only happy when it rains

Everything is in Dominican Time here.

Including my healing.

But my steps are getting stronger, and yesterday, I made my first home cooked meal in 3 months.

Nothing special.

Canned diced tomatoes stewed with onions, garlic and red pepper, over top quinoa.

These past few months of the Papi diet, aka: eating wheat and sugar every day, have taken a toll on Bubble Girl.

My food allergies definitely add to my chemical imbalance.

My obsessing and anxiety are out of control.

Non-stop.

A lovely Blogger Friend, and amazing writer at Lesbians In My Soup!, really got the essence of what I was trying to say yesterday.

I'm only happy when I have something to bitch about.

I bitch about anything.

Everything.

So, when I'm happy about something, you really know it's genuine.

I'm generally a happy person, and on a regular basis, I catch myself off guard thinking to myself, "I really love my life," but I was brought up to bitch and complain.

It's the way I remember my family as a child.

I think the reason the waves have made me crazy, is because I haven't had enough of anything else to focus on.

Lying around like a bloated manatee will do that to me.

I'm not very good at staying still.

I'm also not very sane when you take music away from me.

It's my meditation.

I also need regular exercise to release the endorphins that help me stay on top of my mood swings and eating disorder.

All of a sudden, as I was making healthy food yesterday, followed by playing my piano, I realized I didn't hear those waves all too often.

The white noise disappeared with the crackle of onions and garlic sauteing in my cast iron pan.

The action of cooking drowned out the drone.

Playing my piano, doing my best to memorize lyrics to the 3 Spanish songs I know, really took me away from everything.

Hell, I didn't even hear The 6-pack barking.

And I know THAT never ceases.

So, moral of my story is, this has been a tortuous 3 months with this ankle from hell.

But I'm making healthier meals as of yesterday.

I'm playing my piano as of this week.

I'm taking baby steps without my crutches.

I even started teaching as of Friday that just passed.

No, I am NOT good at sitting still.

This I know.

Maybe now that I'm literally getting back up on my feet and eating healthier I'll stop obsessing as well.

That would be nice.

I can only handle one obsession at a time.

It's time to search for my SuperGirl Panties again.

I know they're in here somewhere.

I suppose I'll have to do the laundry to find them.

I also need a little more music, healthy foods and some gentle, seated yoga.

That should bring me closer to them.

developing healthy eating habits becomes easier every day

just a weed

The other night, when I went against doctor's orders and went out for dinner, I spoke to the DJ.

We'd become friends with him on a night that Papi had 'a tad' to drink and the DJ put Papi on bell duty to keep his drunk ass busy.

His job was to ring the bell when something good happened in the pay-per-view fight that evening.

Anyway, the other night, he sat with us and I asked him if he'd like to listen to my music.

Papi gets so damn embarrassed when I self-promote, but if I don't do it, who will?

I suppose my last CD could sit up in a drawer forever, never to be shared with anyone, but that just doesn't seem right.

So, Papi begged me not to do it and I had to ask, with all honesty, "Is it because it's not good enough?"

I would hate to embarrass myself by asking someone to listen to my music if it sucked.

He was adamant that this was not the case.  That it was that my music isn't Dominican.

Ummm ... the DJ plays Bon Jovi and Eagles.

Not sure what that is about people being uncomfortable with me self-promoting.

I'm sure if I had someone promoting me like Britney Spears, I would be on top of the music chain as well.  It's all about promotion.

If I'm not doing it, it won't get done.

Years ago, in another life, I had a best friend that was a big support of my music, but she, too, was embarrassed when I would self-promote.

Once, I put on my SuperGirl Panties and gave my music to Jann Arden.  It went really well chatting with her, and afterward my ex-bestie said, "OK.  I won't ever say not to do that again."

Well, the other night, after the DJ listened to it, he had every person who worked there listening to it, including the manager, who said, "Can you play here live?"

Of course I can, but I don't have Drummer Boy with me.

He's back in Canada.

So, now I'll have to find someone here to be his surrogate.

That kinda sucks, because Drummer Boy was the meat to my potatoes.

Anyway, people liked it and I've been asked to bring by CDs.  Of course, a lot will be given for free, because people in this country just can't afford to buy music.

I'll buy theirs though.  Or swap my CD for their CD.

I know how hard it is to get money out of people for your art.

Kinda the same as, I always tip well, because I know what it's like to be a waitress, work really hard to please the customer, then get a buck outta some cheap asshole who had a $50 meal.

Whole point is, there's that saying from Susan Jeffers, 'Feel the fear and do it anyway' that I adopted after my motorcycle accident.

Somewhere along the way, I forgot that we only have a short time on this planet.

That we better fucking be happy and take those chances, because someone can come along in a little red Toyota and wipe us off the planet with one bang to our motorcycle.

When did I lose that feeling of living without fear?

Perhaps I got insecure from the change of moving here and fell back to old ways.

Fear.

A lovely Blogger Friend reminded me the other day, that those who dumped me didn't win.

He reminded me that I am better than that thought.

