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I got my check from the Seattle Erotic Art Festival for the pice I sold: a paper check for eighteen whole US dollars. I laughed all the way from my mailbox to the front door.
And then I started walking down the hill to get some eats and then a bus to Lambert House. I passed three people at a bus shelter doing whatever, and then two of them, men, started walking down the hill close behind me.
They turn left, but then one comes back toward me saying something like, "Why do people have to be so weird?" Well, you know what happened next: it got weirder. For me.
He seemed like some goofy dude, maybe homeless, maybe a few cards short of a deck, and he made it clear as flatteringly as he could that he'd clocked me. Yes, despite my brand new expensive face. And then he asked for dating advice, saying that he's into heavier women.
"Treat them like people, not things," I said. Sage advice, said he, or words to that effect. He mentioned that he's Hispanic and would that work in his community?
Uh, what? "I hope so," I said. Did I mention to him that I'm a huge lesbian? More or less.
Before peeling off, he insisted on doing a bro-y fist bump. Misgenderers come in two principal flavors: overtly nasty, and bro-y. Why do have people have to be so weird, indeed?
I don't think I was in any danger: it was rush hour on a busy arterial on a sunny day. But yeah, this kind of thing is to be expected in my (formerly) bohemian neighborhood.
The good news about Lambert House is that a) nobody was disruptive at trans group, and b) the board member/IT guy approved my plans to modernize the front desk DB, with some reasonable suggestions. I'll be getting on that.
And then I started walking down the hill to get some eats and then a bus to Lambert House. I passed three people at a bus shelter doing whatever, and then two of them, men, started walking down the hill close behind me.
They turn left, but then one comes back toward me saying something like, "Why do people have to be so weird?" Well, you know what happened next: it got weirder. For me.
He seemed like some goofy dude, maybe homeless, maybe a few cards short of a deck, and he made it clear as flatteringly as he could that he'd clocked me. Yes, despite my brand new expensive face. And then he asked for dating advice, saying that he's into heavier women.
"Treat them like people, not things," I said. Sage advice, said he, or words to that effect. He mentioned that he's Hispanic and would that work in his community?
Uh, what? "I hope so," I said. Did I mention to him that I'm a huge lesbian? More or less.
Before peeling off, he insisted on doing a bro-y fist bump. Misgenderers come in two principal flavors: overtly nasty, and bro-y. Why do have people have to be so weird, indeed?
I don't think I was in any danger: it was rush hour on a busy arterial on a sunny day. But yeah, this kind of thing is to be expected in my (formerly) bohemian neighborhood.
The good news about Lambert House is that a) nobody was disruptive at trans group, and b) the board member/IT guy approved my plans to modernize the front desk DB, with some reasonable suggestions. I'll be getting on that.
