misogyny

Yeah, it's been a few days since I've posted.

I'm not sure why, but I needed to be silent for a bit.

I am having a rough time at the school.

I completely understand the lack of respect toward women in a developing country, but it doesn't make it any easier when the people who give me a hard time aren't even from the Dominican Republic.

You think the boys club in Canada is bad?

Yeah.  No.

Like for instance, this one cretin bought all the teachers a coffee, except me.

Guess who's the only female music teacher?

After our performance for the teachers in the school, the mother of one of the girls I teach named and thanked every music teacher for all they do.

Except me.

Even though I am the one who teaches her daughter, being the only female at the school I am not worthy of acknowledgement.

I work hard for these kids and I don't ask for anything more than my happiness and some gasoline to get there, which the woman who runs the place STILL hasn't given me.

But she pays all the men.

Still, Papi and everyone else says, "Just leave the school."

But I can't leave these girls.

Oh, did I tell you?  the only instrument they let the girls play is piano?

So, if I leave the school for this reason or that, guess who suffers?

Girls.

There is a school here that is solely for girls: Mariposa DR Foundation.

I'll write an email to ask if they have a program there for music.

One thing I am grateful for, however, is MusicMan.

He constantly and consistently thanks me for my work.

When the dude with a Jesus Fish tattooed on his arm bought everyone a coffee except me, MusicMan got a cup from the kitchen and shared his with me.

MusicMan is lovely.

It almost made me cry from the love.

He has no idea what he did for me that day.

Knowing that everyone was thanked for their teaching except me, at the end of the class he said, "Thank you for your work with the children."

When I texted him to tell him I needing a day away from the school to go back to the doctor in Santiago for my ankle this week, he chose the best day for me to be away, then again texted, "Thank you for your work with the children."

He is a special man.

He is not Dominican, he is from Peru.

Maybe they have more respect for women there?

Or maybe he's just one of those gems in this world that makes everything better and worth the pain.

That lovely example of Christianity, JesusFishMan, doesn't even make eye contact with me, and he's not from the DR either.

He's American.

He treats me like I'm some kind of abscess.

I've come the the conclusion that anyone who flaunts their JesusFish is an asshole.

I am not feeling the love.

We all know how much I need love.

I am however, sticking by these children who appreciate my leadership, and MusicMan, because I definitely feel the love from them.

They are the reason I stick around.

Their joy of getting through a song makes up for the misogyny.

i seek a new way of thinking about this situation

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

a wee secret

So, the funniest thing happened.

Well, maybe not the FUNNIEST thing, but Papi and I found it entertaining.

It was time to bring the horrible, 4 legged cretin out for their walk.

It's our time for our walk on the beach, dogs' time for insanity.

So, there are some neighbours who rent out their place quiet frequently.

Nice place.  Big mansion.

The most recent renters were in the ocean enjoying their Dominican vacation and we opened our gate to release the hounds.

When those mongrels run to the ocean, it's like a tornado has hit the 'hood.

None of the locals appreciate our massive hounds running out the yard, but what can we do?  They need to let off steam.

Anyway.

We followed out the hairy ones and when the vacationers saw us, we were worried they'd be afraid of The Donkey.

She's pretty big.

Forget about fear of the dogs!  They immediately began gathering their items and moved them all in to the yard.

I'm sure they didn't think The Donkey would steal their phones or shoes.

The Guard was alerted about us walking on the beach and out he came with his shotgun.

It was too funny!

People were afraid of US!

Us.  The scared shitless Canadians who need to alert the thieves that we have guns to be sure they don't try to attack us.

Us.  The two who are so worried about their safety that we have a wall to be sure the violent ones can't just stroll in with their masks to hide their identity after they violate us.

Us.  The two who may have tattoos, but honestly, are so timid.

But just to give them something to remember for their trip, Papi decided to make their trip something to post on Facebook.

He decided tonight was a good time to do our monthly air warning.  You know the one?  That we do to warn others that we have a deterrent, so don't try to harm us?

I can just see their Facebook post: "Just heard a gunshot!  OMG!!!"

