sistawendy: (drama)
On Sunday I attempted to see "The Little Hours" with [personal profile] ironymaiden; it would have been my first SIFF movie in years. I had thought to myself, 'It's a gorgeous day on a long weekend and the Folklife festival is just two blocks away. Who would want to watch a movie?' As it turns out, half the city would. I didn't get a ticket in advance, which at least for that particular film was a mistake. I consoled myself with two tie dye dresses and a black leather fedora from vendors at Folklife. Hey, they were on the way to the bus and I needed the hat to keep my scalp from getting sunburnt. I love that hat.

Yesterday? BBQ at chez Funny Lady. Eetz. Boozes. Cute, well-behaved, medium-sized dawgz upon whom I bestowed many quality skritches. The Norwegian. (Yay!) But sadly, no hot queer makeouts for anybody.

And on the subject of ladies, the Tickler asked me out on a school night later this week. I'm usually the instigatrix of such things, and it's nice to feel a little bit pursued from time to time.

M'boy came to my place last night. I did not install on him a new rectum for losing his phone, but I have reminded him that he has a goddamn problem when it comes to keeping track of his stuff and that he needs to do something about it.

Got up at 0500 to drive to Totem Lake for the tail end of circumflatulation. Oddly enough, I woke up early despite being wiped out last night.
sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
Friday: dinner & rekkids with m'boy. If I don't play Rumors and Aja for him, he won't hear them.

Yesterday: a beautiful day of little projects I'd been putting off, mainly for beautification.
  • Did all of my nails for the first time in months, in obnoxious pink for spring.
  • Re-dyed my much-loved and much-abused "hippy bag", which is an older Coach bag and therefore beautifully designed and made.
  • Hit the Hill because I had time to kill and I wanted to pick up a used CD of Soundgarden, again for m'boy. Sure enough, I found a copy of Superunknown*. Or rather, another one; I know I used to have one and I'm not proud to say I must have gotten rid of it at some point.
  • Had a couple of beers at the Wildrose and chatted with the cute zaftig blond who tends bar there. We both lamented how unnecessarily dead Seattle is during the winter. I brought up Pride, natch - it's Christmas for the 'Rose - which is bound to have extra meaning given the current political situation. I gently reminded her that we're all in this together.
Last night: Techno from the Sweatbox crew, starting with Dane Wilson. It was some sweet acid stuff with some lovely eye candy - ahem, but I was pretty tired despite napping earlier. I caught the last train north out of Sodo station at 0037. Moral: If I'm going to do that, don't eat dinner so early and maybe caff up. I'm geezing out, mayunn.



*Fun fact: I believe that [personal profile] cupcake_goth and I were at the same Soundgarden show at Bumbershoot in 1990, more than ten years before we met. I know I went to a Bumbershoot show of theirs in the early '90s; I just can't remember which year.

It's fun to think about what might have happened if I'd met her then, but it's probably best that I didn't, given that I ran headlong away from myself a little more than three years later when I met the future Ex. I can't imagine [personal profile] cupcake_goth being pleased about that, and besides, she had her own stuff to deal with back then.
sistawendy: (drama)
I met for about an hour with A, whom I dated a few times, about the rest of the outfit for my birthday party next year, i.e. the skirt and maybe some accessories. The corset is, of course, coming from Dark Garden.

A lives in a two-bedroom apartment, and damned if it isn't half full of a cutting table, sewing table, and fabric. How did I not know how heavily she was into sewing when I was dating her? Was she, even? And why didn't I ask her this evening?

And here's the icing: A's friend N, who is the only woman ever to grab me by the hair and get me up against the wall of a public establishment in a fun way*, may or may not be A's roommate? Partner? I can't even. Clearly I've been slack about keeping in touch with them both, which is unlike me. All I know is that N has recently become a bicycle fiend. If N were to join me in one of my frequent trips around Green Lake, I'd be thrilled.



