Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

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 had Tacoma Girl and Tacoma Mom over for Thanksgiving. The latter was a last-minute addition, but three people is too few for even the smallest turkey, in my opinion. So I made face-melting Ma Po tofu, brown rice, salad*, and spinach with sesame oil & tamari. Tacoma Mom brought rolls & pumpkin pie.

I usually (Foreshadowing!) make Ma Po tofu with ground chicken; the recipe as I found it calls for the traditional ground pork. Both versions call for chicken stock.

I had forgotten that my guests are pescatarians, which Tacoma Girl has told me any number of times. I have probably never looked so horrified in my own home, be it the Devil Girl House or any other.

But Tacoma Mom suggested, brilliantly, that I cook the meat separately**. Plus, thanks to Tacoma Girl's earlier gift of dried, salted fish, I have plenty of fish stock. So I thawed the stock, busted out all my pans, and got to work. Yeah, I overcooked burned the garlic because I was flustered, improvising, and dropping things on the floor, but I got the worst of it. I had four burners out of the five on my stove lit simultaneously. I managed to save dinner.

The wine didn't suck, either; Washington state blends for the win***. I told Tacoma Mom my favorite Burning Man stories and the Opera Story. She's a good egg.

Very eat. So chat. Wow.




*The same salad I made for my son & myself on Wednesday night, plus tomatoes. Shhh!
**Browned chicken and garlic were also from Wednesday night, from what I put in the spaghetti sauce.
***Wine Spectator rating of 90 or higher. Nobody touched the beer, so I now have plenty of beer in a cleen house. More foreshadowing!

It all started with a change in the guest list: the coven accepted my invitation early on, and La Fashionista told me she'd bring a date, and La F's ex R had other plans. Since six is a crowd here in the Devil Girl pad, I regretfully told a couple of usual guests that I didn't have room, but I invited bork, who's another usual suspect.

But then I found out that R's plans fell through. What I said to La Fashionista was, "Arg! [...] Six is a tight fit. If he's coming alone, it's cool." Everyone involved knows what this place is like with six people inside: a sardine scene. Even five is pretty snug. I assumed that R was showing up regardless. He did not. I was relieved, to tell you the truth.

Oh: my bathroom light switch stopped turning on just hours before the start of dinner. But I'm a Burner chick, and therefore I have LED camping lanterns. Time for the maintenance request mambo.

So! I made stuffing and got the bird in the oven. And then people started showing up. La Fashionista's date J looked fabulous in what I must say is the most revealing outfit I've ever seen at a Thanksgiving dinner. Legs for days, as they'd say in London. Not that I mind, and I find J perfectly charming and nun-approved. La F, J, and of course yours truly gothed it up. Tacoma Girl was true to her punk rock self in a wacky sweater. bork was, well, bork, complete with a tale of witnessing an assault in the ID on the way here. I never thought I'd hear him speak well of the police.

Eats got eated! I really should have asked somebody to bring a veggie, but aside from that, everything was right on. Tacoma Girl's sweet potatoes and intensely garlicky mash were, in my opinion, the stars of the meal. I did not mess up the turkey, but it took me a while to get that confirmed.

( Gross body stuff. )

All in all, though, I declare that Goth Friendsgiving, a torch passed from cupcake_goth to jengalicious to me, is relit, small as it may be now.

Oh, tonight's plan? The Monkey Loft. Funny Lady bailed on me because she has a cold. K has other plans. The Tickler has anxiety. How to find a good home for that second ticket? Time to start pinging raver chums for the next couple of hours.

The start of November is ordinarily when I'd announce my little Thanksgiving gathering here at the Devil Girl Pad. Indeed, I've already had one of my regular guests ask about it. As much as it pains me to say it, I will not be inviting anyone over to feast at my place for Thanksgiving this year.

Even if COVID-19 cases weren't on the rise, it would be irresponsible. As things stand, the decision is even easier. My place is small, it doesn't have forced air heat, and it gets mighty warm and humid when the range and oven are going full blast. In other words, it's pessimal for COVID transmission.

On Saturday Ex invited me to Thanksgiving dinner with a nuclear family of her friends. I accepted. Seeing as how I see the Wendling two nights a week to her five, and I see her every few weeks, and oh by the way Ex babysits her friend's little girl regularly, that doesn't represent much additional risk for me.

Turkeys ordered: 1.
Guests invited: 5.
Guests accepted: 5.
Apartment capacity: 6.
Cranberries bought: 0, but that's not urgent just yet.
Bottles of wine bought: 1. I need a few more, for sure.

I wore my birthday outfit (pictured here) to work for the annual pre-Thanksgiving dress-up day. Either sitting with corset-enforced posture or standing for a couple of hours later in hurty if lovely Fluevog heels messed up by back.

So I wasn't exactly in perfect shape to cook my promised share of Thanksgiving dinner, but cook I did. This year I did the cornbread stuffing right, with two skillets full of cornbread, but I made it with walnuts, to which which one of my guests is allergic. D'oh! But next year will be better: I've taken notes, one of which says to use pine nuts. J's feijoada was quite tasty. Did you know linguiça is Portuguese sausage? Now you do. And yes, one of my guests showed that you can make apple crisp in an Instant Pot using steel-cut oats, and it's teh yum!

