Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

So I put on my sleeveless rose print New Look dress from Pinup Girl and pointy red Fluevogs to go to Trans Pride yesterday evening. And why get gussied up? Because Trans Pride has evolved into a place to see & be seen. I would have felt underdressed in anything less.

I did indeed see tons of trans friends & acquaintances, and said hi to most of them. (The others were on the other side of crowds.) Spotted:

• My fabulous stylist, Adi Chen.
• Elaine Wylie, one of the chief organizers of Trans Pride plus an officer of Gender Justice League for damn ever. I knew her when. Mad respect to her.
• Haven Wilvich, the lady who founded STANCE.
• At least one other trans Mercury regular, and there are several of us for good reason.
• My fellow Lambert House facilitator A at the house's table.

I did run into one person who I've actually dated once or twice who told me that it's good that Trans Pride is where it is, Volunteer Park, instead of the former march & rally in Cal Anderson Park*, because it's safer from non-cops. You know, if we're making things more accessible for Black & Brown people because we don't have to have cops around, that's good, but I really don't like the idea that we're hiding from everyone else.

The truth, though? I didn't stay long and got home around 2100**. My fabulous shoes were punishing my feet and I wasn't that into what they had on stage, as usual. I did what I went there to do.

Today, I slept in and thereby missed the window for my bike ride. I guess I'll just have to walk a lot, which I was planning on doing anyway on Broadway. So at least for this morning & afternoon, there will be practial hippy shoes. This evening will be... less practical with queer girlfriends.



*Call Anderson Park is right next to a light rail station. I've actually witnessed a fascist creep taking the light rail to Pride. How do I know he was a fascist? He got off the train with me and immediately joined the yelly Jesus people.
**The bus routes have been altered so that you can't take a 10 there from Capitol Hill Station anymore. Now you have to take the 49 to St. Mark's and go for a steep if lovely walk uphill. I wasn't the only person with this plan, though, and we put the trans in mass transit.

Friday: hit Trans Pride at the Volunteer Park amphitheater. Attendance was at least as big as last year, but the folks running things seemed to have done a better job of laying out all the booths so that I didn't have to elbow my way through. I also liked the performers that I heard better. The Tickler and I observed independently that Trans Pride is turning into quite the fashion show. It feels weird to say it, but Trans Pride seems to have come of age. (Arguably, it already had in its pre-pandemic march incarnation. That isn't happening anymore because the organizers don't want cops around.)

Saturday: hit the street fair on Broadway, the historical main arterial of Seattle's gayborhood*, Capitol Hill. Went on a successful quest for pasties. Saw Vienna La Rouge, Burner buddy J, and fellow Merc regulars J & K. For me, that's the best part of hanging out on the Hill on Pride weekend.

Tacoma Girl was volunteering at a booth until 1700, at which time we jumped on a train to the U-District, reasoning correctly that eetz would be much easier to obtain there than on Broadway, where the fair was still nearly in full swing. After devouring dinner and perhaps a beer too many at Big Time** we shopped for Korean instant ramen at H Mart. The U District does have its charms.

I took the train down to SoDo and got rained on as I walked to Orient Express, a Chinese restaurant in train cars. And why in the hell would I do a thing like that, you ask? Because a venerable house music monthly, Train Car House Party, was having its very last night. I'd been meaning to go for many years and just never got around to it. So, it was my first & last TCHP.

That venue is so singular that it deserves its own paragraph. The cars TCHP used were basically a dive bar, and I'm not talking the gentrified version of a dive bar that you see elsewhere in Seattle, either. We're talking frank alcoholics, overly strong drinks, some kind of porn on a monitor at the bar (?!), and literal funk; SoDo is still pretty rough around the edges, and I hope it stays that way. The original brass luggage racks were (just barely) still attached in the train car that housed the naturally long and narrow dance floor. I think the house music crowd drove out the down-and-outers at some point, and I'm conflicted about that, boy howdy. I overheard one woman describe TCHP as a soft option, but that option is now gone. Le sigh. I actually liked the choonz, which were supplied by Riz & Rob.

Possibly for the first time in SoDo, I party hopped to the Monkey Loft because promoter Ramiro Gutierrez put me on the guest list! I figured I couldn't refuse an invitation like that. (Or the house music mafia might funk me up?)

