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

no, not she/he, asshole.

Maybe I'm just bitchy and short fused because I'm sick, but seriously, people really piss me off.

Someone thinks I'm a lazy ass and that Papi does everything.

Really mother fucker?!?!

Papi and I do different things, because I can't lift heavy items or walk for long periods, but I pull my weight.

I promise you.  I pull MORE than most people with my bitch of a back would.

I work my ass off just to keep up, so relatively speaking, I do more than most.

When I was healing in the chronic time from my motorcycle accident, people would say to me, "You know, most people only choose one area of rehab to work on then move on to the next."

I said, "Fuck that.  I've got to get better now."

So, when someone says that they feel bad for Papi, because he has to do everything, I really want to slap them upside the head.

I really want to scream at them and tell them to take their judgement somewhere else.

Go look in the mirror and tell me that you're working just as hard as me.  I can almost guarantee I'll win that game.

I know this because I'm a stubborn mother fucker.  I will win or hurt myself trying.

Earlier on in the day, another asshole pissed me off because he wouldn't respect that Chaz Bono is a male.

Can you believe it?  Me!!

This femme was pissed off because someone wouldn't give the proper respect for a trans person.

Who is that!?!?  Definitely not the same girl from two years ago, that's for sure.  That absolutely blew me away.

Then I realized, we all have a path of learning.

Really though, what it comes down to, is that we all pass judgement, whether we want to admit it or not.  We get really pissed when someone passes judgement upon us, but we turn around and do it straight back at them, tit for tat.

We're all human, but we can all learn to keep our minds open to things we don't understand.

This girl has no idea how hard I work just to keep up with everyday life like a healthy able-bodied person does.

This guy has no idea how hard it is to be a trans person and be disrespected in being called by the wrong gender, even by the person they love the most.

I mean really, look at Chaz Bono.  Is there anything in there that you can say is female about him?  The only way this person could say 'she' about him was because he had prior knowledge.

The other day, Papi and I were in the cop shop getting our fingerprints done for the consulate of the Dominican Republic, and there was a spot for previous names or aliases.  Papi had put his previous 'female' name in this spot like a law abiding citizen.

The woman thought my love had put my name in there by accident, because there's no way he could be named with such a feminine name.

When mi esposo proceeded to explain that he is a transgender person, the woman stated, "Wow!  Good for you!  I would have never known!"

That made Papi proud.

However, then she had knowledge.  She knew a secret; that Papi was called by a former pronoun.  She respected him though, and treated him like a male being.

Unlike this crud of a Facebook guy that called Chaz a she/he and a she.

As much as I'm pissed, I realize, we all pass judgement.

As soon as this girl assumed I do fuck all for our relationship, I jumped straight to judging her path, in an energetic way to hurt her back.  Good thing I didn't text her and say anything I would regret today.

I had a chance to sleep on it and realize that she only sees one side, because I never allow her to see mine.

We all judge.  Nobody is exempt from it.  But perhaps, we can try to see another person's view in the story.

It's far better than being pissed off.

i balance my self-confidence with modesty

Pronoun Hell. It awaits me.

Well, I can't deny it anymore.

More and more strangers out there are starting to see my love as a male being.

I don't know when the big switcheroo came, because like I've said before, I'm much too close to Papi to see drastic changes.  The changes all come too slow in this male transformation.

Well, except for The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida

That was a bit too fast for my liking.

Anyway, this story is set when mi esposo went to visit someone in the psych ward.

Now, before you start thinking those thoughts about people in psych wards, I do want to tell you, that you never know who's been there.

It's not all drooling lunatics on anti-psychotic meds.

Sometimes, it's people who just can't swallow the meals life is putting on their plates.  There are a lot of people suffering in this life, and some get to a breaking point where their mind wants to quit.

I know what it's like.

I should have been in the psych ward a few times from various break downs I've had from life's peddlings.

You never know if the sweet person you work with, who has that heart that everyone wants to warm up to, has been there.

We are all sensitive people and some of us reach meltdown faster than others.

Ok.

So now that I've gotten my mental health advocacy out of the way, I'll get back to my love's story.

Actually, the story happens after Papi left the ward.

The woman that my love had gone to visit told Papi that she had a thing for one of the other clients there.

After my love left, this woman wanted to talk to the hunk of burnin' love about perhaps a phone number exchange and a date outside of the ward.

The man was horrified!

He thought that this woman's boyfriend had just left and already she's going on about dating someone else.

This guy thought Papi was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend!!

Male.

Boy.

I dunno.

I just don't see it.  But will I ever?  Or will I continue to see my love as my love?  Or will I eventually see him as a male?

Here's a funny one for ya.

So, there I was spending so much time, trying desperately to get the pronouns down and guess what's happened?

To me now, everyone has the male pronoun.

I'm not kidding.

I now slip up with women and call them he, him, his or whatever male pronoun seems to fit the sentence.