A couple of guests asked to get the bird on the table early because they wanted to go turkey-hopping, which was OK with me not least because I had a date with Taller Woman. It got a little strange when she called me up 90 minutes early telling me that the place where we were supposed to meet was closed, and could I come to the Hill early? Okey doke, says I. She seemed a little... distraught and at loose ends, and even though I'd promised to wear the birthday outfit, I didn't relish the thought of more pain. (I was already wearing the Gallery Serpentine outfit, which has a powerful Thanksgiving vibe.)

We got lucky, though: the Unicorn was open, right around the corner from where I parked. So we got some cider and chatted, expressing relief that it wasn't packed. I knew her ex was bad, but she told me some things that would have curled my hair were it not already curly. Seriously, the dude is dangerous, but TW is pursuing him to the fullest extent of the law. She's on it like white on rice for her son's sake; that boy is her life, and I respect that. I did not ask for a kiss good night, which is unlike me, but something told me last night was not the time. She did extract a promise for a later date from me, one that I have every intention of keeping. We called it quits fairly early, mainly because I was wiped out from the above.

I blew off dancing with Funny Lady et al. at R Place, which ordinarily I would have been thrilled to do, but I was just too damn tired.

I just verified that my son's and my ballots have been counted.

I've engaged in a small act of optimism: I just bought five bottles of wine for Thanksgiving on the assumption that I won't have to bug out of the country by then.

I saw a bald eagle at Green Lake today, slowly cruising as it was harassed by a gull. A few minutes later I saw it alone on the other side of the lake.

I still have two seats available for Thanksgiving if anybody wants to come to chez moi. A couple of people who came last year have made alternate plans.

(There is nothing about vibrators in this post.)

But first: My company has a tradition whereby everybody dresses up the day before Thanksgiving. Since this year has destroyed the last of my fucks, I wore one of my favorite cold weather club outfits to work: long, silvery grey skirt; violet corset; black velvet top with dolmen sleeves.

The real action, though, was yesterday. For the first time ever, I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner. It was also the first time I roasted a turkey, and unfortunately you could tell: I remembered to add water, but I forgot to baste it even though I'd carefully placed the butter next to the stove for that purpose¹. Those breasts were pretty dry, but everyone said the legs were a-OK. Also by me: fresh cranberry sauce - so easy, so tasty - and fancy kale & farro salad using a PCC's Methow Valley recipe².

It's a good thing there were only six of us, and not seven as had looked possible at one point. I only have half a dozen each of dinner & luncheon plates. I don't have enough chairs, but I managed to bum one off Ex in advance³. My lake place is a one-bedroom apartment of under 600 square feet, so it was, as real estate agents say, cosy. Nevertheless, I had a fabulous time, and I think everyone else did too.

Do I still miss the bigger Goth Thanksgivings of yore? Wayell, yes, but that isn't to say that last night's guests aren't lovely people. If my living space were about double its actual size I could maybe fit the whole gang in here. Sadly, that is not to be for now.

Oh yeah: ravey playlist because hey, it's me. If this event recurs I should call it the Graver Spinoff Thanksgiving.

Speaking of ravey, I prodded Funny Lady into doing her usual post-Thanksgiving dancing at Neighbours, the skeeviest gay bar in Seattle. Turnout wasn't great - last minute, election funk, foul weather, whatever - and there were no hot queer makeouts this time, but seeing Funny Lady is always a joy. And I did get to meet a couple of new (to me) queer ladies. For perhaps the first time ever, the music at Neighbours wasn't lowest common denominator; it actually didn't suck. All of us were amazed!



¹I made sure to get sufficient quality & quantity of wine. That may have had something to do with it.
²I did not succeed brilliantly in getting Goths to eat their vegetables. Harrumph. More fabulous salad for me, thank you very much, plus a ton of chopped greens to put in a scramble or something.
³She & m'boy are in California right now with her family. I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get to introduce him to my friends and teach him how to make cranberry sauce.

Roasting pan: check.
Meat thermometer: check.
Cranberries: check. (I got them a little early because they do tend to sell out.)
Turkey: ordered. It will be the first one I've ever roasted.
Salad ingredients, wine, etc.: inventory taken, shopping list compiled.

I believe I now have all the bits of paper I need for changing the gender on my birth certificate. I just need to get them signed, notarized, and delivered.

There's to be an anti-Trump protest just a stones throw from my place: Hands Around Green Lake. The lake is 2.8 miles around. Let's see if we can get that many people to hold hands around it. Color me there.

Trump's appointees? Nazis and lackeys and crooks, oh my! I find myself thinking unconstitutional thoughts about him, and wondering if folks in the security services are doing the same. Believe it or not, though, I've been sleeping more or less normally for a few days now. Trump & co. will never be normal, but fear and anxiety sure are now.