They were just weeded out of my veggie garden so that they didn't squish out the other healthy plants that are meant to be there.

It's time to plant some new seeds.

i show compassion in helping my loved ones understand my dreams

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

always a solution

Yesterday, a sweet Blogger Friend left a comment that I'm strong and loved.

Well, maybe not strong enough, but resourceful?

YES!

You see, I chickened out.

I got ready, preparing for my adventure, then had a thought.

There's a man here who made our wall, fixed a bunch of stuff in our yard and I've grown to trust him over the past month.

... yes folks ... it's already been a month!!!!!! ...

He has a truck.

His truck is just like the truck the last man drove us in, a Toyota 4 cylinder, although circa 1980.  A little more modern.

I realized, hey, we had hired him to build the new well, and if I'm paying him to work, I'll ask him for help.

I asked him to drive me to Cabarete, because Papi was sick.

I told him I needed phone cards, to talk to the car dude and get to the bank to get his money.

He agreed!

I filled his tank with gas and off we went, 1st stop to talk to the car dude.

Well, all I wanted to do was tell the car dude we couldn't go to the lawyer today to get the papers, because Papi was sick.

However, he's a bit of an alpha and told my chauffeur to drive us to Sosúa, which was another 20 minutes south.

You could see my chauffeur wasn't happy about it, and I tried to say I don't want to bother him because he's working at my house, but the car dude wouldn't hear of it.

Off all 3 of us went in the little truck, that didn't seem to want to drive beyond 20 km/hr, but I got to my lawyer, I got my phone cards, I paid the chauffeur after a stop at the bank, AND we got our placard for our car.

Done!

Now it was time to head home and I said in very broken Spanish how thankful I am for his help and could I put more gas in his truck.

Right after we left the gas station, there was a sound in his truck that didn't sound like a healthy bang.

Oh, but the truck was NOT happy.

We drove 8 km all the way home.

A normal 30 minute drive with Papi was now taking more than an hour, but I'll tell ya, it was sure nice to let everyone pass us as I looked at the view.

When I'm with Papi, I'm so busy holding on to the 'holy fuck handle' above my head, white knuckling it while fighting off panic attacks, and saying, "OMG!!!!" so many times that I really don't have time to enjoy the view.

I'm too concerned with oncoming traffic as we pass car after car and think this is the end.

Yesterday was beautiful.

I got to look at goats, cows, kids, donkeys, chickens, stores that seemed like it was just a house with a few clothing items on hangers on the balcony, and people being hard workers.

I had the best time, and I had a body guard.  Hell, at one point I had 2!

2 men that I could trust to get me where I need to go without trauma.

I have to say, Vancouver has scarred me for life with the amount of times I've been attacked and worse.

I'm terrified of people and like the comment yesterday reminded me, predators can smell fear.

How do you just stop being afraid, though?

After spending the majority of my life with P.T.S.D. brought on by the hands of rancid monsters, I just don't know how not to be afraid of strangers.

I suppose it will take time, and hey, we almost have our car, which I'll drive without a license before I take a 'taxi'/'bus'.

I really think that horrible experience in India has really had an impact on my fear, and considering the amount of times I've been attacked on a bus, I'm not just being paranoid.

I don't want to die like that.

I've already lived through enough in this life and reality is, in this world people can be terrifying.

I'll take that solo 'taxi' ride some other time.

In the meantime, I'd rather drive my car illegally.

Apparently, I'm good with illegal actions now.

every problem has a solution and i seek my solution with resolve

leave me alone.

The puppies are free.  The doors are closed.

We have one man coming back to fix the filter on our house water, but that's really it for today.

I woke up and opened every window and door in our house and smiled at Casa Paraíso and it was a bright shiny day.

It was at that moment, that I realized just how uncomfortable I am with strangers in my space, and just how much I've learned not to trust people.

I know that when I had roommates, it was hard for me to keep Hurricane Andréa under wraps, and the demon horns from sprouting up every time I didn't like something.

Maybe it's because I grew up in small spaces with my mother and sister?

I remember the first time I was the happiest was when I lived in a dark, dank, mouldy basement suite in East Van.

I didn't care how awful it was and that there were mushrooms growing out of the walls in the bathroom.  I was happy because I had my Dearly Departed Gypsy, my piano and my very own space.

Now I see it.  I can live with Papi and animals, but that's about it.

Can you imagine what a crabby old bitch I'm going to be in the old folks home?  I'll probably be that old fart hiding in my room yelling, "Get the hell out!" when someone knocks on my door.

That's if I make it that far without doing myself in with all the stress I put myself through.

Yesterday, I obsessed all day long about the rest of the chocolate that was in the cupboard.

It called me.

I kept ignoring it until the little voice in my head said, "You know, if you eat the chocolate, it won't be here anymore and you can stop obsessing about it!"

So I ate it.  Then berated myself.

However!  I did exercise and that made me feel stronger and gave me hope that I will feel good in my skin once more.

There was also one image that I remember seeing in the past that came up on Facebook yesterday.  It seems to help me every time, and somehow, comes along at the moment I need it.

