sistawendy: (drama)
Bad: Dr. Kidshrink is moving to Hawaii next month.

Good: He'll do at least a few sessions with m'boy via Skype.

Bad: Mom apparently has had fraudulent activity on her credit cards, enough to max them out. That's likely due to Mom's giving out her personal information exactly as Good Sister told her repeatedly not to.

Worse: Mom tried to cancel the cards instead of just reporting the fraudulent activity, so of course the credit card issuer shunted her to someone who tried to talk her out of it. In other words, not only is Mom's addled pate getting her into more financial messes; it no longer helps her get out of them.

I missed the usual Sunday morning call time because I was brunching with the Tickler, for which I now feel a tiny bit guilty. I haven't talked to her since what, Friday? Mom, like much of Florida, still has no internet because of the hurricane, so she hasn't been emailing me every morning as usual. GS & I shared a dark laugh that Mom's coming unplugged isn't necessarily a bad thing.

I'm less cranky now about GS dragging me to Florida in January. Watching out for Mom from DC is no mean feat, and she's been doing it for a few years now. She's earned some slack from me, I think.

Where's Evil Sister in all this? Her name hasn't come up. I guess she's in San Antonio, TX, and that's all I know.
sistawendy: (Default)
I never thought I would unironically throw the horns, but I did last night at a benefit for the Satanic Temple at Substation. The ST is the organization that stands up for separation of church & state with great panache by inserting themselves into, say, prayers at high school football games (here in the Puget Sound area) and putting up goaty statues alongside the Ten Commandments on public property (Oklahoma, as I recall).

I gotta love that, so of course I showed, courtesy of R. I knew a few of the performers, including a lovely friend of Diminutive's. But the Satanist MCs said, "We're not promoters," and that was painfully evident during a couple of the interpretive dance numbers - really. However, the tunes live & otherwise were good, the black clad crowd had fun, and everyone threw the horns during the little ceremonial bit at the beginning.

Oh, and as surprisingly as sunrise, Eliza Gauger from Friday night was there with copies of her book. I saw her just minutes after I'd excitedly told R about it.
I have my real name on my Twitter profile, and as a result the Hubbell Trading Post followed me. I'll save you the trouble of googling it: it's a trading post at Ganado, AZ on the Navajo reservation and, at least formerly, several satellite posts. It was founded by a cousin of my great grandfather's, and my great grandfather and my grandfather and their families lived and worked at several of the trading posts at various points in their lives.

In 1965, shortly before she died and before I was born, my great grandmother Penny wrote her life story, fifty-seven neatly typed pages. Most of it deals with life at the trading posts. I offered a copy to the Hubbell Trading Post and they accepted it. I've got it ready to mail, with a fair warning about the racist bits - I re-read it yesterday - plus a few stories about my grandfather that Penny didn't write about.
From the weekly phone call with Mom, a bit of subversion from her. First, some background: my Evil Sister has moved to Texas, leaving my niece E behind to get the resident's break on college tuition. Mom had a picture of me - the real, female me - out where where E could see it. Mom asked E if she knew who that was, and she said no. Mom gave her the straight dope. E looked very closely at the picture, and when Mom said I was living as a woman, E said, "Good for her." So at last I have verification that the cat is out of the bag.

I'm amused, and I don't blame E a bit if she doesn't really give a damn: Mom reminded me that she was in a car accident a few weeks ago, for which she's struggling to pay bills, and she starts college in a couple of weeks. And of course I'm proud of my mother. I don't even care what her motivation was. A straight woman of nearly eighty from a small town in the Blue Ridge mountains just struck a blow for trans acceptance, and that is pretty nifty.
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: (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: (drama)
I've been waking up too early this week, no thanks to my bladder. I'm guessing I need to cut down on salt.
Remember that dream I had about my niece a few nights ago, the one Evil Sister has prevented me from seeing for years? I told my mom, ending the email with, "Goddamn [Evil Sister]." Mom forwarded the email to ES without my knowledge. ES's response? "Nice."