*Yes, please, I would like very much for her to do this again or something along those lines.
sistawendy: (dolly)
It was lovely to see seldom-seen folks last night at Ye Olde Spooky Clubbe. But do you ever have one of those nights where you're pretty sure everything you said is stupid? That was last night for me. I blame enough alcohol (Thanks, Mercury bar staff!) and not enough sleep.
Speaking of stupid, a consistent and justifiable complaint of the Siberian Siren's is that I usually wear my beloved vintage Coach purse (the one that its former owner called the hippie bag, some of you may recall) with a black nylon REI backpack to hold my laptop. This situation is suboptimal because a) the SS is correct that it's not a good look, and b) I have extra bulk both in front of and behind me when I'm standing on a bus or train. So I took the poor widow's $10,000 the plunge further into hipsterism, hit the sale at REI, and got a black Chrome messenger bag. It has a seat belt buckle in front for quick releasing. It looks waterproof on the inside. There's room for both my laptop and the hippie bag; no way am I giving the hippie bag up because it's more suitable for outings on foot without my laptop, and it's just too well designed and made, even if I could stand to re-dye it. We shall see if I love the messenger bag, but I'm sure the E line and light rail passengers will thank stop hating me.
sistawendy: (drama)
Background: I remembered yesterday that I hadn't bought tickets for the Seattle Erotic Arts Festival. I found out that the Tickler, who was my date last year, will be out of town that weekend. Puzzlement and consternation, no tickets bought yesterday. Much Younger Woman, characteristically, has not responded to my inquiry of a day ago.

Text thread #1: Brown Eyes texted me about... something she'd bought (ahem) that reminded her of me, and something we'd talked about over coffee. I asked she'd ever been to SEAF, and she hadn't. I felt kind of weird asking a woman with whom I've only been on one date if she'd like to go to SEAF with me, so I didn't in so many words, but I really wanted to. She did it for me. She said she was "down for shenanigans", so needless to say, we're going together, and I just bought us tickets. I haven't had dating activity this oddly enjoyable in a while.

Text thread #2: Around the time Brown Eyes & I said good night, Funny Lady messaged me to talk about the rest of the outfit for my birthday, suggesting mutual friend A, whom I've dated, who dumped me for a dude, who's a crack costumer, and who hosted a... memorable party that FL & I attended. Would I give her the commission? Well, I've got nothing against it, but I'd like to see what Dark Garden has to offer first. You see, I told Funny Lady ages ago that I wanted to get married in the Blue Morpho dress by Luly Yang, but I don't know if the skirt for that would quite go with a black leather corset to the dance party that will be my birthday. The skirt from the Monarch dress, in blue morpho colors, might work. That'll take serious discussions, in which case A might be just the woman for the jobs.
sistawendy: (smartass hester)
The shipping notice today reminded me: I had trouble deciding among three different pairs of Bombsheller leggings, so I asked the Tickler. She had a very definite opinion, so I decided to make her happy. They should arrive in time for our next date. Yeah, I'm going to keep you in suspense.

I've spent way too much a lot on eating out & clothes lately. Je ne regrette rien. I've realized that I can't have too many pairs of leggings. Maybe you can, but I can't.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Last night: Dinner, more or less, at chez Much Younger Woman. She said she missed me, and I definitely missed her. Aw! We & a friend of hers smoked what I'm pretty sure was a C. sativa strain - just one bong hit for me, thanks - judging by how much talking happened afterward, drank a surprising volume of box wine, and watched the first three eps of "Stranger Things". I get why the buzz is huge and people are hooked: it isn't just plot candy, it's plot Nutella. Taking the bus home involved not one but two 15-minute waits. Yeah, I could have Uber'd, but I'm trying to conserve cash at the moment. Ah, student life. I'm not sure I really miss it.

Today: Grocery shopping with Ex, followed by a hospital visit with m'boy to Exdad, who turned out to be sleeping. Neither of us wanted to wake him; we'd both heard him complain earlier about not getting enough sleep. This conveniently gave me enough time to go to a clothing swap at a group house full of queer poly women & AFABs who I know. I walked out with a weight in clothes that's equal to what I walked in with, but I think the ones I walked out with stand a much better chance of getting worn. I think the Goth Cabal would approve of a lot of what I got. And if they don't, remember, there is no Goth Cabal.

I think I'm staying in tonight: too low on sleep.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
I busted m'boy's chops yesterday morning about the toddleresque trail of mess he leaves all over my little lake place, and I got him to clean it up. There may have been raised voices and flying saliva at him when he said taking out the recycling is "my job". (I thought he meant throwing away his little bits of trash, but no matter.)

So I was a little relieved when he left my place before I did. We'd talked about him going to his mother's, so that's where I assumed he was headed. I was wrong, natch.

