psycho kitty.

Phew!  That feels a little better.

We got to talk about a little more of how each of us are feeling, plus got to have a less stressful day.

Much better.  Back on track.

I suppose it was just the finality of everything getting settled, meaning it's time to prepare for the next step, which is really quite scary.

The fear won't stop us from following our dream we've been preparing for for years, we just need to communicate more.

I've never had such great communication in my life that is outlined by the worst communication.  I don't know how to explain it, but it's odd.

We both take our turns at being the loon in the house.

Problem is, since the beginning of The Great DR Purge, the sale of the house, g'ma being put into the home, The Uncle helping us out, moving to Our Closet and preparing for our trial, we both took our turns at being the crazy one at the same time.

That's no good.

We usually swap, therefore, the one is able to calm the other down.

But when we're BOTH wacked?  No good.

Anyway, speaking of wacked, I've been trying to give the cats less and less Rescue Remedy in hopes that maybe they'll just be sane.

Wrong.  The Tom Cat Operetta is back in full swing.

I contacted a TV show, where they come in to see your psycho kitty and try to get them to be calm and stable.

It's appropriately called Psycho Kitty.

They loved the idea of filming our demented fuzzballs.  Who wouldn't?

A close loss of an eye, screaming cats and great wads of fur being torn from their bodies makes for good drama. 

Especially when they're trapped in Our Closet of 454 sq. ft.

She said of all the applicants who wrote in, we were the first they called, because it sounded 'so funny'.

I sent them pics of all of us, including me holding my gun to show how desperate I am for harmony in the home.

The good part about the show is the free cat behaviourist who comes to help you and your critters.

It's kinda like The Dog Whisperer, only it's for psycho kitties.

When the Rescue Remedy worked, it was great, but I think leaving them on so much medicine for so long is not good for their tiny fuzzy bodies.

Mind you, that's better than blood and guts flying everywhere.

This kitty filming adventure will be a month after we've actually bought a home in the Dominican Republic!!!

We were instructed to go on line and choose a few to see, so we gave her our top 10, then gave her another 25 that we were interested in.

She said, "Well, that's quite a few.  Perhaps you could choose only 3 for the first day."

I think we need a reality show to follow us around there too.

Mind you, we won't need the publicity, considering the cats are going to make us super duper famous!  Don't you think?

People will swarm us and ask for autographs saying, "Hey!  You're the people who have psycho kitties!!"

We'll be more famous than The Beibs!

The whole, entire world will know us for our psychotic cats, screaming femme armed with water bottles, and a tranny with the Rescue Remedy chasing them around to get the goods in their ears.

Ok.  Maybe that's just a bit silly.

I can't even imagine how many people would tune in to a show called Psycho Kitty.

Well, I know I would, but I'm crazy that way.

everything is going to be alright

clearing things up.

So, yesterday, I was really hurried in my writing and was also on a hefty dose of pain killers first thing in the morning and I created a bit of a wave in TransLand.

I believe the combination was a bad mix, and I unintentionally hurt people by my words.

I hope to clear things up for you with the 3 topics that have been brought up on my Facebook page both publicly and in private messages.

topic #1

I was speaking about how I am attracted to butches, but that I see I am also attracted to trans guys.

I am not attracted to bio-males, where as some women and men are.

We are all different, and I brought up my baby sister, when first faced with my coming out of the closet, was trying to learn from me.

I used my past of dating only butches to segue to the present and people thought I was saying my love is a butch.

My love is no longer a butch, and I'm still as attracted to him as I was the day I married that butch.

Presently, I am seeing that I am attracted to people with multi-leveled energies, like my love.  I am attracted to the beauty in people's vast differences in being.

topic #2

When I said 'people ... blah blah fucking blah ... freaks', I was really talking about the zealots who like to picket our lives with their signs of Jesus burned to a crisp on a cross at our Pride Parade in the great U S of A.

'They' call gays and lesbian freaks.  'They' call trans people freaks.  'They' call me a freak because I'm attracted to butches, and trans guys.

They can fuck off, because from what I've seen at Gender Odyssey, there's a whole lot of love and acceptance in this world, and their hatred will soon be squashed by the love the world has.

Really, all I wanted to say was, I'm in that boat with all the people I fit in with.  We're all in this together, and it has nothing to do with what anyone else sees us as.

For instance, I am not a 'straight' woman, but I'm seen as such.  Papi is not a woman, and he is not seen as such, luckly for him.

He is seen as the male he has always felt was there, and I'm attracted to my love, but I was afraid I wouldn't be.

I found attraction for another person who carried that energy.  A male being who had a spark of different energy from another part of him.

That made me feel so good, that I could recognize this, and I tried to write about it.

Not everyone would be attracted to the same people I am and I do not think that everyone who is trans has both energies.

I am at peace with my queerness, and see the pattern in my life where, in THE PAST I've had so much attraction for trans guys when they were a 'butch'.

There is no malice meant from my post yesterday, but there were feelings that I had insulted people, because I didn't see others as the beings they are, which is incorrect. 

topic #3

Now.  About the 'tranny' word.  I will continue to stick to my guns and call dykes, fags and trannies as such in a general way, as long as they don't want to be personally called that.

Papi likes to be called that.  The dudes I met at Gender Odyssy like to be called that.

Some people don't and I would never call them that, yet still, as general blabbing here on my blog, I am not using the word in a derogative manner, but more like I would use dyke or fag.

We have taken back dyke and fag, and we use it with adoration and pride.  Why the hell can't tranny be taken back and used for strength?!

I'm not spitting venom when I use the word, and I use it pretty much the same as I would use dyke or fag.

new business/bonus topic #4

Perhaps I shouldn't write my blog in a hurry on pain killers?

I hope I cleared things up from yesterday, and if not and you're still pissed at me, well, as much as I love you stopping by, all I can say is, you are the one making the choice to be here reading.

today's daily mantra comes from my gratitude buddy:

mastakes teach you important lessons.  every time you make one, you are one step closer to your goal.

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

honky.

We humans are sick fucks.

I was just over at a blogger friend's site, and he made me realize something.  He was talking about how since he's let go of a lot of his anger, he's lost readers.

Nobody really wants to read about people getting happy!