How fucked up is that?!?!

My pendulum has swung to the other side and you're all male.

Every last one of ya.

This is a bit ridiculous, but hey, I've got it down now, don't I?

i have compassion for myself and the way my life has developed

My Old Lady Cart

It occurred to me yesterday that referring to my love as my spouse, and 'he', has now become effortless with only a slip up here and there.

I'm not cringing every time I have to say it, and I don't have the urge to want to tell the person I'm speaking to, "But I started out married to a 'she'!!" every single time.

Yeah, I did.

But now I have a 'he'.

A gorgeous, big-hearted, loving, generous, animal loving 'he', who describes 'fun' as the ability to taunt me by asking me, "Here!  Touch it!" as he pulls at the little hairs on his chest.

I am so glad I have this opportunity to get used to it all before we get to the Dominican Republic.   I don't need my love getting tranny-bashed when we get to paradise by my slip of a tongue.

It wouldn't be paradise anymore.

Speaking of paradise, I started my trek with counseling.  It was a teary hour, but it will get better.

I also want my paradise to include a P.T.S.D. free life from past traumas.

I want my life to be free of anything that would hinder our relationship.  I don't really have the energy to drag all that luggage to the Dominican.

I gotta get rid of it.

It's all a part of The Great DR Purge.

Oh ya!

Today was my first day riding the 'short bus'.  It was so nice to have a stress free ride to get out of my isolation and the Dungeon Syndrome.

AND!!

I went to the surgeon for my 3 week checkup and the splint and elastics are now gone!

Not that it makes any difference to the amount of food that trails down my chin in an effort to stain my favourite bra.

Oh, it's so nice when it's a sticky sweet substance.

That's my fave.

Anyway.

I don't have to wear the mouth crap and I look a little more normal now.

With the exception of the chipmunk cheeks.  They're still a bit round.

I do feel less stressed about time.  I have nothing but time until my next appointment.

I had enough time to go buy myself a handy dandy cart.

Yup.

My new fancy dancy old lady cart.

I have an old lady shopping cart to drag around with me so that I am able to bring my water, snacks and this here computer.

It's not so bad.  It actually feels really good to not be wasting gas in our monster of an SUV.

No, I don't like them, but we needed it and now we're stuck with it.

Or, I should reiterate, Papi is stuck with it.

My ride is much bigger than his.

My mantra today comes from my MC Guru:

 even through the thickest rain and darkest clouds, i can still see the light

Gimme, gimme, gimme!!!

Here's what's really wacky.

Through this male transformation, I've had to get used to a new pronoun for Papi.

I feel like 80% of the time I'm saying the proper pronouns. 

But of course, everyone slips up every now and then.  I'm just glad my love isn't psycho about my brain not catching on too quickly.

I'm fine in black and white.  I never slip up here or anywhere else I write about mi esposo.

I just need to get this down for my love.

However, during this journey, I've opened my eyes even more to gender recognition.

It would be great if someone could come up with a non-gender specific pronoun, but here in my lifetime, well, we don't.

Unless you speak Estonian, Finnish, Hungarian, Persian, Basque, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Malay, Quechuan, Tagalog, Davidian, Turkish or Ido.

Really?!

All these languages don't use pronouns to differentiate between gender identification.

So.

What the fuck is the matter with us?!

Why don't we have something to work with.  Why do we have to choose between only two options?

You see, now that I'm having to rearrange my mind with a pronoun switch, I'm starting to do it all over the place.

People who don't even have an inkling of transgenderism are starting to become non-gender specific.

So strange.

I just don't want to use pronouns at all anymore.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, blah, blah, blah, over and over again I hear, "How about using they?  That works."

You know, I'm too much of a grammar nerd to use 'they', considering it's only one person.

I'm also not into calling someone an 'it', like I was spitting venom at the disgust of someone so deeply that I am insulting them.  It's like having a turned up nose toward someone, or some homophobic bumpkins, who can't even look at a person as human, and they call you an 'it' in revulsion.

Anyway, I have started to think of everyone as non-gender specific, and it's a real trip.

Even a hetro woman who is obviously showing the world her womanly bosom, and tight clothes to show of her womanly booty, I  am starting to just see as a person.

No pronoun.

A person.

So dammit!  Who's the grand-poo-bah of language?

Can someone hook me up with this person?

I need to start a gender neutral discussion with them so that we can sort this out.

Otherwise, I just might lose it.

And we don't want that now, do we?

**inserts tongue in cheek**

Introducing, The Hector-Browns

I suppose we're famous now.

The other day, a friend was with some acquaintances, who brought along another friend.

does that make sense? damn i hope so ... the friend that was brought along didn't know that my friend knew us ... god i think i've made it even more confusing ...

Well, my friend had this little gathering somehow get on to the topic of Papi and I.

It was at that point that someone who has no idea who we really are said, "Oh, you mean 'The Hector-Browns'?" with a forked tongue and a little bit of venom spewing.

