Zzzzzz...

Sep. 15th, 2017 09:10 am
sistawendy: (oh yeah)
I've started sleeping better lately. I put it down to one of two things:
  1. Lower temperatures. I'm not sure about this because I still wake up sweaty sometimes.
  2. Less light hitting my eyeballs. Here above 47°N the annual swings in day length are dramatic compared to, for example, Florida. I've tried to compensate for that for years by putting black foam board in my bedroom window, but I can still see light around the edge. I did get a leather mask (ahem) at the Pride street fair, but I only recently got around to altering it so that it's comfortable enough to sleep in. By the way, the selling point for the mask was that it's unlined and therefore easier to clean. Made by Asylum Leathers.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Twenty-eight years ago today I rolled into Seattle for the first time. How different was the city then? The Boeing bust of the '70s was still fresh in everyone's memory, and the end of Boeing's dominance over the city's economy was just appearing on the horizon. Microsoft had moved to Redmond a scant four years earlier. Capitol Hill, my spiritual home and the then-new gayborhood, may have still had some light industry still in the neighborhood. Seattle had affordable housing, a bus system it was proud of that seemed to meet mass transit needs, and grunge in every sense. Not much later if at all it also had a Queer Patrol out of necessity, a notorious heroin economy with visible impact - see "grunge" - and not much going on work-wise for any techies who, like me, disdained Microsoft*.

I miss the fun, the funk, and the low-budget DIY spirit of Seattle then, but I was often too preoccupied to take advantage of it until this century: school, relationships, work, trying to be a straight dude. Is that gone, drowned in tech money, never to return? I don't think it's gone completely, and it can be saved. If we can save ourselves from going the way of Detroit, we can save ourselves from going the way of San Francisco.

On an unrelated note, attendance for last night's trans group at Lambert House smashed the previous record. I filled up an attendance sheet and mostly emptied the downstairs. Attendance had been so poor early this summer that the volunteer coordinator expressed concern about it to me and my fellow facilitators. The only even partial explanation I have for this is that the school year just started, so everyone's back from vacation and perhaps jonesing for some queer contact after being exposed to their families more than usual, but this is nothing like past years.



*Yeah, 19 years later I ended up working for the bastids, but that was partly to obtain meds to keep my then-wife ambulatory.
sistawendy: (drama)
One of my cow orkers, B, invited the whole damn company over to a housewarming party at her houseboat on the western shore of Lake Union. I accepted, natch, because
  1. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been on a houseboat. In fact, I may never have been before last night.
  2. Shoot, I'd never even been on that part of the lakeshore, just the north end (Gas Works Park) and the south end (MOHAI & nearby restaurants).
  3. I was intensely curious. At least historically, houseboats were a cheap housing option, something I'm sure many Seattleites recall wistfully. I wanted to find out if that was still true and why it ever was.
  4. Party on a boat! Lots of wine; what is it with alcohol & boats? Unexpected burgers.
Here's the scoop from B about the economics of houseboats:
  1. Houseboats are indeed still, on average, on the cheap side of the rental market. Yes, one sees bigger, newer, more expensive boats from the freeways now, but they haven't dominated the market to the degree that their terrestrial counterparts have. The low cost is especially attractive when you consider that several marinas, including B's, are within easy commute range of major employment centers like downtown and the University of Washington. And oh by the way, stunning views and, surprisingly to me, quiet.
  2. I guess the biggest catch for most people, though, is that houseboats are small. Everyone around here knows that, and I'm happy living in a small space already.
  3. The biggest catch for me, though, is that boats for rent tend to be old & janky, especially with respect to toilets & showers, and Seattle tenant law doesn't apply to houseboats.
  4. Also, B's boat has single-paned windows and thin walls. Yes, the lake should moderate the temperature, but I have to wonder what that's like in the winter.
  5. You can forget about parking. M'boy lucked into the perfect after-hours space, but every space I saw for blocks was metered.
In summation, houseboats are a land of many contrasts attractive to me and plenty of other people in some ways, but there are some things I'd have to give up and put up with.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Dancing at the Monkey Loft yesterday in the more-or-less sun. Much local talent. It felt like a farewell to summer. "More-or-less sun" because smoke had started do blow in from nearby fires; it's reached the point today where people are walking around with masks on.

Reason #4392 to love Seattle: Uwajimaya is kitty corner from the Int'l District/Chinatown light rail station, greatly speeding and simplifying the process of acquiring cheap, tasty eats that aren't necessarily bad for you if you're on the way home from Sodo. Pro tip: they close the food court fairly early, at least on Labor Day.