Well, unless of course, they are already happy and the article is about how to become even happier.

There's a difference there.

We people love train wrecks.

We people love to rubber neck.

We love to read about others misfortunes and pain.

Why?

Well, I guess it's entertaining when it's someone else, and sometimes, it makes us feel better about our own lives when someone else has it worse off.

I see this blog moving further away from the grief of losing my butch, because I'm moving away from the pain.

This means, I'm starting to see a shift in the readers I have.  I'm not really losing readers, they're just changing is all.

Changing with me.

Of course, as life progresses, I'm sure it will switch from my dear tranny, to my personal struggle of well being, to our big move to the Dominican Republic.

You will then get to laugh at my failed attempts at milking a goat.

Better yet, you'll get to see a 1st world country, ignorant, honky woman try to mingle with those who only see me as 'white', with really bad Spanish.  Not as a potential friend to fill their heart with love.

There's racism all over the world.

Somehow, as a cracker, I fell like I deserve it though, because of all the wrong doings of my ancestors.

I'm embarrassed that people I may be related to harmed the First Nations here in North America, and it seems, continue to do so.

I'm horrified that great grandfathers used Asian people as a way to get into dangerous areas, because they were considered a 'lesser' human and expendable.

I'm so heartbroken for the stories of Black folks who can tell tales of their family being slaves and beaten for the colour of their skin.

I'm disgusted by the rantings of those in our neighbouring country, who go on about their neighbouring country Mexico being such a problem.

Would you not want to escape a country that is killing your families?  Would you not want to come to a country that was one step up from the perpetual mayhem that is?  It's what your ancestors did when they came over here and took over by killing the indigenous.

I'm sorry for every colour of skin out there that has been harmed at the hands of white people.

All I can say is, I'm so proud that I have Jewish heritage, even if it was only from my Great Grandmother's side.  At least I have something of virtue to hang on to other than my honky background.

Jeeeeezus.  How did I get on this rant?!?!  I was just talking about goats for fucks sakes!!

Anyway, my point was, nobody like to read about boring topics like how Sir Bark-A-Lot just tangoed with Psycho Kitty and lost the fight this morning.

Oh it was good folks.  He didn't start squealing until he broke free.

What kind of idiot chihuahua takes on a cat 3 times his size?!?!

Sir Bark-A-Lot.  That's who.

Sorry if this wasn't angry enough for you.

I'm sure I'll have something to bitch about tomorrow.  I can't really go too long before I'm back on my soap box.

i am sure of my ability to do what is necessary to improve my life

Butch Tits.

Tranny.

I thought I'd say it again just to piss 'them' off.  If I'm going to be bitchy from insomnia, then the rest of you must suffer with me.

Besides, how could I live up to my shit disturber title, if I didn't poke the hornets nest on a daily basis?

One thing I thought about last night until the sun came up this morning, was why I got on those little pharmaceutical puff pills in the first place.  It was to stop the pain and help me sleep.

Well, tough titties.

I'm still going to search for a way to get through the night.

Oh, and speaking of titties, another thing I thought about last night, was how much I miss them.

I grieve them.

I miss just rolling over in bed and having a palm full of pillowy, plush puppies to paw.

I feel like there's something missing from my life now.

I realized, they're never coming back.

If I want to feel those soft familiar friends, I'll have to play with my own.

However, they're not as fun.

I suppose I could take up Papi's offer and play with other women's mammillas, but they still aren't the breasts I married.

It's those breasts I want.

As I listened to Papi snore away the night, I cursed him.  Not for permanently taking away my funbags, but for sleeping better than me and not doing his evening chore of putting Psycho Kitty upstairs.

I was exhausted enough, that I merely laid and listened to the Tom Cat Operetta till the wee hours of morning.

And no, that has nothing to do with boobs, but I thought I'd throw that in there because I'm mother fucking tired and bitchy.

Back to boobs.

Every Wednesday, I volunteer for Queer Arts Festival for 4 hours.

4 hours of sorting papers that have been thrown into boxes for years upon end of neglect gets a little monotonous, so I look around at the walls of the office.

Basically, I get do this in a gallery of photos taken by S.D Holman.

Butch Tits.

Everywhere.

Some I recognize, ...

... not from personal experience ...

... some that look like they'd be days of funbag fondling, others that are pert enough to cut glass.

But Butch Tits everywhere.

It saddens me.

I sit in my composing room and create music, while staring at the only pic I have of my love exposed in all his prior butch glory.

With Butch Tits.

This is one of the hard parts of this transformation.

I know there's a few, but most of it has calmed.  I suppose with any loss, there's a certain amount that will never really go away.

I guess I'm no different.

Butch Tits.

I miss them terribly.

i release all fear ...

Sorry. Try again.

I'm exhausting Papi with all the driving around I'm making him do for me.

It may be trouble for my love to drive me to all the places I need to go to in a day, but I like the non-stop company of mi esposo.

At least in the car I can have a conversation with him.

That's hard to do when we're home, because my love has put down the Sims-O-Rama-Banana-Fana-Ding-Dong-Land, and taken up his extra breathing moments with Rock Band.

Which I was confused about.  I didn't realize there's more than one guitar game.

I was corrected.  It is not Guitar Hero.  It is Rock Band.  All I know is you don't want to be a musician to play this game.  It will reverse any schooling you've had in music.

Anyway, yes.

When we're home, my love flits off into never never land and plays games.   I can think of worse things to be addicted to, really.

Yesterday, we were given a blog to read about the word 'Tranny'.  Of course, I read it, while my love played with the whammy bar, and tilted his guitar up like any other rock god.

In a nutshell, the blog was asking that people refrain from using the word 'Tranny', as it can be used as a derogative term.

Kinda like when people spit out the word, "Dyke," at those deemed scum of the earth to the bigots and homophobes around the world.

I don't mind being called a dyke.  Even when it's spit out at me in hatred.

I mean really, as a femme, being recognized in my own community is like asking the world of people.

As if having long hair and wearing a skirt makes me any less attracted to butches.  I come across my own struggles in my community.

I also understand the need to keep our community safe.

However, using the word 'Tranny', and other words like "Fag," is not the problem.