He was unreachable for the rest of the day because, as so often, he'd forgotten to charge his phone. I figured he was home watching news videos & wiki-surfing as usual. Ex became worried sick. Icing: last night was Lambert House, so I couldn't get back until 2130, even though Ex's texts prompted me to scram right after trans group.

This time, I was right: there he was on the bed with his laptop, with the blinds drawn even though it wasn't quite dark yet. I let his mother do the novel rectum installation - using my charged phone. She tells me he's been blowing off taking his anti-anxiety meds at night, which is why he hasn't been sleeping well, which leads to a host of other punky behaviors.

He doesn't want to take the meds because... why? I can only speculate that it's his usual reluctance to admit to anyone, including himself, that he has a problem and might be unlike most other people. Is it possible to forcibly insert sense into someone? If so, through which orifice does it go? Do I need to make a new one?

I'm ashamed to admit that Ex caught this & I didn't. I trusted him, as he's always whining at me to do, and for the gazillionth time he let me down.
Happy thotz: I'm wearing thong underwear for the first time in my life and leggings with blatant lesbian symbolism for what might possibly be a first date. Or it might just be mending. Either way, they're perfect.
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
  1. I got my new permanent crown yesterday morning. My rate of ibuprofen consumption has dropped dramatically, and will hopefully reach zero in the next few days.
  2. I had a lovely date with Much Younger Woman last night: louche conversation over vegan dinner at Wayward followed by chilling with Netflix tunes. She likes to tuck people in bed, so she tucked me in. It occurs to me that I've underrated how consistently good a time I have with her; I hate to think I've underrated her.
  3. Circumflatulation for the first time in a couple of months. Much frustration, but I may have learned something.
  4. Right now I'm wearing the violet satin and black crushed velvet dress with the bell sleeves that I got from [livejournal.com profile] krypt_kitten all those years ago for the annual pre-Thanksgiving anti-casual day at work.
  5. Doing the schedule dance with a lady from OKCupid. I will, of course, keep you all posted.
  6. All is in readiness for making Goths eat their vegetables tomorrow. Mmu hu hwaugh huh hah ha!
sistawendy: (drama)
I spent the weekend in Kirkland, mostly riding herd on m'boy and stepping and fetching for Imminent Ex while she was in Portland with Mr. Right Now. I'm so cashing in those brownie points come Burning Man.

I would have missed my hair appointment with [livejournal.com profile] imflying if they hadn't texted me asking to move the appointment 15 minutes later. Moral: always check your calendar for the whole day first thing in the morning.

Came back from 425-land, worked out, showered, and was about to eat alone at PCC (*Sniffle!) when I got a message from [livejournal.com profile] dagard saying, basically, that we were going to Witness. I needed no further persuasion. If I had needed it, though, it was there in the form of a tall, cute, lesbian waitress of his acquaintance, which was why he was so insistent.

He needed caffeine, which meant dangerous proximity to Mishu, which in turn meant that I made an impulse purchase: a certain steampunky skirt that I'd had my eye on for months. Pic to follow.

We went to Herb & Bitter Public House, which isn't as twee as it sounds. I have multiple reasons to believe the staff are cool. They have tasty and crazy strong beer. Try the mushrooms.

The pic: the big Mishu skirt
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
Meta: I promise I didn't blow you all off. I've been in headless chicken mode for yesterday & most of today.

Thursday: one last wonderful apartment cleaning, because who wants to come back from Europe to a dirty apartment? Also, foreshadowing!

Lunch Friday with co-worker E at the Pink Door. Oh em gee, the view of Elliott Bay from the patio on a sunny day, including the mural of local boylesque celebrity Waxie Moon. It was one of those days when I ask myself, 'Why do people live elsewhere?' Oh: salad & dessert were right on.

A second date with Much Younger Woman. It was again low-key talking over drinks; finally a woman who shares my appreciation of snobby beer at Über! The weird things about this date were a) it didn't start until 2245 (with a good excuse from her that I omit here), b) it didn't end until 0245, c) it was nevertheless pretty G-rated, and d) she tucked me into bed, and seemed disappointed when I said I wanted to lock the deadbolt from the inside after she left. Yup, I still like her. How can I not like someone with that many quirks?

Oh: MYW is impressed with my mad housecleaning. She called me a "minimalist". That's more than a little funny to me because Sunshine from Burning Man is seriously into minimalism as a lifestyle.

I now have a scandalously red shellac manicure, perfect for withstanding extended travel. If Mom doesn't approve of the color, tough noogies. I love it.

