Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

After a sugaring appointment rendered a little chaotic by a four-year-old* I took the bus to the train, and then got the Wendling to pick me up because the 50 is the most useless bus route in Seattle. And where did this epic journey take me?

To Both Ways Cafe, where Ex was having a party for her sixtieth birthday. The food was amazing, of course, because Ex made most of it, and much of it was gluten free. Ex's brother, niece, nephew, cousins, dog trainer lady, rabbi, etc. were all there. Some of them flew in from California, but I was still the best dressed person there. In a few cases it took me several minutes to remember people's names despite sobriety. They remembered mine, of course.

It was kind of trippy telling Exbrother's bi daughter, whom I've known since she was a baby, about the Wildrose. Ex's childhood friend P, who's been having some success at writing (!), tells me she's given up on dating. Mayunn, het men need to suck less, especially the ones around sixty years old.

But Ex provided me with another reason to be there: I commissioned from her a pair of red ceramic horns to the balcony on the front of the Devil Girl House. You see, the ones that I have made of red tape and wire haven't withstood the elements despite some serious coating applied. They look perfect, and I intend to install them today. I have some neoprene to use as padding, which I think will be necessary.



*The lady who does my sugaring has a young son who inherited ADHD from both of his parents. He's... a handful, and his mother doesn't really have a reliable alternative to having him with her there at the salon. I feel sorry for her. And I'm glad I wore boots there yesterday because he broke some glass.

I punked out on going to the Monkey Loft on Saturday night; my body just wasn't feeling it. Unusually and fortunately, I didn't die of FOMO afterwards. I did go out Thursday & Friday, so I got my fix, I think.

And it's a good thing I got decent sleep, because I needed to a) do a smallish work thing, b) get shorts for the Wendling before he leaves for New Zealand on Wednesday. I got some makeup while I was at it because hey, I was running low on a couple of staples. Circumflatulation happened. An awful lot of a Hugo award winner got read. Happiness.

Oh: Why is my son going to New Zealand? Because the late Exmother made arrangements for Ex, Mr. Right Now, and the Wendling to go there and scatter her ashes. After he gets back, he'll be my thing in the cellar full time. Ex wants me to make him cook for me occasionally. I hope I'm ready for that. And he'll get to pay his own phone & electric bills. I really hope he can function executively about those.

Oh oh: Exmother's condo has sold. Ex won't be quite as... needful soon. If I tell Good Sister she'll probably be jealous.

My Ex went to California on Thursday because her mother was going to make use of that state's assisted suicide statute. This morning, my son texted me to tell me that she was vomiting so much that that was no longer an option. He said that if her high blood pressure didn't kill her soon, malnutrition would.

Five hours later, the Wendling texted me to tell me she'd passed away. He didn't convey any details, and I didn't ask for any. I figure that if Ex wants to talk to me, she'll call. She surely has a lot of calls to make right now.

And she has reasons not to call me: first, we're divorced, and second, Exmother hated me for transitioning, and she's she was certainly not one of my favorite people. My son once called her a bitch to her face for how she spoke of me. I told him he didn't get to do that to his grandmother, but neither was he wrong in his assessment. She really was by turns manipulative, overbearing, narcissistic, and two-faced. That's right: I just spoke ill of the dead.

I will not attend the memorial.

Nevertheless, she was facing a level of mental and physical suffering that I'd only wish on Trump, Putin, and their minions. I wasn't even aware of how bad things were for her until not much more than a week ago. If she did finally get help in ending that suffering, I do not judge her for it.

Anyone in Ex's family who thinks it's unfair that my mother, with her snobbery and racism, hasn't suffered as much as Ex's can consider that my mother spent several years living the horror of losing her mind. My mother's small-town Southern upbringing, in which appearances of one's own normality were everything, probably magnified that horror.

So, early last week I had a run of nights when I didn't get enough sleep thanks to nightmares & anxiety dreams. That looked set to resume, until last night. How was last night different from most other nights? I once again facilitated an online trans group for Lambert House. I've begun to wonder if online socializing would be good for my health, mentally & physically.

Assuming that's true, where do I go? This isn't like the early aughts when the MOOs lit up every evening. I do know of one specialized Discord server that I have a strategic presence on. Mastodon and Second Life, however, suffer from the same inactivity issue, as far as I know, that MOOs do today, to say nothing of the learning curve on SL. I know there are queer Slack channels out there, but I haven't looked into them much.

It's time to do some investigating, but not until tomorrow night. Tonight is eats with my son. He's still commuting out to the east side to help Ex's stepmother, who's in her 70s, obese, and prone to falling. I've raised the concern that maybe a frontline worker like him shouldn't be seeing someone at-risk so often, but it looks like he's the best option she has. Ex herself has to work and she's still arthritic.

A text convo among the United Sister Font:
Evil Sister: [Mom] still thinks that [ES's daughter E] has been sneaking in and leaving things.
Me: I'm glad she thinks [E] is leaving things and not taking things.
Good Sister: Dark.

Oh, Good Sister, you're an amateur.

