emasculation

Jeeeeezus ... I needed that.

I needed to look at a beautiful sight of people being happy and enjoying themselves.

I needed The Chef Extraordinaire to fry up some Dominican barbecued chicken, traditional side plate of fried bananas, and purple potato salad.

I've never seen that one before, but I suppose, here, it's normal to put beets in potato salad and it tasted just as good.

They laughed when I said, "Why is it red!?!?!?"

It was torture for me, walking to our spot, but once I was there, the only time I moved was to go pee in the bush like everyone else.

OK.  Forget about drunk crutching through a crowded bar with the potential of slipping in beer.

Let me tell you, if you've never tried to walk with crutches in the beach, it's a feat upon itself.

... hehee pardon the pun ...

It felt like every step I took, I was going to disappear like sliding into quick sand.

Then, once out of the sinking sand, I had to find a spot to piddle, bushwacker style.

Papi held me up by the armpits and I hoped for the best.

I obviously didn't think about the fact that there wouldn't be a toilet on a public beach.  The public beach IS a toilet for most folks who don't have one.

We watched children playing, teens making music with a güira and conga, and hawks flying above us all looking for their feed of fish.

We didn't bring the princess chair when we realized we were the transportation for everyone.  No room for the chair.

But what they do here is rent out chairs and tables at the beach, so we just rented it.

The funny part is, when these folks want to go home, they come and take back their chairs and tables, kicking you off the beach.

It's a riot!

Partway through our fun time, I noticed Papi was getting a little overzealous with the beer, so I stopped my wine intake quite early.

I was now the driver.

Papi said, "But I feel like it emasculates me!  Here the woman can't drive!"

What?!?!  Who are you trying to kid?

When it comes to wheels here, there is no problem to have 3 grown men groin to butt on a motorcycle.

In Canada?  You wouldn't even have ONE male on the back of your bike.

People are so weird about that in Canada and the US.

Here, I've seen women riding scooters with their boyfriends riding bitch.

The men here hug each other.

They touch each other on the arm, waist, whatever.

They wear bright pink, and are more metrosexual than ANY guy I've seen in Canada.

They don't have anything to prove of their sexuality and here, men just seem to come out of the womb macho.  Could have something to do with the fact that they're put to labour as soon as their arms can wield a machete.

Besides, as far as their concerned, there are NO gay people here.

With the exception of the male hookers, but even then, people rationalize, "They're not really gay.  They just need the money."

So, no, Papi, you will ride shotgun when you've drank more than your share.

And off we went with the portable BBQ to drive our newfound friend back to Cabarete, dropping our DR Family off along the way at our tiny little road to our village.

This morning, our new friend who did all the cooking came bay with a gift.  Sweeter than sweet.

There are some really good people here.

Yesterday, I watch the entertainment and forgot about my immobility for a while, not to mention, finished off the filming for this week's YouTube show.

It was wonderful.

In one hour, we go to the hospital to see if this damn cast can come off.

Wish me luck.  Let's hope this is the day I have my legs back.

If it's not, I will do my best to find ways to enjoy myself none-the-less.

Enough of that fucking bed.

i have the ability to see the brighter side

here we go ...

Today, to make things simple, we have disposable underwear.

No point draggin' that stuff around.

It's time to say, "Oh, my fucking g*d!!!!!"

This is the day.

And I'm mother fucking sick with some fucking virus.

Lovely.

Anyway, I may be off the grid for a few days.

The next time I write to you, it will be from the balcony of Casa Paraíso with a view of the ocean, or from my hammock while I'm going through withdrawal from morphine.

Without bitch of a back pain.

It's feeling so damn weird, I can't even tell you.

Sadness was the big feeling yesterday.

I will miss this beautiful city, but not the chill.

I will miss my wonderful, loving friends, but I won't miss the cliques, 'mean girls' and their gossiping.

I will miss the restaurants, but not the fast food ones everywhere.

I will miss the accessibility on transit, but not the little bastards who don't respect their elders, refusing them a seat.

Goodbye Ethiopian restaurants.

Goodbye buses I don't have to take anymore.

Goodbye my favourite Canadian coffee, JJ Bean.  You are now being replaced with the best coffee on the planet!!!!  Dominican coffee!!!

I wish I could say more.

I'm just a little speechless.

Exhausted.

Overwhelmed.

And yes, finally excited!

In no time at all, we'll be there, and there will be so much to talk about.

But here's the thing, we'll have to get our internet when we get there.

That could take a few days.

They're on Dominican time.

Their time.

When they get to it.

But I will be back to talk to you about everything, and hopefully, I'll have the new YouTube show for you the moment they get us hooked up!

I'm scared.

But I'm excited.

Well folks, here we go ...