I've done the last of the shopping I'll need for France. Tomorrow, I launder & pack. I can't do much Monday night because of Lambert House, whose director wants me to do some urgent database querying before I go. Imagine my unsmiley face.

I meant to have pho with the Siberian Siren this evening, but like a genius I left my phone charging at home. The SS assumed that I was still napping because of my date and never checked the restaurant. Ah, kids these days. The spirit of the Siren was with me, though, because I stopped by Mishu after dinner and picked up a hoodie with tails. How could I not? Jewelry, too.
sistawendy: (dolly)
This entry is in two completely unrelated parts.

Part 1: last night at the Decibel Festival. I only went to one of the "showcases" even though there were, I believe, three going on at EMP alone; others were going on elsewhere in Seattle.

First opener Luke Mandala did the deep house thing right, with just the right amount of melody. My boots were not in the dryer. I'll concede that I felt the urge to dance to him more than the other two artists on the bill, including the headliner. I felt a little sorry for the skinny white boy with EMP Sky Church's Cinerama-sized screen for visuals behind him and Simian Mobile Disco's copious gear under wraps in front of him. He comported himself well, though. I ran into local promoter & label owner Ramiro Gutierrez, who in addition to being a righteous dude is Mandala's publisher. Yet another reason to buy his rekkid.

The second act on the bill, Robert Babicz, seemed lazy in comparison. Even with sparer, more electro-flavored beats & melodies, it seemed to me there were times when his gear was controlling him rather than the other way around.

Headliners Simian Mobile Disco came from outer space with sinister alien insect larva grooves that entered through my ears and ate my brain. Entered? More like crashed. They were kind of loud, and the Sky Church's sound system delivers in both quality and quantity. Nevertheless, they were happy-making in a way that I never heard before from them or anyone else. Sadly, I had a work sitch and sore feet, despite sensible boots, so I scrammed early. I'll definitely be checking out their new LP Whorl, along with Luke Mandala's and Aphex Twin's latest. (No, Aphex Twin did not play Decibel, and I'd be surprised if he ever did.)

What's up with the large number of skinny women at Decibel? And I don't just mean toned, I mean downright skinny. In terms of feeding my insecurities it's worse than Burning Man; maybe being naked or nearly so makes them look less skinny.

If you're wondering where Temptress was, she hasn't been feeling well lately and bleepy isn't her thing.
Part 2, the Goth garage sale at chez [livejournal.com profile] theda & [livejournal.com profile] balzacq: I showed up 90 minutes after it opened, deathly afraid that all the best scores would be snarfed. I needn't have worried. I came away with as much as I could carry, within budget, of things I needed and liked. In fact, I'm wearing a sleeveless black taffeta dress with a knee-length circle skirt for Decibel because I got Bigpuppy's tan hairs* on the black dress (What else?) that I wore to the sale.

I don't see my Goth peeps as often as I'd like. As I explained at the sale, I'm a slave to the rave, so I end up going to things like Decibel, Burning Man, and Seacompression instead of the Merc or Ceremony. (A moment of silence for the Vogue, no matter how cheesy you thought it was. It was the trans-friendliest joint in the city for all the years I went there.) Yeah, the sales used to happen more often, but the truth is that these days I need my money more than I need the clothes.

It was good to see [livejournal.com profile] icprncs & [livejournal.com profile] morthael back where they belong. They're not allowed to leave again.



*She's part Doberman & part German Shepherd, so she has black hairs & tan hairs with a grey undercoat. She sheds hairs to make anything you're wearing look bad.
sistawendy: (drama)
I don't own a clutch bag for use at fancy schmancy events, which I find myself attending with surprising frequency. I was talking about buying one* with Funny Lady the other day, but her advice was not to. She loses them, she says. She has non-trivial ADD, but it isn't hard for me to imagine myself misplacing a clutch as well. So, ladies, it's time for a poll:

[Poll #1975971]



*I got my secondhand Coach bag from [livejournal.com profile] alexiarnps repaired for free, so I thought I might look there first. Purse karma.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
I'm a big girl, thanks to my Y chromosome, and I'm not in the best shape I've ever been in. Nevertheless, I'd rather take the nonexistent risk of having my feelings hurt than receive clothes that are too big from the all-providing Intertubes.

