Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

I did indeed go to Lambert House for the second time this week last night to rerun database queries. Ken the director was there this time and found a couple of bugs in the queries, which were luckily easy to fix.

And on the subject of attendance figures, he had a disturbing observation: not just Lambert House, but every non-profit that serves youth has seen a significant drop in the number of youth coming through the door since the worst of the pandemic ended. Says Ken, the yoof are all on their phones and haven’t really learned how to socialize in person. It’s reached the point where parents have been calling Ken for help in getting their kids to put down the devices and, you know, be people. He’s at a loss, and so am I. I will say, though, that the trans groups that I facilitate have shifted from 100% video a year ago to about half-and-half online and in person. I’m not hugely worried for the long term. Yet.

Speaking of getting out of the house, I had an excuse to get out of Lambert House early: K, another trans woman who’s been to the Devil Girl house on dates, met me at Time Warp. For you non-locals, it’s an old-school video game arcade with a bar that turns into the trans women’s hangout on Tuesday night. I’ve never seen a space that wasn’t explicitly trans with such a solid majority of trans femmes. Seriously, the cis dudes looked out of place and a bit suspicious.

And how’s K? Laid off, “polysaturated”, remodeling her house, and looking fabulous. She says she wants to see me again before I turn into a recluse for the couple of weeks before surgery. That’s going to be a bit of a trick, because a) Dancer has priority, and b) I start voluntary quarantine on Tuesday.

I went to the third annual Seattle Fetish Ball last night. I'm awfully grateful to Past Nun for springing for a "VIP" ticket. That meant I got a seat when I needed one, which was much of the time because I was, of course, wearing my Fluevog Grand National boots. Yeah, the ones with the 4" cloven heels. The balls of my feet feel a little bruised, but I don't feel any connective tissue damage.

Most eye-catching outfit: dude made a Vatican Swiss Guard uniform out of latex. You know, the ones that haven't changed since the 16th century. A colorful and complicated piece of work.

Dark Garden Corsets was there. I had to say hi because a) I was wearing their work, and b) they were literally on the way from the bar to my table. Autumn offered to re-lace my corset (!) but then got busy, so one of her employees did it. Let me tell you, I could feel the difference. I could feel as I was doing it earlier that even by my own necessarily low standards, I'd messed up lacing myself in. But the folks at Dark Garden are experts. And believe it or not, getting laced in properly is more about aesthetics and long-term comfort for me than it is about the act of getting laced in. And I note that I didn't need to hold onto anything, even in my murderous heels.

The crowd wasn't as large as last time, but I think the performers were better this time. ( I should probably put this under a cut. ) Ah, the hysteresis of recurring events. It's good to be amongst People Like Me in all our finery.

And speaking of people like me, brunch on the hill at 0900 (ungh – A-the-lady couldn't get a later reservation, try as she might) for the Lambert House trans group facilitators. Yes, there was talk about the horrendous political situation: at least one university in Texas has deputized freelance potty police, and that's just one example. But we like hanging out together so much that we were reluctant to go our separate ways.

Napped for two and a half hours starting at 1100. I think I can function. I need to get some work done because I'll be out most of tomorrow and Friday.

I went out to the Unicorn last night in my pink & black latex skater dress to celebrate the seemingly delayed arrival of spring. Not much news there, you say, and you're right, but here's the interesting part: I met a (younger, inevitably) trans woman who's had facial feminization surgery, and she had some advice.

First, quarantine a couple of weeks before surgery and mask up. She caught COVID shortly before surgery and had to reschedule. She says she was lucky to get a date just a few months later. I, uh, think I'll take that advice.

Second, cannabis edibles are good for pain management. Honestly, that hadn't occurred to me. I feel like the only person in Seattle who doesn't have a favorite strain. I know the Sculptor forbids weed for several months beforehand, but I'll have to check what he says about post-op weed. If he says nothing, May will be brownie month, because the Sculptor is nothing if not thorough.

Dr. Liu, the good surgeon here in Seattle who has no availability? Did an excellent job on the young lady's face. Yes, she's a cutie, and yes, she has a girlfriend. Le sigh.

I hit Fred Meyer late yesterday and bought everything I could reasonably buy for Burning Man at this stage. That makes me feel all tingly.

The Girl Scouts got me at the entrance. I used their support for trans girls as an excuse to snarf a box of the peanut butter sandwich cookies, and I told them so. Those cookies didn't even see midnight, never mind the sunrise.

Good Goddess. I just realized that the user pic for this entry was taken twenty years ago this year. Photo credit: Angel Ceballos.

I made it to the Blue Moon last night, having arranged to be there with Blue Moon Lady. Go me! It's a short bus ride for me, but for her it's a long drive. I appreciate it.

It was digital open decks night. Good: Hazel Zen for sure, and maybe Krystal? It took me a while to find the whiteboard on which Brit writes down the set times. Less to my taste: River, a young 'un who's about 90% limbs and 100% trans. River's hyperpop-flavored set was not what we olds wanted, and indeed, no one was dancing. I speculated that it was because the youth of today are doing the wrong drugs. BML's friend J concurs, saying that the increase in ketamine's popularity and the decline in MDMA's has led us to this pass.

Was it a date? Well, it didn't feel like a date. But! We agreed that we should keep each other notified if we're going to the Blue Moon or a north end munch. She runs the munch in West Seattle, if you'll recall. So, vict'ry?

