it was only day one ...

You really have to laugh.

My baby sister saw a pic Papi posted of us while we were in the 2nd tow truck after our car broke down and asked, "Why are you smiling?!?!"

Because you have to laugh.

We have a car we bought from the devil himself.  We had it 'repaired' the day before we left for our trip to the nerve center of this country.

I've been having some troubles being stranded at the side of the road in our small town in the country, but there's one problem area you do not want to experience being broken down in, and true to our nature of never ending drama, this is where the car was grounded.

Now, I've spoken before about how we're living in a pretty vicious country, but just to recap for those of you who are new to my world, people in this country are so desperate to get their cerveza for the day, they will kill you for 5 pesos.

I am not exaggerating.

We set out to the capitol, Santo Domingo, to get my salt air impaired piano fixed by the best in the country.

But not only that, we had 2 computers, also slain from living too close to the ocean, along with our computer we've been sharing and an iPad for the other soul who doesn't get to the shared computer first.

Oh, and cash in case we got stranded.

Off we drove with our tinted windows, to be sure people couldn't see we were gringos right away in hopes that we don't get accosted, and drove on a highway where there is nothing for miles, except for the occasional horse.

It's an ideal stretch for serial killers to dump bodies in, but we don't have that problem in this country.  Generally speaking, that seems to be more of a phenomenon of white men in 1st world countries.

However, it is a great place to be dumped after desperate pirates take everything you own, then kill you so you can't identify them.

Satan's Sedan croaked and we were stranded in bum-fuck-nowhere, Dominican Republic, near 2 horses who seemed to salute us with an anxious, "Neigh!!!!"

We were fortunate that this toll road had an emergency number.  We called it and the woman who spoke speed Spanish did her best to get information out of me about where we were.

"Ummm ... near 2 horses and coconut trees."  It couldn't have been arduous to find the farcical gringos with a raised hood.

When they arrived, they found me searching the grass.  Why?  Because when I had taken the radiator cap off, the lid blew off like a volcano.

Not to mention, I had green coolant dripping from my face, hair and clothing.  The saving grace was that I had waited long enough that the coolant did it's job and I didn't get a 3rd degree burn from boiling fluid.

Papi had a good laugh at my face of disgust.  Yeah.  Really funny.

Anyway, thanks to our emergency crew we didn't get killed by fortune hunters.

The emergency crew called a tow truck for us, but he could only bring us to the first toll booth.  We needed a 2nd one once we passed that border.

Upon meeting the first driver, I had asked Papi to please sit in the middle, so that I didn't have to sit beside what my spidey senses told me was a creepy man.

"No!  You speak Spanish!" Papi said.  Oh yes.  This guy whispered things to me in Spanish that Papi couldn't understand.

Really, I couldn't understand the words, but I understood the energy quite clearly.

We got to the 2nd leg of the highway of hell without being raped and the new tow truck driver, who was a sweet family man, got us to a repair shop with our car and all it's belongings in tow.

This is where we met the garage owner who had two thumbs ...

... i'm not kidding ... it was QUITE fascinating ...

... who told us that our engine was dead.

Dead engine.  Stuck 3 hours away from home, no clue to know whether he was lying or not with one option: we had to accept that we were going to have to pay for a new engine if we were to make it home again with the demon's dump of a jalopy.

An engine takes a little time to be put into a car, so we had a forced vacation, but there's so much more to tell you.

Why I'm writing a blog instead of practising my piano that we went all the way there to get fixed?  Because I can't find my fucking piano power cord.

Jeeeeeezus have I left all my cords in Santo Domingo?!?!?!

We can't do anything without drama, which is entertainment for everyone.

Don't ever feel bad if you have a boring life.

I'm thanking my angels that we got through the trip and made it back home alive.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to tend to a puking puppy.

And people wonder why I started drinking again ...

i allow my life to be filled with peace

just love me

Well, Chantal was pretty calm on this side of the island.

Yeah, I drove through some heavy rain, and the thunder was AMAZING!!!

But there was no wind and nothing to write home about.

However, I guess I do have something to write home about; the lack of entertainment mother nature provided yesterday.

I was anticipating encountering my first true, tropical storm.

People on the south of the island got hit quite hard and unfortunately, one person died.

They had a lot of flooding and no power.

They looked a bit like Toronto or Calgary in Canada this past Spring.

Us?  Well, our gardens got quite the feeding yesterday.

Because Papi and I were not ready for our anniversary, our day was celebrated by lying around in bed, oohing and ahhing at the lighting and thunder, and watching the first episode of Dexter.

Ooooh that new character is a good one, but damn, that show is not the same with the bleeping of every 'fuck', 'shit' and blurring of boobs.

We also looked for our dwelling for our anniversary vacation, but everything is booked.

Talk about leaving things to the last minute.

We suck!

Mind you, things have been a 'tad' hectic around here.

I remembered about our anniversary the last week of June, then of course, stress set in and out the back door went that memory.

At least I beat Papi to the punch of being the first to say it on our day.

I waited and waited for him to wake up, and at the crack of 3 p.m. I turned off his air conditioning and up he was!

I also took the opportunity to yet again, email someone I thought was a friend, who owes us money.

Here is my newest 'rule' of life.

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever, put money between a friendship.

Give!  Yes!

We gave to a friend in need yesterday, when her poor sweet kitty needed medical attention and she had no money.

Yes, we give, and we receive when we are in need as well, no problem.

But selling, renting, or any other 'business' with a friend is now off limits.

First of all, we've been waiting for the money for a few months past when she said she'd pay, but the worst part?

I've lost a friend, because she won't even speak to me.  She won't even return my emails.

Most people, when I tell the story to them, they merely say she was never a friend to begin with and that I haven't lost much with someone who is dishonest.

However, I am sad.

I am always sad when I lose a friend that I love, and go through all the steps of grieving what's vanished.

No matter what it is they do to hurt me, no matter how much anger I feel, I am still sad at the disappearance of someone I considered a friend.

I just want to be loved, and I swear, it's one of my top missions in life.

Love me.  I just can't handle the rejection.

Yet somehow, not only am I rejected by one person, I seem to get entire PODS and cliques who ostracize me with one word from their leader who tells them to do so.

I suppose, people only do this to people who seem strong, to try to knock them down.

I suppose, people see me as strong.

I suppose, all those who tell me I am, are correct.

I suppose, what I gain when someone hurts my heart, is my spirit is pulled closer to those who are endless with their love for me.  It shows me just how good people CAN be in this world.

Still, my poor little heart aches when I have experienced the failure of a friend.

My dear, you have indeed wounded me.

Maybe everyone was right, that you never intended to pay us the money, even though you wrote us a contract.

Fool me once.

Indeed, your karma awaits.

i receive all feedback about a decision with love, but make the final call myself

happy anniversary my love

There's supposed to be a tropical storm that could turn into a hurricane.

No, not Hurricane Andréa.

I'm doing fine for a change.

An ACTUAL tropical storm.

Papi has been talking about it for the last week and I just keep rolling my eyes and pooh-pooh-ing him when he mentions it.

One of the perks of living on the North Coast, is we don't get hit by many of the storms.

So, I just keep giggling at him and smiling when he goes on about it.

Then, Jersey Girl wrote me an email giving me all kinds of tips on how to stay safe during the storm that is supposed to hit.

Well, she's been here for a while, so yeah, I'll listen to her.

We scrambled about, bringing in anything that could fly around and take out Pathetic Puppy's other eye,  closed the all the windows, then went to bed.

I got up this morning to a beautiful day.

Sun shining, waves calm, and then with no warning, it all went away and the rain started.

