sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Saw the eclipse yesterday using a pinhole camera - two pieces of poster board, one with aluminum foil taped to a hole and duly pierced - instead of glasses. It's too bad m'boy wasn't around; I'll have to show him how the pinhole camera works later. (The neighbor girl was disappointed that I didn't have any film in it.) Teachable moments R us. Observations:
  1. The temperature drop is for real, and it caught me unprepared. My naked toes didn't finish thawing out until I got to work. Yeah, I was only ten meters from my front door, but I didn't want to miss any of it.
  2. When the sun is 92% covered as it was in Seattle, it's still pretty bright. Had it not been for the camera I wouldn't have guessed that we'd had more than maybe 50% coverage.
  3. It got super quiet. I could hear construction work going on nearby before the eclipse, but it stopped. Good for the construction workers!
  4. It all took longer than I expected.
  5. I figured the post-eclipse commute was going to be terrible, but neau, it was actually much less crowded and faster than average.
I'm still not sure whether it's too bad that the Wendling didn't want to go down to Oregon to see the totality. On the one hand, we missed an adventure. On the other, he's kind of a whiny-ass punk when traffic happens, and it sure did, according to several of my friends. Also, no cellular data, no SMS, etc., which would not have been good for his mood. He ordered eclipse glasses from Amazon and had them shipped to my place. He made a special trip to pick them up on Sunday, so at least he was ready, wherever he watched it from.
Ethiopian eetz at short notice with Funny Lady at Queen of Sheba on the Hill. That place is better than I remember; maybe it's changed hands since I was last there. And I more-than-kind-of love Funny Lady for not getting bent out of shape about my last minute suggestions. After all, I love hers too.

She proposes the following theorem: in the long run, S ∩ L = ∅ where S is the set of people you want to have sex with, and L is the set of people you can live with, ∀ you. I think this theorem is false, not least because I really want to believe it's false. Surely I know some counterexamples even if I'm not among them.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Friday: Dressed cute because a party that I thought was that night was in fact the following night, thereby conflicting with a date. Arg!

Saturday: The Goth garage sale by consummate saleslady [personal profile] cupcake_goth et al. including the visiting [personal profile] kambriel. They did indeed sell me things - nice plates, a little black ruffly skirt, an art nouveau necklace, spider web hose, earrings, an Art With Latex necklace that I'd wanted for years - that were Good To Have. I spent exactly my budget, i.e. all the cash I brought.

On to the apartment of the Siberian Siren, where her bouncy young dog destroyed the beaded necklace I was wearing. Le sigh. But at least she & I have reserved an AirBNB and bought plane tickets for our trip to the Folsom Street Fair. We have committed. This is totally happening and I. Am. Psyched. The SS needed to hunt for deals, and she taught me a useful thing or two.

Date with the Tickler! Lovely dinner at Itto's, followed by a few minutes of ahem, then a couple of hours of the Tickler's stomach going to hell. Yes, again. It was bad: plumbing fixtures were involved. It might be worth mentioning that whatever affected her did not affect me, and we split a gazillion tapas; this isn't any reflection on Itto's, which is a fave of ours. She noted that we partook of members of the nightshade family (i.e. tomatoes), which may be yet another food allergy for her. Poor Tickler. There were cuddles and reasonable sleep.

Today: After the Tickler's deluxe oatmeal, we tried to hit the Yayoi Kusama exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum with the Tickler this morning, but when we got there at 0930, half an hour before opening time, the line was already around the block. The tickler looked for parking for a bit, but then bailed, for which I don't blame her. I still want to see the exhibit, though. It looks way cool.

Slacking, walking around Green Lake, then eetz with J & R, which I always love. I just finished making a rock-bottom-tech pinhole camera for the eclipse tomorrow.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
This is one of those entries when I feel like I need to write something if only to ensure people I didn't get eaten by a grue, but I don't have much of interest to write about, I'm afraid.

I no longer have any excuses not to work on the Lambert House database schema & UI again; I have everything I need. I wish I were as enthusiastic about it this time as I was five years ago, but now it just seems like a bureaucratic (and programming) grind that may be pointless, depending on the whim of city officials. The reporting requirements never get any simpler.

The Wendling was at my place last night. I yelled at him when I got home from my bike ride and found the bathroom window shut because it's hot out and I was sweaty. He said the noise bothered him.
"I have earplugs. I'll give you some."
"They're uncomfortable for me."
Goddamn Asperger's.

