missing tooth with a stalk of hay hanging from my mouth, instead of a cigarette, because cigarettes are gross.

Someone comes on the the property thinking that this li'l gabacha is an easy target to get past to take her items.

Wrong mother fucker.

See this Saturday-night Special?  I know how to use it.

He takes a step closer and the dirt beside him erupts from a bullet.  That is a warning, and one warning is all he gets.

I'll be sure to let him know the next one goes into his leg, prohibiting him from taking any steps closer.

That will take care of our reputation and will be the only time someone bothers to try and take advantage of us.

So, this weekend, I start target practise.

Perhaps, I should find myself some anger management to go along with it.

That, and there will be no sugar in my system to make sure my chemical imbalance is in check.

Good thing Papi and I don't drink.  There could be some troubles in Casa Paraíso if that were the case.

Lord knows that sliver of my Irish heritage comes out when I drink, and I become a leprechaun.

Just add alcohol and a gun.

i have deep faith and belief in myself

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