sistawendy: (Default)
It's been quiet the last few days. Work, housework, a little kiddo. I may be seeing Wonder Woman again because Ex, of all people, expressed displeasure that I took m'boy to see it without her. I thought her time without him was for her to have wild times with her Mr. Right Now, but what do I know? Apparently not much.
More evidence of advancing maternal incapacity: she texted me at 0440 a couple of mornings ago. I can't silence my phone at night because of work, and it's not a good idea for my son or my mother, either. She used to be able to do time zone arithmetic - she lives three hours ahead of me - but apparently no more.

Speaking of Mom, Good Sister gave me a link and asked me to be the point person for trying to tell her how not to get scammed. You'd think this wouldn't be a big deal, but you don't have firsthand experience of how prickly and touchy my mom can be as do we three sisters (and even more so our poor spouses, current and former). I'll do it, natch, but I'm not looking forward to it. Maybe I should be grateful that being trans has helped me grow a thicker skin.
Got on the bus home last night next to a creep who kept trying to talk to me, so I got off at the next stop, which just happens to be a transfer point to the light rail. Pho on the Hill, a little comics browsing, a train to the UW i.e. the end of the line, and a bus-and-walk home were just the ticket. (I had good transit mojo, by the way.) But here's a letter:

Dear Creep,

Yeah, I sat next to you because partly because the last seat available was next to you, and partly because I don't want to be that white lady who won't sit down next to men of color who aren't well off. Fuck you for taking advantage of that.

I don't know whether you would have done that to any woman who sat next to you, or whether you thought my being trans or wearing leggings was some kind of license to ill. But why you crept doesn't matter as much as your act of creeping. Stop it.

No love,
Sista Wendy
I was supposed to have a date with Temptress tonight, but she was in a car accident recently and is therefore feeling bad enough that she needs to stay in. Poor Temptress. I shall, of course, find something else to do. Merc as planned, or Substation? Or Both? Ponder.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
The night before last my son stood me up for dinner. He has an excuse for not calling or texting me: he lost his phone over the weekend, if you'll recall. I also knew he'd been doing something important earlier that day, namely helping my ex get her hoarder stepmother's condo ready to vacate.

Ex had earlier asked me to help out with that chore, too, and I grouchily agreed, in the name of good relations with Ex. Besides, this wouldn't be happening if her dad were still alive, and he was a decent guy who certainly would have wanted me to help out. However, Exstepmother is getting evicted and apparently there isn't much time to get her moved. That means emptying out her place on weekdays, which conveniently makes it hard to get my help. I haven't offered more help, and Ex hasn't asked for it.

That's for the best on many levels: it isn't right that other people should have to pay a price for her long-standing shopping addiction (which is one reason her money situation is so bad), hoarding, and generally weak grasp of reality (another reason). And she's such a motormouth that I've seen her own kids call her on it. I've been holding my tongue in front of her for decades because of Ex and her father, and I'd really rather not have to do that again now that there's less incentive.

Ex is, unfortunately, the geographically nearest relative by several hundred miles. I know she's not exactly a fan of her stepmother, either and, if you'll recall, she's got rheumatoid arthritis. I'm hoping she gets though this with a minimum of pain and botheration.
Trying a new queer women's dating app called Her. Action seems to be prompt. I'll keep you posted, natch.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
From the Dept. of Delayed Divorce, Ex and I finally got around to splitting up the cell phone bill. All three of us used to be on one bill, which Ex (!) was paying. Now, more reasonably, the kiddo & I go on one and she's off on her own. I forgot that we were paying for two tablets that we don't use. Oy. They get cancelled tomorrow.

And on a related note, if you remember almost exactly a year ago, I agreed to have m'boy at my place on weekdays and send him to Ex on the weekends. That hasn't been optimal for quite a while - since July, says the Wendling - because he now works much closer to Ex's place than mine. And once he restarts school, getting there is also easier from her place than mine. So, starting next month, my son will be with my ex on days when he's working, which are usually but not always weekdays, and with me the rest of the time. I've warned him that he may hear lesbian sex if he's here on the weekends, and gotten the predictable cringe from him. Just kidding: I would subject neither him nor a date to that if I could help it. But hey, if they were copacetic, you're reading the words of someone who's had sex in a room full of third parties. A lot of third parties.

