is this the end of the chapter?

I guess the best I could do was apologize, but that wasn't enough.

She wouldn't even give me a chance to make it up to her and now, well, I've been deleted off her and her wife's Facebook 'friend' list.

However, there's another half that is just as devastating.  My being selfish has warranted me being fired from the band BlueLight.

I guess all the times I talked about being able to do more music when I'm in less pain from living in the Dominican Republic didn't matter.

She felt that I, selfishly selling 2 of my musical items, meant that I didn't care about our project and that I was quitting, but that was so far from my thoughts.

Now, I'm fired for my egocentricity of not thinking about her first, not thinking about storing my stuff there and not asking permission to sell my own belongings.

They've done so much for me in this friendship, and are such minimalists, I never thought for a second that she'd want to store my 2 crappy items in her home to collect dust.

I didn't want them to feel I was overstepping boundaries by asking them for another piece of their space.

I was already going to be taking a huge part of their home with my piano.  Now it's time to find it a new surrogate.

One of the crappy items I was selling was bought at a pawn shop for $100 for fuck's sakes.  So, to me, the excitement of getting a new keyboard was thrilling!

Yet, it was wrong, because I didn't ask my producer's consent to start anew and selling that keyboard broke our friendship.

It's a quarter to four in the morning, and I can't sleep from the sadness of not only losing one of my closest friends, but twofold, being kicked out of our project.

I have to say, she has never understood what it's like to live with this new brain.  She wants to believe I am the same as I was before the motorcycle accident donned me with brain injury.

Yeah, so do I.

I fuck up so much.  I act before thinking.

I can't think properly when I'm stressed, because once that stressor has kicked in, my brain can't do the right thing.

I get lost and disoriented.  I get panicked about situations and react abnormally.  I don't have the 'get up and go' I used to, to hustle for the band.

Worst of all, I sell my things without asking if that's OK with my producer.

At one point, when she was saying the meanest things to me, I asked her to call me to talk about it.  All I wanted to do was clean it up and keep my friendship and musical partnership in tact.

She wouldn't.

Instead of talking about it, her and her wife deleted me from their lives.  It makes me wonder; have they thought I was that selfish all along and this was just the last straw?

I guess I won't know, because she won't talk to me.

When I said I was purging my life, I didn't mean it literally!  I meant it as in the 'things' in my 'life' that are replaceable!

I should have been specific and said I was purging everything that was monetary, not my friends or my band.

I'm so heartbroken I can't even tell you.

Papi is being such a supportive, sweet love.  Just one of mi esposo's hugs will help strengthen my heart.

One thing I can tell you though, is there is this wonderful little item on the market called Rescue Pastilles. These little puppies are working wonders for me.

Every time I'm in my usual hyperventilating of tears, these little buddies take me down a notch so I can get out of the cycle of crying, and into a calmer place.

Goodbye clonazepam!  Fuck you and your poison!

I've found a natural way to heal the emotional triggers that create the bedlam of P.T.S.D.

Still, it doesn't mean that I'm magically happy.

No, being dumped by my friends who I love so much hurts, and will probably stick with me for a lifetime.

This sadness from my loss is so deep.

Perhaps I should hoard something?

i am a worthy friend

here comes the hurt.

There is so much more than just selling things to deal with.

Now come the emotions around and within us.

Papi and I have to be prepared that we're going to find all kinds of reactions, because people are hurt that we're leaving.

This says we're loved greatly, but it still doesn't feel good when someone I would never expect to give low blows, did.

I forgive.

Still, I am hurt.

I understand where she's coming from, because I didn't deal with 'things' in the right way, and didn't think about her first.  I have owned up to my mistake, but she still doesn't see that I'm not abandoning our journey together.

I'm not leaving anyone or anything.  I'm just moving a little further away, which will mean that this big, massive world will seem smaller, knowing that the people I love are still close in my heart, even if they're a gazillion miles away.

We are keeping in mind that we need enough space for my baby sister to come with her family, so that means we'll be having enough space for our chosen family to be there with us as well.

I've never had so much love around me in my life, and it seems so surreal that when I find the most love, it's my turn to leave.

Still, I have to do this.

I have to go live a life in less pain.  I can't really live a life here while I'm hobbling about like an old woman, trying to function with a foggy pain med head, and moaning non-stop about that fucking bitch of a back.

I have to do this for my physical and emotional well being, even if it hurts the ones I love the most.

We have to purge everything that is replaceable and start our new life.

Still, I know that I'll be holding on to everything that can't be replaced, like the hearts in this life that I've collected very carefully, and the music that I've created, and am in the process of creating.

Those are the things that will not be left behind.

So, when one of my besties reacts in a way that is lashing out with hurtful words, it absolutely puts me into a tough spot.

I'm so sensitive, and when someone attacks me with anger, I retreat.

I cry, then I hide.

I forgive, and I love, even while the wounds to my heart are weeping.

I'm so tender right now, and it doesn't help matters that we found out only a few days ago that G'ma is going into the home sooner than we thought.

They called us to tell us her day is this coming Tuesday.

We're dealing with all those emotions as well.

Not to mention, someone informed us yesterday that if The Golden is not fit to travel, they won't allow him to.

His poor old legs are having so much difficulty holding him up now, and he's beginning to collapse all the time.

We embrace him as much as we can, because we know his time with us is short.

We know he has to say goodbye to us, but we thought that we'd be able to bring him with us to the Dominican Republic, and have him pass away with us there.

It may not work out as planned.

There is so much going on in so many corners of our lives.

The last thing I need is one of my closest friends to push the buttons that create more inner turmoil in my heart.

It hurts.

It takes away from the joy of our life decision.

We can't live our lives for anyone else, and we can only do the best we can with what we have.

What we have is a dream that's coming to reality.

Please don't rain on my parade.  I love you too much.

i am a positive and valuable contributor to all my relationships

HOARDER!!!!!!!

There were people emailing, texting, phoning and the frenzy was beyond that on our selling page.

We thought we'd put things up and see if they sold.

Oh, they sold.

We couldn't keep up!

At one point, there seemed like there might be a bidding war, because of the need for a few items.

My love didn't expect it at all.

I've tried to tell him how garage sales are a really good thing and that if done correctly, you can get a lot of cash.

Papi said, "No garage sales!  Too much work!"

Really?  And that wasn't work last night?

Christ on a stick!

My bitch of a back started nipping at me at 6:30 a.m. from all the stress of trying to keep up!

The Great DR Purge is quite successful so far, but it also means that we won't be needing the Garage Sale Gala.

Through all of this, I've realized that I'm a full fledged hoarder.  I've just been keeping it in check all this time.

It's been a job keeping it under control, but I've managed to have it down to people only saying, "Wow you have a lot of stuff to move!"

All my golden items mean so much to me.  My love just wanted to drop them off at the 2nd hand stores around town, but when you're a hoarder, that just won't do.