Why did Mom do that? I'm not sure, but probably to remind ES of what an asshole she's been. I'm not too bent out of shape about it because it's a fait accompli without tangible consequences for anyone, but I'd rather Mom didn't do that.
Since I didn't do Norwescon; I'm not doing the Vampire Ball this year; and it's been a cold, grey winter & spring even by Seattle standards, I'm starting to get a bit stir crazy. I'm starting to make plans for Critical, to which I haven't been in five years.

I wonder if it's too soon to ask my ladies about Pride plans. Cruising the Hill with the Siberian Siren, especially on the Saturday afternoon before Pride, has become a cherished tradition. My son's birthday is also that day, so I figure he'll want to go out to dinner that evening. And hey, any of you local queers who'd like to join me for the aforementioned cruising or any of the three marches - trans, dyke, and everybody - hit me up.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
I am currently gussied up and looking mighty fine, if I may say so myself, for dinner with a certain elder Goth who isn't feeling well and so postponed. Not a date.

Getting together with Grenade on Sunday, about which I am psyched. Not a date either, but I sure wouldn't mind if it were.

I finally broke down and got an HP 6968 printer/scanner for taxes, insurance claims, and various kinds of circumflatulation. I did connect it to my laptop via WiFi, but I passed on the web-based print service because DANGER WILL ROBINSON. The printer/scanner is not intended to be used for dating, you freaks.

My father's brother has asked for my copy of the Navajo dictionary that his father contributed to. He wants to donate it to the historical site with which my father's family is associated. (I've been there once, in '89.) It seems like a good idea to me; I lost the thing for a few years, and I don't want to lose it again. Besides, it should be where people will see and appreciate it. Mentioning my uncle and dating in the same sentence gives me a headache.

Discussions for nailing down the venue for my 50th birthday party. The price, facilities, and general attitude of the proprietress are eminently reasonable, but there's one wrinkle: I'm not allowed to divulge the name (or, I suppose, address) of the venue until the day of the event. I hope invitees won't get too cheesed off at me about that. I'll be asking her if I can at least name the neighborhood, among many other things. This party is not a date, but it'll be my 50th birthday and I'll be in a fabulous leather corset, so I better get at least one good kiss out of it.

I have dates scheduled for Friday and Saturday night. If I don't survive, I'll die happy.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
My mom's info bomb hasn't done any damage. My niece E hasn't, to my knowledge, looked for me online, and neither she nor my Evil Sister have said anything about it to my mom much less me. Sure, I'd like to hear from my niece (and of course my sister) again, but I'd prefer that it happen without rancor, natch. Maybe E knew already; maybe E wasn't curious; or maybe ES has lied to E again and dissuaded her from looking for me.

As for ES's decision to put E someplace other than my mom's for college, Mom is characteristically convinced that ES is punishing her for cutting off easy credit eight (!) years ago. That's not so obvious to me. The other two candidates are, based on Mom's description, households that could really use a young, able-bodied person like E around even more than my mom could. It seems plausible that ES's evil is reserved mainly for me.
Burgers with m'boy Friday night in celebration of his finishing the two-page to do list that Ex taped to the bathroom mirror. Adulting, he can do it.
I was all psyched for a hot date with Temptress last night, but I found out - after I'd done all twenty nails - that she'd come down with something. So I had a relatively short and temperate night at the Merc last night. We rescheduled for a week later, but I've realized that I have to let my facial hair grow for electrolysis that weekend. Arg!
Today: sleeping the chunky rain away, scouring the town for "art" materials.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Yes, my mom dropped an info bomb, but I'm not the target. I'm the payload; my Evil Sister is the target.

A bit of background: Evil Sister's husband has been working in Texas so much that the rest of the family is moving out there to join him later this year. The complicating factor is that ES's elder daughter, E, is right around college age, and will need to continue residing in Florida to get that wonderful in-state tuition. So there was a question of where E would live.