I'm not sure whether I'd rather have him here on weekends or weeknights. On the one hand, if he's here less, that's less stressful on me, and he isn't commuting his life away. On the other hand, Ex isn't that good at launching m'boy when he needs to be launched. Given the lack of social action (apart from m'boy) in my apartment lately, that aspect is probably a wash. I note that Brown Eyes doesn't seem to mind driving anywhere anytime, and sleepovers at my lake place are impractical for the Tickler.
While we three were driving around today, m'boy found a months-old voice mail from Exdad wishing him happy birthday. Exdad, if you'll recall, has been dead for about six weeks. Poor Ex started crying as she drove. She'd mentioned earlier that losing him had been hard, messing with her daily life. I couldn't help reminding her that she used to tell me to, in essence, just get over my own father's death because it was so long ago.

"That sounds like something my mother would say," she said. Yup, it sure is. That's usually not a good sign, and Ex knows it. She points out that she's no longer the person I was married to, for better and for worse, and my criticism of her past self is a trifle unfair. Yeah, I guess it is, but I can now say that I'm not mad at her for it anymore. She acquired some empathy for me in about the worst way she could have.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Ex & m'boy will be in the Bay Area visiting their family April 7th through 10th, and Ex wants somebody to stay in the house in the south end and dogsit during that time. She asked me after her usuals fell through. I noped out because I don't want to move out of my apartment and across town for a weekend. No, I don't have any plans for that weekend yet but I can see how I might like to make some. Besides, we're supposed to be divorced, dammit.

Why doesn't she kennel Bigpuppy? In a word, anxiety. The dog's anxiety, that is, not my Ex's. I couldn't make this up if I tried.

So yeah, if you want a nice place to crash in the south end on the edge of Seward Park (the neighborhood, not the park itself) and like big, bouncy, loud dogs, drop me a line. If that doesn't sound like your cup of tea, I can certainly relate.
sistawendy: (celebration plastic)
Today is the anniversary of my divorce hearing. I'd been planning on wishing Ex a happy divorciversary, but she beat me to it over on Zuckerberg's data mine. That was sweet of her. But she spelled it "divorce-aversary", which I think is wrong, and yet another indication that splitting up was the right thing to do.

Life is waaaay better now that I'm not saddled with the mortgage for the house in Kirkland. Yeah, I'm still paying maintenance and our gorram kid doesn't want to launch*, but I'm actually saving some money, not driving over floating bridges regularly, and living my own life to a much greater degree than I was this time last year.



*Ex has agreed to have speaks about the Wendling early next week. Between her dad's ongoing scrape with death and her recent infusion of socko-pow arthritis drugs, she's just not there yet.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
First the bad stuff: My Ex's father is in an ICU, but doing better. Ex isn't sleeping, so when my son blew off walking the dog yesterday* while she was at the hospital she kind of went kablooey at me via email. She's ready to sell him for meat. She says she doesn't want to live with him even though she has a bedroom for him and I don't, saying he should move in with some unspecified "peers". (He has no friends.) One thing I didn't know is that he still needs to turn in work for two of his classes last quarter, but he points out that having his wisdom teeth out messed with his ability to get that done. She says that he now needs to retake five classes, and she's determined that he's going to pay for it. And oh by the way, fascists officially took over the country yesterday.

Now the good stuff: The great state of New York has accepted the stack of documents that I sent them and has put the correct name and gender on my birth certificate; they were even nice enough to send me an unofficial copy. The fascist goons mentioned above will need a court order to obtain proof that it was amended. Goddess bless the Empire State.

I am leaving for Florida in twenty-six hours. It can't happen soon enough. Highs in the 70s and 80s, baybee. I stopped by Funny Lady's on the way to Lambert House last night and got contact info for her chum there in case I need moral support.



*He was asleep. Since he isn't in school, he's doing the teen thing with his sleep schedule as I used to do. At Ex's request I've started confiscating his electronic devices during sleepy time. As an added bonus, I know they're charged when I do that.

I'm back.

Nov. 10th, 2016 08:46 pm
sistawendy: (lizzy)
I cancelled the meeting I'd set up to see a potential venue for my 50th birthday party. I may need a wad of cash squirreled away. If I don't, there are many organizations that need it now, not to mention people close to me who will need it in the near future: Ex depends on the Affordable Care Act for arthritis medication that she needs to stay ambulatory.

I didn't go to the protest in Seattle last night - dinner for m'boy, exhaustion - but I'm glad it happened and I admire the people who went.

I was born in New York state, which allows people to change the gender marker and name on their birth certificates. It's a much bigger pain than any single document that I had changed when I first started Full Time, but I'm wondering if it might be worth it. To be clear, my driver's license, passport, and Social Security card are all changed.

Got Signal on my phone, disabled touch unlock.