No, we pack rats have to find specific homes for things.

Our belongings that mean so much to us collectors, that need to be somewhere we know they'll be loved.

As I put my items into little piles, I cringe when mi esposo comes to see what they are.

I feel the need to hide them!  Save them!!!  They're special!!!!!!!

They're going.

It really doesn't matter where they go to in the big scheme of things, but to put the hoarding mind at ease, I have to feel that my items are being loved.

Sounds familiar.

Being loved.

I suppose that's what hoarding is all about, isn't it?

We hang on to things to fill us up, because we feel too much loss in our lives.

I suppose it's a way to feel we have control over our lives.

If we can control our 'things', then we aren't out of control ourselves.

Right?

Nope, not even close.

Even having all my 'things' around me for all these years, I haven't had control over my life.

There is nothing we can do to sway our circumstantial fate.

Hanging on to items only pisses your friends off when you have to move.

It also makes for a hard time asking for help.

Once somebody has moved us, they never volunteer again.  Oh, they've done their time alright.

More than done their time.

So, this is my apology to all those out there who have heaved all my stuff for so many years.

My next move will be pretty damn easy, but unfortunately, you can't come help us in to our new abode.

That's just not going to happen, even though it would be super fantabulous!

Alas, it's just Papi, the Fuzzy Family and little ol' hoarding me, only lighter.

i always receive more than what i need

what's mine is mine.

Oh, what The Great DR Purge is bringing up.

As we go through our things and decide what goes and what stays, it brings out a lot of memories to relive.

Good, bad and ugly.

... i will have to scan and post my 80's hair for ya!!! ...

One such memory, is a picture of being reunited with my dad in '99.

It saddens me that I have a deadbeat dad who is a manchild.

Since that reconciliation, I've tried to have a relationship with him, but it's not possible with someone who doesn't know how to do it, or give back.

Having said that, I understand a little bit more about him.

He got a girl pregnant at 15, and I can envision how sad my dad must have been to always know there's a child of his out there that was taken from him at such a young age.

I sympathize with the feeling of grief.

I more than perceive the feeling of guilt.

I can picture how it stumped his emotional development, and even when I popped up as a mistake only two years after he let go of his first child, he didn't take that as an opportunity to work on himself.

Instead, he threw himself further into the abyss of drugs.

When I saw that picture last night, it flattened out my heart.  I had to put it down to remember why it is I can't have a relationship with him.

If you want a friend/family, you have to be a friend/family.

It's so hard to know I can never expect a birthday call from him, or for that matter, a belated congratulations on my wedding.

He can't be there for anything in my life that has importance to me.

There's nothing to share with him, because he's an empty shell.

Seeing it in that picture crushed me.

I could see the wanting of a father in my little girl in my face.  I was hunched over, shoulders turned inwards and was as small as I could possibly be, with the greatest smile I could ever muster.

He was my dad for that small girl who didn't have him to grow up with, if only for that moment.

I have a visual to remember that.

Having lived a life of a fair amount of loss, this photograph is another example of why I am responsible to fill myself up, because I could never count on anyone else to do it.

Certainly, he can't, won't and never will.

He abandoned me when I needed him most, which has made it very difficult to trust anyone as I grew to a woman.

Well, I have a brother out there who probably grew up in a wonderful 2 parent home, with so much love that he may never have had to feel this loss.

I found out his birth mother's name.

My aunt was gracious enough to give a phone call to my sperm donor to find out her name so that my baby sister and I can start on the journey of finding our big brother.

I've known of his presence from a young age, even if nobody believed me all these years.

I feel like he may be searching for us as well.

He's out there.

That little missing piece of our family.

I wonder what he's like.

Healthy?  Happy?  Successful?  Perhaps, none of the above?

It doesn't matter to me, because all I need to do is find him for whatever reason, because I've been psychically connected to him since I was a young girl.

As for dear ol' dad, I have so much love for you, but it's sad to say, love just isn't enough.

we have to accept that some things may never be ours, and learn to appreciate the things that are only ours and ours alone.

omfg to the power of 10

So, I haven't been able to talk to you about this yet.

I think I needed to process it out loud with a few friends before I jumped on here to blob/blab about it.

There's so much emotion around it all, that I don't even know where to begin.

Let's start with G'ma.  She's been accepted into a nursing home August 1st.

This brings up so much for Papi.  My love feels immense guilt about us not being able to care for the old bird on our own.

I have to be honest, I feel a lot of guilt too.  Even though, as a couple, we've taken care of the old fart for 4 years while we lived in this dark basement, I still feel bad that it's time for us to start our adventure of married life together.

Most people, when they get married, embark on their lives together and start making memories.  We haven't been able to do this, because our lives have not been our own.  Our lives have been about taking care of poopy pants upstairs.

G'ma is really needing this though.  She's not able to be alone at all and really needs so much more than we can give her.

We have to watch everything she does, lock away the cookies, booze, pills and hearing aid batteries, not to mention monitor her eating.  We have to remind her to eat her meals.

Occasionally, she'll ask for her sherry at 10 a.m. and I have to be the parent and remind her that it's not the right time of day for her to take a nip at the bottle.

It really is a full time job, and I'm not capable of too much when my bitch of a back starts her fucking whining.

G'ma doesn't quite get that when I'm in a state of pure ouch, I'm not able bodied during that time.

Point is, the month after she's in her home, the house goes up for sale.

When the house sells, Papi and I will go home shopping in the DR!

Then I may have to come back and waste away my dream life, awaiting trial for my court case with a bunch of folks who don't realize that I've paid my insurance for years to be protected in the case of an accident.

They feel the need to say, "Nope.  You don't get to be taken care of after being hit on your motorcycle, donned with brain injury and lifelong pain, even though you paid for the security of it.  Nope.  We don't want to give you the support you paid for."

In any other business, this would be called false advertising.

However, that's a different story I don't need to get into, because I'd rather think about the good things in my life and getting better.  All that stuff is up to my lawyer.

My job is to keep working at getting better.  No money in the world will take away what Papi and I have had to go through with this accident.

Anyway, this means that the process of The Great DR Purge has switched into high gear, and I started my Spanish lessons last night. 

I can't be going there with broken Spanish, especially when I try to say, "I'm hungry," but it comes out as, "I have man."

It was soooooo cool to be able to put all my vocabulary into sentences last night.

I know I won't remember most of it, because I need a lot of repetition with this residual post-concussive trauma, but at least getting started will help me learn my grammar for when we get there.

Anyway, back to the purge.

What stays/goes?

What the hell are we going to do with all this stuff?!?!?!  Massive Garage Sale Gala is what.

Yet the whole point of this blob/blab of the day is, it's heart pounding excitement mixed with debilitating fear!

The unknown is coming closer!

The adventure of a lifetime is walking up our driveway, and she's got a basket of thrills to share with us, complete with a saucy smile from ear to ear that says, "Ooooh, Nelly are you in for a blast!!"