Not using these words will not keep anyone safe while the world has bible thumping zealots brainwashing their children to hate those who don't follow their rules.

My love likes being called a 'Tranny'.  Why should that be taken away from him, because there are crud in the world that will stop at nothing to kill off those who think differently?

Do you really think for a second that not using that word is going to make anyone person any safer from evil?

It's not.

The only way to make this world safer is to expose to the zealots that we are living creatures who believe we deserve to live our lives with love.

Fine!

Be a zealot!

It's not going to hurt us, unless you physically use it for hate.

What if I promised a zealot that I would never ever use the word again?

Do you really think that's going to change their mind?

Nope.

They'll use the word instead while they're in the process of thinking how to kill the young transgender person, in the name of their god.

I'd rather continue saying the word and making it more common in our vocabulary, so that these hateful people can't make others feel bad when they hurl these terms at them through their venom.

Call me a dyke?

Why, thank you very much!  I'm glad you noticed.  Lord knows the lesbians in my community can't tell.

Call Papi a Tranny?

Why yes he is.

Let's see you try to use it against my love.  Sticks and stones bitches.

reality is in our perception of it ... no matter what happens externally, it's all about how we perceive and deal with whatever comes ...

My Brag Blog.

You know, I have wanted to get a few things in here to brag about.

It's important to brag!

The Video

We have to get a few more shots done for the video, but here's some snapshots of the first half of the filming.

i'm so spoooooooky

we're so spoooooooky

The Rings

I recall back in July, my Blogger Friends wanted to see my bling-a-ding-ding, so here ya go!

did i mention i'm a princess?

On my left hand you see my engagement, wedding and our 1 year anniversary rings.

On my right index, you'll see Papi's engagement ring that he outgrew.

"Men don't wear engagement rings," my love had told me.

And that's ok, because I get to wear it hehehehe.

The Amber Ring is an heirloom of the G'ma who let me wear it as an engagement ring while it was being custom made.

Papi had bought a massive ring for me for the engagement proposal and it didn't fit.  Anyway, G'ma still allows me to wear it and I love it so much.

My First Published Article Paycheck

This is the first step in my venture as a writer.

I'm pretty damn proud to have the opportunity for my voice to be heard.  I have received so much acknowledgement from others who love trannies telling me they needed to hear my words.

gimme my money bitches!

Secretly Loves Trannies

I realize now that I'm attracted to transgender people and have not really recognized it for a long time.

It's taken me a while, but I can honestly say that I could wear this t-shirt with pride now.

it's true!

Papi had bought it for me way back in early January '11, but I have not felt that I could wear it, as I was in too much turmoil around the male transformation.

The difficulty in coming to grips with this journey of gender modification have seemingly become more clear.

I don't like the poison of hormones that are in mi esposo's system.

This is the drug that steals my butch.

This is the elixir that magically transforms my love into the male being he feels inside.

I'm really not sure I could wear the Secretly Loves Trannies shirt because of what's on the the back.

ummmmmm ...

Yeah.

This is the other half of the hardest part about this transformation.

Penes.

Don't like 'em.

to put it mildly...

I would have to be hammered or drugged to get me to go there.

Well, I've been wanting to get my brag list done, and now that's done.

Ahhhhhh ...

I'm Getting Out the Cattle Prod

There was a little bit of panicked entertainment last night.

My dear Papi had a little scare from the post-surgery healing.

We phoned the nurse's line who directed us to go immediately to emergency.

Now, normally, that would be something to panic about, but unfortunately, we're sorta used to being there because of me.

However, I was overjoyed that we weren't going there as a result of my bitch of a back.

I've been in so many times, that I now have a 'rule'.  I am not to be taken to emergency unless my eyes, ears and nose are all bleeding simultaneously.  There was no blood spewing from my head, so I was happy to be going there for mi esposo.

Good times at the hospital.  Let me tell you.

Remember I told you that the nurses, docs and admitting people out in bum-fuck-nowhere could teach the Vancouver hospitals a few things about bedside manner and customer service?

Well, one of my friends who works in a Vancouver hospital said, "That's probably because out in bum-fuck-nowhere, they don't have all the assholes downtown that we have to deal with on an hourly basis."

So true.

I mean, even though my fellow bird of a feather crazies seemed to find me at the hospital in bum-fuck-nowhere, they weren't quite as intense as the people who visit emergency in Vancouver.

oops ... off track ... i'll get to the point ...

My first experience with bringing Papi, was that they weren't going to let me sit with my love.

You know how a cat will relentlessly meow at you for their food?  I was a bit like that last night with the volunteers, nurses and admitting people, because they weren't going to let the 'spouse' be with their better half.

c'mon people! don't you know i'm famous??!? you don't want me to write about you!

Eventually, Papi came out and I was back to happy again.  But damn!  They're lucky I needed a whole wackload of pain killers yesterday.  Those little drops keep me much sweeter to those around me while there's pain shooting down my legs.

Anyway, the most fun was when the admitting nurse saw 'male' on my love's identification, but that Papi was there for possible post-surgery infection due to a full hysterectomy.

This nurse addressed Papi, "Ok, so there's no easy way to ask this ..."

Before the question was answered, she looked up from her computer screen to two Cheshire Cat, shiny, brace face smiles.

Papi relieved her by saying, "I'm a transsexual female to male who just had a hysterectomy."

The woman was much nicer to me after having to ask her embarrassing question.

Well, I got mi esposo lying down to ease the pain, and Papi and I proceeded to spend some quality time together.  This was when my love decided to tell me that I didn't do as good of a job as the g'ma used to when it comes to taking care of him.

well my love, that's probably because i'm not a passive aggressive control freak ... ummm ... well not anymore, that is ...

So, when Papi told me that, I decided that I needed to be more forceful, and not ask if my love would like something.  I should tell my love he's going to have it.

So I tried at the hospital to make Papi drink more water.  I was presented with a stubborn mule who kept turning his head away, in an attempt to evade the glass.

Really Papi?!  This deserved the remark in mi esposo's face, "You fucking bugger!  Do you see?  I do try to take care of you, but you're a fucking manchild and don't let me!"

Yes.

I am a good caretaker.  My love, if you thought you saw caretaking before, you'll be seeing it now with a riding crop in hand.