Speaking of heat, despite or maybe because of all the smoke from wildfires in BC and relative warmth in the Seattle area, I've been sleeping really well. Or maybe I'm still making up for Saturday night.

Speaking of Saturday night, I have an... interesting night planned with the Tickler this coming Saturday. And by interesting I mean maybe a little terrifying. Longtime readers can probably guess what I mean; it's the sort of affair where I met her. Mental note: shave and trim all the things Saturday.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
On the way to get my hair done yesterday I ran into A, the seamstress who'll be doing part of my birthday ensemble. Fun fact: years ago, I dated A a few times. I knew A had just had a bad breakup and was looking for a place to live & sew. She still can do the commission and wants it. (Whew!) What I wasn't sure of was the identity of her erstwhile partner & apartment mate: N, who holds the distinction of being the only woman ever to grab me by the hair, get me up against a wall, and make out with me. As much as I love having several of my buttons mashed at the same time, the sensible side of me says I dodged at least one bullet.

Drinks on Phinney Ridge* with [personal profile] minim_calibre Tuesday evening. It was a bonding experience: two middle-aged queer ladies with kids and much else in common. This only happens once in a purple moon, and I wish it happened way more often. She walked me home down the ridge, and then asked which way back up to her car was least likely to trash her knees. Aw! And yikes!

Yesterday, an increasingly rare dinner at home with the Wendling followed by dragging him up the ridge to catch the sunset. Good: he whined about that less than he used to. Bad: he expressed the opinion that I'll never find Ms. Right. He makes the absolutely ironclad point that it gets harder as you get older. Thanks a lot, kiddo.



*Cocktails for me, mocktails for her, because reasons.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
This is another one of those entries that got delayed because I was doing too much.

Party #1: My employer's annual marketing conference always ends with a big party. And marketers are notorious, at least among engineers, for how much alcohol they put away. Such social. Very booze. Wow. I spent much of the evening with a devastatingly attractive & stylish straight woman with cute queer hair from NYC; she was that cool.

Strippers, etc.: I'd kind of felt guilty about not going to any of the Tickler's burlesque shows, so without really being invited I met her at the Debauchery night at Neighbours. It was to be the last one after six years of monthly nights of queer, non-profit "stripping", as the MC and producer put it. She was verklempt pretty often. The Tickler had performed at that night and knew everyone, but she was in the audience with me that night.

Maybe my attitude toward it was colored by running on four hours' sleep from the previous night, but as expected, it didn't knock my socks off. There were a couple of performers that I really liked - one of them reminded me of Opium, serial "winner" of Bang for the Buck - but the rest I could have happily missed. And yes, super queer, super gender-fucky, and body positive. The good news for fans is that a new night, Queers Queers Queers, will start up next month with a different producer.

After the show, the Tickler & I hit Molly Moon's for ice cream for her approximate birthday. Then she drove me home, for which I sincerely promised to give her endless head. On the way home around 2330, I got a text from Ex saying that my ex-stepmother K had broken her foot and was in a hospital in Redmond. Since I was the only one with a car, could I please take her home?

Le sigh. So I drove out, still in my red satin party dress and killer 'Vogs, and got K around 0100. She was dizzy & nauseated from the drugs they gave her, and narrowly missed my car with her barf. If you'll recall, she's a bit of a hoarder, which meant I couldn't find the walker she insisted was in her garage full of junk, just crutches. I must have taken half an hour to get her the forty feet from my car to her house. I made it home just after 0200. Ex, Exbrother (who had to fly up from CA again), and Mr. Right Now (who's married to somebody other than Ex and therefore eligible for serious karma) took over from there. K's own kids are out of state, but I think they're getting in on the action, too.

I took yesterday off because zombie, except for the monthly queer lunch at work for which I'm the organizatrix. Then party #2 at Diminutive's* charmingly 1950s house way up in the north end. I was pleasantly surprised by the number of pretty, Goth AF, and maybe kinda sorta queer women - I'm never really sure about Diminutive & her friends - many of whom remembered me better than I remembered them. Do they remember me because I'm trans or do I fail to remember them because Diminutive & friends can be relied upon for quantity & quality of alcohol?

Enough wacky hijinks for a while, I think.



