sistawendy: (weirded out)
A little over seven years ago, I posted a poll in an attempt to learn something about relative breast size vs. hand preference. My conclusion was that which of your boobs is larger doesn't correlate to hand preference, but asymmetry in general just might.

But the original study isn't quite what this entry is about. A few of you breast owners told me then that breasts are changeable creatures, and which one of yours is larger can be influenced by lots of factors. In other words, boobs happen. I've finally experienced this in the last few months: my left one used to be bigger, and now my right one seems to be.

I haven't changed my hormone dose since around the time I posted the poll. I've been eating & exercising the same for years. Could this be a breast explosion like the ones some of my cisgender friends report undergoing in their teens? I don't think so, but if I find myself in need of 38D (!) bras a few months hence, that'll will be a) scientifically interesting, b) rare as hens' teeth because yo, trans, and c) not unwelcome because a 38" chest makes even reasonaboobs look small.
sistawendy: (blue corset)
I just got email from Dr. Leather Bear saying that he is retiring, a few years early for his own health, in the middle of this month. He spent most of the mail telling us about his replacement, another gay man, and talking him up. But as I told Dr. LB, I will miss him terribly. He wrote my first scrip for hormones. I've shown him my (ahem) bruises. We've talked about my occasionally non-physically broken heart. I've admired his awesome shirts, and I've worn extra leather to appointments with him because I know he loves it.

Dr. Gayman has some very large shoes to fill, as far as I'm concerned. Now that I think about it, I'm way overdue for getting my hormone levels checked.
sistawendy: (drama)
Long time no write. It's been kind of a meh few days. Shot night is tomorrow and I think I'm feeling it.

Friday: Went to Re-bar on the spur of the moment to a benefit for a trans woman who'd been assaulted & hospitalized. The music was OK, but the promoters apparently forgot to, you know, promote. There were fewer than ten people there at 2330, so I bailed.

Saturday: Got my water pump replaced, as I did a couple of years ago in the old Sanctimobile. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't go to the Burn this year. I could easily have gotten stranded on a mighty lonely road without so much as a tree in sight for miles.

Lovely BBQ at C's for her birthday; C is a close friend of Diminutive, for those keeping score. Imagine the shady part of a yard covered in people in their summer black (and a little red, the other Goth color). Lovely beers for R's birthday. Not so lovely realizing I'd double booked myself, so I didn't make it to [profile] morthael's party. I feel pretty bad about that.

Oh: While at C's I got to ask a chef of my acquaintance who he'd recommend for catering. He says that it's unfortunate that I was born in the dead of winter because that's the slowest time of year for caterers, so everyone he'd recommend is sensibly taking some time off then. Le sigh. A, the Siberian Siren's sweetie, recommends the Triple Door, which I learned shares a kitchen with Wild Ginger, where I've eaten many times, including the time I proposed to Ex. Seattle: it's a small town if you've lived here 28 years.

Today: Catching up on sleep & housework.

Tomorrow: shaking my booty at the Monkey Loft. I do love bleepy music on a rooftop.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
I went to Lambert House to do trans group for the third week in a row. There are supposed to be three facilitators who rotate, but last night's called in sick with three hours to go. I was low on sleep, but I was also the only one who could make it, so I came in.

Back when I did my volunteer training at the end of 2011, I was one of several new volunteers who wondered what we should do in the case of youth talking about suicide. Well, after all these years it happened. I asked the youth if they were actively suicidal; no, thank God, but they've been thinking about suicide off and on since they were eight years old. And I'm beyond relieved that I didn't get that creepy something's-weird-and-they're-hiding-something feeling that I got from Dag. I told the other volunteers in the house what I just told you and left a note in the database. It's pretty much out of my hands until next week, when I'll be there as scheduled for the fourth week in a row.

The ACA took a big step towards repeal today. This could mean that Ex will spend every penny I give her in alimony on drugs to stay ambulatory. I'm amazed she isn't freaking out online yet.

Fuck. Fuck parents who don't get it. Fuck sexual predators. Fuck soulless, gutless politicians. Fuck greed-crazed billionaires.