Enter my mom. She & ES haven't been getting along too well or speaking much for years. Even if I could remember all the details I'd spare you; suffice it to say that they mostly make my Evil Sister look sympathetic, and Good Sister backs her up on that. So it isn't too surprising that ES said that E will not be staying with Mom, even though Mom has abundant room in her house.

So what does Mom do? Tell E that she'd been thinking of adding another bathroom for her at the back of the house, but that her Aunt Maura had talked her out of it. This is the first E has heard that she has an Aunt Maura. I just found out from Mom via an insomniac early-morning email check. I don't know if my Evil Sister knows yet.

It occurs to me that, if E's so inclined, she might just find this journal referring to her mother as Evil Sister numerous times over the years. Yeah, well, I call 'em the way I see 'em. I hope I get a chance to explain.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
I spent all day yesterday traveling to my mom's house, which is also the one I grew up in, in Gainesville, FL. As I walked between gates at ATL, I heard a lady behind my thanking all of the numerous soldiers we passed for their service to the country. Ah, the South. Less charming was he old lady wishing the gate agent a merry Christmas and then saying, "We can say that now." Gosh, geezer girl, you were so oppressed.

As I walked out of the Jacksonville airport in just a sweater, I felt the Florida "winter". I couldn't help laughing.

Mom had cornbread & pinto beans with ham waiting for me when I arrived at about 2130 local time, well past her bedtime. She'd asked earlier what she should cook, and that was one of my favorite meals growing up. Nom! But as I was walking around the now-quiet house, I had to tell her, "I miss [Good Sister]. I miss [Evil Sister]. I miss Dad. I guess I better unpack before I start crying. Estrogens. Ain't they grand?"

I walked around my neighborhood with my mom and one of her friends, M. You know that thing where older people are often full of stories and need someone to tell them to? Yeah. M's sweet, but yeah.

I walked around my neighborhood some more and then to my high school. Saw one bumper sticker for Trump, and one small pro-Trump piece of graffiti on the actual school. To the little snot that likely wrote it, I say, enjoy your wrecked future: there's a reason why his supporters skew old. Fuck my distant past. This isn't the Gainesville I remember, but then again a) it was the 80s and nasty was the norm, b) as a budding geek I was good at staying out of the loop, and c) when you're to all appearances a cis white dude your life feels a lot safer and more cheerful.

I guess I'm not really feeling this vacation, am I? At least not yet. Maybe the beach or my friends my own age can help with that.
sistawendy: (mad woman)
I'm hearing reports of verbal & sexual assaults and queer bashings in the area in which the perpetrators are crowing about Trump. We need to get the word out to the people who voted for this. Yes, some of them voted for a Nazi thinking he wouldn't be that bad and yes, we should tell them he will, because that will weaken his support.

I'm not sure I know any personally who did. There better not be any in my immediate family; I'll have to ask Mom & Good Sister. I have at least one cousin in Arkansas who is definitely not a Trump supporter. You know that's tough. I haven't been in contact much with his siblings, though.

In a neat stack next to me are the (most of) the numerous forms needed to change the gender designation on a New York state birth certificate. Planning, phone calls, and leg work will need to happen before I mail it off.

Laughably insufficient sleep Thursday night; surprising productivity Friday; nap, pizza, and Stranger Things with the sweet Much Younger Woman last night. I Uber'd home, with much talk about the above with my Latino driver. It strikes me how much more sanguine she & my son are than, say, Jenny Boylan and I. Is it just because age has made us less resilient, or because experience has taught us just how bad things may yet get?

I slept OK last night. I need to start doing better than every other night, though, or it's going to be a problem that begets other problems.

