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: (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: (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 [ 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...'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.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Item #1: An ad. My ex wants to sell the dining room table at the old place. She won't have a place to put it when she moves out. It can be configured with zero, one, or two leaves in the middle, and it's got squarish legs and some nifty swirly grain. No gotta photo, but drop me a line if you're interested.

Item #2: The roof at the old place was damaged by bozos who applied a pressure washer to the composite shingle. I didn't know that was a no-no, but Ex remembers telling the bozos not to years ago. Oh well, that's money we won't get when we sell the house.

Item #3: I have no dates scheduled. I guess I wasn't thinking past the weekend's pah-tay. Time to rectify that. To tell you the truth, it's kind of nice to have a break so I can do things like laundry.

Item #4: I'm at level 4 in Ingress, and more than half way to level 5. Setting up a big fat control field right before bedtime is embarrassingly satisfying. Somebody dropped portal keys all over Aurora, so I snatched as many as I could from the E line, of course.

Item #5: Breaking changes in open source projects are the root of all much evil.
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: (drama)
My ex* asked me to file a quit claim on my house so she could sell it without having to involve me. It went like this:
  1. Get the property tax ID & legal description, which I needed for the actual divorce, and fill out the form.
  2. Get it notarized.
  3. Bop on down to the court house and attempt to file it. The clerk said I needed to take it to the real estate records office in the county administration building, helpfully connected by tunnel.
  4. Get in line at the records office, only to realize when it was my turn that I needed cash, and more than I had on hand.
  5. Go back to the court house, get a couple more official copies of the divorce decree, get cash.
  6. Go back to the records office, only to be told that I need to fill out a real estate excise tax affidavit (REETA) along with my quit claim, and that it needs both my ex's and my signatures.
A REETA is a non-trivial five-page form that's usually part of the paperwork for a real estate sale; I recognized it. It's usually part of what one pays real estate agents to handle. I recommended to Ex that we fuck that noise, save the filing fee, and when the time comes I'll just sign what I have to to get the house sold. She's cool with that, and any money I might get from the sale is a windfall.

Where that gets interesting is that I never changed my name on the title to the house, so who knows? I may need another certified copy of my name change order from over five years ago.
I've notified my employer, and through them my health insurance company, that my divorce was final on the 30th. The trouble is, my insurance paid a claim for Ex on the 5th. Please, please don't let them ask for their money back or, you know, do us for insurance fraud.
Ex has also told my son that as soon as she has a new house in the south end, which could be blindingly fast considering the market, she's shipping him off to live with me most of the time. He got weepy. He doesn't want to live with me because I yell at him - and make him pick up after himself and do things on time. Some of it's manipulation, yes, but some of it is me, well, losing my shit too loudly. The kid's punkitude gets to Ex & me both, but in different ways. Oh, and there's no way in hell I'm moving to a bigger place just because he couldn't get his act together. We're going to be all up in each other's business.

*Yeah, still enjoying typing that.
sistawendy: (drama)
My son graduates from high school tomorrow. That means in-laws are descending upon the house I own half of but don't live in. That means Aspiring Ex & I have been working to get it ready.

A week or two ago I promised AX that I'd pressure wash the moss & algae off the front walks. I'd forgotten about that promise until she reminded me last night. You know where this is going: I was wearing my work clothes, a little black dress - fortunately synthetic - and insubstantial leather sandals. Nevertheless, I did the pressure washing until I ran out of both daylight and power cord. Some of the moss was so thick in places that I had to use a snow shovel to remove it. Only in Seattle would one a) own a snow shovel, and b) need to use it on moss.

Naturally, one side of the house and the front lawn are now covered in chunks of algae that were recently airborne. Removal of those falls to m'boy, as does sweeping the garage. I'm tempted to meet any whining from him with a thorough pressure washing.

I have to tell myself I'm making the house more salable.
sistawendy: (drama)
Burning Smell #1: Yesterday I let the magic smoke out of my vacuum cleaner. Luckily, I was just finishing the vacuuming prior to my son's arrival. After I got it unplugged and outdoors so it wouldn't stink up the place, I noticed that the brush had an awful lot of my hair wrapped around it. I'm guessing that that isn't a coincidence. I removed about a fistful. I'll see if anyone will attempt to repair it tomorrow.

Burning Smell #2: This morning my son had turned my push-button electric range on high instead of off after he finished cooking his scrambled eggs. The smell wasn't the residual eggs as we first thought; it was the plastic spatula that he'd left in the pan. About twenty minutes of gentle scratching with my fingernail separated the former spatula from the Teflon on the skillet. The skillet looks OK now, but I've had people tell me since then that it's unusable. It's still in much better shape than the Teflon pan that Nibs gave me. Hmm.
I'm really hairless on my face, neck, and chest right now. I'm scheduled for four-hour appointments for the rest of the year, but I'm hoping I can go down to three next year. That'll make both Aspiring Ex and me happy.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
I just bought a ticket for Deltron 3030, playing the Showbox on November 5th. It was [ profile] ionan who turned me on to them with one of 407 (!) songs on a DVD that he gave me for my birthday a few years back.
Remember the house that I pay for but don't live in? The fridge therein needs replacing for the second time in four years. Morals:
  1. Don't by models with the freezer in the bottom because they're more expensive to repair, and
  2. Don't buy Samsung appliances.

