sistawendy: (weirded out)
Party weekends like Pride leave me with a messy apartment. I can't not clean it at the earliest opportunity, which is how I spent all my non-work waking hours yesterday. My apartment is spiffy, and I am at peace. Am I hausfrau* material, or what?

But before I could finish cleaning, I had to take the bus home. As I got up to get off, I spotted my neighbor B. He asked how Pride weekend was for me. I said, "It was..." and racked my brain for the right words.
"The end of the game," said some skinny blond dude next to us as he looked at me intently.
"The end of the game?" I didn't quite believe my ears.
"The end of the game."
Mercifully, the doors opened right then and B and I got off without our interlocutor. "I don't know what he meant by that," I said, "and I'm not sure I want to."
"Yeah," said B, "I noticed him earlier. He's on something, and I'm pretty sure I know what." It isn't hard to guess: meth. You see, my bus spends most of its route on an ugly arterial that runs the length of Seattle's lily white north end, with one concentration of substance abusers downtown, another one at the far end of its trip, and relatively more tech industry stiffs like B & me in between**.

From the Dept. of Happy Thotz, when the Tickler bailed on Pride she said we should make plans. You know I don't sleep on that stuff; we have a hot date planned for Saturday.



*I once referred to myself as a hausfrau in front of my first queer kiss. She told me that her mother did the same. Holy Oedipal Lesbian, Batman!
**I speak of Lake Union, Queen Anne, Fremont, Wallingford, Phinney, Green Lake, and (south?) Greenwood.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
You may remember that a few weeks ago that I went to a rally against Initiative 1552, a so-called "bathroom bill" that puts bounties on the heads of trans people, including children. I took home an anti-1552 sign and put it in one of my front windows.

You may also recall that building manager P has been around my lake place lately to replace my water heater. (Yay!) But what you definitely can't recall is that P noticed the sign and asked about it, so I told him what I just told you.

I'm happy to say that P thinks 1552 is piffle. What I'm less happy to say, though, is that he said something like, "You look fine," as if that's material to the question of whether I should be beaten to death for using a public women's restroom.

I didn't point out that it isn't material. Was that wrong? The calculation that I made in that split second is that it isn't. I'm trying to spare myself and everyone like me one of those aforementioned beatings, and I need all the help I can get, including that of an octogenarian building manager, who is, all things considered, not a bad guy.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
This morning I found out that my apartment has an on-demand water heater. You can guess how: I took a mighty cold shower and called the building manager, P, afterward. Not only that, I failed to notice earlier that the breaker was tripped even though the breaker panel stares you in the face as soon as you enter my kitchen. Resetting the breaker didn't fix things for more than a few seconds - it tripped again - so I have the comfort (?) of knowing that I couldn't have easily avoided that cold shower.

Says P, he had to replace the water heater in the unit next door recently, so he's not too surprised and knows the drill. I feel a little sorry for him, having to manage a needy old building like ours. And he's about twenty years older than the building. I wonder how much longer he can keep doing his job, or worse, what might become of him* - or us tenants - if he has to stop. He's been pretty great.

It was an educational, humbling, and sex drive-squelching morning.



*I'm pretty sure he's OK money-wise. He used to (?) own the building, at least partly, and his daughter S still does, at least partly. Remember that P's late son B, another sweet man, used to live in the unit next to mine, coincidentally the same one that lost its water heater.
sistawendy: (angry cartoon)
A couple of Jehovah's Witnesses came to my door with a copy of The Watchtower about an hour ago. I said, "You know what? I'm lesbian and transgender. Please leave." They did.

What it didn't occur to me to say until after they left was, "The blood of my people is on your hands." Because it is: they drive their queer kids to suicide. When I mentioned that on Twitter, I got three JWs (or maybe JW bots) tweeting screen-capped propaganda at me. Three blocks later, it's all good.

One minor mystery is their lack of reaction to the big, lovely Pride flag on my living room wall, a present from my son, that's easily visible through my front window. (I keep the slats in the blinds open for my plants and my mental health. It's the best light there is, for free.) Did they see it? Did they care if they did?