One of the items in question is an above-the-knee skirt. My excuse for succumbing to the desire for relatively instant gratification - altering it instead of sending it back - is that summer is never long enough in the Seattle area. Dammit, it's a nice skirt.
sistawendy: (drama)
Since this weekend was a kid weekend, complete with Red Mill and Cosmos, I could only go to the Seattle Erotic Art Festival while he was at work on Saturday afternoon. Getting from Kirkland to the Seattle Center & back was hellacious due to the 520 bridge closure and construction on Queen Anne Ave., but our heroine prevailed.

My attachment to my favorite pieces wasn't as strong this year as in previous years, but I did have a couple:

David Steinberg - Dammit, I didn't write down the title and I only remember it as X and Y where X and Y are a man's and a woman's names. It's black & white photo where a nude man is doing something to a nude woman's navel - you can't see what because his hand's in the way - and she's laughing with her mouth wide open. It's a wonderfully immediate portrait, and it could only happen in a photograph.

Héctor Pineda - The Exorcism of the Heart [rest of crazy long title omitted]. This is a digital montage of a woman suspended from a burning branch in the twilight, meter-long flexible thingies protruding from between her breasts, what looks like a fire kettle in the distance, heavenly bodies, and geometrical diagrams against the stars. It reminded me of Mexican religious art, if Mexican religious art were made by a kinkster with a computer. This was the one I came back to the most.

Honorable mention: Bronwyn Dexter is a friend of Foxy, former mayor of Camp Beaverton. After pestering the docents a couple of times I found her work, and it did have a nice visual pun: a print of a woman masturbating with enough fingers to send me to the hospital (no vaginal muscles here), printed on a sewing pattern piece for a sleeve. Nyuk nyuk nyuk!
This weekend I've been wearing my hankerchief-hemmed dress, which [livejournal.com profile] sheistheweather helped me find at a thrift store years ago, with some new sandals. They're part sandal, part boot, all black and all me. I've gotten quite a reaction from them. While I was waiting to walk across Aurora, some dude in a pickup threw me the horns. I'd... never received the horns before. Then as I was walking into zappy, conversing with Ms. Zappy, two guys in a red, pimped-out SUV take a detour through the near-empty parking lot to talk at me. I didn't catch much of what they were saying - speed, distance, distraction - but apparently they seemed to think I owed them some attention. They didn't get it from me, mainly because I was already occupied. I don't know where they came from, and I didn't bother to watch which way they went. I was mighty glad when Ms. Zappy escorted my to the Sanctimobile after we were done.

Especially in light of recent events, this attention from men was... not enjoyable. I'm 46, I don't exactly have a figure to die for, and I'm not about to put myself in the middle of a het meat market. But a short skirt (or at least a skirt that looks short on a tall woman like me) and tall sandals worn in public are guaranteed get you the job of gratifying men's egos. I don't want that job, and I won't accept it.

I didn't mind when the queerish-looking woman in the Green Lake PCC complimented me on my outfit because - wait for it - she didn't radiate a creepy sense of entitlement. In fact, my first thought was, 'Oh no! My skirt's caught in my underwear again!' My son had already saved me from that once this weekend.
Speaking of zappy, I have been declared as clear as I can be for now. I can still see a handful of hairs, but they're not long for this world. On to my chest! Wait. That doesn't quite sound right.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
I had a fascinating drive home with the Wendling from driver's ed on Wednesday night. This time he didn't terrify me, but I got another flash of insight into the workings, or more precisely non-workings, of his nervous system.

He bravely decided to drive the same route home we'd gone when he nearly hit that Beemer on Saturday. Once again we were in one of two left turn lanes, only this time I pointed out to him the helpful dotted lines painted in the intersection.

There's more than one curving dotted line in the intersection because there are two left turn lanes facing north and two facing west. These lines intersect, naturally, but m'boy was confused about where each line began and ended. He was unable to follow them with his eyes. He couldn't make out the pattern of curvature which defined each line; it was as if he was seeing them as isolated rectangles of white. Guten Tag, Herr Dr. Asperger.

I reiterate that nothing immediately scary happened on that trip, but it doesn't bode well for his future driving if he can't do the low-level feature extraction on what he's seeing. I asked Aspiring Ex how he did at mazes, and she said, very well when he was younger. Hmm.
You know the Tom Waits song "Tango Till They're Sore"? Well, I did that last night. Being a taller-than-average woman, I have a tendency to slouch when trying to talk to most other women. It turns out that I do that when I'm dancing with them, too, and our instructor didn't call me on it until most of the way through the class. My back is not happy. She's 5'8", so I imagine she might have done it at some point as well.

