sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Spent Friday night at the Merc because I was at loose ends. Two drinks, left by midnight. Still zombiric the next day. Respect the absinthe.

Last night? The 20th anniversary night for Ramiro Gutierrez's Uniting Souls crew at the Monkey Loft. Dayumn. Three stages, 10 PM to 10 AM. It isn't often that I regret having to bug out of a club night before 0400, but it was all that. Highlight for me: Griffingrrl going hard in a sparkly dress. There were a couple of big (OK, big in the house scene) headliners.

Today: the first zappy in nearly two months still managed to hit all the needed areas in the allotted 90 minutes. That was a pleasant surprise.

Unsuccessfully attempted world domination while really, really tired. Ended up sleeping from 1700 to 2000 tonight. I can afford two nights out a week financially, but not really physically anymore. Oy.
sistawendy: (dolly)
I went to a smallish, low-key, semi-official techno thing down in the south end. Theme? Outer space. The DJs were all from the Vancouver area, and two of them were women. I have to say that I loved Lola Vutru, a.k.a. LVT. And one of the DJs (who I didn't quite last long enough to hear, alas) told me that unlike Seattle, Vancouver does not shut down in the winter. I'll have to keep my antennae up, and remember not to drive there ever again, unless I have some guarantee of a parking space under any circumstances.

But the real news last night was Brown Eyes. She came and hung out during the early, ambient, and super spacey part of the night and chatted with me, but she didn't stay too long because she was anemic from bleeding so much. You see, she's got things growing within the muscle of her uterus (endomyelosis) and it needs to come out, so last night, as low key as it was, was her last hurrah before a hysterectomy. Estimated recovery time: six weeks. She lives near a light rail station, and I forsee trips to her place to bring her good cheer and whatever else she needs that I can carry. Remember, BE just recently got declared cured of breast cancer. No one knows if what's going on with her womb is related, but it's a horrible prospect.

Oh: As a legal stimulants that don't make me want to kill people go, yerba mate is pretty effective. I brought a can of mate lemonade for each of us, but Brown Eyes didn't want hers. That's probably the only reason I lasted until 0130 last night.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
I went to Substation for DJ Heather et al. last night, sadly without Brown Eyes because she's feeling unwell. Sure, Heather brought those sweet Chicago house grooves, but what really made the night for me was the first opener.

She is Griffingrrl, MKA Emily Griffin, who, as promoter Ramiro Gutierrez explained to me, was a DJ in San Francisco for many years before she moved up here about ten years ago, had at least one kid, and stopped DJing. She does indeed have that Frisco sound, and it was hands down my favorite of the night.* A+, would shake booty again!

Best part: her parents were there, dancing to her whole set. They looked like well-heeled boomers, dad in a jacket and mom in, well, heels. I talked to Griffingrrl later about her triumphant return to the decks; she said she'd been in the underworld.
"I can relate," I said. "Mine's 19. Parent Power!" I raised my fist in salute.
"That underworld is the real deal."
"OH yeah!"

Fun fact: girlfriend must be 6' tall in her socks, at least. I bet that comes in handy when you work late nights in a club.



*And what, you may ask, is the difference between the Chicago & San Francisco sounds? Predictably, SF house has less jazz, funk, and soul than its arguable progenitor from Chicago, and more bounce, acid, and hippy shit, as epitomized by Mark Farina, Garth, and Om Records. (The Detroit sound tends more toward sinister space aliens, but they too can groove.)
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Dinner at Cafe Ibex with the Tickler: not-bad Ethiopian food with some dishes I'd never had before, but I think I like Meskel better. Also, the service isn't great. We were the only non-Ethiopians in the joint, which didn't start to get at all busy until about 2100.

Then dancing with the Tickler last night at a big, crowded, super hippy night thrown by the Ents in Tents crew. This show had some of the best decor and other visuals I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. There were quite a few vendors selling some really nice things, too. The DJs, though? Distinctly meh, even if the Tickler liked them more than I did. Eye candy? Quite good. Happiness is having someone you can be a dirty old woman with. Not that dirty, though: when we got back to her place, her tummy started to rebel. Aw.

Bus happiness: when you get on a bus that takes you all the way from West Seattle through downtown to the north end, changing route numbers along the way, so you don't have to change buses. Aw, yeah.

Shortly after I got home, I had a work situation that lasted about three hours. Moral: automated provisioning is a good thing, so do it early in your project's history.

Met with Grenade. We have... plans for each other. Artistic plans. More or less.