That's one thing that makes me feel at home here.

It's just like Vancouver in the sense that if you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes and it will turn on a dime.

Only the rain here in the Dominican Republic puts Vancouver to shame, making Vancouver's rain seem like just a spit compared our monsoons.

Anyway, the thunder is rolling in and I love it!

But it meant that I had to come in from the outdoors.

I came in to find a chicken scratch note from my love.

Pathetic Puppy was at it again last night, only in an activity that could have killed her.

The tumultuous cane toad.

She was playing with it.

It could have killed her with it's defence mechanism of spewing poison.

So, my love had to give the baby a poison kit.

Having a gut of steel, this dog can take anything.

She seriously is from hell.

She's a bit like me.

You can't kill me, or her.

In Papi's note, he mentioned it's under a dog bowl by the pool.

Dominican Daddy is here doing his fancy yard work and I told him about the problem, but obviously not knowing the word for 'toad' in Spanish.

So, first thing in the morning, there I was doing charades.

He laughed, then merely lifted the dog bowl Papi had trapped it under and threw it into the ocean, shaking his head at the silly gringa.

We are so not used to this world.

One day, it will be second nature and I'll be tossing out the cane toad without a blink, ready for any tropical storm that threatens us and nobody will laugh at our dramatic ways, because we'll be relaxed.

One day.

Today is not that day.

As I watch the storm roll in, and Dominican Daddy work his magic in the yard, I'm still amazed that we are here.

We're actually here.

And today?

Today is our anniversary.

We were not ready for it, so next weekend we'll be celebrating.

We're going to go see a part of the island that had us dizzy in circles once.

This time, we're going to google it and get there and back without a problem.

We're actually going to have a mini-holiday and see this fine island that is now home.

Happy anniversary, baby.

We did it.

We really, really did it.

my friends do not judge me, nor do they influence what i do with my life

and they judge me for having a wall ...

I just saw a man in his underwear!

And it wasn't Papi.

It was my Plumber Friend, and no he didn't have butt crack.

He's in our pool, putting in a piece that has fallen out.

Here, in the Dominican Republic, men don't always use a bathing suit.

Definitely, the majority of the children don't.  Mostly because they don't have enough money for one.

Men and children just strip down to their boxers or tighty whities and jump on in.

The first time we invited Our Unadopted Child into the pool, we were a little taken aback that he just pulled down his pants and in he went.

We understood pretty quickly, that it's because this family doesn't have money for a swim suit.  They're used to it.

Most toddlers don't have diapers, they just run around in their little undies until they have an accident, mom pulls off the offending ginch, dips the child into the communal bathtub and puts on a new pair of drawers that had been drying from the last piddling episode.

A lot of toddlers just run around naked.

Gotta pee?  No problem.  Do what all the other males do.

Side of the road, in plain view.  No, don't try to hide your 'man zone' or anything.

This Canadian Queen will get used to it.

Prince Papi just laughs as I cringe and wanna click my heels to get back to Vancouver, for just that moment.

Maybe I need a teleporter.  That would be faster, and I could just come back when they're done.

In Canada, they'd be fined.

Here, the police don't care.  They probably do it too, when they're not in uniform extorting people.

Anyway, I'm not used to it.  At all.

It's fine with the wee ones.  They're not going to trigger my P.T.S.D.

Especially the cutest one I ever saw, running around with nothing on but gumboots, that were definitely a size for an adult.

Sometimes, I wish I could have my video camera perched 24-7 to have caught that one.

However, it's not a good idea here.

It will get nabbed and there will be no more YouTube show.

Papi has decided that we need to get more dangerous with our videos and go into places that are potentially a threat to our well being.

He says we need to up the ante on our movies.

OK.  Fine.

You wanna do that, YOU are the one holding the camera.  They might not think of stealing it from you because in this country, tattoos mean you've been in jail.

Imagine their first thoughts of me?  A female criminal?

It's not the same as in Canada, where there are many women desperate enough to be corrupt and wind up in jail.

Here, the men do the big stuff, with guns and masks, and the women do it covertly, like stealing your toothpaste one squirt at a time.

Yesterday, the women in my village made sure I knew that the night before, there was a gringo bound and gagged at gunpoint, while the thieves stole everything from her house.

She lives just a few doors down from us.

She doesn't have a gun.

She doesn't have a wall.

She doesn't have cameras, or dogs and she was all alone.

They got her and there are no police here to come and help her.  They'd probably send Mr. Extortion to tell her to give them money just to rub salt in the wound.

I know that everyone in Vancouver's 'community' who judged me, then abandoned me for putting up a wall probably don't read this blog anymore, because I'm now labeled a horrible person.

But you know what?

It wasn't me that got attacked.

So fuck all of you, who think that just because you read a book or went on a holiday to a developing country, you know how it works here.

I'll be holding my gun a little closer.

i stand firmly in my belief in myself

Gratitude List, Last day.  Have you been keeping up with yours?
1. I am grateful we have security in place to deter the thieves.
2. I am grateful for the rain to feed the plants in the yard.
3. I am grateful to have electricity for 2 days in a row!
4. I am grateful for the warmth to heal my back.
5. I am grateful for the good people here who restore my trust.
6. I am grateful to have eaten well for 2 days.
7. I am grateful to be feeling stronger.
8. I am grateful for the love of puppies.
9. I am grateful for the love of friends.
10. I am grateful for this list and that I doubled it up for a bit.  It really helped.

I'm a fucking wreck.

Here's your weekly YouTube show:

Yesterday, a Blogger Friend asked me why I'd need a vacation, if i live in a house on the beach with a pool.

I didn't even have the energy to tell him how much work this was, but I tried.  How could I explain to someone that this is not easy?

Everyone out there believes we've moved to paradise, because we believed we moved to paradise.

We didn't.  We moved to a gorgeous view and wonderful weather that heals my wounds, but it's more work than I've ever experienced in my life.

More work than I had before, and healing from, my motorcycle accident.  More work than Papi has ever experienced as well.

We try to convince each other that it will get better.  He reminds me that my Eternal Friend told me to give it three months.

Supposedly, it will calm down after that.  I feel like it will never end.

It is part of the reason Papi drank.  Again.

I found him on a floaty in the pool, beer in hand.  I screamed his name but he didn't hear, because he was too drunk.

I pulled his floaty to the front where I could pull him out, then smacked him in the face until he woke up from his drunken stooper.  I then convinced his drunk ass to get out of the pool before he killed himself.

I tried to get online to book a ticket home, but there was not enough money in my bank account, so I asked him to book it for me from the credit we had in his JetBlue account.

He said he wouldn't.  Right.  Then if you aren't going to help me leave, we're going to talk.

Every single time he started to doze off in bed, I sprayed his face with the spray bottle intended for disciplining the animals.

"Stop it!!!!  Why do you keep doing this?!?!" he begged.

"Because, if I'm going to be awake, crying and miserable all fucking night so are you.  Then you're going to tell me why you think it's ok for me to possibly find my husband dead in the pool?  I'm not sticking around to watch you die.  You can be alone to do that."

But he was dozing during my monologue again.  So I sprayed.  "Stop it!!!  I'm awake!!!  Why do you have to keep spraying me?!?!?!"

"Because I feel like hitting you, and this is the only other option."

"Well, why don't you hit me then if it will make you feel better!"

"It wouldn't make me feel better, that's why I'm spraying you," as I sprayed him again.

That must have woken him up enough to talk.  He cried violent tears from the guilt leaving the G'ma alone in a home with Alzheimer's, and how tired he is from everything we have to do here.

