Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

Yesterday I rode across the lake for the second time this weekend, then finished all my house & garden to-dos. So I rewarded myself with KEXP's annual MLK Day party at the Clock-Out Lounge down in Beacon Hill.

First, the venue. The Clock-Out seems a little small for the crowd, but I've discovered that one of the owners used to work for KEXP. Did they get some kind of deal? Maybe. I also note that Beacon Hill is at least historically Blacker than the rest of Seattle*; previous venues include the Columbia City Theater, and the same is true of Columbia City. Not that the Clock-Out is bad! They have good sound, no nonsense, and pizza to assuage the drunchies.

Goths spotted: KC, apparently also stag, and all girled up, which has been unusual in recent years. Ahem.

I got to meat DJ Sharlese, whom I've heard many times on the air. KC told me that she has her own show, Saturdays at 0200, and frequently plays dark stompiness that a certain kind of person in black might like. I'll have to catch it on the KEXP archive.

Got to say hi to Riz & Rob, and also Brit Hansen. Happiness. I caught the tail end of the Sunday Soul show before Expansions started. Both shows were broadcast from the Clock-Out, natch. There was as much booty-shaking as I could manage given a sore knee and many, many people on the dance floor.

Going home was a bit of a bummer: I missed the last train northbound because Sunday, and I really didn't feel like waiting twenty minutes in the cold at midnight down by ID/Chinatown station. Even Tacoma Girl thinks that area's sketchy, so I got a rideshare. The driver & I shared a laugh as the nav system kept telling him to take a less direct route that doesn't make sense late at night.

In summation, happiness.



*Seattle is about 7% Black, says the US Census Bureau, which is roughly half the figure for the country as a whole. THat's (almost?) unheard-of for a city its size.

At the leather dyke munch last night, I spent most of the evening chatting with a cutie who's, well, twenty-six years younger than I am. It was delightful, but not exactly smart in the long term. I didn't stay to get my boots blacked, but that would have meant a wait on the other side of CC's and I was having too good a time.

Where are my freaky dykes in their fifties, and sixties? Forties might even be acceptable, if they're into it. Are they really all taken? Do they just never leave their homes? Do I even want to be in a relationship with someone who never leaves home? Honestly, I think I'd go buggy-eyed from stir craziness. And as ever, it's hard for me to get motivated to use the apps.

All of a sudden over the last week I've been sleeping seven or eight hours a night, all in one stretch with an occasional short break. What changed?

Nothing on purpose, but this accidentally: this past Friday, when it was time to inject my beloved girl 'roids, I was using up the last of a vial*. Wayell, I didn't quite have a full dose left in the vial; I was about 7% short of what I've been using in recent months**. I didn't feel like opening another vial just for that.

Why might a reduction in dosage help me sleep? Estradiol does make you retain water; my longer sleep interruptions did tend to start out as bathroom breaks.

Given that a) my breasts are just about as big as I want them to be, depending on the bra, and b) Dr. Funnyname has warned me about the consequences of long-term hormone use, maybe I'll just back off.



*The FDA at least used to say that you're not supposed to use more than two doses out of a 5 ml vial. That's bullpucky, and in my opinion a possible scam to make more money from a cheap drug. Trans folks have been using up their vials since decades before I started doing it in 2010.
**Which is about 40% more than I was actually prescribed several years ago. Ahem.

Yesterday's outing was lunch in the International District with tylik. Much talk. Very noodle. Wow. Spotted an anti-ICE sign, partly in Chinese, in the window of a business. Nun-approved.

Skipped nap in favor of doing laundry. Got eight hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep. Maybe there's a connection, but gift horses.

There's one particular consequence of estrogen use that's sometimes observed and even joked about among trans women. ( Discussion of the impact of hormones on sexual organs under the cut. )

No post yesterday because I was in headless chicken mode.

