sistawendy: (mad woman)
Back into the work groove, which always involves fighting fires more than it ought to.

Lambert House last night. I finally got around to asking the director, Ken, what to do about folks in trans group who suck all the oxygen out of the room. This is a frequent occurrence, and I'm not proud to admit that I've never really known how to deal with it, so I didn't try.

Also, I told Ken about my tabling at Pride, especially that people wanted to know about the house's financial situation. He was hoping he could get some pro fundraisers on board before he had to message that, but he might have to reconsider, he said; props to him for being careful. As usual, I got an earful about incompetence and skullduggery at city hall, and stuff I need to do to the database to protect the house from it. I'm on it, but only time will tell if it's soon enough.

The Wendling is back with me for four nights to make up for when I was at Critical. I'd barely seen him for two weeks. Yeah, I missed him. He put his clean laundry away before I got home without needing to be reminded. That made me inordinately happy, and I told him so.

Other things that make me happy:
  • Making plans with the Siberian Siren to make plans for the Folsom Street Fair.
  • Planning a date with Much Younger Woman.
  • Getting a record recommendation from the Tickler that I have no doubt is solid.
  • Hearing from Ex that an old college chum has tracked me down, but doesn't yet know about my sex switcheroo.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Last night I skipped the Trans Pride march to set up & staff the table for Lambert House at the rally in the park that followed. That was more intense than I expected: I must have spoken to at least a hundred people in ones and twos over the course of three or so hours about the house.

Categories of people my fellow volunteer S and I talked to, in decreasing order of number:
  • People who just wanted to know what we were about - we're a safe place for queer kids to be together, basically, plus activities, and a few social services. I got the impression that there are people who instantly understand the value of a safe space by and for queers, and there are people who don't. I'll give you one guess as to the queerness of each group.
  • People who wanted to volunteer! I only had a handful of paper applications, so I sent people to the web site and handed out volunqueer coordinator B's business card liberally.
  • People who wanted to know how the fund raising is going. Many people knew about the eleventh-hour loan we got last year and the consequent capital campaign. I know what's going on with that better than most volunteers by virtue of hanging out with the director to do reports, but even I don't know much. I do know that we need six- or better yet seven-figure donations in the next few years if we want to keep our house.
  • One therapist. I got to give him the special clipboard.

I got mysteriously cold after the sun went down, possibly a blood sugar crash from the absurdly early dinner I ate so I could be on time. S took pity on me, saying she'd tear down - I'd done most of the setup after literally running down the questionably parked B, who's no good at giving directions. I administered Molly Moon's ice cream and warm Guinness at the Merc immediately, but I completely struck out at finding anybody I knew who wanted to party on the Hill last night. Even the young Burning Man campmates I ran into were calling it quits early. Weird.

Picked up Saga, vol. 2 - so much tasty plot! - and came home to m'boy, was reminded how much I don't miss his clutter & mess in my apartment, and went to bed.

Today's plan: work out, get gussied up, Greenwood car show & pizza with m'boy, hit the Hill for the street fair & dyke march, and the Siberian Siren's party. If you want to meet up with me, late afternoon is your best bet.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I mentioned on Zuckerberg's data mine a few days ago that I was going to be tabling for Lambert House at the Trans Pride march & rally this Friday. On Sunday, Elaine Wylie, one of the organizers of Trans Pride, who I know socially from way back, said that Lambert House hadn't registered and that we'd better hurry up if we wanted a space, and we'd have to bring our own furniture because that ship had sailed.

I sprang into action, emailing and leaving the justifiably hated voicemail for the LH volunteer coordinator, B. As luck would have it, I had trans group last night, so I got to see B. He says that a) he had thought that was as good as done earlier, b) now it really is mischief managed, c) LH has chairs & tables, and d) I'm a Hero of Socialist Queerdom for sounding the alarm. Another fine coincidence is that B had just called an unprecedented meeting of the trans group facilitators to talk about what we can do to boost attendance. That table should be a good start.

