sistawendy: (blue corset)
I just got email from Dr. Leather Bear saying that he is retiring, a few years early for his own health, in the middle of this month. He spent most of the mail telling us about his replacement, another gay man, and talking him up. But as I told Dr. LB, I will miss him terribly. He wrote my first scrip for hormones. I've shown him my (ahem) bruises. We've talked about my occasionally non-physically broken heart. I've admired his awesome shirts, and I've worn extra leather to appointments with him because I know he loves it.

Dr. Gayman has some very large shoes to fill, as far as I'm concerned. Now that I think about it, I'm way overdue for getting my hormone levels checked.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
On the way to get my hair done yesterday I ran into A, the seamstress who'll be doing part of my birthday ensemble. Fun fact: years ago, I dated A a few times. I knew A had just had a bad breakup and was looking for a place to live & sew. She still can do the commission and wants it. (Whew!) What I wasn't sure of was the identity of her erstwhile partner & apartment mate: N, who holds the distinction of being the only woman ever to grab me by the hair, get me up against a wall, and make out with me. As much as I love having several of my buttons mashed at the same time, the sensible side of me says I dodged at least one bullet.

Drinks on Phinney Ridge* with [personal profile] minim_calibre Tuesday evening. It was a bonding experience: two middle-aged queer ladies with kids and much else in common. This only happens once in a purple moon, and I wish it happened way more often. She walked me home down the ridge, and then asked which way back up to her car was least likely to trash her knees. Aw! And yikes!

Yesterday, an increasingly rare dinner at home with the Wendling followed by dragging him up the ridge to catch the sunset. Good: he whined about that less than he used to. Bad: he expressed the opinion that I'll never find Ms. Right. He makes the absolutely ironclad point that it gets harder as you get older. Thanks a lot, kiddo.



*Cocktails for me, mocktails for her, because reasons.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Remember that five-minute version of "How to Change Sex the Easy Way" I was working on? Well, I delivered it last night.

Lesson #1: If you know you're going to be speaking in a hall with excellent acoustics for unamplified music and not a small, dead room, you'll want to talk slowly. I didn't go quite far enough in whittling my 45-minute talk down.

Lesson #2: Talking fast makes some mics - in this case a cardioid headset - crackle. The sound techs asked me if I could talk slower. You know, this talk I'd practiced several dozen times with precisely 15 seconds per slide. 'Not so much,' I thought. They dispensed with the cardioid; luckily they had two other headsets.

Lesson #3: Microsoft Powerpoint needs to be banned. Like so many MS products, it doesn't seem to understand "I want it here."

The talk itself went OK. I almost failed to notice one slide transition, but the boozed-up audience helped me out. I think I got the point across that my way was the easy way by far, even though it wasn't that easy. It seems to have been well received.

Mine was one of two queer-themed talks. The other was an excellent talk by a bi woman about, well, being bi. It was nothing new to anyone who knows (vast thundering mobs of) bi people as I do, but it was stuff that did need to be said.

Oh by the way, there as an adorable lesbian from Arizona who delivered a talk about her guinea pigs. No, really. I hung out with her a lot at the party afterward, natch.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
So I had the Her dating app for queer women on my phone for a few days. It wasn't the deafening sound of crickets that drove me to delete it today. It was the attention that's about as creepy as women can get from active duty military personnel. Yeah, they had photos in their BDUs. Apparently they really like going to the gym, too, and at least one was deployed overseas.

As R pointed out, people, especially queers, often join the military because they're running away from something: dangerous or economically depressed places & families of origin, their own queerness or gender identity, etc. I'm done with running, so I'm not about to join anyone who's still at it. These ladies sounded a little desperate - they were all believably good looking and at least ten years younger than I am, and I made no secret of being trans - and yet they came after me.

It is done.

Apr. 7th, 2017 07:04 am
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
After 16 years and over three thousand entries, I have deleted my LiveJournal. I didn't, however, delete comments that I made because really, even if Putin's goons object - and they theoretically could object to plenty of them - what are they gonna do? I thought maybe somebody might want the comments, especially if they migrate.

