peace on earth, well, for me anyhow

I'm doing so much better with my anger toward zealots who use religion for hate.

I really am feeling less angry, and it's a much better way to live.

I'd like to share with you what I found on the internet some time back:

1. Leviticus 25:44 states that I may possess slaves, both male and female, provided they are purchased from neighbouring nations. A friend of mine claims that this applies to Mexicans, but not Canadians. Can you clarify? Why can't I own Canadians??

2. I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as sanctioned in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

3. I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness - Lev.15: 19-24. The problem is how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offence.

4. When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord - Lev.1:9. The problem is, my neighbours. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. Should I smite them?

5. I have a neighbour who insists on working on the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself, or should I ask the police to do it?

6. A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination - Lev. 11:10, it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this? Are there 'degrees' of abomination?

7. Lev. 21:20 states that I may not approach the altar of God if I have a defect in my sight. I have to admit that I wear reading glasses. Does my vision have to be 20/20, or is there some wriggle-room here?

8. Most of my male friends get their hair trimmed, including the hair around their temples, even though this is expressly forbidden by Lev 19:27. How should they die?

9. I know from Lev. 11:6-8 that touching the skin of a dead pig makes me unclean, but may I still play football if I wear gloves?

10. My uncle has a farm. He violates Lev. 19:19 by planting two different crops in the same field, as does his wife by wearing garments made of two different kinds of thread (cotton/polyester blend). He also tends to curse and blaspheme a lot. Is it really necessary that we go to all the trouble of getting the whole town together to stone them? (Lev.24:10-16). Couldn't we just burn them to death at a private family affair, like we do with people who sleep with their in-laws? (Lev.20:14)

I couldn't even look at the word g*d without feeling anger to the point of turning red, suffering with my heart pounding.  I would use the above as a way to fight.  Now I see it as a way for my own peace.

The bible was written by mere mortals, pen in hand, in hopes to gain power over people, not love.

My anger stemmed from being exposed to mean nuns when I was raised.  I realized, if these were g*d's people, then I wasn't a fan of this g*d.

Also, as a tiny child, I prayed best way I knew how for my life to get better.  It only got worse.  I then decided there was no g*d and was vehemently against anyone who could ever believe in such crap.  It was my only way to survive this world of hate and anger.

I still don't believe in a g*d, but I'm definitely a firm believer in spirituality amongst astral beings that surround us.

I believe in angels.  Nothing has ever swayed me on this position.

Anyway, my point is, now that I'm starting to allow myself my own spirituality, I'm having so much less anger around that three letter word.

It sure feels a lot more peaceful.  I've spent way too many years seeing the word g*d as a synonym for bad because of all the anger I saw in people who believed.

I can now just put two 'o's in the middle and turn it into something I can believe in:  good.

I believe in good.  I believe we all have the power to reach one another with collective love.  One by one, we can change each person in the world, and change the anger and hate into acceptance of one another.

Last night, I set my alarm and woke up bright and early at the crack of 3:30 am Vancouver time.  This was to meditate with the rest of the people in the world who were celebrating the solstice and asking for peace on earth.

You would never catch me waking from my beauty sleep for anything in the past, but I did it last night.

I didn't feel anything like I did from my Soul Activation, but my intent was there.  I sent my positive energy out as best I could, and imagined myself breathing with the rest of those who were doing the same.

Even if I can't feel the angels all the time, they're there.  They are fleeting and will expose their energy when they see fit.

The angels are here and I have so much more peace.

i welcome, and am open to receive all abundance that comes

too bad you're such assholes.

Everything is relative.  Like, for instance, how we in Vancouver react to the snow.

I found particular happiness in this day of pillowy poofs falling from the sky, but only because I was warm and dry.

A few years ago, Papi gave me a pair of Sorel boots.

Initially, Papi laughed at me when I left the house in these boots, because our snow doesn't usually warrant this kind of boot attention, but I assured him, I'm not messing around when it comes to being comfortable in this weather.

I refuse to suffer.  I don't care what I look like.

While waiting at the bus stop, for half an hour for a bus that should come by every 10 minutes, I noticed a woman with shoes on, but no socks or jacket.

It was clear she was mentally ill, by the way she was behaving.  So, I guess she dressed herself.  I was sure she must have been cold.

We can't just assume people want help.  She may have felt insulted if I asked her if I could buy her some socks, and who knows what kind of reaction I might have gotten, so I just watched for a while, hoping to ease into a conversation.

Then she started talking with the woman who was upset about missing her granddaughter's school play, because the bus just wasn't showing up.

She seemed happy enough, so I let it go with gratitude for my warm boots, scarf and coat.  Some people can handle the cold.

Along came a man who didn't speak English very well, but I could understand when he asked me how long the bus would take.

I assured him, "It will be here, it's just going to take a little time and patience.  The streets are a little nasty right now."

Like coincidental clockwork, the moment I said that, a car got stuck on the road in front of our bus stop.  I chuckled and said, "Well, I guess she's not going anywhere!  That's pretty funny!"

Of course I found it funny!  I wasn't the one stuck in the car!  No matter.  The guys behind the lady hopped out of their car and gave her a push.  She was moving in no time and these dudes were granted their karma for the day.

However, the man at the bus stop said, "You think it's funny?"

I had to admit, "Well yeah, kinda," even though my chipper mood was soon to be squelched.

He looked down at his feet, and my eyes followed his.  His feet were absolutely sopped, plus the wet, cold snow was crawling up his jeans towards his knees, no different from a sponge absorbing water.

He was obviously cold.  He replied, "I don't think this is very funny."

I asked him, "Do you not have boots?"  I was hoping he'd just say that he wasn't prepared and didn't put them on this morning.

"No," he said.  He sorta shrugged with a 'you don't get it' chuckle, looking down to the ground, "I'm poor."

I looked at his open jacket, "Well, can you do your jacket up to try to stay warmer?"

"No, my zipper is broken.  It's my only jacket."