And oh by the way, there's another LH volunteer, P, who I know from the poly community. She's tall, zaftig, and cute. She's an amazing dresser. She says smart things in a deep, sexy voice. She's queer - yeah, nearly all LH volunteers are. And she'll be at the table for Trans Pride along with your ever-hopeful nun. Now that I type that, it occurs to me that she may not be as cisgender as I thought. Mrowr!
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Last night:
  1. Vietnamese eats with the Siberian Siren. I only had 90 minutes for dinner with her - read on for why - but I needed more like 150. I've been busy; stuff is happening.
  2. The quarterly report for Lambert House. I really should know better by now than to ask the director any questions that aren't directly related to the task at hand; his answers tend to turn into the megilah. But I don't know better. And the truth is, he's a natural at making such stories entertaining. I didn't get home until nearly midnight. No, we couldn't have started earlier because he was facilitating the group for gay boys, as I do for the trans folks.
Tonight: Despite being low on sleep, I think I need to hit the Mercury for at least a little while. Some seldom-seen folks from the Seagoth board days said they'd come for the first time in years, and since they have young children, it could be my only chance for a while. I'll see if I can talk them into Dreamwidth. They were on LJ a looooong time ago.
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
First the happy stuff: date #4 with Brown Eyes. Yes, they do seem to happen fairly often. I'm OK with that. Nothing fancy, just a drink after Lambert House at the bar down the street where the old Monday night gang used to go. Then she drove me home while telling me stories that made me laugh 'til I cried.

Now the not-so-happy stuff: I've written here before about how Lambert House is staying in its current location thanks to an eleventh-hour loan. What I haven't written about is that because LH didn't technically have a space for next year at the end of this year, the city of Seattle wouldn't give them their usual contract. It's apparently been in their rules for ages.

I heard this from the chagrinned-looking volunteer coordinator. It occurred to me later that he had good reason to be chagrinned: he's one of only three paid staff, and the organization is now missing about a third of its budget for this year. The city will probably fund us for the second half, but that still means about a $40K shortfall. After the months-long, freaked-out scramble for cash and space that ate most of last year for the director, he's got to deal with this new hassle. Oy.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
Because I was sick on Tuesday, I didn't get to do the Lambert House annual statistical report until last night, starting at 2100 because the director had a support group to facilitate earlier that evening. No, we couldn't do it another night because it's due today.

How late were we working? 0245 this morning. Uff da. I've managed to get six hours of sleep in, but even so.

There was the usual hassle with bad data entered by volunteers, and the city's & county's Byzantine reporting requirements and their unhelpfulness to us in fulfilling them. To his was added, though, new concern from the director that certain columns add up just so because the city of Seattle in particular has finally started auditing social service non-profits. The directory is confident and proud that our compliance is much better than agencies with budgets many times the size of ours, but that still means a lot of work and hardcopies.

And (Surprise!) reporting requirements have changed, mainly around race and first language, which means I need to change the schema and the GUI, and soon. The irony about the language data is that we only serve people under 24. Children of immigrants make up a disproportionate number of them, but they're children, often (usually?) born in the US: their English is usually if not always better than their parents'. I'm unaware of any demand for services or info in other languages at Lambert House.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
Yesterday didn't start well: I'd gotten to bed at a reasonable hour in anticipation of visiting Ex's dad in the hospital, but I woke up at 0415 and couldn't get back to sleep. So I drank some extra tea, did my usual morning thing*, got lunch with m'boy and then took him 25 miles up I-90 to the hospital in Snoqualmie.

Exdad wasn't having the best of days. He could only talk in short, often incomplete sentences, and he wouldn't take his eyes off the college football on TV. (Ex says he doesn't even like to watch football. He's a baseball fan, and has even had a baseball job. Ex's stepmother later told us to turn off the TV if we want to get Exdad's attention. Uh, what?) At one point I asked him if he knew who I was. He replied, "Of course!" A few minutes later he used my dead name, and I gently reminded him of the current one. As I told the Wendling when he asked about it, that didn't surprise or bother me in the slightest. Exdad tried to climb out of bed (probably to pee, says Ex), but he didn't even have the presence of mind to use the side without the rail, so we got the nurses to stop him, calm him down, and readjust his position a little. Poor guy. I'm guessing he'll be in there at least another week.