I left at 2130 because I got paged for work. It was kind of a convenient excuse, though; remember, I get up at 0600.

Transphobia on the bus home. I don't think I was in any danger, because the bottle-throwing fool was getting off, but still, not fun. That's the second time I've had aggro at that stop. Some people's children.

Coffee at the mighty fine joint six blocks from my house with grad school classmate E. Yet more discussion of the struggles of parents, this time with ADHD & transness. Confirmed: E is two for two with the trans kids. And you know how Good Sister did nearly all the heavy lifting of taking care of Mom in my family? E is the good sister in her family. It was a beautiful day for a bite out of a perspective sandwich.

I wanted to go out for house music at Flammable, but I woke up too early due to homemade Ma Po tofu on Saturday. Le sigh. Betrayed by my body for the second time this weekend.

And why would I even think of going out on a Sunday night? Because I have the day off and, naturally, a to-do list. More typing when it's done.

The surgery hits keep on coming. I guess they got tired of all my questions because they sent me the big ol’ packet via Docusign with all the info and lots of blanks to fill in. Highlights:

1. Low sodium, low carbohydrate diet for two weeks prior to surgery to cut down on water retention.
2. Dandruff shampoo (!) for two weeks prior to surgery.
3. No hair coloring for a month before surgery.
4. Pre-op appointment on April 27th. Yeah, I should have seen that coming and not bought my plane ticket for then. Fortunately, I paid extra for an adjustable ticket, so I’m good there. I also extended my hotel stay by a day.
5. Confirmed, no waxing, sugaring, plucking, electrolysis, or laser hair reduction anywhere on my body from one month prior to three months after surgery.

I’m so not looking forward to telling the lady who sugars me that I won’t get to see her for four months. She’s a single mother who’s not exactly rolling in it. When I’m ready to go back in August, I wonder if she’ll have any time for me. Le sigh.

I put Dancer’s name on the form as the person who’s looking after me, with her consent, natch. Likewise I put my son down as the person to call with the news of how the surgery went.

This is a lot even if you put the funk in executive function like me. I shudder to think of what other, less fortunate trans women go through with all this.

In any case, the packet is SINED, SEELED, and DELIVERED. (Brownie points if you get the reference without googling.)

Today is the day to read instruction manuals. I finally read some more of Facial Feminization Surgery, by the Sculptor. It had a couple of instructions that I'll need to follow. I'll need to stop taking my usual fish oil, because omega-3 fatty acids can affect bleeding. And no booze from two weeks before to two weeks after the surgery. Neither of these presents an undue hardship, but they're definitely good to know. And, of course, good to type here.

Go me for reading this stuff in plenty of time.

All of a sudden over the last week I've been sleeping seven or eight hours a night, all in one stretch with an occasional short break. What changed?

Nothing on purpose, but this accidentally: this past Friday, when it was time to inject my beloved girl 'roids, I was using up the last of a vial*. Wayell, I didn't quite have a full dose left in the vial; I was about 7% short of what I've been using in recent months**. I didn't feel like opening another vial just for that.

Why might a reduction in dosage help me sleep? Estradiol does make you retain water; my longer sleep interruptions did tend to start out as bathroom breaks.

Given that a) my breasts are just about as big as I want them to be, depending on the bra, and b) Dr. Funnyname has warned me about the consequences of long-term hormone use, maybe I'll just back off.



*The FDA at least used to say that you're not supposed to use more than two doses out of a 5 ml vial. That's bullpucky, and in my opinion a possible scam to make more money from a cheap drug. Trans folks have been using up their vials since decades before I started doing it in 2010.
**Which is about 40% more than I was actually prescribed several years ago. Ahem.

I spent an awful lot of Christmas day asleep. That's probably a good sign that I needed to.

Put on my big, red, stretch velvet dress. Returned a DVD. Got cash. Got to the Mercury. Waited in the rain for the door to open. Got to see various peeps, including A (Foreshadowing!).

Then I got skeeved upon by a guy who claimed to know the artist of St. Rat and invited me over to the artist's place. I declined. He also claimed to be gay. Reader, that was totally not his vibe. He non-consensually touch me a few times.

In other words, this guy was the grossest tranny chaser I'd come across in years. Given the high percentage of trans women to be found at the Mercury, I suppose that was inevitable. A whispered in my ear, asking if I'd like a rescue. I nodded, and she walked me past the main bar.

A's main squeeze (Don't make me say "joyfriend"), who's AMAB non-binary and very much looks it is named J, not to be confused with J-the-lady, a pal of A's who happened not to be there last night. J-the-NB said that the aforementioned skeevy dude propositioned them. None of us got around to complaining fast enough, though, because a Merc staffer spotted the skeevy dude taking his belt off on the dance floor and immediately 86'd him. He whined all the way out the door. ¡Viva la Mercury!

On my way home I spotted DJ Wrain Havoc on her phone at the end of the alley. I waved as I walked by. She interrupted her call to say, "I heard what happened. Are you OK?"
I shrugged, "It happens." I'd encountered worse, but it had been a while.

Caught the last train home — it was an hour early because of Christmas, which I hadn't known — with two minutes to spare. Then waited only two minutes for the bus. A Christmas transit miracle.

Skeevy dude is close in age to yours truly. I sincerely hope that he learns not to be gross before he runs out of years. Someone ought to do some science on those fuckers. Where do they come from? Why are they like that? How can they stop being like that?