sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
I made dinner for m'boy last night, which wouldn't be noteworthy except that I hadn't done so in about a month. After dinner, as I did the dishes, he scoured the neighborhood for the latest issue of The Economist. Happiness. I do wish, however, that he would walk instead of drive because my neighborhood is walkable and not that well supplied with parking. I'm afraid living on the east side (of Lake Washington, i.e. Seattle's eastern suburbs for you non-locals) taught him some bad habits that he has yet to unlearn.
I've been practicing the bejeezus out of a five-minute version of my talk "How to Change Sex the Easy Way" for a series of talk to be delivered at StartupCo's annual marketing conference next week. The founder of the company asked me to do it, and I wasn't about to say no because of him, me, and all my trans peeps.

Twenty slides, exactly 15 seconds per slide. It's kind of brutal. I've had to ditch a lot of the emotional content of the original 45-minute talk that I think is the best part. I'm a tiny bit worried that the talk won't go over well even if my delivery is right on. All I can do now is polish the delivery.
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: (butterfly)
I got gussied up Saturday in my new red satin halter dress and took my son to the Greenwood car show, which was just up the ridge from my place and a lot of fun. It's a combination history lesson and nostalgia trip, with a little culture mixed in: m'boy didn't know what a low rider was, and there were some beautiful examples. (I had to explain them to my mom over the phone later.)

There was one bummer, though: Sitting in a lawn chair near one of the cars was a lady in her sixties. She complimented me on my outfit and asked, "Do you do shows?"
'Uh oh,' I thought. "No. In fact, I'm not sure what kind of shows you mean."
"Drag shows."
"No."
"Aren't you a man?"
"No."
She apologized profusely. "I understand your confusion," I said.
My son was standing with me the whole time. Once we were out of earshot I said, "Welcome to my life." I suppose it could have been worse, but it could have been a whole lot better as well. Happy Pride, indeed.

On to the Broadway street fair - the Wendling declined my invitation - where I got to see a few queer peeps. Plug: Asylum Leathers. I tried their posture collars, and got a nice leather mask for sleeping. No, really, that's what I use them for.

I ran into the Siberian Siren, who lives nearby, and grabbed some Indian eats with her. When we eat together, she complains about work and I complain about dating, which seems fair to me. The SS had decided to pre-funk her party, which was a nice way to take a load off but conflicted with the Dyke March. On the way to her party, I got to sheepishly answer one friend's question about why I wasn't marching. I'd rather not do that again.

The Siren's party got off a slow start. It took us a while to get a table all together because we weren't on time; the SS's chronic lack of punctuality seemed to have infected the whole party. But once it got going? Oh em gee. I don't want to look at another alcoholic beverage for a while.

Sunday? Parking lot party and parade. No SS or AJ, though: laid low by the party the previous night. It was heartening to see [profile] dementiana walking - for the first time since '05, she said - with the Goths. I learned that in addition to the regular Leather Pride flag we all know, there are leather boy and leather girl flags.

This is my major complaint about Pride this year: all my lady friends - the Tickler, E from work, even the SS on Sunday - bailed on at least part of the festivities, so it was kind of lonely for me. When I got to the Seattle Center, I remembered a few years back when I went with Temptress - her first time - and we got to be dirty old women together. Dammit, I need a girlfriend who's into Pride as much as I am. I need a girlfriend who's into a lot of things as much as I am.

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