I've been so all over the place this weekend that I haven't worked out, not even a walk around the lake. Time to get back on the horse tomorrow.
sistawendy: (drama)
(Another sort of trans-related question: If you're a woman, can you go stag? Or do you have to go doe?)

Temptress postponed on me yesterday, and Much Younger Woman hurt her back pretty badly, which I didn't find out until I was about to pick her up to go dancing. Le sigh.

But go dancing I did, at the Shameless crew's annual Valentine's Day party. Headliners Smash TV, zwei Menschen auf Deutschland, brought cool, solid groove. Honorable mentions to Joe Bellingham & Orqid.

There was a surprising number of stunning and stunningly dressed women there. I saluted the corset-wearer with the Nice Boots, like you do. Happiness is when one of them, who's exactly your type and wearing shiny tight pants, comes up to you to ask about your outfit and be adorable. My SFDs: lace-trimmed black long sleeve blouse, purple & black lacy skirt from Mishu, black patent Docs, MAC makeup.

But the real score here was the venue, an art & event space in an out-of-the-way corner of Sodo. I do believe I may have found a venue for my 50th birthday. It's a newish building with soaring ceilings and black, Gothy chandeliers, and it's the perfect size with easy parking & transit access. It's not as posh as that other place in Sodo that I was looking at, and would definitely involve more DIY on my part, but I kind of fell in love with the vibe. I talked to M, the lady in charge, courtesy of an introduction from former co-worker B of zentai suit fame who was down from Canada. (Synchronicity, no?) M is a former (?) raver and working artist who hosts a lot of art events, art education events, and the odd private party. She said my date shouldn't be a problem. I've already asked her for particulars. I haven't put her name or the name of her space here because she expressed a concern about too much publicity.

Yeah, I know the Republicans are out to get me, not to mention most of the guests at any party I might throw. I'm running out of fucks, though, and I should have the cash and time to pull this off.
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.
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: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
SEAF Seduction with the Tickler was all about the eye candy, and running into friends I haven't seen in many years.

Best visual pun: Barebacking/Bearbacking. I'll just leave that there for your imagination. There was o group of four fabulously gay X-Men. [livejournal.com profile] gement's sister Sparky was there as an incongruously sexy Spider Queen. There was an adorable contortionist - a friend of the Tickler, natch - doing a messy food scene with a couple of less flexible colleagues. The Tickler and I agree that we need to ascertain the contortionist's sexual orientation because ahem.

Oh: Sparky's Burning Man theme camp was, among other orgs, tending bar as a fund raiser. Camp Beaverton needs to get in on that action. It's a pity I neither knew that was an option nor have my class 12 (WA bartender's license) anymore.

DJs: surprisingly good! The one I remember hearing was Fabulous Fab. I don't think we stayed long enough for Kristina Childs, but I know she can bring it. Yeah, I was grooving to the techno while other people were watching all the sexy. I can't help it: I'm a slave to the rave.

There was a young trans woman, D, who I met during my Microsoft days who was there with her sweetie. When I last saw her she hadn't yet transitioned, and now she's doing really well. Happy-making.

The Tickler and I ran out of gas around midnight. Darn this middle age business. My shoes didn't help, and it occurs to me today that among my recent Fluevog purchases is a pair that would be more comfortable and just as good with the outfit as the ones I've been wearing for the last couple of days. D'oh!

Tonight: a brief stop in costume at the Baltic Room to bat my eyelashes at Gnome. It's raining and my costume is silk, dammit.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
Long time no type. I haven't been in a funk; I just didn't have anything I considered post-worthy until yesterday.

28% of StartupCo got laid off yesterday morning. I was not among those laid off.

StartupCo's founder, product wizard, and ex-CEO is on vacation overseas. That's probably for the best; he seems like the kind of guy for whom delivering that kind of news could be lethal. As it was, our current CEO made it most of the way through her 25-minute talk without crying. Most of the way.

The shape of the layoffs, product mix changes, and other strategic decisions seem tailored to please investors. They're good business decisions, at least in the short- to medium-term, but I worry about our distinctiveness as a company. See the founder above.

I did a little mental arithmetic: of the eight of us who'd ever shown up to more-or-less-monthly queer lunch, three are gone, including the organizer. That's a mantle I will gladly accept. One of those laid off says our executive team is now whiter and more male than ever. Le sigh.