There was a monthly beginner's tango night at Dance Underground on 15th, but I was too sore & low on sleep to take advantage. Le sigh.
I've scheduled a second date with Cat Lady after Thanksgiving. More news as events warrant.
I bought a pair of leopard print stretch velvet leggings, and finally it's cold enough to wear them. I am comfy, pettable, and spotted.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Yesterday: work, a nice barbecue with friends in the far north end, and an attempt to see hometown heroes Jacob London for the first time in years at ETG. The music & the vibe were wonderful and I got my dance on, but Jacob London didn't get on the decks until nearly 1:00, shortly after which I hit the wall. It was one of those nights where I felt like going home, but I didn't because I felt the need to get my money's worth out of my cover. That's a bad sign.

Today: I'm ashamed to admit that I hadn't ridden poor, lonely Goldiebike in ten months, i.e. since I moved into my Lake Place. I needed to make sure her tubes were OK for Burning Man, so I pumped them up and zipped around Green Lake. Happiness.

While still in my bike clothes I did the necessary alterations on my new dress for Pride. I'm happy with the results. The work isn't perfect if you look at it up close, but I'll be wearing it to drink, dance, and flirt my way across Capitol Hill, largely at night, so I'm sure it'll do. No pics for you until then. Neener, neener, neener.

The sofa that Nibs has been all but living on for years now was looking pretty ratty, so her mother bought her a new one. Yeah, whatever, except it got delivered today. (Sunday?!) Nibs needed a friend of hers (who looks uncannily like my Good Sister) and me to move the old one to the garage. I wouldn't have minded so much if I hadn't been planning to hang out at Lambert House, which was having a farewell barbecue for two of the three paid staff. Nibs asks favors from me with some regularity, but I only want one from her ever: independence.

I have a social jones, but I have neither the time nor the energy remaining this weekend. I'm oh so emotionally ready for Pride, Burning Man, and above all, summer.

Oh: I can has first date tomorrow evening. There may be another one with a different woman soon. That's most gratifying because I've had a dry spell recently.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Last night Prof. Jenny Boylan, author of fantastic transition memoir She's Not There and now Stuck In the Middle With You about being a trans parent, did a reading last night at Gay City under the auspices of Ingersoll Gender Center.

I'd put this in my calendar for the wrong day. If it hadn't been for my compulsive checking of Facebook yesterday, I would have missed it. Naturally I didn't have a book for her to sign, so I bought the new one on the spot and went totally fangirl on her when she signed it. Seriously, folks: I meant it when I told her that she wrote my story better than I could have.

I've never been in a room with that many trans women in my life. I'd guess at least 80% of the fifty or so people in the warm basement were trans women. There were even two or three trans men.

She read four different passages from three (?) books, but about half of the hour was taken up with discussions of being a trans parent. I'm something of an authority on the subject and a bigmouth, so I told the story of when I told m'boy I was going to change sex on him. If you'll recall, he tried to shake Aspiring Ex down for an iPod an hour later. Good for a laugh. He also thought my physical changes would be organic and therefore more perfect than they are.

Jenny did coming out to your kids right: one of her two boys was so young when she transitioned that he has no memory of her bad old days, and the other wasn't much older. From the Dept. of Irony, she seems more naturally protective of her boys, even the one in college, than I am of my son, and my son arguably needs it more. It was also a painful reminder of what I've missed by not having a neurotypical kid.

After the talk, meeting some of the other trans women in the audience, and then pizza & drinks at Via Tribunali. (Love their pizza vera, by the way. It's pizza that doesn't make you feel gross. Pricey, though.) It turns out that Jenny likes to sing: she led us all in a couple of Irish trad songs.

I got to sit next to her. Eeeeeeeee! And I got to ask her a question that didn't really fit into the time or theme of the reading: what would you tell your younger self? She asked if I meant the ghost of my former self - the theme of one reading - or trans people who are pre-transition. As someone who's spent a lot of time with queer Microsoft interns and at Lambert House, I meant younger trans people.

What I've told them is that they need to get an education and otherwise make themselves as indispensable as possible to society. Trans people face so much job discrimination that to do otherwise is sheer folly. Jenny's said things like that, and gotten criticism for it. Unbelievable.