Perhaps even a cattle prod.

Oh, yes.  I'll be making you drink your water and eat your meals.

Oh, by the way, Papi's going to be fine, as long as he complies with my orders, that is.

Sperm.

They really shouldn't allow 2 brain injured people who get confused to lead each other around, or they will simply go in circles like a dog chasing it's tail.

Like yesterday.

I drove downtown to meet My Boifriend, who happens to be gay, but has now found a femme love interest, which I suppose would now make him bi-curious?

Anyway, like the classy lady I am, I pulled up to the curb and had him throw his house, or rather stuffed duffel bag, and even more stuffed computer case into the backseat of our vehicle.  The entertaining part was when he bellowed, "You're making me hold up a bus!" with a panicked bark.

of course my dear, that's the way i roll... i like pissing people off ...

After we laughed about the lack of comfort we just encountered, we decided to find somewhere to have our hang out.

Well, here's where it got fun.

We spoke about where we should go before he had to meet up with the next friend.  I'm sure it will be like that for him the entire weekend.  You know how it is.  Too many people who love him and too little time to spread it around.

We decided on coffee and I started driving to my favourite, ethical coffee joint, JJ Bean.  I then realized I'm a little hungry and perhaps he was too, as it was dinner time.  So we aborted the coffee trek and headed to find something wheat and dairy free for my finicky body.

Sounds pretty normal, right?

Well, with 2 brain injured people trying to make choices, we wound up exactly where we started from.

Yup.

One big 360 degree circle of driving.

Next was the decision of which million dollar parking lot to park in.  In downtown Vancouver, a buck will get you a cool 10 minutes.

Anyway, I had decided on a falafel plate for my sinful meal, but when we parked I changed my mind.

such is the life of a brain injured person ... please don't give me options ...

This was fine with My Boifriend.  He's pretty easy.  Well, when it comes to food that is.  I wouldn't know about anything else, considering he's my platonic boifriend.

Mind you, I did have a dream that Papi and him were making out.  Is that weird or what?

Usually I dream about Papi having sex with me, but somehow my mind said it was ok for them to have a go.

Good thing it was a dream.  Wouldn't know how I'd feel about my monogamous soul mate sleeping with my gay, and/or bi-curious-ish, FTM boifriend.

Oh, there I go off topic.  Again.

Topic: food.

We ...

or rather i ...

... did manage to make a decision on Mexican.  We went to Mucho Burrito, where My Boifriend treated me to an evil meal of wheat and dairy free, sodium exaggerated junk food.  It was deliciously bad for me.

The sad part is, this restaurant is on the outer edge of the Davie Village, so the gays, trannies, dykes, and all the other people who will be going to hell with us, tend not to make it into this restaurant.

too bad for you guys! cross the burrard boundary and give it a go! i recommend it!

We had a little extra time before his next social gathering, so we went for a walk in the cool autumn, verging on winter, air.

it was about at this time that i was truly grateful that i had indeed taken 'too much' crack butter.

We went somewhere that I haven't seen yet.  The Vancouver Convention Center at the Burrard Inlet.

And here's what we found:

A big blue sperm.

I'm pretty sure that if Papi and I used this bugger ...

... we would have gotten pregnant and stayed that way!

Anyway, I guess we didn't do too badly for two brain injured people.

We ate, got to where we were going on time, and then I got to come home to Papi, who said more than one word!  It was almost like normal!

It's an improvement.

heal papi heal ... i miss your silliness ...

Now who's the old fart?

So, I'm feeling a lot less homicidal.

I was trying to limit my pain killers to see where my pain level was at, and I realize it's not time to do that yet.

When I'm in pain I'm a fucking hag.

The day I went down to The Yank's birthday, a few people had said, "It's so nice to see Andréa smiling again."

I felt horrible that people saw me as miserable.  I hate being miserable.

The point is though, while in the neighbouring country, I was smiling because I had pain relief.

So, yesterday I decided not to suffer just to see where my pain level is and took the pain killers.

I was much nicer to the G'ma after that point.

I spoke with one of my sweet Blogger Friends yesterday, when I realized that I was suffering for no reason.

I was telling her not to suffer and yet, there I was suffering.  So I changed that situation.

Then I realized taking care of Papi is not so hard.  He's been sleeping 99.9% of the time since we've returned from the hospital.

Not too much 'caretaking' to do there, eh?

Not to mention, when Papi is actually awake, there are no words coming out of his mouth.  Well, other than, "Can you get me some soup?"

We now have the Galloping Gazelle come to stay for the weekend.  I'm sure I'll be more than busy now.  The object of the game is to stop the Galloping Gazelle from jumping on Papi's stomach.

Which is hard.

The Galloping Gazelle is quite the jumper.  Fortunately, Sir Bark-A-Lot is usually guarding Papi from the footrest of the laid out La-Z-Boy.

Most people who have spoken to me about my lack of understanding my 'feelings' lately have had a unanimous vote.

I'm healing.  I'm feeling better about Papi and the male transformation.

I suppose they're right.

It feels a lot better than trying to pull out 'bad' feelings, if I'm having them.

I guess in some ways I am having them, considering Papi keeps asking me, "Are you sure you're alright?"

I'm very agitated lately, and I have to imagine, it's my way of working out whatever it is I have to work out.

Apparently, now that my love has no female bits, the transformation will start to really kick in.

I can say, the one thing I'm happy about is that Papi will be going through menopause before me.

My love is constantly teasing me about being the older woman, ...

... hmpf ... i look younger than anyone my age so piss off ...

... but now that Papi is going to have hot flashes before me, I have ammunition.

The next time my love chooses to tease me about being the older one in the relationship, I can easily say, "Yeah?  Well, who just went through hot flashes baby?!  Who's the older one now?!?!"

One thing I did realize today after briefly speaking to My Boifriend who happens to also have brain injury, ...

... and who i get to have a hangout with today yay! ...

... is that rushing anything with brain injury is not going to work for us.  He proved that theory by trying to pack his cat in the suitcase for his venture to the big city.

I realized that part of my homicidal tendencies this week are because I have too much on my plate for one brain injured person.