*Diminutive's name is the diminutive form of mine. Also, she's tiny and I'm not. I love that.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Poutine and mighty fine absinthe at the Gainesbourg with J & R Friday night. It's almost as if they're keeping their killer selection a secret - you have to ask for the list, at least these days - and they've got the best stuff in town. Strange.

I attempted to have a date with Much Younger Woman at the Merc on Saturday night, but she bailed at the last minute due to brain issues. Le sigh. I'd even dressed sexy.

Was a sleepy zombie yesterday, but still managed to take care of business. Currently at StartupCo's annual conference. Grenade is here again. Much excitement tomorrow and the next day, some of which will take me away from my son. I'm not pleased about that.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Party weekends like Pride leave me with a messy apartment. I can't not clean it at the earliest opportunity, which is how I spent all my non-work waking hours yesterday. My apartment is spiffy, and I am at peace. Am I hausfrau* material, or what?

But before I could finish cleaning, I had to take the bus home. As I got up to get off, I spotted my neighbor B. He asked how Pride weekend was for me. I said, "It was..." and racked my brain for the right words.
"The end of the game," said some skinny blond dude next to us as he looked at me intently.
"The end of the game?" I didn't quite believe my ears.
"The end of the game."
Mercifully, the doors opened right then and B and I got off without our interlocutor. "I don't know what he meant by that," I said, "and I'm not sure I want to."
"Yeah," said B, "I noticed him earlier. He's on something, and I'm pretty sure I know what." It isn't hard to guess: meth. You see, my bus spends most of its route on an ugly arterial that runs the length of Seattle's lily white north end, with one concentration of substance abusers downtown, another one at the far end of its trip, and relatively more tech industry stiffs like B & me in between**.

From the Dept. of Happy Thotz, when the Tickler bailed on Pride she said we should make plans. You know I don't sleep on that stuff; we have a hot date planned for Saturday.



*I once referred to myself as a hausfrau in front of my first queer kiss. She told me that her mother did the same. Holy Oedipal Lesbian, Batman!
**I speak of Lake Union, Queen Anne, Fremont, Wallingford, Phinney, Green Lake, and (south?) Greenwood.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I got gussied up Saturday in my new red satin halter dress and took my son to the Greenwood car show, which was just up the ridge from my place and a lot of fun. It's a combination history lesson and nostalgia trip, with a little culture mixed in: m'boy didn't know what a low rider was, and there were some beautiful examples. (I had to explain them to my mom over the phone later.)

There was one bummer, though: Sitting in a lawn chair near one of the cars was a lady in her sixties. She complimented me on my outfit and asked, "Do you do shows?"
'Uh oh,' I thought. "No. In fact, I'm not sure what kind of shows you mean."
"Drag shows."
"No."
"Aren't you a man?"
"No."
She apologized profusely. "I understand your confusion," I said.
My son was standing with me the whole time. Once we were out of earshot I said, "Welcome to my life." I suppose it could have been worse, but it could have been a whole lot better as well. Happy Pride, indeed.

On to the Broadway street fair - the Wendling declined my invitation - where I got to see a few queer peeps. Plug: Asylum Leathers. I tried their posture collars, and got a nice leather mask for sleeping. No, really, that's what I use them for.

I ran into the Siberian Siren, who lives nearby, and grabbed some Indian eats with her. When we eat together, she complains about work and I complain about dating, which seems fair to me. The SS had decided to pre-funk her party, which was a nice way to take a load off but conflicted with the Dyke March. On the way to her party, I got to sheepishly answer one friend's question about why I wasn't marching. I'd rather not do that again.

The Siren's party got off a slow start. It took us a while to get a table all together because we weren't on time; the SS's chronic lack of punctuality seemed to have infected the whole party. But once it got going? Oh em gee. I don't want to look at another alcoholic beverage for a while.

Sunday? Parking lot party and parade. No SS or AJ, though: laid low by the party the previous night. It was heartening to see [profile] dementiana walking - for the first time since '05, she said - with the Goths. I learned that in addition to the regular Leather Pride flag we all know, there are leather boy and leather girl flags.