She kinda looks a little psychotic to me, but that's cool.  I can handle psychotic.

... and now i know how to shoot a gun in case she gets outta hand ...

Still, it's hard to decide which emotion to feel at which time.

Guilt?  Joy?  Fear?  Trepidation?

Yes.  All of the above.

life is a thrilling amusement park ride

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.

Good Vibes

Remember the most recent uncomfortable moment I had with my mirror?

I found the best way to use that piece of paper.

I cut the positive mantras into little strips.

What I've started to do, is place them in secret spots around this dark, cold, rainy city.

When I was visiting my MC Guru in the hospital, I placed this first one.

I had to put it somewhere that someone would see it, be curious and grab it.

Fortunately, the back is super shiny X-mas paper, so it would have definitely caught someone's attention.

But I also had to put it somewhere that wasn't too obvious.

So, while I was tinkling in a co-ed bathroom, I found the perfect place.

Behind the dirty scrubs bag.

So, when someone would be sitting on the crapper, freaking out about their surgery or what-have-you, they would have this view.

I've put another in a bus shelter, and another on the SeaBus.

The SeaBus was fun, because there were so many people there that it was hard to do it inconspicuously.

I had my old lady cart with me, and I nonchalantly leaned back and taped it behind the cart so nobody could see it.

I then waited for the masses to leave the vessel, as if I didn't care that I was the last one on the ferry.

I usually do that anyway, because I'm such a slow walker, that it's just easier to let all the frantic go-getters off before me so they don't get frustrated with my cripple saunter and say mean things.  Then I get mean back and it's just not nice.

Anyway, I've now decided that I've found an awesome way to get rid of all that X-mas wrap that's upstairs collecting dust.

When I'm done with all the mirror mantras, I'm going to get the rest of the X-mas wrap and start writing some more then bomb the city with positive mantras!!!!

I hope that someone out there who's reading this gets to find one of my gems.  Let me know if you do!

The other day, I didn't have one with me, but I had a little piece of writing paper with me.

I drew hearts jumping into the ocean.

It was my way of saying, "Jump into the abyss with love."

I left it on the bench I had taken a break on in one of the nastiest areas of town that needs the most support.

I hope that each and every person who finds these gets a little blast of the emotion it emits, even if it's only for a moment.

It's actually pretty exciting to put these things out there. 

Papi thinks I'm nuts, but I'm cool with it.

It is a little crazy, but it's also so much fun!!!

We will have a wonderful clutter free home as we rid the house for The Great DR Purge!

I love love.

i care for people

Speaking of asses ...

Today I let some stranger get down into my meaty cheeks.

I'm a little uncomfortable with that, considering we have a friend ...

... and i'm sure some of you out there do as well ...

... who has been sexually assaulted by their massage therapist.

However, he does a method called myofascial release.

I'll try anything!

But I'm still a little uncomfortable with some dude gettin' down in there.

Ok, I'm a lot uncomfortable with it, but I'm desperate.

It reminds me of the hospital visit for my motorcycle accident, where I had an even more invasive treatment.

They rolled me on my side, then the younger than me doctor approached me and said, "I will need to place my finger in your anus to check your spine."

He hadn't yet experienced all the joking I was doing, and was a little shocked when I responded, "God, don't tell my girlfriend, she'll be jealous!!"

He didn't laugh, but the rest of the nurses did.

A lot of time, I use humour to defuse my fears.

It's a great system that I learned from one of my greatest counsellors I had.  She was around for a good 10 years of my lessons in life.

I had to let her go after that accident, for legal reasons, but she taught me more than anyone to date.

Like dealing with life's challenges with humour.

If you can't laugh, you're not doing it right.

I'm not saying it's easy to laugh while we're hurting, but damn, when the hurt is done, if you can't laugh at yourself, life is only going to beat you down over and over, and you'll get deeper and deeper into that dark place that holds you by your every cell.

I truly believe that the only thing that is important in this life is happiness.

I've been to third world countries, and seen that those with the least of anybody on this planet know how to find happiness.

We, in our first world lives, really need to learn from this.

I need to learn from this.

Happiness.  It has been my only mission in life since I first started having struggles with my chemical imbalance.

I knew that living with such deep sadness and pain wasn't the way to live, even at the young age of 11.

From that point forward, life has handed me lesson after lesson to practise my happiness with.

I'm still learning, but something I do have to say is, I'm getting out of the sad so much faster now.

What I experience now is healthy, situational sadness.

We have to allow those moments to be felt, because they are true to our feelings.  Yet when it swirls around and brings us further and further into the Pit of Doom, that's a problem, and we are under obligation to work on that.

Life is not, and will never be, fair.  It's how we deal with it that gives us our good life.

Like I've always said, we are responsible for our own happiness.  It's up to me to do what I can to turn around my thinking.

Like today.

The fear of having some stranger gettin' all up into my butt really scares me, but it's possible that he could help me.

I am willing to try.

I am willing to trust that he's a good person.

Fucker better not break that trust or there will be more than just another Hurricane Andréa sighting.

Goddammit!  My ass gets a lot of action!

i fill my mind with positive and nourishing thoughts

bum dye

Today, I go for a bone scan.

Creeeeeee-peeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

I actually didn't know about this before.

They put green, nuclear dye into my bones and see where it lights up like the 4th of July.

Seriously?!?!?!

Ew.

Then, they'll be able to tell where it is they need to treat.

Since the motorcycle accident, I've been envious of people who have operable back conditions.

They get their surgery, and bingo!  They're better.

Me?

I literally work my ass off and I still have a mother fucking bitch of a back.

However, there may be something to help me!!!

I've waited a year to get in to see this doc, and within a week she's got me thinking there's a possibility to have less pain.

But here's the part that's really funny.

To treat it, when they figure out where the inflammation is, they give it a shot.

With Botox.

That's so goddam funny, I can't even tell you.

So, they'll be shooting Botox into my right ass cheek every few months, if it works.

That means one of my ass cheeks will be more youthful than the other.

I'm going to have to work extra hard to perk up the other one.

I guess I'll have to do one legged squats.

Anyway, the only part that scares me is getting my hopes up.

We all know what getting our hopes up means.

We could be in for a let down.

Kinda like the birthday party that never happened.

See, if I just called it a 'dinner plan' with my best buddies, then I wouldn't have been so disappointed, and I would have been overjoyed that my pals showed up.

That right there is why I haven't openly celebrated that day in 15 years.

No expectations, no let down, and the day just goes by without anybody knowing about it.

It's just so damn hard to not have hope sometimes.

It really goes against the whole theory of thinking positively.

How the hell can I think positively, yet not have hope or possible expectations?

I just don't know how the fuck that works.

Yet.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to the possibility of less pain and I don't give a shit.