Between the guilt and the exhaustion, he's wanting to escape reality.

I get it.  I would love to as well.  Reality is, nothing comes for free.

There is no paradise without a cost.  Our cost is a stress level every minute of every day, that is beyond belief.

It is waking up every day to work that doesn't quit until we actually sleep.  Even then there's work to do, because when you hear a gun shot in the middle of the night, Papi is up stalking the grounds with our gun, and I'm chasing after him to see what's going on.

Nothing is free.  Even our relationship.

He has vowed to start going to the only AA meeting there is here, and I've decided to find the spouses of these folks and start an Al-Anon meeting, or perhaps some reasonable facsimile thereof.

We all know how I feel about the 'g*d' word in these rooms, but still, I need it.

I'm crazy with running around, sniffing him to see if he has drank again, checking the garbage for ber cans, hearing him open doors and running out to find out where he's going (because obviously he's going to go to Cabarete and drink again, not let the dogs out to pee, right??!?!), begging him not to drink when he's up past my bedtime.

Seriously.  I'm a fucking wreck, but I can't leave the relationship yet.

He has promised to work, not that you can EVER trust an alcoholic's word.  Not ever.  I'm just going to have to have some faith that he does want this relationship to continue like he says.

Trust comes with time and every time he rolls his eyes at the evidence of my paranoia of him drinking again, I tell him to cut it out, because his drinking the reason I'm in this position of hyper-triggered P.T.S.D.

I see every ex who has harmed my trust and faith, I see my father who cared more for his addiction than he did for his children, I see no good endings.

I don't believe in good endings with addiction, because I haven't experienced any, and losing the greatest relationship I've ever had makes me feel like life isn't worth anything.

So, I stay, and I work, hoping that he will too, in every other corner of our lives.

We need a vacation.

i must know what awaits me at the end of this rope, so i do not give up

The Vacation - Part 5, The Big Ending

It was time to drive home, after spending 3 days in the capitol, and finally feeling like I'd forgiven Papi for drinking, albeit, not trusting that it wouldn't happen again.

You can never trust an active alcoholic to tell you the truth.  That trust is built with time.

Upon leaving the hotel, we were told of a new route.

It was a new road that was straight, safe and not many people traveled, so not many chances of an accident.

It was barren alright.  It had us worried about the possibility of breaking down, as there wasn't a store, a person, nor any help anywhere.

We had a little anxiety about cars breaking down since we traded in the jalopy, even though this newer car worked well.  We were still gun shy.

At the first of 3 toll booths, we found the ONLY gas station on the highway.  We filled our tank full, and at that same time, I also filled up on the best tasting ribs I'd ever experienced.

When I'm nervous, I gorge.

Oh, I ate those scrumptious delicacies and even shared a little with Sir Bark-A-Lot, forcing us to suffer the wrath of his bowels assaulting us with his stench 30 minutes later.

After a few hours, we got to the end of the stretch of highway with not a soul in sight, but then had the daunting task of finding our way home.

We were hours away.

We didn't take the turn off we needed, because true to any developing country, most people driving know the roads and know which donkey to turn left at, hence there are no signs.

We were now driving for another hour, realizing we were probably lost.

Stopping at a gas station to fill up again, we had hopes that the guy could tell us how to get home.  It seemed like we had someone who knew what he was talking about.

He told us to go back the way we came and take the Las Terrenas exit.

We found it, then realized all roads led us to nowhere, in circles, winding back up where we started from, further from our house.

We decided that the guy obviously didn't know what he was talking about and headed back toward him to pass him by and carry on for a while.  It was now 2 in the morning as we passed familiar landmarks we had already seen, but we needed to find someone to help us.

Papi was way too tired, and needed me to drive.  No problem.  There doesn't seem to be anyone who will stop me to check if I have a license.

We wound up in a city called Samaná.  It was a mind fuck.  Every street was a circle and we couldn't get out.

We kept winding up in the same place we started, just like in Las Terrenas, even though we tried every avenue we could find.  The only one left was the one we came in on, and that wasn't an option.  We weren't driving 5 hours back to the capitol.

There were some people drinking at the side of the road, and I did my best, 'I'm tough don't fuck with me, but I need your help' attitude.

They were indeed good people and we followed them as they drove their motorcycle out of the city to help us leave.  Again, we were heading back to the capitol, but with a switch.

We had to turn off at a city called Nagua.  Oh, I drove.  For another hour.

By the time we reached this city, Papi had been snoring for at least 30 minutes, and the car started to overheat.  As it just reached red, I put the car into neutral, hazard lights on and coasted for a while.

It seemed to do the trick.  The arm lowered.  But I was scared shitless that we were going to be stuck, and had I started to get bleary eyed and tired, so I woke Papi.

"Can you drive?  I'm starting to fall asleep at the wheel."

It was 4 a.m. when he looked at his watch, slurring tired words, "Pull over, we're sleeping at the side of the road."

We've been told NEVER to do this, but what was our option?  To fall asleep at the wheel and kill ourselves?  At this point, we'd been driving for about 9 hours and didn't care if someone robbed and beat us.  We just needed to sleep.

We found a nice little graveyard and across the street was a gate that looked like it belonged to people with money.

They would understand two gringos passed out in their driveway, I'm sure.

6:30 a.m. came, I woke up with neck and back pain from hell, then looked behind our car, noticing that the gate was open, and the owners allowed us to keep sleeping.  We definitely chose the right house.

We actually made it home an hour later to the Dominican Daddy and the Housemaid both petrified as to what had happened to us, both wide awake waiting for us to return and release them from their job of protecting Casa Paraíso.

Return we did.

From now on, we take The Moca, even if it is the most terrifyingly treacherous road in the country.

We need a vacation from our mini-vacation, but true to our adventure here, that is not going to happen.

i follow my dreams no matter what

The Vacation - Part 4

This was my opportunity to replace all the clothes that the Housemaid destroyed.

I needed pants, shorts, shirts and definitely needed new shoes.

Not that the Housemaid destroyed my shoes.

It is just that I only have one pair of flip flops and a 2nd pair of fancy little forest green sandals that will only go with about 2 outfits.

What I need is a sturdy pair of walking sandals.

Leather, with a durable walking sole.

We actually asked for directions this time and guess what?  It only took us 20 minutes to get to the mall.

This was going to be a dream!

We brought along Sir Bark-A-Lot, because we didn't want to leave him in the hotel room.

This is where the trouble started.

We knew that Sir Bark-A-Lot's carrying case was broken, but we didn't expect him to try to escape consistently.

When people would see the little case jerking back and forth, they'd ask us if there was a dog in there.  We admitted it, thinking about all the restaurants in our area that allowed dogs to freely walk around, so why wouldn't a mall?

Besides, he was in a carrying case and couldn't destroy anything around him.

It wasn't allowed in the Argon mall.  The capitol was more like Vancouver with it's rules and regulations.

We were told we'd be kicked out if security saw him.

So, now it was a race against time to get everything we needed without getting caught with the dog.  We couldn't put him in the car.  He would die from heat.

We had to separate, and store by store we ran around with panic, looking for the items we needed.

Then I got the phone call from Papi, "They saw him and they're making me leave the mall now.  But they're making me leave at a different exit, and I don't know where the car is!!!"

THIS was where the adventure began.

We now own a car that looks like every single other car out there.  Not to mention, it's so new that we didn't remember our license plate number.

We couldn't remember our floor or how to get to it, and this truly was a large mall, being one of the biggest in the capitol.

As much as security wanted us out, we also needed their help.  Every exit, we told each guard what our car looked like and that the only distinguishing marks were that it had a tiny sticker on the back window of a hand and a cracked front windshield.