I still have (a few) mixed feelings about abandoning a service that has, in the past, been a platform for Russian dissidents. LJ's management has, however, acquiesced to Putin's demands for one reason or another. The possibility of ending up dissolved in acid is an all-too-real reason that they might have considered.

Upsides? All other things being equal, my "reading page" should load faster because it doesn't contain a bunch of inactive users.

LJ is dead, but the dream lives on at Dreamwidth. Let's queer this joint up!
sistawendy: (angry cartoon)
A couple of Jehovah's Witnesses came to my door with a copy of The Watchtower about an hour ago. I said, "You know what? I'm lesbian and transgender. Please leave." They did.

What it didn't occur to me to say until after they left was, "The blood of my people is on your hands." Because it is: they drive their queer kids to suicide. When I mentioned that on Twitter, I got three JWs (or maybe JW bots) tweeting screen-capped propaganda at me. Three blocks later, it's all good.

One minor mystery is their lack of reaction to the big, lovely Pride flag on my living room wall, a present from my son, that's easily visible through my front window. (I keep the slats in the blinds open for my plants and my mental health. It's the best light there is, for free.) Did they see it? Did they care if they did?

To get back to my happy place: I have a date tonight, confirmed, for dinner and ahem with the Tickler. I'll be wearing the octopus leggings she requested.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Yeah, I'm wearing red on International Women's Day like a whole lot of other women, and taking considerable pleasure in all the shouts out to trans women that I see out there on the internets. But that's only a small part of the story of being a trans woman.

I direct you to this article by homegirl Sophia Lee. She largely speaks for me, with a few important exceptions:
  1. I have only a vague idea of how well I pass. I see people looking at me funny pretty often, but they may not really be in some cases. My working assumption for all these years was that everyone knew, but hardly anyone cared. Seattle FTW, baybee, because it allows me to even make that assumption.
  2. If I were to find out for sure that I do pass well, a part of me would be very happy. And that's... not great. Sure, I can get by without that kind of dubious validation, but something in me still craves it. That craving can be the root of much evil: abandoning the fellow trans women who need me, abandoning my past and part of myself. I know better than to think passing equals safety: witness the staggering rate of sexual assault against women.
  3. I'm so very glad I'm not interested in sex or romance with men. Because, well, they tend to suck more than women do. Significantly. Violently. Men who don't suck, and that's most of the men I know, have a lot of low-cost things they can do to help a trans sister out. Put the kibosh on the tranny jokes. Call out the transphobia with a simple, "Dude, that's transphobic."
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
I've arranged date #2 with Brown Eyes*, the lady formerly known as S, already. She seems... enthusiastic, and not shy about texting. No, the "clinginess" that so much of the queer and poly crowds have got me afraid to show doesn't bother me in other people because I'm that lesbian. Or something. In fact, I'm delighted.

Brown Eyes knows how to push my buttons, and it doesn't even look as if she's trying.



*She really does have lovely brown eyes.
sistawendy: (drama)
In the vein of the Siberian Siren's recent advice, I remember that one item I've kind of, sort of had on my bucket list is the Dinah Shore weekend. Yes, the weekend when lesbians (And other queer women? I get the impression that the crowd is heavily lesbian.) take over Palm Springs, CA, as featured on The L Word. There are pool parties and, I'm afraid, the genre of music that I think of as electrolysis music, i.e. very mainstream.

It's March 29th through April 2nd, so if I'm going to pull the trigger I'd better do it soon. Plusses and minuses:

+ Wall-to-wall queer women. Duh.
- Could be as mainstream as dykes get, which can be pretty mainstream.
+ Officially trans-friendly.
- Unofficially, i.e. in reality? I've no idea.
+ One source, Dr. Shrink from way back in the day, said the median age tends toward the high side.

I shall, of course, pick the SS's brain about this. You'd think it's her sort of thing, seeing as she loves a) southern California and b) big, lesbian parties independently of each other.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
I've mentioned here before the phenomenon whereby queer women seem to go into heat in the spring. It's apparently starting to happen.