I think I may be the only person in the company who got real work done yesterday, pushing a commit at 1645 and handling a production issue at about 2200. In between those two times there was much beer consumption at Linda's, then dancing to some righteous tunes at Jacob London's record release party on the roof of the Monkey Loft while the sun set, until the nachos from Linda's disagreed with me.

Fun fact #1: Half of Jacob London is trans. I was honored a few years back when Hanssen asked me to have coffee & talk about how very much we have in common. They (Hanssen) usually make a point of talking to me at their shows. I snarfed their latest EP last week because I heard a song from it on KEXP and it was dope; see this post's music.

Fun fact #2: The Monkey Loft is about seven blocks from the nearest light rail station, Sodo. Now I'm sure I've used every light rail station. A young woman in a fabulous yellow '50s retro sundress who got off at Sodo with some swoopy-haired, gay-looking boyfriends, asked me if I was going to the Monkey Loft like them on account of looking "all fancy"*. I'm amused that the hipster kids had the same idea I did and took the train; I hope that doesn't dent its popularity.

Fun fact #3: One of the Beavers, 2013's mayor and dapper, dyke magnet Foxy, needed proof of a name change resulting from divorce. The trouble is, she lives in Oakland, CA and the divorce happened in Seattle. As luck would have it, StartupCo is just five blocks (i.e. one light rail stop) away from the court house that I recently spent so much time in. Ba da boom, ba da bing, I FedExed her a certified copy of her divorce decree. She thanked me profusely and asked what she can do for me. Evil laughter ensued.



*SFDs: purple company t-shirt, mostly-purple Bombsheller leggings, Fluevog Half-Truth Alisons, MAC makeup. A pretty normal work outfit for me.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Friday: A planned evening of housework and goofing off. The Islander postponed our date a week due to illness.

Yesterday: Saw Ghostbusters, which is definitely a worthy successor. I kind of feel guilty for not having the same reaction to it that so many of my cis girlfriends have had, though; I didn't grow up knowing I was being erased, and depicted as less than what I was*. No, what I found myself doing was studying the way the Ghostbusters interacted with each other. Studying that kind of thing becomes a habit if you're trans and not dumb as a brick. I kept having to remind myself that it's a movie, and doesn't necessarily have anything to teach me.

Also yesterday: Getting lost in the south end on the way to a certain lovely house full of Goths because it's not that far from Ex's and I somehow got the routes tangled in my head. Found house! Fabulous drinks, eetz, and chats ensued.

Also also yesterday: Went to Substation for a night called Board of Deacons. Yes, of course serious Christian Riz Rollins was involved. It was profoundly disco-flavored house, with all Black DJs and a surprisingly Black crowd considering that Substation is in Frelard. I haven't danced so much in quite a while. Bonus: I met a woman with duct tape just above her breasts. I asked about it. She'd just been suspended from hooks, not rope, she said, and there was gauze under the duct tape. Well then! Ah, such a Seattle moment.

Today: Picked figs in the south end from trees belonging to a friend of my Ex's. I went to the wrong house first and was miffed to find nobody home and plum trees instead of figs. Gosh, that could have gone very, very badly. I need to, you know, not read emails containing addresses with my glasses off. But I did manage to pick a couple of gallons of figs, of which I gave half to my ex. My share are currently quartered and drying for )'(. They were so ripe and so delicate that they were like jam in little wet paper bags nearly the size of my fist in a pair of 25' trees. I must have burst at least a dozen of them in the tree or on the way down; I tried not to let them go to waste. Nom!



*OK, OK, I realize that trans representation was abysmal to nonexistent when I was a kid. But that situation was so bad I didn't even realize it was that bad until much later in life.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Went dancing Saturday night because Jacob London, one of whose two members is trans, was at the Monkey Loft. I was determined to go as planned even though I'd been social all day, having lovely times with Funny Lady, [livejournal.com profile] ionan, and J. I have to say, I didn't feel Jacob London as much as I did Riz et al. over the 4th of July. It didn't sound like the old cheeky, glitchy Jacob London from the '00s, and what they brought wasn't as... distinctive. And I need to remember that my alcohol tolerance has fallen due to either age, weight loss, or both.

Zombitic all Sunday. Got zappy. No need to shave at all for the next few days, which is very yay.

Did not do any crafty stuff for )'( as planned. No panic yet, though.

Mental note: get in touch with the Islander and see if she wants to get together. I've already got a date with the Tickler on Saturday.

Insufficient sleep because John Scalzi is Gawd.