Sunday: I didn't even make it out of bed until after noon because I woke up at 0630 and just couldn't face life without more sleep.

SFDs: black Stetson hat, black leather harness, blue silk plus-shaped pasties, my silk-and-leather Pride stripe skirt belt from Astral Chrysalis, leather thong undies so I don't get arrested, black patent Docs, Trans Pride socks so I can say I'm transsoxual, and a whole lot of queer and kinky accessories. Oh yeah: I tied black and gray hankies to the right side of the back of my harness.

Made it to the Seattle Center. Walked and walked an walked, which I figure makes up for the lack of bike ride today. The only person I ran into who I know was, unbelievably, Vienna la Rouge, looking totally casual and makeup-free as I'd never seen her before. Yeah, she's still devastatingly pretty that way. I asked her if there were any sunscreen globs on my back, and she smoothed them out for me. It didn't occur to me until several minutes later that this could be construed as flirting with the most physically attractive woman I know, who happens to be conveniently gay. Aw mayunn, that wasn't what I meant to do.

Went grocery shopping on the way home. Yes, in my hat, harness & pasties. I did laundry, made beans & rice, and took out the bins as usual on Sunday, and I'm still wearing my hat, harness & pasties. I'm really liking them. Happy Pride!



*Pike and Pine streets, which are parallel and one block apart, are perpendicular to Broadway are sort of the secondary main drags. There's actually more gay stuff on or near these two streets. They're collectively called the Pike-Pine corridor. The director of Lambert House once described them to me as a decades-old "shitshow". I know what he means, and he's not completely wrong.
**I used to go there all the time in my student days. The menu has changed a little, but the food and the beer, which they brew, is still right on. Totally a blast from my past.

At the last minute, the Purdy Persian lent me her car to go to Pride celebrations in Snohomish, WA, a picturesque little town about an hour's drive from Seattle. I don't see eye to eye with her about everything, but I can't help but be impressed with her generosity. And she looks fabulous in a bright yellow maxi with matching lemon wedge handbag.

And why would I want to go to Snohomish Pride? Mainly because Taller Woman volunteered for it. She's undergoing treatment for cancer for the second time since I met her. I, well, figured it would be a Good Thing To Do. The hell of it is, I didn't tell her I was coming and she left early because the incision sites for her most recent surgery were hurting her. But hey, I was there.

And how was it? Well, it was small, naturally, but it was super mellow. Yes, the churchy types were there, but they weren't nearly as nasty as the ones you see in Seattle and I could count them on one hand. There were lots of kids walking around in their Pride colors. I talked to a lady wearing a dress made of banned book covers, and a trans person who'd come from Monroe.

Monroe, another small nearby town, reminds me: Monroe, Arlington, and now Snohomish have all had their first Pride in the last few years. That alone is cause for hope. The mellowness that I saw makes it even better.

One gripe: the parade was at 10:00 AM. Even if I hadn't been dependent on the grace of the Purdy Persian, I would have been loath to hit the road before 0900 on a Saturday. Seattle's parade officially starts at what, noon?

Would I go there again? Wayell, maybe if Taller Woman invited me again, but honestly, I love the big city Pride vibe. We tried to make plans for the day before Pride in Seattle, but our schedules clashed yet again. Rats.

I went to Substation for a hippie ravey night. The bartender told me they'd gotten rid of a bunch of practice spaces to make room for more performance space. I... don't feel good about that. The music? Not bad; it was the Psy Ops crew. But I bus-and-trained it over to the Mercury to get my social on. I gotta love a chat in the alley with a young woman wearing a pig snout. The symbolism was not lost on me.

Was I hoping to see a certain burlesque dancer? Is the pope Catholic? Did I? No. I shall try again later.

I didn't say "Happy Pride" anywhere on the internet. In light of the abortion situation it didn't feel right. Yet another reason to resent the bastards.

Friday: On my way to Capitol Hill on the train, I ran into a Goth who was on her way to a protest that I found out about from her. I didn't join her. Instead, I got something to eat, and proceeded to drink and flirt my way through Friday night outside the Wildrose. My main regret is staying out too late, but it's not my only regret.

Saturday: Met up with Taller Woman and Lady K on Broadway for some strolling, plus some sitting in the shade with eats and drinks. I took Lady K's wise counsel – she's my age – and got to bed at a reasonable hour. Ran into Shiny H and R of R and namoda fame. For all of five seconds, I thought they knew each other, but I ended up introducing them. Of course I lost Lady K in the crowd right then, because Pride.

