My Dominican Diary ~ Extras ~

After nearly four years of living here, I thought I should jot a few things down, rather than just random Facebook posts. It really is a magical city, even though I do bugger all, like the shut-in I am, which makes it all the more exciting when I do get out.

This morning I was rather busy, and feel I’ve had a full day, even though I was out twice and still home by 11am.

I answered an ad on a Facebook group I belong to for a casting company looking for ‘foreign’ looking extras for a commercial. I sent them a picture and a few deets, like you do, and they said to come by where they were auditioning.

I looked up the place on the map and realized it was totes easy to get to, so good, I was going. I went for a run and then came home for a shower, then ate an entire pineapple, as you do. They are 4 for 100 pesos, so why not, is right!

I got ready and headed out. I love Sunday mornings here because it’s so quiet. I caught a public cab and all was good. A little way along, a young woman got in and gushed all over my tattoos. She spoke English and I ended up taking off my shoe and sock to show her one of my foot tattoos. She said I didn’t have to, but what the heck, right?

On her way out of the cab, she told me it was nice to meet me and said my tattoos looked good on me. I won’t lie, it was a bit of a relief. Like maybe she would have told me they made me look fat?

That last guy got out at a main street where the subway line is and is also where I get out to go to the passport office. The driver said something to me, like maybe I wanted to get out, as well, and then maybe he could go get a coffee and have a piss.

I said the name of the place I needed and then he nodded and carried on, pulling up and stopping for me when we got there. This is when I realized I had been here with my friend when we were trying to sort the banking nightmare.  I wandered around until I found a security guard, two of them in fact, sitting in lawn chairs, having a good chat.

They led me in to see two more guys on security detail, both of them staring at their phones. I showed them the company name and they did a lot of hemming and hawing, before deciding I was wrong. I went back out to the lawn chair men, they sent me to the hotel next door, who sent me back to the place I was meant to be.

The two inside finally walked me through the maze of hallways and closed businesses to the offices of the name I had showed them and yes, they were closed. One of the men kept telling me to come back tomorrow. While this was all happening, there was also a lot of walkie-talkie action back and forth.

Standing in front of the closed office door, I flipped it the bird and both men thought that was pretty funny, but on the walk back through the maze, the bigger one got a squawk on his walkie talkie and put his hand and his eyebrows up at the same time.

Yes, he nodded, there were some people here from the company, just arriving. Sure enough, when we got back a pair of youngish people, one of each, came in with backpacks and laptops and stuff, all official like.

We walked to the office, a different office space, and I said to the big security guard, ‘late!’ in Spanish like a cross school teacher and got another really good laugh and a pat on the shoulder.

Thankfully they both spoke English so things rolled along. She set up a laptop and he got out a camera and they took pictures of me against a white wall with florescent lighting. Great.

I had to hold a sign with my deets on it, like a mug shot, then a profile for both. As he was taking them, I was saying, Canadian woman arrested, found drunk and naked … if I don’t go for the laugh, my friends, I don’t go at all.

Short and sweet, I was back out. I had to walk the two blocks up to get the public cab back to my end of the city and ended up having one all to myself. After a few blocks, we were at a red light and my driver yelled over to the driver of a cab beside us, then said something to me, and when my only reaction was to stare at him, he said it louder and then louder. He finally handed me back my 25 pesos and motioned for me to get out. I got in the other cab and home we came.

It’s very exciting for me to go out on an adventure like this. I love taking the public cabs and love seeing that end of the city. It’s closer to hotels and casinos and tourist areas and I had spent a lot of time looking to find a place to live down there. Not that I don’t like where I live, it’s just a bit nicer.

I thought it was an exciting day, said the shut-in.




Adventures in Passports

My passport is due for renewal. I won’t lie to you, it’s been a source of anxiety since about October. I don’t know why, but I have this unfounded fear of going somewhere where I have never been before.

If you are thinking, but you got on a plane and moved to the Dominican without ever being there before, you are correct. Yes, I had a lot of anxiety, but it was mostly for my cat.

The anxiety comes in small stages, the steps I have to take to get there, what happens when I get there, but the steps, the first steps.