I know I can live with pain, so even if it doesn't work, I'm good.  Even if I do get let down.

However, life would be oh so beautiful without pain or the use of pain meds.

Oh!

I forgot.

I wanted to share something completely off topic with you.

Mi esposo es muy guapo!

Chico caliente!!!!

... swoons ...

i accept and love my body as it is, and i work to make it better

Time to get a gun.

That's what I'm thinking.

Interesting that this Miranda Lambert song was the song I sang the most yesterday.

Some songs are made for the day better than others, however, I didn't know why I played this one over and over, other than the fact that I love it.

You see, Papi had a birthday surprise for me.

He told me to be ready by 3 and not to eat a big lunch.

How could I not eat a big lunch?

I have $350 worth of food to eat before it goes bad.

Including a wheat free, dairy free birthday cake, filled with sugar to throw my chemical imbalance into a tizzy.

Fuck it.  I ate it.

I ate the whole fucking thing.

That's right.

That's what you all get for missing my birthday:  Hurricane Andréa, complete with zits from head to tits.

What fucking ever, I don't fucking care, and I finished that bitch off last night.

Today I'll be starting on the salmon and shrimp.

Anyway, back to my wonderful surprise.

For starters, we went out to a wheat free, dairy free restaurant and I had a Reuben Sandwich.  It was good times having sauerkraut hanging from my braces.  It made for good Brace Face.

When I was finished brushing my teeth after an hour of hogging the only bathroom in the joint, he got out the GPS and we headed out of town.  As we drove closer to bum-fuck-nowhere, I got more and more curious about where the hell we were going.

Oh, but when we got to the door, I can't tell you how ecstatic I was!!!

A fucking shooting range bitches!!!!!!

I blasted those mother fucking bullets into the pretend person's head and chest. 

I didn't really have anyone in mind for a kill list, so you can all rest easy.

Goddamit, I can't tell you how fucking good it felt with every kick back that little canon gave me.

BANG!!  BANG!!  BANG!!

Take that mother fuckers!!  And that!!  And that!!

I've always wanted a gun and nobody will allow me to have one.

... can't imagine WHY?!?!? hehehe ...

I do have to say, it was probably the best birthday present/surprise ever.

It felt so good.  It felt just like I've always expected it to feel, but it was over too soon.

At the end, when my heart was pulsing with adrenaline, this is what I looked like:

Do you see that look in my eyes?!?!

Oh, how I enjoyed it.  Maybe just a little too much?

It's interesting that the song I played on repeat over and over all day was foreshadowing my day.

Indeed.

Time to get a gun.

life is a joy filled with delightful surprises

Would you like a nice slice of "Fuck-it-all?"

I'm not really in the mood to be writing today, but for you, I will anyway.

Here's my cake.

 

The two friends who actually showed up for my party wouldn't let me eat it as is.

They made me cut it.

Here's the inside.

When 12 of the 14 people called on the day of the party to say they couldn't show up, at first I thought, "Woohoo!  More cake for me!"

But it's a hell of a lot of cake to eat all alone.

... alone ...

I've been giving away a lot of it, and I've learned my lesson, yet again.

15 years ago, I told myself I would never celebrate my birthday again, because people don't show up.

When they don't show up, I get let down.

I would get so hurt, because I felt I wasn't important/loveable/popular enough for my close friends to give a shit to come celebrate my life.

This round, I know I'm loved, but the cosmos just do not allow me to honour my life by way of a gathering of loved ones. 

I guess being gathered by people I love is just never going to be in the cards for me.  Every time I'd be left alone on past birthdays, I would spend my whole day crying, wondering why I'm not good enough for the people I'm close to to show up.

Granted, this time, every single person had a good reason for not being there, but it still didn't take away from the fact that it hurt that everyone but two bailed on my day.

Of course, My Gratitude Buddy showed up later on just to be here on my day, even if it wasn't for the party.  I can always count on her and the other two that showed up.

Even on my actual birthday yesterday, only one person called me.

Here's ironic for you; it was my mother.

I spent the day wishing I never said I'd celebrate.  I spent the day wondering what the fuck is wrong with me?

... i spent the day crying and admitting to someone about how on my birthday, every year, i secretly wish i was dead and i hide from the world... shhh ... don't tell anyone ...

Being left alone this time around is different.  I know they love me.  It's just that I went against my better judgement and thought that people would actually show up because it is my last birthday here in Vancouver.

Didn't matter.  People got sick or whatever and again, yet again, my heart was broken.

I spent $350 on steak, salmon, cake enough to feed an army, alcohol for my drinking friends/family and the list goes on.

I could've used that for the bills that are screaming at me.

I'm pretty much just going to cancel my week, eat cake and cry the sugar out of every pore in my body.  I haven't actually stopped crying since My Gratitude Buddy left late Sunday evening.

And people always ask me, "Why don't you ever celebrate your birthday?"

Well, when even the closest loving people in my life are somehow energetically stopped from coming, there's just no fucking point.

You can bet I won't be bothering with a 'leaving the country party'.

Nobody will show up.

I'll just go away quietly and build a new life with Papi.  I can always count on Papi to make my day wonderful. 

And to give me clonazepam to stop the tears.

if you keep doing what you're doing, you'll keep getting what you're getting

Mmmmmmmm ...

Today's the day!!!!

I ordered my wheat free, dairy free birthday cake a week ago and TODAY IS THE DAY!!!

Of course, it's also exciting that I get to see my chosen family/closest friends.

They'll be here to celebrate my birthday, which is actually tomorrow, but really it's all about the cake.

I might even share.

... might ...

Papi and I have so much to do to get ready for everyone, so I won't have too much time to chat.

But I had to tell you.

At 11 a.m. I pick up my round, luscious, chocolate raspberry cake.

Seriously.

If you had to spend $50 on a cake every year, you'd be pretty excited too.

I don't usually celebrate my birthday, but I thought I should, considering this might be my last one in Vancouver.

It better well be.

I'm not sticking around this cold as an igloo fucking city anymore.

I'm in too much pain from the brr-r-r-r!!

But anyway, my cake celebration will commence at 2, but then I have to wait patiently until it's time to eat it.

I figure, since it's my party and all, that I should be allowed to have cake for dinner and fish for dessert.

Whad'ya say?

Should I fight for my right to party down with my cake?!?!

I think so.

But there may be a few people who have something to say about that.

Oh, heavenly birthday cake.

How I will enjoy your decadent raspberry filling and divine chocolate fluff.

Oh, how I am drooling already.

It's really quite evil to make me wait for cake.

Oops, I forgot to tell you.

It's loaded with sugar.

Enjoy the happy Andréa today, as there may be a Hurricane Andréa sighting later this week.

I don't fucking care.

I'm eating my cake.

mmmmmmmmmm

I am homicidal.

I could never be a Buddhist.

We have a problem in the house.

Moths.