To get back to my happy place: I have a date tonight, confirmed, for dinner and ahem with the Tickler. I'll be wearing the octopus leggings she requested.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Remember how I spent too much on Fluevogs the other day? They were delivered yesterday. "Hooray!" you say. Not so fast.

You see, I thought, 'It'll be most secure if I have my son sign for the package.' So of course he stepped out "for a walk" minutes before UPS came to deliver the package, despite being informed of its arrival. It's at my neighbor's, said the sticker on my door. Mr. Unit 103 didn't get home before I went to bed last night, if he got home at all.

He's hocked my 'Vogs and fled to Canada. I know it. Either that or he's my size and he's wearing them, which somehow feels more understandable.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
No, not the fun kind, oxalic acid to try to get rid of the drywall dust in my bathtub from the emergency plumbing repair a few months ago. The tub isn't pristine now, but it's vastly improved. Leave it to [livejournal.com profile] randomdreams to suggest something kind of scary that really works. Ah luv yew, mayunn. How scary? I followed the directions and used rubber gloves & safety glasses, and since one of my gloves leaked, I got some on one hand and scrubbed one-handed. Boy am I glad I took precautions. I also coughed a few times from the fumes even with the window open.
In further domestic news, I just ate an entire bunch of kale, dried (nearly) completely in one (1) hour. I think I got the salt, oil, and time just right this time. Drying right now: a pound of tofu that I marinated for an hour in shoyu & sesame oil. My lake place smells heavenly. And I'll probably be running the dehydrator whenever I'm home for two or three weeks before Burning Man.
Last night? All the social. My neighbor, all gussied up, invited me over to a party at their place. I was unbathed and in my workout clothes. I know they told me earlier, but I forgot to put it in my calendar. D'oh! I'd been planning to hang out with [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth at the '80s night at El Norte. I did manage both, and I showed all those pretty straight girls next door how we do it Goth style. How we do it has started to involve a few extra steps for me due to recent weight loss, but it's nothing I can't handle.

Hilarity for the evening: at El Norte the music turned disco-flavored after midnight by request, and everyone in our little group except me fled in revulsion. (You guys know about my deep love of disco, right?) After closing my tab, I went out back out of curiosity and discovered a bunch of kids - twenty-somethings - smoking legally. I let them know of the oddity of being at an '80s night surrounded by people who were alive at no point during the 1980s. They told me they were there with their parents, which I find eminently credible.

SFDs: black steampunk-y skirt from Mishu, Fluevog Half-Truths, red stripey hose, long-sleeved black V-neck blouse with ribbon trim, mostly MAC makeup.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
Things I've learned today:
  1. The Internet is getting stupid, and not in the usual fashion. For the syringe/needle combo I want - 3ml syringes with 22G needles, no safety features, in a package of dozens - the Internet no longer beats the price/convenience/security* point of just bopping down to my local drug store and picking some up.
  2. Drywall dust is well nigh impossible to remove once it gets wet. Remember back when the ceiling over by bathtub leaked? Well, the drywall dust from the patch is still adhered to my tub, even after using a scrub brush with plastic bristles and then steel wool. Yeah, I know using steel wool on porcelain is pretty questionable, but fear not; I didn't do it much because it didn't work. I'm ready to say "Fuck it" unless you, Internet brain trust, have a better idea.
  3. There are, as of about two years ago, two PCCs near Green Lake on opposite sides. The one nearest me is the smaller, older, and apparently hippier one. The farther one is spacious, new, shiny, and judging from their offerings it caters to tech bro types. I want to hug all the employees at my little store. More vegan sandwiches, please!
  4. Password management apps aren't as easy to use as they need to be.


*There are some sketchy, poorly-written, and poorly-stocked sites out there claiming to sell medical supplies. I can't help wonder if they're preying on the old and the sick.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
There are a few loose ends from the divorce that need to be tied up so that we can both, you know, comply with the decree. This list is at least as much for me as for you:
  1. Ex* informed me today that I'd been driving around uninsured so far this month. Yikes! I just fixed that.
  2. I need to file a "quit claim" on the house so Ex can sell it as planned.
  3. Untangle car registration. Ex and I have a Prius apiece, and if I remember correctly we're both registered owners for both of them.
  4. I need to get my name off the checking account that she uses, but I'm not in any hurry because I'm poor at the moment; I've been spending more money than usual on feeding my teen and court fees.
  5. Do something about my Macy's account.
And as long as I'm blowing up my credit card balance, I thought I'd pick up a couple of fun things on the east side while the Wendling was at work:
  1. My favorite eye shadow, MAC's Orb, which is an excellent match for my skin.
  2. A sake set from Uwajimaya ($25ish - nothing too fancy) with which I hope to ply lovely ladies with delicately flavored alcohol.
  3. A food drier, so I can make mounds of kale chips & dried broccoli for )'( this year.




