sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
I went to the March for Truth Saturday morning. There weren't as few of us as I'd feared - maybe a thousand - but not as many as I'd hoped. I don't think that march was very well promoted. Over the course of the day I had to explain that it had happened and what it was about.

As we walked down Pine street, some skinny dude in a suspicious said something like, "All these people don't work for a living."
I looked at him through my shades. "It's Saturday." I wish I'd made that up, but I'm glad I didn't have to.
I think he said something about blah blah blah homosexuality - I was wearing my Pride jewelry & pussy hat - but I didn't hear him and I didn't care to.

There was a small but excellent marching band that was with us all the way from Cal Anderson Park to the Seattle Center. I gave my compliments to the glockenspiel player.
My hair is now bluish black, courtesy of Locks of Fury, as always. I love it!

I went to the Sin night at Kremwerk in my marching clothes to show off my new hair, and I must say, the eye & ear candy were first rate. I have of course informed the Tickler, who seems excited. Sadly, I forgot to close my tab and therefore left my debit card there. I didn't drink too much, I promise. I haven't been able to sleep worth a damn the last few days, though, for which I blame the approach of summer. Maybe I need to dig out my bondage sleeping mask.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Good: A date with the Tickler last night. Dinner at Capitol Cider - they have tasty gluten free eats, which she really needs. This was one of those places that I've walked past dozens of times; I now regret not eating there sooner. Next, the SEX.WAV night at the Merc. We were actually in theme, showing lots of skin, and we both loved the music. (Yeah, I had to change clothes in the bathroom at work and put on my long, Goth hoodie.) Resolved: we shall show up to that night later, bring moar peeps, and plan a sleepover afterwards.

Bad: It looks like I'm going to miss an orgy this weekend because it sold out. I'd known I needed a ticket for days. I guess I wasn't feeling it that much if I didn't buy one. Ah well, it was going to be a pain to get to & from anyway. ETA: This orgy is also co-ed, which isn't my favorite.

Ugly: Good Sister called about Mom yesterday. Says GS, Mom recently switched doctors because Evil Sister was trying to talk to her previous doc about just how incapacitated Mom is. Apparently Mom's afraid of getting thrown in a home against her will. Also says GS, Mom never told ES that she switched medical power of attorney from ES to me. Sadly, these are typical Mom moves these days. ES's elder daughter E will be the only blood remaining in town with Mom as of the end of this month, and ES has at least prevailed upon Mom to call E in the event of an emergency. (GS reminded me of why E, along with everyone else except me, has reason to want nothing to do with Mom and shouldn't be counted on for any regular supervision.) Both my sisters are concerned with Mom's continued vulnerability to scammers, but there are signs that Mom is finally accepting the fact that she's "gullible" - her word - and addled - my word. Goddamn, I miss my dad.
sistawendy: (dolly)
I hadn't been to the Flammable night at Re-bar in at least a couple of years until last night. It was good to see that it (mostly) hadn't changed.
  • Sweet house grooves - check.
  • B-boys - check.
  • Lots of casually dressed gay boys - check.
  • At least two other apparent dykes - check.
  • People with silly things on their heads - check. Really. This is a regular thing at Re-bar, and I love it.
  • Gorgeous young women in platform boots - check? This is not a regular thing. Yes, of course I talked to them. They were perfectly charming.
  • Gigantic buildings looming over Re-bar and the adjacent shops - aieee! Please don't let the developers eat the rest of the 1100 block of Howell. At least the high rises that are there occupy what used to be parking lots, which I'm OK with.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
I went to Substation for DJ Heather et al. last night, sadly without Brown Eyes because she's feeling unwell. Sure, Heather brought those sweet Chicago house grooves, but what really made the night for me was the first opener.

She is Griffingrrl, MKA Emily Griffin, who, as promoter Ramiro Gutierrez explained to me, was a DJ in San Francisco for many years before she moved up here about ten years ago, had at least one kid, and stopped DJing. She does indeed have that Frisco sound, and it was hands down my favorite of the night.* A+, would shake booty again!

Best part: her parents were there, dancing to her whole set. They looked like well-heeled boomers, dad in a jacket and mom in, well, heels. I talked to Griffingrrl later about her triumphant return to the decks; she said she'd been in the underworld.
"I can relate," I said. "Mine's 19. Parent Power!" I raised my fist in salute.
"That underworld is the real deal."
"OH yeah!"