G'ma leaves all her grains, cookies, crackers etc. out and the moths have a breeding heyday.

We're constantly putting her food in the fridge or in airtight containers, yet she still leaves them out.

It's kinda hard to train a 96 year old toddler who has the will of a bull.

So, here we are, playing the kill the moth game.

There are little trophies all over the house.

You will see little smears of dead bug guts along every wall and ceiling.  Every few weeks, I stroll around with the spray and cloth and remove their carcasses from our walls.

This morning, as I went to make my coffee, I noticed something floating in a dirty glass.

Yes, a dirty glass.

Listen, I never admitted to being a good housewife.  I'm a musician.  Not a maid.

Anyway, there was this glass with something floating and as I leaned in to see what the fuck it was, I had joy.

A dead moth floating in the water!

I actually sang a dead moth song.

"Ah-ha-ha!  Dead moth in the water!"

... sung to the tune of south park's tom cruise and john travolta gay in the closet song ...

I even boogied a little.

The cripple boogie.

A slight wiggle of my ass.

Then I realized how happy we get when we kill them.

One less moth in the house everytime we kill one.

Papi will give the growl of, "Yes!  Fucker!" when he crushes the little buggers.

They're everywhere and I'm losing it.

Little fuckers are starting to chew at our clothes.  This is not good in a femes world.

It's impossible to be loving and harmonious with a winged creature that destroys my clothing.

My clothing?!?!

Don't do it mother fuckers.  I will be your biggest enemy.

We have some moth killer paraphernalia, but I really don't see the point in using it unless we can train the old bird to keep her food airtight.

At least we can keep ours airtight so that our food is healthy.

Can I tell you how utterly disgusting it is to go up into G'ma's cupboard and find a box of cereal consumed by moth webs and cocoons?

Have I made you throw up in your mouth a little?

Anyway, I could never be a Buddhist.

I feel the need to kill these bastards.

I am homicidal.

i forgive myself

airing the room

I am a hoarder.

Or so Papi says.

I'm seeing how he would see that, though.

I've spent my life working day jobs, only to support my music habit by way of being an Odd Job Jack, or Jack of All Trades.

Except for music.

That one, I can safely say, has been the only thread in my life since I was 2 and a half.

I'm pretty sure I came out of the womb a musician.

Not kidding you.

At 2 and a half years old, I was giving concerts on my toy piano at the end of my parents bed.

At 6 a.m.

Every morning.

Yet here I am, looking at all these stints I've done just to survive.

I have recycled papers upon papers of tourism notes about Vancouver and our Vancouver Island from when I was still driving tour buses.

I can't drive anymore.  I'm letting it all go.

I am releasing books upon books of instruction for my 13 year stint as a piano teacher.

I am not able to keep up with the stress of being self-employed.  This new brain just can't hustle like it used to before the motorcycle accident.

None-the-less, I am thoroughly enjoying The Great DR Purge.

At the same time I'm purging, I'm seeing a direct correlation to what focus of energy means.

I've been so insecure about letting go of day jobs, because I never felt that I could make a living from my music.

It's hard!  You've seen countless starving musicians, haven't you?

However, now I see how letting go of everything will allow me to be open to what I'm supposed to be doing.

Granted, in music, it's not about how much of a genius you are.  It truly is who you know.

Even back to Mozart's time, his gift of genius was really only given to the world, because he had a patron of the arts.

Back then, they would feed, clothe, and house the musician, so they could be asked to play whenever the rich folks wanted.

Hey!  I'd be into that!

Anyway, my point is, I'm only so lucky to have My Gratitude Buddy who has been mentoring me on how to get the composing work I deserve.

I have met my patron of the arts. 

She doesn't feel I should be doing anything but earning an income through music, and she knows the BigWigs who can get me there.

OK, I'm now getting to my point of this blob/blab.

My point is, this motorcycle accident has taken a lot 'away' from me.

By taking away from me, it has allowed me to earn the enlightenment of how to let go of what I don't need anymore.

I am purging my life's past, except for what I need.

All I need is what I require to make music, mi esposo, my Fuzzy Family, my blood and chosen family/friends and love.

I am purging my past.

Everything is zeroing in on right now, and right now, my life is coming into it's fate.

I'm releasing my past clutter, to make room for what I deserve.

i pursue my life's purpose

Is this parenting?!?

I get to have lunch with my mother today.

We're working on our friendship and I'm really happy about it.

It seems to be a regular routine every Thursday now.  I go do my physio, then, while my body is cooling down and the ouch is setting, we chow down on lunch.

And chat.

Having told my mom that I felt she was never proud of me, she seems to be listening to my dreams instead of criticizing them now.

We are all different, and just because we come from the blood of another family member doesn't mean we have the same thoughts, views or feelings in this life.

I follow dreams, while others may follow the norm to feel secure in this world.

I've learned that there really is no security in this world.  Anyone who trusts in the security of this life will be in for a learning experience.

Which isn't so bad, as far as I can see.  Learning is why we're here, and every day is a new adventure!

We can make plans all we want, but it doesn't mean life is going to follow our wishes.

Life has it's own plans.  Life will never be fair.  It will be a balance of good and bad, and our only hope to get through it, is to focus on the good it brings.

Hard to see the good in this one, however.

Here's a jack-off who really believes he can change his son's sexual orientation by buying him anything he wants:

Now I know why all the fags of the world have so many good toys in their lives!

Daddy tried to bribe them with money!

All daddy is going to get is a hefty credit card bill and a son who really knows what love means, and it probably won't be for his father.

I had to dig a little to figure out if this was a joke.

It's not.

This mother fucker deserves all the strife he has with his son.

His anger and homophobia will eat him alive, cell by cell, while he rots his spirit to blackness.

Hopefully it will happen before his son matures, so that his son can live a life that is peaceful without having to deal with his fuckwad of a father in it.

Anger can really do a number on us.  If we live with it so deep, it truly will kill us.

Heart attack.  Cancer.  Stroke.

You name it, your homophobia will get'cha.

This is the only hope we have for these 'humans'; that they will die off like the dinosaurs.

Hopefully they'll die off before they brainwash too many youngins to think that they're horrible people because they love someone of the same gender.

I was 13 when I started to realize that I had feelings for girls.  I cowered in my fear for years before I could bravely tell my homophobic family members the truth.

If we're lucky, there comes a point when you can't scare us anymore.

This kid who's being coerced by his father by way of financial gain will find his strength.  I'm sure of it.  He's seeing the fun of getting anything he wants, plus seeing his loves on the side.

He'll lurk in the shadows with his lovers and collect all daddy's shiny gifts ...

... dude, i'd be asking for a porsche and a house before you out yourself!  get the good stuff! ...

... until he's realized that he doesn't need the security of his father's wishes.

It will come.

When it does, let's hope to hell this kid posts a Craigslist add about how fucking hard his father took it.

it's not about getting a chance, it's about taking a chance

nervous

I'm going for a job interview today.

