Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

It was lovely to see seldom-seen folks last night at Ye Olde Spooky Clubbe. But do you ever have one of those nights where you're pretty sure everything you said is stupid? That was last night for me. I blame enough alcohol (Thanks, Mercury bar staff!) and not enough sleep.

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Speaking of stupid, a consistent and justifiable complaint of the Siberian Siren's is that I usually wear my beloved vintage Coach purse (the one that its former owner called the hippie bag, some of you may recall) with a black nylon REI backpack to hold my laptop. This situation is suboptimal because a) the SS is correct that it's not a good look, and b) I have extra bulk both in front of and behind me when I'm standing on a bus or train. So I took the poor widow's $10,000 the plunge further into hipsterism, hit the sale at REI, and got a black Chrome messenger bag. It has a seat belt buckle in front for quick releasing. It looks waterproof on the inside. There's room for both my laptop and the hippie bag; no way am I giving the hippie bag up because it's more suitable for outings on foot without my laptop, and it's just too well designed and made, even if I could stand to re-dye it. We shall see if I love the messenger bag, but I'm sure the E line and light rail passengers will thank stop hating me.

Yesterday: took care of business - car and hair - and ended up missing the women's march against hate on Capitol Hill, for which I feel a little guilty. Went to Mercury with ionan and my ex-co-worker M, who was a Merc virgin. M is a liberal evangelical Christian, so it was... an interesting exchange of cultures. Oh, and my makeout with another woman got compared to "Showtime softcore". Oh my.

Much social today: the last Mourning Market (*sniffle*) at which I replaced lost & destroyed jewelry, going all the way up to Snohomish County to say hi to ravenmimura and evillinn, and then to a casual meeting of protest artists organized by Grenade. Yes, Grenade is cute. Shaddup. I have an idea; I just need the time & energy to execute it. I still need to stuff envelopes going to Georgia.

ETA: The letters I printed out for Georgia on Friday don't mention Trump's phone call to Taiwan, which will definitely damage and may completely end diplomatic relations with China, the US's largest trading partner and, I think, creditor.

Went to my second annual pah-tay with the Siberian Siren & her partner A at the SS's hair salon, Collage, on 5th Ave. Best piece of Pride gear: a BiBi-8 t-shirt. Yes, BB-8 in bi Pride colors, worn by one of many cute queer black women about half my age. As always, first rate food & booze because (co-ed) urban queers.

The parade is on 4th Ave. Since it's such a long parade, I don't feel too bad about missing the beginning & end of it. Indeed, A & I agree that the best part of watching the parade was watching the Siren watch the parade. Here's this hardass, hard-headed Russian, who in many ways has had a hard life, turning into a wildly enthusiastic child right before our eyes. Happiness.

The SS didn't want to do the sardine scene that is the Seattle Center, at the end of the parade route. She was under the impression that there was more Pride-related stuff happening on Capitol Hill than there turned out to be. Nevertheless, we still had a lovely walk, yummy dinner at Chop Shop*, and Molly Moon's for ice cream. (That last was my idea. It's a personal Pride tradition.)

Oh: there were four of us. A & the SS had a houseguest, H, a younger bi woman who was crashing under their stairs, Harry Potter-style. She was raised very Jewish, so talking about it with H was a weird blast from my past. Her advice: don't be a tall or fat straight woman in Israel; her sister is both.

One member of Chop Shop's staff, a fellow with an accent that may have been east European, tried to direct me to the men's restroom. Not happening. H was right behind me in the women's, and I asked her, "Did I just experience a transphobic bummer?" She said, "Yup."

Netflix and chill at the SS's place. This is not a euphemism for a lesbian orgy, for better or worse; we really did watch TV & veg out for a while. I took the train to the UW, then the 44 to Fremont and walked the rest of the 30+ blocks home so I could burn some ice cream and watch the sunset from Phinney Ridge.

For Pride next year:

• I've never been to R Place. Yeah, I know it's huge and full of kids and lowest-common-denominator music, but I have to do it once, right?
• Dimples & Blondie are not wrong about the Wildrose: it's better for dancing than drinking on Pride. The gay men's joints, e.g. Purr, the Cuff, and Pony, might be a better option.
• The Merc on Pride didn't suck. seelenschwester did a Lambert House benefit, which is of course dear to my heart. But I'm a regular at the Merc, so it seems somehow un-Pridelike.
• If I'm going to take a lady friend home, it needs to be well before midnight. I'm too old to stay awake otherwise.
• For heavens sake, mass transit from the Hill is useless after 0030.