I almost cried and offered him my vibrant green, cashmere scarf Papi had bought me at a Xmas past.  I thought he'd look ridiculous in it, but his neck would be warm.  My boots certainly wouldn't fit him.

He giggled at my offer, "No, but thank you."

I discreetly asked him if he was on welfare, and when he said he was, I reminded him that there is available clothing for him and to should ask his social worker for help.

He told me he was actually just on his way to The Salvation Army today to get a coat.

I have always maintained that I would never give a penny to The Salvation Army, because they're almost as hateful as the Wesboro Baptist Church when it comes to their homophobia and lack of spirituality.

At least the bastards can be used by us gays in our own way.  The Salvation Army doesn't have to know if this guy is straight or gay, they will still give him clothing.

I would love to donate to help someone like the man I met yesterday, but I just can't.  I hope he at least gets a jacket that does up, but more importantly, boots for the winter.

I hope for today, you're all dry and warm, no matter what your sexuality is.

i matter, and also what i have to offer this world matters

guilt. please leave?!

Orange juice.

I only drink it when I'm sick.  It's tasting so good.

I don't know why I can't stand the taste of water when I have a sore throat.

Guilt.

I have it whenever my plans have to change for a virus.

It's feeling so bad that; (a) I made food for Shabbat and can't go because I'm sick, and (b) I had plans to go see the super fantastic band, Lisa's Hotcakes, and now I can't go.

It's not just any band, it's my friends' band.

Two of the lovely friends that are on the list to spend time with, and share their energy before I take off for my first long stint in the Dominican Republic.

So, I guess I have a good day of studying Spanish and Hebrew today.

I hope my foggy head will let those words and symbols set in!

I'll also have some time to study about Hanukkah.  This will be my first time celebrating it.

I don't have to deal with the guilt from those damn Catholics.

Fear god!?!?!

Right dudes.  I can't fear something I don't believe in.

Jesus was a Jew.

I can believe he existed.  But I don't believe he was magic.  He was just a good Jew soul that wanted peace in the world.

I've just learned Jews don't believe in hell.

Another good one is that I don't have to use the word 'god', but rather that you don't say it and it becomes g*d!!  I'm so grateful!

I'm finding so much more that I can relate to.

Don't worry.  I'm not turning into some religious zealot.  I still don't believe in g*d.

And the Jews are ok with that.

Mind you, I'm going to a reform synagogue.  They're much more liberal and inclusive. 

I get to be me.  No fucking guilt. 

Except for the fact that I swear too much and I know that occasionally, Rabbi Laura comes here to read and I feel guilty about the fact that I'm being myself on my blog.

That and that I have a bit of a violent energy when I'm talking about predators.

However, even with that, I've learned that I'm allowed to be myself, because there's no way I could be perfect.  I just need to know what I need to work on and it will get better.

Oh, I know.

I know that no matter where I go, day or night, I constantly and consistently look over my shoulder for the plausible creeps of the world.

I know that when I'm standing idle, I settle myself with my back to a wall, to be sure there's no crud standing behind me awaiting their opportunity to strike.

I know that when I cross the street, I look every direction, non-stop, for cars that could potentially hit me.  I do this until my feet hit the sidewalk, then start looking over my shoulder again for scum of the earth behind me.

I know that I need to stop thinking about the revenge I can get on all these people.

I know that I need to stop the P.T.S.D.

Only then will I be open enough to allow positivity in every way come into my life.

I know that I have a lot to learn.

I also know that the NyQuil has kicked in and I'm feeling a hell of a lot better.

I also know that I'm definitely sick.  I think I've jumped around about 5 topics.

Coma time.

i enjoy being positive and having positive feelings

home = heart

Anyway, back to regular biz.  I'm preparing to go home today!

I'll be leaving temporary home #2 to go to temporary home #1, to prepare for our move to temporary home #3; our closet of 454 square feet.

With 5 animals.

Regardless of where I go, I go home to Papi.

I don't get to see him much when I'm home anyhow, because I'm usually watching him sleep the Graveyard Coma.

That's fine by me, because when he's sleeping he can't deny that I'm always right.

Or drink.

... hehehe ...

Tried another anonymous meeting yesterday.  Guess what the fucking topic was?

Faith.  Yup.

Of course I got asked to share, and again, I told them, "I have utter faith in myself, not in your god, but somehow coming to these rooms kept me sober, so I'm going with it."

I spoke for the struggling alcoholic who approached me afterward to say, "I'm so glad you said that.  Can I have your number so I can talk about how I feel about this?  There's not too many people who understand."

Oh, I understand.  Still, the most important part of her calling me will not be about all that zealot bullshit, it will be about how we get a wonderful life because we don't drink.

I guess it's imperative because that's where all this keyed up chaos started 2 weeks ago.

I have great gratitude for being sober.

So do the people who still cross the street when they see me, because all they can remember is what a nutbar I was on the bottle.

Now that Papi has mightily worked through his 2 weeks, I get to go home, however, not before we take the G'ma out for her annual gambling birthday celebration.

The old fart is now 97!  97 man!

Not that it matters that we'll be celebrating her day, considering she's been 'neglected and thrown into a home so that everyone can take her house away from her'.

... oh the gramma drama ...

Back on track.

I'm leaving my temporary roommate, Java the Mutt and my Eternal Friend who has been so gracious in providing me space and comfort for 2 weeks.

I leave this peaceful, hotelesque, accessible condo, complete with a full body soaker tub.  I leave this for cats who are trying to kill each other.

And Papi.  Home.

I'm actually really good with transition and being transient, since I've been doing it from a young age, but goddam I have to tell you that living out of a suitcase fucking sucks.

Especially when you only have 3 skirts to choose from!!!  Good god it's been hard to be a femme these 2 weeks!!

I've never liked that, unless I'm somewhere beautiful and tropical.  Then I'll do anything to stay.

But here we are in the city that gets about 9 days of true summer, and today, it looks like winter's back again, so all those mother fuckers who complained those 9 days can gloat now because they have their fucking nasty weather again.