Oh, also that the license plate had three 9's in it.

They said they found it, but when we went to see 'our car', it of course was a different car of the same make and colour, with a few 9's in the plate.

For two hours, we came in and out of exits, with security shaking their heads at us, some shaking for 'no' we couldn't go into the mall with the dog and others with 'wtf' is the matter with you two?  Why can't you find your car?!?!

At the end of two hours, it was close to the mall's closing time and close to our tipping point, and Papi had an idea.

"Let's hire a taxi to drive us around the parking lot until we find our car.  I don't care how much it costs."

So, off we went to the front door, found our help and put all our items in his trunk.

He drove us to the entrance we came in, in hopes that it would spark memory as to where we parked.

Amazing.

Within one turn in the mall, we found our car and almost kissed the guy.  Papi tipped him big time.

Then the security guard who was standing by our car told us he remembered us and if we had've come out that ONE door, he would have shown us where our car was.

I guess it was the ONLY door we didn't manage to leave through, because we sure as hell tried every other one.

But we left with a few items and decided the next day we'd return with a better dog concealer.  There was still so much more we needed and it was our only opportunity to shop, being that we are not able to find the time to leave our house with all the repairs we need to be done.

We did return the next day, bought a better carrier, and then it was time to get home.

Another adventure ensued.

This time, in the dark streets of the Dominican Republic, with absolutely no idea where we were going.

But at least we had our car and a full tank of gas.

i kindly ask for help and guidance if i cannot see a better way

The Vacation - Part 2

Google maps.

They SUCK here on the island of the Dominican Republic, even in the capitol.

We decided to follow the Google instructions and drive the route given.

No, we didn't ask the hotel for help, because that would have made sense.

We weren't making anything easy for ourselves.  We never seem to do so.

Off we went, driving back through the streets we just came through, thinking we'd figure out the way to get back to Ikea, because we saw it when we first drove in to the city.

What I'm learning, is that even though there is realistic terror of people who could harm us, there are an overwhelming amount of good people.

Good people who want to help us, who seem to be guided by angels to cross our path, tipping the scales toward positivity, allowing us to feel great support here.

Ikea should have only taken 20 minutes to drive to, but not for us.

2 hours through insanity of no driving rules, cars that have bumps and dings in them that make them look beyond a beater, and darkening skies that threatened our shopping time.

We could have given up, but we were so desperate to get the items we need for our home, so we kept driving the streets of the capitol.

I yelled out the window at people to ask for where Ikea was, but dammit, it didn't even occur to me that the reason they didn't understand me was because they don't say Ikea the way we would in English.

Of course they would say it in their own accent: Ee-kay-a, not: Eye-kee-a.  Hence, not a soul could understand what the hell I was asking for.

Finally, we stopped at a gas station and dammit if there wasn't the absolute sweetest woman to help me.

I told her I wanted to go to Ikea, and again her head cocked as if to say, "What?"

I said it was a big store with tables and chairs and beds on the main street of John F. Kennedy.

Her eyes lit up! "Si!  Ee-KAY-a!!"  She then told me we were very far away.

She did give us instructions, however, between the language barrier, the sun going down and lack of signage in the city, we wound up driving toward the airport on the other side of the city, instead of our shopping destination.

Person after person, we stopped and asked, now pronouncing the name properly, and eventually our weaving in and out of traffic we found John F. Kennedy, and within minutes, we found Ikea.

We only had one hour to shop for bedroom furniture and other odds and ends we really needed that we just can't find on our side of the island.

Never in my life have I been the LAST person out of a store, escorted by guards with guns and employees giving us the stink eye, because we were taking way too long and they just wanted to go home.  Completely understandable.

They, however, don't understand how far we are from home and that we only had these few moments to get what we needed.

Well, we made it back to our car, the only one in the lot, accepting there was so much more we didn't have time to get.  Maybe the next day we could go back now that we know how to get there?!?

Fortunately, the drive home was much easier, with those 4 lanes of traffic becoming clear that they're really only 3 lanes, because it was late at night and there weren't cars stuck in the road like a parking lot.

Having left the hotel before dinner time, we were absolutely starving, but it was now 10 p.m.  We hoped we could eat at the hotel, even if it was room service.

When we arrived back, we very meekly asked if anything was open.

"Of course!  Right now the baseball game is on!  In the bar there is food.  It is the true Dominican experience!"

Excellent!  In we went to the restaurant to eat watch the Dominican Republic play against the Nederlands.

I had been told that Dominicans are CRAZY about their baseball, but I never expected to see what I saw.

Every time there was a home run, or the Dominicans gave the Nederlands an out, people ERUPTED!

People were jumping on tables, blowing horns.  Men were kissing one another, while women gyrated each other, waving their flags high and proud in the air, as the percussive instruments infused the airwaves with beats that melted my heart.

Every time it happened, people turned to look at my face, as I was so happy to see so much joy and giggled at their antics.

It was an opportunity to finally have the 'fun' that Papi and I needed after such a stressful few days.

The night ended with Papi admitting he can't drink just one drink, and me being grateful that we had time to be loving toward one another, not to mention, absolutely NO desire within me to drink.

Good thing it ended on a good note, because for day 2 of our 'vacation', we would need more patience than we could ever know.

i feel the love of those not physically around me

The Vacation - Part 1

I can't tell you how hard that first day was.

Nothing like being stuck in a car with someone who has just ripped your heart out, and knowing that you have to spend at least 3 hours in the car with them.

True to my suicidal nature, I was not mentally well.

I don't know that I would ever take my own life, but I'll tell you, I will beg the angels to do it for me.

Every car that Papi passed on the left, I would say to the angels, "Do it now while there's a car coming at us.  Head on collision.  Take us out together.  We're both suffering."

We could go together and live in a place where the pain would stop.

I didn't wear my seatbelt, because I thought for sure I could will an oncoming semi-trailer to do us in.

When Papi finally asked me why I'm not wearing it, I was honest, "If I get into another accident, I don't want to suffer through the pain again.  I just want to die in an instant.  I want this all to end."

Let it be known that when Papi relapses, we both suffer.

He has to live with the pain of a spouse who becomes suicidal.

I've lived with way too many alcoholics and drug addicts to know that this disease doesn't allow for love.

It robs all inklings of love.  I can't lose my soul mate to this.  Losing Papi to alcohol would be the final straw of my life, that seems to have so much goodness, but seems to be balanced out with so much pain at the same time.

He begged me, "Please, I don't want you to be unhappy.  I don't want to drink anymore."

"But you will.  You can't help it.  You're an alcoholic."

In frustration, mi esposo replied, "Can you just trust that I won't drink during this trip to the capitol?  You can go back to not trusting me after, but we're going for a mini-vacation.  Let's try to enjoy it and you can hate me when we get home."

He didn't get it.  "I don't hate you.  I couldn't ever.  I don't think you have any idea how much I love you.  But how do you expect me to just 'let this go'?"

I couldn't.  I didn't.

Until we actually hit the city.

We had pulled over so I could drive for part of the highway, while Papi slept off the effects of the alcohol the night before.  It was getting too dangerous for his bleary eyes to keep looking at the road, and besides, it was a really good highway with very few insane drivers.

That was of course, until we hit Santo Domingo.

I was slapping Papi in the leg, pushing him, as I begged him to wake up.  "We're here!  This is it!!"

He told me to pull over, but I decided that I'd had enough stress and wanted to drive myself, so that I know what's around me and I was in control.

I haven't had enough control over the the past few days.

So, no, I would drive.