Today's agenda: clean my lake place, fill out forms, bum the car off of Ex maybe, and go to El Norte with [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth, who's even more wonderful that most people realize.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
I just spent last night & this morning in a series of emails, texts, and frantic phone calls with my mother and my Good Sister in an attempt, whose success is as yet undetermined, to prevent the former from letting herself get scammed. GS says this is the fourth time it's happened.

From my perspective, it all started yesterday around 1700 Pacific time, when Mom forwarded the nastygram she sent to GS. In the nastygram, Mom complained about things that happened years and even decades ago between her & GS, and accused GS of causing her to lose more than $10,000. It would have been laughable had it not a) concerned my family and b) been so vicious. It was even worse in many ways that what Evil Sister said to me. GS & I have grown progressively more sympathetic to ES as we've dealt with Mom. ES did so at first because she lives just blocks away from Mom, GS is out of state but still in the same time zone, and I'm across the country. Mom is burning through her kids in order of both proximity and birth, and I'm the last.

Right away I emailed GS to express my sympathy, which she appreciated. Thus far I'd only heard Mom's complaints, but GS clued me into the possible scam. I knew Mom had been a target before, and I'd advised her against falling for one or two of them. So, right after my bike ride this morning, after failing to get a hold of GS, I talked to Mom. She was predictably unrepentant about how horrible she'd been to GS. I did my best to talk sense into Mom with the incomplete information I had.

I then succeeded in getting GS, who had a fabulous idea for someone Mom will listen to about this financial transaction she's about to initiate: her lawyer. This lawyer used to be in the same practice as our now-retired neighbor and has been Mom's lawyer for years, so Mom trusts her. Better yet, this lawyer (whose name Mom couldn't remember) has stopped Mom from falling victim before. I conveyed this to Mom PDQ. I think, I hope, I pray that it stuck.

For decades in our family, Mom was the voice of reason and the one who handled the far-from-simple household finances. How far she's fallen. I'm sad for her, and for my sisters. And I'm dreading the prospects of taking their place, and of going to visit her as promised over Christmas.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
I told Much Younger Woman that my feet & back weren't, as NASA says, nominal. She had an excellent plan B: Boeing Creek Park, which has trails maybe a little shorter than the one around Green Lake, only through sun-dappled woods and over hills and along - you guessed it - a creek. You can tell that it's a Shoreline park and not a Seattle park because it's not quite as scrupulously maintained; parts of the trail along the creek were washed out. But we're rough, tough dykes, and we hiked it - MYW in a dress and me in a skirt. There's an off-leash dog area in one corner of the park, so it isn't too surprising that we saw lots of puppers. A+ would hike again!

One taro bubble tea with MYW later, I bopped over to the old place for one of the last few times for dinner & dog walking. My ex had a stack of cards & letters to me, mostly from my Evil Sister before she turned to evil, but one lovely letter from my father dated January 25, 1989. He held forth in his elegant handwriting about the passing of his own father a year earlier, and how proud he was of his father and (then) son. I cried after I read it through. Then I tried reading it to my son and I couldn't even make it to the end.

What would he think of where I am now? I've written before about how I'm not entirely sure he'd have been OK with the gender switcheroo; I was, after all, his third and final try for a son. But careerwise? I'm doing all right, but hardly stellar. My own son's lack of ambition would have appalled him at least as much as it does me. As Mom points out, though, the Wendling's got nothing on my Evil Sister, and even she eventually snapped out of it.

Stop it.

Mar. 8th, 2016 01:23 pm
sistawendy: (lizzy)
David Bowie, [livejournal.com profile] firesign3000, [livejournal.com profile] dagard, and now Will Power, the solar power wizard who plugged my car into the Camp Beaverton electrical system at the '14 Burn*? No. Everybody take good care of yourselves and each other from now on, or else... or else... I'll be upset with you.

Mom asked me via email this morning if I could handle her living as long as Nancy Reagan did. Yes, Mom, I certainly can. I expect her at my Big Gay Wedding.