Thanksgiving is, of course, still on for them what wants it. And there's no way in hell I'm not doing Folsom & Dark Garden, even if they put me on the no-fly list.
sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
I'm pretty sure m'boy hasn't been closing the shower curtain all the way. I discovered some warping on the bathroom door, and that would also explain the frequent puddles nearby. Someday I'll he'll have to pay for that. Facepalm! He can't quite seem to care about where anything is.
As part of a routine email exchange, Ex requested that I help her with... a certain unusual grooming activity that requires a second person. Why not ask someone else? She didn't say, but in a sense it's a lot to ask of a partner, especially one who lacks my specialized knowledge, even if it only takes a minute. I may never be completely rid of her, but I can laugh about this. And laugh, and laugh some more.
sistawendy: (celebration plastic)
Despite my being the worst trans activist ever, I got invited to the victory party for the demise of Washington state's heinous I-1515. This may have something to do with my knowing one of the hostesses, Elaine Wiley of the Gender Justice League, since well before either of us transitioned.

It was a lovely rooftop potluck; I was amused to note that it was near the bar (since remodeled and spiffed up) to which we trans women would repair after our Saturday night group sessions at the Ingersoll Center (since moved) in the early '90s. Kind of like the trans Pride march, trans people were a majority, but not an overwhelming one.

I'm not really sure how much the efforts of trans people themselves really contributed to the downfall of I-1515, but I did hear an interesting anecdote from somebody who works for Washington State Ferries*. Signature gatherers love ferry lines because they have a captive audience. She got to talking to some of the signature gatherers. Some of the paid gatherers come from as far away as California because the money is so good - $1 per signature - but a fair number of them refused to work on I-1515 because it was too evil. And the volunteer signature gatherers, who were of course unencumbered by such scruples, received a distinctly frosty reception from ferry passengers. Go, go Washington state!

I speculated about which ferry route would have been the best for the gatherers: I could imagine Vashon Island hippies giving them the finger, but military Bremerton or well-heeled Whidbey Island? My interlocutor could only guess.
When I asked Funny Lady to go dancing tonight at the Monkey Loft, she counter-proposed brunch, the gayest meal of the day. Shyeah! Pleasant as always, but she's been laid off. Poo. So, if you need somebody who knows how to raise money for a non-profit or otherwise do media stuffs and charm the bejeezus out of people, she's your girl. I wish I had more to offer her.
I have my son this whole weekend, which I wasn't expecting. You could say it's a failure of Ex communication. Ah hah hah hah! I kill me. Upside: m'boy helped me out with the laundry while I was out with Funny Lady.



*That's right: the state of Washington runs the biggest ferry fleet in the US, going across Puget Sound, to the San Juan Islands, and even to one destination Canada. We're commies that way.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
But first: I have my Fluevogs! They fit, and they're fabulous! The boots are going to need some breaking in, but boots always do. I'm a satisfied customer. Shoe lust: sated for now.
I received an invitation a few days ago to lunch with my ex at her favorite 'Murrican food joint in the south end. Odd as that sounds, she said she wanted to talk about our son. And boy did she: he's apparently been even punkier with her than with me. She asked me to, and I've agreed to:
  1. Tighten enforcement of putting dirty clothes in the right place right away. Apparently he's really bad about that at her place. He takes his showers at night, often right when I turn out my light, so I've been letting it slide overnight.
  2. Get him up in the morning with me, have breakfast together, and take him on my morning bike rides. The theory here is that it'll get him into better shape, which he needs, and maybe help his ADD.
  3. Feed him less bread, more fruits & vegetables at dinner. A good idea anyway. To tell you the truth, though, before the move Ex herself wasn't as good about that as I am now.
Oh, and Ex is going away for 10 days in July, during which time he'll be commuting with her car & staying at her place. If he does well enough with that, he can stay at my place during Burning Man.

You may be wondering, if you're me, why she didn't just handle this over the phone or even email. I suspect she was lonely. I can relate, but I can also recognize that it's no longer my problem, and hasn't been for years.

You know how Ex expresses affection by feeding people? She have me a gallon and a half of calcium-fortified orange juice - long our only means of getting calcium into the boy - which I then had to schlep by train back to work, and thence home on the bus.
sistawendy: (celebration plastic)
My ex got the house she was bidding on. This is a huge relief, because it means that a) she and my son have a place to move into now that she's sold the old place, so b) I won't be essentially paying for three residences, even for a short time.

From the Dept. of Hilarity: the new place is in the same ZIP code as Mistress Matisse. If they ever meet, they'll annihilate each other in a hail of gamma rays.

In classic ex fashion, she's found a way to rain on my parade: she's looking forward to shipping my son off to me during the weeks instead of (most of) the weekends. I'll be keeping way more of the cash if I have to feed my teen. He will so very be helping with laundry & housework. I give him a month, outside, before he's begging his mother to move back in with her. I'm not even sure if he'll be taking any classes next quarter, but one way or another he'll be doing something constructive outside the apartment.
sistawendy: (angry cartoon)
[This post is not locked. Deal.]