Started with new temporary team today. They seem to not be psycho, and to need me.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
TIL Yesterday I learned: what the gozinta & gozouta for map reduce jobs looks like. Yeah, welcome to 2003, but I finally needed to know it. The long-dormant hardware weenie in me wants to hit it with a big content-addressable memory.

Also, in Java land, you can run a web site from a jar (a UNIX tar archive in drag, for you more normal people) that contains your static content. Am I crazy, or is this, like so many technologies from the Java community, a big pile of nope aimed at a pointless design goal*?
M'boy is with me this weekend because his mother wanted freedom for her birthday, but nevertheless I had a brief jaunt at Substation last night. I figured Pezzner** would be on too late for me - I'd promised the Wendling I'd be back by 0130 - but I was pleasantly surprised that I got to catch his whole sweet set and still keep my promise. Crowd: kinda hippy, kinda househead faithful. I bought 3D-printed earrings from a better-than-usual vendor. I refrained from talking to the tall cute blonde woman in the apparently leather swing dress because she was all over her skinny, geeky-lookin' dude of a date.



*Platform independence. Linux killed it.
**Formerly half of local glitchy duo Jacob London, if you'll recall. He's gotten a respectable amount of national exposure.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Dropped off stuff at Goodwill for my ex, dropped stuff off at her place, had exactly one lovely stiff drink and chats with my People in Black at the nearby chez [livejournal.com profile] morthael & [livejournal.com profile] icprncs. After all these years, I may finally learn some of the geography of the south end of Seattle.

M'boy was with his mother last night, so I was at loose ends. Fortunately, it's Burner party season, and my old camp mates the Space Virgins were doing a fund raiser with Camp Conception. It was all you'd expect: day glow, black lights, righteous house from Jayson Spaceotter*, reusable cups, nice eye candy in a wide range of ages, and a giant Buddha's head above the door. I commiserated about the ticket situation with a man in spandex and some serious fetish boots - envied by many women. I met an adorable and queer-seeming woman from Camp Conception who seemed, well, really pretty awesome. And then her girlfriend showed up, and lots of the usual dyke public handsiness and snogs ensued. Le sigh. I dunno, though; there seems to be a whole gang of queer women who are part of Conception. Younger, of course, but since when have I let that stop me? Bizarrely, I've never made it to their camp on the playa.

A note on the venue: the party was in a light industrial space down in Sodo only a block from Studio 7, the only club in Seattle where the staff has hassled be for being trans. No, that's no longer legal in Seattle, but it may have been at the time. I gave Studio 7 the finger from afar.

I must be feeling better, because I suddenly can't sleep worth a damn without enough exercise - my usual condition - and I'm horny as all get-out. Speaking of horny, Inga still hasn't fulfilled her promise, but I don't think that's her fault. MBSOs, like all orgasms, remain 90% mental. And shot day is tomorrow.



*He remembers me from Riz's old Friday nights at Re-bar; I don't remember him from then. I got recognized by people I don't remember two or three other times last night. I appear to be a Fixture on the Scene, hopefully an electrical fixture and not plumbing.
sistawendy: (dolly)
Went to the Siberian Siren's round-numbered birthday shenanigans at Witness last night. She wearing an unusually subdued knee length black dress. She seemed genuinely a little bummed about being "old". Oh please, sweetie, was what I essentially told her. Bonus: I got to meet her brother, who's pretty much exactly as I would have expected, only cuter. I was about to tell him how she & I met, when this happened:

SS: I try to scandalize my brother...
SW: [rubs hands together]
SS: ...as little as possible.
SW: Aww.
SSBro: There are some things about my sister that I don't want to know.
SW: You speak for my sister.

Before the SS had even invited me to her party, though, I'd bought a ticket to see Moby at Neumo's for a KEXP benefit. For those of you who don't know, he was one of the gods of the New York rave scene in the late '80s & '90s, and he's been active ever since despite a couple of bouts with substance abuse.

Moby decided to "go hard", and he brought it in the grandest old school style. I wish there'd been room enough to dance, but you know Moby's going to pack the house. I couldn't see him without squatting from my vantage point in the balcony next to one of the hanging speaker stacks - big love once again to Neumo's sound - but I could tell he was all business behind the decks, another old school tradition of which I approve. Best Moby moment: a sample from Led Zeppelin's "The Immigrant Song", which my Evil Sister hunted down import vinyl of before she turned to, you know, evil.

The crowd? A fair number of people Moby's age (which is roughly my age), but also plenty of younger beardos and even a few sweet young thangs. It was nice to see the whippersnappers appreciating him. Nobody acted like jerks.