*I still love typing that, and I shall type it for her forever more.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
When you figure out how to make your bedroom dark enough to sleep, you notice more the noises from outside it. In my case, those come from the upstairs neighbors.

No, as jealous as I often am, I don't mind their frequent & audible sex; it's always at reasonable hours anyway and I figure it's good that at least somebody's getting some. No, what I mind are the music, console game sounds, and alarms before 0600 coming right through my bedroom ceiling. Yes, I sleep with ear plugs already because I live a block from a highway (Aurora Ave./SR 99 for you locals) and right on an arterial. No, ear plugs don't do the trick.

You see, my upstairs neighbors are an otherwise adorable couple of about 30 who are obscenely fit and apparently don't need much sleep. I feel like a jerk when I bang on my ceiling at 0005 Thursday morning, but mayunn, when you have to sleep, you have to sleep.

But at least when they're quiet, I now sleep like a rock in a seismically inactive area.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
In the last 48 hours, I've had two friends tell me their relationships aren't going that well, or at least not lately, in response to my expressions of jealousy. They are jealous of me and my recent dating success. Having spent a lot of time in a crummy shitty relationship, I can relate, but I have to say this: if I have a heart attack or something at home, there's no one else here to call the ambulance, not even a cat to eat my face a few days later. Imminent Ex and I are in the throes of shambolic DIY divorce proceedings and we still had a pretty nice last date because, once upon a time, we had feelings for each other and we still know each other frighteningly well. (OK, Canlis helped, too.) I miss that.

Went out to Substation last night in a ridiculous amount of Pride gear. I Goth up for raves; I gay up for straight spaces. Not bad: Dane Wilson definitely had his moments, and they had an old school room. An attractive woman as tall as I am complimented me on my Pride leggings in the bathroom, so of course I spent the rest of the right wondering, 'Is she or isn't she?' Me? Greedy? Yup. See above. I hit the wall early, which is a fine segue into the next paragraph.

My bedroom window has blinds that aren't so good at blocking light, and what's worse is that my building is on the outside of a curve in a small arterial: headlights into my bedroom. I've been sleeping with a leather bondage mask since I moved in here, and it isn't always convenient. I finally got some pieces of black foam board yesterday and cut it to size. They work beautifully. I slept eight hours last night. Let there be darkness!

ETA: Zuckerberg's data mine informs me that queer or not, the lady above is a little more into the woo than I generally find comfortable. I'm not heartbroken.
sistawendy: (dolly)
I went to my fancy-schmancy holiday party for work with Much Younger Woman last night in the basement of the Hotel Monaco. She got gussied up as much as her limited budget and taste for gussying allow, and we... acted normal. I introduced her as my girlfriend to a bunch of cow orkers; we consumed prodigious quantities of tasty food & beverages from Sazerac, the hotel's restaurant; she kicked my butt at Mario Kart, which I'd never played before; we enjoyed eye candy together; and she stuck pretty close to me the whole night, which was fine with me. As far as I know, there has been no scandal. I'm only a tiny bit disappointed about that.

And because MYW is the queen of surprise, she stayed over at my place when I wasn't expecting it or I would have done more cleaning earlier. She's not crazy about my Towering Bed of Doom, but neither are the other women who've vaulted into it with me, even those taller than I am. Its one virtue is the storage space underneath, and in my little lake place that's reason enough to keep it. At her suggestion, for brunch we went to the Ballard farmers' market and got some mac & yeast - she's vegan - from the Plum food truck and serious chai from Cupcake Royale. Much tasty.

Thence to REI to gank some parking for Mourning Market. There I committed to Burning Man next year by replacing my departed Camelbak. Said a quick yeau to some lovely Goths, then went to work as promised.

