you don't know me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I came here with so much love.

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

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

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

Give, give, give we did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go ahead.  Call me what you want.

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

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

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

man hair. everywhere.

I must be done with the processing, as the conversations we have are just plain silly and effortless about things that I didn't think I'd ever be able to handle.

Like hair.

Chest hair, belly hair, armpit hair, ass hair, thigh hair and chin hair.

Just plain ol' man hair.

Well, of course I'd love to talk about my hair, because it's usually all about my hair, but my hair is a fucking mess right now, because we have no heat in our suite, and I'm not going to sit around in the brrrrr chill while my mane air dries.

That doesn't make me feel comfortable and being such a hypochondriac, I'm too afraid of catching a cold.  So, it's hats and pins and pigtails for my hair.

Oops.

It all became about my hair again.

Oh, how I digress.

Ok, back on track.

I look at a picture of Papi and I on our engagement day in Cuba.

This picture is so full of happiness, yet also, it's full of uncomfortableness.

On both of our parts.

I remember on that day, that Papi had said to me, "I wanted our picture to look like the other people's picture."  You see, they were more comfortable.

I get very affected by homophobic people, and we never know when they're going to pop up.

Like the man behind the camera that day.

I don't know if he was or not, but two lesbians in front of him was a good opportunity to show his true colours.

Of course, he didn't, but still, I waited for it.

Then there was Papi, uncomfortable in his own skin, because he had a secret that he needed to tell me, but was too afraid to say it, due to the fact that I would say negative things about trans people.

My transphobia scared Papi, and rightfully so.

I would go on about how we're losing all our butches to male transformation, not to mention go on about how people were brainwashing younger people into thinking this was the 'in' thing to do.

It does happen, but I've only known about one pusher who did this.

So there we were.

Both of us were so happy because it was our engagement, but you could see we were both awkward.

Now, you'll find me in Costco asking some guy, "Hey!  You're a guy!  Which of these electric shavers would you recommend?"

They would steer Papi in the right direction saying, "I like this one.  For the money, it's the best one you can get."

Then there was last night.  Papi said, "I also need to get a new man-scaper.  That one also didn't make the trip out of the Dominican alive."

Off he went to get it and I didn't even think about it beyond that.

Until of course, later on when he lifted his armpit to show me how nice it looked because it was tamed with his new toy.

Then I had a moment that was epic.

We were going to get our criminal check done so we could apply for residency in the DR, and while I was at my wicket, Papi saddled up behind me.  The woman behind the counter asked in a very stern voice, "Ma'am, do you know the gentleman who is now standing behind you?"

Like flowing water, I looked, then turned back to say, "Yes, that's my husband."

My husband.

It's all very normal now.

Who knew I could do this?

i am a hero

Times. They are a changin'.

photo by Jezebel

It's only the beginning.

There is so much more we need to do to help heal those who have been harmed by homophobia and transphobia.

So many people are saying it's a 'risky' move before an election, but it's also a good move for humanity and morality.

I hope that this will help the thousands of homeless kids out there, who have been harmed by the ridiculous hatred from their families, who have been brain washed by religious leaders, who's hearts are filled with hate.

I hope that these kids who have come of the age to vote, will actually get out there and make a move to vote to keep this person fighting for them.

It's only the beginning.

For those of us who have our own struggles with acceptance, I hope that it transforms us as well.

I say us, because I'm looking at myself.

Where I was a year and a half ago, experiencing my love's male transformation, was a far cry from where I am now.

I know that my views have evolved.

We all have the ability to evolve.

If we want to.

I wanted to.  I wanted to be able to love mi esposo with the same eyes that saw him as a perfect butch I married.

He is still perfect.

As a matter of fact, he's even more perfect now.

He's a whole person, who is on a path to find himself, and I am only the lucky one to be walking along side of him on his journey.

The person who was in emotional hell a year and a half ago is not the same today.

Those thoughts that I had were terribly hurtful, yet people loved me through them.

My true friends allowed me to have those feelings, they steered me in the right direction, and they supported me when I needed it.

They watched me transform.

Unlike the Hen Peckers, mean girls and haters that I had to face, truly good people held me until I was ready to say, "I love my transgender husband.  He is perfect." 

Ah, the roller coaster of life.

When you're sliding down that hill, it can be exhilarating, or it can be scary if we don't know what to expect around that bend.

The moments where we get to come back up the hill are our times to reflect.

We might even feel the tendency to say, "Do it again!  Do it again!"  The fact that this ride comes around full circle is healing.

We can choose to step off the ride and say, "Damn that was fun!" or we could leave with a sick feeling in our stomach.