Maybe it's my artificially induced hormone levels, but I don't get it. It seems to me that the perfect time for cuddling somebody is when it's cold & dark and there's less going on around town. Timing, people. Timing!

Hey queerbos: Do you ever feel compelled to respond to messages on dating sites from women because it seems to be so difficult for them to muster the ovaries to send one? I do. It's behavior that we need to encourage in general.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I went two train stops up the line on Capitol Hill to pick up kinky queer comics, like you do, when I met up with the Siberian Siren for lunch. We got to talking about me and my dating life. Said she, essentially, look for women whose life goals & situation are better aligned with mine, to wit:
  • Stop dating younger women so much. They're probably less ready to settle down than I am, and one of them straight up told me she's afraid of having to play nursemaid to an aging partner.
  • This will be controversial: more lesbians. The SS is more sanguine than I am about transphobia in the lesbian community. (Now that I think about it, that may be because she's much younger than I am.) She says I shouldn't give up on the roughly half of queer women that are more or less exclusively into other women just because I haven't gotten any nibbles (ha) from them to date.
  • In that vein, show up to their events like Hot Flash (made for women my age, but even the SS agrees that the music is abominable) or Kiss Off (on hiatus until Pride - le sigh). The Siren told me, quite without needing to, that the Wildrose isn't a good place to meet women.
By the way, lunch was from a taqueria that I'd somehow missed in my many years of walking up & down Broadway: Tacos Chukis. Good, cheap, fast food in small portions. A+ will nom again! Most of their seats were full and the SS was well aware of them, so clearly I was the only one who missed them. In my defense, their exterior sign is at the top of a jumble of several, and even inside their little old arcade, you're not going to find them if you're not looking for them.
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
I just got my second of three injections for the hepatitis B vaccination. Dr. Leather Bear had mentioned it many times in the past, and since his whole practice is queer and therefore extra vigilant about STIs, I figured I better listen to him and get vaccinated. It's best in a large muscle - in this case my butt - because it's a 1 ml shot, but it's only a 25G needle, not one of the sewer pipes I need to inject girl 'roids.

And of course I'm wearing more leather than usual today. Doesn't everyone like to hear "Nice boots!" from their doctor?
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
Mom and I went to the nearest beach on the Atlantic coast today, namely Crescent Beach, FL, where we went so many times when I was a kid. Bad: seeing a handful of Trump signs on the way there. Hey, it's the rural South, waddaya want? Good: all the rest.

I must say, that was a damn fine idea I had. The weather was perfect - partly cloudy, about 80°F - and it wasn't crowded. I spent most of our three hours walking and grinnin' like a fool. Instant Zen, just add salt water. I wish I could have stayed there for, oh, I don't know, ever? We picnicked in the shelter. We left for home maybe half an hour before the rain arrived.

Best part: not two minutes after seeing an old white guy (natch) in a trump hat, I see two women walking hand in hand down the beach, one of whom had Queer Hair®. I gave them the Freak Nod. Twice.

Mom said I looked good, if immodest, in my bikini:
Not the usual nun habit.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
Happiness is discovering that a co-worker who left for the holidays accidentally screwed you but being able to fix it before it's time to go on Friday.

Went to Kremwerk for the first time in a while for Riz's ACLU benefit and tribute to David Mancuso's parties at the Loft in NYC*. Bullet points:
  • Kremwerk has fixed their layout issues and is now a mighty fine space. Yeah, it's a basement, but it's the best damn basement I've ever been to in this town, and I've been to a lot of them.
  • Riz pointed out that Black people like him have been dealing with effective fascism to one degree or another for pretty much ever, which means they're a little less freaked out at the political situation than the rest of us. I told him this had crossed my mind, and that he'd have a lot of people asking him how to deal. He said, in essence, to live for today.
  • I ran into J, one of the Space Virgins. He's an older gay man with frightening tales of living through the '80s, but he was positive about the current situation. As he points out, queers have more allies than they did thirty years ago in addition to more experience in organizing.
  • Oh yeah, tunes: old school, mixed bag, right on. I told Riz, "You guys are making me wish I'd been to a Loft party." He said, "You're at one." Heh.
  • Good eye candy, excellent vibe. A+ will dance again; I think I heard someone say the Loft party is not a one-off.
This afternoon I got my legs waxed by a cute (but married - le sigh) woman who... shares some of my interests, If You Know What I Mean. Best waxing appointment ever. I'll be going back to her specifically, sooner or later.