There's somebody else who needs to stop doing something besides dying: Richard O'Brien, writer & director of "Rocky Horror Picture Show". He says trans women aren't women. Listen, pal, just because you're an enby doesn't mean binary trans people don't exist. It really is analogous to all the homophobic bi boys. (Biphobic homos, on the other hand, are a slightly different phenomenon.) Well, I won't be watching RHPS anymore, especially if doing so involves money changing hands.

Oh: I made a date with Temptress. Laugh if you must. I hope the lilacs over by All Pilgrims are blooming as they were two years ago.



*The first Beaverton conference call of the year was last night. It still doesn't quite feel real, and it probably won't until I know I've got a ticket. Sooner or later, though, I've got to open my packing spreadsheet and freak out a little, then make with my super anal powers.
sistawendy: (angry cartoon)
David Bowie is dead, my mother is obnoxiously senile, and rats are trying to eat the house that my ex and I need to sell. I could use some good news right now.

This week I have two dates, dinner with Funny Lady, and the Norwegian likes me. I have to hold onto that right now.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
Today is the twentieth anniversary of my father's death. There are a few unanswerable questions about him that I'll have for the rest of my life.

What would he have thought of my transition? I've asked my mother this on a few occasions. She thinks he would have been OK with it, provided his father, the source of much patriarchal bullpuckey, were no longer living. Since Papá passed away in 1989, that wouldn't have been a problem. And my father was the only member of my immediate family to say to me that he wasn't quite as cisgender as he seemed. He's also a man who believed in doing what you believe in.

What would he have thought of my career? I know he expected great things from me that I never delivered, but he had too much grace to express any disappointment as long as I was happy. I hope I can live up to that standard with my son.

Speaking of my son, what would he have thought of the Wendling? Whining and general punkitude really didn't sit well with Dad, even less so than with me. But I like to think he could have related to the struggles of a boy who wasn't a born student like me & my mother.

I was talking with Good Sister about him last week. Not a day goes by when something doesn't remind us of him. (Before Evil Sister stopped speaking to me, she expressed surprise at this phenomenon. More evidence that the woman has no soul.)

I never got to turn him on to kim chee, or tell him about my circumflatulation projects, or take him to Mt. Rainier. (Dad was outdoorsy as a young man, before his health failed.) Moral: you only get so much time with your parents. Don't waste it.
sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
My Good Sister's childhood friend A found me in Zuckerberg's data mine and sent me a friend request. I accepted, even though I never interacted with her much. Her little brother and I were friends, but I lost touch with him by the time we went to high school.

The question is, why would she even bother? A lives in Arkansas now, and I would have forgiven her for forgetting that I exist. GS and A have stayed in touch* and GS may have told her about my switcheroo. That's fine with me, of course, but I have to wonder. Does A collect online friends? Does she just like to stroll down memory lane? Or is she burning with curiosity about the west coast freak of a woman who used to be that weird little boy who hung out with her little brother? The content of her feed supports the memory lane theory.

I absolutely would not have recognized A on the street.



*Now that I think about it, A may have tracked GS down relatively recently. Heaven knows GS has bounced around the country.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
That Skype call that I worked so hard for with my Good Sister and her daughter? It lasted less than fourteen awkward minutes. GS moved it earlier to 0930 Pacific time because of her plans with Evil Sister. You can guess when m'boy & I got out of bed: 0855. Scramble!

My son and his cousin M were awkward teens on video. M is less awkward than my son with her good posture and gaze into the camera. Sure enough, she looks like GS, but she seems... shier? More normal? Less of a PITA? Than GS was at that age. Maybe M was just being shy in front of a brand new (to her) Aunt Maura. Maybe I haven't had enough contact with M. (Oh so true.) Maybe my opinion of GS dates from about 1975.