Either way, we got through it.

Personally, I love a good roller coaster.  I love the thrill.  I also love the thrill of life.

After the pain subsides, I am free to love the surprises we get, as I'm also given moments of reflection.

The same week a country's leader made a bold statement, my mother actually invited me to a Mother's Day Brunch.

I am shocked and impressed.  She really is going against Mr. Homophobia's wishes.

It's nice to see my mother fighting for my love.

It may be a small step to her, but to me? 

Massive.

Times.  They are a changin'.

what would you do if you were NOT afraid?

'Community'?!? Not bloody likely.

Not sure if I'm too keen on this 'community' thing anymore.

All my life I've known that one on one friendships have been the best way to go for me.

Since a young age, I've witnessed people traveling in herds.

What I've noticed, is it seems that when people travel in herds, they lose their independent thinking.

Someone will decide that nobody is allowed to be friends with a certain person and the rest will agree and follow.

Sounds a bit like high school, or even kindergarten right?

It's not.  It's right here in the 'adult' gay 'community'.

I'm a one on one person by heart, mostly because I can only trust one person at a time.

As soon as people start traveling in herds and listening to The Grand Poohbah whomever he, she, it or they may be, then they can't seem to make an informed decision by themselves.

It's no wonder I retreat and only share one on one time with people who have earned my trust.

I just found out the Hen Peckers have done the same thing to a third kind-hearted, sweet-souled person I know. 

I have also learned about in fighting and accusations from one person to the next.

Not to mention all the people who decide that anyone who isn't versed well in the transgender community are to be deemed 'transphobic' while they try to learn about our brave new world.

What the fuck is going on here?!?!

Each and every loving person in my life has been affected by this ridiculousness.

Why the hell can't we be kind to one another?  Why the fuck can't we be mature and talk out our differences?  Why the fuck can't we grow up?

I'll stick to my one on one hangouts thank you very much.

Every person I love, who treats me with love, is deserving of my friendship.

I don't give a flying fuck who said what to whom.

I don't give a flying fuck about lies and accusations meant to harm another individual's reputation in the name of jealousy.

I don't give a mother fucking shit about the 'mean girls' anymore. 

... trust me ... 'mean girls' is only a name ... there's plenty of 'mean girls' in the form of male as well ...

They can rot in their stew of hatred that seems to be bubbling and running over the edges.  Yeah, we have to smell the abhorrent burning flesh as it hits the red hot burners, searing in it's fate.

How can people be so heartless?  How can the 'community' hold any one of these individuals up on a pedestal?

We need to open our eyes.

There's so much going on out there with the young ones being bullied, but what about adults?

I'd love to say it gets better to these young ones, but honestly, it can't.  I'm glad I never made my 'it gets better' video for my friend, because it would have be a lie.

Life only gets better if we're lucky enough to not have fallen prey to people who still bully as an adult.

So, no, I'm sorry.  It doesn't really get better.  We just make better choices as to who to spend our time with.

Fucking well knock it off everyone!

We all need to fucking heal from the bullshit that is being passed around our people.

How the fuck can we call this a 'community' when there's so much hatred?

At this point, as far as I'm concerned, there is no 'community'.

There are only individuals who are good-hearted that we can pick and choose to support us, and then there are the bullies in their gangs.

I'm so goddam fucking sick of it.

Grow the fuck up.

when i am surrounded by love, i can do anything

Word of the Papi.

Things are starting to look up in the health area of our home.

Yeah, just in time to enjoy it while running around doing the G'ma's bidding.

At least we're feeling better enough to handle the summons of the old bird.

We're starting to eat real food now.  Perhaps the chicken pakoras last night weren't the right idea, but hey, they tasted so much better than crackers.

So, as I was making veggies to attempt another round of, "Please, please, please my dearest stomach!  I've been so good to you for so many years.  How about we allow a little chard in that empty hole?" I asked my love if he would like to have a few greens in his healing tummy too.

I got the face of squint.

I asked again, in more or less of a rhetorical question, and managed to get him to allow a 'few' on his organic brown rice.

Of course, this will be chased with Dr. Pepper, but at least there's an attempt.

So, I filled my bowl and drizzled with some lovely tahini sauce, I asked my love if he would like anything at all on his bowl of rice.

"Sweety, do you want anything on your veggies?"

"Honey no!!  No vegetable weird shit!"

Word of the Papi.

No vegetable weird shit.

These are the times that I realize he's feeling much better.

That and harassing the old fart upstairs.

She has been quite adamant that she will not allow my love any freedom to be who he needs to be.  We've been hearing about it while she gave us a breather being in Alberta.