Back to the grind, which is grinding. I didn't get around to Lambert House database monkeying - Hispanic isn't a race, and the city says we need to collect data on language spoken at home. Given that the population that the house serves has a much higher proportion of people of color than the city as a whole, this is kind of a big deal. The sooner I do it, the less of a pain it will be because technology.
sistawendy: (wtf laughing)
I got word from [profile] rigel_p that she'd be in town this week. She has family & friends in the area, so she decided to go eclipse viewing with some of them. The esteemed wyvern* is something of a celebrity, especially to people who know her, which means everyone including me wants a piece of her whenever she's here. So I was honored that after a couple of tries she carved out ninety minutes to have ginger beer with me to talk about work, dating, m'boy (She shares one of his mental quirks to a lesser degree, so I consider her advice invaluable), and all kinds of geeky stuff. She says the "'80s rock star" look that I'm wearing right now** suits me.

After seeing her off, I was hungry and found myself surrounded by a preponderance of restaurants on Pike & Pine halfway up the Hill. So I stopped in Kizuki for old school non-instant ramen and a beer. There was a line to get a table, but the food & service are right on. A+ would slurp again. Three of the staff said "Thank you" in Japanese on the way out, and I noticed that only the Asian girl used the (correct in that situation, I believe) perfect tense.

I could have jumped on an 11 and gotten downtown faster, but there was someone cute walking toward me, so I headed for the train. On the way I passed Stumptown Coffee, which has closed at that location. The Elder Goths reading this will remember that as the location of Aurafice, where goffee (i.e. Goth coffee) happened on Wednesday nights early this century and spilled out onto the sidewalk. I found myself wondering, and not for the first time, what it would take to make something like that happen again. The Board is long gone; could the local Goth Facebook groups provide adequate publicity? I'd have to see that to believe it, and it would still need an organizer, I think. We elders*** have things like kids and demanding jobs and big creative projects these days, not to mention residences far from the Hill so we can afford them. No, if anything like that ever happens again, it'll be a younger generation that makes it happen, probably, as much as I'd like to think otherwise.



*Her long-ago MOO character, as mine was a depraved nun.
**SFDs: Purple Bombsheller leggings, black nearly-sleeveless top with my heavy metal belt, Fluevog Truth Alisons, relatively subdued mostly MAC makeup. Yes, I dressed kind of sexy for her. Shaddup.
***I'm a Janey-come-lately to the scene, relatively, but let's face it: I can remember Watergate.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
Party weekends like Pride leave me with a messy apartment. I can't not clean it at the earliest opportunity, which is how I spent all my non-work waking hours yesterday. My apartment is spiffy, and I am at peace. Am I hausfrau* material, or what?

But before I could finish cleaning, I had to take the bus home. As I got up to get off, I spotted my neighbor B. He asked how Pride weekend was for me. I said, "It was..." and racked my brain for the right words.
"The end of the game," said some skinny blond dude next to us as he looked at me intently.
"The end of the game?" I didn't quite believe my ears.
"The end of the game."
Mercifully, the doors opened right then and B and I got off without our interlocutor. "I don't know what he meant by that," I said, "and I'm not sure I want to."
"Yeah," said B, "I noticed him earlier. He's on something, and I'm pretty sure I know what." It isn't hard to guess: meth. You see, my bus spends most of its route on an ugly arterial that runs the length of Seattle's lily white north end, with one concentration of substance abusers downtown, another one at the far end of its trip, and relatively more tech industry stiffs like B & me in between**.

From the Dept. of Happy Thotz, when the Tickler bailed on Pride she said we should make plans. You know I don't sleep on that stuff; we have a hot date planned for Saturday.



*I once referred to myself as a hausfrau in front of my first queer kiss. She told me that her mother did the same. Holy Oedipal Lesbian, Batman!
**I speak of Lake Union, Queen Anne, Fremont, Wallingford, Phinney, Green Lake, and (south?) Greenwood.
sistawendy: (eek)
I went out with the Tickler last night to see Cut Copy at the Neptune. But first, eetz: Since she really needs something gluten free, we went to Bol on 64th - the Tickler says not to go to the nearby test kitchen because it sucks several ways. Bol is a pho joint as conceived by hipsters: a simple, fairly ordinary menu with choice ingredients; good alcohol, appetizers, & dessert; higher prices; annoyingly hip utensils; and a smoking hot waitress with queer hair. Sure, would nom again, and not just because of the waitress, who the Tickler assures me is monogamously partnered up.