Where was Ex, you ask? She'd just had an infusion of something for her arthritis on Friday, and those always knock her out of commission for a few days. The text message with instructions that she sent to me ran on for hundreds of words. As usual I ended up ignoring most of it. Ex gets off on ordering people around as does her mother. Someday I'll get around to pointing that out to her, but it's not really my problem any longer.
Got home, turned around twice, and took buses & a train to Lambert House, where I was supposed to crunch numbers. Knowing the director as I do, I texted him an hour in advance. No response. Got to the house. It was locked, and his car was nowhere to be seen. More texts. No response. A slice of quiche and an ill-advised mocha later**, more texts, buses, and trains. I'm on the bus home - after getting soaked - when the director said he was on his way because volunteer training just ended. I remember his mentioning that when we made the appointment so maaaybe I got the time wrong, but Christ on a pogo stick. We've rescheduled for tomorrow.
Tried to nap in anticipation of part of the Chance of Rain festival. See "ill-advised mocha" above. My eyelids were stuck in the up position until 2300, after which I slept for ten hours. Silver lining: Chance of Rain is doing a day rave on the roof of the Monkey Loft this afternoon. I think I've earned it, thank you very much.



*Breakfast & workout.
**Bakery Nouveau. Damn, they're good.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
The folks who run Lambert House are starting a capital campaign to buy a house (!) now that they're about to get kicked out of the house they've rented since 1981. (Boo!) One of the volunteers, who works at Tableau, wanted to do some data visualization that illustrates who we serve. And who maintains the database for that and runs the statistical reports? Yours truly, of course, so out go the CSV files - lots of stoopid mouse clicks for that - onto some flash drives.

Director Ken Shulman drove me home, as he does so often, and filled me in on a couple of things:
  1. For the first time in the 13 years he's been director, the city audited the House's data collection and reporting practices. Long story short - and all stories from Ken are long - we aced it, natch, and we left other agencies with much bigger budgets looking slack at best and fraudulent at worst. Big warm fuzzy for me there. I guess Ken's paranoia about getting hardcopies for everything was justified. I need to document how I do that stuff, though, as I've been saying for years, so somebody besides me can run the reports in case the city wants to watch us do it.
  2. No, bar a miracle Lambert House is not going to have $2M to buy a new place by the time we have to move out in December. Ken envisions a multi-year capital campaign, and he's doing his level damnedest to quietly line up big donors first, which he says is the way of these things. So, if any of you guys have tens or preferably hundreds of thousands of dollars burning a hole in your pocket and you want to keep queer kids from killing themselves, you could do far worse than Lambert House.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Went to my second annual pah-tay with the Siberian Siren & her partner A at the SS's hair salon, Collage, on 5th Ave. Best piece of Pride gear: a BiBi-8 t-shirt. Yes, BB-8 in bi Pride colors, worn by one of many cute queer black women about half my age. As always, first rate food & booze because (co-ed) urban queers.

The parade is on 4th Ave. Since it's such a long parade, I don't feel too bad about missing the beginning & end of it. Indeed, A & I agree that the best part of watching the parade was watching the Siren watch the parade. Here's this hardass, hard-headed Russian, who in many ways has had a hard life, turning into a wildly enthusiastic child right before our eyes. Happiness.

The SS didn't want to do the sardine scene that is the Seattle Center, at the end of the parade route. She was under the impression that there was more Pride-related stuff happening on Capitol Hill than there turned out to be. Nevertheless, we still had a lovely walk, yummy dinner at Chop Shop*, and Molly Moon's for ice cream. (That last was my idea. It's a personal Pride tradition.)

Oh: there were four of us. A & the SS had a houseguest, H, a younger bi woman who was crashing under their stairs, Harry Potter-style. She was raised very Jewish, so talking about it with H was a weird blast from my past. Her advice: don't be a tall or fat straight woman in Israel; her sister is both.

One member of Chop Shop's staff, a fellow with an accent that may have been east European, tried to direct me to the men's restroom. Not happening. H was right behind me in the women's, and I asked her, "Did I just experience a transphobic bummer?" She said, "Yup."