"I refuse to call her a man!"

Our sweet aunt said, "Well, you're going to look pretty silly when he has a beard and you refer to him as a woman."

I was told that one had her thinking for a moment.

The cranky ol' thing started in on Papi pretty quickly.  No less than 24 hours into the return and I heard, "You look like you have a moustache."

"That's because I do."

"Well I don't like it.  Please get rid of it."

"There's going to be more to come, so you might as well get used to it."

Oh, but wait, this was also done topless so that the G'ma had to face the facts about the top surgery.

There's just no point in sugar coating it anymore.

The old poop is going to hate everything about anything regardless of what it is anyway, and she's going to be nasty about it on top of that.

So, as I sat downstairs waiting for the conversation to turn into either a religious debate or a homophobic/transphobic slamming of my love, I was pleasantly surprised.

The G'ma gave in.

It was a most shocking moment.

This could be the beginning of a calm household, right?

Or perhaps the old coot is just warming up.

I bet on the latter.

i am glowing with health and wellness

Gimme all your turkey and nobody gets hurt.

You can really tell someone's level of homophobia by their X-mas cards.

People who are accepting of us will send a card to both of us, by either Mr. & Mrs. Hector-Brown, or Andréa & Easton Hector-Brown.

But then again, there's those who choose the latter, because their level of transphobia won't allow them to put a 'Mr' on that envelope.

That doesn't bother me as much, because at least they feel that we're one married unit.

Together.

As one.

Alas, then there's the others.

Homophobic #1 will write us each a separate card, without any reference to Mr. or Mrs., enforcing their belief that we are not 'one' in our relationship.

They continue to view my love as female, and myself as a 'pretend' wife.

They won't accept that we are just like any other married family member who deserves the same treatment as the straights in the clan.

They are passive aggressive in nature and won't budge on their stance.

However, Homophobic #2 is even worse.

We will receive separate cards, and on our cards, both prefixes will say 'Miss'.

'Miss.'

Both.

Not even a thought that we're married, or that my love is going through male transformation.

She got both painful digs in at one time.

Crafty, that old fart.

To the elderly, religiously brainwashed, old coot of 96, we will remain single women, even though she actually walked Papi down the aisle for our wedding.

But to even add more salt to the wound, the G'ma will put my love's chosen ...

... and legal for fucks sakes!! ...

... name, then Papi's birth name in brackets with 'aka' written before it.

I don't know.

I really don't think the old fart is doing this because of Alzheimer's.  She's just an abusive, manipulative woman, who grabs any opportunity to show us how she really feels.

Even though we're miles away in another province right now, the miserable old poop has to find a way to irk us.

There's really no break from the g'ma's nagging either.

She has to call and make sure that she belittles our levels of responsibility.

In other words, we are both stupid and immature, we had a pretend marriage, and are just roommates.

And people wonder why I don't celebrate X-mas?

Because the sheep who talk to imaginary beings in the sky can be so full of hate, and g'mas level is so deep with hate that even her pastor is trying to persuade her to be more loving and accepting.

Why the fuck would I want to celebrate some dead guy who has followers with this behaviour?

No thanks.



But I'll still eat your turkey.

This Game is Boring Now.

The Galloping Gazelle is plotting his revenge.

... as opposed to what i'm doing ... i'm venting ...

I thought I'd talk about the Fuzzy Family instead of the person that upset Papi.

because apparently, i share too much information ...

You see, right now The Galloping Gazelle is sitting on the La-Z-Boy growling.

... seriously ... someone wrote an email to papi saying how horribly transphobic i am ...

There was a bit of drama on the upstairs G'ma floor, and The Galloping Gazelle got nicked in the back of the leg for cornering Psycho Kitty.  You don't mess with Psycho Kitty.

... i mean really, how rude is it that someone would vent to papi about their wife?!?!  who does that?!?  that's what you have team Rah-Rah-Tranny and the Hen Peckers for!!  go talk shit about me there, fool!

So, there was much squealing and now The Bastard Prince has regained his place in the world.  You see, at the beginning of The Galloping Gazelle's visit, this is where The Bastard Prince lived:

... i suppose i'm used to people flapping their gums, and now that i'm through with being weak, i'm not taking it anymore ... funny part is, i find people's distaste in my honesty rather entertaining ...

Well, The Bastard Prince has regained his strength and is sitting on his favourite pedestal, staring down this poor, humiliated, four-legged soul.  "Fuck with us, eh? {yeah he's a canadian cat} You think so?  My homeboy has my ass up there.  You think he's taken a round out of you?  Wait for my turn."