When I feel stressed, I just can't deal.  I can't even figure out how to log out of a page on this here computer.

I need to go slo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-w.

Anyway, point is, Papi is now the older man, regardless of the number.

Feeling sweaty yet my dear tranny?

Mwahahahaha ...

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?

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

Yesterday, Papi asked me, "Are you nervous about Friday?"

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Because you seem like you are," he added flippantly.

Huh?

I didn't know I was giving off heebie, jeebie vibes.

But then, it is me we're talking about.  I'm not really good at hiding my feelings.

We had good news from the benefits.  Papi gets a private room.

this is good, because nobody will see me force feeding papi vegetables.

I figure I can feed my love anything I want, because he won't be able to do anything about it.

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

I'm on a mission to force feed my love different things that normally he would turn his nose up at.

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

The other good part, is mi esposo is having a positive experience using medicinal cannabis for anxiety.

Well, the inevitable will happen and you will get the munchies.  Then we reach for carbs, sugar and salt.

But honestly, when you have the munchies, anything will taste good.

So, in my evilness of health food persuasion, I'll be making sure Papi gets to try new things when those munchies kick in.

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

I forgot that tomorrow is the day that mi esposo keeps speaking about as bum-fuck-nowhere doomsday with Dr. Scissorhands.

The only reason I can't completely forget is because Papi keeps talking death talk.

Now that I'm remembering, it's time to distract myself again.

I'm gong to go work on the film score and cook.

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Anyway.

I'm nervous.

And I just donned on me that I'll be in the throws of dressings and a stubborn patient.

Yeah.

Stubborn patient doesn't really even come close to what I'll be dealing with.

So, tomorrow is another change.

But that's what life's about anyway, isn't it?

Roar.

Well, I can't seem to stay out of trouble.

Am I evil?

Nah.

I just know that not speaking our truth is what will kills us.

We need to get things out of our head and through our mouths before it will leave our souls.  At the same time, we need to find friends that can understand us, and in turn help us learn new ways of thinking.

We all don't fit in together which is what makes this life so beautifully fucked.

I love my life with my perfect soul mate.

except for when my bitch of a back wakes up or when papi eats mcdonald's ...

This soul mate that I saw as perfect before, is slowly, day by day becoming even more perfect.

The scars are easing like the fear I had of losing those soft pillows I loved so much.  The changes that I had hoped to come in my thinking are surfacing, and this amazing soul I'm married to is the same sweet soul on the inside.

It occurred to me when I read yesterday's comments that I was defending Papi and Papi was defending me.

I remember when this all started out, that my biggest fear was those with voices louder than mine.  I feared they would squash me like a bug for having feelings.

I felt I was the only one that felt the way I did, because all those who were vocally, supportively and visibly part of pushing this trans movement forward were the only voices my community wanted to hear.

So I wrote to an imaginary friend who wouldn't judge me.

that's right! don't double cross me bitches ... i'm craaaaaaaazy !!!

I felt I couldn't defend Papi if I wasn't strong enough to defend myself.  This is not a feeling of being whole.  I was grieving and needed to find my strength.

I have.

I'm good with how I handled some of it with imagery that helped me cope.  I like humour to heal.  I envisioned all of those who could 'potentially hate' my feelings as cheerleaders of gender transformation on the sidelines, who could shout louder and kick their legs higher than mine.

It's much nicer than the scary monster that kept me oppressed.

We're all different on the inside, and man, sometimes our insides are nasty bitches!

I'm not sure where all this is leading, but I'm going to tell you something, I like the dialogue.

I LIKE that people are talking and getting it all out.

Talk!

But try to put humanitarianism before politics, and know that we can't all live to better suit anyone else's ideals.

they tried to do that to me with religion.

No thanx.

I'm not sure who the language police are, but they haven't strapped me with a fine for using the word tranny yet, so, I will continue to label my spouse as such.

Papi is a tranny.

I'm married to Papi.

I have had to take a year to transition along with my spouse, and you can't tell me how it is I'm supposed to do it is wrong, or right.

I may have offended those with penes, by saying that I don't like them, but which part of lesbian don't you understand?

I am attracted to trans people, and this is the realization that I've come out of this whole thing with.

I love trannies.

I never knew I did, but now that I'm out of denial, I know this as my truth.

I also know that once you try to silence me, I yell a little louder.

So, go ahead.  Leave me comments telling me I'm not allowed to do something.

Ask my mother how well that went.

Bum-Fuck-Nowhere.

It dawned on me yesterday that I won't be celebrating Halloween this year.

Not that I'm an avid Halloweener and that it's a ritual every year, but if I had to choose only one yearly celebration to raise hell with, Halloween would be 2nd to my wedding anniversary.

I mean really, I'm never ready with a costume anymore.  I have high hopes every year that I'll be celebrating, but it never seems to happen.

And it's never a big loss, it's just that every year, I always think I'm going to do something.

procrastinators unite! after halloween ...

I know.  Sounds like a no brainer.

If I'm not interested enough to get ready for it, then it's no big deal.

Well, this year, some friends had said they'd have a party and I thought this year we'd go.  So I marked attending! on my Facebook invite.

Then I hear, "Ummmmm, so you're going to their party alone?"

Well obviously not!  Our 'rough around the edges friends' don't just have a 'party'.  It's the kind of party that includes a few whips 'n chains, and maybe a little bit of 'good pain', blood and bruises as souvenirs.

Just the thing Papi and I enjoy doing together.  Alas, Papi continued, "Because that's a day after my surgery."

the pieces of the puzzle all fell into place ...

"Got it!" I replied, marking off another day closer to Dr. Scissorhands.

this brain injury moment brought to you by the letters, d, u, h.

Anyway, I realized I wasn't going, and started reminiscing about a few of the times that I've had some doozy costumes.

Like the bumble bee.

pillows made into puffy balls of bumble bee phat ...

My costume was epic!

Until I had to go pee.

I had drank 'too' much beer.

I couldn't get my arms around the pillows of bumble bee phat to open the crotch of the costume to relieve myself the washroom.

Hell!  I could barely fit through the stall door, never mind try to close it once I was in.

Well, I'm pretty sure you can figure out how that one ended.  All I know is that's the only memory I have of that particular Halloween.

yup ... some people should just stay clean 'n sober ...