I know people say when you're married that you become one, and damn.  We really are.

We are no longer independent human species.

We are one:  The Hector-Browns.

But the point is, we're fucking hated by people who have no idea about what is between the lines of our relationship and feelings toward one another.

I'm ok with this grand title.

You see, I've had pods of lesbians hating me for ridiculous rumours all over the city from the moment I came out of the closet.

It hurt at first, but I soon learned that if you want to have your creativity out in the world, people will love you and people will hate you.

It's polarity.

I actually dealt with cliques from a young age, so I'm used to it.  It doesn't mean anything to me.

Papi, however, has not.

Mind you, my love, had a stint with being hated while being an active drunk.  There was a while where my love really enjoyed getting a rise out of the uber-politically correct.

None-the-less, I really think it's pretty awesome that we are known as The Hector-Browns.

I love giving people titles.  It's easier than remembering names sometimes.

And I'm not talking about pronouns and sexual orientation.

For example: My Person, My boifriend, and now the most recent inductee: The Chef Extraordinaire.

I haven't really mentioned him yet, but damn.  Papi and I were given an amazing 5 course meal by The Chef Extraordinaire.

This was for My Boifriend's last Vancouver meal.

He's gone back to his island.

goddam off topic ... again ... where was i? o ya right ...

Anyway, what I was going to get at was that only a year ago, I was afraid of being hated by the Rah-Rah-Trannies.  This left me comatose, but I'm good now, and I'm ready for the people who may fart in our general direction as Papi and I walk down the street.

But honestly, to be given our reigning title was a huge compliment to me.

If my love and I were boring, nobody would even care.

Being disliked so strongly means we're interesting.

So, there ya go.

I'm pretty sure we're famous now.

We are The Hector-Browns.

We are one unit.

Now I will go tend to chores, in our Hector-Brown house and our Hector-Brown Fuzzy Family.

We got a whole lotta love over here.

Never say 'never'.

This hysterectomy is a lot less demanding of my emotions than the top surgery.

I do need a few days to process my feelings around all of it.

Papi said I'm acting different.

yeah ... well at least i still have my lady bits ...

I am having feelings, but I just can't figure out what they are.

Papi asked if it was because it was the last procedure to get through.

Could be.

Could be that it's all over now and we get to watch the butterfly emerge.

I honestly don't know what it is, but I'm sure it will surface soon.

It usually does when I'm writing to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I haven't had a chance to force feed Papi any vegetables yet.

I'm too busy feeding and caring for the Fuzzy Family, the 96 year old coot, and the wounded tranny.

except for yesterday ... yesterday i played hookie from being a caretaker and got to see some of my 'rough around the edges friends' ...

Interesting enough though, last night we watched a documentary on transgender children.

The narrator told us they'd be using their birth assigned gender as the referring pronoun.

I was actually shocked that they would disrespect the children this way.

When we were watching the documentary, these children were the gender they felt.  It didn't matter that they were born a boy or girl.  They were definitely the gender they felt in their mind.

I was horrified that they documentary makers would refer to them as a gender they clearly were not.

It pleased me that I was horrified.

It means I'm thinking a hell of a lot differently than I was a year ago.

Then it dawned on me.

A year ago, I couldn't fathom being in a relationship with a transgender person.  I couldn't imagine ever letting go of my perfect butch that I grieved for.

I believe that's the reason the top surgery was such a big deal compared to the hysterectomy.  I wasn't ready for it.

Time heals us.

I was well enough to be Papi's support system for this surgery.

When the top surgery happened, I wasn't ready.  This is why it was such an ordeal for me.

I suppose this means I truly am ready to deal with all of the changes.

One good thing about the hysterectomy?  Papi will be taking less of that poison everyone flippantly refers to as 'T'.

Testosterone.

The 'rules' are still in place about that one.

They must still be called hormones for my weak psyche to handle the fact that this concoction is roaming through my love's body, changing him from the inside out.

I don't know that I'll ever get used to that one, but then I said that about a lot of things, didn't I?

Urinal training 101

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

Men's washrooms.

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

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

This phenomenon is different in the men's.

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

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

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

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

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

Sounds a bit barbaric to me.

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

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

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

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

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

When Papi realized this, he removed himself ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seriously.  They're pumped full of liquid courage.

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

There should be some sorta grooming school.

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

Papi needs some male coaching.

I'm definitely not the one to ask.

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

But really.

This lining up at the stall rule.

Dear males: What the fuck is that about?

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

Gender neutral pronouns please!!!!

I had a day without pain killers yesterday.

Those are some beautiful days when that happens.  I've had 2 in the past week and a half.  I hope this ball keeps rolling!

Papi and I went and sat on the beach.  Same beach we went to for The One Year Wedding Anniversary Extravaganza.

It was difficult for Papi to not take off his top.

When there were breasts there, Papi would always expose them.  I'd cringe because people ...