*Our waiter was a chatty beardo, and the food was oh so hip & hipster. But damn, it was good, and the price wasn't out of line. I'm so conflicted when I eat at places like that.

Three days between updates is long for me, but once again I got a bit busy.

Friday: Worked late, snarfed kid, felt woozy from crud, collapsed in bed and slept for nine hours.

Saturday: Spent some of that cash I've come into lately: Replaced the gladiator sandals I trashed last year, got the 100K service on the Sanctimobile, and picked up a large, black Lelo Smart Wand. I have yet to truly put that last to the test. For the sake of my right hand and my son's sleep, I hope it does the trick. So hey, it was all stuff I needed, more or less.

Had dinner for the first time in a while with the Siberian Siren. She's been working like a fiend on her real estate venture; it may have been the least sexy dinner with her ever, but that's still not bad. She had this to say about using the money coming to me to buy a residence: don't, for at least a couple of years. The market around here is too hot right now. I think I'll have an easy time following that advice.

The SS also had a... disturbing take on my son's punkitude. She thinks I need to put the "fear of Jesus"* into my son; from her, she points out, threats to send children to Siberia aren't idle. As hair-tearingly frustrated as I am with the Wendling, I'm philosophically opposed to fear-based parenting. For now.

Went to one of the Hot Flash Inferno nights, and ran into fellow trans woman M, whom I saw a fair amount of when I first started living as a woman. Her career is in the dumps, her love life isn't happening, and she's in her sixties now. I'm kinda fuckin' terrified that she is my future.

So I left early for the Merc, which wasn't as lively as I might have hoped. At least I got to raise my spirits by scratching a lovely lady, good and hard, as well has her boyfriends. Hat tip to seelenschwester for playing CHVRCHES at the Merc.

Today: Napped. Found excuses to walk in the glorious sunshine. Dreading trying to find space in my little lake place for all of my son's stuff after dinner, which I now need to cook.



*You'd never guess the SS isn't a native speaker of English until she gets a rare idiom not quite right.

M'boy & I delivered a spare 24-lb. turkey (long story) from the old place to Jewish Family Services in Seattle. Afterward, the Wendling wanted to drive to What the Pho in Bellevue, the best pho joint in 425-land, for lunch. He'd never experienced crazed consumers on their way to the overgrown & overpriced Bellevue Square mall on Black Friday before. It made for exciting driving. Poor kid.

You don't have to be in such a mall to hate humanity on Black Friday, just near one. The suck extends for several blocks in all directions.

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Traditional Buy Nothing Day nibbles with grad school chums. I increasingly feel as if they're grown-ups, talking about their children's educations and the like, and I'm not. (I should probably be grateful they're not talking about options & real estate anymore.) It... kind of freaks me out. I have a vague memory of being like that, but I don't want to be anymore.

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I went to inkandalchemy's new Twisted fetish night at the Merc. Tunes? Right on, thanks to her. Eye candy? But of course. Crowd? Could have been bigger, but it's a new night and the weather didn't cooperate. Flirted outrageously with a certain tall, athletic, and wholesome-looking lady, which was quite yay.

Shallow fashion details: black leather thigh high boots, black leather pencil skirt, black satin underbust corset, black leather opera gloves, and black electrical tape on my nipples, dammit.

I found myself with a free Friday night, and as so often on such nights, ended up at the Mercury. There was a sizable crowd there early on because a (the?) local poly organization, NSPP, was having a little gathering there. By little I mean they took up half the joint. That's fine with me.

What's not fine with me is what I heard from one of the organizers of this shindig, D. Background: the elevated middle of the Merc is the best place to see and be seen in the establishment, especially what old schoolers used to call the cool kids' table, the one with the L-shaped booth seating. I remarked to D that it was odd that her group wasn't there. She said that was where they used to sit, occasionally wearing electrical tape on their nipples and making out. Motherhood and apple pie at the Merc, right? Well, they started getting attitude from other patrons. (The staff, to its credit, doesn't give a damn as long as you don't leave bodily fluids lying around.)

The nerve of them! Engaging in and watching that kind of behavior is why people go - or at least went - to the Merc. With condos mushrooming on most blocks surrounding the Merc, I cherish that goofy, freaky, tacky, louche, trans-friendly, and yes, a little sexy relic of Seattle's wilder past. How dare they stick their prudery like a cheap, phthalate-smelling dildo into one of the last places in the city where it doesn't belong?