*No, I'd never heard of them before either. Compared to Riz, when it comes to the history of dance music, I am a grasshopper.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
Lovely sleepover & OK Thai food with the Tickler on Sunday night. The dialog of the night:

Tickler: Would you like some tips?
Me: [a little too quickly] Yes!

Me? Insecure about my relative lack of lesbian experience considering my age? Oh yeah.

Alert readers may have noticed that I left my son alone in my place and didn't see him until dinnertime. He's 19; I can do that, right? I think. It helps that his school term just ended, so there's no need to launch him every morning.

Speaking of the Wendling, with the greatest of reluctance he agreed to watch the first half hour The Seven Samurai. Why reluctant? In his mind, all old movies are "cheesy": not enough spaceships, robots, explosions, and CGI, I guess. Well, 90 minutes later, he asked me to save the rest of the 3.5 hour movie for later. Nyeh heh heh heh!

I have one batch of elector letters to send. After that, I'm out of time, and out of stamps. I think I speak for us all when I say, shit. Between China, Russia, corruption, and the fucking domestic Nazis, things could get real bad real fast. What blows my mind is how calm so many people are.

I'm looking forward to Florida next week, Mom's orneriness notwithstanding.
sistawendy: (mad woman)
I'm hearing reports of verbal & sexual assaults and queer bashings in the area in which the perpetrators are crowing about Trump. We need to get the word out to the people who voted for this. Yes, some of them voted for a Nazi thinking he wouldn't be that bad and yes, we should tell them he will, because that will weaken his support.

I'm not sure I know any personally who did. There better not be any in my immediate family; I'll have to ask Mom & Good Sister. I have at least one cousin in Arkansas who is definitely not a Trump supporter. You know that's tough. I haven't been in contact much with his siblings, though.

In a neat stack next to me are the (most of) the numerous forms needed to change the gender designation on a New York state birth certificate. Planning, phone calls, and leg work will need to happen before I mail it off.

Laughably insufficient sleep Thursday night; surprising productivity Friday; nap, pizza, and Stranger Things with the sweet Much Younger Woman last night. I Uber'd home, with much talk about the above with my Latino driver. It strikes me how much more sanguine she & my son are than, say, Jenny Boylan and I. Is it just because age has made us less resilient, or because experience has taught us just how bad things may yet get?

I slept OK last night. I need to start doing better than every other night, though, or it's going to be a problem that begets other problems.

Today's agenda: clean my lake place, fill out forms, bum the car off of Ex maybe, and go to El Norte with [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth, who's even more wonderful that most people realize.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
Got to the body shop in Sodo early (for me) this morning, got the magic stickers off the windshield, and signed away the remains of the Sanctimobile. I remembered to bring a copy of my divorce decree because I never bothered to get Ex's name off the title.

(Content warning: automotive sentimentality.)

It was a good, dependable car, taking me to Burning Man thrice with a minimum of trouble. But as I got a cup of tea at work this morning I thought of one particular queer makeout in the front seat as the electronics turned the engine on and off (a hybrid, remember?) on a cold night. Yeah, I'm that lesbian and yeah, she's all that.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
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. [livejournal.com profile] 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.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
By the time I was fed, exercised (perfect day to ride around Green Lake yesterday!) and all gussied up in my figure-hugging red retro dress, it was 1530. I got to the Siberian Siren's pretty late even by her high standards. Yes, it was all very lovely - a salmon burger with a wide variety of dykes - but the SS told me about a(nother) transphobic bummer. A group called the Lavender Menace had invited her to join them in the dyke march. She asked them if they were cool with trans women. Their answer was something like, "We don't know any trans women. They have such a different experience from us." In other words, a mealy-mouthed variation on "No." The SS firmly declined their invitation, which is reason #742 why I ♥ the Siberian Siren.