Fuck.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Remember that five-minute version of "How to Change Sex the Easy Way" I was working on? Well, I delivered it last night.

Lesson #1: If you know you're going to be speaking in a hall with excellent acoustics for unamplified music and not a small, dead room, you'll want to talk slowly. I didn't go quite far enough in whittling my 45-minute talk down.

Lesson #2: Talking fast makes some mics - in this case a cardioid headset - crackle. The sound techs asked me if I could talk slower. You know, this talk I'd practiced several dozen times with precisely 15 seconds per slide. 'Not so much,' I thought. They dispensed with the cardioid; luckily they had two other headsets.

Lesson #3: Microsoft Powerpoint needs to be banned. Like so many MS products, it doesn't seem to understand "I want it here."

The talk itself went OK. I almost failed to notice one slide transition, but the boozed-up audience helped me out. I think I got the point across that my way was the easy way by far, even though it wasn't that easy. It seems to have been well received.

Mine was one of two queer-themed talks. The other was an excellent talk by a bi woman about, well, being bi. It was nothing new to anyone who knows (vast thundering mobs of) bi people as I do, but it was stuff that did need to be said.

Oh by the way, there as an adorable lesbian from Arizona who delivered a talk about her guinea pigs. No, really. I hung out with her a lot at the party afterward, natch.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I just learned, a week after the fact, that "bathroom bill" initiative 1552 did not get enough signatures to be on the ballot here in Washington state. This despite the 1552 proponents' ties to deep-pocketed national organizations including the Family Research Council, and all the lies they told to get signatures.

How did I miss this? Not reading enough in Zuckerberg's data mine, probably. I can't say I regret that, though. My son, who usually finds out about things later than I do because I'm a Twitter addict, knew before I did but didn't tell me, which now that I think of it is kind of weird.

How did it happen? Sure, trans folks had an organization in Washington Won't Discriminate, and I know I've done what I can to throw cash and raise awareness. But mainly I think it's because the mighty, the awesome Evergreen State doesn't suck.

Will it happen again? Probably. It happened before with I-1515, and witness how long-lived Tim Eyman's odious career has been even years after it largely stopped being successful.

I have taken the anti-1552 sign down from my front window, and cancelled my vandalism plans.

ETA: I'm kind of hoping there will be a victory party like the one for 1515. That was fun.
sistawendy: (amused eighteenthcent)
I made dinner for m'boy last night, which wouldn't be noteworthy except that I hadn't done so in about a month. After dinner, as I did the dishes, he scoured the neighborhood for the latest issue of The Economist. Happiness. I do wish, however, that he would walk instead of drive because my neighborhood is walkable and not that well supplied with parking. I'm afraid living on the east side (of Lake Washington, i.e. Seattle's eastern suburbs for you non-locals) taught him some bad habits that he has yet to unlearn.
I've been practicing the bejeezus out of a five-minute version of my talk "How to Change Sex the Easy Way" for a series of talk to be delivered at StartupCo's annual marketing conference next week. The founder of the company asked me to do it, and I wasn't about to say no because of him, me, and all my trans peeps.

Twenty slides, exactly 15 seconds per slide. It's kind of brutal. I've had to ditch a lot of the emotional content of the original 45-minute talk that I think is the best part. I'm a tiny bit worried that the talk won't go over well even if my delivery is right on. All I can do now is polish the delivery.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I got gussied up Saturday in my new red satin halter dress and took my son to the Greenwood car show, which was just up the ridge from my place and a lot of fun. It's a combination history lesson and nostalgia trip, with a little culture mixed in: m'boy didn't know what a low rider was, and there were some beautiful examples. (I had to explain them to my mom over the phone later.)

There was one bummer, though: Sitting in a lawn chair near one of the cars was a lady in her sixties. She complimented me on my outfit and asked, "Do you do shows?"
'Uh oh,' I thought. "No. In fact, I'm not sure what kind of shows you mean."
"Drag shows."
"No."
"Aren't you a man?"
"No."
She apologized profusely. "I understand your confusion," I said.
My son was standing with me the whole time. Once we were out of earshot I said, "Welcome to my life." I suppose it could have been worse, but it could have been a whole lot better as well. Happy Pride, indeed.