A mercifully aggro-free if late night at Lambert House, both with the trans group and with crunching the numbers. Every once in a while, someone enters the same youth twice, and this causes problems for statistical reporting. B the volunteer manager and I do our best to fix it, but last night things still weren't quite square. Even if I'd wanted to stay until 0200 to fix things as I did in years past with Ken the director looking over my shoulder, that would have been a rotten thing to spring on B. He's responsible for closing up the "house". (Yes, we're still at St. Mark's carriage house, but only until June.)

I'm off call as of this morning. I shall celebrate this evening, one way or another.

Good: I got about eight hours of sleep last night.
Bad: It took twelve hours, 1930-2330 and then 0330-0730.

Dancer & I had arranged to go to the Mercury last night, but then it got foggy, and I don't mean lightly. Said Dancer early yesterday evening, there were already three accidents on I-5 between her place and mine. Between poor conditions and motorized drunks, she really didn't wanna come up, and I didn't blame her.

I had a plan B, or so I thought: ravey goodness that was to be the last night at that venue. I had the mistaken and outdated impression that I could pay at the door. Nope. It sold out minutes after I heard from Dancer.

OK, so stag at the Merc it was. I poured myself into my 50th birthday outfit plus mask, only with more practical boots because I took transit*. I don't regret that decision.

A certain vile ex was there, but A spotted him recoiling from her and me at our usual table. It is to laugh. Temptress was there, but he wasn't sitting with her. That can only be a good thing.

Got to see Shiny G, who recently had a nasty breakup with Shiny H. I commended her for staying classy; she grasped the implications and raised her eyebrows. She does seem to be recovering nicely, though. I hope to see more of her in the future.

I do love seeing the Merc full of people dressed up more than usual. The eye candy was nun-approved, perhaps especially DJ JQ in brand new latex. Ahem.

Left shortly after midnight. Had reasonable transit mojo, especially considering the hour. Nommed cornbread I'd made.** Was in bed by 0230.

New Year's resolution: find a girlfriend who lives in the same county as I do. Freaks preferred, naturally.



*The (Metro) buses were free and advertised themselves as such. The (Sound Transit) trains were also apparently free, but there was no way to tell that, at least until you tapped your card on the reader. Bizarre.
**Betsutenjin, the ramen joint, was closed. I guess their management isn't completely evil.

Ten years ago today my divorce was final. Naturally, I texted Ex:

SistaWendy: Happy tenth divorce-a-versary?
Ex: Back at you.
SW: ♥

If you find that can't have a good marriage with someone, a civilized divorce is the next best thing. Go us.

I might celebrate alone with pho, Chinese, or Korean; I need to hit the supermarket down the hill.

Took a ride share* last night to chez D, whose house was as I expected stuffed with first-rate baked goods, plus too many well-dressed people. It's only too many becasue D's house is about the same size as mine, and her parties routinely have at least twice as many people as have ever been in my place at once.

D and her friends can bake, boy howdy, and every horizontal surface had either quality baked goods, largely made by D, or a punch bowl accurately labeled "high octane".

Got to talk to Diminutive. She has a writing project afoot, for which I'll keep my antennae up. I asked her how she wasn't melting in that gorgeous black velvet confection she was wearing. "I'm always cold," she said. She does have the sort of build that loses heat well.

Queen J congratulated me on my impending surgery, and thanked me for Dr. D's name. I warned her that only my mother's death put him within my reach. She's had a hard time the last year and a half, but has gotten through it.

Cuties. Queerness unknown. Well, also known queers, but they're mainly taken.

It wasn't tremendously late when the heat finally got to me. Yes, me, the Florida girl. I was in bed by 2330. Je ne regrette rien.

Jealous of the hostess with the mostest, looking fabulous in '50s retro? Me? Not as much as you might think. I'm not about to take up baking, because in the words of my father, I'd just eat it.



*D only lives about two miles from my place, but it's really awkward to get to & from on a bus, involving either a monster hill, a long wait, or both. It also cooled of last night.