Sunday: Donned my black leather bikini, vintage black patent collar, and black Stetson. Caught the start of the parade. Found the dykes on bikes where they parked and chatted up the one who had the Leather Pride flag on the back of her bike. Got cruised by a third woman while doing so. I may actually see the biker at my next play party; if so, she becomes the Biker.

Walked back up the parade route looking unsuccessfully for the Lambert House contingent. Got asked to do an interview by a local TV reporter about Pride happening for the first time in three years, plus the impact of abortion thereupon. Again, it didn't feel right. I declined the offer. The people who need to be given the mic are the ones more directly affected than I am: younger cis women and trans men.

Bopped up to the 'Rose. Chatted with married lesbians. Are they worried about the direction of things? Yup. Were they still hanging out at the 'Rose? Yup. Had to educate one of them about how you don't ask trans people for their dead name. Had spontaneous dinner with R & namoda. Hit the 'Rose again. Went melty for a pair of big brown eyes – hey, at least she's over 30, she said. Went home. Crashed.

Did I hang around too many people when the pandemic isn't quite over? Yup. Did it help my mental health when I needed it to? Oh yeah.

Irony: I woke up too early this morning because I'd set the temperature in my bedroom too low. That, or leaving the windows open upstairs had cooled the whole house down too much.

Edited to add: I have two sunburns about the size and shape of corn chips, one on each shoulder, but they're not severe. SPF 50 FTW.

In the spirit of post- late-pandemic stir craziness, I've made a few plans:

1. The Hoh Valley rainforest with m'boy on the 19th. This will be my first road trip with him in many, many years. It's been on his bucket list for a while. There will be eats with frenz along the way.
2. On the 26th after beauty appointments, meet up with Taller Woman and maybe Lady T up on the Hill for queer girl shenanigans. My outfit is, of course, planned.
3. Booty-shaking at the Monkey Loft July 4th, courtesy of Ramiro Gutierrez's crew, Uniting Souls. Featuring Adnan Sharif, who I know to be good.
4. More booty-shaking at the Monkey Loft July 5th, courtesy of Dave Pezzner, who was half of Jacob London.

It occurs to me that I could have tried to get more people to come with me to at least some of these events, but it doesn't feel quite right yet to ask people to assume risk.

I had a nice long video call with the Tickler on Saturday. We are making plans and I am psyched for it.

Another call on Sunday night with Taller Woman. She wants to go for a socially distanced nature walk out in Redmond. I said yes. I mean, why not? And when we were talking of the Pride that didn't happen, I mentioned my longtime ambition of riding bitch as a Dyke on a Bike. Says she, "I have a motorcycle endorsement." All she needs is the bike. I shall look into this. Like Temptress in days of yore, she got excited when she found out I live near a dealership for expensive European motorcycles.

I saw J the Fashionista last night in person at her cousin's place. For the first time since she found out, she didn't cry about R cheating on her. Progress, I think. It's a relief.

Dentist today. There were lots of masks and a temperature check. The hygienist was one I'd never met, and she was weirdly chatty, which is a hell of a thing to be in the middle of a pandemic of respiratory disease.

Driving on I-405 in Bellevue is worse than driving on I-5 in Seattle these days. That kind of reflects the reality on the ground.

Tonight: Going across town for take-out burgers for the Wendling's birthday (observed). I'm dressed to at least grievously maim. I've been looking forward for a change to talk to Ex about our kiddo anyway, and he's old enough that it's right for him to be there.

Tomorrow night: "Tabling" over the intertubes for Lambert House, just almost like a real Pride weekend. In Seattle, Friday evening is typically the Trans Pride march & rally. I can't help wistfully recalling the huge turnout last year followed by hanging out with teh queerz by a fire.

Saturday afternoon: Social distance lunch in Funny Lady's back yard. I haven't even managed to see her over video since shelter-in-place started, because Funny Lady is a) popular, and b) in possession of a serious case of ADHD. But she's gotten very domestic lately, and wants to show off. I'm not about to stop her.

Saturday evening: Video with the Tickler. All the more reason to dress sexy on Saturday.