... it sucks, because papi thought he had a friend ...

So, the balance is shifting in this dog vs. cat phase.  I keep trying to remind The Galloping Gazelle that this one is just as scary as the one upstairs.  Cats are bitches man!!!

... well, not anymore.  apparently, my feelings about losing my butch are not as important as his feelings about my article ... oh! and if i want support, they have a group that meets once a year at Gender Odyssey. yeah. you read that right ... once a year ...

Every once in a while, The Galloping Gazelle will come down off the La-Z-Boy and bark, but he quickly retreats when he sees this:

... all i know is, the reaction that this person had, and the insensitive manner in which he expressed these feelings are the exact thing i was afraid of ... but not anymore ... every time i'm pushed to be silenced, i'll work harder to find another person who needs my support ...

I feel like we're changing dogs one at a time to live in harmony with cats.  By the time The World's Loudest Snorer went home, the cats were a non-issue, with an occasional 'to be wary of' moment.

... i'd love to bitch more about this, but i have music to compose ...

One thing I can ask is, if cats 'n dogs can live together in harmony, why can't we?  It's an old story that rears it's ugly head every time one person thinks differently than the next.

... thanx for listening to my rant ... i'm off to go fill my life with love now ... one harmonic note at a time ...

I hope you spend your day focusing on the good in your world, because that's my only mission today.

Thinking ...

Our day was good.

After the appointment in bum-fuck-nowhere that is.

You know when you know someone so well that there are things about them you learn that nobody else would understand?

One of those things I'm still trying to get wired into my brain.

When my love is anxious, it's hard for him to emotionally deal with anything else.

"Can we have a drive without any talking?" mi esposo asked me, as we were heading for our one and half hour drive.

omg ... no speaking for an hour and a half?!?

That's not so easy for me at the best of time, but when I've had pain killers, I get a little chatty.

to say the least ...

I also like to sing along with the radio on full tilt.  This was not going to work for someone who has cranky pants, so I asked, "Umm, is it ok if I hum?"

I was granted a nod of yes and that kept me happy.

My love is also sick with a flu.  That's not good for the mood either, but after the appointment everything was sunshine and rainbows again.

It took me that long to figure out that Papi was uptight about the surgery.

In the past, mi esposo had a secret stint with my codeine, and that made Papi an asshole.

I didn't figure out that he was dipping into my stash until our conversations turned into processing the bearish attitude that was raging in Papi.

However, there are no more of those horrid pills in the house, so when Papi's bad-humoured, it's for another reason.

I mean really, I should know what it's about.  I should know that I haven't done anything to make the crabby come out.  I get the same way just before a gig.

When I was a kid, you couldn't even be around me for a week prior to a piano recital.

sorry mom 'n sis ...

Anyway, after the appointment my love was happy again, and I realized that it had nothing to do with me.

I then had permission to be loose-lipped and sing along with the radio, which also came with apologies from Papi, who also figured out why he was so miserable.

One thing I do have to say about the hospital out there, is the people in Vancouver hospitals could use a bit of 'customer service' training from these folks.

The nurses were so nice there that I was shocked.  We don't get that kind of treatment here in the big city.

I suppose it's that laid back mentality of being in the sticks.

Whatever it was, I was impressed.

They treated Papi with respect and had absolutely no transphobic indications.  They asked curious questions which helped them learn more about transgender people.

There wasn't a creepy person in sight in the hospital, and Dr. Scissorhands was no where to be found.

The whole day went well, and I got to thinking about my own reproductive health.

Now normally, I would never let anyone near my uterus.  I've finally made friend's with that body part, even though it can't bear children.

However, I got to thinking about the risk of cancer in my family, and specifically that my mother and grandmother both had ovarian cancer.

Then I switched to thinking about the bloating and cramps that I could bid adieu if they snagged my uterus out of me.

Putting together the risk of cancer, cramps and inability to bear children got me thinking about whipping that organ out.

Thinking.

That's all.

I am feeling very positive about Papi's hysterectomy now.

It's a far cry from where I was 11 months ago.

I assume that once I see how much pain mi esposo will be in after surgery will stop my thinking about my own uterus.

I'm pretty sure about that one.

Shhhhh ...

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

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

Lest I be judged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is the reason I am friends with the underdog.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(roar.)

I guess I asked for it.

"You have to understand that all the things you post in your blog will be seen by the politically correct.  You're not politically correct.  It's kinda like you're being a racist."

These genuine utters stung, bringing on an anaphylactic crying session.  To know that Papi and all the other transgender people, Rah-Rah Tranny folks, Tranny lovers etc. would think that I'm that evil, and that my expressing a cacophony of antipathy could hurt another, stopped me from being able to show my face, even to my love.