... creeps ...

... would stare and even sometimes take pictures.

Then there were the mothers who thought that seeing breasts would scar their children, even though that same child suckled her very own bosom.  It was thought of as a beautiful act when that mother could feed her child directly from her body.  How can they see them as offensive?

Anyway, now my love has two massive scars that spread straight across his chest and for the average straight person to see those, they'd probably just wonder if it was cancer.

There was something I read about these scars and that they shouldn't be in the sun.  I'm not sure, but I think it was my Blogger Friend, Vee who told me this information.

i'm too lazy to go find it ...

So, I've been telling my love, "I read it!  If you expose your scars to the sun it will take longer to heal, or not heal as well.  I don't know which one, but just keep them out of the sun!"

Papi has listened to me, but it was very difficult for my love to remain with a shirt on.

My love would sit and stare at men who were just walking around without tops and be envious.

I would sit and stare at the girls who got to move around and play frisbee with a flick of their wrist, or pummel a volleyball.

I, too, was with envy, as I just sit and watch now.

I also compare female bodies to my own.  This is not a healthy thing to do when you have an eating disorder.  It could bring disaster.

I stopped myself and told myself the same thing I have to every time I hear the demon whisper in my ear, "I'm not her.  I am me.  I am healthy."

Afterward, when the self inflicting pain stopped, we went to visit a friend who is having pain of her own.

She's a lovely soul who has gotten herself into a bit of trouble with addiction.

It was really hard to listen to her ask Papi all the curious questions.

My love would just answer with frankness, as if they were talking about a hair regime.

I would fall silent.

I'm sure that if my love were only a friend to me, I'd be just as easy going with it as well, but I'm not.

None-the-less, it was still difficult to hear these questions being answered in a lackadaisical manner.

It's interesting to see how some people see my love as a male and some see a female.

It makes Papi wince when people say, "She," and this friend did quite often.

The strangest phenomenon is happening to me though.  It's also making me feel odd when people say it as well.

Then there's the other day when I realized I wasn't thinking of people as any gender what-so-ever.  I've really stopped using pronouns in every day life, not just with Papi.

I suppose my mind is a pendulum and I'm just swinging to the other side to help myself get past this pronoun thing.

Someone, somewhere, has got to come up with a new pronoun that is gender neutral.

That way, everyone could just be a human, instead of placing a description of their gender.

I would breathe easy if that happens.

Dream on ...

Shhhhh ...

'after all it’s just another way society has of sticking you in a box and controlling you'

I read these words in my comments box from a new face in my manic world of mind to paper, BlackLOG, and I remembered why I'm here speaking to my imaginary friend.

Lest I be judged.

It just so happens that people read my words of discord.

I never set out to harm anyone, rather to be good to 'me' and give myself some healing around what I find difficult.

I am not evil, because I didn't intentionally set out to hurt anyone.  I am working things out, and I'm behind the eight ball is all.

I mean really, Papi was trying to get across to me why people would choose not to have anything to do with me anymore, but not all people diss me.  I am still loved by those who matter.

I now remember why those of us who are struggling with the fact that our soul mate has exposed their true gender don't speak; lest we be judged.

But, this is my journey.  I am not a cookie cut out of every other person.

It is true that because of my words some folks will choose to disapprove of me, just as it is true that I don't think the same as other people.  Honestly, I've been this person all my life.  I think for myself, not the way others would have me do so.

It is the reason I am friends with the underdog.

It is the reason I've never been akin to the 'cool kids'.

I will not be muzzled by the imperial masses who, as a new member of my Trust List said, 'put politics before humanity'.

I will openly continue my journey, albeit there may be many tears along the way due to being the 'odd' one out.

I will continue to be the last called for the basket ball game, and I'm sure there will be a lot of gatherings I'll be deliberately left out of.

wouldn't want to be associated with me ... you may be dissed for doing so...

However, it's my journey, and I have hope that these words will reach the many out there who are feeling the same discord.  I am hoping these words will find those who may relate to my feelings.

Our feelings of difficulty around our partners re-arranging their genders is unique.

We don't fit in.  Instead, we all 'don't fit in' together.

What you read yesterday is true to my feelings of the inner battle with myself.  It is my inner struggle I live with every moment.  It is my healing journey that began at the age of 10 when my father let me know that I wasn't good enough to be in his life, by choosing drugs over his children.

if i don't eat a crumb, i will vanish ... if i just lose 5 more pounds, maybe i'll die ...

It is why I am here at this very moment probing to find peace, to learn, grow and heal in my way.

I only speak the truth of what's in my head, and unfortunately, those without any psychological cacophony will never understand.

The beating I gave myself was only because Papi spoke to me from the other side of the fence.  It was my love's way of showing me how I am seen from another's perspective, and in mi esposo's words, "I like the fact that your non-PC.  It's one of the reasons I love you.  I also think that being racist is not quite the words I was looking for.  It's more like homophobia.  It's transphobia."