Fun fact: girlfriend must be 6' tall in her socks, at least. I bet that comes in handy when you work late nights in a club.



*And what, you may ask, is the difference between the Chicago & San Francisco sounds? Predictably, SF house has less jazz, funk, and soul than its arguable progenitor from Chicago, and more bounce, acid, and hippy shit, as epitomized by Mark Farina, Garth, and Om Records. (The Detroit sound tends more toward sinister space aliens, but they too can groove.)
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
But first: My company has a tradition whereby everybody dresses up the day before Thanksgiving. Since this year has destroyed the last of my fucks, I wore one of my favorite cold weather club outfits to work: long, silvery grey skirt; violet corset; black velvet top with dolmen sleeves.

The real action, though, was yesterday. For the first time ever, I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner. It was also the first time I roasted a turkey, and unfortunately you could tell: I remembered to add water, but I forgot to baste it even though I'd carefully placed the butter next to the stove for that purpose1. Those breasts were pretty dry, but everyone said the legs were a-OK. Also by me: fresh cranberry sauce - so easy, so tasty - and fancy kale & farro salad using a PCC's Methow Valley recipe2.

It's a good thing there were only six of us, and not seven as had looked possible at one point. I only have half a dozen each of dinner & luncheon plates. I don't have enough chairs, but I managed to bum one off Ex in advance3. My lake place is a one-bedroom apartment of under 600 square feet, so it was, as real estate agents say, cosy. Nevertheless, I had a fabulous time, and I think everyone else did too.

Do I still miss the bigger Goth Thanksgivings of yore? Wayell, yes, but that isn't to say that last night's guests aren't lovely people. If my living space were about double its actual size I could maybe fit the whole gang in here. Sadly, that is not to be for now.

Oh yeah: ravey playlist because hey, it's me. If this event recurs I should call it the Graver Spinoff Thanksgiving.

Speaking of ravey, I prodded Funny Lady into doing her usual post-Thanksgiving dancing at Neighbours, the skeeviest gay bar in Seattle. Turnout wasn't great - last minute, election funk, foul weather, whatever - and there were no hot queer makeouts this time, but seeing Funny Lady is always a joy. And I did get to meet a couple of new (to me) queer ladies. For perhaps the first time ever, the music at Neighbours wasn't lowest common denominator; it actually didn't suck. All of us were amazed!



1I made sure to get sufficient quality & quantity of wine. That may have had something to do with it.
2I did not succeed brilliantly in getting Goths to eat their vegetables. Harrumph. More fabulous salad for me, thank you very much, plus a ton of chopped greens to put in a scramble or something.
3She & m'boy are in California right now with her family. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get to introduce him to my friends and teach him how to make cranberry sauce.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
Three days no write. I'm OK: I've been sleeping more or less normally and I'm not in a funk; I just forgot. My freakout has subsided to a level I can live with.

Thanks to the divorce and Ex's self-employment, there's been a tax SNAFU. It seems they credited Ex's quarterly tax payments to me instead of her, and she couldn't get that taken care of until they figure me out. The IRS asked me in writing to send them a thick stack of documentation, and I did so within hours. I'm hoping this the last I hear about it. Oh, and I owe my dentist money because they don't yet have my current address.

I've been helping everyone melt the phone lines to congress by calling
  • both my US Senators to tell them to reject the nomination of Steve Bannon & Jeff Sessions. The objectionable appointments just keep coming.
  • Rep. Paul Ryan's survey about the ACA. Yes, there's a lot of dead air followed by propaganda, but I've let him know I'm against his proposed changes.
  • The House Oversight committee to get some action on some of Trump's financials and numerous conflicts of interest. I need to try them again because I couldn't get through.
I'm told calls to the district office are better than letters are better than emails or anything else electronic. That said, AskTheElectors is on my to-do list, not that I'm optimistic that it'll do any good.

I had to recharge by grooving to some house music for the first time in a while. OG DJ Doc Martin played Substation last night. I have to tell you, I liked his mix on Soundcloud and his openers better than what I heard live from him. He's a little minimal for my taste, but he was better with a singer. But still, it was good to get out with "family".

Fun fact: Substation sells Cup Noodle. I had to have some.

