sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
Ex and I had to bop all the way out to the outer suburbs to cancel our safe deposit box, the last account of any kind that we held jointly. Yes, we split the phone bill. Yes, we split the car insurance & registration. And oh yeah, we sold a house a couple of years back. It's good to be well & truly done with divorce tasks, more than nine years (!) after starting down this road emotionally and two years legally.

Ex, to my small embarrassment but no great surprise, tried to get out of paying $80 one last time, but nope. We could have if we'd jumped on it a couple of weeks ago, but between Ex's arthritis and her stepmother's broken bones, that didn't happen.

What was weird about this was how we act when we're together: we talk non-stop, about our son, about our parents, about the news. I felt a little sorry for the bank employees. I found myself wishing we were having lunch instead of in a bank branch. It's bittersweet - still - to hang out with the woman I once believed was Ms. Right. (Yeah, I know a lot of you don't exactly share that sentiment. You have a point, and you've made it. Now hush.)

You want to know why so much of my life is devoted to the search for the new Ms. Right? See the above paragraph. Most of the people reading this who have primary partners found them at ages significantly younger than I am now. Maybe my son's right, and I'm ducking foomed. Ex expresses a healthy skepticism of the wisdom of the young. I sure hope she's right this time.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
From the Dept. of Delayed Divorce, Ex and I finally got around to splitting up the cell phone bill. All three of us used to be on one bill, which Ex (!) was paying. Now, more reasonably, the kiddo & I go on one and she's off on her own. I forgot that we were paying for two tablets that we don't use. Oy. They get cancelled tomorrow.

And on a related note, if you remember almost exactly a year ago, I agreed to have m'boy at my place on weekdays and send him to Ex on the weekends. That hasn't been optimal for quite a while - since July, says the Wendling - because he now works much closer to Ex's place than mine. And once he restarts school, getting there is also easier from her place than mine. So, starting next month, my son will be with my ex on days when he's working, which are usually but not always weekdays, and with me the rest of the time. I've warned him that he may hear lesbian sex if he's here on the weekends, and gotten the predictable cringe from him. Just kidding: I would subject neither him nor a date to that if I could help it. But hey, if they were copacetic, you're reading the words of someone who's had sex in a room full of third parties. A lot of third parties.

I'm not sure whether I'd rather have him here on weekends or weeknights. On the one hand, if he's here less, that's less stressful on me, and he isn't commuting his life away. On the other hand, Ex isn't that good at launching m'boy when he needs to be launched. Given the lack of social action (apart from m'boy) in my apartment lately, that aspect is probably a wash. I note that Brown Eyes doesn't seem to mind driving anywhere anytime, and sleepovers at my lake place are impractical for the Tickler.
While we three were driving around today, m'boy found a months-old voice mail from Exdad wishing him happy birthday. Exdad, if you'll recall, has been dead for about six weeks. Poor Ex started crying as she drove. She'd mentioned earlier that losing him had been hard, messing with her daily life. I couldn't help reminding her that she used to tell me to, in essence, just get over my own father's death because it was so long ago.

"That sounds like something my mother would say," she said. Yup, it sure is. That's usually not a good sign, and Ex knows it. She points out that she's no longer the person I was married to, for better and for worse, and my criticism of her past self is a trifle unfair. Yeah, I guess it is, but I can now say that I'm not mad at her for it anymore. She acquired some empathy for me in about the worst way she could have.
sistawendy: (smartass hester)
Last night I fired up my new printer to do its first legit job: tax forms for me & m'boy. Not post-worthy, you may protest, but wait.

As I read my 1040 - this will be the first year in decades that I've done my own taxes - I was informed of something that makes perfect sense but hadn't occurred to me: alimony is tax deductible. I pay quite a bit of what Washington state calls "maintenance" to my ex. I should have a hefty refund check coming, something with which I am a-OK.

The flip side of this is, of course, that Ex has to pay taxes on that income from me. But she's always been smart about that sort of thing, and it's not my problem anyway.
sistawendy: (celebration plastic)
Today is the anniversary of my divorce hearing. I'd been planning on wishing Ex a happy divorciversary, but she beat me to it over on Zuckerberg's data mine. That was sweet of her. But she spelled it "divorce-aversary", which I think is wrong, and yet another indication that splitting up was the right thing to do.