Whatever.  I'm going home.

Home is anywhere our hearts feel whole, peaceful and part of a family, no matter what that family looks like.

Papi and I could live in a grass hut for all I care, and I would call it home, because it's with Papi.

And 2 cats that are trying to kill each other, not to mention the other 3 critters who have to live with the furry fury.

Oh!  And my Dominican style coffee, my morning ritual, my awesome ionized water and my greens.

I've eaten enough junk food and carbs to get me through the apocalypse.

i share my feelings with others and they accept me

clearing things up.

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

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

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

topic #1

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

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

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

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

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

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

topic #2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

topic #3

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

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

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

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

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

new business/bonus topic #4

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

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

today's daily mantra comes from my gratitude buddy:

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

an anonymous encounter

At the very least, The Mrs. forgives me.

I was told I was feeling too guilty about the whole Papi relapse debacle, and that I was doing the right thing.

I know I am, but it's hard not to be with my love, especially when we had such a wonderful day yesterday.

It was really nothing out of the ordinary, as we saw the G'ma and answered the same questions she asked when I saw her last week.  We went to the house and I apologized to our Fuzzy Family and gave them as much love as I could for that short period of time.

We had such a nice time just talking about 'nothing' in particular.  It felt like I'd never been gone.  It also felt like this 2nd week will be the hardest. 

Papi, being the person cleaning up his act, feels it's kinda silly that I'm staying away for another week, because he's dedicated to staying clean 'n sober.  I now believe and trust this to be the truth.  I honestly just felt like staying with him last night, but Java the Mutt was relying upon me.

I don't even know where the 2 weeks 'rule' came into play.  It really was just a thought that I had while there was more snot and tears on my face than skin.

However, there is a reason, and I don't even know why.

I have some strange alternate sense that I don't even understand.  It doesn't matter if I don't understand, because I trust my intuition, even if others don't.

At the end of our day together, I didn't want to leave mi esposo, so I decided to join him at a late night meeting.

You know that meeting?

The one we're never supposed to talk about, because it's anonymous and is full of drunks who may, or may not, be sober.

Yeah, that meeting.

For my own sanity, I had to stop going to their convergence 8 years ago.  Their idea of non-denominational membership was not the same as mine, and I'd always leave feeling empty, because I didn't believe in 'their god'.  All it did for me was make me want to give up on happiness and drink.

Well, last night, guess what the topic was?

Yup.  God.

... for fucks sakes people ...

And guess who was the first person asked to share?

Yup, me.  Can you guess what I said?  I'll put it in a nutshell.

"I had to step away from these rooms, because they're supposed to be non-denominational, but somewhere along the lines, this became a Catholic church.  I'm still looking for that atheist meeting that actually follows the tradition about non-denominational fellowship.  I still need to be around sober people, because honestly, when my spouse was drinking in the beginning, I thought that if he could drink, maybe I could too.  I'm grateful he relapsed into a bottom to remind me that I too, am not able to drink normally."

Oh, I went on and on with more of my non-god talk and that's when people left the room.

I'll never be asked to share at that meeting again, I can promise you that.

The rest of the meeting was spent listening to everyone who did stay trying to convince me of the 'miracles of god', and I overtly rolled my eyes the whole fucking time.

Until 'god' gives me a phone call to tell me he exists, there's nothing that little books written by humans, and 'ideas of proof' can tell me to make me believe in some dude in the sky with unruly, unshaven hair, Birkenstocks and a toga.

They wonder why people won't go to their meetings.  They wonder why people would rather die out on the streets than get the help that they so desperately need.  People are dying because the zealots can't respect the tradition of the program being non-denominational.

The zealots took over and royally fucked it up for the rest of us.

The good news is, I did find some words about sobriety that were good for me to hear, and I took those words and left the rest of that fucking bullshit there.

I may go back, because I have less anger about their podium gospel since I left 8 years ago and tackled my sobriety on my own.

I'm still sober, without your fucking belief system, which is more than I can say about a fuck of a lot of people there who think that memorizing a book is the only way.

End rant.

i have abundant faith in my ability to succeed

don't blame the guns. please.

This whole bullshit about 'guns' being the problem in this world is ridiculous and it fucking pisses me off.

Yes.

It's horrible that people were killed in Colorado.

Yes.

It's horrible that gang violence kills the innocent.

Fortunately, in the case of gangs, they also kill each other off, which is a positive.

But 'guns' being banned is not the solution.

Do you really think for a fucking second that violent people who blow others' heads off will obey a fucking LAW that says they can't carry them?

No, only law abiders will follow that rule.

It's not the fucking guns.

It's the fact that the world is going insane.

Look at the Dominican Republic.

Jesus!

They don't need guns.  A dude was decapitated by a machete shortly before our trip there, because he and another guy were fighting over a girl.

That guy didn't die from a gun, he died from a sick human being.

Well, I wouldn't actually call him 'human'.

Here in planet earth, our inhabitants are going crazy.

It's hard not to with the pain and suffering life hands us.

I honestly believe that every person on this tiny planet is suffering in some way, shape, or form.

We all have troubles, but the problem is, there's not enough help for people in crisis, and not enough people to recognize those who may go off.

We've got kids in homes being harmed by the hand of their own parents in the most horrifying ways you could ever imagine, creating the cycle of abuse.

Those assholes don't need guns to fuck people up.

How about we put down those bastards like the rabid dogs they are?

How about the people being killed by cars every day?

Not a hope in hell that our countries are going to ban cars.  Those are lethal weapons that people take for granted while they speed down our streets after the driver has had a few to drink.

Or for that matter, make an illegal U-Turn without looking and hitting this femme on her motorcycle.

Don't get me started on the brainwashing of religious zealots and their self righteous attitude about how they think it's OK to kill.

We're all losing it, and we feel have no control in this life.

People actually believe the right religion or politician will fix things.

Really mother fuckers?!?

The anger I feel for our current Prime Minister, and how one by one, he's taking away all options for help with mental health in our country, sickens me.