For the first time in my live I joined a protest a couple of hours ago: Hands Around Green Lake. Thousands of people showed up, just enough (as far as I could see) to ring the whole 2.8-mile circumference of the lake. Yeah, it was a touchy-feely hippy-dippy north-end-of-Seattle kind of thing, but I could see it improving everyone's mood. Together we can stop these Nazis from killing people.
sistawendy: (dolly)
The work week was harrowing enough that I had a serious social jones despite the predicted foul weather all weekend. After a brief but happy stop at [livejournal.com profile] ionan & J's - fashionista J is giving me ideas about what to wear to my 50th birthday party in 15 months - I hit the Merc, somewhat underdressed for the theme they had going, but still wearing something decently Victorian-esque*. I met a lady. She's almost exactly my age. She's cute. She's OK with snogging girls**. I shall call her Gnome for a reason known only to me. We have a mutual friend. She asked for my number. I think I shall pursue this.

I went to the party for the Polegasm and Conception theme camps last night because Grenade invited me and I (ahem) really wanted to see her again. It was a lovely little Burner party in a venue that had somehow escaped my notice: the Fremont Abbey, a former church that is now a performing art and events space. Alas, I ran out of gas before midnight and jumped on a 5 home, only to find out that Grenade had arrived shortly after I left. Murphy's Law, ne?

Today: enough sleep, a 90-minute zappy session that got everything***, and laundry of course.



*Long black steampunky skirt from Mishu, fitted black high-collared blouse from [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth? It was, to tell you the truth, the same thing I wore to work on Tuesday. I kept telling people that was a secret.
**And by girls I mean yours truly. Duh.
***Yay!
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Friday: A planned evening of housework and goofing off. The Islander postponed our date a week due to illness.

Yesterday: Saw Ghostbusters, which is definitely a worthy successor. I kind of feel guilty for not having the same reaction to it that so many of my cis girlfriends have had, though; I didn't grow up knowing I was being erased, and depicted as less than what I was*. No, what I found myself doing was studying the way the Ghostbusters interacted with each other. Studying that kind of thing becomes a habit if you're trans and not dumb as a brick. I kept having to remind myself that it's a movie, and doesn't necessarily have anything to teach me.

Also yesterday: Getting lost in the south end on the way to a certain lovely house full of Goths because it's not that far from Ex's and I somehow got the routes tangled in my head. Found house! Fabulous drinks, eetz, and chats ensued.

Also also yesterday: Went to Substation for a night called Board of Deacons. Yes, of course serious Christian Riz Rollins was involved. It was profoundly disco-flavored house, with all Black DJs and a surprisingly Black crowd considering that Substation is in Frelard. I haven't danced so much in quite a while. Bonus: I met a woman with duct tape just above her breasts. I asked about it. She'd just been suspended from hooks, not rope, she said, and there was gauze under the duct tape. Well then! Ah, such a Seattle moment.

Today: Picked figs in the south end from trees belonging to a friend of my Ex's. I went to the wrong house first and was miffed to find nobody home and plum trees instead of figs. Gosh, that could have gone very, very badly. I need to, you know, not read emails containing addresses with my glasses off. But I did manage to pick a couple of gallons of figs, of which I gave half to my ex. My share are currently quartered and drying for )'(. They were so ripe and so delicate that they were like jam in little wet paper bags nearly the size of my fist in a pair of 25' trees. I must have burst at least a dozen of them in the tree or on the way down; I tried not to let them go to waste. Nom!



*OK, OK, I realize that trans representation was abysmal to nonexistent when I was a kid. But that situation was so bad I didn't even realize it was that bad until much later in life.
sistawendy: (Burning Man wings)
Things I've done to prepare for Burning Man this weekend:
  • Relearn how to pitch check my tent - ✓
  • Inflate & deflate my air mattress to check for leaks - ✓
  • Inflate & deflate all spare bike tubes - ✓
  • Hit a yard sale hosted by the youngest woman I've ever dated, buy a leotard, and mutilate it for a top - ✓
  • Take in a couple of my slutty little skirts because I've lost weight since I last wore them - ✓
  • Hit Trendy Wendy for more tops & fishnets - ✓
To do: stitch EL wire to playa coat, and that'll be the last crafty bit I need to do.