My love continued, "I don't see why you don't read more about this so that you're informed." 

like tiny little soldiers we all fall in line ...

I had to be honest with my love, "I really have trouble reading online to better my life.  I have files of links on my computer for things I need to read about from the music industry, how to market better, and learn more for my music production.  I don't even read those, and those are things that are part of learning more for my music.  So, if I haven't even read these things, then I won't get to reading up on transgender issues and how to be politically correct."

No.

I don't read online and learn. 

i didn't ask for this to be my life ...

The only things I like to read are stories that take me so far from reality that I can't come back.

dragons, wizards and magic ... just like magic, sometimes i wish they could wave a wand and poof! i'd disappear ... never again to harm another ...

I cried tears thinking of all the people who have read my instantaneous feelings of the moment.  My fledgling ramblings of how I perceive the transgender world.

My political incorrectness that harms others, when really it stems from ignorance and fear.

Yes.

Same damn thing as racism.

So.

I'm evil.

The very thing that I fear in other people, that is what I am.

I will ask more questions so that I may learn to be what everyone I've bruised wishes I would be.

It won't bring back the haters that have already made their minds up about how hideous I am.  But I can learn from this, so that I may not damage another living being.

It was never my intention.

I'm aching thinking that another person would be injured I through my words.

The lashing of Papi's tongue has put me down to the dog's mat.  I'll just curl up here for a while and lick my wounds.

One thing that changed last night.  As the tears fell so hard that i felt it coming from my toes, reaching through every vein, strangling my throat until they finally reached my eyes to fall, Papi finally held me.

I haven't been able to lie upon my love's chest since the top surgery.

It used to be my favourite place.

It used to be how we'd end the day.

It used to allow me to hear my love's heart beat and feel that it was beating for me.

I haven't felt that in months.

However, because of the tears that were so obviously painful in hearing the truth about how hideous I could be, mi esposo finally gave me back my chest.

Definitely not as cushiony as it used to be.

Not the butch's breast that I could lie upon for support.

Flat.

Barren.

Yet still that heart beat could be heard.

And so could the echos of my love's prior verbal beatings.

It was Papi's truth.

Never meant to hurt, but only to be heard.

And so, I see how I've hurt another.

politics, politics

Our home has been invaded by Americans!!!!

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

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

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

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

time for a trust list pow-wow i think!

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

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

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

Yes.

There is a reason it's a touchy subject.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I imagine this is because of issues from my childhood.

duh!

Regardless, I just don't feel comfortable.

This is where it gets messy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

dream on hard on

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

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

One more little stone to build my wall of strength.

I love ya, tomorrow ...

It's always better 'tomorrow'.

I'm feeling a lot more 'human' today, vs. perfect.

A few of my blogger friends reminded me that I am hard on myself, and that it's important to remember I'm human.

I'm pretty sure that my recent back injury flare up is responsible for the weakness that let the demons in to play.

I had a dream last night that the G'ma left the house and Papi and I were free to paaaaaar-tayyyy!

wooooohoooooo!!!! **fist pumps the air**

I think that's what the demons do.  When my brain can only handle so much pain, they come on in like rats searching for a meal, and I am the morsel they have a food fight with.

None-the-less, I am feeling much better emotionally today.

time to jump the next hurdle?

Papi asked me if I want to go to something called Gender Odyssey.  They have closed workshops for the spaz of a spouse/partner/lover who just can't find 'happiness' during a gender change, yet is secretly a Tranny Lover.

yeah ... that's me all right

Everyone in this particular workshop must be the gender they were born with.

So, while Papi will be out flashing The Great Breast Disappearance with all the other F-Ms, and everyone is patting each other on the back, "Way to go bro!" I'll be wallowing and sobbing with all the others who have healing to do.

I hope they're ready for me.  Oh, I'll be there in full force.  I'll more than likely be the loudest one there, but if there's one who is as frantic as I, then I will have found a new BFF.

I will also gather more people for the Trust List.

I really have a great Trust List going now.  It's actually to the point where I was confident enough this week to tell people on Facebook just what it is I've been going through for 7 months.

I posted a note inviting people to come here and ride the roller coaster.

It is mostly to reach out to people who are in the same place as I.

7 months ago, I was completely alone searching for someone, anyone who had been there.  I received closed doors and it caused me to shut down emotionally.

and perhaps burn a few bridges ...