Of course, not enough to go nuts and go into a movie theatre to shoot people, but I understand the emotion of not feeling like there's anything I can do about watching our future world go down in flames.

There are too many tragedies right now in this world to start pinpointing 'guns' as the problem.

Guns don't go off by themselves.

Let's help our peoples' mental health.

That will stop the guns from going off.

In the meantime, don't mind me while I run away from the terror of this world and hang out with chickens, goats and donkeys.

i appreciate positive people

Aping the apes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how I had my booty out proud yesterday.

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

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

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

It will definitely make life easier in the Dominican Republic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love is all you need.

i feel fulfilled and joyful

Well, at least we're still alive.

Sometimes, I really do wish there was a 'god' to believe in.  If there was, I would have prayed yesterday.

Papi woke me up wayyyyyyyy before my time, excitedly chanting, "Baby!  Get up!  We're going to Seattle Pride!!"

I thought, perhaps this was a joke, but my love knows better than to wake me up for mischief.

My love prepped my coffee ...

... that was where the trouble started ...

and I did my best to get to 'pretty femme' in 20 minutes.

Needless to say, it was a hat day and I wore the clothes from the birthday party the night before.  It was reminiscent of my drinking days where I'd be strolling around in yesterday's party dress, complete with skanky, buffalo breath and day old panties.

This time my teeth were brushed and I wore clean underwear.

Anyway, we fought on the way down, partially because my coffee wasn't doing it's job, my bitch of a back was screaming at me for sitting in a car first thing in the morning and my love hadn't slept from his graveyard shift.

No, it was not our finest moment, and we very rarely fight.  Very, very rarely, which already made it an odd start to our day.

Eventually, the pain killers kicked in, the coffee did it's job and Papi took a clonazepam.  Then we thought the fun would start.

We got to the parade and had the absolute best spot.

That was, of course, until the religious zealots came with their horrid signs and stood where we could see them.  I couldn't handle it.  It made me crazy that some dude thinks it's ok to spread hate, with a sign that has a picture of jesus skinned alive on a cross, in lifesize form.

That just doesn't say, 'come join our loving family' to me.  However, that wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst of it was afterward, while we were enjoying our people watching at the festivities end, a man sat beside us and abused his dog.

Not being the type of folks to sit back and stay silent, we tried to tell him there were better ways to train your dog other than kicking and abusing it.

I tried to connect with the dog, but he wouldn't allow me to show it love.  He pulled it away from me, however, I still had a moment to notice blood on it's left eyebrow.

I was almost sick.

We stood our ground while he threatened us for speaking out about his abuse, but were grateful when it seemed like he had left.

Wrong!  Mentally ill abusers don't leave without the fight they came for.

He returned and got in Papi's face violently, and when I stood to put my body between him and my love, the women all around me shook their heads to say, "Please, don't engage.  Please, don't do anything.  Please, stay safe."

Fortunately, he exited again before I got pummeled, but he also left us with his energy.  It took me so many breaths to calm from his abuse toward the dog and us.

I wanted so badly to save the dog, but also I wanted so badly to shove the tip of my boot into his groin, give a palm thrust to his chin and stab his eyes with my fingers.

We didn't have any positive experiences after that, especially when he wound up in our vicinity once more where we thought we'd be safe from him.

Both mi esposo and I were so scared for our lives that we had a tandem panic attack.  We were also scared for the dog's life, but there was not much more we could do safely.

We left Seattle, silently.

We drove back to our home and since that moment, I've wished that there was a 'god' who would actually listen and help heal our damaged people and animals.

It's making me really feel that this world is no longer a place I want to be.

It's making me yearn for a planet where I can give love to animals, to people who need it and to have peace.

All I want is peace.

This agnostic, who verges on atheist, wishes there really was a 'god' to bring that, but alas, that 'god' still hasn't called on the phone to talk about all this.

I'm still waiting.

i will never stay silent.  i will always stand up for those in need.

oh, MY 'god'.

Wow.  My brain woke up from my coffee and the strongest level of ionized water I could squeeze out of that machine, when I realized what an amazing day I had yesterday.

You see, I've been going to the Shul (or as us non-Hebrew speaking folks call it; the Synagogue) regularly for the past month and a half.

I've been enjoying myself, receiving positive messages about spirituality.

I've been so impressed by the consistent positive revelations I've been seizing, that I wrote to the Rabbi and told her, "I have never willingly gone to a house of worship in my life.  Thank you for your positive wisdom and for being on the path of my spiritual journey."

Afterward, they always have a potluck.  I forget to bring food, always, however, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to bring.  I have no idea how to make kosher food really, or even to find the foods to cook with.

Anyway, they are all nice to me even still.

Yesterday was a little out of the ordinary.  My gratitude buddy had to leave right after the service, which left me alone, to talk to people until my 'short bus' came to get me.

Talk to people!?!?!  Do you know how afraid I am of strangers?!?!?

But something magical happened.  I sat down with two old men and debated spirituality, NOT religion.

I was in my glory!!!

I listened to their belief system and was so happy to sense them being ok with how I believe.

I think that's what attracted me to this house of worship to begin with: Free thinking.

One of the first times I went, I listened to an agnostic verging on atheist speak about her journey in spirituality, and what it means to her.

I couldn't believe I'd found someone like myself in a house of worship!!!

Well, yesterday I was sincerely in my element.  There I was, sitting around the table, talking to those two old men who had gads more religious experience, and I realized, I may not have religious education, but I indeed have very strong spirituality.

I may not believe in a 'god', but my spirituality is powerful and mighty enough that two old men, who regularly visit Jerusalem for their religious journey, actually listened to what I had to say about spirituality, and genuinely cared to hear it.

I told them how I believe that spirituality and religion are completely different, and only very rarely do people actually have both.

Most people feel that if they follow the ritual of their chosen religion, that they are closer to their 'god'.  But personally, I believe some of them are further away from their 'god' than I am.  Religious ritual has nothing to do with spirituality, to me.