Attempting world domination. I'm being deliberately coy about the details because I'll be surprised if it works. Much frustration, some expense.
sistawendy: (lizzy)
Ms. Zappy's allergies were acting up today, so she asked if we could postpone our appointment. Generally, that's OK, but she did so by texting me at 0600. Not cool. I'm not a morning person, and I'm really not a morning person on a Sunday. As it happens, next weekend is Norwescon so the next zappy will be in two weeks as scheduled.

It's been a quiet weekend with m'boy: he had homework to do, so there weren't any field trips with him. I still took advantage of the gorgeous weather, though, to:
  • Drop of my thigh-high boots for a long-needed re-heeling at Swanson's.
  • Say hi to [ profile] imflying at work. I've gotten a lot of compliments on the brighter red with highlights that she did for me on Wednesday.
  • Stop by chez [ profile] ionan to pick up a mix from him appropriately titled "Blistering Chip Fury". Yeah, you may think you hate chiptune, but this is no ordinary DJ we're talking about. I got to sit in the sun on his balcony chatting with his lovely wife. Happiness.
  • On the way to [ profile] ionan's, I passed 108 N 80th St. It's an all-black house with a flowerpot on a pedestal that reads "STAY SCARY". Nyeh heh heh heh!

Today, in another sign that I'm becoming a grown woman, I broke down and bought a couple of small houseplants to liven up my small apartment. I got them at Swanson's Nursery, which I just noticed has the same name as the shoe repair shop. Ah, Seattle. Long may your Scandihoovians say "Uff da!"
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
If you're wondering why I've been scarce lately, there have been a few reasons:
  1. Girl Genius has consumed me. It's as good as some of you (especially [ profile] savannarama) have been saying for years. I'll tell m'boy about it, which probably means he'll avoid it like the plague.
  2. I've been feeling a bit in a funk lately, possibly because the morning fog has been blocking out the sun over the last few days.
  3. Dating sucks. I still haven't given up hope. That probably bodes ill.

But what's really worth writing about is the house into which [ profile] julzerator moved recently. It's one of the two "flower houses" on Alki. If you've been there, you know what I'm talking about. For non-Seattle folks, Alki is the loooong beach on the south side of Elliot Bay.

But never mind the riot of flowers out front or the stunning view of Puget Sound from the front window. The real action is inside the house. It's smallish by modern standards, being built around WWI, but the fellow who owned it in the 70's and early 80's was a globetrotter in the salvage business. The place is jammed to the rafters - yeah, I looked up there - with the most bizarre and whimsical objets d'art, furniture, and... additions to the house. I don't think my mouth closed the whole time I was there. (I was there for clothes. They're fab, too.) Here's what I can remember of this house's many delights:
  • Stained glass everywhere, even the bathroom skylight.
  • The spider web-like molding inside the front gable that's reminiscent of the Dharma Initiative logo.
  • The fire station pole to the basement. Want back up? You either climb the pole or go outside.
  • Randomly sized shingles nailed all over the exterior.
  • The irregularly shaped slice-of-raw-log kitchen counter that you have to dodge.
  • The Marilyn Monroe neon in the window, which fools tourists into thinking it's a bar.
  • The spire on the roof, which fools Asian tourists into thinking it's a Buddhist temple.
  • The two lanais, built long ago without permits, complete with live vegetation.
  • The v1.0 hot tub.
  • The creaking floor in the lanais because of damage from a mudslide off the bluff that looms over the back of the house.
  • The jackelope.
  • The butterfly on the lamp. That's all I'm going to say about it.

This is a house that will make guests think they've been drugged when they haven't. A whole lot of love went into that house, and [ profile] julzerator's housemates have continued it with things like making a set of IKEA bookshelves lean about five degrees. I think an awful lot of my friends would love living there. I know I would.

It seems that [ profile] julzerator and I have landed on our feet in similar ways.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Commuting to work on the 358 is convenient, but on Tuesday I had to deal with two skeevy guys, one on the bus to work and one at 3rd & Union on the way home. That made me even happier than I would have been ordinarily to see [ profile] savannarama on the bus yesterday morning. Pity she was on her way to )'(. The 5 seems less skeevy, but it's slower and not right by my place.

I went to the weekly beer night with co-workers. I must say, they have good taste in bars.

I'm unpacked, I have all my pictures framed, and I've assembled most of my furniture. The building manager showed me the (correct) room for storage & laundry. I won't have to take anything back across the lake!

Oh yeah: Nibs & I refi'd. More $.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
If you have a freakishly good memory or you're unhealthily obsessed with me*, you may remember that when I first broke the news of my impending transition to Nibs, she was dead set against selling the Abbey. Nearly four years and a recent chat with her shrink later, she's changed her mind.

How do I feel about this? On the one hand it'll do wonders for the money situation. It isn't bad, but could certainly stand to be better; Nibs has visions of both her and me living in apartments with space for the Wendling. (That could lead to "fun" with schedules and trans-lacunean commutes, but I think that would be a good problem to have.) That house always did feel more like Nibs' home than mine: just look at what's on the walls. It's also one less big bone of contention for our eventual divorce.

On the other hand, we've been the only occupants of that house. We planted the sapling spruce that's now up to the second story eaves. The Wendling has lived there for nearly as long as he can remember, and we know how well Aspies deal with change. And so much for socking money away in a home equity.

*In which case, why haven't you asked me out? Hmph!


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