Leave it to Marilyn to save my brain from insanity.

She reminded me of a time when I was close to 150 lbs and I was completely made of mighty muscle.

I was boxing then.  I was strong.  I had such big biceps that the sleeves of my t-shirt were tight against my arms, yet I had no unnecessary fat on my body and loved myself for working so hard at being so sturdy.

My friend asked me very sweetly, "Just curious, but how much bigger do you need your arms to be?!?!"

I had a reminder from one of my great Blogger Friends yesterday, that he loves his lady no matter what size she is and that nobody really likes to look at a skinny old bag.

All the strangers are gone from our yard.  Our doors and walls are up.  Our pool is still being treated for the mud water, but soon, very soon it will be functional and my life will be filled with exercise.

Today, I stare out at the ocean as I write every word in this blog in my serene space.

Today, I felt like we were actually going to have the life we desire here.

Today, I woke up with a new beginning, and more silliness to continue editing on our YouTube show for its Sunday airing.

I keep being reminded of who I am and what I need to be comfortable.  I'm learning so much about myself in this move.

I am grateful for the lessons, and the fruit ice that I made yesterday to keep my sweet tooth curbed.

What a difference a day makes, how amazing is it to be reminded by mi esposo and my friends that being loved has nothing to do with my size.

it is easy for me to stay on my food plan to maintain a healthy weight

sometimes, you just need a hand up

I'm feeling so much better today, and it's really because of those I spoke about having gratitude for.

The phone calls from my Eternal Friend, My Gratitude Buddy, texts from the MC Guru and the Sweet Ex, not to mention a handful of others, really hit home that I have such amazing people in my life.

I received messages on Facebook from new people outing themselves as readers, sending me love and a new face leaving me a comment of support here on my blog, plus Blogger Friends reminding me they are still here to give me esteem when I fall down.

Then there were the hugs in person from yet another goodbye celebration.

All of it added up to a strong hand pulling me out of the Pit of Doom and the band-aid on my boo-boo.

I'm given positive energy by people I appreciate in my life.

I'm grateful for YOU: Readers and brave senders of private emails and comments here, G+ and Facebook.

I am grateful for people who actually make an effort to send us off on our adventure with love.

I am grateful for people who are honest about their feelings of us leaving, even if they're not excited for us, expressing their sadness or worry.

I realized that any advice I gave to Papi yesterday about his depressive state, I could use for myself, and it really did tie in with yesterday's mantra.

I told Papi he would find MANY people to help that will help him feel like he's needed.

I too, will find people to love me in our new land.

I had a nightmare last night that all the new people I found were abusive, abrasive, dishonest and hateful.

I walked away saying, "I don't want to be friends with these people!"  Off I went, preferring to be alone.

It's true in the conscious world as well.

If I'm not 'good enough' for some people, well, I don't want to be friends with them either.

I find good people everywhere I go, because I have great faith in fellow humans.

I won't have to worry about 'cliques' in any 'community' there, because really, I can't speak sufficient Spanish to be part of the cool kids.

Who knows what their politics are anyway.  We all know I'm not a political person.  Not to mention, I would rather think for myself than follow the herd.

All I want are good hearts around me and people that will enlighten my life.

I've had some good practise the past few months with letting go of users and negative souls quite quickly.

I've taken some brave steps and let go of people that I wanted to be my friend, but found out that it wasn't mutual.

So, why on earth would I let a spattering of inconsequential people trigger my feelings of 'un-want'?

In my moment of weakness, I fell in to the old standby; "I'm not good enough."

That's the one I run to when I'm feeling overwhelmed with my emotions, because it's the one that's been there since I was a child with a deadbeat dad.

The other one is seeing that girl in the mirror that nobody else can see, and panicking.

I've stopped looking at her.  I've decided to trust everyone is telling the truth and that what they see is reality.

That Anorexia Monster is really not something I need to deal with right now.

Here's what I need to deal with: Getting ready to use the 2 month visa we just received today.

We just received it today!!  We are now allowed to go for 2 months of pain free life.

Does anything else really matter right now?

I look at the picture of Casa Paraíso every day now that it's a permanent fixture on my computer screen.  It's the first thing I look at when I turn on this laptop.

It's still really hard to believe it's OURS.

It's still really hard to envision our smiling faces inside those walls.

I see the rooster.  That seems realistic.

If I was any good at Photoshop or any other photo editing program, I'd superimpose us in that villa.

Instead, it sits empty with the only life in it being the rooster in the yard.

Waiting.

i adopt the mindset to praise myself

Naming the baby.

Ok.

Here are some of the options I've been given thus far:

~ Casa del Boomboom? Villa del BoomBoom?
~ Mi esperanza por les putas. 
~ Villa des puma

These three were donated by a very cheeky, yet pervertedly creative friend of mine.  I'm not sure we'll be using these.  But thank you for your hard work and input.

Oh, before I go any further, you do know about Google Translate, don't you?  Go there to check out translations so that you get the full effect of some of the options.

Next one was from The Yank who knows us oh so well!