These old men listened and understood what I was saying.  They accepted my belief.  They didn't belittle me like most zealots and say, "You're wrong.  God is the only way."

No, they questioned my belief system in such a way that it made me understand theirs a little more.  At one point, a woman who had joined us couldn't handle the debate of 'What is spirituality?', 'Where does our soul actually exist?', 'What is our higher power?' and 'Why do we return to this house of worship?' because her belief is one dimensional.

Not to mention, she feels she had an experience, that to her, trumps our beliefs.  What she doesn't understand, is I've had years of an experience of finding my own path of belief, and mine is just as worthy as hers, albeit completely different.

And that's ok!  She walked away because her's was so strong.  I'm kinda glad she did, actually.  I have my own belief system and I'm finding more and more people that have the same beliefs, and we all know that it doesn't matter 'what' we believe in, as long as we have 'something' to guide us along our spiritual path.

I can't tell you how amazing it was to be able to say out loud to someone there, "I'm not comfortable using the word, 'god'."

It was like a release of every spiritual struggle I've had, when the person across from me said, "I only use that word, because it's easier than trying to explain my belief."

Bingo!!  You got it!!

Truly, I have found my people.  Truly, I have found a place where I can be who I am, yet still be in a room filled with people who believe that positivity, not power, is the path to enlightenment.

It set my day up for even more beauty, and that moment I had of Nirvana a few months back had found me once more.

i am secure in myself

plethora!!!

I'm not even sure I told 'you', my imaginary friend, about the sweet little interview we did.

Click HERE!

I wanted to embed it, but for some reason, it ain't happenin'!

So, you'll have to click the link and get to the good stuff there.

It's an online show by RightOutTV that this generous music making couple did with us.

We were part of their 3rd show, and I wish nothing but the best for them in their venture!  It's great to have people who are so supportive in this world.

Tomorrow, we'll be shooting another music video, only this one will be live!

I get to sing my favourite BlueLight song, 'No Pearls of Wisdom', which is the last song on our current CD, "On The Edge," while Lin tinkers away at a grand piano.

It's not my upright baby grand piano, but rather, some fancy dancy one at a super duper studio!

I'll hook you up with it once it's online as well.

Now, I'd like to vent about religion.

Religion pisses me off.

... yeah, yeah, yeah, i go on about zealots ... what fucking ever ...

Being raised around a bunch of abusive nuns who, in turn, trained more of my family to be hateful, my Catholic upbringing was less than accepting of anyone who wasn't just like them.

Which I wasn't.

Here's a young man who has believed in his religion, and has now been failed by it, like many others who have been hurt by their ridiculous views.

Click HERE!

I wanted to embed that one as well, but for some reason, my links keep defaulting to Angry Birds.

... whatever, google gods! i found a way to beat your silliness ...

This lovely young person was invited to be a keynote speaker for his baby brother's graduation, but then his opportunity was revoked, because the Bishop of the school found out he was gay.

Here's a lovely Facebook page to support him on: Let Dominic Speak.

Click HERE for the petition to sign.

Ok.

Have I given you enough to do on this rainy Vancouver Saturday?  Or sunny 'n hot beautiful land in the midwest USA?  Or whatever place in the world you're reading from.

Hello Russia!  Been noticing you hang around a lot these past few weeks!  Welcome to you!

Anyway, I just finished the practise with Lin, and we're ready to go for tomorrow.

I'm so sorry to Papi who is trying to sleep off the Graveyard Coma.

And now, I get to go make more drum loops for us to use.

I hope your day brings you joy.

never let success go to your head and never let failure get to your heart

halle-fucking-luja

I had another moment of bliss.

Joy of living!  Gratitude for life!  That feeling of elation, because I understand life's secret!!!

It occurred to me at that moment, that I have really lived my life.

I have lived within the permission it has given me, but none-the-less, I have lived.

It doesn't matter that I've had times that have been difficult.

What matters is that even through the turmoil, I still strove to make myself happy.  I didn't do this for anyone else but myself.

I have given myself a gift that nobody can take away from me.

At the same time, nobody else could give it to me either.

I saw my dentist the other day.  Here was this man who has a wife, 2 beautiful children, a breathtaking office view of our amazing city, that consequently, we get to enjoy while he's drilling our mouths, and he really has no money woes to speak of.

All the things a lot of us would kill ourselves with stress to have.

Funny part was, he was envious of the fact that my music is transferable to other countries.

He said, "You are so lucky you can move your talent to the Dominican Republic and do it from there.  I'm stuck here."

I have lived.

I continue to live.

I plan to live a hell of a lot more.

Friday night, I realized that I have created the happiness in my life.

No matter what has been given to me, I find a way to get happier as my life goes on.

I am no where close to believing in some dude up there in Birkenstocks, a toga, with hair and a beard that could use a little trim and dye job.

But I realized, that what I do believe in, the belief in the exchange of positive energy, is my belief.

I could exchange all the beauty other people find in that three letter word I'm supposed to believe in, with the word 'energy' and I finally have a way to relate.

I had tears of overwhelming joy, which were a little embarrassing.  However, My Gratitude Buddy and all the other sweet souls who comforted me made me feel welcome to have my feelings.

You see, I attended the Shul for the 3rd time again Saturday.  What that building lacks in size, more than makes up for it with positive messages and love.

It truly is a place of peace.

I realized that my agnostic verging on atheist struggle has begun to rest.

I am ready to let go of the atheist within me.

I can believe in energy.

I don't have to call it what the zealots prefer I call it.  I have a belief system and it works for me to keep me happy.

The most wonderful part about this, is that in my 3 visits to that place of Judaism, I have found some more people who consider themselves agnostic.

They, too, are searching.

They, like me, are needing more than just a few words in some silly book to tell them how to think.

There are so many free thinking people I have encountered in that building of love, and I realized something yesterday; I fit in.

I've found my place where they allow me to be who I am spiritually.

I have been building my belief of energy since my spiritual breakdown 10 years ago.  I can now say that I'm well on my way to understanding what people mean by praying.