My work situation - a deployment - was sorted in a little more than two hours of dubiously legal downtown parking and moderate panic. Back to Mourning Market for proper chats with Goths (shouts out to [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth, [livejournal.com profile] girlgoth, and [livejournal.com profile] thevfrchick), a necklace, and a tintype from Libby Buloff that is, you could say, relevant to my interests.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
Squirmy-making meeting at work. The only mitigating factor here was that the squirm was shared by everyone in the room.

The laundry I did last night didn't quite get spun dry. I called the building manager this morning.

Aspiring Ex and I both finished our mediation briefs and emailed them in around 2300 last night. I'm sure mine is laughably vague and amorphous. I still need to read AX's brief before we walk in the door at 0900 Tuesday.

My son is coming tonight. I was hoping to go to Mt. Rainier with him this weekend, but he has to work tomorrow afternoon and Sunday.

OK, one good thing has happened in the last couple of days: another lovely Skype date with the tickler. There will be just one more before she comes back. We're both psyched to see each other on the 1st.
sistawendy: (drama)
My twentieth wedding anniversary was yesterday. As Bob is my witness, it will be my last with Aspiring Ex. She now says she doesn't care if the divorce is final by the end of the year or not. That would be nice for tax reasons, certainly, but if it takes a few weeks longer to get it right I'm OK with that. After we file, I have 90 days to plan the party. Watch this space.

I had good news over Skype from the Tickler last night: she is indeed coming back on the 28th of this month, not next month as she'd feared. We have a date planned already for West Seattle shenanigans.

On a related note, there's something I hadn't considered when I acquired a bed that's 4' off the floor with a lot of storage space underneath. If you get night terrors as does the Tickler and you're sleeping in a very high bed like mine, you run the risk of jumping out of it and hurting yourself. Post-divorce I think I'll replace that bed with the queen-size from the old place's guest room and rearrange a lot of stuff.

I had bad news via text from Taller Woman yesterday: she's in pain and nobody's figured out why yet. Please let it just be a chemo hangover.

Oh yeah: Much Younger Woman & I have plans this weekend. It's a pity I'm running low on cash, because there's a lot going on over the coming Labor Day weekend. Thanks, Amazon, for raising all the rents.

I want my summer back. Something deep down in me rebels at wearing outerwear and socks. I blame Florida.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I had a brief but helpful & informative electronic chat with [livejournal.com profile] theda about mediation. I'm optimistic that Aspiring Ex and I can come to a relatively speedy and cheap resodissolution. That is to say, in the likely event that AX & I act like civilized adults, we'll get out of this with our skins still attached in not too much time. AX appears to be on board, even I'm perhaps more enthusiastic. One of AX's oldest friends has gently prodded her, because of which I'm grateful and amused. I'm looking forward to the loud & raucous Happy Divorce Party involving alcohol and queer women.
I'm a bit of a zombie because I woke up at 0520 yesterday and 0600 today courtesy of my upstairs neighbors. They're an adorable couple, but damn if their alarm doesn't wake me up. They say they've put padding under it, and I sleep with earplugs already. What now, LJ brain trust? This has been going on for months.
Der Plan for Saturday morning: Greenwood Chocolati, 11:15, wearing something cute with clean hair & retouched nails.
Der Plan for Saturday evening: Golden Gardens with peeps? House music at Substation in Ballard? Nothing firm. I'm trying to coordinate with Much Younger Woman.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
We interrupt the travelogue about France to bring you the following messages.

When m'boy upgraded his phone, an Adroid tablet basically fell into my lap. You know what this means: I now have a device capable of running Tinder (as opposed to my five-year-old Windows phone). I refuse to take it too seriously. No, really, I mean it. Nevertheless, it's impossible for me to avoid a couple of observations: older women are more likely to write, "I'm not here to hook up," and pretty women are more likely to write nothing at all.

The lab work bill is, as far as I know, taken care of thanks to StartupCo's HR folks. The insurance company said they never got a claim for it.