Went dancing alone last night (All my ladies are either out of town or engaging in threesomes without me. *Sniffle*!) at the Monkey Loft. Tip top tunes courtesy of Riz and other locals. Met a cute, diminutive woman in a Trilby who acted as is she were rollin' hard. It was too dark for me to see her pupils. Talk about Burning Man prep.
My son is back in my apartment. I thought I had to pick him up at work tonight, so I texted him yesterday to ask when he needed me there. He didn't answer, natch. Imagine my surprise when he showed up about an hour before I was planning on leaving. He'd texted me about half an hour earlier, which I didn't hear. He says I'm just as bad about not checking texts as he is.

No jury would convict me. At least this time he told me I didn't need to drive before I started driving, which represents progress, believe it or not.
I finally got around to watching Wild at Heart. Lynch does a Hollywood movie, as only he could. It made me yearn for the young Laura Dern a simpler time when silly freakiness & grossout could be seen as revolutionary, and could even actually change a few things for the better. You want freaky? Dern and I are about the same age.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Got into work late because of insomnia. No, really. SFDs: my leggings with the Pride flag on the front & stars 'n stripes on the back (zillions of comments about those), black camisole, black hoodie with tails, Pride-themed accessories, cowboy boots. In other words, an outfit suitable for both marching and flirting.

But then! Left work early to take the train to the Trans march! This year we gathered, conveniently, right outside Capitol Hill station. Met up with Dimples, [livejournal.com profile] fullcontactmuse, [livejournal.com profile] bork, [livejournal.com profile] arjache, and a gazillion other trans friends, including one who I didn't know was trans until then. (!)

So yes, marching & chanting. Turnout looked significantly larger than last year, but it's always hard to judge these things when you're in the middle of the turnout. There were a lot of journalists and people on the sidewalks with video cameras & tripods. I'm not sure what that was about, but I'm sure I'll find out soon.

And then the sky opened up. Dimples needed dinner, so at her recommendation we found the Ezell's fried chicken truck (Lives up to the hype!) and ate it hurriedly under a tree while we got soaked. We dashed into Elliot Bay Books to dry off. We checked out and, in my case, bought queer-themed books, duh. (I felt guilty for dripping on the hardwood floor.) Dimples found a lesbian sex manual with perfectly reasonable text, but photography that looked aimed squarely at the male gaze. We suspect either clueless or evil publishers. Oh yeah: Dimples's chum Blondie joined us.*

Off to the Wildrose! There were a great many NSPP QIFs (pronounced "nispie queefs"). Dimples & Blondie were taken aback by the high cover & low drink value, so we hit the Comet for a little bit. They don't seem to have realized how straight the Comet is**, but hey, cheaper and better booze.

Back to the 'Rose, where I got to entertain D & B by going wibbly over a high femme Middle Eastern girl half my age. I did manage to tell her I loved her outfit.

Oh, the night's lone bummer: the 'Rose has two bathrooms, women only and unisex. I realized belatedly that the staffer at the doors was about to shunt me into the latter. After I peed, I told her, "I'm a woman. You can send me in there." To her credit, a few minutes later she found me and apologized.

Missed the last train home. Took the 49 to the U District, where I found out that I'd apparently also missed the last 45 to Green Lake. Uber took me home by a bizarrely circuitous route needlessly involving two different bridges, but get home I did.

Today: I get to be the high femme. There will be the Capitol Hill street fair, a BBQ at the Siberian Siren's, and the Merc with the Islander. The Tickler made plans to meet me next weekend, which works out perfectly.



*I have a lamentable history of assuming queer women I meet together are, you know, together when they're really not. This was once again the case with Dimples & Blondie. They're college chums and, I believe, used to be an item.
**Since the early '90s, I'd walked past the Comet hundreds of times without ever going in. This would explain why I didn't notice that the Comet has apparently ceased to be a live music venue and has blandly if profitably gone upmarket. Yeah, the old Comet was a place I wouldn't want to go into alone, but damn.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
TIL Yesterday I learned: what the gozinta & gozouta for map reduce jobs looks like. Yeah, welcome to 2003, but I finally needed to know it. The long-dormant hardware weenie in me wants to hit it with a big content-addressable memory.