This is my major complaint about Pride this year: all my lady friends - the Tickler, E from work, even the SS on Sunday - bailed on at least part of the festivities, so it was kind of lonely for me. When I got to the Seattle Center, I remembered a few years back when I went with Temptress - her first time - and we got to be dirty old women together. Dammit, I need a girlfriend who's into Pride as much as I am. I need a girlfriend who's into a lot of things as much as I am.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I mentioned on Zuckerberg's data mine a few days ago that I was going to be tabling for Lambert House at the Trans Pride march & rally this Friday. On Sunday, Elaine Wylie, one of the organizers of Trans Pride, who I know socially from way back, said that Lambert House hadn't registered and that we'd better hurry up if we wanted a space, and we'd have to bring our own furniture because that ship had sailed.

I sprang into action, emailing and leaving the justifiably hated voicemail for the LH volunteer coordinator, B. As luck would have it, I had trans group last night, so I got to see B. He says that a) he had thought that was as good as done earlier, b) now it really is mischief managed, c) LH has chairs & tables, and d) I'm a Hero of Socialist Queerdom for sounding the alarm. Another fine coincidence is that B had just called an unprecedented meeting of the trans group facilitators to talk about what we can do to boost attendance. That table should be a good start.

And oh by the way, there's another LH volunteer, P, who I know from the poly community. She's tall, zaftig, and cute. She's an amazing dresser. She says smart things in a deep, sexy voice. She's queer - yeah, nearly all LH volunteers are. And she'll be at the table for Trans Pride along with your ever-hopeful nun. Now that I type that, it occurs to me that she may not be as cisgender as I thought. Mrowr!
sistawendy: (eek)
I went out with the Tickler last night to see Cut Copy at the Neptune. But first, eetz: Since she really needs something gluten free, we went to Bol on 64th - the Tickler says not to go to the nearby test kitchen because it sucks several ways. Bol is a pho joint as conceived by hipsters: a simple, fairly ordinary menu with choice ingredients; good alcohol, appetizers, & dessert; higher prices; annoyingly hip utensils; and a smoking hot waitress with queer hair. Sure, would nom again, and not just because of the waitress, who the Tickler assures me is monogamously partnered up.

Minor problem: Bol is on 64th. The Neptune is on 45th. The Tickler resolved to drive us despite the pain that is parking in the U District. We were just a block from the Neptune in the fading twilight when she pulled over to let an ambulance by. As she was starting to get into the left lane, we got sideswiped by a black Nissan Leaf. I'm pretty sure it was speeding in the wake of the ambulance because its airbag deployed. Oh by the way, we hit an Uber in front of us, no thanks to Newtonian mechanics.

We're fine. In fact, ibuprofen last night was all it took for me. The Tickler may be shaken up a little worse, but she didn't do too badly either. She mulled seeing a doctor today, but I don't think I need to.

We spent most of the concert dealing with insurance & police, sometimes with me holding my umbrella over the Tickler. (Fun fact: the first cop on the scene, a UW officer, said he couldn't handle the case because the Leaf driver is a UW employee. Appearances, you know.) Once the Tickler's car, which isn't drivable but doesn't look that bad, got towed away, we walked one block to the Neptune in time to catch Cut Copy's encore. I'd planned to meet up with R & J there, but we never got closer than a text message. I got the Tickler a much needed whiskey, we peed, and we went back to her place. It occurred to both of us that our usual shenanigans were medically contraindicated; cuddles ensued.

I really did say this morning, "I had a lovely time crashing with you last night." How could I not?
sistawendy: (butterfly)
You'll find it surprising as sunrise to learn that I've made plans for most, but not all, of Pride weekend. That's the 23rd through 25th, for those of you who'll be in the Seattle area. I inexplicably haven't posted about it yet, so:

Friday 6/23 - The Trans Pride March, starting at SCCC. I'll be tabling for Lambert House at the rally to follow. Later that evening I don't have anything scheduled, but I intend to hang out on Capitol Hill and see what develops.

Saturday 6/24 -
  • The Greenwood Car Show and lunch with m'boy for his birthday.
  • Strolling around Broadway all femmed up at and near the street fair because need you even ask why?
  • The Dyke March. I don't know who with, and I don't care. I belong there too.
  • Witness for the Siberian Siren & A's anniversary dinner. Aw. Ordinarily I might be shaking my booty at Neighbours or something, but I ♥ the SS and the fact that she's finally found a good woman - she even gives me some credit for talking her into making a go of their relationship - so of course I'll be there. Booty-shaking may happen later, of course, but I make no promises.
Sunday 6/25 - The annual super-queer parking lot party at the SS's hair stylist, which is conveniently near the parade route. Fabulous food & drink, enough so that I feel compelled to raise my game. Attractive queer women who are of course half my age.