She also said that she's come across so many "plane wreck[s]" - she did an imitation of a dismally unsuccessful attempt at femme presentation here, complete with the voice - who are grateful to her for inspiration that she's loath to assume the responsibility of advising any of us. And she's right to say that trans people don't want advice; they want permission. That was certainly true in my case.

I get the impression that Jenny is getting tired of talking about transitioning, transsexuality, and gender in general. That's common among trans people who are many years past Full Time, and it's even more understandable when you've been writing & speaking publicly about it as much as Jenny has for the last ten years.
"I know it gets old, but we need you very, very badly," I said.
"I'm dismayed that it's me that we need."
What I think she meant by that, in addition to being just plain tired of gender, is that she's been getting lip from younger, hipper trans & genderqueer people about how she's just telling her gentle, often happy stories and not doing more to stick it to the Man. Not only is that unfair to Jenny, who's never pretended to be anything but a writer of stories; I think it's bad strategy. The greater queer community has made its many recent gains by convincing everyone else that we're human beings. No one is better equipped to do that for trans people, and trans women in particular, than Jenny.

She wouldn't let me pay for the 'za we shared. *Dies*.

Oh: I ran into [livejournal.com profile] stepchyld there, which is hardly surprising considering how active she is in trans things, but she gave me a ride home. We naturally talked about dating. Yes, it's sucked for her almost as much as it's sucked for me - she's currently in a newish relationship - but she said one validating thing: the key is to keep being social, even via OKStupid.

In other news: makeup & bra shopping with the Siberian Siren on Wednesday night. Unlike me, she didn't try any assistive devices or need anyone to adjust her breasts. (Aw.) This time it was her turn to try on a gazillion bras at Nordie's, but she ended up ordering some that weren't on the rack. She & I have diametrically opposed fitting issues: I have a big chest & teenage breasts, and she's a tiny little thing who's pretty well-endowed for her size.
"We should find the woman who's the average size and beat the crap out of her," I said.
"She doesn't exist," said the Siren sadly.
sistawendy: (smartass hester)
At my birthday party, I engaged a little bit of moaning about the difficulty of finding Ms. Right (or even Ms. Right Now) when you're a 45-year-old trans woman. The lovely wife of a certain DJ had words of comfort, and a couple of days later, passed on an invitation to me to a goddesses' clothing swap as a way to a) acquire clothes I like for free and b) meet queer women. I have reason to believe she knows what she's talking about.

The place was a pretty, old Seattle box up some steep stairs in the CD, crowded with Burners and queer women (including [livejournal.com profile] xaotica, who's both). Clothes? Not bad. Women-meeting potential? Quite good. It's a pity I couldn't stay longer: Wednesdays are when I pick up m'boy from Jewish history class.

What made it a goddesses' clothing swap? I think it had something to do with the three well-dressed men - two in suits! - serving us drinks and being solicitous. It was about this >< close to being a scene. The men sensibly stayed in the kitchen while the womenfolk wiggled into and out of clothes and past each other in the next couple of rooms. The action was frenzied enough that the hostess had marked the area in which any item of clothing was fair game using blue tape on the floor in the doorways. That's pretty intense, and the kind of organization I'd expect from Burners.

I did pick up two or three things: an earth tone tartan pleated skirt, a purple tank top, and a grey long sleeve top. Mrs. DJ kindly brought a cute dress of hers for me to try, but alas, my shoulders are HUJ. I'm pretty sure it went to a loving home, though.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
The Siberian Siren and I are so dangerous for each other. We always have budgets when we shop, and if we're together, both of us exceed them, every time. We both recognize the problem, but I don't see us fixing it any time soon. Her girlfriend is too butch to enjoy that kind of thing, and tells her to shop with me. All my other, perhaps (but not necessarily) more sensible girlfriends are either too booked, too butch, or too tired.

I'm lucky so many of my meals come from StartupCo. Money that I budgeted for food has gone to makeup and clothing.

From the Dept. of Rationalization: Nibs bitched at me for years because she doesn't like the smell of Angel. I was over budget because I picked up some Chanel Chance at Ulta. (The SS cried, "It's not my fault!") Be careful what you wish for, Nibs.

The rest of the haul from Ulta:
  • A couple of nail colors and base coat from OPI. I tried it at the SS's. It's good, durable stuff.
  • Eyeliner - Urban Decay's Perversion. Hey, I ran out. Like you do.
  • Mascara. I was... nearly out. I think.

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