Minor problem: Bol is on 64th. The Neptune is on 45th. The Tickler resolved to drive us despite the pain that is parking in the U District. We were just a block from the Neptune in the fading twilight when she pulled over to let an ambulance by. As she was starting to get into the left lane, we got sideswiped by a black Nissan Leaf. I'm pretty sure it was speeding in the wake of the ambulance because its airbag deployed. Oh by the way, we hit an Uber in front of us, no thanks to Newtonian mechanics.

We're fine. In fact, ibuprofen last night was all it took for me. The Tickler may be shaken up a little worse, but she didn't do too badly either. She mulled seeing a doctor today, but I don't think I need to.

We spent most of the concert dealing with insurance & police, sometimes with me holding my umbrella over the Tickler. (Fun fact: the first cop on the scene, a UW officer, said he couldn't handle the case because the Leaf driver is a UW employee. Appearances, you know.) Once the Tickler's car, which isn't drivable but doesn't look that bad, got towed away, we walked one block to the Neptune in time to catch Cut Copy's encore. I'd planned to meet up with R & J there, but we never got closer than a text message. I got the Tickler a much needed whiskey, we peed, and we went back to her place. It occurred to both of us that our usual shenanigans were medically contraindicated; cuddles ensued.

I really did say this morning, "I had a lovely time crashing with you last night." How could I not?
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I'd be surprised and maybe even a little disturbed if any of you remembered that I used to go to the Seattle International Film Festival every year with Ex. She & I would pore over the schedule a month or two in advance, and find out the intersection of the following sets:
  • W - the set of movies I thought looked good.
  • X - the set of movies she thought looked good.
  • S - the set of movies we could get a sitter for.
Wayell, embarking on my gender switcheroo put the kibosh on SIFF for us, and I never bothered to find another movie date.

So, who wants to intersect with me go to some SIFF movies with me? It's way past time. If you have a set you want to see, send it hither.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Four days is a long time for me not to post. My excuse? Too much fun.

OK, Thursday night wasn't that fun because I spent it aggravating my carpal tunnel. Believe it or not, that isn't dirty.

But on Friday night, the Tickler & I went to the Upstream music festival, which is basically 300+ musical acts taking over a couple of dozen venues in Seattle's Pioneer Square. (This, by the way, is a canny move by Pioneer Square businesses. This area is one of the sketchiest in town, and can surely use some good publicity.) The festival itself? Worth the ticket price, in my opinion.

Here's the lowdown on the bands we saw:
  • Twin River from Vancouver - They were on a stage devoted to Canadian artists. They call themselves "garage pop", and that's pretty much what it is. They pulled me in the door by sounding a lot like Neko Case around '02, but then they got jangly & rocked out, which is fine with me.
  • Seattle's own Evening Bell. Their blurb was precious, describing their sound as "psychedelic country noir", but damned if they didn't end up being my favorite new (to me) artist that we saw. Some of you People in Black might enjoy them.
  • WIBG at the storied Central Tavern. Their blurb? Unintelligible, which kind of matches their sound: Dead Kennedys meets the Doors meets Led Zeppelin meets, says the Tickler, Mudhoney. We kept listening (with ear plugs) mainly for the WTF factor.
  • Hip hop with DJ U No Hu - Not really my thing, but the dance off featuring the Massive Monkeys B-boy crew was definitely the Tickler's thing. (After our exhausted night at her place she insisted that I watch videos of international B-boy competition as we ate her deluxe oatmeal.)
  • Astrocolor - Canadian funkateers. Stop laughing. I liked them, and they brought a much-needed queer vibe.
  • Dancing to local techno hero Pezzner, about whom I've written many times before. He brought it, and the fabulous view from the stripped-down space on the 18th floor of Seattle's oldest and lovingly preserved skyscraper (completed 1914) was icing. That's how you end a night like that.
One not-so-great thing about the festival: we discovered that we weren't supposed to bring any bag bigger than a clutch into the venues, even though that was unevenly enforced. We had to check our bags at the stand that Upstream had set up. 10 out of 10 for security, but they could have handled the communication & convenience better.

And on a sad note, the Tickler lost one of her two cats. No more shall I hear gay feline sex of questionable consensuality. The surviving cat is the kinky one, and I gave him many swats just above the base of his tail, which he loves.