~ however you translate "furry family" into spanish (following "casa de" of course)

Then there was a very exuberant friend who had all kinds of options, who I think should go into marketing with the amount of ingenuity in that cranium:  

~ Casa de los peros y gatos...cause let's face it, they've got you outnumbered

~ Casa de la ausencia de dolor

~ La casa feliz

~ Casa de los gringos

Next up was a friend who really understands where we're coming from:

~ Casa ante paz/relajación/ House of peace/relaxation

Then a few from another pal who was very excited about the game:

~ Villa NO COLD DRIVE, MOI BIEN!!!

~ CASA DE LA EASTANDREA VILLA
(editor's note: you won't be able to translate this one.  it's a combo of our names.  cute, eh!)

And one from one of my very first Blogger Friends who decided to make us think for ourselves:

~ You should use a word that means something to you. I like Villa better than Casa. Maybe hope (esperanza)

This one from a family member who wants to make sure we represent our Canadian heritage!

~ Casa de los Canucks!

Here's a Blogger Friend who had me thinking.  Couple this with guns and I'm sure we'd be safe:

~ I suppose the dark humour of "Villa Loco" might be misconstrued ? On the other hand, it probably would discourage unwanted guests ;)

Lastly, a Blogger Friend who has really listened to the journey Papi and I have had:

~ If I had to sum up what I know of your life in one word, it would be "change". Extreme change. Even drastic change. And your casa is the latest instalment in that long line of changes. So,

Villa Cambiar

These are all such great suggestions and have really had me thinking about how we want to present ourselves to the village we'll be a part of.

Good god!

This is harder than naming a baby!  When I was trying to have one, I had names picked out with ease!

Not this time.  I feel like I want all the suggestions written around our wall from one end to the other.

... well, i have to admit, except for the first ones ... sorry sweet pea, but i don't need people jacking off in front of our ocean view ...

We have some time before Papi has our massive wall built around Casa Paraíso, so there's a lot to digest.  Of course, we'll still be accepting ideas to give our villa it's spirit.

And now, I have to prepare for Ladies Night!  Yes!  Ladies Night! 

If it's your first time visiting my blog, I'll just let you know it's not the type of night where I sit at a table with my 'rough around the edges' friends who may or may not be drunk enough to look at men stripping in front of them. 

At my Ladies Night, the only guns being slung will be held by me and pointed at a target of an imaginary predator's 'man zone'.

Gimme the guns baby!

i courageously sell my ideas

fuck you starbucks.

I'm on a mission and I need the help of all my Blogger Friends.

Do you go to Starbucks?

I don't really support them all that much, as I support local, ethical coffee shops that have organic coffee, but occasionally I will.  If it's a choice between a shop with no non-dairy substitutes ...

... ahem TIMMIES!!!! you mother fuckers ... how many letters do i have to write?!?!? ...

... or Starbucks, of course I'll go there, because I HATE black coffee.

Unless there's cinnamon brewed into it.

But I won't be getting into talking about my perfect, Dominican style coffee I make every morning.

Anyway, now I have even more reason not to support Starbucks.

Their honey.

That's right.

OK.

So, they've started using these 'packets' of honey instead of the traditional honey bear or some other variation of honey jar.

First of all, this is extremely non-environmental.

Second of all, the fucking honey goes all over my hands!

Third of all, I can't rip the packets open with my teeth, because of my Brace Face! 

There's also the gross thought of the person before me, having picked their ass, not washed their hands and reached into that bowl of packets with their cruddy, germ infested fingers.

... shudders ...

So!

I've started asking them for scissors.

Here's what I want everyone to do!

Ask for scissors!

What will happen is they'll get sick and fucking tired of grabbing the scissors, not to mention they'll have to clean them off all the time, and they will switch back to the honey bear.

Then there's the fact that some of those scissors will go missing and that will be very costly for them.

I'm on a mission folks!

Help me make a change to their ridiculous honey situation.

In order for little ol' me to make an impact, I'd have to spend a gazillion bucks to make them crazy, and I really don't like giving a big corporation my money if I don't have to.

Will you help me?

If you support Starbucks, ask for scissors for their honey and get the honey all over the scissors too!

That would make them even more insane!

It's also kinda fun to watch the barista roll their eyes when you ask for them.

It's the only way I can think of.

Short of us all writing an email.

We all know nobody's going to do that.

Well, except for me. 

I did, but I'm kinda crazy that way.

i have the power to realize my goals

Thank you to all my dearest readers.

Stage one of The Great DR Purge is complete.

I was thinking yesterday about how comfortable it is to not have so much 'stuff'.

Had I have known all those years that all that crap I dragged around with me would be going, I would have chucked it before.

Being a musician, we tend to be hoarders, as we can't part with items we have musical history with.  I learned that one the hard way, when I was so hard up for cash, I sold my first keyboard.

I tried to ask the guy I sold it to if I could buy it back, as he didn't perform or make music anymore, but no dice.  I was so heartbroken that my keyboard was just sitting there collecting dust.

With all the sounds I have on my composing programs, I no longer need it.