This isn't all that different from the last couple of years. Why no lady friends? Well, Brown Eyes will still be recovering from surgery. The Tickler turned me down as well, but I forget why.
sistawendy: (Default)
It's been quiet the last few days. Work, housework, a little kiddo. I may be seeing Wonder Woman again because Ex, of all people, expressed displeasure that I took m'boy to see it without her. I thought her time without him was for her to have wild times with her Mr. Right Now, but what do I know? Apparently not much.
More evidence of advancing maternal incapacity: she texted me at 0440 a couple of mornings ago. I can't silence my phone at night because of work, and it's not a good idea for my son or my mother, either. She used to be able to do time zone arithmetic - she lives three hours ahead of me - but apparently no more.

Speaking of Mom, Good Sister gave me a link and asked me to be the point person for trying to tell her how not to get scammed. You'd think this wouldn't be a big deal, but you don't have firsthand experience of how prickly and touchy my mom can be as do we three sisters (and even more so our poor spouses, current and former). I'll do it, natch, but I'm not looking forward to it. Maybe I should be grateful that being trans has helped me grow a thicker skin.
Got on the bus home last night next to a creep who kept trying to talk to me, so I got off at the next stop, which just happens to be a transfer point to the light rail. Pho on the Hill, a little comics browsing, a train to the UW i.e. the end of the line, and a bus-and-walk home were just the ticket. (I had good transit mojo, by the way.) But here's a letter:

Dear Creep,

Yeah, I sat next to you because partly because the last seat available was next to you, and partly because I don't want to be that white lady who won't sit down next to men of color who aren't well off. Fuck you for taking advantage of that.

I don't know whether you would have done that to any woman who sat next to you, or whether you thought my being trans or wearing leggings was some kind of license to ill. But why you crept doesn't matter as much as your act of creeping. Stop it.

No love,
Sista Wendy
I was supposed to have a date with Temptress tonight, but she was in a car accident recently and is therefore feeling bad enough that she needs to stay in. Poor Temptress. I shall, of course, find something else to do. Merc as planned, or Substation? Or Both? Ponder.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
So I had the Her dating app for queer women on my phone for a few days. It wasn't the deafening sound of crickets that drove me to delete it today. It was the attention that's about as creepy as women can get from active duty military personnel. Yeah, they had photos in their BDUs. Apparently they really like going to the gym, too, and at least one was deployed overseas.

As R pointed out, people, especially queers, often join the military because they're running away from something: dangerous or economically depressed places & families of origin, their own queerness or gender identity, etc. I'm done with running, so I'm not about to join anyone who's still at it. These ladies sounded a little desperate - they were all believably good looking and at least ten years younger than I am, and I made no secret of being trans - and yet they came after me.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Good: A date with the Tickler last night. Dinner at Capitol Cider - they have tasty gluten free eats, which she really needs. This was one of those places that I've walked past dozens of times; I now regret not eating there sooner. Next, the SEX.WAV night at the Merc. We were actually in theme, showing lots of skin, and we both loved the music. (Yeah, I had to change clothes in the bathroom at work and put on my long, Goth hoodie.) Resolved: we shall show up to that night later, bring moar peeps, and plan a sleepover afterwards.

Bad: It looks like I'm going to miss an orgy this weekend because it sold out. I'd known I needed a ticket for days. I guess I wasn't feeling it that much if I didn't buy one. Ah well, it was going to be a pain to get to & from anyway. ETA: This orgy is also co-ed, which isn't my favorite.

Ugly: Good Sister called about Mom yesterday. Says GS, Mom recently switched doctors because Evil Sister was trying to talk to her previous doc about just how incapacitated Mom is. Apparently Mom's afraid of getting thrown in a home against her will. Also says GS, Mom never told ES that she switched medical power of attorney from ES to me. Sadly, these are typical Mom moves these days. ES's elder daughter E will be the only blood remaining in town with Mom as of the end of this month, and ES has at least prevailed upon Mom to call E in the event of an emergency. (GS reminded me of why E, along with everyone else except me, has reason to want nothing to do with Mom and shouldn't be counted on for any regular supervision.) Both my sisters are concerned with Mom's continued vulnerability to scammers, but there are signs that Mom is finally accepting the fact that she's "gullible" - her word - and addled - my word. Goddamn, I miss my dad.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
The night before last my son stood me up for dinner. He has an excuse for not calling or texting me: he lost his phone over the weekend, if you'll recall. I also knew he'd been doing something important earlier that day, namely helping my ex get her hoarder stepmother's condo ready to vacate.