Where it got weird was that his set of about 90 minutes was followed by local soul artist Grace Love & the True Loves. Yes, they're fine, but seriously? Did we as a city just dis Moby? Surely not.

Returned to Witness and had a lovely chat with a cute friend of the SS's - who is straight & married. Her hubby was right across the table from us, even. Dammit. Still, it was an excellent evening.

PS: One of my neighbors just invited me over to their place. He's dressed nice, and I'm still in my workout clothes from attempting to move boxes at the old place this afternoon, just minutes after I told [livejournal.com profile] cupcake_goth I'd be out dancing with her. If only my dating life were going as well as my G-rated social life.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
Last night as I drove back from seeing m'boy I almost didn't go out to the Area 303 crew's night at Substation last night. I was in my work clothes and feeling low on energy. I was glad I went, but not entirely for the reasons you'd think.

The first two DJs, house man Super Dave and old-school techno guy Computer Controlled, were very much to my taste. Somebody else there compared Computer Controlled to what you'd hear in a midwestern field rave; I gotta love that. During the first set the house lights were up as they set up lighting & lasers way bigger than anything I've seen in a funky little venue like Substation. The purist in me rebelled at the thought of smoke & lasers at a small techno night, but I ended up liking it in spite of myself. It must be the Burner in me.

During the second set I talked to Turbo, the third DJ. The fellow thinks quite highly of himself, but I don't think that's warranted. His sound is a boring wall of noise, and he needs to quit interacting with the audience and DJ more. I bagged at 0037 before the headliner, as I do so often, partly because of him.

The weirdest thing last night by far, though, was the half-dozen or so woo girls. No, not girls overly fixated on the supernatural, but girls who say, "Wooooo!" Young, cute, well-dressed** in some cases, and painfully straight-seeming. We scruffy old-schoolers* had a laugh, and in truth the woo girls weren't being jerks even if they really did say "Wooooo!" at one point. But I worry a little about my cherished, eccentric little corner of popular music being encroached upon by the same people who ate the Hill, and fathead DJs who cater to them.



*And I feel a little fraudulent calling myself that because I didn't start going to techno shows until this century.
**I made a point of complimenting one of them on what she was wearing. I'm pretty sure I detected a look of 'OMG she's an old tranny!' on her face. Good.
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
In the last 48 hours, I've had two friends tell me their relationships aren't going that well, or at least not lately, in response to my expressions of jealousy. They are jealous of me and my recent dating success. Having spent a lot of time in a crummy shitty relationship, I can relate, but I have to say this: if I have a heart attack or something at home, there's no one else here to call the ambulance, not even a cat to eat my face a few days later. Imminent Ex and I are in the throes of shambolic DIY divorce proceedings and we still had a pretty nice last date because, once upon a time, we had feelings for each other and we still know each other frighteningly well. (OK, Canlis helped, too.) I miss that.

Went out to Substation last night in a ridiculous amount of Pride gear. I Goth up for raves; I gay up for straight spaces. Not bad: Dane Wilson definitely had his moments, and they had an old school room. An attractive woman as tall as I am complimented me on my Pride leggings in the bathroom, so of course I spent the rest of the right wondering, 'Is she or isn't she?' Me? Greedy? Yup. See above. I hit the wall early, which is a fine segue into the next paragraph.

My bedroom window has blinds that aren't so good at blocking light, and what's worse is that my building is on the outside of a curve in a small arterial: headlights into my bedroom. I've been sleeping with a leather bondage mask since I moved in here, and it isn't always convenient. I finally got some pieces of black foam board yesterday and cut it to size. They work beautifully. I slept eight hours last night. Let there be darkness!

ETA: Zuckerberg's data mine informs me that queer or not, the lady above is a little more into the woo than I generally find comfortable. I'm not heartbroken.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Saturday I went to Kremwerk for the lesbian monthly as a sort of pre-funk, and instead of groovy music there was a huge crowd watching off-key drag kings. So not my scene. Oddly, I saw three women I know there, including one trans woman who wants to have coffee with me for unknown reasons. Previous experience tells me she wasn't asking for a date, but I'm not sure quite what she wants.

Speaking of dating, the Norwegian says she's not ready. Surprising as sunrise given what she's just been through. When she is, though, I'll most likely be there.