Anyway, there are only a few items left and it's amazing how clear the air feels.

My kitchen is actually clean!  It's kinda like the third phase of learning how to be a minimalist. 

Phase one was training I received from The Bastard Prince.  If I leave ANYTHING on the counters, he hunts it, kills it and devours it.

He'll never stop being feral, so I changed my cleaning habits and promptly put things away when I decided to leave the kitchen.  He trained me good.

Phase two was the sewage flood.  I learned to live with only 'needs'.

Now, not having much left to speak of, there's less clutter and less cleaning up to do.

Less mess to look at and ask my bitch of a back, "Do you think you could last another 30 minutes so I could clean that shit up?"

She usually says, "Fuck off."

I don't argue with her anymore.  She always wins.

Papi is also a good motivator.

If I don't go through things on my own, he may consider it junk and pitch it.

... one person's crap is another person's gold ...

We've butted heads a few times on items, like for instance, my gazillion journals from life as a teen onward.

I did a poll on Facebook, as well as with my Blogger Friends on G+, to see how many people say I should keep them.  The poll was unanimously for keeping them.

I won!

... i knew i would, i just needed proof hehehe ...

Really, my journals died off after my motorcycle accident, but I have this new fancy dancy journal called Blogger that I actually get to share with people.

Some folks would be horrified by sharing too much information here on a blog.

I spoke to one person yesterday who confirmed this and outted herself as one of my secret readers.

She told me she reads all the time and appreciates the raw feelings I emote with every tippity-tap of my fingers on this laptop keyboard.

She also told me something that I know to be true of most readers, as I get an average of 120 reads a day; she doesn't leave a comment, because she's too shy.

I may come across as crass when I vent on here like a madwoman, but in reality, I'm really a nice person!  Don't be afraid to say hello!!!!

Even putting a smiley face in a comment would please me greatly.

I know you're all out there, and I'd love to hear from you, even if it's in a private email.

I appreciate you all so much, and you've made me so proud to see you've all allowed my blog to reach the landmark of 50,000 reads.

You, and my imaginary friend, are the reason I still keep going.

I adore you, as well as the people who read who don't agree with me on various topics.

Yes, I appreciate your comments as well, even if I may get a bit pissy with you when I don't agree with you either.

Thank you for being here, and thank you for joining me as I march toward my next landmark.

i love and accept all my thoughts and feelings

educating andréa

So, a Blogger Friend asked if it would have been easier to get through Papi's male transformation if it wasn't intentional.

I think the intentional part is what got me.

If my love was in an accident and his features changed, I would have loved him just the same.

I would not have been a lunatic grieving the loss of my butch.  I'd be too busy taking care of my love, and supporting him while he struggled through a rough time of accepting his own new body.

Which I would understand fully now.

I'm not the same after my motorcycle accident, or so Papi says.

Apparently I was different before the brain injury.

I don't know, because this new brain is all I know now, and I've come so far in three and a half years, that I can't imagine being any different.

Although, I do know that I didn't wobble around and tip over like a drunk, without drinking alcohol, prior to the accident.  I also didn't break as many things and forget so much that I have a permanent list just to get through my day.

However, having said that, I also wasn't as happy.  I won the lottery of life and I will never take it for granted again.

I can say, that I know that my body is not the same.  My days of rockin' out on stage with my lovely bass guitar are pretty much over.  Thank god I love scoring to film, is all I can say.

Anyway, I do believe that the changes being intentional were the hard part.

I believe it's human nature to want to fight for everything to stay the same.

Also, that decision that made mi esposo happy was truly a misery for me, and I'm pretty sure it's back to that human nature thing again, with having to control the situation we're not comfortable with.

I have no control of my life.  It's chaotic and it's the life I've been granted, no matter how much peace I strive for.

Ok.  That is not completely true.  I have control of my food.

It's about the only thing that I do have control over; what I put into my body.  It's been my way of dealing with the chaos since I was young.

Hell!

When I was a teen, I wanted to die so badly, that I actually tried to eat as many chocolate bars as I possibly could, every day, in hopes that I would follow suit with some of my family members and get diabetes.

Then, I decided that once I had diabetes, I'd kill myself with chocolate.

Yeah.  Even with suicidal idealism I'm creative.  And dramatic.  I've always been a nutburger, but don't worry, I'm cool with it, even if others are horrified.

Anyway, back on track: Papi's male transformation.

I have no control over his or anyone else's decisions.

That's a fact.

If we do try to control our better halves, we're sure to lose them.

We loved them enough when we met them to accept them as they are and fall in love, didn't we?

Why the hell do we get into this place of feeling like we have to control our loved ones after the love sets in?!?!?

What the fuck is that?!?!?  Seriously!!!!!

Whatever.  I don't try to control others anymore, but what happens on the inside of me is disastrous as I try to let go of that control.

I get so scared and jump to worst case scenario.

But you know that by now, don't you?

Anyway, my love is nowhere near my worst case scenario I envisioned 19 months ago.

Mi esposo es guapo!!!  Even with face fuzz!!!