Life is waaaay better now that I'm not saddled with the mortgage for the house in Kirkland. Yeah, I'm still paying maintenance and our gorram kid doesn't want to launch*, but I'm actually saving some money, not driving over floating bridges regularly, and living my own life to a much greater degree than I was this time last year.



*Ex has agreed to have speaks about the Wendling early next week. Between her dad's ongoing scrape with death and her recent infusion of socko-pow arthritis drugs, she's just not there yet.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
Three days no write. I'm OK: I've been sleeping more or less normally and I'm not in a funk; I just forgot. My freakout has subsided to a level I can live with.

Thanks to the divorce and Ex's self-employment, there's been a tax SNAFU. It seems they credited Ex's quarterly tax payments to me instead of her, and she couldn't get that taken care of until they figure me out. The IRS asked me in writing to send them a thick stack of documentation, and I did so within hours. I'm hoping this the last I hear about it. Oh, and I owe my dentist money because they don't yet have my current address.

I've been helping everyone melt the phone lines to congress by calling
  • both my US Senators to tell them to reject the nomination of Steve Bannon & Jeff Sessions. The objectionable appointments just keep coming.
  • Rep. Paul Ryan's survey about the ACA. Yes, there's a lot of dead air followed by propaganda, but I've let him know I'm against his proposed changes.
  • The House Oversight committee to get some action on some of Trump's financials and numerous conflicts of interest. I need to try them again because I couldn't get through.
I'm told calls to the district office are better than letters are better than emails or anything else electronic. That said, AskTheElectors is on my to-do list, not that I'm optimistic that it'll do any good.

I had to recharge by grooving to some house music for the first time in a while. OG DJ Doc Martin played Substation last night. I have to tell you, I liked his mix on Soundcloud and his openers better than what I heard live from him. He's a little minimal for my taste, but he was better with a singer. But still, it was good to get out with "family".

Fun fact: Substation sells Cup Noodle. I had to have some.

For the first time in my live I joined a protest a couple of hours ago: Hands Around Green Lake. Thousands of people showed up, just enough (as far as I could see) to ring the whole 2.8-mile circumference of the lake. Yeah, it was a touchy-feely hippy-dippy north-end-of-Seattle kind of thing, but I could see it improving everyone's mood. Together we can stop these Nazis from killing people.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Now that I'm divorced* I finally got around to updating my will. I went to the fellow who [livejournal.com profile] thewronghands recommended over in Bellevue. He does seem very knowledgeable, especially about poly-related issues that don't (yet?) apply to me. I also didn't get the slimy feeling that I got with the last guy who did a will for me. (Thanks, Microsoft!)

Seeing as how I now have neither a spouse nor real estate, it was pretty simple: m'boy gets everything, no trust, and funerary costs are to be kept to a minimum so he gets more dead presidents from his dead M. If there's to be a wake, sorry, I'm not paying for it. Ex is first in line to be an executor**, but she's not a beneficiary.

There's only one weird thing about my will: I asked that my ashes be scattered, if legally permitted by the BLM, in the Black Rock Desert. Aw, rats. I just remembered that I have an iTunes playlist for just this occasion. Ah well, it isn't long enough, and I hope I'll have time to expand it.

This is going to cost... a bit more than I'd hoped. It still needed to happen, though. Now that I'm going to have a new, pricey divorcée's will, Murphy's Law dictates that at least one Ms. Right will sashay into my life.
Spent nearly all of yesterday at chez [livejournal.com profile] ack_yeahright talking, eating, and drinking way too much. Yes, I had other places to go, but I lost track of time.
Oh: Zuckerberg's Data Mine informs me that the lovely woman from Saturday night is from Iran, which explains why I couldn't place her accent, and that she knows [livejournal.com profile] domestinatrix. World shrinkage!



*Yay!
**"Executrix" jokes from The Crying of Lot 49 go here.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Long time no update. I've spent the last three days cooking for m'boy, yelling at m'boy, and working. Uncharacteristically, I have no huge plans or dates for the upcoming long weekend, so I think I'll zen out and do the following, in chronological order:
  1. Dinner tonight with the Siberian Siren. She will likely bust my chops for wearing too much black and no lip liner. I look forward to it.
  2. Solicit donations for Camp Beaverton from sex shops. I appear to be the only Beaver doing this, or at least the only one updating the spreadsheet. Tisk.
  3. Get mah hurr did.
  4. Ramiro & co. at the Monkey Loft Saturday night, since there will be no [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth at Ceremony. Tunes I like, and the certainty of cute women.
  5. Meet with the lawyer recommended to me by [livejournal.com profile] thewronghands about updating my will. Yeah, I'm that divorced.