I'm truly hoping that there is someone out there who is in need of support, and I want to be the one to give it to them.

unlike the 'support' line i called who didn't call me back for a month

However, something else happened.  Not so close friends started reading, and now it's like I've come out of the closet all over again.

hello ... i'm andréa ... and i'm a tranny lover

Here is where I realized that breaking the silence has done more for me than the aching soul I was reaching out to:

Now I don't have this green ogre of a secret to hide.

Now I can speak freely and actually tell people what the hell has been going on with me for 7 months.

and why i've been such a maniac

Now I have support in the most unlikely places.

Now I can breathe.

now i can weed out those who are beyond trans-political people who will hate me for feeling this pain, the religious zealots who already freak out about me being a lesbian, and transphobic who will delete me off facebook

The only reason I was able to do this was because of my Trust List.

I have the feeling my Trust List just grew faster than the heart of The Grinch.

Mother, Mother

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder just where my insanity stems from.

Figured it out.

My mother.

We tend to take on the traits of our family.

On the drive up to my mother's retiring abode, I had to do my best to keep my mother low on the road rage attitude.  I worked on my anger issues enough that I was able to explain that getting mad about a situation won't change it, all that will happen is you will harm yourself.

Her aggitation started out 2 minutes from my house with a traffic jam because of a police incident.  My mother was getting so frustrated she almost honked at the police.

sounds very familiar

I had to pacify her short fuse throughout the entire 5 hour drive up to the Okanagan.  What really made me giggle however, was the O.C.D. that ruled her existence the moment we stepped in the door.

Dusting, cleaning, busy, busy, busy.  She just wouldn't stop.  She hadn't even taken off her scarf yet!  She cleaned the same spot for about 10 minutes.  A spot that I didn't notice had anything on it.

memories ... mother grabbing my hand and pushing the cleaning rag with rage, as if to pull my arm out of it's socket in an effort to punish me, "THIS IS HOW YOU CLEAN A COUNTER!!!!!"

I'm not a neat freak, but I definitely get obsessed with certain things; numbers, music, exercise and making everything symmetrical.

it must be even dammit!!!

There were also times that we would have the same hand gesture at the same time, and say the same things in the same breath.  Occasionally, I felt like we were two fish in a school, turning our heads with the same look on our face like twins.

The crazy part is, I'm not close with my mother.  I see her maybe 4 times a year.  I forgive her for being the abusive person she has been in the past, but I'm still not close with the less than maternal person.

She also has an overbearing homophobic husband who will demand her every breathing moment, and do his very best to keep my mother away from the sinful dyke.

the feeling of offense is mutual muther-fucker (pun intended)

I tried to ease my way in with talk about Papi's male transformation.  I showed her that I was wearing my love's engagement ring and she was shocked, wanting to know why on earth mi esposo wasn't wearing it?!??!?!?!?

"Mom, do you know much about transgendered people?"

"No, I have never really understood that."

"Well, it's a person who has both gender traits in one body."  I asked her if she ever noticed that my love looks more like a male, and my mother laughed as in, 'duh'!

I helped her understand transgendered people by talking about Papi being a 'masculine woman', and that there are also men who are feminine.  That helped a little.

more memories of growing up with my family's homophobic slander of gay men

I explained that some people will be hermaphrodites.  My mom had never really even heard of this.  I told her of the person having both the organs of a male and a female.  She seemed quite uncomfortable with this, so I was sure to let her know that Papi isn't one of them.

I made clear that Papi has more male attributes and is feeling drawn toward the masculine side.  I disclosed that an engagement ring is something worn by a female, hence I get to wear it until it's time for my jaw surgery.  At that point, we will sell the ring.

She got it.

This was the first day of actually defending Papi.  I felt like my mom was closer to understanding and I was closer to helping one person out of their fear, phobia, and any other feeling that would cause hate or disgust.

Monumental.

I'm really healing.

Next step, the 5 foot vagina.

Humour: The breath of life.

So, I go to this meeting.

It's for the Queer Arts Festival where BlueLight and HECTOR have both been invited to play for a night of electronic mayhem.

The meeting was strictly for us to see what we needed for this night and to find out if the board of Pride In Art can afford to put this gala on.

Normally, I'm the treasurer on the board, but this day I was just an artist.

Only one person on the board knows my stabbing secret, she was there.  The other person we were meeting with is the very person I've been terrified of; scared that she doesn't understand my grieving, as she's the one who lost her wife in that tragic accident.

She has been sweeter than syrup in every interaction, and yet, I have remained frightened.

Until this meeting.

I had my one of my very best pals from the Trust List to go in with, armed with smiles and strength.

I was happily upbeat, and then there was a conversation about her anxious dog.

i so want to be friends with this little creature ... don't you know i'm the biggest dog fan in the world?!?!?