Went to see the second Guardians Of the Galaxy with m'boy. I would have skipped it, but Ex saw it without him and he was miffed about that. It's everything it should have been, so if you're into that kind of movie, see it.

Went to [personal profile] gfish's annual Eurovision party, where alcohol numbs the pain of spectacularly bad attempts at pop music and eye-forky staging. This year did not disappoint. I won't spoil it for you, but the consensus in the room was that Europeans aren't like us. What really makes that party for me is the quality snark from the local audience. If the US ever enters Eurovision, I believe it's our sacred duty to get kicked out by pulling a Devo or NWA.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
My son just told me this morning that Ex finally wants to start taking him on the weeknights while I get him on the weekends. Yes, it makes lots of sense as I've said here before and yes, I'm glad they got around to telling me before I bought the makings of tonight's dinner, but they didn't tell me before I made social plans for Saturday. I feel guilty about that, even though he's nearly twenty years old. Plan: fancy lunch on Saturday.
I got an answer to the question of how well I pass today: a mentally ill or high-as-a-kite woman with weirdly protruding eyes on the bus this morning asked me, between flailing her arms, nearly wiggling out of her seat, and pestering the Job-like woman in front of her, "Were you a dude?"
I searched for the right words for a second. "I know what you're saying, and yes." Sure, I should have said, "I never really was," but consider my audience. Besides, I get flustered by irrational people.
"Right on, brother!" Yeah, she's black. I could tell she was straining with the effort of code-switching; that was one of many reasons I felt a little sorry for her.
"Sister, these days."
"I like your energy, how you carry yourself." Yeah, we're still on the west coast.
"Thanks."
She mentioned that she'd seen me around Benaroya Hall (Seattle's symphony hall, for you out-of-towners), which is near where I work so I do run errands around there from time to time. I've always enjoyed looking distinctive in some ways - the Elder Goths taught me well - but this was an instance when I wish I hadn't looked so memorable.
Speaking of being trans, the current occupant of the White House is cranking up the hate on us via attempted ACA repeal and rule changes affecting HHS. If you live in a district with a Republican representative, please help kill that zombie bill.
sistawendy: (dolly)
I hadn't been to the Flammable night at Re-bar in at least a couple of years until last night. It was good to see that it (mostly) hadn't changed.
  • Sweet house grooves - check.
  • B-boys - check.
  • Lots of casually dressed gay boys - check.
  • At least two other apparent dykes - check.
  • People with silly things on their heads - check. Really. This is a regular thing at Re-bar, and I love it.
  • Gorgeous young women in platform boots - check? This is not a regular thing. Yes, of course I talked to them. They were perfectly charming.
  • Gigantic buildings looming over Re-bar and the adjacent shops - aieee! Please don't let the developers eat the rest of the 1100 block of Howell. At least the high rises that are there occupy what used to be parking lots, which I'm OK with.
sistawendy: (dead gay moo)
Long, lovely dinner on Broadway last night with [profile] rigel_p, who's up here for Norwescon. I had advice for her about migrating to Dreamwidth; she had advice for me about where to shelter in case the North Koreans nuke us. (Capitol Hill station isn't bad and UW is better, but the DC Metro was built as one giant network of fallout shelters. Freaky, yet logical.) Talking science with her makes my brain fizz. I missed that and much else about her.

She stayed last night at a friend's place in North Bend, which we had an... entertaining time finding in the dark. Luckily, North Bend has low speed limits and not much late night traffic. I pity anyone who commutes from out there, because it's 30 miles from Seattle and high enough in the Cascade foothills to get plenty of snow.

On the way I finally saw the diner that's featured in Twin Peaks, twenty-seven years after the show was first aired. Too bad it was after 2200 or I might have stopped in for cherry pie. It's appalling but not surprising that [profile] rigel_p has never seen Twin Peaks; she was, after all, a ten-year-old Mormon when it aired. I told her to watch the first season because a) it's a fantastic show, and b) it changed American TV for the better.
sistawendy: (mad woman)
I'm not much of a cook. Most of you know that, especially my hapless Thanksgiving victims, but people who've recently added me just found out. So it is with a certain amount of pride that I tell you that the Wendling and I gave the following recipe two thumbs up.

white woman's improvised doenjang jjigae (soybean paste soup)

Makes four to six servings. All quantities are as approximate as fuck.