The leak above my shower is still there, but the upstairs neighbors & I have worked things out so we're not showering simultaneously. I got to talk to Cathy, Paul's daughter and therefore the late Brian's sister. She owns half the building, she says, and she's handling the plumbing. This bodes well for the future.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
And why would I wish I were back in France? Because my bathroom ceiling started leaking this morning. The building manager, Paul, cut a hole in the ceiling to investigate.

The good news is that it isn't currently leaking. The bad news is that a) it leaks intermittently, probably when somebody elsewhere in the building is running their water, and b) Paul wants to talk to me tomorrow about next steps.

Also, the price of doing a load of laundry in my basement has gone from a minimum of $1.50 to a minimum of $3.00. Time for more drying racks. I note with suspicion that this happened weeks after the death of my neighbor Paul's son, who I believe was living on a fixed income. Oh, and there's a new washing machine; I didn't know anything was wrong with the old one.

Another reason I wish I were in France: the lab where my doctor sent my routine test results sent me an $812.00 invoice while I was gone. They say the insurance claim was denied. I'm getting to the bottom of that with the help of StartupCo's HR people.

Really, I'm going to write up France in the next couple of days. As you've seen, there have been some distractions. At least I've uploaded and captioned my photos.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
The fellow in the studio next to my apartment, a man in his sixties named Brian with a limp, a speech impediment, and who knows how many serious health problems, passed away on Friday. I saw a fireman talking to someone who may have been from the property management company, and I didn't think to ask about it later. (I did ask at the time if it was OK for me to go in because, you know, firemen.) I found this out this morning from talking to my neighbor E because I wanted to tell him when I'd be gone.

Brian was a good guy. I got a quarter stuck in the dryer's coin acceptor a couple of months ago, and after solemnly swearing me to secrecy, he got a 2X4 and a hammer and banged it out. Brian doesn't need to worry about getting in trouble for that anymore.

Brian always had a joke for me. It always took me a while to figure out what he was saying, but he was definitely sharp.

Brian's father Paul is the guy who actually makes sure things get done around this building, and I have to say he does a terrific job of it. Yes, if Brian was in his sixties that means Paul is in his eighties, but Paul has always been hale & hearty. Since Paul is over here working pretty often and Brian usually helped him, it's quite possible that he discovered what had happened to his own son. Poor man. I should extend my condolences.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Around six months ago, I split an African violet into three highly unequal pieces and potted the pieces. Why unequal, do you ask? Because the way the leaves are joined up with the root ball, one of the pieces ends up with most if not all of the roots. I ended up sticking two rootless leaves in a pot. The leaves have survived and even grown a new root ball, but I've seen no new leaves from that pot yet.

Fast forward to today, when I needed to split yet another violet. Now I have another pot full of rootless leaves, this time fifteen (15) of them. We'll see how this goes. Oh by the way, the other two leaves got moved to a different pot.

It's a good thing violets are tough little plants. I now have three that I've mangled into asymmetry, and two pots full of isolated leaves. Hey, as long as they stay green, I'm cool.

Oh, and my my pots still match (some colors in) the Pride flag on my wall.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Which is worse, suffering a variety of relationship mishaps for decades or falling through a long marital time warp as I did? My innocence (read: faith in people) is relatively intact, but my confidence isn't due to the shock of getting thrown back into the dating pool.

This musing brought to you by recent correspondence with another queer woman who, like me, is out there looking for at least one Ms. Right. Our consensus: being in one's forties makes things much, much harder, and in my view probably to a much greater degree than being trans does.
My upstairs neighbors' alarm went off at 0530. Better last night, I suppose, than Wednesday night: Thursday is a confab with poly women for which I'm the organizatrix.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Much circumflatulate. So exercise. Many work. Wow.

The circumflatulation is of two varieties, one bleepy and the other scientific. I'm wondering how long it'll be before I chafe against the limits of Ableton's intro SKU. More news as events warrant; they really don't right now.

Work is driving a wooden stake through the heart of my MongoDB installation. There's a reason why it's the butt of jokes.

I've returned, and not exactly in triumph, to OKCupid. Gawd, what horrors await?

I wish sleep were one of the things I'm getting done. My upstairs neighbors have a mysterious preference for getting up at 0600 on Wednesdays, and their alarm wakes me up. I need to have speaks with them. I have felt doodads for furniture legs and will happily install them myself is need be.

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