My overly creative mind has been educated once more, and for that, I am truly grateful.

no education is wasted.  drink in as many new experiences as you can

munch.

I've had some good advice here.  One of my Blogger Friends told me that I need to move around to get the anaesthesia  out of my system.

I started with that yesterday.

I was also reminded by My ever so brilliant Gratitude Buddy, that the depression is probably also partly due to being stuck in the basement.

Dungeon Syndrome.

I got out of the house, had hugs from My Gratitude Buddy, saw all the wonderful people on the Queer Arts Festival board, and guess what!?!

I ate!

We went out for sushi, and I had miso soup.  Then I decided I would take all the shrapnel out of my mouth and see how wide I can open, and I ordered edimame.

I pulled those little teeny balls of yum out of their shell and stuck them through my now one finger tip width of a space.

Then!

I ate tamago!

Not with the rice.  I just had the egg part and broke it into little pieces which fit through as well.

So happy!!

So, now that I'm able to smile without pain, eat soft food and be out of the house, I'm too busy doing all of the above to really have a good conversation with 'you', my imaginary friend.

But don't think I'm not thinking of you.

I have plenty to bitch about.

I'll be back tomorrow.

Today I'm going on my first bus ride as a non-driver.

... sigh ...

But I know that it will be a good day.  I get to volunteer for Queer Arts Festival.

I'm packing my soft food and all the goodies I need to clean this mess of a mouth.

Back to my life.

i am strong and healthy

Check it!

I am currently healing from jaw surgery.

In the meantime, check this out:

http://discovermusichere.blogspot.com/2012/03/sharing-beat-with-bluelight.html

My good Blogger Friend gave us at BlueLight a lovely review.

honky.

We humans are sick fucks.

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

Nobody really wants to read about people getting happy!

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

There's a difference there.

We people love train wrecks.

We people love to rubber neck.

We love to read about others misfortunes and pain.

Why?

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

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

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

Changing with me.

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

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

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

There's racism all over the world.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sir Bark-A-Lot.  That's who.

Sorry if this wasn't angry enough for you.

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

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

Ahhhh ... just breathe ...

Just a few more hours and we have renewed hope, and a new beginning.

I usually feel this way in the fall, probably because I've been wired to think that September is when a new year starts, with a new grade in school.

School was not my strong point.

I would rather skip out from school and go home to play my piano.

I did it a lot.  Sorry mum.  It's probably why I didn't graduate.

no shit sherlock ...

I was one of the worst teens to have around a school.  I was a teen alcoholic and addict, I acted out, seeking attention because I didn't have a father, and felt ignored and abandoned.

So, my piano was my salvage, and it still is.

I remember one of those years as a terrible teen, I had a dance exam and received 99%.  I was pirouetteing with joy and en pointe proud.  I couldn't wait to get home and show my mum that I had proof that I really was 'good enough'.

even though i had to wonder, why not 100%, did i pick my nose during one of the calmer moments?

The bus home from my exam was so slow!  I wanted to take over the wheel to get home faster so I could show my mum what I had accomplished!

I finally got off that stinky, 50 foot, public Cadillac and chassed up our backdoor stairs.

I only stopped for a moment to look and see if my stalker was in the bushes again.

yeah ... that's another blob/blab ...

Anyway, as I quickly went to open the door, I was halted when my mom was already standing there with papers in one hand, the other hand clenched in a fist and a face that spelled, "Look out baby, she's on a rampage!!!"

I tried to break through my mum's bad mood and give her something to be happy about.

"Mum!!!  I made 99% on my dance exam!!"

I could feel my mother's wrath when she replied, "WHAT are THESE?!?"

As my mum passed the papers to me, I realized I'd been busted for all my skipping out.

You see, I didn't know the school would really have the information about me not having a father.  I really didn't think they even cared what I did with my life.

So, my survivor instinct said, "Hey!  Why don't you write sick notes from your 'father' to the school, and you can skip out and play your piano any time you want!!"

Well, I suppose the school officials knew me too well.

was it all the trips to the office that did it?!?!

There they were.

All my notes from my 'father', telling the school that I had 'this' appointment or 'that' appointment for my fucked up knees, or that I was just plain 'sick' on that day.

My stomach turned, my head almost exploded, and my pride ran straight out the back door I had strolled in.

Caught.

I never did get a pat on the back for that 99%.

Anyway, my whole point of reflecting is, even though my mum could really only see the bad in our lives, there was a spark of the Andréa I am today.

I'm proud of myself, no matter if anyone else is.

I fuck up like every other human, but I still have joy from my accomplishments.

Even though this has been a challenging 5 years of my life, ...

the last one being utterly exhausting ...

... I'm present, and still searching for my positivity in everything that comes my way.

Here is my last entry of gratitude for the year 2011.

We're almost there.

I'm grateful that I skipped out of school and practised my piano, because my 'bad bahaviour' has made me into the musician I am today.

I'm grateful for that 99% on my high school dance exam.  I may never dance again, but I do know that if I could, I'd still be great.