On to the Broadway street fair - the Wendling declined my invitation - where I got to see a few queer peeps. Plug: Asylum Leathers. I tried their posture collars, and got a nice leather mask for sleeping. No, really, that's what I use them for.

I ran into the Siberian Siren, who lives nearby, and grabbed some Indian eats with her. When we eat together, she complains about work and I complain about dating, which seems fair to me. The SS had decided to pre-funk her party, which was a nice way to take a load off but conflicted with the Dyke March. On the way to her party, I got to sheepishly answer one friend's question about why I wasn't marching. I'd rather not do that again.

The Siren's party got off a slow start. It took us a while to get a table all together because we weren't on time; the SS's chronic lack of punctuality seemed to have infected the whole party. But once it got going? Oh em gee. I don't want to look at another alcoholic beverage for a while.

Sunday? Parking lot party and parade. No SS or AJ, though: laid low by the party the previous night. It was heartening to see [profile] dementiana walking - for the first time since '05, she said - with the Goths. I learned that in addition to the regular Leather Pride flag we all know, there are leather boy and leather girl flags.

This is my major complaint about Pride this year: all my lady friends - the Tickler, E from work, even the SS on Sunday - bailed on at least part of the festivities, so it was kind of lonely for me. When I got to the Seattle Center, I remembered a few years back when I went with Temptress - her first time - and we got to be dirty old women together. Dammit, I need a girlfriend who's into Pride as much as I am. I need a girlfriend who's into a lot of things as much as I am.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Last night I skipped the Trans Pride march to set up & staff the table for Lambert House at the rally in the park that followed. That was more intense than I expected: I must have spoken to at least a hundred people in ones and twos over the course of three or so hours about the house.

Categories of people my fellow volunteer S and I talked to, in decreasing order of number:
  • People who just wanted to know what we were about - we're a safe place for queer kids to be together, basically, plus activities, and a few social services. I got the impression that there are people who instantly understand the value of a safe space by and for queers, and there are people who don't. I'll give you one guess as to the queerness of each group.
  • People who wanted to volunteer! I only had a handful of paper applications, so I sent people to the web site and handed out volunqueer coordinator B's business card liberally.
  • People who wanted to know how the fund raising is going. Many people knew about the eleventh-hour loan we got last year and the consequent capital campaign. I know what's going on with that better than most volunteers by virtue of hanging out with the director to do reports, but even I don't know much. I do know that we need six- or better yet seven-figure donations in the next few years if we want to keep our house.
  • One therapist. I got to give him the special clipboard.

I got mysteriously cold after the sun went down, possibly a blood sugar crash from the absurdly early dinner I ate so I could be on time. S took pity on me, saying she'd tear down - I'd done most of the setup after literally running down the questionably parked B, who's no good at giving directions. I administered Molly Moon's ice cream and warm Guinness at the Merc immediately, but I completely struck out at finding anybody I knew who wanted to party on the Hill last night. Even the young Burning Man campmates I ran into were calling it quits early. Weird.

Picked up Saga, vol. 2 - so much tasty plot! - and came home to m'boy, was reminded how much I don't miss his clutter & mess in my apartment, and went to bed.

Today's plan: work out, get gussied up, Greenwood car show & pizza with m'boy, hit the Hill for the street fair & dyke march, and the Siberian Siren's party. If you want to meet up with me, late afternoon is your best bet.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I've taken a few steps recently to combat repetitive strain injury:
  1. I now use a Kinesis Advantage2 keyboard at work. The layout is different enough from my old Microsoft Natural that I'm still climbing the learning curve after about a week. It may necessitate getting another one for home to prevent the hangover of switching back and forth.
  2. Not using any damn built-in laptop keyboards. I swear those things are a major problem. I do have an MS Natural at home, but until recently I was only using it on my work machine, not my personal one.
  3. Ahem. Jilling off about half as often as I used to, which means it's less time-consuming as well. Ah, the tribulations of sex reassignment surgery, as mine was called at the time.
So is all of this working? I think so, but it's a little bit soon to tell.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I mentioned on Zuckerberg's data mine a few days ago that I was going to be tabling for Lambert House at the Trans Pride march & rally this Friday. On Sunday, Elaine Wylie, one of the organizers of Trans Pride, who I know socially from way back, said that Lambert House hadn't registered and that we'd better hurry up if we wanted a space, and we'd have to bring our own furniture because that ship had sailed.

