Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

When I was a child in Florida, I heard of people putting salt on the roads in places far to the north. I marveled at the idea. Yesterday afternoon, at the age of nearly fifty-six, I salted my front steps and walk for the very first time.

And then I observed the next morning, after a night well below freezing, that there was no ice in places that didn't get salted, nor was there liquid water. The places that I salted? Damp. Somebody forgot to tell the local weather gods that sublimation isn't supposed to happen on this planet or something.

The gathering of the coven that I'd scheduled for last night didn't happen at all because Tacoma Girl was unwell. My one effective means of contacting namoda, namely Discord, has mysteriously stopped working. The other two of us don't know what's going on there, either.

I had some new decorations to show off, and stories to tell. Le sigh. Welp, at least the house will be fairly clean when I get back from Virginia. I already became one with the snacks I bought. And the Wendling is buying me lunch today.

We're in the middle of a heat wave warm stretch here in Seattle. No worries: the Devil Girl House has a heat pump, i.e. a bidirectional air conditioner. The trouble is, my office is in the loft, whose floor is on the same level as the HVAC mini-split and on the other side of an obstructed railing.

I figured out last year that if I want to cool the upstairs, I need to leave the mini-split's fan on its highest setting. So what on earth was I thinking yesterday and the day before, being needlessly warm up here?

I swapped on-call shifts for one this week because of course I was scheduled for one over Folsom weekend. It's not the best, but it's been worse.

Oh: happiness is getting a sweet message from a charming, attractive, "heteroflexible" woman whom you've only ever seen wearing latex.

It's been in the local news that Haven Wilvich has gotten death threats. You see, Haven is trans, and the folks at Olympus Spa wouldn't let her in because it might make their other customers "uncomfortable". (How I despise that word now.) Haven filed a human rights complaint with Washington state, but then Olympus had the bad grace to sue and lose. Haven's name is in the public record thanks to the state's misguided policy, so all too predictably, she and her wife are now getting the threats.

If you go to Olympus, it would be super great if you'd stop, and tell them why.

Haven put out the call for people to come to her and be social for moral support. You know that's up my alley, so I went yesterday. I had a lovely time. I only regret that I couldn't stay longer because I'm on call for work until EOD today.

I didn't hit the Merc last night because I got whomped by tiredness after dinner. But it's a long weekend here in the US of A, so I shall shake my booty to house music tonight.

Plant brag: the last of the four single leaves that I planted after accidentally smashing an African violet to pieces has sprouted tiny little leaves. Where I had one plant ten weeks ago, I now have six. And I gave up on two other plants a week or two ago – may they live on as municipal compost – and replaced them with cuttings, so now I'm waiting for more tiny leaves.

Edited to add: Bible brag. I finally finished Romans, the first and longest of the Epistles. It will get its own entry, natch.

There was a Skinny Puppy show on Tuesday night. Damn near everyone went, which really would have been the only attraction for me: I've never been a Skinny Puppy fan. I've been astounded by everyone's tales of discovering SP in their youth. I do miss the nuclear social reaction, though.

Last night was Ladytron, which I admit to wanting to see. Indeed, I'd gotten in line for someone else's freed-up ticket. But then I saw that Kimberly Dietemann, local techno maven who's had some hard times in recent years, was in line right behind me. I thought to myself, a) it's a work night, b) Kimberly is probably a bigger fan than I am, especially of their more recent stuff, and c) what I would have spent on Ladytron plus the latex dinner I'm skipping tonight might, just might, cover the cost of one of the two items for my house that I've bought in the last month.

I... kind of hate myself a little for being an adult.

It occurs to me that no one is going to want to go out this weekend when I'll be out & about. But hey, Tacoma Girl and I have made plans for lower Fremont on Friday.

The Vampire Masquerade Ball is coming, yes. Also Fremont Solstice and Pride next month. I shall have my revenge on the universe. And at some time I shall again invite people over to my dynamite crib.

Temptress took me me out to Stampede, a fancy cocktail joint in – Where else? – lower Fremont. The menu was a comic book. Again, so Fremont it hurts. But the drinks are tasty & innovative, and Temptress reminded me why I liked dating her so much. And surely I'm not the only one who appreciated our waitress.

I'm also not the only parent of the Wendling whose mother is poorly. Exmother is recovering from surgery on her lungs, and is apparently having a bad time of it. It's messing with Ex and her brother. I can relate, boy howdy. Exmother may not be one of my favorite people, but I don't wish trials and tribulations like the ones the United Sister Front has faced on Ex & Exbro. Exbro lives not terribly far from his mother, so a lot of the burden will fall on his shoulders.

I feel slightly more like a homeowner after cleaning out the filters in a mini-split. The good news: they can be rinsed out. The bad news: it takes them a few hours to dry, during which time the room in question has no HVAC. I should have waited for a warmer day. That's why I've only done one of the two units, that and the need for the ladder that I just got late this afternoon. But! I'm ready to clean those filters in the other unit! Grawr! Or something.

Speaking of the house, in the last week I've twice used my neighborhood Buy Nothing group in Zuckerberg's data mine. I got rid of two items with lightning speed: my playa-covered bike rack and a little wooden drying rack. I have that tingly feeling I get from successful adulting.

I've committed to going to the Folsom Street Fair this coming September: I've paid for a hotel room for the Tickler and myself not too far from the fair. They picked the place, and it'll be nicer than the one I stayed in last year. It is, however, more expensive, which means no more buying things for the Devil Girl House for a while.

Speaking of buying things for the house, I got a Dyson Animal 3. Of course I vacuumed my bedroom as soon as it arrived around noon today. The carpet in that room is now cleaner than it's been since I moved in. Like the Aeron chair, it lives up to the hype. Its head is smaller, which makes it ideal for the numerous tight spots in this here Devil Girl House.

Which brings us to the volunteer: I speak of Taller Woman, who is one of the organizers of the first ever Pride festivities in Snohomish, Washington, a cute little town about 20 miles northeast of Seattle. TW has encouraged me to attend; it's happening on June 3rd. I'm all for new Pride festivities in small towns, but my problem is getting there without a car. Yes, there's a bus that goes there from Seattle, but it does weekday commutes only. To add to the drama, remember that Taller Woman is battling cancer. Again. I... kinda feel like I have to go.

Oh: going to Folsom means not going to Burning Man. I am, once again, mostly OK with this. If I can ever find a camping arrangement that would neither mess me up physically nor constantly remind me that I'm in my fifties and single, I'll jump at it, but that year is not this year.

The rest of the coven – that's namoda and Tacoma Girl – came over last night for drinks, munchies, and chats. OK, I ate nearly all the munchies, but such nights are a Thing I Really Like Doing every few months if not more often.

From the Dept. of Foreshadowing:

• M'boy has agreed to take the old office chair when I get a new one, which should be next week. I've solemnly informed him of its limitations as an office chair for people with builds like ours, but that isn't how he wants to use it. Okey doke.
• I've ordered a Dyson vacuum because I'm tired of a vacuum cleaner that doesn't quite work. Good Sister has sung their praises to me. I'm not sure how I'll get rid of the old one. Yeah, my local Buy Nothing group is pretty effective, but who'd want something like this?
• My employer no longer gives employees old laptops when they're too old anymore because it's now part of a public company and, you know, security. That means I'm typing at you on a vintage 2015 Mac. It mostly gets the job done, but I worry about OS updates, storage, etc. and Blender can really make it crawl. The last (practical) item on my home improvement list is a new Mac. And before anyone comments, ixnay on the Inuxlay: I'd rather use my machine than mess with it.

...or rather, four blankets, five chairs. The chairs at the tables in my dining area are a little short for me and aren't adjustable. This made them uncomfortable when I want to, for example, sit for a while in front of my personal laptop and design a sex toy.

Meanwhile, due to family connections, I have four small Navajo (saddle?) blankets that I didn't really have a use for.

Until, more than ten years after I got the chairs, the light bulb turned on: seat cushions! The Wendling's usual chair doesn't get one because he drops a lot of food, but the other four are now Nun-friendly. I'm not sure if my father or anyone in his family would approve of this use of heirlooms, but my back sure does.

If you think this isn't journal-worthy, you haven't sat enough with bad ergonomics. I sure have.

I just mailed my taxes. The refund isn't as hefty as I'd like – the mid four figures, as opposed to the low five figures of the days of a full year of alimony – but it's better than nothing.

In that filing I included what I hope is my last ever IRS Form 1040 Schedule 1, which is where you say how much alimony you paid, and to whom. It also includes my first of many Schedule A, which is where you report the mortgage interest deduction. The mortgage interest deduction does handily beat the standard deduction. Computing the mortgage interest deduction is a little bit bananas partly because of Trump, but c'est l'argent.