I scared the shit out him as I found my place in 4 lanes of traffic where there were no lines, nor were there any rules.

I cut off people without a care in the world.

... hit me ... go ahead ... i don't fucking care anymore ...

But somehow, while being scared shitless in this driving chaos, I managed to get us to the malecon.

Then Papi had enough.  "Pull over.  I can't take it anymore.  You're going to give me a heart attack."

So, I did.  Then all of a sudden I noticed that the traffic was calm.  There were no more crazy drivers.

While we drove along side the beautiful Caribbean Sea in awe of it's beauty, we were actually talking for the first time since his drunkfest the night before.

We arrived at the hotel, illegally snuck in Sir Bark-A-Lot, who doesn't make a peep when he's in his carrying bag, and up to the hotel room we went.

This is when the adventure really began.

A trip to Ikea was in order to finally get our bedroom suite started.  The day was not over yet.

This little trip took us to adventure, where our Vacation began, and our communication followed suit.

It was at that point that I apologized to the angels for asking them to wipe me off the planet.

I felt bad that I had asked them to help me die, after all the love they'd given me.

I've had suicidal thoughts since I was a child, but this was the first time I had ever apologized for them.

I do want to live, but I'm so tired and all I want is for my emotional pain to stop.

i love and honour myself

scary ocean!!!

When we say we're living on the ocean, we really mean it.

On a stormy, windy day like today, the waves are actually pounding our property.

Time to buy those massive rocks we were told to get.

And those waves are honestly are so high, they look like they're going to come into the pool.

It's a little scary actually!

I keep looking out expecting there to be a shark in the yard.

I went out for a minute to film for you, and the damn waves were so strong, they got me in the face and pants, and I was standing behind the gate!

If there's a tsunami here, you can be sure we're gone.  But hey, we had a really good time, so don't feel sad if it happens.

We would get to go together, and we get to go looking at paradise.

But seriously, one little tsunami and we're dead.

Anyway, enough of that.  Now I'd like to tell you how bad I feel for my poor baby sister!

She came to the Dominican Republic for a vacation, and it's been horrible weather so far.

To be fair, they came from -15 and it was snowing, so this HAS to be nicer than that.

But still.

When you go to a tropical place, you at least want a tan for chrissakes!!  She says she tanned before she came to make sure she didn't burn.  So now she's afraid she'll go back whiter than when she came!

Well, regardless, we had fun at the Monkey Jungle.  Well, again, except for my baby sister.

Poor thing had a little case of travelling tummy trouble on her trek, so she gave me her ticket for zip lining.  She was afraid she'd be running into the bushes to relieve herself, and there was a group of guys that would probably be a bit less than sympathetic toward her.

I guess Papi didn't have too much fun just filming us and waiting around, either.

Well, today, the family are just going to come and watch the waves.  Perhaps, go into the village and give all the kids candy.

When it rains here, the kids have no school.

Very much like a snow day back home.

Can you believe it?!?!  They don't get rainy days like this too often, but they cancel school because all the kids have to ride in on the 'taxi' motorcycles, and they get too wet.

Lordy.  These li'l critters would be horrified at the conditions they'd be forced to live with in Vancouver.

Anyway, because of the rain, there should be a ton of kids around for them to give candy to.

That will make them happy.

So, today is the sad day to say goodbye to Mr. Majestic.  We almost thought that perhaps we'd just muzzle him and he could be safe here with the other animals.

However, that wouldn't be much of a life, would it?

Not to mention, the cats wouldn't understand that there is a steel barrier between them and they would still be cowering in fear.

It's not fair to them that they can't go outside, and we only get to see them at night when Cujo is outdoors.

Outdoors crying.

Crying man!

He's such an intimidating, ferocious guard dog, but when we put him outside he cries.

It's a bit much I have to say.

But he is an emotional dog, very sensitive and needy, if you can believe it.

... yeah. needy of blood! ...

Anyway, he just needs a one family home, with at MOST a new puppy introduced to HIM.

That would work.

I'm so sad.

I hope the angels listened when I asked for a perfect home for this guy.

i know this situation will work out for the higher good

friendship. a few forms.

The Housemaid came by.

The gate was open because we're still getting so much work done on the house to make it liveable.

Sheepish, terrified of Mr. Majestic, she called me over without taking one more step, because she didn't want to lose her life to the massive brute who was at the end of his tether, warning her not to come any closer.

But she had a real need.

Something that a friend could help her with.

In battling languages, I figured out what her urgency was.

She was being stalked and harassed by a creep on Facebook.

She didn't know how to get rid of him.

She hasn't delved into the settings, privacy and deleting of people.

I found him, deleted and blocked him, then told her, "He will never see you here again."

I can't promise her about real life, though.

She was grateful.

It was a friendship moment when she hugged me in thankfulness, adding that her husband, The Dominican Daddy, was really angry about this guy.

I had another friendship moment this morning.

I went around to the back of the house where Old Ghost Face hides in terror of her new surroundings and humans that she doesn't think she can trust.

I've been bringing her cheese.

She likes cheese.

Yesterday, she actually took it from my hand.

Today though?!?!?

She stood up and I couldn't believe it, there was the slightest little tail movement of happiness.

Really slight, but there.

Just a once back and forth, but a wag none-the-less.

She took the cheese again and I dragged away Mr. Majestic who seems like he's still a bit too in her face.

Not to mention the Pathetic Puppy.

She's too young yet to know that when those teeth are showing, it means buzz off.

But the big news is, she wagged!

We may be earning her trust now.

I actually thought it would take a lot longer, being that she's so damaged.

But it has begun.

Poor old thing.

Anyway, it's been a great 24 hours for friends.

Including the friends we bought our 2nd gun from.

The first one was just too big for me.

I now have a pretty li'l 9mm.

I shot it off last night, and I'm pretty sure the neighbours who are a vacationing family from somewhere in America were wondering what was up with the gringo loco next door.  And possibly wondering if they were safe.

Trust me.  I know that feeling.

We got friends.

Good, bad and stinky.

Oh, Mr. Majestic, where did you come up with such a smell?

Being tied to my waist non-stop, it wafts along with me.

Or wait.

Is it because I've just been too busy dealing with 5 dogs to get in the shower?!?!

Could it be me?!?!?!

Nope.

That's definitely dog.

My stink is a little more offensive.

i now make friends easily

some hope and no grope

Well, we chose to call the vet and ask if he does house calls.

Poor Psycho Kitty was just too sick to bring in a hot car with 8 people.

He doesn't do house calls, but he told us what to buy at the pharmacy.

The vet could hear in my voice that I was close to despair.  He told me not to give up hope.  That there may be one more medicine that will help.

I've been calling on my angels like never before for Psycho Kitty.  So have a lot of my lovely friends.  I need him to stay for a while.

I know it's selfish, but I just wanted him to have a fun life.  He needs to enjoy this.

He actually looks like he's feeling a little better today.

By the sound of him talking, it seems he has more energy.

His head doesn't feel as hot and there's not as much blood coming out of his mouth.

Off we went and we were lucky that the ride there we got a bus.  No lap sitting.

Not to mention, now that we know the actual cost, it's so much nicer to give them correct change and they seem to know that we're not fools any more.

After filing out of the cab, we were walking through town to the pharmacy, quite sad and stressed about the state of Psycho Kitty.

We waded through tourists with bright shiny faces who looked around at the wares with awe.  You could see the looks in their eyes, "Ooh!  Look!  I need that!"

All we did was keep our heads down and carry on forth to our destination.

Then, true to Papi's incredible nature, he made me laugh harder than I had in days.

He looked at the tourists, then looked at me and said, "This is the worst vacation I've ever been on."