I sprang into action, emailing and leaving the justifiably hated voicemail for the LH volunteer coordinator, B. As luck would have it, I had trans group last night, so I got to see B. He says that a) he had thought that was as good as done earlier, b) now it really is mischief managed, c) LH has chairs & tables, and d) I'm a Hero of Socialist Queerdom for sounding the alarm. Another fine coincidence is that B had just called an unprecedented meeting of the trans group facilitators to talk about what we can do to boost attendance. That table should be a good start.

And oh by the way, there's another LH volunteer, P, who I know from the poly community. She's tall, zaftig, and cute. She's an amazing dresser. She says smart things in a deep, sexy voice. She's queer - yeah, nearly all LH volunteers are. And she'll be at the table for Trans Pride along with your ever-hopeful nun. Now that I type that, it occurs to me that she may not be as cisgender as I thought. Mrowr!
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I saw Wonder Woman with m'boy last night, and here's my capsule review: it lives up to the hype. The writing & direction in particular are right on. If you like superhero movies, you should see it. And I say that despite inexplicably not developing a raging crush on Gal Gadot, who does the difficult job of making an innocent, crusading Amazon princess with superpowers seem credible. And I give grudging props to Chris Pine as well.

But I read about (cisgender) women crying at the fight scenes featuring women and raving that this was the movie that they'd waited their whole lives for, and... I'm not feeling that. Sure, it's good, but if you weren't raised as a girl you don't get the extra dimension, at least not most of it. Yeah, it's one of those you're-not-woman-enough moments for me, and I can be reasonably certain that they won't stop until I do. When there's a biopic about Janet Mock*, though, I'll be emotionally all over that, and it'll be you cissies' turn to suck it.



*Yes, Jenny Boylan's story is much more similar to mine, and I think Boylan's a better writer, but Mock's Redefining Realness would make a way better movie.
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: (butterfly)
A few weeks back at an all hands meeting, StartupCo's VP of HR asked me, in front of everyone, to deliver my talk How To Change Sex the Easy Way. I've given this talk twice before, once in '13 and once in '14. I love to talk about myself, maybe to excess - witness this journal - so I tweaked my slide deck and delivered at noon today.

I've been told, and I believe it, that I don't suck as a public speaker. It helps to give the same talk three times, but apparently I pulled a few heart strings with my tales of things like breaking the news to my (now) ex, and my mother calling me a "long-stemmed rose". Our CEO suggests that I look into delivering a local TED talk. You know what? With enough editing & practice, I can do this.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
But first: work has eaten my whole weekend. It's actually a good thing I didn't go to Norwescon, because I would have missed most of it and been severely bummed out. I haven't even gone out to dinner this weekend, much less clubbing. That's how bad it's been. With any luck, though, I can make it to Flammable at Re-bar tonight; it's been a long time.

Back to the title of this entry! Some of you may recall my struggles in finding a vibrator that works for me. Chloe the Wevibe Nova showed promise, but broke a few weeks ago. I had to switch back to Inga the Swedish model, a Lelo Smartwand, which which I'd been unimpressed in the past.

I've revised my opinion of Inga. Usually orgasms are hard to come by when shot night is coming up; it's this coming Monday. Inga didn't get me off, but she seems to have sped proceedings up dramatically. That's a godsend because I'm feeling a little RSI in my right wrist, which usually happens when I work weekends.

What's the secret? Finding the right pattern (constant low rumbly) and position (holding Inga more or less vertically and not moving - that must look amusing).
sistawendy: (butterfly)
I was making spaghetti for m'boy (which he chose in favor of going out!) the night before last when the inevitable, given that I've been on estradiol for seven years, finally happened: I couldn't open the jar of spaghetti sauce.* Luckily for me, thanks to the... coziness of my lake place, the cabinet with the vise** in it is just outside the kitchen. Problem solved.

What I find remarkable is that it took this long. I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen.