I actually knew where I had to go. I looked it up and it’s just up the street from where the bus stop is, the major bus that I took to visit Santo Domingo from Sosua when I was apartment hunting.

I even tried to talk my friend into driving me, even though he just had knee surgery and can’t walk. I suggested he wait in the car, but I guess he can’t bend it far enough to drive, either. Whatever.

I took the public cab, and asked the driver if he could tell me when the street came up. He said yes and then continued to talk to the young man in the front seat. I kinda knew anyhow, just wanted that bit of insurance.

When the corner I needed came up, it was the young man from the front seat who told me it was my stop. Our driver had not once shut his hole the entire trip. Nice of the kid.  I love it when that happens.

I was going to take another public cab the other direction but the ones I saw were already about six people deep, so I opted to walk. I have been finding the weather this winter absolutely gorgeous, so didn’t mind.

I reached my destination in about half an hour, and will share with you this tidbit of trivia. Did you know the Canadian Consulate in Santo Domingo is housed in a building that also has a Hooters?  You’re welcome.

I walked up several flights of stairs, as it turns out, I didn’t need to. Had I just kept walking, I would have found the section of building I needed, Hooters-free. I stop in front of one of those ‘You are Here’ maps, it was a multi-layered mall. Loads of fast food places but nothing said ‘Your Passport here’.

Waaa… am I not in the right place? Next step of anxiety.

Then I asked a woman who worked there, and she shoved her cleaning cart behind a big sign for a store and lead me away. She took me to where I needed to go and come on, how nice is that! I love it when that happens.

The scenery went from shoe stores and French fries to security body scanners and scanners that read your face in order to get through. People were shooting through these turnstiles by their fingerprints. So Macgyver.

I signed in, got a visitors badge and then had to get through the turnstile, which was clearly locked but did not stop me from throwing myself at the locked bars like a demented toddler.

The guy who scanned me in then ran my purse through an X-ray as I was going through the body scanner. Here’s a tip. When it beeps, don’t throw your hands up and pretend you are being sprayed with bullets by jerking around, ala Bonny and Clyde.

Not only are there men there with actual guns, but the suits all coming in to work were not terribly amused. I already stand out here. Of course, I now had to get in to the elevator with them and ride the 18 floors. Luckily it went fast. Luckily they avoided eye contact.

Once I reached my floor, I was asked for my visitors badge. That’s right. I had a badge. Then I had to get my purse scanned again, like the kind at the airport, in case I found a Glock on the elevator and then through another walk through scanner, same beep, same ‘riddled with bullets’ routine, still no laughs.

Then, if that isn’t enough security, and I think it is, considering how un-secure most things are my new city, the woman helping me is behind, I will just assume, bullet-proof glass with just the smallest tray to put my documents in and then a lid slams shut, as if I might change my mind.

It was all over within about 10 minutes or so and I was free to reenact my ‘suicide by security guard’ two more times. On the way out on the ground floor, the security guard actually did laugh so my persistence in doing the bit til it works paid off. Once a comedian.

I was happy to be back on the street and was very relieved that it was all over. I walked back down the hill but in my delirium of the perfect weather and the anxious task long forgotten, I also forget that the street I need is a one way at that end. I decided I didn’t care and could have just walked back ups a block to get the public cab, but walked anyhow.

Did I mention the weather is glorious? Yes, I believe I did.



Happy Hairy Heart Day!

My cats have been fighting and I have no idea why. It started on Sunday, I was making my breakfast and doing up the dishes and both cats were hanging around, which is not unusual, in particular for Chance. Anything in the kitchen might mean something for him. Either given or dropped.

I saw them swatting at each other at the same time I heard the hissing. This part isn’t unusual at all. Jango, more so, when it comes to the three-legged upstart always getting all up in his grill, but this escalated quickly.

All of a sudden, there was hissing, screaming and fur flying, they were tearing around and it wouldn’t stop. Jango got by the door and they sat there for a bit just growling, but that deep guttural growl that frankly frightened me a bit. Chance, right in front of him, their eyes huge and wild, staring at each other. Chance’s back hair and his tail were at full height.

Then, Jango made a move to just get away, Jango, the Lover, and Chance, Chance the fighter, was on him. They went around at each other and it was just a blur of fur, like on Bugs Bunny cartoons when the Tasmanian devil does his spinning thing, and they were going at it like I had never seen. The sound alone was unbelievable.