The joke was only for us.

Nobody else would get it.

Nope.  Not a vacation.

Our new life.

We wouldn't have time to work, I promise you.  I wanted a goat.  There is no time for that either.  I'll just find a local to buy their milk off of.

Then there was another moment of silliness when we stopped at the taco stand to have a snack.

We looked at all the people cramming in and out of the 'bus' or 'taxi' and Papi said, "Can you imagine commuting every day like that?"

I snorted at Papi, "We DO!"

Seriously.

Every day we cram in to the cab like clowns and get to our destination.

We DO commute like that.

Papi wouldn't step foot on a bus in Vancouver, like the West Side Prince he was, yet here we are sitting on laps and being humbled for it.

I would never be so close to strange men, but here I am, carrying my money in my bra and keeping close tabs on Papi's stun gun, just in case I may need it for an overzealous local, who make think my blonde hair and blues eyes are an invitation to a free grope.

All I can say is, I'm so damn grateful I went to Spanish classes before we got here.

As much as I don't remember very quickly, and need lots of repetition, I'm really beginning to be able to at least communicate in little short sentences.

But it's enough to make my head hurt.

Every day, the focusing and thinking as hard as I can gives me a headache.  I suppose I'm wiring new routes and eventually, I'll be better than I was before I got here, and who knows, maybe I'll heal from most of my brain injury and give me some memory skills!

... wishful thinking eh? ...

Today's task is to get the plumber/electrician to look at our well and oven.

We're pretty sure that we're showering in sewage water.

Something smells and there's a leak outside that shouldn't be happening.  All our water is brown, except for my handy dandy water from the reverse osmosis machine I brought.

Papi laughed at me and told me I was ridiculous, but who's laughing now as I drink water right from the machine's tap, without getting sick!

i remember what i learn and when i forget, the words come to me quickly

our day

We went on an adventure.

We had to return our rental car.  We were spending way too much money on renting a vehicle.

All we have to do is hope for no more sick animals until our car is fixed.

True to 'Dominican Time', our car that was supposed to be looked at a week ago finally got looked at 2 days ago.

They said our car would be done yesterday, so off we went to return the rental.  Then when we spoke to them later, they said, "Tomorrow," which should mean today, but now it looks like we'll be waiting another day.

Hence today, we're trapped in our little house.

Anyway, to get back from the airport where we returned it, we had to make it back what would be a normal 45 minute drive to our little village.

First, we saw the price of taxis at the airport, that would get us home from Puerto Plata; $70 U.S.

Yeah, I don't think so.

We decided to walk to the main road and catch a bus.  The buses kinda pick you up anywhere, but we knew we'd seen one stop here before.

As we were walking, we were stalked by a taxi who wanted to haggle for our business to get us to Cabarete.  We finally got a price we wanted and chose to hop in.

When we got to Cabarete, we decided to have lunch and spent way too much because it was a tourist trap.  But I'll tell you, it was worth it to sit amongst the tourists and pretend we were on holiday for an hour.

I shared my chair space with a shy crab, who was half burrowed in the sand beside me.  He thought I couldn't see him, but I was watching him.  Every 2 seconds.  I didn't need to lose a pinky toe.

Luxury was over and it was time to head home and see how the fighting was going between the pool people and the house caretakers, so we went try to catch a cab home.

Each cab we saw was filled with about 7 people, not including the driver.

No room for gringos.

We just kept getting drivers wave their finger at us, "Nope.  Not this one."

We found what looked like a normal bus stop in Vancouver, which was housing the motorcycle taxi driver's asses.  I asked them if it was a bus stop that would take us to Las Canas, and we'd hit the jackpot!  Indeed it was!

While we waited for the bus to arrive, we had every motorcycle cab in the city asking us if we wanted to hire them, but everyone of them I said in Spanish, "Sorry, I'm too scared."

Especially when you see 99% of the motorcycles no longer have side view mirrors, because they all take them off to look 'cool', not to mention nobody wears a helmet.

They would just laugh at us, but no thank you pal.  I have a secret about life.  I like it.

We waited patiently and then we saw it.

Looking at the shape it was in, I was hoping it would make it to our place.  If the fender hanging and cracked windshield were an indication of how well they took care of it, anything could happen.

We tried to ask how much it cost, but he just waved us on to the back of the bus.

It's my worst nightmare to cozy up to some strange man beside me who had no idea that he was squishing me into a pancake, taking up more and more space the smaller I got.

Not to mention, it seemed like he was looking down my top.

Then a seat came open for two at the front.  I made my move, but a girl closer got it.

This happened about 4 times until I finally barrelled through and took the primo seat.  Got it!!!

It was our turn to get off the bus and we had seen every person giving 50 pesos, and prepared to do the same.

We handed him a $100 and he looked at us, gave us the finger movements that said, "More," and I indignantly said, "No way man!"

He shrugged his shoulders and curved one side of his lips in a mouth squint, and looked to the side with a nonchalant eyebrow lift as if to say, "Hey, I tried," and left it at that.

When it was our turn to leave, we alerted the door keeper and he let us out less than half a block from our road.

Customized bus stops.

It was fun to finally walk down our little dirt road, because we're always so busy running back and forth to the vet or the hardware store in our car.

It was nice to say hi to our neighbours instead of just waving our hellos.

After our little adventure from Puerto Plata to get to our home, it really felt like we were living a day just for us.

Until we came home to a yard full of strangers and children invading our space, and people entering our yard trying to sell us their family dogs.

i choose friends who love me and approve of me

crapped my pants.

OK.  Let's get this straight.  I'm not a swimmer.

I float, I doggy paddle, I tread water, I do the backstroke, but I'm not a 'swimmer'.

However, every day I force my body to swim as far out into the ocean as I can, allowing the waves to resist my movements, granting me the cardio I need to pump fresh blood through my damaged muscles, in an effort to relieve my bitch of a back.

It really helps.  Today, I woke up with pain, feeling like I was almost going to be a Limping Lesbian, and now I feel like I could run a marathon.

In more ways than one, let me tell you.

You see, today I was feeling so strong that I felt I could swim out to the buoys in the water.

In the resorts, they have it cordoned off to keep us gringos locos under control and safe.

Every day, I have swam closer and closer to them.  Today, I was so impressed!  I was going to make it all the way!

I proudly doggy paddled and puffed as my heart pounded with gratitude, allowing my blood to rush through my veins.

I was almost there!!!

Then I felt it.

Something.  Something met BOTH of my thighs!

Whatever the fuck it was, it was big enough the it touched the entire length of my thighs!!!

Never in my life have I been so distressed, thinking of what the fuck it might have been!!!!!

In an instant, I was an olympic swimmer.  I immediately flipped over onto my back and began the back stroke so fast, that if I wasn't so scared, I would have impressed myself.

I honestly didn't know I could go so fast.

I prayed that the entity I just bumped with my body wasn't a man eating shark.

I don't believe in a 'god', but I'll tell you, I was praying like a teenage girl who's period was late.

I was practically in tears.

Ok, if I'm going to be honest, I WAS in tears and didn't care if anyone heard me saying, "Please don't eat me!  Please let me live!  I beg of you, please!!!"

When I got closer to the happy-go-lucky people on their little floaty devices, bobbing around like a bunch of dingbats, they looked at this water logged Honky 'Fro gringo, as if I was from another planet.

At shore, my heart was pounding faster than it ever did when I was training for boxing.  My trainer would have been proud!

The man who waded past me was looking at me as if to say, "Bitch!  You're on holiday!  Chill for chrissakes!"

