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 practical 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.

I went to latex dinner on Thursday. I had a good time with people in shiny clothes, and Six Arms on a Thursday night is pretty good. I talked opera and gender confirmation surgery. And there were, I think, a total of four trans people in our party of about twenty. I was probably the one most audibly freaked out about the election. Yeah, the whole outing felt weird, but also somehow necessary for me.

Shallow fashion details: latex LBD, my stompiest boots, and studded accessories.

After getting home late Thursday night, I woke up at 0415 yesterday. Today I slept until 0315 — after getting over seven hours of sleep. I've got two places to be today plus a date with Dancer early this evening. I'm wondering if and when I can shoehorn a nap into the day.

I will say this: there are trans people who've complained that their cis friends & family haven't reached out. That's not the case for me, and I'm grateful.

I had ten eleven guests show up to the Devil Girl house for my first attempt at a Halloween party. Spoiler: it went well! There were Xers and millenials. Kinksters and vanilla folk. Queers and hets. Burners and... people who don't talk about Burning Man all the time.

I got the right amount of sushi, which was, for the record, four of Uwajimaya's "small" platters. I have more red wine than I started with. The unusual boozes were the ones that got notably snarfed: a bottle of mead and most of 1.8l of decent sake. Tacoma Girl, of course, drank non-dark beer.

Shiny H & Shiny G brought a fabulous pumpkin spice cheesecake, most of which is still in my fridge, and a flower arrangement.

Tacoma Girl brought edibles. I didn't partake because I needed to not be horizontal.

Thing that didn't go well: the electroluminescent wire that I attached to my balcony railing. Zip-lock bags and strapping tape were apparently not enough to keep the rain out of the driver circuits. They didn't catch fire, but neither did they work for very long. Le sigh.

Thing that did go at least reasonably well: projecting a video loop of dripping blood on the blocked-out upper east windows.

Thing that was hilarious: as at my 50th birthday party, the last song on the playlist was "Dancing Queen". Tacoma Girl, ever the punk, objected strenuously. After that she got tired of Chappell Roan and asked me to restart the playlist. The song that I put at the end to signal that people should maybe think about leaving... didn't work. The last of the guests didn't leave until after 0230, and the party had started at 2000. I spent roughly seven hours in the Devil Girl corset.

No, I didn't have any fountains squirting White Russians out of the nipples or a whole roast suckling pig as did the Blue House parties, but I think I did all right as a hostess. Happiness.

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.

Funny Lady & I went to the Shameless crew's anniversary party at Massive, which is in the old R Place space. Oddly enough, despite R Place being a gay bar, I never went in there. It's just as well, though, because I've heard that R Place's management, like that of so many clubs, wasn't all that ethical in their dealings with DJs.

But anyway, Massive is three floors, two of which are set up as dance floors. Funny Lady pointed out that the HVAC on the top floor, which has by far the larger dance floor, isn't what it needs to be once lots of people start moving around in it. "We're Florida girls," I said. "We can handle it." And we did. Decor? Super gay neon. Bar staff? Awful purdy boys.

Choonz? Riz Rollins sounded fresher than I've heard from him in a long time. You love to hear it. Honorable mention to Nina Sol of San Francisco, who I'd never heard of before the event announcement.

Crowd? A house music crowd. Shirtless and occasionally harnessed gay boys. (There was a go-go boy with his jock strap stuffed with US dollars, but no go-go girls. Harrumph.) Sharply dressed Black women digging my corset. I was impressed with how many people were there half an hour after doors, i.e. 2230. It wasn't as absurdly packed as Re-bar was at its most extreme, but then again I think Massive's upper dance floor is bigger.

Shallow fashion details: black sheer & velvet top, red & black corset, short red chiffon-ish skirt, red fishnets over black leggings, 14-eyelet black patent Docs. Red accessories, eye shadow, and lips.

Oh! I can't hit the post button without reporting something Funny Lady & I saw while pre-funking at the Wildrose. There was one particular sweet young thing in very short shorts — ah, spring — who had a black handkerchief tied around her right thigh right below the hem of her shorts. Indeed, Funny Lady thought it was a pocket poking out until we saw it from a different angle. I didn't get a chance to confirm this hypothesis, but I think that girl was flagging.