I couldn't get it before, because how could I ask some imaginary dude for help?!?!

I still can't use the word 'pray'.  It's too much of a reminder of the evil in my Catholic upbringing.

But I can say I create positive energy around me.

Those tears of joy washed away my strife of searching for my place.

I have a new path.

It sure is a beautiful feeling.

today's mantra from my MC Guru:

let's live life with joy instead of judgement ~ don miguel ruiz

Sorry. Try again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I also understand the need to keep our community safe.

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

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

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

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

It's not.

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

Fine!

Be a zealot!

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

Call me a dyke?

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

Call Papi a Tranny?

Why yes he is.

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

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

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.

tomorrow ...

When the rain sets in for the winter, those voluptuous drops of water are like little shards of glass pelting my body.

Every one of them wreak havoc on my injuries, and people say, "You're limping!  Are you ok?!"

I just want to get to the Dominican Republic and stop the ouch.

Even though we can't leave until all my legal crud is cleared up and the G'ma goes to her new home in the sky, I'm feeling like I'm really going to be there 'tomorrow'!

It was pointed out to me last night, that Papi not only has to pass as a guy for his safety, but for my safety too.

That part didn't really occur to me.

I'm such a romantic idealist, that I just think we're going to move there and people will love us automatically, because we're loveable dammit!

I forget that they are a country where the people could homicidally judge us, if there's any evidence of my love having been a woman in the past.

When we were last there, we became friends with a sweet, young, single father, who was the official photographer of the resort we stayed in.

He showed us a video on his camera of the after effect of a fight.

It involved a machete and a head.

The head was in the gutter, and the machete was nowhere to be seen.

This was a fight over a girl.

They fought to the death for her, and only one head rolled.

So, if they're really going to behead someone who wanted the same girl, imagine how easy it would be for them to dismiss us from the planet.

i have even worse fears that go on in my mind, but i don't want this to get over the top serious with my mind's eye ...

My friend that reminded me that I, too, could possibly suffer at the hands of religious, homophobic people that have been brain washed.  "I'll give you 4 years," I was told, with an added, "you'll miss your queer community too much."

Yes, I will miss my 'rough around the edges friends', my Trust List and my biological and chosen family.

In terms of the Hen Peckers, I can't wait to get away from them and their Rah-Rah-Tranny cohorts.

Good fucking riddance.

I'd rather hang out with goats.

Anyway, I'm not going to get on to the 'ick' that are in our community, but rather get back on track about our haven.

Papi and I are city slickers, born and raised in Vancouver.

Some way, some how, we have to learn what it's like to be country bumpkins.

We will be building our own house, and will probably have to live in a tin roofed home for the first while.

That or a Winnebago.

At the same time, we have to learn how to live off the land.  I can see that my first 2 years are going to be an ample distraction from the fact that I'm nowhere near another queer person, other than Papi.

And the goats.

Goats are queer enough for me to talk to.

Not to mention, I've also been told, by some of my lovely Blogger Friends, that goats do make good listeners.

In my mind, I'm leaving the rain, snow, cold and Hen Peckers behind for good.

I know it's 20 months to 2 years away, but like I said, to me it feels like 'tomorrow'.

At this point, I'm not thinking about how much I'm going to miss my friends, because my romantic idealist brain keeps saying, "No worries! They'll all be coming by to visit you in those beautiful, luscious, healing, rolling hills of beauty."

... tomorrow ...

 

Uh-Oh!

Now it seems that Jesus and the devil are fighting for my attention!

You see, I drink ionized water.

Here's my machine that has helped me so much!

People think I'm a kook because it greatly increased my cognitive healing after my brain injury.  After a year of brain games and following doctors' orders, within 1 month, my 5 minute attention span became 20 minutes

yeah yeah laugh away ... i'm telling you ... it's the truth bitches!

I'm a bit of a water fiend/snob.

Don't bother asking me if I'd like a glass of anything when I come by your humble dwelling.  Well, unless it's coffee, but then I probably have had my one cup for the day and will refuse that as well.

Yup.

Off track.

Again.

Anyway, you have to change both the filters every once in a while when the tracking number gets to 9999, and the numbers are displayed on the front.

So, I approached my wonderful machine to fill my super thick Ikea glass full of oxygen filled love.

 As I got right up to the machine, I saw this:

I suppose that if there is a 'God', and Jesus is hanging around with G'pa in the attic, then The Devil should have a few words in as well, right?!

I mean, we can't really just listen to one side of the story, right?

It's only fair.

All I can say is I hope I don't start seeing Jesus in my toast, or The Devil in my dreams.

But really, all I want to say is I'm still waiting for my phone call from 'God'.

If this phone call does come, you're allowed to legally commit me to an institution.

No, really!

You might as well, because I'll probably be sitting in the corner sucking my thumb.

That would be the final straw that would blow my mind.

In the meantime, while I'm waiting for 'God' to surface and prove it's existence, I'll just keep trudging along with life as I know it.

I mean, it's super important to get in my America's Next Top Model quota, not to mention I'm starting on the next film score.

which has me sooooooo excited!!! this one will be right up my industrial music alley!!!

Now that The Devil has made it's appearance for this agnostic verging on atheist, I can see that my life is balanced again, and I will be back to slamming the door on the zealots that come a knockin'.

There ya have it.

I thought I was famous here in Blogger and Tranny Terrorist land!

Nope.

Even Jesus and The Devil want a piece of me.

Either that or the medicinal marijuana has fried my brain, leaving me delusional.

But then again, I do have pictures for proof!

Jesus lives!!!

Ok.

I'm pretty sure Jesus is stalking me.

Let's back up for a sec.

Remember the sewage flood and The Great Sewage Flood Purge?

It's been a while since I've been to the attic to see what clothing I have.

Well, if I'm being honest, the brain injury didn't even allow me to know about all that existed up there.

I now have a brand new bunch of dresses to choose from!

The real reason I was up there was to find my winter puffy coat.

Found it!