You know how girl 'roids make me horny? The flip side of that is that shortly before shot day, which is three days from now, falling hormone levels appear to make it really difficult to get myself off, even if it's been what I judge to be long enough. This is me, low on sleep and pouty with a sore knuckle on my right index finger.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
The crud kept me away from work yesterday, which I spent most of in bed and asleep.

I did, however, find the time to drive to an escrow office near Northgate and sign the paperwork for the new Chez Ex down in the south end. I was thinking, 'Finally! Done!' when I got an email at 1700 last night saying I needed to sign something electronically. Luckily, that worked, because she moves in today and her moving truck comes tomorrow.

The kiddo has been pretty reasonable while I've been sick, putting things away when I tell him to. He even fetched some kefir for me last night, which seemed to help considerably. Tomorrow, though, he belongs to his mother.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
For the first time ever, I completely blew off trans group at Lambert House. Well, not so much deliberately blew off as failed to make the appointment repeat in my online calendar, thereby eliminating my reminder. Group starts at 1900. The house called me at 1925, but by then I was in Kirkland, eating like the very hungry nun I was, feeling light-headed from ick, and picking up the check I needed to pay my taxes. There was no way I'd make it in time to make most of group, and oh by the way, I had m'boy with me.

Wayell, at least when Uncle Sam cashes his check it will now clear. Oh yeah: I think I'll go change my withholding now to say I'm single. *Facepalm!* You all know I'd love to find Ms. Right and marry the bejeezus out of her, but no way in hell do I want to do this divorce crap again.

I love those perfect summer days, but I'm a bit worried that Seattle is having them in April. Come July, only the Burners may be left standing.

Slept 9.5 hours again last night. I'd really like to shake this crud, if only so I could get all the boxes & crates out of my living room, a.k.a. my son's bedroom. I'm so tired I still haven't properly tried out my new Lelo, which means I'm having dreams about making out with women it would be better for me not to make out with.

Dislike!

Apr. 18th, 2016 01:41 pm
sistawendy: (lizzy)
Things I dislike:
  1. My ex's tax accountant for not notifying us earlier than Friday that we needed to file singly because we were divorced for all of thirty-six hours last year. Because of this I just kited a good-sized check made out to Uncle Sam. Yes, Ex says she'll cover it with proceeds from the house sale - which I must pick up in Kirkland tonight - but still, this kind of tightrope-walking really isn't my style. For heaven's sake, the accountants are the ones who urged us to hurry up & get split up by EOY.
  2. My son for general punkitude. Getting up in the morning, keeping my place clean, and eating regular, non-junk meals are not optional if you live with me.
  3. The manufacturer of whatever tube I put on m'boy's bike. I think it blew on Friday night. Could 45 PSI have done it in?
  4. Myself for screwing up a rollback on Friday.
  5. Whatever germs make me woozy after dinner and then make me need to sleep for at least nine hours a night. It's hard to deal with the aforementioned punkitude if you're not with it physically; that's why my ex shipped him to me.
  6. I still don't have a date for SEAF, to say nothing of being kinda sorta secondary at best for multiple women.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
Last night was the last I shall see of the Abbey. I did one last bit of paperwork, loaded some of Ex's stuff into the car of her friend who didn't realize she'd been drafted into hauling, and put a bunch of my son's haphazardly-packed things in the Sanctimobile and took him over the (new!) bridge to the Lake Place, there to stay for a while.* Ex gave me a bunch of food that I did need for m'boy, but she also kept trying to give me random food items that I don't know what to do with while I was light-headed and achy from some kind of crud. "I don't cook. I don't like to," I said testily. Well, the long-term presence of my son in my apartment is going to force me to cook if I don't want to feel like a shit parent.

I got m'boy up with me at 0710 (I check email first thing at 0700), got him to eat breakfast, and took him downtown on the bus with me. Sure, I had to remind him to do things like close cabinet doors and clean up after breakfast, but thus far - all of twelve hours - his punkitude has not been as bad as expected.