I wasn't quite sure if I would make it to my lounging chair, because I was positive that exerting myself to that point was going to make me pass out, or have a heart attack.

Not to mention, I wasn't sure if I should check my drawers to see if that liquid running down my legs was only water and not the fact that I shit my pants.

I tried to reassure myself, "It was not a whale.  It was a sand dune they put there to keep the tourists safe from sharks."

Right?  Right?!?!?!?

Today, my only mission is to find someone who speaks enough English to tell me that is correct.

If not, my swimming will be kept from buoy to buoy in the shallow end, hoping that I don't get creamed by the children bouncing around in the waves.

When I came back to the room to frantically tell Papi about my terrifying experience, I didn't get to right away.  He had an experience of his own to share.

"Did you see the cockroach I trapped under the glass?!?!?!  That was the most horrifying thing I've lived through!"

He continued to tell me his alarming story, until I had to butt in and tell him that a whale grazing my thighs trumps his dirty cock-a-roach.

Oh, vast sea, how I respect you so much more.

i am brave

monkey.

We've got everything packed for our 2 weeks, plus things that will be staying in the home we buy.

My boifriend came by to go over the Hector-Brown Pet PDF, and it seems he is now trained.

We'll be sending him into battle as of Sunday evening.

Poor soul.  I'm sorry.  Wear lots of leather.

Hopefully there won't be a repeat of the newest Psycho Kitty problem, pooing on the chihuahua's pee pad, then spreading it on the walls like a mental monkey.

Oh good god.

I'd love to talk more about the feces festival, however, that just may be too much info for ya.

The way we found the poo pile was because he was pushing around Sir Bark-A-Lot's pee pad, as if it was for him and he was cleaning it up.

We just laughed and thought it was a new silly antic.

It seemed like he was now an O.C.D. kitty who needs to have the place cleaner than clean. 

I was thinking that I was going to be living with a four legged crazy cleaner, after growing up with my mother who was nuts about cleaning and was cleaner than clean.

Maybe that's why I'm such a slob?

I'm still rebelling against my mother's cleaning habits.

Anyway, all morning, there was this odor we couldn't find.

We looked in the poo box and nothing was there.

Of course, we just blamed it on the dog. 

Old Mr. Farty, The Golden.

But then I went in to the washroom to clean out my coffee Bodum for today's cup of joy and blammo!

There it was.

Shit on the walls.

Oh sorry, I told you I wasn't going to talk about it.

How about I talk about the fact that Papi has thrown away my cleaning buckets!

Hey, why not!  He never uses them, so they're not really important, right?

There I was, with one of our FOOD BOWLS filling it full of vinegar and lemon juice, combining that with the organic, earth friendly spray cleaner to get the job started.

Well, as I was frantically looking for things to use for cleaning, Papi actually did the deed himself.

Phew!

Well, that was that.

Done.

The good news is, I'm feeling less stressed, but now it's Papi's turn.  We really do take turns.

You see, now I'm excited!

We are ready to get the last minute pre-trip organizing done, and then away we go for 2 weeks!

To the warm, health and energy.

Paradise in 2 more days.

i have a solid sense of self identity

The Happy Papi Dance

Last night, while I was writing the Pet PDF for My Boifriend to come tend to the Fuzzy Family, it occurred to me, we leave Monday.

We go to find our long-term home together.

We're bringing a lot of stuff with us on this trek, then leaving it in storage if we can't put it into the home we choose to spend a great portion of our life together in.

One of my sweet friends told me that her dad had a saying, "My dad calls it 'throwing your hat over' (as in, before you climb the fence to get to the other side you toss your hat over so you can't not do it or else you've lost your hat)."

Makes sense!  If you're going to get cold feet, leave some stuff there so you must return to claim it!  I loved that! 

My point is, as I was prepping, the thought developed that we're actually going.

It's happening.

Is it real?

It is!

It's not a dream, but sometimes, it seems that way.

People don't just up and change their lives all that often.

For the longest time, I've felt we weren't really going until we had that plane ticket booked.

About 10 minutes after I had these manic thoughts, I flipped on to Facebook and damn if mi esposo hadn't just posted the same damn thing.

He wrote, "Is this actually happening? Or am I dreaming? Happy Dance again :-) T- 6 days :->"

The thought of my love doing The Happy Papi Dance filled me with so much joy.

We're still bickering about absolutely inane, idiotic instances.

I'm still being passive aggressive to get my point across in those ridiculous fucking snits we get into, but something changed when I saw that Facebook status.

All my fears went away the moment I envisioned him doing The Happy Papi Dance.

He heals me just by being his silly self, and he doesn't even do it intentionally. 

That was the moment my apology to myself for acting like such a buffoon was accepted, and I pulled up my socks and got happy and excited.

This is the roller coaster.

I'm being told left, right and center that it's normal.

One friend explained, that as a child, her family was moving to another country and her parents were extremely stressed.

For a child to remember this, it must have made a big impact, which means this really is a big deal and it's normal for me to be such a fucking lunatic.

I just hate that it has brought out the worst in me.  The worst that Papi has never experienced.  He said, "You're acting really weird."

Understatement.

Yesterday, my behaviour had me thinking that maybe my doses of anti-depressants were off and I needed to go up a few milligrams.

The logical side of my brain presented itself, and I gave myself the option of going to paradise for two weeks and seeing how I felt and make a decision about dosage then.

Something tells me I won't be an orangutan once my skin breathes in the heat as I step off that plane.

Something tells me the moment my injured muscles allow the ocean to hold their struggling weight, my fears will be washed away with every wave, taken to the vast sea, where I won't have access to them anymore.

Something tells me that the joy of Papi and I starting our lives together by looking for homes will be the change I need to send Hurricane Andréa packing, not to return with our gargantuan, ugly suitcases.

Monday, this journey takes the next step.

This is not a test.  This is the real thing.

i dissolve all obstacles to having complete self-confidence

rolling with it ...

It really is the worst possible time for this 2 week sabbatical.

Papi and I are both feeling it, but most importantly, we're still moving through it.

My love has been working hard at his end of the deal, and so have I.

It's really not easy.

I have seen mi esposo a few times, where we can.

Yesterday he did his chauffeur job and drove me to an appointment after I got to the Vancouver side of the Burrard Inlet.

Even if it was for those 20 minutes of getting a ride with my love, it was worth it just to see him.

The hardest part is when I have to leave, knowing that I don't get to sleep in our bed.

"Can you drive me to the SeaBus now, Papi?" is the hardest question to ask.

I just want to be with him.

I don't want to be somewhere else, even if I do have the coolest temporary roommate, Java the Mutt, not to mention, my Eternal Friend whom I'm grateful I'm able to spend a little time with.

It is wonderful to get to get to have this quality time with my Eternal Friend whom I've known since elementary school.

It's like a little holiday with her gorgeous North Van condo, complete with soaking tub and bubbles!

At the same time I'm making the best of this situation, it's still difficult to have to live out of a suitcase.

However, I would rather that than to live with an active alcoholic.

It's important for me to know that I can live away from him, in the off chance his addiction could one day convince him that the bottle is more enticing than a life with your love and your soul mate.

I have to do this to know that I'm still able to have a sober, drama free life, even if the addict/alcoholic is abusing their drug of choice.

I have to do this so I'm safe.

Papi now has 5 days clean and sober.

Every day he works on his part, is a day I'm closer to going home.

A day closer to getting back to my Fuzzy Family who are currently not speaking to me.

Yeah, they're pissed.

They're not impressed that I've 'abandoned' them.

I'm sure they'll get over it when I get home.

We all will.