I'm really only looking for a day or two a week.

We have to see if I can handle it.

As my doc said, "Let's see if it doesn't kill you."

I'm sorta nervous.

Mostly because I say silly things when I'm nervous.

Put an interview for a job in the mix of nervous, and anything could come out of my mouth.

Last two interviews were cut short.

One, because I was not able to lift more than 20 lbs.

The other, because she immediately berated me because my animal experience wasn't on the résumé.

Yeah.

I figured non-traditional training wasn't right to put on there.

However, in the crankiest way possible, she told me so.

Anyway, this job is with small and exotic animals.

I know I can pick those up on a good day.

I think they should just hire me to be the door greeter for all the animals like they do at Wal-Mart.

I'm good at greeting.

Animals like me.

People on the other hand?

It's hit or miss.

I'm one of those that you either love or hate.

I'm cool with it, because the people who love me, love me greatly!

None-the-less, I'm nervous.

I still hope they love me.

I can't think of a better day job than to be surrounded by fuzzy, scaly or feathered critters of love.

Except those creepy crawly ones.

I don't want to be in the building when someone brings their pet tarantula in for a check up.

... shudders ...

However, I gotta run now.

My coffee isn't finished like it usually is before my blob/blab.

It's a tragic way to start the day.

to be beautiful means to be yourself.  you don't need to be accepted by others, you need to accept yourself ~ Thich Nhat Hanh

goodbye.

We had such a beautiful send off for The World's Loudest Snorer.

We all met at one of her favourite parks.  Really, it's one of every dog's favourite parks in the lower mainland of Vancouver.

Here's a blog dog's eye view of Bridgman Park.

Fortunately, we didn't have to walk very far to get to her spots she enjoyed.

Coincidentally, this was where I'd go for my lunch breaks when I was a piano teacher.  I would bring my Dearly Departed Gypsy to this little nook in Lynn Creek, and I'd watch her play with water, rocks and logs while I enjoyed my food.

Then I'd have to endure the wet dog smell in my tiny little hatchback of a car for the day.

Anyway, here we were again, only to say goodbye when the craziest thing happened!

It was the same damn thing that happened when we released my Dearly Departed Gyspy's ashes in the water at Ambleside Beach!!

... which is sorta like doggy disneyland if you want the visual ...

Dogs appeared like magic, and chased the ashes while they were carried away by the current of the ice cold water.

There was one who knew The World's Loudest Snorer, and another who didn't.

They chased the sweet loving energy as it traveled amongst the water.  It was as if their spirits had embraced the departed as they left.

When it happened with my babygirl Gypsy, I laughed because it would have been the only time that she was ever chased by another dog.  She would have never willingly allowed it.

No, she was a crotchety bitch from the day I got her.

Anyway, when the same thing happened with The Snorer, it was like the connection to my long lost girl was reaffirmed.  It was like she was right there with me, to say she's never going to leave me.

It was as if she came to take our recent loss's heart and guide it to where she needs to be, so that the newcomer may find peace and happiness.

There was also a few more amazing things that happened.

When we got there, there was another woman who had come to see her Fuzzy Family member off to be with the other dog's spirits.  We all embraced her and asked her to stay for our goodbye as well.  She had tears, we had tears, but all in all, she was a part of the healing as well.

Out of the thick of the trees came a dog I thought I recognized!  Could it be?

I turned around to see if my friend was there, then waved her over.

The moment she saw us, she said, "I could tell you were having a funeral ceremony, because she always seems to find those who are leaving us.  She finds these ceremonies everywhere she goes!"  She is another one to send off the spirits.

It was absolutely incredible to see these intuitive creatures join in and show us that even though we are hurting, there is still so much joy to come from our Fuzzy Families.

There is an extended Fuzzy Family that we don't really give credit to.  It's important to remember how connected these creatures are to us.

Our ceremony was followed by a picnic and playing in the park with my Godson and the rest of the family.

I realized two beautiful things on this day.

One, I am part of their family.  These beautiful souls accept Papi and I as a couple of token Honkies.  They love us just the same as if we were born to the family.

Two, The Godfather and I have no fucking idea what we'd do if we were called on to be permanent parents.

Does this:

... look like we know what we're doing?

Good god!!  The Turkey doesn't even want to get a picture with us.

Never mind.  He's still a part of our lives right now.  So is the energy of the sweet spirit who left us for good on this day.

regardless of the situation, life goes on

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

more death talk.

He's baaaa-aaack.

The Galloping Gazelle.

He's really doing well with the cats this time around, but that doesn't matter to them.  They remember.  Oh, how they remember.

The Bastard Prince has taken root on our kitchen island, and The Mrs. won't come out of her office.

We have to carry them to the litter box in intervals to make sure they get there.

Then there's Psycho Kitty.  Psycho Kitty doesn't give a shit.

He'll just swat at him.

At this point, we are blessed with the cacophony of dog screams, because Sir Bark-A-Lot gets scared as well, even if he's ten feet away when the swatting happens, and it's not even directed at him.

Furthermore, Psycho Kitty doesn't even make physical contact with those claws of steel, so the song of dismay is pointless, really.

Here's the good part though.

Sir Bark-A-Lot actually likes him.

Now this may not sound like a big deal to you, but if you knew what an asshole he is, you'd be surprised that he could like any dog.

But he likes him.

Which means no barking.  Just tail wagging.

Well, a little growling.

He has to make sure The Galloping Gazelle doesn't move on in with the love.

The Golden ignores him.

Anyway, it's going to be a hectic weekend.

Not to mention, an emotional one.

Tomorrow we take care of The World's Loudest Snorer's ashes.

I can't call her a snorer anymore.

She's a dog angel.

We're going to her ceremony of releasing her ashes.

My poor, sweet, little friend, you have no idea how much you are missed by so many people.

We'll all be there tomorrow to see you off.

Today is another day to deal with death.

I'm going to the Relay for Life that my baby sister is at.

She's there to remember her best friend who died of cancer.

I'm there to support her in her venture.

She won the top prize for the most money raised!!!!

My baby sister is amazing!!!!

She beat out a corporation in fund raising!!!! 

My little baby sister.

She rocks.

There will be many people there today, who are remembering those they lost, and fighting for those who need financial support.

I'm going to be there for the living.

To date, I've only lost one person in my life to cancer.

And it was when I was a little girl, so I didn't really grieve, I just moved on and missed them for a little while.

Everyone else I know has fought and won!

Including my mom.

Cancer, you're a mother fucker.

don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines

just for today ...

As I sit in this little coffee shop in the downtown core and people watch, I can't help but think about 2 days ago.

First thing in the morning, sometimes even before my 'wake up and run to the washroom' tinkle, I have to take care of the old bird upstairs.

Really, it's so I don't forget.

I walk my zombie self, complete with watery eyes and bad breath, to do the routine before I eagerly get back down the stairs to make my coffee.