I now have to pretend I'm a straight girl.

Goodbye femme.

this is the dream

my name is andréa, and i'm a tranny chaser.

Nope, I'm not dead.  Nor am I in the Pit of Doom.

I had 2 days of vocational evaluation for my legal trial, and my poor body couldn't take it.  So, I was either sleeping or too stupid from pain meds to write.  Today is not fun and yesterday was worse.

End whining.

We've also been busy finding our new place to live!  It's our brand new closet!

5 animals and the two of us in a tiny, itty bitty, smaller than our living room, one bedroom apartment.  It is super accessible for me to get to everything I need without the 'short bus'.

Good thing, as I'll have to be out of home a lot, fighting off the fear of claustrophobia.  This means I'll leaving the animals to fight for their immensely miniscule domain.

We've tried putting Psycho Kitty and The Bastard Prince on valium.

No, I'm not kidding.

After the near miss of losing an eye, there have been more injuries and there doesn't seem to be a 'working it out' phase for these crazy cats, even with all the suggestions we've followed.

So, valium it is.

However, the problem with that is, Psycho Kitty becomes more psycho and could actually take on a coyote.

I'm going to find him natural relaxants and see if that works.  He may be like me and can't handle the pills.

End cat rant.

Next!

I realized that after mi esposo relapsed, that I didn't actually get to tell you about Gender Odyssey.

Well, I'll tell you about those 2 days I actually did go.  Sorta go, that is.

My Person and I didn't actually go to any of the workshops, except for the tango workshop.

I tried to move around with them, until it came time to balance.  No go.

However, what I did get out if it was way more important.

I remember once, when I first came out and started dating people, my baby sister asked why I'm attracted to butches.  "You date women who look like men!  Why bother?"

I explained that they're a beautiful combination of both energies.

Sweet, sensual energy from a woman and rugged energy from the male side.

Yin Yang.

She got it, and it's pretty much how I feel even more now.

What My Person and I did the whole time was hang out with some of the founding attendees.  There's a whole gaggle of them that have been going since My Person started going with her love over 10 years ago.

It was so good to be around a bunch of trannies who called themselves trannies, and not have to worry about the immoderately politically correct Vancouverites, who take everything as an insult or a threat.

I got to just be with people who say it as it is, and I got to be around people where I could call my love a 'he' and didn't have to feel the knee jerk reaction to explain that I'm not straight.

I got to see that I am indeed attracted to transgender people.

There was this cutie.  Of course he's that 'bad boy' that I like, not much unlike mi esposo.

I do like the 'bad boys', because I'm a redneck at heart, and now I like them even better when the come in the form of a tranny.

After hanging out with the wives of trannies, I felt I fit in just fine and embraced the fact that I am indeed a Tranny Chaser, and damn!  That's a whole other level of queer.

Here's the part My Person and I giggled about.

If people think trannies are a freak, then hey, what about us Tranny Lovers?

Yup.  We're all in this together.

i feel about myself pretty much what others think of me

but i'm not straight!!!

4.25 cups.

That's my threshold.

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

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

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

Rice pasta, non-dairy butter and bacon.

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

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

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

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

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

Still counts!

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

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

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

It's so strange how perception is reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

It bugs the fuck out of me.

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

It pisses me off.

It makes me cringe.

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

But I don't.

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

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

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

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

i am safe

Aping the apes.

A wedding with guns!  Well, the groom had a knife, but the rest of them had guns.

I felt so much for Papi, as it was a difficult social time in the 'man zone'.  He's still learning how to fit in with the bio-males.

He relates more to the women, and sometimes, the man on the arm of a woman will react a little adversely, confusing my love's 'relating' with more than friendly chatter.

My love expressed his feelings about his strife and all I could come up with was, "I think you should just ape them.  Whatever they do, you do."

He had good practise with the suffering addict at our reception table.  That poor soul was so hammered, he just kept giving mi esposo fist bumps along with the occasional, "Dude!  Right?!"

Sometimes, for no reason at all.  He'd just come out of his stupor to join in the conversation for a moment and agree with whatever was being presented at the time.

None-the-less, he was a great practice person for Papi.

My love looked so handsome.  I was proud to be on his arm.

Especially, when the typical 'mean girls' in the parking lot didn't like the fact that my dress was hugging and exposing every curve of my healthy figure.

Oh, how I had my booty out proud yesterday.

I suppose those catty girls didn't like it, and when they were being the usual 'point and gossip bitches', my love silenced them with an aggressive, "Knock it off," in Papi's way of meaning business.

I couldn't be bothered to look and see if they adhered to his warning.  All I cared about was that my love was proud of how I looked as well.

