Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I had a lovely dinner date down the hill with Womanhandler, formerly known as K. And you can consider a date successful if it ends with clothing strewn about your living room. Ahem.

Seriously, I think she's a keeper, as much as one can keep someone who describes herself as "polysaturated". It's a pity that my schedule is up in the air next month: the ash trip will likely happen not too long after I get back from Folsom.

I spent Tuesday night on FaceTime with the Tickler, largely talking about what we'll be packing for Folsom. They're more inclined to pack clothing than... equipment. (Hey, this entry is unlocked.) Experience has indeed taught me to think carefully about how much weight I'll be carrying at various events.

ATTN estrogen users: do you find that a few days after an injection, you stop retaining water by way of epic pee in the early morning? That's been happening to me for the last two nights running. I'd rather not have my sleep messed with this way.

I had my last corset fitting for a while. There will so be photos, but don't hold your breath.

Mom seems to have responded well to fewer drugs, and I have not metaphysically killed her by sending photos. I'm thinking she hasn't seen my new house yet, and I have the technology to fix that.

On my bike ride this morning, I encountered a dude at a gas station pulling a trailer with numerous Burning Man stickers: Gate, Perimeter, Exodus*. I asked if he was heading for the playa, and he said yes, for his last ever Burn. He's going to party after 20 years of working. Good for him. Do I have just a touch of FOMO? Why yes, yes I do.

Speaking of traveling south, everyone I wanted to meet up with at the Folsom Street Fair has bailed either due to overbooking (Bay Area pals), moving (an ex-Bay Area pal), health issues (the Tickler), or financial issues (Taller Woman). Le sigh. I'll just have to bat my eyes at non-dudes I don't know.



*Burning Man runs on a whole lot of hard volunteer labor. GPE is one division that does such jobs; DPW, the Dept. of Public Works, is another. I once asked a young woman about perimeter because I was under the impression that it was a lot of trudging through the cold desert night in the dark. She said it was actually kind of badass because you get to drive at 90 mph with your headlights off. All righty, then. I don't know about the Gate & Perimeter folks, but DPW has earned a reputation for being alcohol-fueled feral humans.

I had to do something I haven't needed to do for weeks: bop on down to Ex's to get my car, and then again to return it to the Wendling. When I returned, Ex read my mind as exes do and sent the Wendling out to get us burgers from a south end joint. As we munched, I brought up the imminent end of alimony.

Good news: Ex had it down as Feb. 1. I had it down as Feb. 15. I'll happily take the former. My tacky little party may just happen sooner than I thought.

Bad news: Since our son will still be spending at least* five days a week with her and he isn't chipping in enough just yet, she still wants "help" with food & utilities for him. The figure she named, which she says is preliminary, was $500/month. That's a hell of a lot lower than the $4K/month I'm paying now, but I don't believe it's tax deductible for me. She, however, still has to report it as income. Why isn't the Wendling paying more rent? He will be, says Ex, but he does need to save up first, last, and deposit if he's ever going to be in his own place.

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And on a completely unrelated note, my college housemate S blew into town and wanted to do brunch in Fremont. I hadn't seen her in person since the mid '90s. Hell yes, said I.

She has had an astoundingly varied career as a materials scientist for a major chip maker, a metal fabricator, a database monkey programmer, an Antarctica hand, and I can't even remember what all else. I definitely envied all the mad skillz and experiences she's picked up, but I think she may envy my relative financial stability. I hope we can both get some of what we envy about the other.

But! It turns out S and I have a lot in common: we're both Burners, we went to college together, and we both have... tastes. And regular readers know what I mean by "tastes" in an unlocked entry.

So now that's at least three people I have to meet up with the next time I go to Folsom: months ago I promised Taller Woman that we'd go together; K** is looking awfully promising as someone to go with; and S, who lives in the Bay Area, hasn't been to Folsom in years because she had no one to go with (!) and says she misses it. The Tickler is also wonderful to hang out with at Folsom, but at least historically she's had another girlfriend to stay with.

S & I passed through the Fremont Sunday Market on a sunny afternoon on our meandering way to Gas Works. I can see how the FSM would be a rich vein for Goths to mine for clothing & jewelry, but oddly enough, nothing grabbed me by the collar and insisted that I buy it.

Oh, here's a shallow fashion detail: I was wearing my Red Evil Princess Coat from Dracula Clothing, and I must have collected at least a dozen compliments from strangers about it. I haven't gotten quite that many in a day before, but people have noticed in the past. For a city where people hate to dress up, people sure appreciate you if you make the effort.



*His work schedule is changing to something nearly full time.
**I still haven't given K a moniker. I'm tempted to use a completely misleading pun on her name.

Greetings from Wicked Grounds in San Francisco, the kinkiest coffee joint on the planet, I think.

It’s true: flying on Wednesday afternoon is the way to go: no crowds, no hitches. I watched the sunset from the BART platform at the Oakland airport.

But I had a reason for getting all settled in by Wednesday night: the last time I came down for the Folsom Street Fair, flight delays caused me to miss Bondage A-Go-Go, which happens every Wednesday night at the Cat Club. Here’s the tale of how I got there.

Look up Cat Club: 1190 Folsom.
Walk eight blocks to 11th & Folsom. In heels.
Realize I left my phone charging.
Walk eight blocks back to where I’m staying. In heels.
Get phone.
Call Lyft because fuck that.
Nice Lyft driver drops me off near *8th* & Folsom. Right in front of 1192 Folsom.
Enter Cat Club, get beer, ponder silliness.

I had a lovely time, though. It reminds me of the SIN night at Kremwerk, only in a bigger and better space, with more entertainment like aerialists & dancers, and people who will actually talk to strangers. Spoofs of Nazi arm bands, adorable trans people, barely intelligible kinksters from Manchester, and of course lovely ladies in latex, chains, and straps.

Yeah, San Francisco is extrovert heaven, which is one reason why I love it.

I’m recovering from a mild hangover with a salad and a fabulous coffee shake while Wicked Grounds’ staff, who look several different kinds of freaky, sing along with music from the ‘50s. That’s another reason: the vibe.

I've got another spasm in my back, my bunion has been twinging, and it turns out I'm not quite as healed up down there as I said I was a few months ago. I'm hoping these are minor, temporary setbacks.

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From the Dept. of Future Happiness: I've booked an Airbnb in San Francisco for 9/25 through 9/30. I'll be all by my lonesome, aside from those times when I can meet up with the Tickler and her other sweetie S, Burner buddies, college chums, and those of you imaginary internet people* who live in the Bay Area.

This time I'll be staying much closer to the fair, so I'm hoping for more walking and fewer ride shares. I'm doing this my way, not the Siberian Siren's.

Now that I've re-read my entries from my trip in '17, it's occurred to me that flying out the day after the fair and its ensuing debauchery may be a bit brutal, but I didn't really feel like spending Monday there. I will, of course, hit Amoeba Music & SFMoMA before the fair. And this time I'm flying in & out of OAK.



*Stolen with love from eeyorerin.

Saturday: The afternoon in Wallingford for practical reasons - hey, I needed those socks from The Sock Monster - followed by dinner at the Blue Glass with the Tickler. The original plan was for us to go dancing afterward at the Psyops night (nice groove, eventually) at nearby Substation, but she caught something at Folsom. In fact, her other sweetie S messaged me that she just tested positive for strep (!) so no snogs with the Tickler for me.

Sunday: Buying notions for my Halloween costume. Eetz & Folsom stories with J & R in the otherwise sadly empty Teachers' Lounge. Hey Seattle people, they have good food, cocktails, and decor. Go there.

Pretty mellow, which is just what I needed.