Also, in Java land, you can run a web site from a jar (a UNIX tar archive in drag, for you more normal people) that contains your static content. Am I crazy, or is this, like so many technologies from the Java community, a big pile of nope aimed at a pointless design goal*?
M'boy is with me this weekend because his mother wanted freedom for her birthday, but nevertheless I had a brief jaunt at Substation last night. I figured Pezzner** would be on too late for me - I'd promised the Wendling I'd be back by 0130 - but I was pleasantly surprised that I got to catch his whole sweet set and still keep my promise. Crowd: kinda hippy, kinda househead faithful. I bought 3D-printed earrings from a better-than-usual vendor. I refrained from talking to the tall cute blonde woman in the apparently leather swing dress because she was all over her skinny, geeky-lookin' dude of a date.



*Platform independence. Linux killed it.
**Formerly half of local glitchy duo Jacob London, if you'll recall. He's gotten a respectable amount of national exposure.
sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
Got a nice Tinder nibble while I was at the Siberian Siren's and am reeling her in. Maybe the SS's potent mojo is partly transferrable.
Spent much of yesterday cleaning my place. Yes, if I were a good better parent I'd make m'boy do more of his share, but I want it done now and I want it done right, so I did it. Excuse: I've been ready for ladies to see my place for the last 24 hours or so.
Not that I've spent any of this weekend in queer spaces, SS's apartment aside. I went out to one of Ramiro's nights last night at the Monkey Loft. No big names, not too crowded because of the long weekend I assume.

But you know how I have... a thing for Mediterranean-looking women? Of course there was a younger (of course) one with long, thick, black hair; big, dark eyes; a high-bridged nose; and visible garter belts. I arranged to be at the hot dog cart at the same time she was and wondered aloud what a Vietnamese hot dog is. She was outgoing enough to reveal an accent from, I'm guessing, the Balkan peninsula. She wished me a good evening and a good hot dog. What is the sound of one nun melting? Of course she was there with a large, affable man in a tie & trilby, and a second, balding man who looked like her relative. All kinds of nope. Tragic.

And speaking of melting, I was wearing my scissor leggings. The event photographer - they're often at these nights - had unequivocally queer spiky hair like a butcher version of Laurie Anderson, and she looked pretty dapper in a men's suit jacket. She complemented me on my leggings (nudge, nudge) and shot me a few times; I made sure the scissors were visible. So yes, I can get women's attention, just not the attention of queer women I'm attracted to.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
I took yesterday off for circumflatulation, but was sabotaged by a faraway anonymous douchebag who didn't return the rental equipment I needed1. Then we had a major network outage at work, and despite my technically taking the day off, I helped deal with it because self-preservation.

So you can imagine my relief at getting dressed to dance2 and getting picked up by the Tickler for bougie Mexican just up the ridge from my place, girly drinks, tales of the Tickler's freaky exploits at Frolicon, and a lovely walk up & down Greenwood Ave. I'm pretty sure I've convinced her that Phinney is phabulous.

Then dancing at Substation. Righteous groove was had. It was a Uniting Souls3 night, and I saw people there in Dirtybird (SF) t-shirts. Wonderful things about queer dates:
  • You can be those tacky girls who make out and do mean things to each other on the dance floor.
  • You can flash your bethonged butt at your date in the bathroom, no problem.
  • You can be dirty old women together and ogle the cute girl in the tall boots & taller feather headdress, or the insanely hot tall, young Gothy brunette with the sexy dance moves. We followed her as she went outside to cool off at least once. "You think she knows we're checking her out?" asked the Tickler. "She must," I said.
No dirty hippies this time4, for which the Tickler was even more grateful than I was.

Postscript: This morning was one of the very few mornings when my son was awake and dressed before I even rolled out of bed. He got treated to the site of me shuffling to the bathroom in my usual t-shirt and the aforementioned thong underwear. When asked, though, he said he wasn't traumatized. Whew. No, that happened a few days ago when I stepped outside the bathroom naked to turn the light on. Sorry, kiddo. Darn Seattle buildings and their placement of bathroom light switches.



1This is part of the motivation for my head-scratching about what to do with the spoils of my divorce.
2SFDs: '60s-esque psychedelic print skater dress from Zulily, gladiator sandals, all MAC makeup. Gold-toned jewelry to match the dress & sandals.
3Dude in charge: Ramiro Gutierrez.
4Unlike [livejournal.com profile] staxxy, when I say "dirty hippies", I mean actual human dirty hippies who smell bad.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Three days between updates is long for me, but once again I got a bit busy.