But, the point of all this was that I finally clued into the time line of Papi's surgery.

The weekend of Halloween, I'll be commuting back and forth to bum-fuck-no-where to have some full on quality Papi time complete with drooling from pain meds.

we'll both be in fine company ...

Wayyyyyyyy out there.

A place where I never venture, for it's where they put all the sex offenders on parole.  You see, nobody squawks about it, because they're too busy restocking beer from the liquor store and ignoring the molesting of their own children.

That and beating the fear of 'god' into their kids.

Bum-

Fuck-

Nowhere.

It's surprising that they would have Trannies come out to this area.  I  mean it's the same kinda 'community' where rednecks would beat the shit out of anyone queer, never mind what they'd do to trannies.

None-the-less, that's where we'll be in less than three weeks.

Well, if you're not a Canuck, you may not know that today is Thanksgiving here in Canada, so tonight we'll be taking the G'ma out to Swiss Chalet.

no, i don't cook anything that can't be done in a frying pan, wok or steamer.

So, in honour of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that I don't have to be out in bum-fuck-nowhere today, and I'm thankful that I not only have a pain reliever that works, but it also keeps my PTSD down to a manageable level so when I think of the predators out in bum-fuck-nowhere, I don't shake.

and the countdown continues ...

Thank you.

Well, it looks like Papi isn't the only one poking sticks in the hornets' nest.

My article got some opinions flowing.

Some were supportive, and some were loathing my very existence. 

It's good, because it also helps me to see more of how my actions and words may affect people.

Lord knows I've learned a lot through this process, and some of the ways I felt in the beginning are not the same as how I feel now.

I've had to make a few enemies during my lessons, but the flip side is, my real friends have gracefully pointed me in the correct direction with only a few loving words.

There's always going to be someone who doesn't agree with us, because that's the law of nature.

If someone were to just jump right into my sea of words without starting from the beginning, it would be like jumping into a stream that's making it's way toward a vast body of water.

Turbulent.

Rocky.

I'm pretty sure it would ruffle anyone's feathers.

None-the-less, there was one comment that I really had to listen to and think about.

One person spoke about how using 'Tranny' is demeaning, as if I was using it the way people use, "That's so gay," as a way to make something sound distasteful.

Well, I can see why someone who is only jumping in mid-stream would find this offensive.

While I do have feelings for anyone I've irked ...

not my intention, but knew it would happen ...

... these folks really don't know that calling my love a Tranny Terrorist or referring to the overly zealous folks who are more than supportive of their fellow trans people is not coming from a derogatory place.

Papi and I talked about it and we both realize that the Rah-Rah people don't get me and I could never get them.

We have different opinions.  We will never make good bedfellows that's for sure.

However, our opinions are both merited.

My spouse is a transgender person.  It's not degrading, it's the truth.

When my fellow fags, dykes, or queers speak about each other using these 'descriptives', they use the word in an identifying way.

A way that is no where near the use of "That's so gay!" that is used in a demeaning manner.

It's a shortened version of the word transgender, and it doesn't apply to only to one gender or another as someone pointed out in their comment.

My spouse is a tranny.  I'm pretty sure that because I'm married to a transgender person, I can shorten the word can't I?

However, I do see how the 'Rah-Rah Tranny' label would offend.

As much as I've seen an opinion in favour of this by a trans man, I will now be dropping the Tranny word.

Oh don't worry!  I will still be using 'Rah-Rah', because I still see people on the sidelines waving their pom-poms without one hair turning grey from the stress of it all.

But as for the good ol' tranny word on it's own?  I can't see myself lengthening 'transgender' every time I refer to mi esposo.

So, I say thank you for your opinions.  Every one of them had something to learn from.

I'm ready.

I had a really nice visit with My Person yesterday.  It's always so comforting to know that someone can read my mind.

She instinctually repeated what I had said yesterday in terms of Papi not really being totally on board with my new choice of pain relief.  When My Person's partner says, "You know, I don't really like it when you _____," My Person's rebuttle is, "Yeah, well I never asked for a dude for a partner, so get over it."

She's just so funny, and it's just so true!

I appreciate that I don't really have to say much for her to understand where my heart is, and vice versa.

I know acceptance is a really good thing.  Getting to it is the object of the game.

Neither one of us is perfect.  We're just who we are and it is our spirits that we love in one another.

Now that the drama of the Tranny topic is becoming a more peaceful experience for me, I'm really coming to terms with the fact that I really have been a closeted Tranny Lover.

I look back at the women I've been attracted to and damn!  They're either so androgynous that people would mistake them for men, or they're transgender and are now going through/have gone through the male transformation process.

There's people that have told me they're going through with the transformation, and I would drop my crush immediately, because, "That's just not what I want in a relationship."

Papi never wanted a pot head in a relationship, and we both wound up in love with our biggest fears.

goddamn ... we really did good on this one, eh?

I can go on about our Tranny situation in jest, frustration or tears, but there really is one very scary truth that my love and I need to look at.

Papi and I are starting to really get our thinking caps on now for what we should bring to the Dominican Republic.

I was starting to wonder if Papi was having cold feet about the whole deal, but getting to know my love more and more, I realize that this anxiety around the 'what if's' is really just my love's personality.

However, there is one topic that is very much a reality to fear.

The island is so religiously brainwashed into homophobia, that if they found out Papi is transgender, the possibility of my love being killed is very real.

Religion can really breed hatred and violence in people when it comes to anything to do with the queer topic.

I know this is truth.

It's truth in our own country, in our oh so very liberal city of Vancouver, and in every other country in the world.

My love is changing, and looking more different to people every day.  I don't really get to see the changes, because they're so slow, that on a day to day basis, I don't really notice.

However, I get to see these changes through others' eyes.  They will mention something is different, and I'll eventually see it as a new reality.

Yet, it's still just the gorgeous person I married, with a few adjustments.

Anyway, I think that by the time we get to DR, my love will be past the Helium Voice stage ...

which has been a lot better that what i feared ... imagine that! ...

... and there will be a lower voice.

My love's scarring from The Great Breast Disappearance will have calmed down a lot by this phase, and perhaps my love will have done some body building to disguise the scar as well.

Those little critters that poke out of Papi's chin seem to be much stronger than the previous little peach fuzz caterpillars that I would cringe over.

Yes.

I'm seeing much more from a place of acceptance.

This is starting to feel like I'm coming to a place where I can speak freely about where I've come from in these 9 months.

I think I'm ready to be someone else's 'My Person'.

Gimpy giggles.

Papi and I are really meant to be.

I was terrified that the hormones were going to create a monster of a spouse.

I've been proven wrong.  People will get extra boisterous because of the testosterone factor, but there really has to be an already existing anger management issue.

Papi and I laugh our way through most of the 'issues' people have in relationships, and I didn't want that to change.

The 'angry' person has never arrived, other than the fact that my love is a little more aggressive in terms of road rage, but mi esposo has promised to work on this.

At the same time, I have to work on believing Papi's truths vs. myths.  I'm slowly letting go of my own crazy ideas that pop into this overly creative brain.

I'm not so worried about the anger issue coming up anymore.  My love has proven to me that I still get my silly spouse, even if he is growing man hair.

Now to Papi's side of the fence.

My love abhors pot heads.  This is why mi esposo would rather have me taking the pharmaceutical companies drugs instead of nature's offering for pain.

Well, if I'm going to be stuck with this pain for the rest of my life, then I really need to look at long term pain management, and pills that would rot my liver are not really a great option in my books.

So, I got approved for medicinal marijuana and took a trip to the The Medicinal Cannabis Dispensary here in Vancouver.

They don't really know what kind of dose I need to get past the point of pain, so they gave me a bit of a starter kit.

They gave me an infused iced tea and a 'Budder' bar, where the infused honey is what's holding this delicious looking edible together.

I was also recommended being given Snake Bite Oil for the nerve issue specifically.

Sounds gross, tastes gross, and at first made me a little nauseas.

However, all it took were two little drops per hourly dose of this magical serum, and I actually felt like I could cook a dinner for myself.

I've been snacking for the past couple of weeks.  Really not eating healthy, just trying to get the most nutrients I can without moving too much.

So, to be able to cook was great joy for me.  Getting those lush, organic greens into my body instantly gave me more energy, and I had more mobility to use it.

Ok.  No problem, until the 3rd dose.  I had a moment of pot head snickers and Papi was not impressed.

The giggle attack.

My love doesn't want to see the giggle attack, because then I'm a full fledged pot head.

I removed myself from the room to try to contain my giggles, but inevitably I would snort out a chuff.

Then I heard it, "Andréa?  What are you doing?" in such a tone that it felt like I was a bad little girl who got caught sneaking cookies before my dinner.

I couldn't hold it in any longer and the bursts of laughter came out.  Papi wasn't happy, "See!  This is what I didn't want!  I don't want a pot head for a wife!  I hate pot heads!"

Well, that just made me laugh all the harder, because whether you're on something or not, when you're not supposed to laugh, it makes you laugh all the more.

I needed a time out.

I had to sit and get serious, or my love will not be impressed.

way to harsh my mellow dude ...

Eventually, the giggles calmed down and Papi said, "Well, I guess the non-stop giggles are better than the non-stop whining."

irk! i prefer to call it wincing in pain, not whining.  this femme doesn't whine!

Exactly my dear.

And you know what?

If this femme's perfect butch is replaced with a Tranny with man hair for a spouse, then Papi can deal with a gimpy, limpy, pot head for a wife.

Tou-fucking-ché and somewhere, we'll meet in the middle.

My love soon realized where the issue with pot heads came from, and we had a long txt chat about it.

It's my love's turn to work on this fear, just like I had to work on the hormones fear.

We were really meant to be here for each other to help each other over our 'issues' aren't we?

Kumba-fucking-ya

Last night, Papi asked me if I'd like to join a Facebook page called 'Top Surgery Tips' as an ally.

I told my love, "But, I don't know anything about any of that, so there wouldn't be anything I would have to add to the group."

Papi suggested, "Well, maybe if you read a little bit about it in the group, it will help you understand it more."

Fine then.

Possibly.

Yet, I was instantaneously reminded of the painful trauma that my love has finally bid adieu.

At this point, there are just big scars that take the place of the gore that had me on the verge of panic attacks.  Anyhow, as I was reliving the pain in my mind, it happened; I found out why mi esposo wants me to join, "Well, it's really all about me anyway."

There it is!

The Papirazzi.

That's what my love is after.

Honestly, when I write to 'you', my imaginary friend, I'm not really writing for anyone in particular, I'm just blurting out the mania in my mind so it will calm down.  I either look for a silent ear to listen to what I'm going through, or just to tell 'you' the crazy things in our lives that happen.

Anyway, the point is, when I finish my blog, it's pretty much a guarantee that Papi will read it.

Now, that's no big deal.  It's actually how I managed to speak out loud to my love in those first 6 weeks of being grief stricken and catatonic in a La-Z-Boy, with only my tears as company.

My love would read the black and white monologue of pain and have a little more understanding about where I was in our journey.

However, as I started to show more strength, mi esposo started becoming a blog critic.

Occasionally, Papi will say, "Your blog really wasn't that good today."

Hey.

I can take it.

But there was one thing that started becoming apparent.  The only time my love would tell me my blog was boring, was when it wasn't about Papi.

Now fast forward to where I am now.

Here I am having many, many tear free days, finding more and more strength and love, and Papi has become my meanest critic!  I've had to actually say, "Ok.  You're not allowed to read my blog anymore."

Who's blog is this anyway?!?!?!

But I digress.

So, my love asked me to join this Facebook group because it's all about him, not because I need to learn, but because mi esposo needs more attention.

As for being an ally to the Top Surgery Tips, I briefly looked at the page and had to relive mi esposo's Great Breast Disappearance all over again.

It's awful to see all the pain that wouldn't even allow my love to raise his arms to grab something from the counter.

I don't need to relive this.

What I do need is to find some peaceful way to learn and get past my fears.

I tried the other day.  I really, really tried, and all I found were site after site of defensive words.  Anger that exuded about not being understood, or having been hurt by other people.

I can only learn from a place of harmony.