The other day, one of the first things G'ma said was, "Do you know what today is?"

I answered, "Wednesday."  That wasn't what she meant.  I thought she forgot the day, which both of us tend to do as we foolishly check for the mail or newspaper on a Sunday.

Anyway, she told me what the day is.  "I was married 70 years ago today."

My heart broke, melted and rejoiced all at the same time.

"Happy anniversary!" I quickly chirped.

She didn't think it was a happy anniversary.  Her husband died a few years ago.

It saddened me that this was how she saw her day only as sadness and grief.  I asked her, "Do you think you could remember the happy memories to celebrate your day?"

We all do it.  You know what I mean?  We look at loss as our focal point.

But what about the good?  What about all the beautiful memories to remember?  Why don't we just bask in the glory of how much love we had, and celebrate it?

We are way too human for that.

Just like when an animal loses a limb, they don't worry about what the general population of fuzzy friends will think.  No, they say to themselves, "Ok.  Now I have 3 legs," then learn how to walk properly and carry on with life.

Not us humans.  We feel loss in a different way.  We're very emotionally intricate.

We also care too much about what others will think of us when we have a disability.

When I was first out of the house after my accident, people would give me looks of disgust, because they thought I was drunk.

I looked pretty drunk.  I couldn't walk alone with my cane.  I needed help.  That or a wheelchair.

But it really affected me that people would judge me so harshly after all I'd been through.

Especially because of the fact that I was clean and sober!!

However, such is our human nature.

Back to chatting about G'ma.

... but it's all about me isn't it?!!?!?!? ...

She put her whole life into her husband.  They did that in her generation.

I've heard about the G'pa.  I never got to meet him, but apparently, I would have really liked him because he was cheeky.  I wish I met him.

Regardless, nice and/or cheeky as he was, G'ma followed him to wherever he went, whatever he wanted to do and his friends became her circle.

I hope to hell that I continue to have an independent life while being coupled with my love.

I know that a lot of my life has been meshed with Papi, which is just beautiful, but I really hope that when I'm old and grey, if mi esposo leaves this planet before me, that I will still be grateful for my memories.

I hope that I will still continue to do things that I enjoy, and do them knowing that my love's spirit is always with me.

Or, I hope that I go first.

Nobody wants to be the one left behind in love.

Ah, but there I go.  Thinking about the future again.

That's human nature as well.

Right now, I'm going to enjoy the fact that I have the greatest love, and that soul mate is a part of my life.

don't dwell on the past or worry about the future for too long.  right now is life.  live it!!

Honky 'Fro Head

Day of hell!

I get picked up by the 'short bus', then off to the doc, then off to buy tights, ...

... that's the most exciting part of the day!!!! ...

... then off to the gym to do my daily physio, then off to have lunch with my mother, then visit a friend in the hospital, then the 'short bus' picks me up to get me home.

Or, so they say.  Please, please, please get me in the time you promised today, MVT!!  Please I beg of you!!

It's raining really hard out there, and the wind is blowing it sideways, so that it will travel under your umbrella.

I don't own an umbrella.

My hair is my umbrella.

Today, I'm going to have the craziest Honky 'Fro.

Big hair.

Totally.

I'd tame it in a ponytail, but then the rain might be creeping down my neck.

I wish I had an excuse for not going out, but I don't.

I won't be in pain for another 4 hours, so this is not an excuse.  I'll just bring my pain killers with me like I usually do.

Anyway, I gotta run.

Well, not literally run.  Just the cripple run.  Kinda like a normal walk for others.

Anyway.

Yuck.

i am calm

Pronoun Hell. It awaits me.

Well, I can't deny it anymore.

More and more strangers out there are starting to see my love as a male being.

I don't know when the big switcheroo came, because like I've said before, I'm much too close to Papi to see drastic changes.  The changes all come too slow in this male transformation.

Well, except for The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida

That was a bit too fast for my liking.

Anyway, this story is set when mi esposo went to visit someone in the psych ward.

Now, before you start thinking those thoughts about people in psych wards, I do want to tell you, that you never know who's been there.

It's not all drooling lunatics on anti-psychotic meds.

Sometimes, it's people who just can't swallow the meals life is putting on their plates.  There are a lot of people suffering in this life, and some get to a breaking point where their mind wants to quit.

I know what it's like.

I should have been in the psych ward a few times from various break downs I've had from life's peddlings.

You never know if the sweet person you work with, who has that heart that everyone wants to warm up to, has been there.

We are all sensitive people and some of us reach meltdown faster than others.

Ok.

So now that I've gotten my mental health advocacy out of the way, I'll get back to my love's story.

Actually, the story happens after Papi left the ward.

The woman that my love had gone to visit told Papi that she had a thing for one of the other clients there.

After my love left, this woman wanted to talk to the hunk of burnin' love about perhaps a phone number exchange and a date outside of the ward.

The man was horrified!

He thought that this woman's boyfriend had just left and already she's going on about dating someone else.

This guy thought Papi was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend!!

Male.

Boy.

I dunno.

I just don't see it.  But will I ever?  Or will I continue to see my love as my love?  Or will I eventually see him as a male?

Here's a funny one for ya.

So, there I was spending so much time, trying desperately to get the pronouns down and guess what's happened?

To me now, everyone has the male pronoun.

I'm not kidding.

I now slip up with women and call them he, him, his or whatever male pronoun seems to fit the sentence.

How fucked up is that?!?!

My pendulum has swung to the other side and you're all male.

Every last one of ya.

This is a bit ridiculous, but hey, I've got it down now, don't I?

i have compassion for myself and the way my life has developed

stay calm

I did it!

I orchestrated a change that pleased a group of people, instead of letting my anger get the better of me, then losing it and making myself look like a lunatic!

You see, every week, I've been going to the only yoga class that this bitch of a back will allow me to get through, without going into spasm.

It's lovely.

It's glorious.

But unfortunately, it's got a berserk woman in it, and this time, it's not me.

The class would normally have you sign up for certain spots on the floor, only some of the numbers have been rubbed off and most people will just go where they want to.

We're all used to that system in other gyms.  You know?  First come, first serve.  You want that special spot?  Then get your fucking ass there on time.

I have told her I don't appreciate being yelled at before a yoga class, so she moved on to berating other people, because I stood up for myself. 

The class starts with stress, and it's not a nice way to start a yoga class.

Well, I got through to someone who could make changes and said that perhaps for the better of all clients, we could either a) have a sign up sheet without assigned floor numbers, b) remove the numbers from the floor or c) make the numbers more visible and be sure that everyone adheres.

When I got to the class today it was changed!

The sign up sheet was just first come, first serve and let me tell you, there was a sigh of relief from everyone.

A girl that I would stay at the back of the class with, to avoid the crazy one, said, "Did you see?  They changed the class!  Now there's no numbers to deal with!!"