During the dyke march I saw the aforementioned Lavender Menace, complete with t-shirts and signs. I asked one of them if she knew [the Siren]. She did not, she said. I hope they talk about that amongst themselves.

My co-worker E found me during the march. We ran into our CEO at the end of it, then got badly needed caffeine. Much chat & scone at the nearly empty Cafe Vita.

Then off to the Mercury for a date with the Islander! What's weird is, that may have been the least drinky date I've had with her. It's a good night, though, when there are... items strewn about the living room for you to find the next morning just minutes before a neighbor arrives in the courtyard with his three-year-old. The Islander and I were serenaded this morning by the sound of my upstairs neighbors vacuuming their bedroom. At 0900. On a Sunday. Nevertheless, we managed to sleep in, which I desperately needed. Yeah, we're old dykes who cuddle a lot.

Next: Finish my tea, shower, put on my scissor leggings and "I ♥ Beaver" tank top, and off to the parade!
sistawendy: (butterfly)
Got into work late because of insomnia. No, really. SFDs: my leggings with the Pride flag on the front & stars 'n stripes on the back (zillions of comments about those), black camisole, black hoodie with tails, Pride-themed accessories, cowboy boots. In other words, an outfit suitable for both marching and flirting.

But then! Left work early to take the train to the Trans march! This year we gathered, conveniently, right outside Capitol Hill station. Met up with Dimples, [livejournal.com profile] fullcontactmuse, [livejournal.com profile] bork, [livejournal.com profile] arjache, and a gazillion other trans friends, including one who I didn't know was trans until then. (!)

So yes, marching & chanting. Turnout looked significantly larger than last year, but it's always hard to judge these things when you're in the middle of the turnout. There were a lot of journalists and people on the sidewalks with video cameras & tripods. I'm not sure what that was about, but I'm sure I'll find out soon.

And then the sky opened up. Dimples needed dinner, so at her recommendation we found the Ezell's fried chicken truck (Lives up to the hype!) and ate it hurriedly under a tree while we got soaked. We dashed into Elliot Bay Books to dry off. We checked out and, in my case, bought queer-themed books, duh. (I felt guilty for dripping on the hardwood floor.) Dimples found a lesbian sex manual with perfectly reasonable text, but photography that looked aimed squarely at the male gaze. We suspect either clueless or evil publishers. Oh yeah: Dimples's chum Blondie joined us.*

Off to the Wildrose! There were a great many NSPP QIFs (pronounced "nispie queefs"). Dimples & Blondie were taken aback by the high cover & low drink value, so we hit the Comet for a little bit. They don't seem to have realized how straight the Comet is**, but hey, cheaper and better booze.

Back to the 'Rose, where I got to entertain D & B by going wibbly over a high femme Middle Eastern girl half my age. I did manage to tell her I loved her outfit.

Oh, the night's lone bummer: the 'Rose has two bathrooms, women only and unisex. I realized belatedly that the staffer at the doors was about to shunt me into the latter. After I peed, I told her, "I'm a woman. You can send me in there." To her credit, a few minutes later she found me and apologized.

Missed the last train home. Took the 49 to the U District, where I found out that I'd apparently also missed the last 45 to Green Lake. Uber took me home by a bizarrely circuitous route needlessly involving two different bridges, but get home I did.

Today: I get to be the high femme. There will be the Capitol Hill street fair, a BBQ at the Siberian Siren's, and the Merc with the Islander. The Tickler made plans to meet me next weekend, which works out perfectly.



*I have a lamentable history of assuming queer women I meet together are, you know, together when they're really not. This was once again the case with Dimples & Blondie. They're college chums and, I believe, used to be an item.
**Since the early '90s, I'd walked past the Comet hundreds of times without ever going in. This would explain why I didn't notice that the Comet has apparently ceased to be a live music venue and has blandly if profitably gone upmarket. Yeah, the old Comet was a place I wouldn't want to go into alone, but damn.

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