For those of you who don't know, flagging was a system invented by the gay men's leather scene back in the '70s to let each other know at a glance what they're into. Various colors of hankies were worn sticking out of back pockets. (I knew more of the details than FL.) The left was for tops, the right was for bottoms, and each color had a distinct meaning. I've heard of femmes wearing hankies tied to their hair, but other body parts are a new one on me. Our girl wearing a black hanky around her right thigh? Might have something in common with your humble correspondent here. Pity she bounced early.

Pro tip for going to the 'Rose: get the 2-top by the window if you can. Funny Lady agrees that it's the best place for people-watching in the city.

MyCo's Seattle office is a casualty of both acquisition and COVID. That didn't stop them, however, for inviting employees in the Seattle area to a pretty decent dinner at Ben Paris. I wore the Sydney outfit, natch.

Ten people RSVP'd yes. Six actually showed — damn Seattle — and of those five were pre-pandemic hires, including me. Le sigh. Yeah, more frequent gatherings would be nice, but they can't replace actually working in the same place for getting people to know each other, know what's going on, and fostering a company culture.

Took the train to the north end with our Jersey-boy IT guy. A stranger asked me if I was wearing Fluevogs. I was: the Deliverance Lu with the scalloped heels and pointy toes. So I got to explain the cult of 'Vogs to the IT guy. And he tried to explain why he loves football to me.

I dunno. Do I miss the office? I'm completely not sure anymore.

Tonight, ack_yearight. Tomorrow, a play date (?) with the Train Platform Lady. Monday, the Womanhandler. Tuesday, a first date off an app with someone who seems... a bit woo, but hey, that describes a lot of my friends. Besides, hi, welcome to the queer women's community. But the point of this paragraph, though, was that it's an awful lot of social to pack into the next seven days. Can I handle it? I do believe so.

For the first time I had Thanksgiving dinner hosted by Biker, who lives a long bus ride north of me.

Biker apologized for the state of her house, but given the massive amount of cooking she did, her twelve-and-a-half hour workdays as a nurse, and her deeply autistic son, I couldn't find it in me to blame her.

I spent much of the evening listening to tales of nursing (Biker), working in restaurants (her non-autistic son), and feeling like a rich bitch. Shallow fashion details: black high-collared blouse with white accessories; white velveteen skirt with black trim; black leggings as ever this time of year; tall, pointy Fluevog Truth Brittany boots. In other words, I made an effort, but no one else really did.

The food, by the way, was pretty great. Biker cooked every last bit of it, enough for six people, including key lime cheesecake. (I cut up the sweet potatoes.) The bottle of mead that I brought from Mr B's* turned out to be just enough for the gathering. And then Biker drove me home, which I appreciated mightily because even with The Coat that would have been a long, chilly wait for the bus.



*The tiny little meadery in lower Fremont, just downhill from me, with amazing decor. Much ♥ to them.

I did indeed don the red latex dress, my biggest black beaded choker, and – after agonizing via text – my black & silver booties from Irregular Choice. I went to the Wildrose and got a table with surprisingly little difficulty.

But medical issues claimed my companions for the evening one after the other. Funny Lady lives not far from the 'Rose, and messaged me about New Year's Day plans. I invited her to join me. She invited me to join her! So there! I accepted her offer.

That's right: I spent the evening in a fabulous outfit watching movies, etc. with Funny Lady, her husband, and a friend of theirs whose name I can't remember. You know that thing where married couples get kind of snippy with each other about trivial stuff? FL & P do that.

I also found out, after knowing her for all these years, that Funny Lady is the eleventy-third cis girlfriend I have who had an abusive boyfriend as a young woman. She said it partly explains why she left Paris for Berlin and then New York. There ought to be classes taught to teens to a) teach boys not to be shitty, and b) teach girls how to avoid and stop shitty boys. You'd probably run into resistance from shitty parents.

FL generously got me a ride share home so I wouldn't have to bug out early for the last (free!) train, which was nice. Pity I didn't get much more than five hours' sleep.

Thence to the Monkey Loft at about 1300. I almost couldn't get in because the cell phone tower was flaky, and my ticket was on my phone; I think I'll go back to being paranoid and printing tickets. OK, I did get to hear a little of Reggie Watts in a big, crowded ground floor room. (I was part of the masked minority.) And I went up to the roof to hang with the hippies in the intermittent sunshine.