Over the weekend, I have move-related things to do:
  • Show the Wendling how to replace his inner tube.
  • Make a run to hazmat disposal with Ex's stuff.
  • Unpack the kiddo's books. I'm looking forward to this the least.
  • Split up the phone account that Ex & I still share.
  • Make a new will.
On an unrelated note, masturbation can be fun. )



*In theory a year minus the weekends, but he's going to get tired of the cramped quarters and long commute long before then. I give him three months, outside.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
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: [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth, [livejournal.com profile] minim_calibre, [livejournal.com profile] theda, [livejournal.com profile] speedie316, [livejournal.com profile] intrepid_reason, [livejournal.com profile] 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.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
A Seattle inevitability has happened: Lambert House's landlady wants to sell the house out from under them, and the director Ken says she isn't making it easy on them. Sixty days and out. Luckily, even if he freaked way out at first, he seems to be on the ball about finding a suitable new temporary home. He's also shaking the trees for money for a more permanent home. I'm proud to say that I clued him into a potential source of queer cash. I'm being uncharacteristically but deliberately vague because it's still early days. Considering the number of adult queers I've met in this area who've passed through the doors, though, I'm optimistic about the longer term.
Speaking of real estate, my ex & I close on the old place tomorrow evening. How convenient that they scheduled the signing party for when I'll be there anyway. Cash would be good now.
I got a lovely letter in the mail from [livejournal.com profile] dagard's parents yesterday. They knew there was lots of spicy stuff about him that he wasn't telling them. He cared for them enough not to.

My mom? Knows everything you do about me. Yeah, even (at least the outline of) entries that I've locked. That is, if she remembers it. I guess I like to talk about myself too much. But as an excuse, let me just say that a) she asked for it - no, really - and b) her generation is the nucleus of queerphobia worldwide. If I lay some truth on her, namely that queers, trans people, and kinky people are, you know, people, she might spread the word.
sistawendy: (celebration plastic)
My ex got the house she was bidding on. This is a huge relief, because it means that a) she and my son have a place to move into now that she's sold the old place, so b) I won't be essentially paying for three residences, even for a short time.

From the Dept. of Hilarity: the new place is in the same ZIP code as Mistress Matisse. If they ever meet, they'll annihilate each other in a hail of gamma rays.

In classic ex fashion, she's found a way to rain on my parade: she's looking forward to shipping my son off to me during the weeks instead of (most of) the weekends. I'll be keeping way more of the cash if I have to feed my teen. He will so very be helping with laundry & housework. I give him a month, outside, before he's begging his mother to move back in with her. I'm not even sure if he'll be taking any classes next quarter, but one way or another he'll be doing something constructive outside the apartment.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I've heard it said that the difference between a hippie and a Burner is a ticket. Well, I'm still a hippie: the main sale sold out in an hour today. However, I still have another option. The leaders of Camp Beaverton, a blessing on their butch-haired heads, will be getting some tickets for people who are either coming early to set up or staying late to tear down. I'll be in the former group. If those run out, it's a scramble for sure. By hook or by crook, though, I will get there.
My ex has made an offer on a house. It's the right size and price, the location is what she wanted, and unlike the last one it's in reasonable condition. She's in a bidding war, and for her to win would be a good, good thing for her, for me, and for our son. I hope you'll join me in transmitting a few good vibrations. We find out on the 29th.
I still haven't even made a packing list for Norwescon, but I've definitely thought about what'll go on it. I'm pretty psyched about seeing everybody. I'll be arriving Friday evening.
sistawendy: (dolly)
"St. Patrick's Day pre-funk" with People in Black in North Greenwood. There was beer, mean things done to attractive women, and way too many sesame-covered almonds. Not bad for a Tuesday night.

Dinner with m'boy as usual last night. He's still a punk, but perhaps less of a punk than last week. Ex is freaking out about not having a place to move into yet now that she's sold the one she's in, but she has yet to transmit her freakout to me. Oh by the way, her drier has just given up the ghost and she's got a ton of fabric, notions, and sewing supplies that she got from her hoarder stepmother that she'll be selling over the weekend. Watch this space for a sale announcement.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
My ex is terribly excited by what she says is the only house on the market right now, mainly because it's exactly where she wants to move. I mapped the transit and sent it to her: take a 50 or walk twelvish blocks to Columbia City station, hop on the train, go wherever*. The purchase price of the house is well within her budget because...