Friday: Worked late, snarfed kid, felt woozy from crud, collapsed in bed and slept for nine hours.

Saturday: Spent some of that cash I've come into lately: Replaced the gladiator sandals I trashed last year, got the 100K service on the Sanctimobile, and picked up a large, black Lelo Smart Wand. I have yet to truly put that last to the test. For the sake of my right hand and my son's sleep, I hope it does the trick. So hey, it was all stuff I needed, more or less.

Had dinner for the first time in a while with the Siberian Siren. She's been working like a fiend on her real estate venture; it may have been the least sexy dinner with her ever, but that's still not bad. She had this to say about using the money coming to me to buy a residence: don't, for at least a couple of years. The market around here is too hot right now. I think I'll have an easy time following that advice.

The SS also had a... disturbing take on my son's punkitude. She thinks I need to put the "fear of Jesus"* into my son; from her, she points out, threats to send children to Siberia aren't idle. As hair-tearingly frustrated as I am with the Wendling, I'm philosophically opposed to fear-based parenting. For now.

Went to one of the Hot Flash Inferno nights, and ran into fellow trans woman M, whom I saw a fair amount of when I first started living as a woman. Her career is in the dumps, her love life isn't happening, and she's in her sixties now. I'm kinda fuckin' terrified that she is my future.

So I left early for the Merc, which wasn't as lively as I might have hoped. At least I got to raise my spirits by scratching a lovely lady, good and hard, as well has her boyfriends. Hat tip to [livejournal.com profile] seelenschwester for playing CHVRCHES at the Merc.

Today: Napped. Found excuses to walk in the glorious sunshine. Dreading trying to find space in my little lake place for all of my son's stuff after dinner, which I now need to cook.



*You'd never guess the SS isn't a native speaker of English until she gets a rare idiom not quite right.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Going to one of Ramiro's nights at Substation with the Tickler was rather lovely. I got the time wrong, so we had some nibbles & drinks at the Blue Glass first, then got some groove on. Some hippies, some hoopers, some vendors, no skeevy dudes - OK, one mildly skeevy dude while I was ordering drinks, but I could say to the Tickler, "Quick! I need to make out in self defense!" And it happened. And we were good girls in that we confined our makeouts to the edge of the dance floor, which is classier than I've (ahem) been in the past. We shall be doing that again, oh yes.

I didn't turn out the light until 0415 Sunday. Last night I slept from 1945 to 0245. I spent the small hours of this morning doing random stuff in an attempt to make myself go back to sleep. I guess that's one way to adjust to the time change.

We had big wind yesterday, and I lost power from 1600 to 2000 along with, it seemed, a lot of my friends in the north & south ends. How windy was it? So windy that WaSDoT had to open the draw span on the soon-to-be-replaced 520 bridge. Construction narrowed I-90 eastbound to one lane, and I-5 was hopeless both downtown and at the northern I-405 interchange, so I didn't drive out to see my son last night as is usual on Sundays. The lovely cherry trees across from my bedroom window lost a huge limb; biking around Green Lake may be an obstacle course for a few days. Winter and that bridge are delivering one last "fuck you" before we're done with them both.

Fun fact: I seem to be more punctual than, well, every other queer woman I know. Maybe I should be dating military brats.
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: (dolly)
Went to the Siberian Siren's round-numbered birthday shenanigans at Witness last night. She wearing an unusually subdued knee length black dress. She seemed genuinely a little bummed about being "old". Oh please, sweetie, was what I essentially told her. Bonus: I got to meet her brother, who's pretty much exactly as I would have expected, only cuter. I was about to tell him how she & I met, when this happened:

SS: I try to scandalize my brother...
SW: [rubs hands together]
SS: ...as little as possible.
SW: Aww.
SSBro: There are some things about my sister that I don't want to know.
SW: You speak for my sister.

Before the SS had even invited me to her party, though, I'd bought a ticket to see Moby at Neumo's for a KEXP benefit. For those of you who don't know, he was one of the gods of the New York rave scene in the late '80s & '90s, and he's been active ever since despite a couple of bouts with substance abuse.