Sunday evening: Video with Taller Woman. That was supposed to be last night, but her ex, who keeps surprising me with what a psycho he is if not Taller Woman herself, regularly makes a hash of TW's schedule.

There shall be outfits. Oh yes. I'm thinking I need to sashay in them somewhere. Best to get there on my bike.

I showed up for my tabling shift for Lambert House at Cal Anderson Park for Seattle Trans Pride on time and helped set up. There were at least twice as many booths as there were last year, so the organizers had put us on the astroturf soccer field. Progress, I suppose. It was pretty mellow at the booths: I just told people what Lambert House is, how to apply as a volunteer, etc.

I did notice a couple police cars turning their sirens on and zooming near the park during the late afternoon, but if I hadn't been expecting fascists it wouldn't have occurred to me that anything might be out of the ordinary. Once the police got where they were going, I was too far or too occupied to see or hear what they were doing.

I had promised to meet Taller Woman for the Trans Pride march (yes, march, not parade) but I discovered that I'd gotten the starting location wrong. I got to look like a crazy person running up Broadway in my Trans Pride flag-patterned leggings.

You'd think that finding a 6'2" blonde in a sparkly hat would be easy, but not yesterday evening. Turnout looked to be at least double what it was the previous year. She told me that she was near the motorcycle cops, but there were apparently multiple contingents of them. So worked my phone, hung out in front of - inevitably - Dick's, and there she eventually was with a bunch of her Burner chums, including Lady T, whom I've written about here before, and E, whom I haven't.

Eats & drinks at Dumpling Tzar, more drinks by a cosy little fire pit in front of E's place. E will invite any and all passers-by to such gatherings; I gotta love old school Capitol Hill. At the end of that lovely evening, I lamented to Lady T about how difficult it is for me to achieve an orgasm. She's what you call an expert in solving such problems, and she expressed interest in doing so. My, my!

So in other words, a lovely evening with zero fash because fash are zeros. The Seattle police Twitter account and blotter don't say anything, either. Go us? Maybe.

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Today I got gussied up for the Proprietress tonight, hit the street fair for a bit, and typed this up. Here's the outfit pic:



Now: time to go meet her at Cal Anderson!

Last night I tried on the corset from Dark Garden that I spent too much money on. It is, of course, fabulous. If you're out & about on Capitol Hill on Saturday afternoon and evening, look for a tall woman with curly, black hair in a violet & black brocade overbust, a boot-licker skirt, and stompy 'Vog boots. That'll be yours truly.

Assuming, of course, the Nazis don't get me on Friday, but I think that's a pretty safe assumption. My son will be staying at my place tonight through Friday night, unusually. I'd like to interest him in Pride activities, but I'm not counting on it.

ETA: I appear to have become a poster girl for Seattle's Trans Pride march. I'm OK with that.

Long time no write.I couldn't think of anything post-worthy. Sadly, I don't have the funk; I'm in a funk. Work ugliness. Pho in Everett again with ensuing excitement on the bus home after dark. No ladies. Circumflatulation. Re-bar had good choonz & eye candy last night - a Burner party for the Distrikt sound camp, courtesy of Kyle Douglas - but that made me miss ladies more.

OK, here's some good stuff: I hit the consignment shop just up the hill from me and completed next weekend's outfit for a date with the Tickler. I love that I can do that in my neighborhood. No spoilers about the outfit.

Also, I discovered that I appeared to have put one of my leather bras away after Burning Man without cleaning it, or at least without cleaning it adequately. Getting playa out of leather is next to impossible. And why bother with this now? Because there have been a few calls for people not to be too sexy at Pride because of the cheeyuldrun.

I think you know where I stand: fuck that shit. It's assimilationism, which is a fancy word for appeasement of the straights who would have us quietly, conveniently vanish. Stonewall was a riot, so I'm wearing leather, sassy leggings, and hopefully a new corset on Pride weekend. I'm not in your face with this queer stuff; I'm up your nose, pulling on the hairs until you yell for your mommy.

OK, maybe I'm not pulling your nose hairs - ew, mucus - but the central message of the queer rights movement must not be, "We're just like you." That's a transparent lie, and it won't liberate anybody; if it were true, there'd be no point to the movement. Our message must be, "We're not like you, and that's fine."

I'm sorry if I've said something like this before here, or if I'm preaching to the choir, but this is something I feel strongly about.

I guess I had more to write about than I thought.