I whispered to her, "I did it.  I spoke to management and told them how abusive and passive aggressive she has been about the system, and asked them if we could work on it together."

Her eyes widened from happiness, and we smiled huge smiles of relief.

Then the yogi came in and had happy words.  "We don't have numbers anymore, so it's first come, first serve and there will be no more fighting!"

Everyone was so happy.

Our class went so well.

There was laughing, there was positive energy, there were smiles.

Not to mention, the offender in question wasn't there.  Not sure why, but that also added to the good energy that was flowing in the room.

I was surprised that I didn't go off on this nut, to be honest, because my journey to learn peace hasn't been attained.

You could say I'm 'a little' hotheaded at times.

... i'm sure you've figured that one out for yourself ...

I tend to get off on the wrong foot when I feel like I have something to get off my chest.

Even yesterday, I saw the most hideous, racist bastard at a store, and instead of releasing my inner demon on him, I simply sighed a very obvious breath, followed by a throat clearing that let him know I was going to lose it if he said one more horrible thing to the elderly Asian lady in front of him.

He looked behind him to see who was making a fuss, and the look I gave him was, "Go ahead, buddy.  Take me on."

He chose wisely.  He didn't continue to say repulsive, small minded comments.

Again, I surprised myself for not blowing a gasket on the guy.

I know that I need to be more subdued in my reactions, as I tend to piss people off.

However, having said that, some people only hear the loudness, as opposed to the rationale. 

It doesn't really matter though.  Point is, I'm on a mission to learn what the word, 'calm', really means.

What does it mean?

Peace, even amongst chaos.

today's mantra from my gratitude buddy: if plan 'a' doesn't work, there are 25 more letters in the alphabet.  stay cool!

addiction, you're a fucker.

I am so fucking grateful to be sober, and I'm only lucky to be so.

I've lost friends over the past few years to alcohol.  They haven't died yet.  I've simply had to let them go.

I've suffered the repercussions of others drinking, by being betrayed by them stealing from me, or worse, putting my faith in one who I trusted with my family members, only to find they were snap drunk the whole time, and broke my trust.

I've had friends ask for help, but I know I can't help them.

It's up to each and every one of us to see that our lives are worth living, and that addiction is not worth our pain.

No matter how much you drink, your problems will never go away.  Ok, that's not completely true.  If you die, your problems are gone, but then so are you.

Let me tell you, the pain doesn't go away from being sober either.  Life is just plain hard.

It's mother fucking hard!

Anyone who's life isn't hard, is only lucky that they have such a life, and it's rare.

And fuck am I ever envious of you!

However, your path is different than mine.  You may not learn from mistakes because you're not making any.   Who knows, maybe it'll kick you in the ass later on, but that's not my problem.

My problem is loving people who are currently addicted.  My heart breaks, and I get frustrated and/or scared.

I spent the evening celebrating a friend's birthday by being brutally honest about her heading down the slope at such an increasing speed that I'm afraid, and I can't just sit and watch it happen.  I can't enable.  I have to be honest, because it scares the fuck out of me.

When I get scared, I get short fused.

When I get short fused, I speak before thinking.

When I speak before thinking, I hurt people.

I apologized this morning, but it still doesn't mean that my behaviour needs to be forgiven by her.  I'm the only one that needs to forgive myself, because ultimately, I'm the one I answer to in the evening.

It was her birthday dammit! Still, I couldn't just let her get away with celebrating her day without responding to her statement, "I'm so stressed out, I need a drink," with the question, "What is a drink going to do for you to fix your problem?"

She couldn't answer the question.  She only focused on rationalization, because she wanted the drink.

Earlier on in the day, someone very special to me had said, "I don't want to quit drinking because I love it."

I told them, "Well, it doesn't love you!"  No, that demon's nectar is currently on a mission to kill one of the most important people in my life.  They've been told time is almost up and it's serious.

I'm being handed challenges in every corner of my world, with people who are struggling with their addiction.

I suppose my next task in this is to be able to just allow people I care about to have their addiction, and to let them go with love.

I let so many people go who are addicted, but I haven't always done it with love.

No, I simply throw my hands in the air, roll my eyes and walk away, or rather, run as fast as I can.

Only this time, I can't.  I'm being forced to see it in people I love so much, and someway, somehow, I have to allow it to happen around me, even if the results are devastating to my heart.

Maybe it's time to visit my good friend Al-Anon to deal with it all around me.  They just better not be throwing around the 'god' crap, or my visit will be short lived.

Anyway, this is an open apology to anyone who is currently struggling:  I'm sorry that I don't know how to handle your addiction.  I'm sorry that I'm horribly afraid for you, and that I am blunt about it.

This is also my opportunity to say that if I didn't care, I wouldn't be upset about it.

I care.  Maybe a bit too much.

i will not be afraid to move out of my comfort zone.  some of my best life experiences and opportunities will transpire, only if i dare to lose.

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

not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Here's something Papi sprung on me this morning.  "Do you know what happened a year ago today?!"

I thought about it and freaked out.

What have I missed?!?!

What important day have I forgotten?!?!?

My love enlightened me with a proud face, "One year ago today you were sobbing your eyes out because I had my top surgery."

Oh god, yes.

Now I remember.  The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida.

I have selective memory.  That, and I've concluded my 5 stages of grief and moved on to acceptance.

I do look back at that time and realized that I may have been a little more dramatic about the whole thing, but hindsight truly is 20/20.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

But isn't that the story of our lives?

It's why we're here in this beautiful life.

To learn.

My love's scars on his chest are calming down now.  They seem to be less angry.

So do I.

Everything seems back to normal now.

I guess.

Here's something funny.

I think Papi's chin hair is kinda cute.

Yes.  I said cute.

It used to freak me out, even just to think about the fact that there would be hair there.

It's no longer just face fuzz.  It's more bristly now, but it's sweet looking.

Maybe, it's because it's on my love.

I suppose it's because I love mi esposo so much that it just doesn't matter that there's fur there.

People see my love's changes so much more than I.

That's because I see him every day.  The changes are too slow for it to be drastic.

However, I realized that I'm seeing my love a little differently.

Still, it's hard for me to consciously think of my love as a male.

I'm not sure when that will happen, if ever.

I just see Papi as Papi.

I still can't say 'my husband'.

It's always 'my spouse'.  Other people will just jump to 'your husband' immediately in conversation.

They automatically assume that it's a male, because to this world, I'm just a straight girl.

Even as a lesbian in gay relationships, the world still sees me as straight.

It's hard to be a femme in the gay community.  We are completely invisible.

And disrespected.

And adored.

We are who we are.

Anyway, this femme is no longer searching for peace around Papi's male transformation.

I have found it.

It's called unconditional love.

we look forward to the time when the power of love replaces the love of power.  then our world will know the blessings of peace. ~ William Ewert Gladstone