I did see one instance of electrical tape on nipples last night. That made me feel a little better. Now that I have reasonaboobs I might just do that myself, and strike a much-needed blow against gentrification.

Walked around Green Lake to catch a 16 to my hair appointment with razorbits. Saw an elderly Chinese fellow slapping himself on various parts of his body and stretching in what appeared to be a studied way. A kind of tai chi with which I'm unfamiliar? I didn't feel like asking him, "Excuse me, sir, but why are you slapping yourself?" Life in the big city. Viva Metro for getting me there on time, more or less, and of course, viva razorbits for giving me a bitchin' 'do.

Dropped off cowboy boots at Swanson's. I have to get them resoled so I can wear them on the playa for a week and really trash them.

Took the 44 to the 49 to Atomic Cosmetics inside Retail Therapy on the Hill with the Siberian Siren. We were there because I'd lamented to the Siren that I had no lipsticks that I really liked. They do have some nice shades, and they were making a batch of one - Jinx'd - that I really liked, so I had to go back for it.

The SS took me to a phở joint, Ballet, that I'd walked past a zillion times but never noticed; she'd been morphing into a pork chop before my eyes. Yes to the seitan phở and otherwise nice food & service, but no to the sugar in the broth. WTF?

The Siren had to go to a (gay!) wedding later that afternoon, and she couldn't find anything to wear in her zillions of rack feet of closets. This meant an emergency speed-shopping trip to Crossroads. I got to hold her half dozen candidates, zip her into them, and then play critic. Her taste tends toward the form-fitting, and what a form she has. Oh my. She doesn't fear sheer, either. Quote of the day: "Now the whole store knows my underwear is polka-dotted." From the wedding she texted me that Sen. Patty Murray showed up.

Hit Blick art supplies. I have a small plan for Burning Man, oh yes.

Dogsat both Bigpuppy and Mr. Right Now's dog. I'm proud of myself for preventing them from eating dirt. Don't tell Aspiring Ex that I didn't walk them, though. Controlling two dogs with scraped-up hands didn't sound fun.

Hit the Mercury for the first time in a while. Some of the things I loved about the Merc are gone: the painting by Victor, the razor wire on the DJ booth. Aw. And somebody needs to paint those new shelves behind the bar. You can't have natural pale wood in the Mercury! It's still a good place to drink and talk to freaks you know, though.

Speaking of freaks, I was taking a load off when another trans woman invited me to her table with her (trans) girlfriend. Mostly out of a feeling of solidarity, I accepted. I may be going to trans hell for thinking their visual & vocal presentation a bit bizarre, even by the high standards of trans people at the Mercury.

Walked over to ETG, where the Siren & her exhausted girlfriend bagged on me. The Shameless crew came through with some nice grooves, though, so I stayed until I wore out, i.e. shortly after 1:00.

...looking at my reflection in the lovely black-velvet-and-purple mopeygoth dress that I bought from krypt_kitten so long ago, and realizing that my breasts look plausible all by themselves. It's OK if they stop growing.

...being able to talk about the kinds of things I talk about here with a co-worker & his wife at the Merc.

...seelenschwester all femmed up. Oh my!

...being able to go to Sunset Hill Park, near the first place I lived with Nibs, and take in the view of Puget Sound without crying.

First the bad news: Strawberry Blond Sister prevailed upon her husband to block my number. As my shrink and my mom both pointed out, he lives with her, so what's he gonna do? Luckily, I have her neighbors' number in case of emergency.

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Now the good news: I spent a lovely evening at Strict Machine at the Merc with victorianpirate. Interesting (ahem) visual entertainment - official, even. It feels good to goth up and watch the eye candy stroll by, especially on a weeknight, and especially when you've been imprisoned in your house two weekends in a row by fuzz on your face. I'm not even incapacitated.

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I sugared my legs for the first time last night. It was time consuming and left some red bumps, but it does seem to be quite effective. We'll see how long it lasts.

You know how at the Merc there are always those two tacky girls who can't keep their hands, etc. off each other? The ones imflying told me she wants to kick for giving queer girls a bad name? Well, I was one of them last night. Je ne regrette rien.

Thanks to my Burning Man carpool buddies ack_yeahright and hubby J for making the introduction. I did ask them to bring the debauchery to J's birthday celebration.

Hey, I so had this coming. I will of course keep you abreast of further developments, which I'm given to understand are more likely than I would have guessed.