*Hey, I added a pound of ground beef, chopped bell pepper, chopped fresh basil, and minced fresh garlic. It wasn't a totally pre-packaged meal.
**It used to live in the garage back in the bad old days when I had one. These days I use it for circumflatulation.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
Last night at the Tickler's was mostly lovely - fuck first, Itto's second, cuddling & sleep third. I feel like I owe her, but I'm not sure how to repay her. Read on for why.

You all knew that it takes a lot of work for me to have an orgasm. That isn't the only issue. )
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: (flirty hippy)
This has been the weekend of minor things going wrong, and Just Dealing With Them:
  1. M'boy needed my help to close his savings account that we opened when he was a minor. I ended up leaving my driver's license in the bank branch at the other end of Seattle, near Ex's. Good thing my passport is valid: I used it to get into the Mercury last night. (More about which shortly.) I got to try out Lyft for the first time too - I nuked Uber for awful labor practices and its support of 45.
  2. My bathroom sink backed up right before I needed to put on makeup for said trip to the Mercury. Drāno works great if you let it work overnight. Ahem.
  3. I didn't have time to put sheets on my bed before I left last night.
  4. Right before I left for dinner with [personal profile] m_cobweb & co. I found out that I have a flat tire. Luckily, m'boy won't be using the car until at least Tuesday, and truth be told he can cope without it.
  5. Stuff broke at work last night. I was on call, but I was also on a date. I didn't get alerted, so somebody else found the problem and took care of it. I'm not sure whether that's bad or not.
Speaking of that date I keep alluding to, I took Brown Eyes to the Mercury for date #2. She hadn't been since about 2001. It was all pretty lovely: we have gabfests when we're together, and I introduced her to gimlets. There was ahem. (Hey, at least we did our making out off the dance floor.) We went back to her place, which is a mother-in-law apartment in a house owned by an old lesbian artist on Beacon Hill. (The exterior of the house and especially the back yard, by the way, look fantastic.) There were some really good times had, but not a lot of sleep. I confess to feeling a little pang of 'Awww' when she mentioned how much she likes living alone, but I fink she freaky and I like her a lot. We have... much in common.

Oh yeah: she drove me home to the north end, and took me out to Blue Star for a badly needed and quite tasty breakfast. That's right: I walked into a breakfast joint in Wallingford wearing a sheer top, corset, short skirt, red fishnets, and Fluevog heels with leather laces up the back. No makeup, though, because what Brown Eyes didn't kiss off me I'd removed. I did notice one white-bearded gent giving me a good stare.

Did my usual morning workout, got my apartment put back together, and crashed. Was late for [personal profile] m_cobweb, about which I'm not proud. However, the owner of the late, lamented Night Kitchen was there. I got to tell her about how a bunch of us ate there the first night of my new life as a woman. She loved that story. She also drove me home (!) when she found out I would have otherwise had a really long bus ride.* I kind of wondered what she was doing after the Night Kitchen closed, and the answer is, embarking on a tech career. I wish her all happiness; she brought much happiness to her customers, including me.



*The 41 from Lake City, near Seattle's northeast corner, all the way downtown, and thence to an E, which goes back north up the middle to my place. Stoopit, right? About the only east-west routes in the north end are the ones going to the UW, and they don't intersect with the 41.
sistawendy: (butterfly)
You may remember that a few weeks ago that I went to a rally against Initiative 1552, a so-called "bathroom bill" that puts bounties on the heads of trans people, including children. I took home an anti-1552 sign and put it in one of my front windows.

You may also recall that building manager P has been around my lake place lately to replace my water heater. (Yay!) But what you definitely can't recall is that P noticed the sign and asked about it, so I told him what I just told you.

I'm happy to say that P thinks 1552 is piffle. What I'm less happy to say, though, is that he said something like, "You look fine," as if that's material to the question of whether I should be beaten to death for using a public women's restroom.

I didn't point out that it isn't material. Was that wrong? The calculation that I made in that split second is that it isn't. I'm trying to spare myself and everyone like me one of those aforementioned beatings, and I need all the help I can get, including that of an octogenarian building manager, who is, all things considered, not a bad guy.

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