I'm grateful to be able to afford a new cat tree for our monsters.  The Bastard Prince has not been this happy in a long time, and thus, it makes me happy.

I'm grateful that Papi and I both have the same desires in our lives together.

I'm grateful for My Person having come over a year ago today, and consequently helped me start my new trek for happiness.

I'm so fucking grateful to 'you', my imaginary friend, my Blogger Friends who were the first people I spoke to about Papi's male transformation, my ever increasing Trust List, my family and my chosen family for their love.

I'm even grateful to the Hen Peckers & Rah-Rah-Tranny people.  If it wasn't for them, I would have never found the strength in my voice to roar.

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 ...

 

My Brag Blog.

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

It's important to brag!

The Video

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

i'm so spoooooooky

we're so spoooooooky

The Rings

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

did i mention i'm a princess?

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

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

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

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

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

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

My First Published Article Paycheck

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

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

gimme my money bitches!

Secretly Loves Trannies

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

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

it's true!

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

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

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

This is the drug that steals my butch.

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

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

ummmmmm ...

Yeah.

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

Penes.

Don't like 'em.

to put it mildly...

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

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

Ahhhhhh ...

Now who's the old fart?

So, I'm feeling a lot less homicidal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is hard.

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

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

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

I suppose they're right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feeling sweaty yet my dear tranny?

Mwahahahaha ...

Lessons in transgender language.

There was a tense moment last night, when one of my blogger friends referred to Papi as my wife/hubby.

Apparently, my love dislikes the word 'wife' more than the pronoun 'she'.

oh how we learn something new every day ...

I've actually never called my love a wife, so I didn't know how much it bothered Papi.  We adopted the term 'husbutch' from someone in our community.

It worked for my masculine spouse.

When Papi wanted to change his given name, we searched for a long time to find one that would suit mi esposo.

I found it while I was playing a brain injury game to get my noodle rewired.  It was a game of serving people in a cafeteria, and I had to remember their order, plus their name.

One of the customers had the perfect name, and mi esposo's name change began.

It was easy for me to switch to Papi's new name, because of three reasons;

1) I was the one to find it,

2) I, too, didn't feel mi esposo suited the girly one he was born with, and

3) I didn't know the name would attached to a male transformation.

I mean really, my love is not a 'wife' in any way shape or form.

Ok.  Papi has one feminine attribute.  Have you ever heard a masculine person scream while killing a spider?  You would have to experience it to really know the full affect of it all!

Anyway, back on track!

So, now that I'm venturing back into the closet, mi esposo will be deemed my 'husband'.

I don't like it.  It makes me crawl out of my skin.

A lot of the time, when I have to refer to Papi in conversation, I use 'my spouse'.

I don't like that either, but it's the easiest way to get around it.  From the moment I call Papi 'my spouse' people automatically refer to my love as 'he'.

the invisible femme ...

I flail about with my pronouns and proper labels, while I skirt around the issue of it all, letting people figure it out on their own.

Papi doesn't really want any attention brought to the topic when we're out and about, but in the privacy of our own home, my love is stringent about training me with pronouns and labels that my love wishes to be addressed as.

I'm still not able to say 'he' out loud.  Somehow, writing it here is the only place I don't cringe.

Well, maybe that's not entirely true.  I do flinch when writing it here and I still try very hard to walk around the topic, using labels such as 'Papi', 'my love' and 'mi esposo'.

Something very interesting is happening, however.

Now that I'm hyper aware of pronouns and labels that people like or dislike, I've started becoming free of pronouns all together, even when it comes to strangers.

That's the time when I can use 'they'.  I refused to use that word not too long ago because it is grammatically wrong, but I have started to use it when I'm stuttering about labeling and pronouns.

It's like I have pronoun PTSD, and I don't use any for fear that I will insult someone.

In the queer community, people have become extremely sensitive about labels and pronouns, and some of us are having a hard time catching up.

I'm not a political person.  I'm just a creative person who loves people for their hearts, not their politics or gender.

I really do my best to conform with pronouns/labels in the way people prefer, but I'm human, and sometimes I screw up.

At the same time, I suppose it's my job to pass it on to the next person who's learning about transgender people as well.

My hope is that before I die, I get it flowing comfortably.  Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

I mean really, I have a lot of time to get it down before I expire.  People keep trying to kill me while I'm on the road, but somehow, I keep bouncing back.

Pee.

When Papi reads my blogs, it seems I always have portrayed the body of the story wrong in terms of my dialogue.

You know?

He said/she said?

So the other day when there were an abundance of penes around the house, my love was sad that I didn't explain that each of them has a specific purpose.

you're kidding right?

I just see a Plastic Penis.

Well, now I must tell you that one is for packing, another for peeing, and yet another for sex.

Apparently, you just stick a rod in it to get the full male effect.

ummmmmm ... i say no thank you.

I'm quite satisfied with Papi without toys.  I enjoy myself.  I don't need the lifelike penis coming at me.

Then there was the Good Vibrations card that my Blogger Friend has given me.

I told my love to pick out the better harness, because that nasty one that he's using looks like it's been in a few too many rugby games, hanging to dry on the shower rod.