GS: Have you done anything to prepare for your trip to Paris*?
SW: Well, I heard of a lesbian bar a couple of blocks from the Pompidou Center**.
GS: You don't need to go to Paris to do that.
SW: If I have time, I'll check it out.
GS ended the call soon after that. I think I heard her say, "He'll end the call." I'm pretty sure she didn't mean my son.

When I told this story to Aspiring Ex, she said that of course GS found it awkward because I was talking about, basically, "trolling for sex". I guess the straight population is unaware of the degree to which lesbian bars are not meat markets, and that just going someplace to breathe queer air after spending days in a strange city with a group of septuagenarians to keep my mother from falling might be nice.

It's as if I can't relate to straight people anymore. And they're as avoidable as hydrogen.
I lost Little Drummer Boy the other day because KEXP played some indie band's cover of it. Darn them!



*Mom has arranged for herself and me to go there on a package tour in April, if you'll recall.
**La Mutinerie, 176 Rue St.-Martin. Its web site suggests a place that's part gay bar, part community center. I heard about it, appropriately enough, from a FOAF in Seattle's lesbian bar, the Wildrose.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
M'boy is supposed to stay with me this weekend, meaning no pah-tays for me, but hey, I signed up for that eighteen years ago. Except that my Aspiring Ex made dinner plans for my son with her dad & stepmom. OK, that means he only spends Friday night with me.

Good: I get to pah-tay with MOOers on Saturday night. Yay!
Bad: I'd worked many hours of tech support in the last week to enable a big Skype call, wherein I get to see my Good Sister, who's flying down to Mom's today, for the first time in nearly four years and my niece in at least five years. This call now had to be rescheduled.

So I called Mom. Luckily, GS had a schedule snafu of her own that worked in my favor. But then Mom said she'd have to "engineer it" because Evil Sister planned to do something with GS (?!) tomorrow afternoon their time.

Aren't you proud of me for not asking my mother to tell ES where to put her plans? I am.
sistawendy: (mad woman)
Happiness is:
  1. When Mom calls at 2030 my time (2330 her time!) and I successfully walk her through getting Skype working so m'boy & I can have a video call this weekend with Mom, Good Sister, and Good Sister's younger daughter, whom I haven't seen in over five years. The secret, it turned out, was to get Mom to delete her contact info for me in the Skype client to keep it from trying to dial my phone every time. We hadn't used Skype since before the Microsoft acquisition, I don't think, so I shouldn't be surprised that something like this happened.
  2. This week I've twice gone two days without shaving my face and felt completely comfortable doing so. That hasn't happened since I was what, 17? And even then it was because I wasn't yet aware of the fuzz growing out of my face. Electrolysis works. Eventually.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I dreamt that my Evil Sister had invited me out to lunch with her high school friend G. I drive up to this restaurant at the edge of a gorge, and apparently part of it has fallen in. The table that we're seated at is sloping toward the gorge, with nothing but air between the far side of the table and a drop of tens of feet. I sit on that side.

There are ropes tied to rings that have been helpfully bolted to the exposed rock next to the table. I tie one of the ropes around my waist.

I said something like, "You sure picked a dangerous place to have lunch."
She said something like, "No more dangerous than what you're doing."
I can't remember what I said next, but I was confident. It might have been, "That's my business," or, "It's only dangerous because of people like you."
I looked at G, who was silent the whole time. "Do you think we should be subjecting G to this?"
"No, I guess not."
End of dream.

Background: I've been Facebooking back & forth with my cousin J who lives in Oklahoma. He's a decent, non-transphobic guy maybe ten years older than I am who recently found out to his dismay just how often queers, and especially trans women, get bashed and murdered. Maybe that's what nudged me into dreaming about blood relatives.

The whole dream also reminds me of the famous two-hour argument that Good Sister and I had in a restaurant in June of 2010. Frankly, I can't imagine Evil Sister being as civilized as Good Sister was.

So that's three dreams about family members I've lost in as many weeks. That means they stop now, right?

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