Jango managed to break away and went and got under the bed, Chance right behind him.   At this point, I went in and put one of the pillows down to cover where Jango was and cut off the insane eye contact that was going on.

Chance finally tucked himself up in the corner behind my big fan and ten minutes later they were still growling, even though they couldn’t see each other. I went in to suss the sitch and when I looked under the bed at Jango, he had blood on his ear, and it was dripping on the floor.

I went and got an oven mitt on and managed to get Chance out of the corner, even though I didn’t need the mitt, he can do some damage. I got him out to the chair on the balcony and closed the bedroom door, to give Jango so time to recoup. He isn’t used to this type of activity and he is turing 13 or 14 this year. I’ll have to check. I’m not a bad cat mum, half the time I can’t remember my own age.

I took some water in for him and just left them in their own space for a while and when Jango wanted to come out, it happened all over again. The noises coming out of them, it was enough to set the neighbour’s dogs off.

I have no idea what is going on. They ended up on the balcony with Jango under the chair, so Chance had him trapped. I took my flip flop off and tried to put it between them. I know. I tried to just stop the paws and claws from doing more damage and I ended up giving Chance a whomp on the head with it, so thankfully it wasn’t a Doc Martin!

It startled him enough to stop for a second and then I managed to get him back inside and slid the balcony door over. There is a lot of power in the that little cat!

Monday was pretty much a repeat, so Jango spent the better part of the day on the porch, either under or sitting on the chair, with Chance glaring darts at him from inside.

Tuesday morning started out okay, with them actually eating their breakfast together, which they normally never do, that has to be in shifts. I mean, honestly! Cats!

Then, Chance just walked up to Jango and started washing his ears like nothing had even happened. Honestly, the relief I felt!

They both got quite hurt through it all. Jango now has cuts on both his ears and has been favouring his left front leg, but he did let me look at it and I didn’t see any scratches, so it likely just got banged against something.

Chance lost a claw, which I found parts of wedged in the back of Jango’s neck. Plus, this morning when I kicked of my flip flop, he gave me a low growl. Ha Ha … I never even hit him very hard, but point taken. For the record, I do not hit my cats.

So, Wednesday, Valentine’s Day, there was a bit of growling but no fisticuffs, so maybe it has passed. I don’t know what started it but I was shocked when it happened and it really stressed me a lot. I was also shocked how quickly I was siding with Jango. He’s been with me a long time and he is not a fighter, at all, and he isn’t particularly active, either, so it was a lot for him.

I remember telling him years ago, back in Toronto, as he was play fighting with me, that he was lucky he lived with me and didn’t have to fend for himself in the wild, because he would have his fuzzy butt handed to him by an arthritic squirrel. An arthritic squirrel with a bum leg and one good eye.

Chance, on the other hand, has had to fend for himself in the wild. The Dominican wild but he had to find food and defend himself against other animals and that’s very apparent to all of us when something like this comes up.

I have no idea what stared it, maybe because I’ve been so stressed for the past few months that now I’m actually seeing a bit of sunshine through my fog, that they felt it was time they let theirs out. I know they feel our feels, but they don’t understand.

Here they are, not really talking yet, but in the same space with out tearing each other’s hair out in clumps.



Happy Hairy Heart Day

My Shit Show

First off, I want to say thanks to all of you who reached out to me with kind words and thoughts. Big thanks to those of you who reached out with cash, it means eating or not eating. The gift of $50 is, in fact, priceless. So, Thank You.

Also, thankful that fuck that holiday has fucked off for another year. Depressing AF.

It’s not come as a big surprise to me, this lifestyle I’m living. I call it Nouveau Chic Poverty. I’ve spent my adult life with my hand out, so why change now?

I was almost out of money when I posted my New Years blog last year, and through friends, help and some online freelance work, we’re still here.

What sent me over the edge was just a big bunch of shit hitting the fan all at once. As shit is won’t to do. Do Do.

Somewhere around October, I got a rent raise, followed on the heels of that, by the notice someone might be interested in buying the apartment I live in. PS, my rent is low here. Just under $400. I know.