And it's my transphobia.  It is not for someone else to tell me how to get past it, all that really matters is that I'm trying do so and not stagnating in my filth.

Yesterday, I took an elephantine baby step and referred to my love as 'he' on Facebook.  It is a great place to start, as it's coming through my fingers, not my mouth.

Two people recognized it and gave me a pat on the back.  I needed that.  I needed to hear from someone else that indeed it was a big step, and that they're happy for me getting to that point.

One of these two souls is an F-M who would never silence me.

It is someone who is witnessing my growth from start to finish, much like I get to witness my love's changes in becoming a male born in a female's body.  It is a person who hasn't decided to follow anyone's lead, but only to support and love me through many of my words that may seem unloving to the politically fueled.

There may be many tears to accompany my truth.  There may be many days where I feel like the person those who dislike me make me out to be.  There may be days where I beat myself up with my inner struggle, yet I will not be extinguished.

Those who wish me to be mute and invisible, only make my voice feel the need to be heard all the more.

(roar.)

Baby Steps

We see what we want to see.

Most of us anyway.  Papi is included in this 'most of us'.

I received a text last night as I was ready to make my way home, "I almost fell off the toilet when I saw you referred to me as 'he' on my status area."

my sweet papi, so addicted to facebook that my love can't even go to the bathroom without it

I was confused.  "I did?!  Lol!!"

I thought that maybe I was subconsciously moving along much faster than I was aware of.

I mean, I try to speak about Papi with no pronoun what-so-ever ...

... as you've probably noticed ... hope it doesn't drive you crazy as much as it is difficult for me to do so ...

I was truly surprised that my mind would just switch over without help.

I had to see for myself when I got home.  Most definitely.

When I arrived home, my ailing Papi was in bed still fighting off the flu.

My love said, "I read it wrong.  It was someone else who referred to me as he.  I was so happy when I thought it was you though."

so happy ...

I realized at that moment, Papi saw what my love was yearning for.

I realized at that moment, there was a way I could make my love feel joy:  Use a male pronoun.

I'm so not ready for this.

I fight it with obstination.

I throw around my love's name, and occasionally when I'm not thinking with focus, I will say 'she' and quickly correct myself to 'he'.

It's about the only time I do it, and it's only around people who already have taken the plunge in calling mi esposo 'he'.

However, now that I've grasped just how much it would mean to my love, I suppose I need to look at that.

We're both in this relationship to make each others lives richer, more full and meaningful.  Otherwise, it would be a loveless charade.

I mean for gawd's sakes!  Some of my closest friends are doing the right thing and using 'he'.

I'm the one Papi chose to be with.  Something as simple as dropping the letter 's' could make mi esposo happy, and I'm too tenacious to do so?

Well, when you're in a relationship that is successful, you will find compromise is a strong spot.

Yet still I feel the need to shout, "No!!!  I'm a lesbian!!  I'm not in a straight relationship with a 'he'!!!"

When I came out of the closet, I hit the new world with a boa, sparkles and 16" stilettos, strutting until I found my butch who would bare their soul to me.

please don't strip me of my boa and sparkles ... i can let go of the heels ... they hurt too much

I found my perfect butch, I married this gem.

So, yeah.

I'm wavering in the pronoun department.

It was just so hard to see the let down in Papi's face when my love said it wasn't me who used, "he".

Maybe I need to take baby steps?

Perhaps just start with the people who know who I am?

Maybe right now it's time to put in to use some of those cliché sayings that were burned into my brain during my days at that anonymous group for drunks.

One day at a time.

Fake it 'til you make it.

(dear sponsors who thought i wasn't listening:  i was.)

Roots of my Willow

Papi's still going on about the inane he said/she said conversation.

But you know what, if it's my reality, then that's the way it is in my blog.

So there!

**sticks out tongue**

In last night's cozy hang out, my love tried to tell me the 5 Foot Clitoris is only 'x' amount bigger, by way of the distance between mi esposo's thumb and index finger.

Again, I corrected Papi, "Nope.  It's bigger."

"No way, it was big to start with."

"Nope.  It's huge."

And again went the batty back and forth comedy skit that is our marvelous life together.

Our life.

Like an old married couple, we watch Wipeout together and in tandem will burst into deep belly laughs, while peoples' flexible limbs are being thrown this way and that after bouncing off the big balls.

I snuggle into the side of Papi, spooning my love's arm.  I'm still only able to get this close.

Apparently, the pain is still too much to allow my head on mi esposo's chest.

Between each 'oof' and squeal of the contestants dense enough to be on the show, I evaluated a conversation I had during the day with one of the first people on the Trust List.  She was the 'responsible person' at the QAF that I was volunteering at.  She sweetly asked me, "How are you coming along with all this?"

I knew what she meant.  She didn't have to elaborate.