And guess what I found in the pocket?

Seriously.

Of all the people that could receive this little gem, this agnostic verging on atheist is the last one to actually appreciate this gift.

I'm pretty sure that if I believed in 'God', I would be shouting from the mountain tops that he's sending me messages.

No.

It's just Jesus, and here is my gift:

I thought it was probably the Tranny Terrorist making a funny, but my love assured me he didn't do it.

Honestly.

Who's the one who keeps getting the zealots at the door?

Who's the one who incessantly has to explain to the G'ma that I don't believe in her 'God'?

Who's the agnostic verging on atheist who gets royally pissed when people try to push their beliefs on her?

And who's the one who has Jesus in their pocket?

Me.

I don't really get it.

It definitely wasn't G'ma who put this gem in my pocket.  G'ma can't get up the stairs.

g'ma has just left for 3 months!! my blood pressure has resumed normal levels ...

So, there's a mystery in the house, and I'm pretty sure I know who did it.

Yup, it's Jesus, and he's stalking me.

I don't deny that he existed, but I have a hard time believing that he's always hangin' around me.

Though I just have to wonder, who's the devil who keeps taunting me with all this!!??!?!

Hang on!!

Maybe it was the ghost of G'pa.  I occasionally feel him in the house, and apparently he was a real joker.

So there it is!  I just figured it out!!

G'pa has combined forces with Jesus and they're playing games with me.

Papi always says, "I wish you got to meet G'pa."

I have, Papi.

I have, and he's a cheeky bugger.

If you ignore it, it will go away ...

Well, you know how you wake up and the first thing that you need to do is have that morning pee?  It's kinda like we go on autopilot and walk like zombies with a penchant for brains.  We take each bleary eyed step to the throne, and while we're sitting there contemplating what business needs to be done, ...

... or like me, you wonder who will be the one to clean the bathroom floor ...

... and our ritual is over before we know it, coupled with our eyes being a little more open.

Well, I didn't get my morning 'hello' to the all powerful can on time today.  Here's everything I did before my piddling:

• Brought The Golden up for his morning pee

• Explained to the 96 year old why my face looks like this

... because i just woke up you crazy old coot! i get to say the same thing every morning when she asks me, "what's wrong?!?!??!?" in that panicked old lady voice, while she's secretly hoping the answer is something horrible so she can either say, "that's the bunk," or, "there's always something to take the joy out of living," followed by asking about the most recent disaster every 5 minutes ...

• Called to make an appointment with the Dr. for the G'ma

• Asked the zealots at the door, "Are you here to talk about your god? Because I don't believe," followed by a slam in their face when they confirmed my suspicions

• Explained again to the old fart why she's not allowed to put her own pills in her pill box and took them away from her

... this one has been a great repeating record this week ...

• Gathered the old bird's laundry so I may do her bidding

• Brought in The Golden who's bladder was more relieved than mine

• Fed the clan

 ... minus the sleeping patient papi ...

• Yelled back up the stairs to the task master that I don't care if the wild bird seed has run out, then muttered under my breath "Fuck off!" in the loudest whisper I could

• Called HandyDart to cancel the old poop's ride to the senior center, where all the blue, white and grey haired ladies talk to each other about different stories simultaneously, because nobody can hear each other talking.

I desperately jumped onto the latrine, so I may start my morning routine.  It was at that moment that I realized what my 'rough around the edges friends' told me yesterday.

I went out for a beautiful breakfast hang out with a couple of lovely friends, not to mention awesome greasy food that I'll be paying for for a few days.  They were checking in to see how I was doing around Papi's male transformation.

Throughout our conversation, there was a common theme that was abounding: I don't take care of my needs around this.

I'm busy making sure everyone else around me is ok, but I haven't really looked at myself lately.  It hit me while the tinkling was sprinkling that they may be right.

I have been pretending that I'm just doing fine around Papi's transformation.

But honestly, I'm not.

There are some key issues that need to be taken care of around the transformation, and Papi and I got to talking about it while tears were rolling down my face.  Not to mention, snot was adamant that it would roll out at the very moment I tried to speak.

classy! didn't i mention how classy i am?

I've been trying to pretend that I've just slipped into Rah-Rah-Tranny mode and everything is fine.

The other half of the equation is that the sun is pulling it's light and warmth away from our planet.  It's during this time of the year that I am subject to what a lot of people deal with: Seasonal Affective Disorder.

It's a little more difficult since the accident, because of the added pain from the cold and the rain, but I now grasp what these two Trust List friends were trying to get me to understand.

I need support.

Papi and I are going to find someone to be a mediator to help clean this up.  We need to have everything worked out before we get to the Dominican Republic.

It will be no good if I don't have a support group and am isolated with my shit.  Mind you, I'm sure the goats will be good listeners.

However, now that I see it, I can't ignore it.

S.A.D., unresolved transformation issues, the neglect of myself.

Yeah, I took a little breather from reality for a few months there.

... denial ...

Now I'm at a door I can't slam shut.

This monster just strolls right in without my permission.

Fuck I hate it, but it's here.

Guess I can't ignore it anymore.

Early Halloween Trick

Ok.

So I got spammed at the door by the sweetest door to door folks that I've ever been spammed by.

I haven't even really sifted through the propaganda yet.  I had to write this first, because it's not often I get to experience such beautiful energy from people at my front door.

And besides, it doesn't really matter.  The story of how I got the hard sell was the best part anyway.

So, I was sitting there being OCD about finding the bargain shopping online, ...

... yes ... when we have ocd, sometimes there's good parts ... like hitting all the sales in town ...

... when I heard two sets of feet thumping up the front stairs to knock at our door.

Fortunately, I was already up, or I would have been really cranky with the cocaphany of barking that I encountered. 

... however, papi was sleeping ... sorry my love ...

Anyway, these 2 prettier than angel, sororety sister-ish, most delicious cheerleaders in the world, 20-something ladies were at the door.