'I just want my life back to how it was,' is just a myth.

Everything is changing.

There is no 'how it was'.

Ever.

If we try to stay with 'how it was', we'll be sorrily surprised when life gives us the gears.

If we don't roll with it, we'll remain the victim.

So, I'm rolling.

Even with all the rocks and roots that jab me as my little muscles careen down that hill, I endure bump after bump.

I roll.

It's better than being in the Pit of Doom

Honestly, I'm cool with rolling, as long as I'm not being kicked when I'm down, and so far, everyone has left their hen pecking, shit-kicking Daytons at home.

Instead, I'm feeling so much love, support and hope.

i discover new aspects of my self-confidence daily

come back papi

Ok.

So, I haven't showered, slept or eaten a meal in 2 days.

My nephew dogs are a bit of a handful.

Not to mention, they destroyed my hair.

I was supposed to have nice hair for the week, until Papi gets back, but the puppies made sure they ruined my doo.

Only problem is, I'm outta product.

Did I tell you Papi is not here?

No.

He's in Mexico.

Fucking Mexico on vacation.

He's there for his sister's wedding.  Of course, I had to stay behind to go to a psych evaluation for the insurance company who really believes that having pain, and cognitive troubles after being hit on my motorcycle, flying 15 feet through the air, landing on my head, having to learn to walk and focus again, is all in my head.

Yeah.

Anyway.

Papi is relaxing.  He deserves it, after being so sick for so long.

He's sounding well and that's such a good thing.

Warm, peaceful, no g'ma, no responsibility.

The worst part of this nephew dogs' visit is actually not the puppies though.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, they wrecked my hair ...

... it's all about my hair ...

... but it’s nothing compared to Sir Bark-A-Lot living up to his name.

Little mother fucker is seriously loud.

His piercing bark tears my eardrums.

His baring of teeth makes me shudder.

I have spent the past 2 days sitting as still as possible.

As long as I sit very, very still, nobody moves.

Puppies don’t play, then Sir Bark-A-Lot doesn’t bark or bare teeth.

They leave today, but then I have 5 more days to care for the G’ma alone.

Alone.

I’m caring for 7 animals and a 96 year old with Alzheimer’s, all on my own.

No fucking wonder I haven’t eaten or slept.

Or smiled.

Between losing The World’s Loudest Snorer and not having my love here to help with the chaos, my heart doesn’t feel well.

I want my Papi back.

Everything is so much easeir when he’s here. 

He keeps me calm.

He keeps me smiling.

When he’s not here, life doesn’t seem right.

Come home Papi, I miss you so much.

This may prove to be the hardest week of 2012.

Not the hardest week of my life.  So far, those ones are behind me.

But definitely the hardest week of 2012.

Pass the pain killers.

            i am at peace

patience patients ...

People pleaser.

That's what some of us become when we've felt that we need to be loved more.  It never really works though.  You just come across as needy.

Then there's the other end of the pendulum:

Selfishness.

At that point, you come across as someone who nobody really wants to be around.  However, you attract the people pleasers and your bidding is done.

Balance is really the key to everything in life.  It really is the most important rule to remember.

So, here I am lying in bed because I've put my back out.  I'm pretty sure it's because I tried so hard to keep up with the demands brought upon me that I stressed myself out to a point where my back had to take all the flack.

I know I can't afford this kind of stress.  I know that my injuries are affected by it, but when you're in the throws of insanity, it's hard to recall anything you're 'supposed' to.

hello brain injury. fuck my memory sucks.

I frantically ran around getting everything done.  I was quite grateful for the extra cardio as my heart would pound out of my chest from going up and down the stairs so many times and scratching another item off the list.

Alas, the caretaker has become the patient.

Poor Papi.  My love was thinking that there would be a wife at home who'd be the caretaker.

Wrong.

Now I'm flat on my back asking for Papi's help.

My love has to change all the dressings alone.  But then again, mi esposo told me it's easier without me.

Papi also told me I'm too much of a stress case to be around.

Wouldn't it be fucked up if my anxiety over this transgender journey actually drove away Papi?  Imagine if I wound up single and divorced after all I went through to try to stick this marriage out amidst a male transformation.

I would crumble.

time to take a look at that...

I just need some downtime from this brain.  I really need to have a simple life with a simple job and a simple relationship.

gimme a break

I'm sure Papi could use a breather from my anxiety too.

The common denominator is me.

How do I do this though?  How do I just stop the anxiety and have a hiatus from this brain, which in turn will give Papi some time out too?

My love doesn't understand how this could affect me, "I didn't do this to you.  It's not about you."

My broken record response, "But you're changing my life by changing you."

When you marry someone, two hearts become one.  So, yes, this is happening to me too.

You know when hell has frozen over and you look back and laugh?

I need that time to come now.

I need to get off this emotional roller coaster.  The slides down that hill aren't as fun as they used to be.  How about we just play on the bumper cars for a little while?

one day at a time.

I'm so tired and broken, but I need my beautiful relationship back.

It's hard when you can't even hug your soul mate, because there's a barrier of stitches, gauze, tape and pain.

At least we can hold hands.  I still feel Papi's love through those strong hands.

Hello new day ...

You know when you wake yourself up snoring?  It's always that quick honk and then you're thrown into consciousness.

I get to watch Papi do this frequently.  It's pretty funny.

I love the shocked look on my love's face and that gaze of, "What the fuck just happened here!?!?!?"

My love is getting better.  More coherent.  More energetic.

Papi's eyes are focusing better now that mi esposo's blood is getting used to the pills that are being administered.

another snort

This is good for both of us.  My love feels stronger and I get to have moments of support.

I was a real mess yesterday.  I think that was the worst of it.  Either that or it will just come in waves.

Yesterday I feared that the demons were pulling me into the Pit of Doom for an extended holiday.  I had visions of crying for 6 weeks like I did when Papi first dropped the male transformation bomb on me.

However, today is a new day.  I'll look for some strength today.  I'll need to pull it out of the nooks that it's hiding in.

It's the only way to combat the demons with their sharp talons around my heart.

I was able to chat on Facebook with a couple of Trust List friends, and one who had some reminders for me.  One of them is that I'm not in a familiar environment and that it could be adding to the anxiety.

I think we all know how well I adapt to change.

I'm like a fucking cat.  But unlike The Bastard Prince, I'm not about to go pee on the bed to show my disdain.

no ... i'll just cry perpetually ... it's way more classy

I'm just grateful Papi had enough zip so that we both were able to have emotional support.  We both got to talk about our side of the pain.

My love is also having adverse feelings, because most of the people Papi knows has a wife/partner/lover who is a Rah-Rah-Tranny and is thrilled to have their person go through with this.

I just can't understand the way these people think, because I'm so far on the other side of the pendulum.

Papi wishes I could be that person, so that my love would feel excitement and joy in the room.  I can imagine how it feels to be living in a perpetual funeral, because I've been living in it myself since November.

i'm so sorry my love ... i'm just so fucking sorry

None-the-less, we had a good hour of processing before my love started to drift off to Never Never Land in a Vicodin haze.

snort ...

Between my chats online and my chat with Papi, I woke up feeling a tiny bit less teary eyed.  I can still feel the pain in my chest as it inches it's way to my eyes to expose itself to the world.  I'm holding it back as much as possible.

The last thing I need is to fall into another depression.

I've got too much to work on with all the shows coming up to be fucking around in the Pit of Doom.

Hello day.

Let's see if I can make it through today's grieving without tears.

We all know crying makes you look fat and ugly.

The video of this experience is definitely proof of this.

Oh gawd.  Do I really want to show the world how bad I can look?