Seen at the monkey loft: one full fur suit, one puppy hood with a Dance Safe logo on the back, one black corset, one corset in psychedelic colors. It seems to me that the kinksters are beginning their takeover of the house & techno scenes. You know I'm here for that.

Unfortunately, I didn't get enough sleep to really enjoy something that loud & crowded for more than a couple of hours, so I got on the bus and made sure that C's annual mellow goth gathering up in Greenwood was still going. It was, and that turned out to be much more what I needed right then. Back in the before times, C used to host an annual barbecue which was The Stuff, Baby. I hope she does again. Minor tragedy: Diminutive* was leaving just as I was arriving, looking stunning in her pair of my 50th birthday boots, a.k.a. Fluevog Atria. I did, however, meet a friend of cupcake_goth's – again, the boots were the proof – with an antipodean accent and a truly impressive Victorian outfit. Yeah, she was there with a fella, dammit.

So my New Year's Eve & New Year's day weren't what I'd call complete successes, but I did salvage them a little. Potential plan for next year: stay home NYE, get fetishy at the Monkey Loft in the morning.

The new year looks to be a grind with respect to work, finances, and dating. There's no end in sight. I'd love to have my low expectations exceeded, but they're... low expectations.

I do, however, have a plan for the 7th: Com Truise was supposed to come to my neighborhood, but a hurricane kept him home. Saturday is when he'll try again. Mm, walkable bleepy goodness.



*Her first name is the diminutive form of my first name. I am tall and bulky. She is tiny in every dimension. This never fails to amuse me.

I've been late to post because I was busy. With what, you ask? My 12th rebirthday! Half a dozen people came over on Saturday night. The gathering was small but pleasant: sushi, chats, and non-distilled alcohol, as advertised. I even got to see an unusual suspect.

I put on the big, indigo-and-black dress with the printed scroll design on it from Gallery Serpentine. That's a tight fit in parts of my house,

Speaking of my house, I've got to come up with a more satisfactory arrangement of the living room furniture for gatherings. Currently, the couch faces away from the dining room table, which means I had people (including myself) sitting on the back of the couch.

[swaps couch and bouncy chairs]

Mind you, a few people who said they would didn't come, but there are all kinds of good reasons why they might not have. So, leftover sushi, which I have cooked for safety and eaten half of so far.

Yesterday was cleanup and lunch with most of the other trans group facilitators at Lambert House. There's a Middle Eastern joint called Aviv a block away that's pretty good; I'd somehow managed not to eat there despite walking past the place dozens if not hundreds of times. We vets dished dirt about the house to the noobs with their encouragement.

So I hit the Mercury on Friday night for a fetish night ("Sadist Hawkins"). Drinks were drunk, photos were taken, and eyes were batted. Happiness.

One of the recipients of the eye batting was Shiny H. I mentioned Clara my DIY sex toy and showed off my photo because, let's face it, I'm awfully proud of her. She expressed interest in buying (?!) something like that, made to order. I pointed out that since she's cis, her girl bits and mine work pretty differently despite Dr. Snip's* quite respectable best efforts. Shiny H took that in stride, saying, "If I can get off from straight men in Kentucky, I can get off from anything." It is to laugh.

Shallow fashion details: my sleeveless latex LBD from the Stockroom, Fluevog Truth Brittany boots, bare legs, vintage black patent collar from long-gone Sin, jewelry in Pride colors.

That dress has a deep, deep V neck. Friday night was the first night that it looked to me as if I really had the boobs for it; I guess recent tweaks to my hormone regimen** were a good idea, to say the least. Now if only I had wider hips and less bone & cartilage on my face & neck. I can arrange the latter someday, maybe, but the only place I've heard of the former happening is Korea. I think I'll pass on that.

There was a fetish night at Kremwerk last night to which I had tentative plans to go, but my body said, "Nope." I've slept for about twelve of the last twenty-four hours. I guess the annual February insomnia is over, thank Goddess.



*Dr. Snip is Dr. Marci Bowers, the first trans woman to do sex reassignment for other trans women.
**I went from 8 mg estradiol by injection every two weeks to 4 mg a week. Dr. Leather Bear suggested it long ago.