Ex had earlier asked me to help out with that chore, too, and I grouchily agreed, in the name of good relations with Ex. Besides, this wouldn't be happening if her dad were still alive, and he was a decent guy who certainly would have wanted me to help out. However, Exstepmother is getting evicted and apparently there isn't much time to get her moved. That means emptying out her place on weekdays, which conveniently makes it hard to get my help. I haven't offered more help, and Ex hasn't asked for it.

That's for the best on many levels: it isn't right that other people should have to pay a price for her long-standing shopping addiction (which is one reason her money situation is so bad), hoarding, and generally weak grasp of reality (another reason). And she's such a motormouth that I've seen her own kids call her on it. I've been holding my tongue in front of her for decades because of Ex and her father, and I'd really rather not have to do that again now that there's less incentive.

Ex is, unfortunately, the geographically nearest relative by several hundred miles. I know she's not exactly a fan of her stepmother, either and, if you'll recall, she's got rheumatoid arthritis. I'm hoping she gets though this with a minimum of pain and botheration.
Trying a new queer women's dating app called Her. Action seems to be prompt. I'll keep you posted, natch.
sistawendy: (drama)
On Sunday I attempted to see "The Little Hours" with [personal profile] ironymaiden; it would have been my first SIFF movie in years. I had thought to myself, 'It's a gorgeous day on a long weekend and the Folklife festival is just two blocks away. Who would want to watch a movie?' As it turns out, half the city would. I didn't get a ticket in advance, which at least for that particular film was a mistake. I consoled myself with two tie dye dresses and a black leather fedora from vendors at Folklife. Hey, they were on the way to the bus and I needed the hat to keep my scalp from getting sunburnt. I love that hat.

Yesterday? BBQ at chez Funny Lady. Eetz. Boozes. Cute, well-behaved, medium-sized dawgz upon whom I bestowed many quality skritches. The Norwegian. (Yay!) But sadly, no hot queer makeouts for anybody.

And on the subject of ladies, the Tickler asked me out on a school night later this week. I'm usually the instigatrix of such things, and it's nice to feel a little bit pursued from time to time.

M'boy came to my place last night. I did not install on him a new rectum for losing his phone, but I have reminded him that he has a goddamn problem when it comes to keeping track of his stuff and that he needs to do something about it.

Got up at 0500 to drive to Totem Lake for the tail end of circumflatulation. Oddly enough, I woke up early despite being wiped out last night.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
Last night: Ethiopian eetz with Funny Lady. Oddly enough, neither of us made much of an attempt to look fabulous. I blame the recent disgusting weather. Nevertheless, I had a lovely time, even if the food was meh*. The best part? FL looks as if she may once again hook me up, If You Know What I Mean. Watch this space. I should sacrifice a lube packet in front of her picture or something.

Tonight: A remote teammate is in town. I've prevailed upon my team to go out for heavy metal, snobby beer, and vegan food at the Highline, which is where I usually eat on my way to Lambert House. I expect awesomeness. We may flee when the band starts up at 2100, but there are plenty of places to flee to.

ETA @ 1529: Brown Eyes just texted me. She's regained consciousness after surgery. Happiness.



*Our fave, Meskel, is closed for two months due to "a family emergency", say the signs on the doors. I hope that has nothing to do with the US political situation. We went to the much larger Assimba.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Four days is a long time for me not to post. My excuse? Too much fun.

OK, Thursday night wasn't that fun because I spent it aggravating my carpal tunnel. Believe it or not, that isn't dirty.

But on Friday night, the Tickler & I went to the Upstream music festival, which is basically 300+ musical acts taking over a couple of dozen venues in Seattle's Pioneer Square. (This, by the way, is a canny move by Pioneer Square businesses. This area is one of the sketchiest in town, and can surely use some good publicity.) The festival itself? Worth the ticket price, in my opinion.