5 cups water - It's supposed to be stew-like.
15 small potatoes, washed but not peeled, and cut into bite-size pieces
10 oz. fishcake* - I used the yaki chikuwa, which are tubular, pre-grilled surimi jobbers - cut into bite-size pieces
6 oz. nappa cabbage kim chi* (i.e. the most common kind of kim chi)
1 cup chopped green unions
4 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup red miso*, because unlike its cousin doenjang I knew where to find it

Heat up your water. Boil your spuds for about eight minutes. Add everything else, stirring enough to dissolve any miso clumps. Cook just enough that the onions aren't crunchy, because it's pretty easy to overcook fishcake.

Easy. Delish. And aside from the sky-high salt content, not that bad for you. I found a recipe online that calls for anchovies instead of fishcake, but I remember the latter from the long-gone Korean Kitchen in the U district, where I was introduced to Korean food.



*Seattle-area people, I got all this stuff at Uwajimaya, natch. The Pal-Do World on Aurora - which I went to on a date once, no kidding - has closed, so if you want real Korean ingredients, you might be in for a bit of a drive.
M'boy finally did his taxes after my pointing out that a) he has three days left to do them, b) he had nothing better to do tonight, and c) I was just going to keep nagging him until he did them.

I was happy to help him out by finding the 46 pages (!) of instructions for the 1040 EZ and answering his questions from them; no way was I going to print that out. He still has the handwriting of a toddler; I sure hope Uncle Sam can decipher it. Le sigh.

He said he needed to go for a walk afterwards because doing his taxes made him feel like force-choking somebody. Oh, kiddo, wait until you're no longer eligible for the EZ.
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
First the happy stuff: date #4 with Brown Eyes. Yes, they do seem to happen fairly often. I'm OK with that. Nothing fancy, just a drink after Lambert House at the bar down the street where the old Monday night gang used to go. Then she drove me home while telling me stories that made me laugh 'til I cried.

Now the not-so-happy stuff: I've written here before about how Lambert House is staying in its current location thanks to an eleventh-hour loan. What I haven't written about is that because LH didn't technically have a space for next year at the end of this year, the city of Seattle wouldn't give them their usual contract. It's apparently been in their rules for ages.

I heard this from the chagrinned-looking volunteer coordinator. It occurred to me later that he had good reason to be chagrinned: he's one of only three paid staff, and the organization is now missing about a third of its budget for this year. The city will probably fund us for the second half, but that still means about a $40K shortfall. After the months-long, freaked-out scramble for cash and space that ate most of last year for the director, he's got to deal with this new hassle. Oy.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
I was just having dinner with m'boy at the deli of our nearest supermarket, as we do fairly often, when I got recognized twice by people I could barely remember if at all.
  1. K across the street (Which street? I live on a corner and was afraid to ask.) was at the pro-immigration protest a few weeks ago. I'm pretty sure we chatted on the bus home.
  2. C, who recognized me from the late, lamented Electric Tea Garden, one of my favorite places to shake my booty. She says I left a "sweet impression" on her. What's astounding - OK, maybe not, ETG's been closed for a few years now - is that I don't remember C at all, despite her being kinda cute. That would explain why I talked to her, though.
Am I going senile? Or is this yet another episode of Everyone Remembers You When You're Trans? Or have I just lived and gone out & about in this town for so long that I've met half of it?

File this under S for sheesh.
sistawendy: (weirded out)
I've lived in Seattle for over 27 years, and I just today found the biggest and best art & craft supply store I've ever been in. It's Artist & Craftsman supply, 4350 8th Ave. NE. It's huge. It looks kind of cool, especially on the outside. It's been there for twenty years. It's on the far side of a block of NE 45th St., which is the busiest automotive arterial through Seattle's U district. There's nothing on 45th to tell you it's there, but I must have walked past it several times, probably on the way to or from Much Younger Woman's.

How did I miss this? It is a source of great joy and consternation that even after all this time, Seattle can still surprise me like that.
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: (antler mouse)
Instead of working out this morning as usual, I did my taxes. Yup, Uncle Sam owes me big time. Time to grab that cash with both hands and make a stash.

I went to the rally at UW Tacoma against I-1552, the so-called "bathroom bill" that puts a bounty on trans kids and tries to get yours truly beaten up or arrested. Lots of signs - I have one in my front window now - local dignitaries, trans people, and their families got up to the mike, polished or not. My favorite was a man of about forty with his nine-year-old trans daughter. He recounted how two years ago, she'd told him she was a girl. His reply was, "Let's do this." Yeah, that's a quote.