This is another one of those entries that got delayed because I was doing too much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enough wacky hijinks for a while, I think.



*Diminutive's name is the diminutive form of mine. Also, she's tiny and I'm not. I love that.

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.

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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.

And what, you may ask, is Objective Charlie Bravo? I went down to Macy's on the bus* and picked up a few 38C bras, all of which fit me better than the 38B that I walked in with and that I'm still wearing.

Years ago - I think it was at least two years ago, anyway - no less an authority on boobs than staxxy prophesied that I would eventually make it to a C cup. If she gave me a time frame, I don't remember it; she's probably too smart to do that anyway. I must admit to a certain impatience with the pace of my breast growth, and maybe even some doubt as to where it would end up, but it isn't that common for trans women to get as big as I have without resorting to knife work.

OK, I don't want to go up any more cup sizes. B for believable, C for convenient. Having said that, it'll probably happen.

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What did I do for MLK day? I didn't march, but I borrowed another of the volumes of March that I got for m'boy, who has to his credit read all of them. Time for me to catch up. It's a bite out of a perspective sandwich: I'd forgotten, if I ever knew, how much physical harm folks in the civil rights movement endured. Even more respect to Rep. John Lewis for keeping his faith in humanity.



*The E and the 40. The E was so delayed coming back that I walked the thirty blocks in almost exactly the time it would have taken on the bus. Bad Metro! Bad!

Mental note #1: Check whether your rental car has a USB port that you can plug your phone into when you pick it up. Doing so would have saved me from conniptions in north Florida's hostile radio desert going to Mom's, not just when I left.

Flew home without incident. The post-Christmas crowd seemed somehow less scary than the pre-Christmas crowd, even in deepest darkest Dixie. Or maybe I'd had my attitude adjusted by walking on the warm, sunny beach and in the quiet woods.

You know what I'd forgotten about Mom's neighborhood? The smells - vegetation - and the bird calls, most noticeable around sunrise & sunset. Just thinking about them makes me smile.

Mental note #2: Make sure I have enough books on my phone for the whole cross-country trip. I was watching other people's movies sans sound for the last hour or two.

I've put on five pounds. Mom's cornbread is fantastic, as I've said. She made three skillets of it while I was there, even though she got tired of it. That's love.

Nagged kiddo this morning. I should probably nag him some more over the phone right now. He needs to at least temporarily stop being a punk, because even though Exdad has been doing better, he's a long way from out of the woods. Let's put it this way: Exbro flew to Seattle about the same time I did.

First the bad stuff: My Ex's father is in an ICU, but doing better. Ex isn't sleeping, so when my son blew off walking the dog yesterday* while she was at the hospital she kind of went kablooey at me via email. She's ready to sell him for meat. She says she doesn't want to live with him even though she has a bedroom for him and I don't, saying he should move in with some unspecified "peers". (He has no friends.) One thing I didn't know is that he still needs to turn in work for two of his classes last quarter, but he points out that having his wisdom teeth out messed with his ability to get that done. She says that he now needs to retake five classes, and she's determined that he's going to pay for it. And oh by the way, fascists officially took over the country yesterday.

Now the good stuff: The great state of New York has accepted the stack of documents that I sent them and has put the correct name and gender on my birth certificate; they were even nice enough to send me an unofficial copy. The fascist goons mentioned above will need a court order to obtain proof that it was amended. Goddess bless the Empire State.

I am leaving for Florida in twenty-six hours. It can't happen soon enough. Highs in the 70s and 80s, baybee. I stopped by Funny Lady's on the way to Lambert House last night and got contact info for her chum there in case I need moral support.



*He was asleep. Since he isn't in school, he's doing the teen thing with his sleep schedule as I used to do. At Ex's request I've started confiscating his electronic devices during sleepy time. As an added bonus, I know they're charged when I do that.

Last night: Dinner, more or less, at chez Much Younger Woman. She said she missed me, and I definitely missed her. Aw! We & a friend of hers smoked what I'm pretty sure was a C. sativa strain - just one bong hit for me, thanks - judging by how much talking happened afterward, drank a surprising volume of box wine, and watched the first three eps of "Stranger Things". I get why the buzz is huge and people are hooked: it isn't just plot candy, it's plot Nutella. Taking the bus home involved not one but two 15-minute waits. Yeah, I could have Uber'd, but I'm trying to conserve cash at the moment. Ah, student life. I'm not sure I really miss it.

Today: Grocery shopping with Ex, followed by a hospital visit with m'boy to Exdad, who turned out to be sleeping. Neither of us wanted to wake him; we'd both heard him complain earlier about not getting enough sleep. This conveniently gave me enough time to go to a clothing swap at a group house full of queer poly women & AFABs who I know. I walked out with a weight in clothes that's equal to what I walked in with, but I think the ones I walked out with stand a much better chance of getting worn. I think the Goth Cabal would approve of a lot of what I got. And if they don't, remember, there is no Goth Cabal.

I think I'm staying in tonight: too low on sleep.