I spent yesterday evening in Kirkland at the old place as usual, eating dinner & walking the dog with my son. After moving a few things in preparation for showing the house next week*, we sat on the couch and talked about the Wendling.

He's dropped a second of his three classes for the quarter, and he tried to do so without his mother finding out. It turns out that he never changed his password, so my ex saw the correspondence between him and his prof. He now admits at least to his mother that he's not ready for college, so she's told him he needs to work 20 hours a week either at PCC or volunteering.

Trouble is, PCC has cut his hours, saying that the don't want to schedule him during the day because his "bagging proficiency" isn't what it would need to be, i.e. he moves like a sloth. I'd noticed early on and I always wondered how they put up with that; I guess the answer is that they don't, entirely.

And why is my son moving like a sloth, failing out of school, and generally being a shiftless punk? Because he's been blowing off his ADD meds. He doesn't like the way they make him feel, and they make him want to skip meals, which freaks out his Aspie sense of eating properly.

First, the solution to these problems with the meds is to either change the dose or the med, not to just quietly stop. He clearly cannot adult without them, and that's a goddamn problem. If a transphobic asshole shivs me this morning while I'm waiting for the E line, he's fucked, and he will have fucked himself.

Second, if a med switch doesn't help and it's a choice between eating unlike other people and being a functioning adult, you do the latter. Just make sure you get enough to eat.

I have never been more disappointed in my son, and that's saying quite a bit.

My ex has asked me to watch him on Saturday when he takes his meds - 80 mg of Vyvance. She says his brain works real good on 100 mg, but if he takes that dose too many times in a row he'll get paranoid hallucinations. Christ on a pogo stick.



*She asked me to come Tuesday, but then bailed at the last minute because arthritis, thereby wrecking my social plans. I have informed her that she needs to not do that again, especially when what she wants me to do takes a tall, healthy woman all of 15 minutes.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
I was over at the old place last night as usual, doing things in preparation for showing the house for sale in the next few months. This included moving a few boxes, sorting through a cabinet, being tall for my ex w.r.t. the living room shelves, and sitting on the floor in m'boy's room so he'd pick his stuff up off the floor. The last part was of course the most time consuming and contentious, because we're talking about my son, who doesn't like being reminded that he's a slack-ass punk little deficient in executive function.

I got him to make his bed, but I didn't know that he was supposed to use new bedding. The old bedding is stained, but I was loath to tell him to take it off given how cold my ex keeps that house.

Ex: I'll have to fix his room tomorrow.
Me: Get him to do it.
Ex: You can't get him to do anything.
Me: You can't just give up.
Ex: Why not?
Me: Because he's your baby and you're his mommy.
Ex: I'll send him to you. Maybe you can get him to do things.

I'm ready to be rid of both of them. There was a time recently when I thought I soon would be.

The backstory? My ex is really wound up about the impending sale. I mean, it's nice that she wants to maximize profit & minimize delay, and there's not a doubt in my mind that it'll work out fine, but it's definitely taking a toll on her. And it certainly doesn't help that her arthritis has been acting up and robbing her of sleep lately; this is probably related to the above.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
You know how I thought I had to file my decree & findings of fact for my divorce by today? Well, I bopped on down the street from work to the 6th floor of the courthouse yesterday afternoon, where the clerk kindly told me to just bring that fat stack of paper to my hearing.

That was what I thought I needed to do a month ago, but I apparently read the section about giving notice to the respondent (i.e. Imminent Ex) of the hearing date and thought it applied to my decree & findings. Trust me, I told IX I requested the 30th for my hearing date, and she was glad to find out she doesn't have to appear. I can't blame her for not wanting to deal with bridges & parking.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
I spent last night at the old place with Imminent Ex finishing the decree and findings of fact for our divorce. This is the meat of our case, the thing we mediated about. We were going to do it Sunday night, but IX said she was wiped out from her mother's visit. (Indeed, she was in bed the whole time I was there.) She had some info I didn't, so she asked if she could fill the forms out; she'd have time on Monday anyway. Sure, I said.

Well, the forms are now filled out, reviewed, corrected, and signed, and I'm going to file them today. IX's attention to detail and general attitude leave... something to be desired. She hasn't had as much personal experience with how droid-like people in the legal system can be. I'm fervently hoping I don't get laughed out of court on the 30th; that would be a waste of several hundred dollars and a lot of work. If I were religious I'd ask you to pray for our case.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
That expensive Hanukkah present that Imminent Ex & m'boy got me, that IX talked up so much? Electrically heated insoles. For somebody with Raynaud's syndrome who likes to exercise outdoors, that really is a nice present. No more numb toes! Well, at least not while working out. It was surely IX's idea.