The idea I would have to start apartment hunting again and moving again is naturally very stressful. It’s stressful even more when you don’t know the language. More stress when you don’t have the money. Luckily I have a friend here who was onboard to help.

Crisis avoided on the apartment move, they decided on something else. I will admit, when they came to see the apartment, I didn’t bother to sweep or do my dishes or hide the cat box or put pants on.

I also never realized, because I see it all the time, that I have chalk writing on my walls and cupboard for the cockroaches and ants and any other bug that decides  to crawl across my space.  A few direct messages that tells them in no uncertain terms, to piss off, go to hell, no one likes you, Hey, you, ya you, off you fuck, and a few that have super bad words in them. I hope the possible buyers didn’t read English.

Then in the headlong fall to the holiday season, I discovered my credit card was not working. I’d been living off of it, so that was just another shoe that I was waiting to hear hit the floor. But when I tried to put a payment on it, my money kept returning to my PayPal account.

Turns out they bank in Toronto mailed me some “very important papers” months ago even though they know I don’t have mail service, to tell me that as a non-resident, I have to close the account. So now that avenue is dead to me too. The bonus is I guess they can just pound that Visa balance straight up their holes.

Because I couldn’t access the money, they cut my power off. I hadn’t paid the bill for two months so I had to take the cat food money and walk to the bank to pay it. It was about $30. I know. The kid that came to cut it off actually buzzed my apartment to let him in the gate. Sweet.

Fuck sakes.

I opened a new PayPal account for the Dominican, but can’t connect my Dominican Bank to it, they only accept the the most popular one, which just happens to be called Popular. I had to gather up all kinds of information and set out to open a new account. Luckily, my friend came with me and did all the talking. He actually works in a bank, so that was a big lucky break and a saving grace and some other trite sayings about luck and blessing and fortune smiling that would fit in here. But I won’t bore you.

So now it’s just the waiting to see if I’m approved. The best part of the whole stressful day was when the power went out in the bank and I yelped like a demented cocker spaniel and then my friend and mostly the woman helping us with the bright orangy-pink lipstick laughed for several minutes.  The Jumpy Gringa. Good times.

It’s been a lot to deal with and I know everyone has their own plateful, but it’s not a contest. This is my stress at the moment. It’s eye-opening, the reality of living in a different country where language is a barrier and you are all on your own. It’s difficult to ask for help, worse when people say no.

I had expected, up until very recently, my friend would be visiting for the hols, but they didn’t make it this year. I had bought a small teapot for them to use, and now every time I see it I feel embarrassed somehow.

I’ve had my little hissy fit and I’m trying to be optimistic but just saying it  doesn’t make the dark and scary go away.

Next, stay tuned about my dissertation about why I’m not moving back to Canada.






It’s Hols, or Something

The Cats Say Hey



It’s been a rather shit year for me, but it’s been a hard year for many people.  I’m thankful for my cats in particular because unlike people, they never let me down.

I’ve struggled a lot financially this past year and it seems my friends are deserting me, as well. Fuck them really. It happens. We move on, up, away, we move to better and bigger and our lives change.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. My boys have never argued with me, or tried to one-up me with anything and they certainly have never put conditions on our relationship.

It’s Christmas and it’s a time of year I dread anyhow, and this is my first one alone since moving here. I’m oddly okay with it.

I’m making apple pancakes later and the boys get tuna, so we’re fine. I’ll hide away in some one line movies or show or…

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It’s Not You, It’s Me






It’s been really windy here, windy enough to break a couple of favourite planters on my balcony. I was rather sad to see them break, one I’d had for almost 20 years, like old friends.

It’s Not You, It’s Me

We’ve said, we’ve heard it, it’s cliche and trite but it’s true.

People come into our lives and leave our lives and sometimes it’s painful and sometimes it’s a relief and sometimes we barely notice and sometimes the loss and hole they leave is insurmountable. That’s life. It’s not them. It’s us.

I’ve taken notice of such things, I am someone who likes to try, I keep in touch, sometimes to the point of down right annoyance and verging on stalker. So when people leave me, I notice.

I remember people leaving my life when I left my home, town, bigger losses when I applied for college and moved to a larger city, farther away.