Went to the Mark Farina show later Saturday night at the Monkey Loft, and was for the first time underwhelmed by one of his sets. He played a track that I've only heard in one other place: a mix by Garth from 1990 that was ripped from cassette tape. The rip sounded better, which says something unflattering about the Monkey Loft's sound system. (A hippie accused me of negativity for pointing that out. Let me downsample all your tunes and see how you like it, dude.) I could tell Farina was trying to do something new, but it just seemed too chopped up. His best sets have been melodic, even polyphonic, but there was no sign of that Saturday. Hey, at least Ramiro the promoter did a set I liked.

I have eaten all my Thanksgiving leftovers and leftover greens. For this I am thankful. I'm also thankful for Mistress Matisse's advice on how to prevent garlic odor: alfalfa capsules. I avoided gassing Ms. Zappy yesterday.

M'boy commuted solo by car to work yesterday. That's no big deal, but when I saw him pull up in the driveway, it sounded funny. He had a flat tire and, being new to driving, didn't know what it was. I refrained from yelling at him because I'm pretty sure I made that mistake at one point. However, I still need to get that tire fixed because...

...his mother is in California for a writing retreat this whole week. My son is going to get some practice in adulting. He's been telling us to trust him more for year; we'll see if he's ready. Judging by the number of dirty dishes I saw last night, he's not quite ready for prime time.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
But first: Weekends with my son lately have consisted largely of my watching him sleep. He's arranged things so he doesn't have morning classes, so I don't really have a good reason to tell him not to. And since his ADD meds interfere with appetite & sleep, I figure he needs his sleep on the weekends. I must be doing something right because Imminent Ex says he's grown two inches in as many years.

I went to one last Decibel Festival event: the free party in Volunteer Park. Perfect (i.e. sunny) weather, bouncy San Francisco-style tunes from the Dirtybird crew, lots of gorgeous girls my son's age, and of course an acre of hippies. (No really, the grassy area in front of the stage is about an acre, and it was covered with hippies.) I ran into another techno fan of my acquaintance there who directed me to the bouncy castle.

It's a pity Much Younger Woman was sick & the Tickler was at Folsom, because I think they would have dug it - and I wouldn't have had to go alone as usual. I was reminded of that on the way home by watching to queer women I'd seen dancing earlier walking into the nearby Asian art museum hand in hand. Le sigh.

Had snobby beer with [livejournal.com profile] ionan. Told him about MBSOs (mind-blowing squirty orgasms) in a public place, like I do. Saw the tail end of the lunar eclipse while walking home, but I'm not broken up about missing the earlier part of it.

Stay tuned for the next entry. I think you'll like it.
sistawendy: (taco madonna)
I stayed out too late* at my one and only show for the Decibel Festival. For those not familiar with it, the dB Festival is Seattle's weekend-long electronic music festival. It takes over maybe half a dozen venues around town, and it's always good for hearing some new sounds, good, bad, or just different.

Why Neumo's last night? Because I'd heard Bob Moses on KEXP and thought, 'That's the show I want to go to.' I was not disappointed. They're a duo from Vancouver by way of NYC, one guy with a mixer (or is it a controller?) and one on guitar & vocals. To me it sounded like the best of Chicago house wedded to Sky Cries Mary or the Fading Collection: downer, grown-up lyrics and airy guitar riffs. Something about the vocalist reminds me of Sting. I'm definitely buying their LP, which the internet tells me they're working on now.

Openers? Local hero Lusine took things down tempo with a live drummer, and somehow produced a hippy vibe. I've been to at least a couple of his shows before, and I'd never heard him like that before. Maybe it wasn't 100% my cup of tea, but it was still good. Respect. The first artist, Photay, is only three years older than my son (!) and sounds like Aphex Twin - an influence he acknowledges - met up with Afro-Caribbean musicians in Brooklyn. Not bad, and definitely not usual.

I left before the final act, The Acid, and a cursory listen tells me I didn't miss a whole lot. Happiness is quitting while you're ahead.



*Lights out, right after dilation as usual, at 0200.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
Remember how our mediator and the family law facilitator at the courthouse disagreed about how I should fill out my petition? Well, Imminent Ex emailed the mediator with detailed questions like the good journalist she is. The mediator, a former judge in that very same court, asked around and said it should be OK as we originally did it. IX wants to do it that way and I'm running out of fucks - and time if we want to be final by the end of the year. So now I need to fill it out again the way it was before the facilitatrix applied her White Out® pen to it, get IX to read & sign it, and then walk it down to the courthouse, hopefully for the last time.

I'd love to have her sign it tonight, but I have a queer girls' night out planned, plus my one and only Decibel Festival show for this year, Bob Moses at Neumo's.

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