Ding Dong the Witch is Dead......toxic relationship is c'est fini

I finally broke up with the person who was making my life miserable, after a month of sporadic contact I forced the conversation that ended it all.

I wish I could have let all my anger out but I still loved them and could not bring myself to say anything really hurtful. No friends going forward, I am still too weak to see them in any social setting...better out of site and out of mind.

I did in no uncertain terms tell them that they had behaved horribly, cruelly and were the worst sort of coward.

Did my unfortunate history have anything to do with breakup....yes partially

I can't believe how much this toxic relationship damaged my self confidence.

Well it was good to be the normal one in the relationship for a change.

Big thanks to Alice, Cass, Joanne, April and Julie for listening and providing a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.

Music is the best medicine sometimes:

Happy Re-Birthday to Me......Two years since surgery on Canada Day, as a good friend texted this morning, "Happy April Day Canada"

Yeah I'm two but I'm reading at a grade six level....

Two years since surgery on Canada Day, as a good friend texted this morning, "Happy April Day Canada"

Here is Buddy price singing about birthday cake, I think?

As you can see from the photos I marched, the first time I ever marched for or against anything. Although my politics were likely to the right of most of the organizers I still walked the entire route of the trans march, in heels no less. Bright pink top and a very short denim mini skirt.

I wasn't sure if I would when I went to Toronto on the train that afternoon. I still believe in being stealth and only tell those I care about. I was a little worried about TV cameras and press but I rationalized that I would be pretty invisible in the crowd.

I would have held myself cheap had I not marched when I had the opportunity, such a small gesture compared to the courage of those trans women and men who threw the first punches at Stonewall.

The same trans people who were written out of the history books but that is a story for another time.

LIFE WITH VERONICA No I didn’t pine away for lost love and expire like some Victorian tubercular poet...but damn it was a close thing.

No, I didn’t pine away for lost love and expire like some Victorian tubercular poet...but damn it was a close thing.

So many tears shed, so many Ravonettes song listened to over someone who was pursuing their own mysterious agenda with my heart.

I don’t enjoy daily access to my extended fleet and lack the garage space to continue with my Stutz project (working on cars is my preferred means to combat depression) so I must seek solace in Bettie and Veronica. 

It is an international ménage à trois,  Veronica is a bad girl from St. Louis, Missouri, 3809 Union blvd. to be precise and Bettie, conceived in California at the Calty Design Centre and brought to life at the Higashi Fuji plant, 1200 Mishuku, Susono City, Shizuoka Prefecture.

More about good girl Bettie next post, we are here to gossip about Veronica.

She is only happy going fast on smooth surfaces, the Sharkbite coil overs make the deplorable side roads between Hamilton and Toronto (well to be honest most places in Ontario) an exercise in noise, harshness and vibration.

Veronica likes to drink to excess but is happy to swig unleaded regular grade unlike Bettie who can only stomach high test.  The t-tops leak in the rain, the AC stopped working during the second Reagan administration...I assume and the lumpy cam L82 motor generates enough heat to melt the soles of  my pumps.

I had lunch with my father today, he picked me up in a V8 supercharged Jaguar sedan, OMG I missed riding in a long wheelbase car. Having owned many a sports car his zen advice on driving a slammed ride was “you just have to look ahead and know where to put your wheels”. 

Veronica might be a bitch to live with on a daily basis but she looks sooooo damn hot. The C3 body style is better looking than any Ferrari and is rivalled only by the Lamborghini Miura in exuding pure feminine sex appeal. The less said about her agricultural underpinnings the better.

On days I don’t have my daughters I will even drive her to work, nothing beats the kick from showing up in a Stingray, the Ramones or Sylvie Vartan blasting and the smell of a hot car, the heady mixture of gas, oil and rubber. 

The picture above captures pure unadulterated automotive joy at getting Veronica out of storage....true love....or the closest I can find.

This summer I haven’t taken her to any shows or cruise nights but I have flown home in the wee hours with the t-roofs off (tangling my fine hair into knots in the process), been caught in a near tropical storm where I couldn’t see past the length of her hood, sat at one am blissfully content listening to her hot engine tick and cool in the still evening air.   

God help me I love her.

Here is the latest from the Dahlmanns, "He's A Drag"  I tell you I lived this song!

Hugs,

April