Say it with me: awww.
sistawendy: (drama)
I need to file the rest of my divorce paperwork by the 16th, but I can't find my copy of Imminent Ex's mediation notes. In fact, I don't remember ever having one, which would make sense because I didn't need them for the petition that I filed. So, I've pestered IX to find her copy. She's sleeping in because spoons. Her nasty little mother arrives tomorrow and is staying for the weekend. You guys know me well enough to know that I don't like cutting things this close, especially for something as expensive and time-consuming as a divorce. If things go well, I'll be driving across the lake to pick up documents tonight. If they don't, I'll be begging the mediator for another copy today or tomorrow. Either way, I predict late nights with White Out and maybe IX.

Speaking of late nights, despite having just arranged two dates (OK, one and a half) this morning, I'm running out of fucks to give about things I need to give fucks about. I'm tempted to blame the vile weather, high latitude, and my recent lack of sleep due to neighbors and (ahem) dating.

IX & my son went halfsies, she says, on a Hanukkah present for me that wasn't on my list. I could have opened it last night, but I was too wiped out. That too will have to wait until after the departure of Nibsmother. Honestly, I haven't the faintest, but IX really talked it up.
sistawendy: (Prius)
You may recall that my son wrecked a tire on the car that he & his mother share a few days ago. Since she's out of town all week and I stayed over last night, this morning was the appointed morning to fix it.

And so I got to show the Wendling how to change a tire. Lessons learned, some by m'boy, some by me:
  1. Imminent Ex's habit of leaving piles of crap everywhere, including the trunk of her car, makes for one cranky nun. Seriously, I had to pry what I think were malted milk balls off the floor just to get to the jack.
  2. Set the parking brake before jacking up the car. Get in the habit of setting it every time you park.
  3. If any of the nuts are too tight to turn using your hands, try your foot. It worked this time.
  4. Mini-spares will hold enough air to be drivable if you leave them alone forever, but the scary low-pressure indicator may turn on.
  5. Les Schwab in Bellevue has moved recently.
  6. Don't. Drive. On your rims. That tire was cut to ribbons. I'm glad they replaced it under warranty. I could hardly have blamed them if they hadn't.
  7. It's possible to break a bolt with a pneumatic wrench, and Les Schwab did it. Getting it replaced added two hours onto the reasonable one hour that I'd already waited.
Another lesson that isn't tire-related: the women who look dreamy in impossibly sexy schoolgirl-meets-lingerie-with-motorcycle-boots outfits (seen in, of all places, the Kirkland PCC) and are better than I am with makeup are now my son's age. It doesn't help that I was un-showered and in my workout clothes with my booty still damp from changing the tire four hours earlier.

Believe it or not, I did get some work done today as promised. ¡Viva el internet!

Time to get clean & dry before my son comes home.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Don't have:
  • A date for the company holiday party.
  • Someone to cuddle, most nights.
  • A divorce that's final yet.
Do have:
  • Two dates with various ladies within a week.
  • Reason to believe I'll see more of Taller Woman when (not if, please) her health improves.
  • A temporary crown - not to be confused with the "seal" I got last week.
  • Teeth that still throb a little.
  • My health.
  • A job that pays for things like dental work where I appear to be keeping people happy.
  • An imminent ex who's being quite reasonable.
  • My son, even if his punkitude drives me meshuggah; see previous entry.
  • ETA: MBSOs.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
At Imminent Ex's request, tonight I dropped off the twenty or so plastic crates & cardboard boxes that I used to move here into my lake place. I told this to my son on our way to dinner, whereupon he started grousing, not for the first time, about how his mother broke the promise she made to him not to move until summer, after the school year ends.

I feel bad for him, what with his Aspie aversion to change. He's lived in that house since he was three. And yes, his mother did promise him. He's of the opinion that he's entitled to some monetary compensation.

I laughed, bitterly, and told him he was attempting a shakedown. I'm pretty sure I know where he got the idea that this kind of thing is OK.

I explained the situation thus: his mother's income fell of a cliff this year, and with the divorce being final next month (!) she needs to downsize ASAP. In retrospect, making that promise to the Wendling was foolish. I'm sorry to say I agreed to it. And besides, he would have to move out in a few more months anyway. I pointed out that at least in the short run - IX is mooting moving out to someplace temporary while the house is on the market, which will be after the Super Bowl - his commute to school could improve.

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