"I'm doing better.  I'm no longer defiantly saying, 'No, No, No, No," I said as I emulated a child stomping her feet, clenched fists articulating every 'No' with a slam to my lap.  I continued, "Now I find myself saying, 'Ok I think I can open my mind a little more day by day."

It was actually surprising to me to hear those words of substance come out of my mouth.

Between every whole hearted guffaw from one of the show's hosts, Jill, I thought about where I was in November, and how all the pain that pummeled my head and stabbed my heart seems to be dissipating.

I didn't know that I'd even get this far.  I remember when Papi said, "I'll give it one year, and if you're not on board with this, I'll stop."

or something like that ... enter here: papi correcting me while my love dissects my blog ...

Well, we are at 9 months, and my arduous issues are really all about pronouns, and hearing about the loss of another butch to the F-M world.

Seems manageable.

However, there is a run off that is more painful than the aforementioned.  I would say struggling with people's hatred is harder than my dealing with mi esposo's male transformation at this point, but they actually lie in a different category.

So, I sit here, brazenly amazed at how my mind could actually calm itself down to this point.

I can put these paltry issues into a tiny brown paper bag.  I can roll the top closed and wait for that moment when I'm hungry enough to open it, and eat it for lunch.

Pronouns.

Missing butches.

Haters.

Seems feasible that I could take these fuckers on, don't you think?

I feel like a willow tree, swaying from the force of the wind.  My branches may get blown too far in one direction, and it seems I would fall.

I never do.

I just right myself and wait for the next blow.

My roots are strong.

Get over it.

"Your blog has been boring because it hasn't been about me.  But I guess that's ok, because it means you're getting better."

And within the same heartbeat I heard, "I think my nipples aren't healing properly, one doesn't look like the other.  I'm afraid the outer skin is not going to fall off and they'll look weird.  Hey, do I have ass hair?"

ass hair ... really?

Papi then proceeded to bend over wave the one eyed, stark white orb in my face.

"No, sweety, you don't have ass hair."

thank gawd!

When we were out the other day, someone mentioned that they'd like to have a camera and just follow us around.

The Papi & Andréa show.

I told her, "We already have that.  It's my blog."

There's plenty to go on about here.

I have issues, and I write about them.

Most people hide their contention out of embarrassment, but I prefer to let people know that if they have the same problems as I, then we are are no different and it's really ok to talk about it.

Rather; it's really important to talk about it.

Here's one that I need to deal with.

'They'.

We're back at the pronoun dilemma folks.

Being a persnickety officer of grammar and spelling, when I hear that people don't want to be called 'he' or 'she', but prefer to be called 'they', I get uncomfortable.

It's not proper grammar.

'They' refers to 2 people, and transgender people are beings of The Third Gender.  So, unless someone has dual personality disorder, then this is only one person.

I cringe whenever Papi informs me that another butch has denounced their gender of female.

But here's the real problem; I get a look of disdain, or roll my eyes when I'm told a transgender would like to be referred to as 2 people.

'They'.

So, I've been thinking about the question that Papi asked me, "What does it matter to you what they want to be referred to as?"

Really?

I don't know.

What does it matter to me?

Nobody is hurting anybody by asking to be referred to as 2 people.  It doesn't change the fact that someone is a nice person with a big heart, or, an ego-centric asshole.

It really doesn't matter.

So, I had to come up with a way to deal, or it will continue to be the same conversation with Papi over and over.  I wouldn't want that, because it could become too much of a debate in our relationship, and I prefer the communication and giggles we use to talk 'things' through.

Here's where I got to:  A transgender person really is dual gender.

Dual.

2 genders.

Going through male or female transformation never really makes that person become a bio-male or bio-female, it really just helps someone have the 'appearance' of the gender they feel.

the dysphoria ... being unsettled with what they see in the mirror ... like my eating disorder ... who is that big girl in the mirror?

So.

Then.

That makes someone indeed be 2 people.

'They'.

Now I just have to convince the bratty fucking teenager in my head to get over it.

Wish me luck.

warning: rant.

Every morning, I look like a shaman blessing the air with a tea towel.

Do you have one of those fire alarms that goes off when you make toast?

If you do, then you know what I'm talking about.  While my 2 eggs cook in my miniature iron pan, I wander around waving a blue and white terry cloth.

sans caffeine for 2 weeks **sobs** ... i'm on a food cleanse ... ouch

All I know is, if there is the remote fear of a fire, we're good.  However, that doesn't count emotional ones.

You know, since Papi and I have both been blessed with the Brace Face, there's not too much heavy kissing going on.  I guess that's why I dreamed that Papi and I are making out the same way we did before the bomb was dropped and I cried sitting in a La-Z-Boy for 6 weeks.

Then when the braces came, well yeah, the kisses are little pecks most of the time.

It was nice to wake up to a dream about nookie with Papi.

One of the last things my love said to me last night before I dozed off into my sexy time coma was, "Honey, can you please not roll your eyes every time I talk about someone who's become an F-M?"

I knew this was going to be conveyed, because while the Americans were invading our house, there was another outing of another F-M, and I, in all my opinionated glory, rolled my eyes.

I know that most people who go through the male transformation really are transgendered, however I fear for the young bucks who feel like they'd fit in better if they joined the crowd.

I have spoken about this before, but I really do think that when you're 18/19/20, you just don't have the life experience to figure out who you are.

And is there something so wrong with being a minority within a minority?

No.

Butches are beautiful.

Butches are special.

Butches are becoming an endangered species.

I just need to know that there will be some butches left for the femmes who adore them.

So yeah, when I hear of another butch being pricked by the needle with poison, going through modern day mutilation, and asking the world to change their personal pronoun ...

... leaving all of us stuttering while trying our best not to insult ...

... I roll my eyes.

another one bites the dust.

Yet, I am hurting my love's feelings when I show my disdain.  So it will now have to be curbed and kept for my inside voice, until I am with the femmes on my Trust List who are also feeling the pinch of our butches leaving us.

One of my Blogger Friends, Tricia, made a great point.  That when breasts are removed, so is the tact.

Yesterday, Papi called that 'murdering tot mom' ...

... no need to put a name here ... we all know who i'm talking about ...

... a slut.

My Trust List Yank and I looked at each other a little shocked, and from out of the Yank's mouth came, "You sound a bit slut-phobic."

There was laughter, but it just sounded odd coming from Papi who back-stepped saying, "I'm not, I really don't care, I'm just saying ..."

It's interesting, because it seemed like Papi no longer was allowed to call a woman a name, because mi esposo has denounced all ties to femininity.

Sorry my love.

You will be getting flack for speaking like a guy now.

politics, politics

Our home has been invaded by Americans!!!!

And it's nice to have them.  Especially when one of them is on your Trust List, and the other is an honorary Trust List newbie as of last night.

I see myself as transphobic a lot.  I assume this is because I have adverse feelings about my love's male transformation.

I'm reminded time and again that there are other people out there who would feel the same way if their love decided to switch camps.

It was really nice to be understood last night.  I forget that when I'm overwhelmed with feelings about the transformation that I have people to go to.

time for a trust list pow-wow i think!

It was not a berating of F-Ms.  It was an honest 'this is my opinion' or 'this is my feeling' or 'this is my veiwpoint' bull session.

We went from the slip of a pronoun to me making my claim again, "I can't call E a male, because all I will ever see is my butch," to "the M-Fs who want to be at the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival don't want to come to bond with women, they only want to make their politics loud."

Women's spaces are a touchy subject in our community.  For many reasons.  The Yanks told me about some F-Ms who will go as 'she' to this Festival just so that they can find the femmes and get laid.

Yes.

There is a reason it's a touchy subject.

When Papi and I go to play parties, there have been numerous occasions where we will engage in sexy time.

hey, what can i say, i'm an exhibitionist.

I only feel safe to do so if there are women in the room.

Just like the times I would partake in the art of stripping for our yearly women's strip show, Diva's Den.

In front of women, I am free to be and do whatever and whomever I want.

However, this year, the organizers started allowing bio-males into the play party.  I understand.  It's a business, but it certainly put the halt on my sexual escapades.

I am completely uncomfortable with anything to do with sex around bio-males.

I imagine this is because of issues from my childhood.

duh!

Regardless, I just don't feel comfortable.

This is where it gets messy.

I know F-Ms want to be seen as male, and to the general straight community, they are.  Yet to me, I can spot one pretty fast and all I see is an F-M.  Not a male.

I feel bad for this the moment I see them as such, because they want to be seen as male, but you can't hide those female eyes and female interactions.

You won't see an F-M pissing on a wall in front of a femme who is saying, "Really buddy?!?  Do ya have to do this right here?  There's a washroom right inside the hospital!!"

This bio-male told me to, "Fuck off," and continued wagging his willy right in front of my bus and the clients.

No, this is not the action of an F-M.

This is because an F-M is still a third gender.  They are neither.

I only wish my love could be comfortable as such, and not feel the need to swing the pendulum to the other side of male-ness.

dream on hard on

Anyway, this rant was a leftover from my Trust List and honorary Trust List newbie.

It felt good to be understood and told, "No.  You're not transphobic.  You have a certain taste of what you find attractive."

One more little stone to build my wall of strength.

The Princess and the 'T'

"Honey guess what I'm getting?!?"

i'm afraid to ask ... so i won't

"I'm getting sideburns!" Papi said and jumped onto the bed.

I honestly looked with all the bleary eyed vision I could, but I didn't see anything.  Then Papi continued, "You'll have to get a magnifying glass to see it but it's there!!!"

I rolled my eyes and laughed at my love, and I was immediately reproached, "Don't try to say you can't see it!  Don't lie!  Honey can you see it?!?"

I finally spoke, "All I see is mole hair."

"HONEY!!!!" Papi yelled and the bed seemed to be having it's very own earthquake as mi esposo crawled up close as possible to be sure there was a cheek stuffed right in my face.  Even Sir Bark-A-Lot felt the fear and his eyes widened in fear of the possibility of a giant human trampling him.

No.

I didn't see it, but all of a sudden, Papi was at an angle that enabled me to see something else.  My eyes must have bugged out of my head, because my love could tell what I was looking at.

"Yeah!  See!  Under my chin, I've got more hair!!"

Indeed.  There was more hair under my love's chin.  Coarse, black hair that was definitely the beginning of my fear of the beard.

I couldn't deny this one.  There was definitely hair there, "Yeah, I see it," I said with not as much enthusiasm as my love wished for.

I just can't be happy for it.

Shaggy, stubly, smelly, dirty beard hair is not on my list of 'likes'.  We all know that by now.

My love only wants a soul patch, and it seems that's where it's not growing.

i still don't see the sideburns

A soul patch is much different than a full on man hair beard.

I get reports daily about the various people that will either call my love a girl or a boy.  It was the same before all the poisons started being injected into my love's body.

I still don't like the hormones.

I still don't like that stuff careening through Papi's blood.

I still have moments where I feel like bargaining.

I guess this means I'm still not past the 5 stages of grief.  I'm definitely in a better place than I was in December, but damn!!!  I have yet to find utter peace at the end of the path.

rainbows and puppy dogs and my butch back in my arms ...

I know that everyone who has followed my journey says I'm doing well, moving fast, being strong, but I just don't know if I will ever be out of denial.

all i see is my butch

I still don't have pronouns down, and I'm not sure as to when I will.

Well, other than when we get to the Dominican Republic.  I'll be speaking in Spanish, so I will be using the proper pronouns there.

But here?

Nope.

I just keep repeating my love's name.  I sound like a teen who can't stop talking about her first true love.

And I'll tell you, saying Papi's name over and over, in front of every sentence, non-stop is a bit aggravating to me, so I can't imagine how annoying it must be to others!

None-the-less, I continue to work through this.

My bargaining stage flows in and out, and I never speak it out loud.  I just think it, "Maybe you could just be without breasts and forget about this male transformation thing as a whole."

No.

I never say it out loud.  I just imagine it.

I envision my love saying, "These hormones aren't giving me a soul patch that I want so there's no point in being on them anymore."

i am a princess in a fairy tale land ...

Just a Moment

Successfully accomplished fuck all yesterday.

Today I may be manic trying to catch up, but before I do that, I need to regroup and have a chat with 'you', my imaginary friend.

I always feel better after we've spoken.

or perhaps it's the fact that 'you' come along with a cup of coffee ... hmmmm ...

I'm feeling extremely overwhelmed with all I have to achieve over the next few weeks.

I had a really nice talk with bandmate/producer Lin Gardiner the other day.  It was about energy.  It was about how little I have since the brain injury, and how I'll be joining with BlueLight as my primary and HECTOR as a secondary.

I do 99% of everything on my own for HECTOR and sometimes, just trying to get my drummer out to a sound check on the gig day is even work.

With BlueLight, I have the hardest working, most professional person I could ever ask for in a duo.

Pre-brain injury, I could take on the world.  I would say 'yes' to everything, do it all myself, and somehow swing it with my superman boots and cape affixed.

Now?

It's all about one thing at a time.  I no longer have the drive.

or the organizational skills ... where the fuck did i put my organizational skills?!?!?!?

It's almost like I now live the meaning of being in the moment.  If I look too far ahead, I get anxious and freeze to the point of not doing anything.

seriously ... where did andréa go?

Other people with brain injury have spoken about their super powers that they've acquired.

Not me.

I just got lazy.

It also carries over into every aspect of my life, including this male transformation.

The future terrifies me.  If I stay right here, right now, I can handle so much more.

Yes.

My love now has a flat chest.

Yes.

I see a caterpillar above the lips I kiss.

Yes.

Papi is getting helium voice.

this one is the current 'oh gawd help me i can't take it'.

Yes.

I'm still in love with Papi.

However, while I was on the phone with a panicked conversation about the car, I let a 'she' slip out in reference to Papi.  Boy did I get the death stare.

Then on Facebook, I saw my love do what I didn't want to ever see.

Mi esposo has openly asked every person on my love's friends list to refer to Papi as 'he'.

It really is hard with a new pronoun, especially when I still see Papi as my butch.  I don't see a man.  I don't know that I ever will, because Papi is my Papi.

Today.

Right now.

Papi is still my butch.

If I look to the future of the 'man' my love wishes to be ...

i'll freak the fuck right out

... I'll get anxious and see things I just shouldn't be seeing.

This is my fear:

 

 This is my butch:

 

I'll just stay right here in the moment thank you very much.

Hello my name is Andréa, and I'm a Tranny Lover.