The point is, it's important not to judge a book by their cover, but our new vacationers did.

And we do the same.

I'm pretty sure everyone does it.  We are not alone.

We're afraid of so many people, and that's judgement in itself.

Yet people are afraid of us.

Us!

I just found it quite entertaining.

It reminded me not to judge, because I am judged as well and it feels bad.

Everyone needs that reminder.

We all do it, and anyone who says they don't, are lying.

I am so grateful for those who didn't judge me this week.

I had a secret to let out to those that are very close to me.

It allowed me to be honest about something I've been holding back.

Something that I needed a little bravery to tell you.

I suppose now that I've started telling you, I'll come clean.

I am no longer clean 'n sober.

Please don't judge me harshly.

I've already been doing enough of that myself.

I'm OK, so don't worry for me.

I'm really doing OK.

i trust myself

Ep. 4 & the ride

It's Sunday.  YouTube show day.  

And if I don't get the video up on a Sunday, send help to the Dominican Republic, because there may be something drastically wrong!!

Like the stove won't work.

But I do have to tell you about our cab rides.

You know how in your cushy life in your 1st world city, you have a cab all to yourself?  And that you just pay for the trip no matter how many people are in the cab?

Not so here.

We still don't have our car.  Every day they say, "Mañana."  Every day.

So, we've resorted to taking the cab.

Now first of all, it's hard to get one, because they're always full.

2nd?

They're always full, but if they let you in, it means you're sitting on a strangers lap.

So far, I've been lucky in that I've only had to sit on Papi's lap or a woman's lap.

But laps it is.

Yesterday, I felt like a dog.

There we were, us 3 ladies in the front along with the driver Papi in the back with a big lady sitting on his lap and two more ladies with their wares to sell on the beach for the day.

My instinct was that the door wasn't going to hold me, because the door handle didn't really work to let me in to begin with.

So, I held on to that door with all my might, in hopes that if it flew open, I'd at least have something to hold on to so as not to fly into the fields beside us.

I clenched my jaw as my head was hanging out the window.

I closed my eyes to prevent the sand and dirt getting into my contact lens and I felt like a dog.

You know that face they get out the window?

Chin up.

Eyes closed.

Lips flapping.

My ears didn't flap, but dammit if my hair did.

Then the driver pulled a piece of my hair that flew on to his lap and showed me.  I was mortified!!!  "I'm so sorry!!!" I giggled.

He laughed too, but from that point forward I held my hair down so as not to disturb anyone else.

I was also quite grateful I was wearing deodorant, even if I could smell someone in the back didn't have any on.

When we finally do stop to let someone out, it honestly feels like those clowns tumbling out of the car, and you can't believe so many people are crammed in one little Toyota.

You pay per head, not for distance.

We found out we'd been overcharged when an honest cab driver gave us change for our ride yesterday.  Now we learned something new.  Buggers.

It's no different than the cab drivers in Vancouver though.  If you're new to the city, those bastards will drive you around all over the place taking the long way to get more cash out of you.

We're hoping tomorrow is the 'mañana' that we get our car.

Our Psycho Kitty is not so well.  We have to bring him in.

He had surgery the first week we were here, but he's not healing, and he's losing weight and strength.

It seems that we may be losing him.  He didn't last very long here.  We're heart broken.  Truly.

It is a sad day.

Every time we look at his body language, we want to help, but now we have to find a cab that will take us to the vet with our kitty tomorrow.

We'll find a way, even if it is to say goodbye.

all my attitudes are positive now

how dare i?!?!

I got kicked out of a store.  It's hard to believe.

I actually went in with the intention of asking if she'd be interested in wares from the Dominican Republic from the women in Haitian villages.

I want to help the people there so much, and I had a brilliant idea that I would have their wares sent to Vancouver to help them support their people.  I found one village that is making such items, so I thought I would check out the store I hadn't been in for quite a long time.

Not to mention, I always liked this woman's store, even if she had a reputation in our 'community' of not being the nicest to her customers.  Still, she was always nice to me.

I knew she wouldn't recognize me.  I do look a lot different than when I had the short cropped black hair.

Still, in I went to look at all the hippy dippy items I could, and enjoy that store for what I didn't know was the last time.

The moment I strolled in, I heard, "Hi there, let me know if there's anything I can help you find," in a rather monotone, 'I've been doing this way too long' sorta manner.

I replied, "I will.  I've just come in to admire the beauty of your store once more!"

She didn't like that.  I received a sarcastic rebuttal, "Well, try not to buy anything while you're here."

I was about to launch into my Dominican Republic story to ask about the wares of the Haitian women, but I suppose I started it off the wrong way.

"Well, I can't actually buy anything today, because we're going to the Dominican Republic and ..."  That was when I was cut short.  "Well, then we're just closing now.  Buh-Bye!"

She actually started herding me out with the items she was carrying.  I was so shocked I didn't even respond, but merely went along with the wave she created.

I thought to myself, "After all the money I spent in your store all those years?!?!"

I caught up to my Gratitude Buddy and told her the story, adding in that I'd love to go back and tell her how much money I've spent there in the past.

My Gratitude Buddy asked me if that would make me feel better.  I thought about it, then said, "No, not really.  I'll just let her rot in her stink of karma then blog about it."

I've stuck up for the owner in the past, with an understanding about chemical imbalance and how it can make people miserable.  A lot of people in the 'community' boycotted her because she's been labeled as brash and rude.

I honestly don't know how on earth she stays in business!!!  Her store is called Beckwoman's, and it's on Commercial Drive.  Personally, she is on my boycott list now.

There's another store that I'll go talk to about the Haitian Village wares: Ten Thousand Villages.  They definitely know what customer service is and they definitely have social responsibility.  In their own backyard!!

Meanwhile, Papi is leaving me all alone today to go down to Lucky Devil Tattoo to get some of The Golden's ashes put into his remembrance tattoo, and probably have a nice visit with The Yank.

The Golden will be right there with 'G'pa' and 'mom'.

Jason, the artist, teased me on the phone when I called to book for Papi, "What?!?  You're not coming down too!  That means she gets a tattoo and you don't!"

I pouted, "I know!!!  Fuck!!" but I didn't correct him on the 'she' part.  He hasn't seen Papi since The Great Breast Disappearance, not to mention, there was no face fuzz the last he saw Papi, either.

My love said "He's going to think it's really strange."

I reminded him, "We like Jason because he's easy going and a good soul.  Just tell him straight out.  He won't have any problem with it.  He adores you."

Such is the life of someone in transition.  Always explaining and always wondering who will understand and who won't.

In the meantime, while I'm stuck up here, maybe I'll go try to get in trouble somewhere today to make up for not getting a tattoo.

Perhaps I can find another store to get kicked out of?

people respect me

Papi Unveiled!

Saturdays, I tend not to write, because I'm up early to get to the Synagogue.

I don't do 'early' very well.

But today!

I have two pics for ya!

I've been practising bitches.

Look out.

And some of you wanted to see Papi's tattoo:

There.

I posted on a Saturday.

i have positive self esteem

bloody knuckles

With the trickery of salmon, I lured them out of their hiding places.

It was an instant hide-and-go seek game with the cats, just add crates. 

As soon as those metal doors were opened, there were no cats to be found.  Thank god we only live in 454 sq. ft. of Our Closet.  It wasn't too hard to find them.

But the salmon did the trick.  It would do it for me as well.

Once in their miniature jail cells, it was time to bring all 5 of the Fuzzy Family to the vet for their Dominican Republic shots.

We got a sneak preview of what the hell will be like on the moving day.

From the pure terror these little buggers experienced, within the moments of us putting them in, there was piss and shit in one of the cages.

We'll have to bring along a lot of borax.  Or maybe a million towels that we can just lay down and throw away once the panic has set in for ~ ahem ~ certain cats.  I won't name the offender, so that this fluff ball won't be embarrassed by having their name spread in the interwebs for life.

There seemed to be a well choreographed, "I'll take this, you take that," and "I'll get the doors, and you take this."

Sometimes, Papi and I have communication troubles, but not yesterday.  We were totally in synch.

And today I am totally in pain.  I kinda knew my bitch of a back would give me grief after everything I did to it yesterday.

Oh, it wasn't just the animal kingdom we had to deal with.

I've never had so many things on a to-do list in my life.

Then came the Halloween fireworks.  The Golden was under the bed when I first woke up today.

Well, 'woke up' is not quite right.  I do say 'first' woke up because there are 3 layers to my 'wake up'.

1. Move my body from the bed to upright position, and follow my feet through to feeding the Fuzzy Family to shut those cats up before there is a murder.

2. Shove my body into whatever is handy and brave the piss pouring rain with the dogs so they can have their comfort before I do.

3. Drink my mother fucking coffee.

I am still nursing my coffee, begging it to bring me to life.

The new pills are kicking me in the ass.  There will be no more appointments made before 1 p.m. if I can help it.

Anyway, I'm scattered, tired, aching and really am just putting one foot down after another.

Well, there was one thing we did that wasn't on the to-do list.

Remember how Papi is a bull in a china shop?  He found a shop en route that would take him in on a whim, and he now has knuckle tattoos.

This is going to narrow down the job search options.

 

He likes to think it makes him look like he's been boxing.

Of course, I reminded Papi that if he gets tattoos, then so do I,  Hence, there will be another appointment added to the list for me.

i deserve health, energy and calmness

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

Video Pics!

I'm feeling a little more coherent today.

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

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

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

Here are a few shots:

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

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

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

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

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

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

But no.

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are amazing.

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

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

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

But I know what you're waiting for.

The Dress.

Yes.  THE Dress:

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

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

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

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

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

There's a nice war wound on my ass.

Ah, the suffering we do for our art.

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

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

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

Yes.

I do pout.

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

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

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

Touché

I may have found the first way to joke about Papi's top surgery.

I wanted my love to change the channel last night, but mi esposo was too busy with the tippity-tappity of a Facebook chat to respond. 

oh, no no no. you know better than that. i will not be ignored.

"Change the fucking channel or I'll poke you in the ribs."  I made a gesture that was at least 10 inches away from my love, but it worked.

"Ok!  Ok!  Just gimme a sec!  Don't come any closer!"

I crept a little closer, "I'm coming in for the kill," I said with my best Hannibal Lecter impersonation.

The channel was changed.

There was no need for me to jab an area that has left Papi without the ability to raise arms any higher than the elbow.

Aha!

I have power!

I think Papi and I both know that I would never intentionally cause any pain to mi esposo, but damn, this could be fun.

do my bidding.

After the channel was changed, and the remote handed over to me, Papi headed for the shower.  Yet mi esposo was again terrified to get in, for fear of nipples sliding down the drain.

I'm pretty sure we're past that point, but Papi hasn't really let me see them since I last saw them and gave the cringe face.

"Don't make that face!  You make me feel ugly!"

My love, it is not you that I'm cringing at.

It's the thought of stitches all around my very own nipple.  The look of the raw, red, angry looking areola that I just know must be painful.

That's what the cringe is for.

It's also for the new scars that inhabit the majority of my love's ribs.  Hell, it even took out a small portion of the sugar skull tattoo on Papi's right side.

It is not my love who I cringe at.

It is the thought of the pain.

It is the thought of how it must obviously hurt to raise those arms, because that would inevitably pull on those bitter red lines that look so precarious, they could actually just split apart with the simplest of reaches.

like changing the channel?

The tape that holds the last portion of those ruby lines is now a darkened brown.  The evidence of sacred blood escaping Papi's body.

Yes.

This is what the cringe is about:

How about you?

Does it send shivers through your stomach thinking of how it would hurt, pull, ache?

did you cringe?

It's so difficult to think of my love going through this to feel better within a body that I found already perfect.

Anyway, the point is, I am getting used to The Great Breast Disappearance.

I must be, because I found a way to torment the Tranny Terrorist, and as long as I can do that, I know I'm healing.

My next mission is dealing with the man hair that is squatting on Papi's legs.  Great black furry bristles.

"Touch them!  They are smooth and silky!"

No, Papi, I don't see the softness of female hair.

I see evidence of an F-M changing into the person I didn't marry.

hmmmm ... shave it or I'll poke you in the ribs!

Oh wait, it was me who said it would look ridiculous for a male to have shaved legs right?

Even I have troubles keeping up with my 'rules'.

Who loves you baby?

Ok.

So I've calmed down a bit.

Papi doesn't like me helping with the changing of dressings, because of my panic attacks, "It's just a little easier without you **emulate sound here** all over the place."

I just try so hard to help and be of support to my love.

However, right now maybe I need to be of support to myself?

You know when things are just so brutal that you can't even take care of yourself?  That's where I am right now.

I managed to get the tattoo infection under control, then just ignored it.

Seriously.

Haven't done anything to help it heal for 2 days.

This is not like me.

I am usually an avid brace cleaner.  I like these like metal rods with magic teeth straightening powers to be treated with as much care as possible.

Last night I didn't even bother brushing my teeth.

At least I'm eating.  For me, that's the biggest one.  If I don't eat, the world suffers.

Truly.

Everyone around me will feel the wrath of Andréa if I don't eat.

So, I supposed you could say I'm doing that for everyone else as well.

Somewhere in there, I have to start looking at me.

It's a little tough though, because I have a tranny, 5 animals and a 95 year old to take care of first.  Not to mention 11 hour shifts to get through on top of it.

Oh, and don't forget practising for the CD Release on Friday night.

Then there's father's day coming up.  I'm in a tizzy because of that too.  The obligation of calling that person who has never cared for me from the age of 10 upward.

Perhaps that's who I learned this from.

That I don't really matter.

If my own father doesn't care, then maybe I'm not worth it.

thanx dad.

It sucks having a deadbeat dad, but it also sucks being someone who has a heart.  I actually care about him and feel sorry for him that he ruined his life.

I don't like the feeling of 'obligation' to this person, but nobody else is going to care for him, because he hasn't cared for anyone but himself his whole life.

Maybe he should call ME on father's day.

He could say to me, "Happy father's day, and I'm sorry I was never there and I love you."

dream on ...

That's a really nice fantasy.

My birthday is the day before father's day.

I doubt I'll even get a phone call.

think about something else now ...

So, I suppose now that I've identified what it is I'm doing to myself I have to change it.

No point in just looking at it.

Ok.

So now I'm going to go do something for myself.

silence ...

I don't even know where to begin.

update:
just threw my back out.  guess i get that 'slow down' day after all 

mess.

They say the state of your home is a direct reflection of your state of mind.

Right now?

This couldn't be more accurate.

You could really say that I've been out of my home for a month, with a bout of 3 days work between.

I made it through the last 2 days of work, but now I'm looking at everything I have to get done in a week and it's not pretty.

I have so much practising to do for our CD release party on the 17th!  I'm in dire need of some strong fingers after a month away from my instrument!

so the best thing to do is procrastinate and write to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I also have to get the cd burned within a week ...

gawd i hope they will do a rush job

... get my promo done and somehow make some sense of this house that looks like a hoarder has moved in. 

oh! i got to drop off a real live one yesterday at work. it was something to behold!

Clothes strewn, 2 days of dishes in disarray, tumbleweeds of dog and cat fur everywhere and then there's my honky fro.  It's turning into natty dreads alright.

Oh, and the cat litter is almost extinct, so you can imagine how nice that must be for the cats to be doing business in only a few inches of sand.  Not to mention, the smell.

So, is this reflecting my state of mind?

Hell ya.

Papi comes home tomorrow.  I miss my love terribly, but I'm so scared to see the end result.

Mi esposo said I don't have to look at it.  Does this mean there won't be anymore visions of my naked Papi running around the house?

No, I think not.  My love is a streaker for sure.  I won't be coddled from the view of the new Papi.

My mind is an absolute mess from thinking of everything that has to be done and the emotions that I'm experiencing.

This house has got nothing on me.  I win the disaster game.

I'm also in the process of working on a scar on my face.  The stress has made me find a little spot to pick on my cheek.

Do you think I can tell myself to leave it alone?  Nooooooooooooo.

I can't remember the movie, but there's an artist who was pals with ...

oh fuck here we go ... brain injury alert ... not even going to try to remember names right now.

oh! got it!

... Andy Warhol and he would just pick at that scab and it got bigger and bigger.  I'm pretty sure that's what I'm doing here.

gonna look hot for the release party for shoooooo-er

Then there's the mirror dysphoria.  There is a girl in the mirror that is much bigger than my jeans tell me.

Mess?

You betcha.

I can't wait to see my love tomorrow.  I realized something over the past few days upon returning without Papi.  Something that I've never felt.

I need my love.

I've never really needed anyone before.  I've never had someone in my life that can take this mess of a femme and calm me down.  I've never had someone who understands my insanity and doesn't run for the hills.

My love is good for me.

I need mi esposo almost as much as I love mi esposo.

would you leave that fucking scab alone for fucks sakes?!?!?!

Ok.

I'm going to go tackle the first thing on my list.

Oh, did I tell you my tattoo is infected?  Niiiiiiiiiiiiice.

The Epiphany

Miami, Florida airport.

Family from hell.

No matter where I go to escape them, all 9 of them find me.  Yes, they're sitting right across from me at the gate.

I actually chose a seat that they wouldn't be able to sit next to me, and I figured they wouldn't want to occupy only 3 seats with all their bags and a double stroller.

WRONG.

The fucking family from hell are all squeezed into one small area.

I swear to gawd, if there is one, then there is a fucking devil, and he followed me from the hotel just to try to get under my skin for the last few moments of this fucking journey.

I felt as though I had shaken the demons today.

I had no tears and I had some smiles.

It feels so sad leaving Papi alone at the hotel.  The rest of mi esposo's healing has to be done alone.  No help from the over-doting wife.

I'm sure my love will do ok.  It's probably just the tail end of my emotions tugging at me.  I won't get to see mi esposo again for 4 more sleeps.

I'm quite afraid of what I'll see when Friday comes.  By that point, Papi will have all the bandages off and be rid of the draining paraphernalia.

I had a nightmare about it last night.

I dreamed that my love's nipples were really high above where they were supposed to be.  There were also really hideous scars that were jagged and in really bad directions.

So, I suppose that's worst case scenario.  Dr. Scissorhands of Florida is touted as the best in his field.  I'm sure he did a fine job.  I'm sure it's just my demons coming out to play while I sleep.

fuckers will get me wherever they can.

My love put a picture of the wreckage up on Facebook today.  I'm dying!!!  It's so awful for me to see that on the page where I go to communicate with mi esposo.  It's too much.

I want only to see Papi's gorgeous face.

Just like in the calendar of ugly mugs, I personally don't see why anyone would want to expose this as a picture of pride.

But Papi is different than me.

Here's a wonderful moment however!!

I have figured out how to get around using a male pronoun for Papi.  I don't ever have to say 'he'!

EVER!!

If I use my love's first initial, 'E', then it sounds like I'm saying 'he'.

At the tattoo shop yesterday ...

yes ... of course i got a souvenir ... who the hell are we talking about here?!

... they all called Papi a 'he'.  If i had have said 'she', they would have looked at me like I was the one on Vicodin.

So, when Mr. Bare-Beerbelly Tattoo-Man asked, "Now, where has he gone?"

I simply answered, "E's in the washroom."

It struck me then that it really did sound like 'he'!!!

I'm good now!!!

I don't ever, ever have to use that fucking pronoun that to date has made me feel like my skin is crawling with slugs.

ahhhhhhhhhh ... denial is a beautiful thing, no?

It's all good.

What just happened here?

Got it out of my system.

Sometimes it's good to let 'er rip, eh?

I'm feeling much better now.

However, I'm seriously pondering the video documentation for this experience.  Papi is so excited about the top surgery and I'm just getting by.  It really does need to be out there along with the Rah-Rah-Tranny version.

I really do write to 'you', my imaginary friend to get it out, but I know there would be a different feeling to actually bring those words out of my mouth.

It was such an emotional day yesterday.  My tattoo was finished, and that should have made me happy, but when we finally made our way from Seattle and through the Marysville Monsoon ...

seriously.  does it have to pour like that EVERY fucking time we got through?!?!

... we got home and I became very sensitive.  Papi became very cranky.

Not a good mixture.  My love was stressed about the things lying around and the fact that all our belongings will be delivered the next day.  But, I felt like it was only MY stuff that was bothering my love.  I also took things the wrong way and it wound up being one of those arguments in a relationship that are absolutely comical.

I watched Papi pick up the items I'm giving away and put them in another spot.  My love walked past me and I took the look wrong and asked, "What was the stink eye look for?!"

"Nothing!  I didn't give you stink eye!"

Next I hear Papi, "Are you wearing your pajamas?"  Which I took as in, will you wear them tonight?

I answered yes.

This may sound all good, but here's where it actually gets funny.

My love and I both had a cleaning from our dentists and both received new toothbrushes.  I opened mine and realized it was Papi's favourite colour.  So, I bellowed from the bathroom, "Honey where's your new toothbrush?"  I wanted to swap it with Papi's.

My love's devil horns grew and a forked tongue came wagging out, "WHAT HONEY!?!?!?!"

I shrunk in the bathroom, "Ummm ... nothing," I said with a meek tiny voice.

"THANK YOU!" said my love in such a way that I knew I shouldn't say much more.

I proceeded into the room to slip on my flannel lovelies and couldn't find them.  "Can I speak?" I sarcastically asked my love.

"Yeah, of course!"

So, I launched into a pms/over emotional feelings about the video/exhaustion from four hours of sitting in a tattoo chair.

"Where did you put my pajamas, and why are you attacking my pajamas?!?"

"Uh, what?"

"You attacked my pajamas for lying around, but everything else is lying around the fucking place, so why is it such a problem that my pajamas are lying out when we have no furniture to put anything into and it's not just my pajamas?!?!"

As it was coming out of my mouth, I realized it was absolutely crazy.  My love was trying not to laugh at the silliness of it, because it was obvious that I was upset, but to ask why my pajamas were attacked?

Yeah, the prodding went on until I finally got out that I just wanted to give my love the toothbrush colour that would be appreciated, yet Papi got snarky and I put it all on my pajamas.

We eventually laughed, both apologized and when I went to bed I texted my love, 'my pajamas forgive you'.

Honestly.

Sometimes, emotions can absolutely make my brain explode with insanity.

You know though, my love understands.  We're both a perfect match of crazy.

Time for a holiday

The fear of the unknown is what's scary.

Well, to me anyway.

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

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

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

My immature brain just couldn't comprehend this information.

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

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

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

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

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

The unknown.

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

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

Mi esposo es guapo!

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

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

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

No, this isn't what's happening.

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

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

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

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

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

The little girl is so afraid of this happening.

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

The eternal get away.

She just wants a 'thought vacation'.

A Festering Abscess

I didn't get to feel the prick of my skin and see the ink flow.

I didn't get to feel the pain of beauty, only the pain of love.

Relationships are hard work.  When we hurt one another, there is often an underlying message that isn't coming through, there is only a ball being volleyed back to our side of the net.

Papi was holding in the hurt that I inflicted, but it burst through the knife of the tongue.

The monotony of tree after tree on our ride down to Seattle was broken by hateful words.  "I blame you for not letting me give Smokey kibble when he wanted it.  I think that's why he died."

The blade punctured my heart, but I added pressure the pumping blood as long as I could.

maybe Papi was experiencing the upheaval of withdrawal?

I tried to let it go.

Easier said than done.

By holding it in, I became contentious and less than tolerant with every person who had the unfortunate meeting with the demon that was now speaking for me.

I had my dark cloud again.  That bastard was held fast above my head.  Nobody can see it, but they can damn well sense it.  We are, after all, intuitive animals.

During my wait for the tattoo that never happened, I got down to work on my computer and did some long overdue clean up.

Papi said, "Well, while you're just reading, why don't you read the FtM Sex Guide I sent you."

I've been avoiding it.  I thought it would be a way for partners to discover the new found body that has been entered into the relationship.

Wrong.

It was just a transgendered person talking about their clit.  I was so uncomfortable and felt it was an attack on my trying ego.  My soul is working so hard just to be at peace with where I am 'right now'.

'Right now', I'm not ready for this.  'Right now', I'm just getting used to the fuzzy peach moustache and wispy chin hairs.

'Right now', I'm accepting the changes in my life that are happening because of this transformation.

When I met a potential new friend at the gym, I called Papi my husband.  It felt wrong.  It felt awkward.  But most of all, it felt like the right thing to do, so that they would consider mi esposo as a male figure right from the gate.

When Papi asked me about the guide and what I thought, the dark cloud rained upon me and words slipped out on that now slick runway.  "I thought it would be about sex, but all it was, was a platform for the guy to talk about his clit like it was a dick.  He'll never have a dick.  He wasn't born with a dick.  It's a swollen clit."

my dagger stabbed repeatedly in an effort to defend myself, after being told i killed my love's cat.

The fucked up part?  I was irritable because Papi blamed Smokey's death on me, which came from Papi having resentment because I made jokes about the full body binder that mi esposo received in the mail.  I retreated in repugnance when my love put a fake penis in to this article of clothing.  I didn't want it anywhere near me and that was agitation thrown at my love because of the fact that Papi had used drugs.

Do you understand the vicious cycle here?

You can go back further and further and try to find the initial culprit of pain, but it doesn't matter.

We realized that the wounds we force upon one other are going to have to be spoken about right away.

If not, they will fester, and I'll wake up with swollen eyes from crying all night long.

It's just not pretty, that vision in the mirror this morning.

We have to clean these wounds before they become abscessed.

Listen

The buzzing of the needle greeting my love's allowing skin.

I sit patiently waiting my turn in the tattoo parlour.  While I wait patiently, all I hear is dirty noise and echoes of the last 48 hours.  Moments, of my love expressing sadness and hurt at my honesty.

Honesty is supposed to be how we communicate.  Somehow, it stings and has us feeling attacked.  My dear love, feeling the weight of the honesty given to me in a moment of admitting a problem.

My last 2 days have been full of 'what if'?  Each one adds to my already anxious personality. 

: my love doesn't like the fear I've emitted?

: all of the pain we've endured together has been battled with strength, maybe not this one?

: maybe Papi is going to find less tolerance for me now that I've expressed my lack of tolerance for addiction?

There are more.  They are causing my poor heart to feel tight with holding back the fears.

Sometimes, people get mean in relationships.  There comes a point where the love leaves and the disrespect creeps in.  These are part of my biggest fears in every relationship I've been in.

They always come true.

I can't see my love being this way with me, but stranger things have happened.  I never expected my ex to rob me and make me homeless, and forcing me to shut down my business.  So yes, stranger things have happened.

Anything CAN happen in a relationship.  It's part of the deal we make when we enter.  We could have ever lasting love, or there could be hurt to one or both hearts.

I'm feeling very timid, as Papi could be coming off the codeine, making for a very agitated self.  I hear my love laughing with the artist, but that could change when the endorphins stop visiting and the ink has settled.

Listen.

I listen to many other victims of the needle, every one of them here for their dose of pain, to have their gain of exposing art.

I listen.

I listen to the tone of my love when we were driving here to get the tattoo.  Frustrated because I didn't understand which way Papi was telling me to drive.

I listen.

I listen to the silence that seems to be the partner to the awkward conversation that we make.

I take a lot in.  Am I imagining?  Or am I just being paranoid?  Is my anxiety winning?

My turn.  My pain is coming.  All I can hope for, is it only being the needle.

I can handle that pain.

Highway ... more trees

Seattle bound one more time.

More tattoos.

Yes.

Tattoos are addictive.

Lots of time to hang out with Papi.

This time I'm driving :)