a weekend mostly spent with the Tickler

Mexican with the hungry Tickler Saturday night at Hecho. I've finally tried a tongue taco and found it tasty. Then boot shopping downtown for her, followed by a house night with decent music - Evil Eddie Richads - but a disappointingly small crowd, even after midnight. The Tickler uncovered evidence that the promoters hadn't quite done their jobs. But at least I looked OK in my green scale pattern dress & Fluevog Teahs.

Since the Tickler had to come up from Olympia, the new bed came in handy. There was tasty brunch at Brunswick & Hunt in Ballard. The Yelp blurb lied about which neighborhood it's in, which is weird when you consider that there's a big concentration of dense housing in Ballard now.

Electrolysis yesterday afternoon. Ms. Zappy got everything in a comfortable 45 minutes, so we decided to book that instead of an hour next time. Yes, round trip drive time for electrolysis now exceeds the time I spend on the table each session, and I'm approaching the point where one-way drive time does. And sessions these days are every six weeks; at their peak in 2010 they were twice a month if I could swing it financially, six hours per.

Chinese dinner at Ho Ho Seafood with the Tickler. Not bad, and not bad for us. Then on to the Shuga Shaq all-POC burlesque show at the Theater Off Jackson. As burlesque shows go, it was pretty good. That's an important qualification, though, and the time change kicked my butt - and is still kicking it. I confess that I never thought I'd see pop locking at a burlesque show, but I did last night because Black women.

Oh: my tax refund has been approved. I should have it in my hot little hands by EOD Wednesday.

postscript: a blast from my past

Between boot shopping and clubbing, the Tickler and I decided to pre-funk at Little Maria's, the pizza joint around the corner from Re-bar. As I was walking out the door, who should I pass but Rabbi James Mirel, the rabbi who married Ex and me? Astounding! Of course I said hello. He didn't recognize me, natch, but identified myself. I gave him the briefest of updates about my son ("He's a good man, but he struggles with ADD." "Don't we all?")

I really wanted to talk more, but I was, you know, blocking the entrance to a pizzeria. I chose not to ask what he was doing there, and I certainly can't guess. There's nothing around there for blocks but clubs, cheap eats, office buildings, and brand new condos. Maybe Rabbi Jim knows something about the neighborhood that I don't, which would also be a surprise because I hang out there a lot.

Little Maria's, by the way, claims to be queer-owned and -operated. They have a trans pride flag on one wall, and we were served by an enby. I just might have to go back and buy actual pizza. Sadly, the Tickler doesn't eat mammals and can't eat gluten.