The Galloping Gazelle was with me, naturally.  He was my shadow for a week.  However, it also makes for a good reason why I didn't open the screen, with a simple, "Not my dog, can't open the door," excuse.

They wanted to know if I knew anyone who was hard of hearing or if I knew  someone who did sign language.

hello!!! i just woke up!! i've always wanted to learn sign language!! and there's a certain 96 year old who is deafer than papi and i can handle!!

I put The Galloping Gazelle behind the living room door, and we talked for a while about this poetry in motion.

This then turned to me talking about how much I've always wanted to do it.

Which then turned into how I want to teach children English in the Dominican Republic.

Which then turned into how I could learn it from a DVD.

So, here's where it got going.

The instruction manual was teaching sign language by making your way through the bible.

Normally, I'd stop the presses right there and say, "Have a good day," but these girls were just such beautiful sweet souls they didn't give me that zealot vibe.  I thought, "Yeah, it's all right.  They are just talking about how they learned it.  They're not talking about recruiting me for the first agnostic verging on atheist to be born again."

So, we talked a little longer about sign language and I said, "Good luck on your venture," with my happy face on.

When I got to the bottom of the 'my didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs, I heard the rapping on the door again.

... dammit people.  ok.  do you know how much it hurts to walk 'quickly' back up the stairs again?

Well, there were the two beautiful angels again with the greatest, "I'm just so sorry," faces on and I had to love them all over again. 

They just wanted to give me their contact information, and a little bit about the mission they're on to find all the people who are hard of hearing to give them more of a community.

Of course, I just thought they were going to give me a couple of biz cards 'n pamphlet thing.

I mean this envelope didn't look frightening:

Seriously!  Read this:

I was so excited because I thought maybe there was a chance that I'd be able to learn it and bring it with me to the Dominican!

When I got to the bottom of the 'my didn't they do a great job of the carpet' stairs again, I opened it with joy, then let out the biggest laugh that I probably woke Papi.

If you're not familiar with this propaganda, I'll get it a little closer to show you:

Ok you little buggers.

You got me.

But I do have to say, you got me in the nicest way possible.

Good on'ya!

now i'll be leery of those crafty, pretty girls.

But one thing I did realize in the middle of our sign language conversation?  Perhaps there's someone in the Dominican that will be able to teach me sign language in exchange for teaching English to their bambinos.

The greatest part of that whole interaction was when they told me I could learn sign language in the Dominican, because there's tons of people there who use it.  I said to the crafty, pretty girls, "Thank you so much.  You have just given me an awesome new possibility for my next venture in life."

And I truly meant it.

After I opened the envelope, it felt like it was Trick-Or-Treat just a little too early, and I got the trick end of the deal.

None-the-less, I do know that these angels came from a place of love, and if love is being spread from what they're doing, then go, ladies, go!  You are truly the kind of people that give me faith in the religious kind.

I'll just hang on to that nice feeling for a while.  It's not often I leave those circumstances with a feeling of love.

I'm sure it will take no time at all for the evil, religious zealots to piss me off and ruin my love fest with hate.

It's me we're talking about.

I'm not really known for holding my feelings back.

No more running.

One of the questions from my award yesterday was, "If given the chance, which one would you choose: Your life now, or past?"

My answer was, "I definitely choose my life now.  My past is what I run from."

It was the first thought that came into my mind.  The next thought was a memory of being in self-defense.

When I went through a course to learn how to not be pegged as a victim by offenders, I gained some great tools to keep myself safe.

One was to walk like a boy.  Offenders don't look for that in a victim.  They search for a meek soul that they can overpower.

Yet, one of the most important weapons was to stand tall against your attacker, and make yourself heard as you scream, "I don't know this person!  I need help,"(or some variation of the two) while your adrenalin is pumping so fast, that you kick and scratch, surprising even yourself!

You could probably blurt out something else, and it wouldn't even matter.

The point is, these pussing bags of scum can't handle it when you voice your distress and they usually take off, looking for someone more passive and timid.

I realized yesterday, after writing that I run from my past, that the time has come to scream back in it's face.

My own offender of Ghosts can't hurt me if I choose to face it head on.

However, it doesn't take away the feeling that is human nature.

shaking ... heart pounding ... tears fall today ...

This morning, I woke with endorphins rushing through my blood, as my first thought of the day was of the sweet teenager who hid under the kitchen table whispering to the kids' crisis line.

I needed to speak to someone about the fact that I was attracted to girls.

I was a drug ridden, suicidal young girl who believed that to be a lesbian was (very vocally) viewed as 'disgusting' to my family of religious zealots.

I was called disgusting a few times.

Not because they knew I was gay, but because I kept myself completely obliterated to deal with my 'secret'.

"You're disgusting.  You're no better than your father."

I hid under that kitchen table, confiding in the ear of a stranger.  I cried as I admitted this shameful, covert information.

Then it hit me: Could I trust them? They would have my phone number!

They would trace it back to where I live and tell my hopeless, single mother that was stuck with two kids, just how 'disgusting' I really was.

I hung up the phone as fast as I could, remembering from T.V. shows, that tracing takes a few minutes of talking before they could find you.

Maybe I got off the phone fast enough?!?!

I shrunk under that table, as if it was a refuge from my very own earthquake.

I repressed it even more.

I kept it down by refusing to open my mouth, even to food.  If I could fade away, along with those numbers on the scale, then I wouldn't have to try (and fail) to kill myself again.

just ... disappear.

Every day I would write my weight on the top of my diary page and think to myself, "Just 5 more pounds and I'll pass away."

shrinking, shrinking, falling away with the weight ...

One night, I was willing my heart to stop.

It felt like it did.

I was scared that I actually could die, and finally went back for some help.

Well, this is just one of the memories that I have felt the need to run from.

No more.

It's time to take care of that sweet teenager who never got to bask in the light.  She was a pretty young girl who would walk with her head down, hiding the world like blinders on a horse.

if you just ignore it, it will go away ...

I think I can see now that it never really goes away, so now I need to face it, like Momma Bear. 

fake it till you make it ...