...it's a "fixer". It looks like somebody old and maybe poor lived there for a long time. Even the repairs shouldn't present a money problem given Ex's budget, but that's going to be a fair amount of time & hassle, and ugly in the meantime. It bears close inspection. As long as she doesn't screw our son, though, I don't care where she moves.

The big question in my mind is, how likely is a nebbishy-looking teenage white boy to get jumped on that stretch of Genessee St.? Not very, I hope. I suppose I could ask the same question of a middle-aged transgender white woman, but that wasn't what occurred to me first.



*The train goes to the Hill and the UW starting on the 19th. EEEEEE!
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
My ex informs me that she's tentatively accepted an hour on the house which contains an "escalation clause" that raises the price by 3%. That's nearly $747K if it goes through, scheduled to close on April 7th. That's fabulous news for me, of course, and it'll eventually be fabulous news for her, too, but she first has to find a new place. The ones she was looking at last week have of course sold. Welcome to Seattle! I'm sure she'll make it, though; she only wants to move once.

I can't help but wonder if the weekend of staying at my place, away from the old place, and the looming move have contributed to my son's recent punkitude. He skipped class today, and he's started putting sugar in everything again. He at least attempted to vacuum up what he left in my carpet - I know because he didn't put the vacuum away quite right - but it was still all over the coffee table & cabinet.

From the Dept. of Irony: The worst traffic bottleneck in the state of Washington is the State Road 520 bridge, a concrete pontoon engineering marvel* that connects Seattle to its northeastern suburbs. I've driven that bridge hundreds of times to get between my current place and the old one. The new 520 bridge is scheduled to open on April 2nd, less than a week before I don't need it nearly so much.



*Built in the '50s, it has a draw span that used to open to permit pleasure craft through, the lake having de-industrialized shortly after World War II. The draw span also opens during high winds to prevent damage to the bridge. The new bridge has no need for such moving parts and much longer rises at the ends.

For Sale:

Mar. 2nd, 2016 12:26 pm
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
3½ BR 2½ BA 2300 sq. ft. house, 10 min. to MSFT, garage, fenced back yard, built 2000. It's only been owned by one household, its front door faces north (which is apparently a plus for Indians), and it has fruit-bearing apple and fig trees on the property. It can all be yours for a mere $725,000, because I would much rather have the cash than the house, which I haven't lived in since 2010. Not that it ever really felt like home to me anyway: everything on the walls was either by, of, or about the extended family.

The price seemed a little low to me, but our agent (via my ex) points out the dearth of "comps": everything for sale in the neighborhood is either much older or much newer. The place could also use some TLC; keeping two residences on essentially one income took money away from maintenance. I'm predicting that the erstwhile Abbey will sell in a heartbeat, because turnover is how agents make their money. Given our financial realities I'm OK with that.

We'll have the first visitors to the house either tomorrow or Friday, and my ex is so keen to keep it clean that she's shipping m'boy off to me for the second weekend in a row. That works out perfectly because I needed to swap for Norwescon anyway. I'm not going to telecommute for him, though, and I may even go out Saturday night to a sex workers' rights benefit at Lo Fi. So there!
Yeah, it's been one of those times when I have nothing to say and I'm feeling pretty meh about a lot of things, so I haven't written much. I do, however, have a date with the Tickler tomorrow, thereby ending a long, cold winter drought.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
My son is in my apartment as I speak. I have... informed him of the recent error of his ways and the gravity of the situation in which he has placed himself. My ex & I are, unusually, in perfect agreement about that. Poor Mr. Right Now got to listen to me install in my son a new rectum. May he never need to do so with his daughter.

We had lunch at Red Mill as his first meal of the day and my second, and I watched him take 80 mg of Vyvance. The pills were in his hands and there they weren't. I hope he didn't hide them under his tongue.

Oh: the dryer at the old place is out of commission just in time to start showing the house next week, of course, so I've been doing three loads of my son's laundry here, which he gets to fold. Ex has her own laundry hung up at the old place, which is why I'm doing m'boy's here. I'm pretty sure we'll be ready in time, though. C'mon, baby, sell, and sell high. Mama's got bills to pay.

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