Here's the lowdown on the bands we saw:
  • Twin River from Vancouver - They were on a stage devoted to Canadian artists. They call themselves "garage pop", and that's pretty much what it is. They pulled me in the door by sounding a lot like Neko Case around '02, but then they got jangly & rocked out, which is fine with me.
  • Seattle's own Evening Bell. Their blurb was precious, describing their sound as "psychedelic country noir", but damned if they didn't end up being my favorite new (to me) artist that we saw. Some of you People in Black might enjoy them.
  • WIBG at the storied Central Tavern. Their blurb? Unintelligible, which kind of matches their sound: Dead Kennedys meets the Doors meets Led Zeppelin meets, says the Tickler, Mudhoney. We kept listening (with ear plugs) mainly for the WTF factor.
  • Hip hop with DJ U No Hu - Not really my thing, but the dance off featuring the Massive Monkeys B-boy crew was definitely the Tickler's thing. (After our exhausted night at her place she insisted that I watch videos of international B-boy competition as we ate her deluxe oatmeal.)
  • Astrocolor - Canadian funkateers. Stop laughing. I liked them, and they brought a much-needed queer vibe.
  • Dancing to local techno hero Pezzner, about whom I've written many times before. He brought it, and the fabulous view from the stripped-down space on the 18th floor of Seattle's oldest and lovingly preserved skyscraper (completed 1914) was icing. That's how you end a night like that.
One not-so-great thing about the festival: we discovered that we weren't supposed to bring any bag bigger than a clutch into the venues, even though that was unevenly enforced. We had to check our bags at the stand that Upstream had set up. 10 out of 10 for security, but they could have handled the communication & convenience better.

And on a sad note, the Tickler lost one of her two cats. No more shall I hear gay feline sex of questionable consensuality. The surviving cat is the kinky one, and I gave him many swats just above the base of his tail, which he loves.

Went to see the second Guardians Of the Galaxy with m'boy. I would have skipped it, but Ex saw it without him and he was miffed about that. It's everything it should have been, so if you're into that kind of movie, see it.

Went to [personal profile] gfish's annual Eurovision party, where alcohol numbs the pain of spectacularly bad attempts at pop music and eye-forky staging. This year did not disappoint. I won't spoil it for you, but the consensus in the room was that Europeans aren't like us. What really makes that party for me is the quality snark from the local audience. If the US ever enters Eurovision, I believe it's our sacred duty to get kicked out by pulling a Devo or NWA.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Working more than I'd like to be, and freaking out over FBI director Comey's firing. I have calls to make, etc.

Saw Brown Eyes last night since she's on the way from work via train to my ex's, where I went to get my car. She's working more than she'd like, too, so that she can get ahead of the game before her surgery. It's going to be a Big Deal; she may miss Pride. I hadn't planned on eating, but BE was hungry so we went out for Mexican. And there's much good Mexican food to be had on Beacon Hill. It's a lovely neighborhood to walk around in, too.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Interesting fact about the Siberian Siren: she's afraid of dogs. Or at least she was, until she got a Husky mix puppy. She says she's cured now that she's had one for a few months. And she's about to celebrate her third anniversary with A, and asked for suggestions for something truly special to do to observe it. No marriage proposals, though, because she's against that, she says. I'm afraid I wasn't much help.
"Can I be jealous?" I asked.
"No."
It warms my cockles, though, to see A and this little pup file down some of the SS's rough edges. And if I remember, I'll keep thinking if things she could do for or with A. I think they both have it coming.

Took a co-worker, L, to the Mercury. It was her first time there. There was supposed to be at least four of us from StartupCo, but a couple of us got various kinds of crud. It was... surprisingly uneventful. There were many boozes. L met the dress code, no problem - cute shoes! - and R and I regaled her with tales of the Merc's past, among other things. With apologies to Auto Battery, having a pizza joint upstairs is a good idea; I just wish I could learn to stop hoping for good vegan pizza.

Lunch with the Islander on this beautiful Sunday. Her post-surgical health is improving, but it's a real struggle for her. I may not be the angel of death, but I'm starting to think I'm the angel of serious medical issues. It's been pointed out to me more than once that since I'm pushing fifty, and the ladies I'm dating aren't far behind me, this sort of thing is more likely regardless of angelic interference.

No bike rides this weekend, but I was compelled to walk around Green Lake in the sun.

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