Moby decided to "go hard", and he brought it in the grandest old school style. I wish there'd been room enough to dance, but you know Moby's going to pack the house. I couldn't see him without squatting from my vantage point in the balcony next to one of the hanging speaker stacks - big love once again to Neumo's sound - but I could tell he was all business behind the decks, another old school tradition of which I approve. Best Moby moment: a sample from Led Zeppelin's "The Immigrant Song", which my Evil Sister hunted down import vinyl of before she turned to, you know, evil.

The crowd? A fair number of people Moby's age (which is roughly my age), but also plenty of younger beardos and even a few sweet young thangs. It was nice to see the whippersnappers appreciating him. Nobody acted like jerks.

Where it got weird was that his set of about 90 minutes was followed by local soul artist Grace Love & the True Loves. Yes, they're fine, but seriously? Did we as a city just dis Moby? Surely not.

Returned to Witness and had a lovely chat with a cute friend of the SS's - who is straight & married. Her hubby was right across the table from us, even. Dammit. Still, it was an excellent evening.

PS: One of my neighbors just invited me over to their place. He's dressed nice, and I'm still in my workout clothes from attempting to move boxes at the old place this afternoon, just minutes after I told [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth I'd be out dancing with her. If only my dating life were going as well as my G-rated social life.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Work? Java, and therefore agonizing. The Java community reinvented '90s versions of wheels, and made them baroquely rectilinear.

M'boy? Having enough trouble adulting - little stuff like going to bed at night and getting up in the morning in time for class - that my ex is on the verge of making good on her threat to ship him off to me on a long-term basis. I'm displeased about this because a) my place is a one-bedroom apartment, b) I'll have to feed my teen, c) the kid still leaves a trail of mess and broken stuff, and d) so much for ever bringing any ladies home except those weekends he'll be staying with his mother, barring kicking him out somewhere. Oh by the way, his commutes to school and work will be waaaay longer. When he does move in, I'm going to be cranky, to say the least. He's aware, and he's dreading the prospect. Consequences, kiddo.

Dating? Well, my ladies haven't forgotten me, but they're still sick & busy.

Against this backdrop of meh and arg, I put on my Pride flag/stars & stripes leggings, black paten 20-eyelet docs, high-collared short sleeve black shirtwaist, and black leather opera gloves. (Makeup? Nearly all MAC.) Got a shout out from [livejournal.com profile] seelenschwester, flirted with another queer woman. Mood improved, even if I'm a tiny bit hung over; either losing weight or age has reduced my alcohol tolerance.
Ingress level: 6.82. I can ding 7 today if I apply myself.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Last night as I drove back from seeing m'boy I almost didn't go out to the Area 303 crew's night at Substation last night. I was in my work clothes and feeling low on energy. I was glad I went, but not entirely for the reasons you'd think.

The first two DJs, house man Super Dave and old-school techno guy Computer Controlled, were very much to my taste. Somebody else there compared Computer Controlled to what you'd hear in a midwestern field rave; I gotta love that. During the first set the house lights were up as they set up lighting & lasers way bigger than anything I've seen in a funky little venue like Substation. The purist in me rebelled at the thought of smoke & lasers at a small techno night, but I ended up liking it in spite of myself. It must be the Burner in me.

During the second set I talked to Turbo, the third DJ. The fellow thinks quite highly of himself, but I don't think that's warranted. His sound is a boring wall of noise, and he needs to quit interacting with the audience and DJ more. I bagged at 0037 before the headliner, as I do so often, partly because of him.

The weirdest thing last night by far, though, was the half-dozen or so woo girls. No, not girls overly fixated on the supernatural, but girls who say, "Wooooo!" Young, cute, well-dressed** in some cases, and painfully straight-seeming. We scruffy old-schoolers* had a laugh, and in truth the woo girls weren't being jerks even if they really did say "Wooooo!" at one point. But I worry a little about my cherished, eccentric little corner of popular music being encroached upon by the same people who ate the Hill, and fathead DJs who cater to them.



*And I feel a little fraudulent calling myself that because I didn't start going to techno shows until this century.
**I made a point of complimenting one of them on what she was wearing. I'm pretty sure I detected a look of 'OMG she's an old tranny!' on her face. Good.
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.

Profile

sistawendy: (Default)
sistawendy

July 2017

S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
910 1112 13 1415
16 1718 192021 22
23242526272829
3031     

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 22nd, 2017 06:34 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios