Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

As I type - on my work computer, because I left my personal machine at my ex's by mistake - I have sore feet from yesterday at Emerald City Comicon (plus old injuries), and a sore back from last night's date. Let me take it from the top:

I spent much of Friday & yesterday doing paperwork and emailing back & forth to co-sign on the mortgage for Ex's new place. She needed me to do that, she says, because she's been (officially) getting maintenance from me for less than six months; apparently the threshold used to be three months. She promises to re-fi as soon as she can, which would be July, and get me off the hook.

I'm deeply grateful to Mr. Right Now for being the muscle that got her ready for her garage sale. She made $1000. I delivered lunch and picked up son (who slept so late he was useless) to go to...

...Emerald City Comicon! I saw, well, everybody: cupcake_goth, minim_calibre, theda, speedie316, intrepid_reason, tereshkova2001, Elder Goth, co worker E, and a few people who I'm too tired to remember and who are probably LJ unpersons anyway. Impulse purchase: one of JSalvador's Super Emo Friends, namely a cartoon of Jar Jar Binks hanging himself. So wrong, and yet so right. The kiddo & I only lasted three hours, but hey, if he's happy I'm happy. We commuted over I-90, 520 being closed, via the mighty convenient Sound Transit 550 from Bellevue. Suck it, parking weasels!

Speaking of I-90, an accident thereupon convinced me to allow way more time than I ended up needing to get to a date with the Tickler. She did something uncharacteristic: instead of the agreed-upon fuck-first date, she took us to a romantic light dinner at Phoenicia (Way tasty!) on Alki and watched the twilight deepen over Puget Sound, and she put a pashmina around my shoulders when I inevitably got cold. Le sigh joyeau. Ahem ensued, but I don't think that was how my back got messed up; she has an unusually soft bed.

I talked to Mom at the usual time from inside my car, parked in front of the Tickler's. (Of course I told her that.) She's back from a week in Acapulco and not much the worse for wear. This is a bigger-than-usual relief because a) I saw how addle-pated she now is in France, and b) she had neither her phone nor her computer. Not much the worse: she had a nasty encounter with unfriendly Mexican microflora.

And now, Much Younger Woman wanted to go for a hike this afternoon. My body is telling me that's not a good idea. I hate to let people down that way, but.

I will not be at the Vampire Ball or Norwescon this year. Between the Bar Mitzvah and my transition, the money situation really is that bad right now. Post pics or I will hunt you all down, with a syringe full of arthritis meds and an 18G needle.

Therefore this weekend's plan is the Merc on Saturday.

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Pro tip: if you're growing breasts, don't shave your nipples. Dear Bob, the itching!

I'm still at the stage where my booblets could be mistaken for outsize pecs, but I doubt that'll last three months. I'm guessing there's a lot of elastic in my future.

On the plus side, the women's jeans I've been wearing for years fit better now. The huge veins in my forehead don't seem to protrude so much, either, which I'm guessing is due to the diuretic effect of spironolactone.

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Ravey goodness to cheer me up: Pacific Science Center party 4/3. It's been a while since the last one, and I missed them sorely. Much variety for the techno-curious.

I'm not going to the Vampire Ball in Portland or Norwescon this year because of the cash crunch. This makes me sad, because I love both of them and many of you folks who go. Next year in Jerusalem Portland and/or Seatac.

Our recession started at the end of '07, when the amount of work Nibs could find fell off a cliff. This means we've been spending half of our income on our mortgage since then. What bodes well for the future, though, is that Nibs has learned through our mortgage broker (Don't worry. He's a Nibscousin.*) that rates are now low enough for a refi to make sense for us. Alternatively, she says we apparently qualify for federal assistance. Nibs is inclined to do whichever is easiest. Me? I want the lowest payments, but we'll discuss.



*He got laid off by WaMu, then hired by Chase. Then Chase ate WaMu. I can't make this stuff up.

Opening credits: huge thanks to the lovely deadrose_black & beau for their crash space, food, blankies, help lacing costumes, and hard-earned con wisdom. Big thanks to the Nibbal Unit again for holding down the fort; thirty-four hours at con is way more fun than eight, and not having to hurry or scrounge parking is a godsend. It would have been better to have her & the Wendling with me, though. Another year, perhaps.

( the highlights & lowdown )

If you'll recall, getting a room at con was on my lifetime to-do list. OK, I didn't stay for the whole weekend, but I'm not feeling greedy at the moment. Cross it off.

I got a wild hair for a costume. I should have it done by Friday night.

[Poll #459482]

My packing list for NWC is 2425 items and growing.

Masquerade meetings attended: 0.

Hours spent chasing down masquerade people in charge and handing them stuff: 2.

Hours spent going from SeaTac to Kirkland to walkdepuppy to West Seattle to deliver a birthday cake and back to SeaTac: 3.

Video shot of me as Hester Prynne: about 30 seconds.

Number of minutes I was late to masquerade rehearsal: 8.

Number of minutes rehearsal was behind schedule anyway: 45.

Costume compliments collected: at least three dozen. (*Purr purr purr.*)

Number of times I was told I look like Boy George: 1.

Masquerade award snarfed: best historical costume for Lizzy Borden.

Varieties of suspicious concoctions consumed: 3.

Best historical costume for my money: balzacq in his zoot suit. Damn, he's good.

Money spent in the dealers' room: $10, which was a good thing because...

Money spent on parking: about $25 due to no in-'n-out and the closest lot was full.

Best surprise: running into gement.

Best non-surprise: runnning into intrepid_reason.

Peeps seen: good heavens. About 2/3 of my friends list.

New owner of my soul: loree, for letting me into & out of her room umpteen gazillion times yesterday.

This morning: killed hundreds of little yellow mofos, i.e., dandelions.

Right now: collapse in bed.

To do: get a room at some future NWC. Commuting is crazy.

Yesterday afternoon I took the Wendling (the Nibbal unit was too sick) to Norwescon to get an early start on his corruption. We'll see if it worked in a few years. He dug some of the art, especially if it had planets in it. prncsmoonbeam's hubby is right, though: there are an awful lot of badly executed cliches in con art shows. Most of the art I liked was done by (surprise) people who were making a living at it. I wasn't femmed up (grrr), and I ran into plenty of people I know -- Savannah, mspurplepearl, samemaha, et al. -- who'd never seen me dressed down. I got a kick out of watching their double takes.

I missed all of the filk that vixyish worked so hard on organizing. Poo.

I Lizzied up and had my brain broken at Merchants of Deva by party god helix90. Mmm. Much talkies and some dancies with many, many peeps (list available upon request). Costume compliment collecting. Well worth the drive from Kirkland and the mild hangover.

Late last night (OK, early this morning) I had a disturbing conversation with samemaha about an unpleasant aspect of chickhood that I haven't run into much. Gyeugh. The grass is only greener on the other side of the fence if you're the right kind of cow. Due to either age or creeping sanity I've realized that I'd rather be dug for being SistaWendy than for being a tranny or even a good-looking gen-u-wine girl.

Grateful grovels to loree for the use of her floor, no matter how briefly.

Lifetime to do: get a room at NWC and stay for the whole thing.