Netflix and chill at the SS's place. This is not a euphemism for a lesbian orgy, for better or worse; we really did watch TV & veg out for a while. I took the train to the UW, then the 44 to Fremont and walked the rest of the 30+ blocks home so I could burn some ice cream and watch the sunset from Phinney Ridge.

For Pride next year:
  • I've never been to R Place. Yeah, I know it's huge and full of kids and lowest-common-denominator music, but I have to do it once, right?
  • Dimples & Blondie are not wrong about the Wildrose: it's better for dancing than drinking on Pride. The gay men's joints, e.g. Purr, the Cuff, and Pony, might be a better option.
  • The Merc on Pride didn't suck. [livejournal.com profile] seelenschwester did a Lambert House benefit, which is of course dear to my heart. But I'm a regular at the Merc, so it seems somehow un-Pridelike.
  • If I'm going to take a lady friend home, it needs to be well before midnight. I'm too old to stay awake otherwise.
  • For heavens sake, mass transit from the Hill is useless after 0030.




*Our waiter was a chatty beardo, and the food was oh so hip & hipster. But damn, it was good, and the price wasn't out of line. I'm so conflicted when I eat at places like that.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Last night was trans group at Lambert House. It was a lively, well-attended group, which always makes me happy, but there was one disturbing piece of information from one of the kids in the group. They were talking about how sex ed in schools covers the bare, heteronormative minimum. They don't cover any queer-specific topics, including HIV prevention. My informant tells me that they know of one gay boy at their school who thought he didn't need to use barrier protection because men who have sex with men are a low-risk group! How did that even?

If I ever thought that Lambert House might have outlived its usefulness, I can stop thinking that now. Likewise Gay City. If anything, we should be doing outreach into schools. The queer community needs another plague like it needs, well, a plague. At least all the kids in the room with me were aware of the possibility.

Another kind of troubling thing about trans group: there was a lamentably lopsided split in time spent talking between AFABs & AMABs, even though there were an equal number of each. You guessed it: the AFABs "won". I wish I knew what to do about that.

(I got the pronouns right the first time this time. Ha!)
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: (hand staple forehead)
For the first time ever, I completely blew off trans group at Lambert House. Well, not so much deliberately blew off as failed to make the appointment repeat in my online calendar, thereby eliminating my reminder. Group starts at 1900. The house called me at 1925, but by then I was in Kirkland, eating like the very hungry nun I was, feeling light-headed from ick, and picking up the check I needed to pay my taxes. There was no way I'd make it in time to make most of group, and oh by the way, I had m'boy with me.

Wayell, at least when Uncle Sam cashes his check it will now clear. Oh yeah: I think I'll go change my withholding now to say I'm single. *Facepalm!* You all know I'd love to find Ms. Right and marry the bejeezus out of her, but no way in hell do I want to do this divorce crap again.

I love those perfect summer days, but I'm a bit worried that Seattle is having them in April. Come July, only the Burners may be left standing.

Slept 9.5 hours again last night. I'd really like to shake this crud, if only so I could get all the boxes & crates out of my living room, a.k.a. my son's bedroom. I'm so tired I still haven't properly tried out my new Lelo, which means I'm having dreams about making out with women it would be better for me not to make out with.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
A Seattle inevitability has happened: Lambert House's landlady wants to sell the house out from under them, and the director Ken says she isn't making it easy on them. Sixty days and out. Luckily, even if he freaked way out at first, he seems to be on the ball about finding a suitable new temporary home. He's also shaking the trees for money for a more permanent home. I'm proud to say that I clued him into a potential source of queer cash. I'm being uncharacteristically but deliberately vague because it's still early days. Considering the number of adult queers I've met in this area who've passed through the doors, though, I'm optimistic about the longer term.
Speaking of real estate, my ex & I close on the old place tomorrow evening. How convenient that they scheduled the signing party for when I'll be there anyway. Cash would be good now.
I got a lovely letter in the mail from [livejournal.com profile] dagard's parents yesterday. They knew there was lots of spicy stuff about him that he wasn't telling them. He cared for them enough not to.

My mom? Knows everything you do about me. Yeah, even (at least the outline of) entries that I've locked. That is, if she remembers it. I guess I like to talk about myself too much. But as an excuse, let me just say that a) she asked for it - no, really - and b) her generation is the nucleus of queerphobia worldwide. If I lay some truth on her, namely that queers, trans people, and kinky people are, you know, people, she might spread the word.
sistawendy: (dolly)
This was a kid weekend, and I still got a bunch of social time in. Vict'ry! But first: I couldn't decide between Goth Christmasy and super queer for last night's party outfit, so I consulted the social media brain trust via certain other social networks that shall remain nameless. Most said Goth Christmasy, but a significant number (well, two - the total sample was small) said to do both. And no less a personage than Mistress Matisse, local professional dominatrix and way cool & articulate sex work decriminalization activist, said a tiara needed to be involved. So: photographic SFDs )

Dropped off m'boy for his four-hour shift at PCC Kirkland yesterday. Drove to the far south end for a certain swanky affair at chez [livejournal.com profile] morthael & [livejournal.com profile] icprncs. OMGShortbread! Then burned up I-5 to the north end to party with some of the extended MOO kroo and pump [livejournal.com profile] gfish for information regarding internships and/or being a page in various legislatures. You see, his brother has had that gig, and my son wants it. Since it's one of my son's precious few expressions of ambition, I promised him I'd find out what I could. That's right: partying with a purpose.

After I took the Wendling to work this afternoon, I did laundry & housework until my phone reminded me of another party that I'd completely forgotten about, namely the Lambert House volunteer party. A quick application of makeup and bottle purchase later, I had a lovely time with teh queerz. They had a few ginger snatch cookies, i.e. gingerbread cookies in the impressively realistic shape of lady bits; I ate them all. I told everyone I was practicing sympathetic magic.

And on that note, good night.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
It finally happened: I think I have a mild UTI. Dr. Bowers (a.k.a. Dr. Snip) did warn me that my new, shorter urethra would leave me more susceptible to urinary tract infections, just like a cisgender woman. I'll cope - and get my hands on some cranberry juice. I can't help but wonder if pigging out on pastries at work yesterday contributed to the problem; I don't do that as often as I used to.

And speaking of that, I've encountered a drawback of losing weight that I wanted to lose: clothes that I love don't fit quite right anymore. Moar belts.

Oh: Monday night was time to do the quarterly report to the city for Lambert House. Our newish volunteer manager asked me to run some extra queries to see how many kids his outreach efforts in the schools have brought in. The answer is: quite a few. That's most satisfying after a couple of bad years prior to this one.

Even better, we've done the quarterly report the same way for two (or is it three?) quarters in a row now, so I'm thinking it's time to hand it off if Ken the director will let me. Sure, hanging out with Ken is fun & all that, but getting enough sleep is important. There's always the danger of capricious municipal bureaucrats changing the reporting requirements again. Ken informed me that there's a tight deadline on the annual report; I envisioned myself running SQL queries with a New Year's hangover.

Better still, we now have a third trans person facilitating the support group meaning I get more Monday nights to myself. She's another facilitatrix, and she's in her twenties so the youth will surely find her much more relatable than me. It would be a good thing to have another trans man or better yet an enby (non-binary, for those of you who aren't hip to the queer lingo) in the rotation.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
A lovely evening with trans kids ("youth", officially) at Lambert House Monday night. [livejournal.com profile] staxxy recently told me that transitioning had given me more self-confidence. I see the way I used to be in a lot of the trans youngsters, and I hope things improve for them, or rather that they improve things for themselves. I will lend them a cup of zero fucks whenever they need it. And in the meantime I will remind the director that we need to crunch numbers for the quarterly report for the local governments that fund us. What would that man do without me? Freak out, that's what.

MBSOs* apparently don't happen when I'm not feeling well, regardless of how recently I've injected girl 'roids. Now that I am feeling well, they're back and they're fabulous. Good to know.

Speaking of feeling well, I just got my flu shot. This is the last time I can claim to be doing that for my immune-suppressed wife, not that it isn't a good idea anyway.