I'm getting more accepting with being seen as the straight couple.  At least we're donned in tattoos, and don't look like the 'normal', conservative couples that were looking toward us with curiosity.

It will definitely make life easier in the Dominican Republic.

On our last visit, I was accosted by homophobic bible thumpers who told me if I prayed, their god would take away my being gay.

It took everything I had not to fight with them.  I know that this will be my biggest challenge when we're there.  The religious zealots are everywhere.

Even at the wedding last night, I had a very difficult time, when before we ate, they gave a prayer for food.

They asked us to stand and bow our heads.  I cringed, sarcastically sighed and rolled my eyes at their 'oh heavenly father' thanks for food.

I would rather thank The Chef Extraordinaire for their hard work.

I seriously just found my ability to understand my own spirituality over the past couple of years.

The accident woke an aspect of my belief system, but when faced with the crap I had to grow up with, I get a rather repugnant taste in my mouth.  Not to mention the little grunts of 'oh for fucks sakes' will sneak out when I'm not paying attention to my mouth.

My love will give me the eye of 'don't be a bad one, honey', coupled with a nudge, that will nip my discourse in the bud.

So, I stood.  I bowed.  I behaved.  Still, I cussed them all in my mind, while concealing it with a smile.  I find it quite offensive that anyone would force another person of a different belief to pray to their god.

That's another reason I'm grateful to have found such connection with Judaism.  Their belief is that you don't actually say 'god's' name.

That's perfectly fine by me.  I'm happy when I don't have to follow the rules of my upbringing.

I remember being knocked upside the head for saying the usual teen phrase of, "Oh my god!" with that valley girl drawl we would all have.

"Don't you use the lords name in vain," I would hear as my head took a whoopin'.

Anyway, I survived their prayers to zombie Jesus and ate their amazing meal, appreciating every bite with my own gratitude for food, and the enjoyment of sharing a beautiful day with two people who allowed Papi and I to hear wedding vows all over again.

I found us nodding our head to some of the words during the service.

For better or for worse, in sickness and in health.

Love is all you need.

i feel fulfilled and joyful

not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Here's something Papi sprung on me this morning.  "Do you know what happened a year ago today?!"

I thought about it and freaked out.

What have I missed?!?!

What important day have I forgotten?!?!?

My love enlightened me with a proud face, "One year ago today you were sobbing your eyes out because I had my top surgery."

Oh god, yes.

Now I remember.  The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida.

I have selective memory.  That, and I've concluded my 5 stages of grief and moved on to acceptance.

I do look back at that time and realized that I may have been a little more dramatic about the whole thing, but hindsight truly is 20/20.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

But isn't that the story of our lives?

It's why we're here in this beautiful life.

To learn.

My love's scars on his chest are calming down now.  They seem to be less angry.

So do I.

Everything seems back to normal now.

I guess.

Here's something funny.

I think Papi's chin hair is kinda cute.

Yes.  I said cute.

It used to freak me out, even just to think about the fact that there would be hair there.

It's no longer just face fuzz.  It's more bristly now, but it's sweet looking.

Maybe, it's because it's on my love.

I suppose it's because I love mi esposo so much that it just doesn't matter that there's fur there.

People see my love's changes so much more than I.

That's because I see him every day.  The changes are too slow for it to be drastic.

However, I realized that I'm seeing my love a little differently.

Still, it's hard for me to consciously think of my love as a male.

I'm not sure when that will happen, if ever.

I just see Papi as Papi.

I still can't say 'my husband'.

It's always 'my spouse'.  Other people will just jump to 'your husband' immediately in conversation.

They automatically assume that it's a male, because to this world, I'm just a straight girl.

Even as a lesbian in gay relationships, the world still sees me as straight.

It's hard to be a femme in the gay community.  We are completely invisible.

And disrespected.

And adored.

We are who we are.

Anyway, this femme is no longer searching for peace around Papi's male transformation.

I have found it.

It's called unconditional love.

we look forward to the time when the power of love replaces the love of power.  then our world will know the blessings of peace. ~ William Ewert Gladstone

I Am Femme. You won't forget it.

It's funny how the waves are smaller now.  Oh, I still feel them, but they're weaker.

They're the kind of waves that won't knock you down while you're playing in the ocean.  You know those right?  They just bob your body effortlessly and you go with the flow.

Occasionally, you might not realize they're stronger than you thought, and you might get a little up your nose.

However, it's really only just enough to sting, and then you're back to playing on the edge of the vast sea once more.

Maybe it truly is Hurricane Andréa, and eventually it has to wane.

None-the-less, the wave I felt last night was manageable.

It usually starts with the memory of one comment in particular from an anonymous reader.

... wish i knew who you were to thank you properly ...

This person, male, female or trans,

... don't fucking freak on me if i've missed something bitches ...

... said, "You are always femme!"

I can't find the blog they commented on, or I'd link it.  However, it doesn't matter.  I know I was talking about the pending feeling of becoming invisible.

Once again, last night, I had that pang of anger about being seen to the world as a straight girl.

Being a creative person, I always find a way to get out of this with my lemonade I've made out of those lemons.

When faced with the fear of becoming another straight girl to the world, I've begun to be as visible as possible.

If you're going to judge me anyway, I better make my existence known in a loud manner.

I've put away the comfy jeans.

For me, they're not a good role model in my life.  They are what I judge myself so harshly in, and being baggy, they are really only one step up from sweat pants.

As a femme, I would wear my Levi's as girly as possible.

Not any more.

The only jeans I'm keeping are the ones with rhinestones on the ass from the Dominican, and a few other choice ones that make me feel like a supah-stah!

I've given away sweatshirts, except my favourites for the gym.  Because otherwise, you wear sweatshirts with jeans.  So fuck them.

I've re-arranged my entire wardrobe, so that all my pretty clothes are front and center when it's time to get dressed in the morning.

One perk of brain injury, is if it's out of sight, it's seriously out of mind.  Just like putting fruit in the front 'grabable' part of the fridge so that you'll grab them first, I've created a new system.

What's the difference if I slip on a pair of jeans or slip on a skirt?  Not much, except for the fact that I feel like an award winning femme.

I'm not hiding behind clothes to become the meager femme on the arm of her butch.

No, if I'm going to be an invisible straight woman on the arm of my Tranny, it won't suffice.

I have decided that every day is an opportunity to look as pretty as I possibly can.

Straight?  Let me show you how 'straight' is done.

My whole gay life, I've put that high femme into a back pocket, because I so badly wanted to be recognized in my community.

Fuck everyone.  It didn't work anyway.

I don't care if you think I'm straight or a big ol' dyke in a skirt who happens to have long hair.

You won't be missing me anymore.  Watch me strut as I walk away with my booty following in my wake.

The world can judge me however the fuck they want.

It's time to stop hiding behind clothes and shine my light with every breath I take.

I am femme.

I am always femme.

i create abundance in all i say or do

i yam what i yam

The funniest part about me asking Papi if he is gay, is that he's now backtracking everything he says in terms of the topic.

"I'm just saying I find them attractive, but it's not that I'm gay."

That is just one of the examples.

My love doesn't understand how much I trust him.

If he tells me he's not gay, then I believe him.

However, methinks thou dost protest a tad too much.

hmmmm ... maybe my love needs another panicked wake up to me hovering over him in bed, after accidentally taking too much medicinal cannabis crack butter, and bark out ridiculous questions ... that would be fun ...

But you see, I'm not even asking Papi anything about it.

He'll be speaking sweetly about someone who he admires and out will blurt, "But I'm not gay!"

It's a bit like a game now.

Last night, we were discussing My Boifriend.

He claims to be gay, but is now in full throws of love with a woman.

That doesn't make any sense with the statement that he's gay.

When it comes to being transsexual, it's really only a one sided sexual preference term anyway.

Seriously.

If Papi is now in the 'man zone', and he loves me, outsiders would consider him straight.

But I'm not straight, and I don't consider myself so.

I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm always going to be who I am, and nothing that Papi has done to his body and chemistry has made me change into someone I don't want to be.

I am a butch loving lesbian.

I have been so since I was a teen.  I've been so since that time that I couldn't really understand the feelings that I was having about the girls on sports teams.

Hott!!

I'd watch them be masculine in their own way.  They didn't know the feelings I had about them being butchy with their basketballs and soccer balls.

good god ... that was wayyyyy too many balls in one sentence ...

The ones I thought were sexy turned out to be straight anyway.  It was only the idea of them being butch that I was attracted to, but I honestly didn't even know what I was feeling back then!

I'd see bull dykes on the bus and wonder why I was getting so hot and bothered.

I thought these emotions were because I wanted to be like them, but this femme could never be butch.

As much as I'm more like a tomboy in every day life, I like playing dress up too much.

I like to sashay my way through a crowd of dykes, in my best ass outfits, in hopes that the butchiest of the butches will notice my overly round booty and appreciate it.

Yes.

I'm a true femme.

And just because I still love mi esposo despite the changes that are taking place does not make me any different than I was when I fell in love with the world's most perfect butch.

Well, I do have to admit, I think a bit differently since the bomb was dropped last year.  I'm growing, learning and accepting so much more about this male transformation.

I guess I'm the lucky one.

I got the last tidbits of the world's most perfect butch.

'She's' all mine.

I see her light in the twinkle of love in mi esposo's eyes.

Nobody will ever take that away from me.