"She's great with other animals, but people are the problem.  Women are ok, males she doesn't like and she has horrible transphobia."

I looked straight at her and said, "That makes two of us."

We all laughed.

i watched the elephant leave the room.

This person of fear placed her hand on my lap and said, "Oh no, and there's you with your husband now."

"Yup.  But we're not going into that right now.  I'm having an OK day."

Conversation was ended.

Air in the room was MUCH lighter and I sat in awe of myself, yet again.

one day, i'll learn as to just who i am ...  who IS this person?!? 

Humour has always been a way to deal with my angst.  However, it only comes after I've gotten to a point where I'm functioning.

There was no humour when I was in the pit of doom, keeping my life distilled in the La-Z-Boy padded cell.

There is laughter now.

It's all I can really ask for in this existence.  To me, all that matters in this science experiment of life is happiness.

Well, that and the calendar with those transgendered F-Ms to be removed.

papi you truly are an imp.

Remember that picture that has scarred me for life?  I have the feeling that it's in there, as when Papi took a look at April, there was a shocked look, then, "How about we just don't switch the calendar for April?"

A wave of nausea hit and my legs could have collapsed right there in the hallway.

I won't be the curious cat and look at it to prove my theory right.  I'll just replace it with the happy animal calendar that is behind it.

Oh, Papi.  You torment me so.

Shift ...

It's possible I'm thinking more of my love as the male Papi desires to be.

Mi esposo wants me to join the same gym.  I don't like Papi's gym.  I love MY gym, where I've been a patron for 15 years.

My gym is owned by a gay couple, and the clients are all very respectful, straight or not.  Papi's gym is more of a pick up joint for the heteros.

I gave my love's gym a try yesterday.

In Papi's gym, men's eyes will peruse the room, creating fantasies of the women.  I get extremely uncomfortable with those heterosexual dances in every corner.

seriously ... don't bother checking out MY ass ... you won't get the desired reaction, THIS i promise you.

Not to mention, when I go to the gym, I'm in ratty work out clothes with no make-up.  I don't get dressed up for the gym.  I don't feel comfortable in the glitz 'n glamour of this environment.

I'm there to sweat, not to look good.  When I want competition in the gym, it's for how much weight I can push, not my attire.

However, what made me the MOST uncomfortable was when Papi followed me into the women's change room!

houston we have a problem.  there's a tranny in the changeroom.

Papi is 'in between' right now.  While my love worked out, people had their sheltered minds blown, wondering how there could possibly be a guy with breasts.

Mi esposo has never been intimidated by anyone.  It's the other way around.  Papi is quite tall with full sleeve tattoos that crawl up that gorgeous neck, and peek out along those strong hands.

People get uncomfortable until they hear words from my love.

Papi has a personality that is appealing to even the most conservative of folks.  My love wins hearts in the most adverse places.

Yet, when it comes to the ladies room, women will give my love a hard time. 

there's a man in the women's washroom!!!!!

I just look at them with the death pan stare.

don't you DARE say anything, or you'll have to deal with ME!  the tattooed amazon is the least of your worries!

But this visit to the changroom?

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.  I was so very uncomfortable that there was a half man who followed me in!

I realized at that point that there has been a shift in my thinking.  An allowance of the thoughts that the 'wife' I married is no longer that.

So.  Where does Papi fit in then?

Imagine if my love went into the men's room without those delightful breasts being bound?

I now slightly understand how my love feels.  Those breasts are the culprit of not being that man Papi sees in the mind's eye.

This world needs a special place for the 'Papis' of the world.  This world needs a trans washroom.

But when the courts in our neighbouring country have condoned the homophobic hatred of religious zealots who terrorize grieving families that have lost loved ones in a fight for their country, a trans washroom is not going to happen.

We still need to get past homophobia ... never mind transphobia.

This world is a fucked up place, and I suppose I don't help matters.

Utter fear

I'm feeling it big time today; the anxiety of being in a room of people who are not on my 'Trust List'.

I am going to a 'Trust List' friend's 40th birthday party tonight.  This group will be like training wheels, as none of them are in the community of the people I fear could do damage to my weak heart.  There won't be any 'Rah-Rah Tranny!' people there, but there will be people who don't know my secret.

Papi won't be going.  My love has a fever and needs to rest up.  Two of my very closest friends on the 'Trust List' will be there as a safety net along with the birthday girl herself.  This is the only reason I feel I can go, really.

What lingers as my biggest foreboding of possible devastation is next week.