Der Plan for the weekend:
  • Friday, The Place With No Liquor License with, I hope, a few Queefs. I'll ask one of my lady friends to come, but I'm not optimistic.
  • Saturday, a party for a certain numerically round birthday.
  • Later Saturday, a night out at Lo-Fi with several lady co-workers, including the CEO, whose idea it was.
This weekend cannot fail to be fun.

I wore gloves and wool socks today. Fall has fallen. Just eight months and seven days until the summer solstice!



*Mind-blowing squirty orgasms.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Last night, I had eight kids youth in the Lambert House trans group. Every chair in the room was occupied. OK, it's the library so a couple of them were occupied with boxes of books, but still, last night set an attendance record by a wide margin. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

When it's really crowded like that, it's easier for me to shut up and let the youth do the talking, which I'm supposed to do as much as I can anyway. Also, it's hard for any of us not to notice that despite being trans I'm from another planet due to a) age, b) income - I have one - and c) my coming out much later in life. Most of the trans youth there, even if they haven't transitioned or don't want to, are out to friends & family and therefore facing various consequences. They can relate so much better to each other than to me, and people they can relate to are exactly what they need.

Only one person of color was in the group, which isn't great, but I suppose it's better than zero. I worry about the glaring whiteness of the volunteer pool in particular keeping young PoC away.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
I'm more or less packed for France. Airlines are stupid. Changing money is stupid.

I have Lambert House tonight, both trans support group and database monkeying. I'm going to put the word on Herr Direktor that this better not be a marathon.

Stuff's all broke at work, but luckily it isn't stuff I own. I'm going to run - not walk - away from it all tomorrow morning.

Oh: drinks with the Siberian Siren and [livejournal.com profile] dagard last night because I had to give her the lowdown on Much Younger Woman, natch. She was, as so often, dressed to seduce, in this case seduce people into buying stuff. He agrees that she's insanely hot.
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: (butterfly)
I've mentioned here that I've heard from trans kids at Lambert House that some parents have been doing it right, for which I'm deeply happy and grateful. Last night, however, I heard from a young trans boy that some parents, especially those belonging to what are basically old and well-established cults, are doing it very, very wrong. He did nearly all of the talking, and I let him; he was on the verge of tears much of the time. CPS is taking him back to his grandparents' rural home today. It's an abusive situation, but he has no evidence that he can take to the cops or CPS.

This particular boy believes he can benefit from a change in child custody arrangements that would cost only slightly more than what I spent on lunch for my son and myself on Sunday. Lambert House's rules prohibit me from just throwing cash, so I suggested Lambda Legal or other queer organizations. It was the best I could come up with off the cuff.
This morning on Aurora (Foreshadowing!) I was waiting for the bus as usual when a dirty older man who had "substance abuser" written all over him sat down on the bench next to me. Here are the highlights of the conversation as best I can remember them.

Substance abuser: Do you know those guys who dress in drag? [Right around this time he touched me on the upper arm. I cringed.]
Me: I used to.
SA: Are you one of them?
Me: I'm trans. [Senses confusion.] I'm a woman.
SA: You've got a nice body.
Me: [icily] Thank you.
SA: Are you married?
Me: Yes, but not for long.
SA: Oh?
Me: My wife wasn't too happy when I changed sex on her.
SA: How tall are you?
Me: About 5'10". [I stand up, partly to show off my height, partly to get away from the guy.]
SA: Are you going to work?
Me: Yup.
SA: [Something about catching another bus. No other routes run that late in the morning on Aurora.]

No, I didn't lose my shit at the guy, and I'm wondering if I should have. Maybe I did some consciousness raising, but I'm not sure he had much consciousness left to raise. That isn't the first time something like this has happened, and it won't be the last.

Until Seattle banned hourly hotel room rentals, Aurora Ave. was the place to find low-end sex workers, which may explain SA's interest in me. Despite being pedestrian-hostile - it used to be part of the main north-south highway for Puget Sound - Aurora still has more than its fair share of street drunks.
On behalf of all the trans people out there, God dammit God dammit God dammit! This is not a hard concept, guys, even if you have chemically diminished your mental capacity. Do we have to go door to door with clue bats?

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