I need to read something that is lovingly telling the reader, "I'm happy you came to the Tranny 101 course," and "Here's a great place to start learning."

I don't mix well with anger, but I do agree that we need those filled with fire and political passion to get the world to listen to what needs to be changed for everyone's sake of humanity.

Regardless, I need to hear words without hostility, or I just won't listen.

I am so not in control.

Some of my Trust List friends have been lovingly coaxing me to go to Gender Odyssey.

Considering the fact that Papi and I are now so broke it's spooky, I had to bow out and rely on having my support through my Trust List instead.

I was feeling so down about the fact that it's just not affordable to go to this event, that I decided to invite my Trust List to lunch on the weekend that this tranny soirée was happening.

I thought, "Well, I can't get support there, but I'll get it in my own way."

No dice.

Every person but one said they couldn't make it.  They were out of town, or had plans etc etc etc.

I felt so alone.  I felt that I was meant to be alone and that I didn't have the cosmos on my side. 

but wait?! what's this?! a light at the end of the tunnel?!?

Then My Person told me to look into a subsidy/scholarship.  She told me to tell them my brief history, that Papi was a newcomer to the transformation and how I need support.

I put in the appropriate application and letter ...

i had to keep my letter under 175 words. yeah. me. chatterbox extraordinaire ...

... and left it up to luck and/or someone who cared.

I spoke to the one person on my Trust List who could make it to the lunch, "It looks like it's only you and me.  I put in an application for a subsidy/scholarship and if I'm not accepted, would you like to join me one on one for lunch?"

This amazing friend one upped me.  "I'll do better.  I'll help subsidize you.  How does $100 sound?"

I couldn't believe it.

I honestly couldn't believe it.

Who is that insanely generous?!?!

Well, it looks like my friend is.

When my love woke up, I excitedly told Papi that there was subsidy from my friend and a possibility of subsidy from the Odyssey itself.

Papi said, "You can't take her money!!!!  That's crazy!!!"

I replied, "Well, she's already put it into my PayPal."

Papi stopped, looking a little shocked and in awe, not really knowing what to say.  To be honest, it looked a bit like how I felt when my friend first offered.  "Wow.  Ok, but don't count on them giving you a subsidy too."

alright negative nelly.

When I checked my email today, lo and behold, I had the subsidy.

ok ... apparently i'm really supposed to go

After closing my mouth, I decided to share the exciting news with 'you', my imaginary friend.

It's things like this that make me realize I'm meant to be in this relationship.  I'm meant to learn how to remain in love with my soul mate despite us going through this male transformation.  I'm meant to open my eyes and heart to this new world I've been so against for so many years.

This time is meant to be.

Perhaps I'll gain some insight.  Perhaps I'll find allies.  I'm positive I'll find others who, like Papi, are bubbling with joy over the chopping and hacking of their body parts.

Papi is still healing from the top surgery and can't do a lot as of yet, however, my love is already looking forward to the hysterectomy.

seriously?

There was my love, at the end of our bed, doing the happy dance.  Hips waving back and forth.  Arms moving with the mocking white man sway, almost emulating a chicken, "I can't wait to get my hysterectomy!  It's coming soon!"

I couldn't believe I was seeing this jig and hearing this elation, after mi esposo had been complaining about the pain for the past month.  "Honey, if you think your top surgery hurt, this next one is going to be wayyyyy worse.  I wouldn't be doing the happy dance if I were you."

"Yeah I know that, but I'm not hurting as much, so I've forgotten how bad it was and I'm just looking forward to getting it all done."

Oh boy.

Goody gumdrops.

The next mother fucking hurdle.

Yup.  I'm really supposed to go to the Gender Odyssey and learn more about my part in all this.

However, right now, I must go and try to look fancy for a performance tonight, after spending two days in bed with a fever.

Envy me?

yeah ... sure.

Grant me the fucking serenity!

So there I was, having some sweet 'goodnight my love' texting moments and what do I receive?

"Will you be upset if I get a pump for my clit?"

excuse me?

I just didn't have the brain power to ask wtf or even entertain this inane question.

I honestly have no fucking idea of the whys and whats my love is talking about.

To me, it's humongous, ginormous and colossal enough without any help.

my brain is still assimilating the sexy time situation ...

What the hell is a clit pump needed for?

When I told my love I just can't deal with the question, Papi told me we'd talk about it later, "My poor lil 'no tranny understander'.  Later convo I will explain."

But do I really want to know?  I'm not really over the 5 Foot Clitoris yet.  Do we have to go for 11?

Papi is right.

I don't understand.

I'll tell you, sometimes I just don't want to.  I really like my bubble.  I get to just pretend none of this is happening.

This is how I cope.

Yesterday, my blogger friends Tricia, Dirty and Bio all commented on how good Papi's chest looks.

All I see are flat breasts; The Great Breast Disappearance.

When I look at the pic I posted yesterday, it almost feels naughty.  Like my love is bearing breasts for the world to see.

dear blogger; don't delete me for nudie pics!

Not that it is any different than real life.  My love would flash those babies any opportunity anyway, so why would it make any difference here?

I still see my love the way I want to see my love.

My cushy bubble is tepid, pillowy soft and always smells like sweet lilacs.

Please don't make me leave by talking about a clit pump!

for fucks sakes!!!!!

Papi is right though.  I really don't understand the secret world of F-Ms.  I'm very certain I'm going to know it inside and out before this is all done.

don't burst my fucking bubble!!!!

I understand this is just a journey on my path that I have to accept.

Hell, it's what I tell the G'ma every day, all day, over and over again, ad infinitum, "We have to accept the things we cannot change."

Oh, that doesn't mean we forget.  It's just that if we don't accept whatever is going on for us, it will eat us alive.

or drive us to drink.

But wait!

What's the other part of that serenity prayer I would whisper for years on end?  Oh yeah, right; The courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Acceptance.  Courage.  Wisdom. 

Oh, speaking of G'ma,  we have found a way to possibly deal with the gramma drama.

Papi told the G'ma about the sex change.

Hopefully that will be the topic for the next few weeks until something else comes up that she will dwell upon.

Still searching for my wisdom.  I'm sure I left it here somewhere ...