So, Papi goes online, and instead of looking at the harness, what does he look at?

Lifelike penes.

Lifelike.

No, I don't want lifelike.

My love went on to explain that it can do all of the above.

Ok, then it's a definite no.

My love could have the 2 out of 3, but that thing is not coming near me for sexy time.

I prefer the ones that don't look anything like the real specimen.

Besides, they're better.

That is of course from what I remember.

I did spend my time in the closet wacked out on whatever my addict brain could find to keep me obliterated, and as far away from reality as possible.

Well, after my 'hell no!' came for the 'lifelike' torpedo, it was decided that I will now use the gift certificate for something that I want.

Anyway, the whole point of this is not about that 'lifelike' penis, it was really to get to the point about the one penis that pees.

The PeeCock.

I told my love to practise.  Practise makes perfect after all.

So, my love tries, and tries, and tries to get it right, but bathroom time is full of cussing.

"Fuck!  I peed down my leg again.  Guess I'll have a shower," or, "Why does everyone say this is so easy!  It's not easy!  I'm constantly peeing down my leg!  Fuck!!  I'm pretty sure I cleaned it all up from the floor."

Yesterday's was most bizarre, however.  My love was complaining that everyone says it's easy and that the Top Surgery didn't hurt at all, and the hysterectomy will be a cake walk.

Yeah, I don't know who these people are that say it's easy, but I remember my mother being in the hospital after cancer and having her full hysterectomy.

It was not easy.

Papi will get through it, but when I'm really looking at everything that my love has to do to achieve inner peace, I find I want to support mi esposo even more.

I had so much trouble accepting all of this, but where we are now, I feel more compassion for Papi and the difficulty he must have had to get to this place.

Now looking at what lengths my love will go to, it's pretty eye opening, and I'm now at the point when people call my love female, I look at them like they're crazy.

Papi's transformation is indeed changing my mind along with my love's body.

This confirms my statement in the beginning: It's not only mi esposo who will be going through life changes, it is indeed changing my life too.

And it's not so bad anymore.

They're everywhere!! They're everywhere!!

Fake, plastic penises.

The grammar nerd in me had to look up if the plural of penis is peni.

It's not.

It could be penises or penes.

Whichever you choose, they're everywhere.

Last night when Papi was getting ready to leave for work, I came around the corner and there it was.

A bulge in my love's boy ginch.

I averted my head quickly enough, so Papi couldn't see that I saw.

It wouldn't matter if mi esposo knew I saw, but there's some part of me that says, "Don't look!  For the love of god, if you look then it means you're ok with it!!!"

Earlier this week, a Blogger Friend has sent us a wee gift.

Well, not quite wee.  It's a $50 certificate for the online store Good Vibrations, and my love had immediately gone online and checked out our options.

I received a text from my love last night, "There's a packing thing I want and I think it is on that kinky website we have $ for.  Can I get it?  Or do you want something for both of us?  I was gonna get it from another website, but saw it there too.  You look and if you see something you really want, we can get it."

Normally, I would gladly hand over something to Papi before myself.  I love to make mi esposo happy, but this had me in a bit of a tizzy.

I felt that I need to find something fast, or there will be another Plastic Penis in the house.

I mean really!  Today, I got up and started to arrange my area for writing, and there was an open box on the ottoman with a penis inside.

I put it away for Papi, then limped ...

yeah ... the bitchy back is in a foul mood today from yesterday's strengthening ...
 
... to the kitchen to finish my blogging breakfast routine and saw a used workout towel sitting in one of the cubby holes in our shelf.

I thought I'd throw it in the wash.

However, when I picked it up, I noticed something squishy inside.

I unwrapped it and sure enough it was another Plastic Penis.

They're everywhere!

They're in my texts, in my kitchen, in the living room storage boxes and on my love.

Penes.

It reminds me of one of the nightmares that I used to have.  I don't really know why it's a nightmare, because really, I'm not the one being hurt in this reoccurring dream.  Never-the-less, it scared me.

In this dream, I'm on a boardwalk that has been turned into an art exhibit.  The exhibit is all about penes.

I would always wake up when I got to the penis wall: A glass encasing with hundreds of penes, freshly cut at the balls, and swimming in blood.

This filled wall is still etched in my mind.

I would stare at them, because they couldn't hurt me.

It was like I was mesmerized by them, almost as if I'd created the display myself and was proud of my work.

Anyway, I'm experiencing feelings that I've obviously stuffed away for a safe time to deal with them.

Then last night, I made my usual chocolate, coconut balls, and ate too many.

It's not abnormal.  The first day I make them, I gorge, right on cue.

Then the nausea set in and I jokingly wrote to Papi like I do every time, "I ate too many balls."

The joking turned into my love wanting me to eat real balls.

I couldn't speak and froze.

I wrote back, "I don't know what to say :( I don't know how to talk about this.  I'm so freaked out.  I'm so sick in this area baby.  I wish I wasn't."

I honestly feel like I'm back on that boardwalk.

Penes.

Everywhere.