I awoke this morning to read a middle of the night, graveyard shift, love text from mi esposo.  My love also sent one stating that Papi wants to go to another birthday next weekend.

'They' will be there.

The predators.

Those who could peck me, and have the rest of the community agreeing that I'm a horrible person for not accepting my love's male transformation.

Will they point and laugh at my dismay?  Is it a revisiting of the 20 or so people who packed my belongings and changed the locks on my abode?  They left my whole world in the hallway of my condo as they leaned on the balcony rail snickering, maintaining obscene stares of 'you lose'.

Start over my dear.  Just like you have oh so many times in this life.

Next weekend's soiree is with people who accepted me back, even though I left them for 6 years, when I was in that relationship with the bully who told me these people were freaks.

I was manipulated to believe I was never going to be accepted by the person I cherished if I stayed with my community of kinksters and leather lovers.

I left.

They took me back when the ending of this relationship with the beast was authenticated by way of me becoming homeless after returning 'home' from a 16 hour work shift.

They accepted me back.

They may not anymore.

It petrifies me.

I have transphobia when it comes too close to me.  I said I would never date a person who would go through the male transformation.  I love their hearts, but I don't want them in my bed.

Yet here I am,  married to that 'never', and this community is full of F-M people and the people who will strike out at anyone who would think adversely about these souls.

I'm paralyzed.

One person I emailed for support will be at this gala next weekend.  She outright never even emailed me back.  This person is one of the main ringleaders at getting people together in this community.

Will she turn her nose up at me?  Do I ignore her?  Do I pretend the email never happened?

This person once told me she was happy that I was back in the whips 'n chains community, and that she hopes I will stay this time.  I took that as a confirmation of love, but I realize now those words were just as much surface talk as the Facebook page I was abandoned on.

I was duped.

I'm sorry my love.  You may have to do this one without me.

I need my wheel.

I find it interesting that I can speak to some trustful others about certain parts of Papi's male transformation with much more ease than I can to my dear sweet love, who I know damn well would be thrilled to be asked questions.  Hell, I can speak to 'you', my imaginary friend, easier as well.

I definitely have more steps to learn in the dance of communication.

Last night I had a chat with a friend on my Facebook 'trust' page.  I typed until my fingers and wrists were threatening an instant case of carpel tunnel if I didn't give it a rest.

My friend is helping me so much, as he is 4 years ahead in the male transformation and can let me know about the future in a much softer way than my mind will map it out.

Among many things, we spoke about how we jump to worst case scenario in life.  Not just in this capsule of how I terrifyingly see the future of my happily ever after, but over all in life.  'We', as in the majority of the people in this world, have the same reaction to the unknown, and my worst case scenario is not pretty.

To anyone who has never read my blog here, or doesn't know me really well, they would think I'm an optimist.

Oh, the sly trickery that I have mastered.  I'm just one of those people who will 'fake it til you make it'.

Haven't made it yet.

True optimists scare me.  I just don't know how their brain functions and I can't really relate.  I can only pretend to.  I'm your typical chameleon.  I think it has something to do with being a Gemini.

My friend has given me a little more hope.  I now have 2 'Persons' that are making a huge difference in the rewiring of my mind's own level of transphobia.  I have 'My Person' who has given me hope that I can stay in this marriage and love Papi just as much (or hopefully even more) in the future.

Now, I have the other person I didn't even know I needed.

My 'Other Person'.  The person who has walked the path that my love has just fastened one step into.  The person who is not afraid to answer my questions that I'm too scared to ask my love.

I believe I've figured out why it's so hard to ask Papi, and that is because it's just too damn close.  The teenager still has her grip tight in this department.  Even though she's a green around the gills girl, she has learned all to well what happens if you step too close to the fire.  If you stare at it too long, it will jump out and bite you.

Oh, don't get me wrong.  There is communication and every fear, tear and storm has been exposed to my love, but there are definitely no questions.  No curiosity is salvaged for my love, because Papi is too close.

So many times when I'm expressing myself to Papi about my dread etc., I hear, "But 'so & so' is still attractive and doesn't look like the scary monster you're making up.  You still love them."

The same rebuttal comes like a tango we've practised a million times, "Yes, but they're not my wife and they're not sharing my bed."

The one thing I got out of snooping through the 'Other Person's' realm last night, is that it has been confirmed yet again, that this is going to be a very long slow process.

What I realized through our tippity-tappity, plastic key conversation last night, is that even though Papi and I are on parallel paths, albeit different, we are both going to mature together in this ripening of our fruit.

Papi will change physically, I will change emotionally/psychologically.

Evolution took a long time to bring us humans to where we are today.

I still have to reinvent the wheel.