Big losses happened when I quit smoking, which I didn’t expect but completely understood. It was needed and welcome. People seemed to feel like I’d let them down. It’s an odd thing, to go from smoker to non-smoker and I assume the same drinkers and drug users, once the user buddy is gone, the user needs to find more of the same, likewise, for the new non-user.
Moving out of province to Vancouver was another break, harder to keep in touch, new experiences, new adventures, new people come in and leave again.
Toronto, same. Shifting, incoming. Outgoing. Keep moving, keep shifting, keep spinning. I was there for seventeen years, barely a notch on the belt for it, a small handful of friends. But it’s fine. It’s not you, it’s me.
When Jango and I moved to The Dominican, there was another big shift. It started before I left. I mentioned to a few people that I was leaving and no one really had anything nice to say to me about it. Their response was usually, oh, wow, good for you… But. But this is why I don’t like it.
There’s this weird feeling that comes over people, they somehow need to take it away from you, make it unappealing. So I stopped telling people.
I told a few more, later, same results. One of my ‘friends’ asked me about the facebook invite she got for my going away party. ‘Is that still on?’ She screamed. Incredulous is the best way to describe her response. As if it couldn’t be happening because I wasn’t fucking banging on about it everyday, doing some asshole countdown on my Facebook.

As I approach my fourth Christmas here, this past year has seen the numbers drop. Someone in the early part of the year just stopped talking to me. They are in Canada and I was just beginning this shit year I’m in but I guess they need to be the saddest person in the friendship.

Then within a few weeks, two people, I felt, had been less than kind to me. They handled a situation that I felt could have been better. One of them just removed me from their life. Blocked, like I no longer exist. maybe I don’t. It’s not them, it’s me.

Then it happened again, this time when I mentioned the situation could have been handled better, they basically told me their pain was bigger than mine, and then imposed conditions on the friendship. But, really, they had been there all along. As long as I don’t cross the line, we can be friends. They get to decide that. They are the more important one, they are in charge and decided if the relationship can remain or dissolve.

I don’t agree to that. I was never asked. So, no. I don’t agree to your friendship conditions. It’s not you, it’s me.

It’s been a shit year for me, and this time of year isn’t helping. I’m severely at a loss how to move forward and get out of this. I’ve reached out and asked for help, but people just say no. I don’t really blame them, why should they. I got myself into it, I can just bloody well get myself out of it.

But no one follows up. No one asks me if it worked out, or if I’m okay.

No. It hasn’t and No. I’m not.

I think about killing myself. A lot. And not in a ‘woe is me, goodbye cruel world’ kind of way. Just as a realistic, viable way to get out of the mess I’m in.

I’m rather level headed about it, quite resigned to it all. I’ve had a good life, lots of adventure, I’ve loved and been loved, had my heart broken, saw Elton John and Rod Stewart in the same summer! It’s been a good life.

I even think about how, how to do it. Sometimes eight or ten times a day.

That’s what makes me cry. Because who the fuck lives like that? It’s really hard.

But I don’t really want to die, not the physical, finality of it all, I just want out of my mess.

I want to kill the self you no longer like, I guess I don’t like her anymore, either.

The friend with the conditions said they were in mourning. Well, I’m in mourning, too. The woman who was. She was your friend and you no longer want her and that’s hard for me to take.

It’s not you, it’s me.

So, death to the old, shedding the old bullshit and friends, such as they were.

So, thank you to the ones who love me for me, without conditions. And thank you to those who don’t.

It’s not you, it’s me.

You’re fucking right it’s me.



Cat Update



I just got a notice on facebook telling me that it’s been donkey’s years since my peeps have heard from us, so I’ll pop in for a quick hello and an update from the boys.

Jango and I just celebrated 12 years together so that was very cool. There was tuna. He’s such a good boy and happy and loving, I’m very pleased he is on this adventure in life with me.

Chance is the same old chance-taking loving cat. He is so in love with us. This past week he has been sleeping right beside my head. Do your cats do that? He doesn’t always, he goes through cycles, but the other morning I woke up with his foot and poo-hole in my face.

I don’t mind.

He cries when I leave and I can hear him from the street. I tease him mercilessly when I get back; “Chancie…

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