A few minutes later I worked my way over to him. I had to fight back the tears as I told him, "Thank you. There was no one like you back in the eighties."
He hugged me and said, "I can't imagine any other way."

I missed a turn going home so I took a little extra time driving up state road 509. In my 27 years of living around here I'd never driven that way. The northern end of this road is a straight shot between Seattle and its main airport, but the southern stretch where I was (eventually, after the industrial area) yields spectacular views from the bluffs overlooking Puget Sound. And of course, there are some seriously big and expensive houses on that road, but that wasn't what I was stealing glances at most of the time. It was one of those moments when I think to myself, 'Why do people live elsewhere?'

The antler mouse user pic is in honor of those whose party I missed because sleep overtook me. That's one Goth clothing sale and a queer women's clothing swap that I slept through, so you know the situation was serious. The vodka is strong but the meat is rotten.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Yesterday got away from me, but I did learn one thing: If you want some southern(-influenced) food that's bad for you, don't go to Sexton in Ballard. Overcrowded, overpriced, underserved, and not quite right with the recipes. (Italianate grits? Really?) It's a good thing R & J are such good company, or the night would have been a bummer. Ballard has a ton of restaurants now, a shockingly high number of which reek of precious hipsterism, including Sexton. And they all seem to be doing a roaring trade. I think it's time to seek out the ones without the reek.

If you want the kind of food Sexton advertises, go to Witness or Skillet on Capitol Hill instead. Witness in particular is a favorite of the Siberian Siren's & mine.
sistawendy: (mad woman)
Last night, the Tickler & I went to a trance night put on by the Psy Ops crew at Substation. I have to say I was pleasantly surprised by the music and, eventually, the vibe. I say eventually because when we first showed up around 2200, the crowd was full of young men who looked like bros, but felicitously they didn't act that way. As the Tickler pointed out, the real ravers probably showed up late because it took them time to put together their awesome outfits. The Swedish headliner seemed a bit wanky with the drops, we thought, but the supporting crew was solid. I ran into a group of three current and former co-workers. A+, would groove to this crew again!

The Tickler took us back to her place, but I was tired enough from the booty-shaking that I now owe her a proper tickle fight. Oh darn.

Sleep and oatmeal later, it was time to get on the bus to the Women's March. Ha. The first one was, of course, full. The second one was nearly so, but we took it to the International District and started walking east toward the start of the march. Ha. Progress became pretty much impossible, so we decided to hang out on the sidewalk, munch tofu banh mi (the Tickler wanted to support the businesses whose foot traffic we'd stopped), and wait for the tail of the march to go by before joining as the police had requested. HA! We watched other marchers go by for an hour before we decided to fuck that and joined in.

Many, many fabulous, often geeky or punny signs about every issue under the sun. I'll let you search for them. I didn't have one, but if I had, I think I would have chosen one about the ACA. Given how many people I know who depend on it, and how many trans people depend on it, it's dear to my heart. And it's astonishing how many Trump voters don't, or at least didn't at the time of the election, know that the ACA is, if fact, Obamacare. I've said it before: we need to do a better job of fighting the propaganda, people.

It's remarkable that the Tickler and I saw only one person whom either of us knew until we got to the march's end at the Seattle Center, three miles or so of walking later. Nothing like that ever happens at Pride. That's how big the Women's March was.

The police exercised a light tough to the point of invisibility once the march got going. I spied five or six of them in an out-of-the-way corner of the Seattle Center just shooting the breeze. Weird, but a relief. The Tickler pointed out that the the range of ages, i.e. near the theoretical limit; the preponderance of women; the sheer size of the march; and oh by the way its permit may have had a calming effect on the SPD.

I saw one lone counter protestor, a young man standing on a corner, holding a printed Trump sign at about chest level. He wasn't making any noise and he looked a bit nervous as tens of thousands of people walked past him and ignored him.

Once we reached the Seattle Center, the co-workers from last night plus one appeared, but the folks we were trying to meet up with didn't. We got off our feet for a blessed hour. The Tickler photographed giant puppets, of which she's an enthusiastic builder. We got & ate fries, and then we went our separate ways.

Was this good for morale? Sure. Will anybody in the Trump administration or Congress take notice and modify their behavior in a desirable way accordingly? Maaaybe. Am I glad I did it? Hell yes! But it's all about the follow-up, folks.

ETA: On the bus home I got to explain what "cis" means to another marcher. Teachable moments, I am all about them.

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