sistawendy: (eek)
But first: yesterday evening the Wendling decided to, in the words of his mother, stay in his bedroom in his underwear rather than take his malfunctioning phone to the store. Over the phone I heard her lie to him about my having plans for Friday in an unsuccessful attempt to get him to do it right away. I gently told her to cut that out. I'd already bought dinner ingredients, but he wanted to stay last night with his mother in the other end of the city and handle it this morning. OK, kiddo, I'll cook your dinner and put it in the fridge.
No wait, said Ex, he just took a cooking class and should cook; the new agreement is that he'll do that once a month.
Next week, said I, and made with the chicken as originally planned. This is all a long way of saying, Good grief, the pair of them.
But Ex & the kid are probably in need of slack at the moment: Bigpuppy has cancer. As of this writing no one knows just how treatable that cancer is, but we should know in a few hours. To her credit, Ex hasn't hit me up for vet bills directly even though I once shared custody of the dog. Poor beast. Poor Ex. I don't know how attached my son is to his dog - we got her right before I came out to him - but we may be about to find out the hard way.
And from the Dept. of Old Testament Stuff, about half an hour ago I saw a prediction that Hurricane Irma is going to buzz right up the spine of the Florida peninsula, packing hurricane force winds all the way to Georgia. And who do I know who lives right on that path? My mother, of course. For my whole lifetime and probably centuries before, Gainesville has been far enough north and inland that nothing worse than a strong gale came through. This time is likely to be different.

I called Mom. She seems pretty calm about the situation, possibly because her location has protected her all this time, or possibly because she's run out of fucks now that she's pushing eighty. She says there's no gas to be had, so she has no plans to bug out. I asked her about shelter - basements are hard to build and rare down there - and she said she plans on using her bathtub. (!)

Sure, I almost didn't notice the full moon last night because the wildfire smoke had dimmed it, but I'll take a few days of scratchy eyes over the possibility of losing my roof and/or getting my house crushed by blown-down pines.
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
I got word from Ex yesterday that I needed to cut a check Dr. Kidshrink because of a payment SNAFU. I know my son hadn't seen him in a while, and I regard it as good news that he did. Ex has started requiring him to go monthly and work on his executive function difficulties as conditions of living with her most of the time. (I suspect that the alternative of living in a smaller, less private space with someone who throws your carelessly dropped dirty clothes at you may have motivated him, too.) She even organized a conference call with Dr. Kidshrink, the Wendling, and his employer, the gist of which was that if m'boy doesn't get it together, he'll get a job coach, a fate he considers worse than unemployment.

Having to open my wallet is a small if poorly-timed price to pay for big relief. Every time I tried to talk to my son about this he went into ostrich mode, on the childish theory that if he doesn't think about his brain problems, they don't exist. He's going to be restarting school in a couple of weeks, so this is timely for him. Ex says he hasn't quite gotten religion about it - he did, after all, agree to all this under duress - but it's the most hopeful news about him that I've had all year. And I have much gratitude to Ex for making it happen.
sistawendy: (stern nun)
Yesterday, cold caffeine and a walk around Green Lake with [personal profile] m_cobweb. A fine way to spend a sunny afternoon.

Spent the evening at chez [personal profile] mahariel, where I met a fascinating friend of hers - costumer, history nerd, Native American more or less - and talked a lot, especially about my son. Yes, queer. Yes, poly, apparently. Yes, kinda cute. Yes, totally fun to hang out with. Will I be seeing more of her? No idea, but I wouldn't mind.

Speaking of the Wendling, we were supposed to go to a professional soccer game courtesy of StartupCo, but he bailed to catch up on the sleep he missed for no good reason. I don't hold it against him, but it's a shame: we really haven't done enough together in, well, years. It isn't easy with his work schedule. I went to the game because hey, garlic fries. Seattle tied Portland 1-1.
sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
Saw the eclipse yesterday using a pinhole camera - two pieces of poster board, one with aluminum foil taped to a hole and duly pierced - instead of glasses. It's too bad m'boy wasn't around; I'll have to show him how the pinhole camera works later. (The neighbor girl was disappointed that I didn't have any film in it.) Teachable moments R us. Observations:
  1. The temperature drop is for real, and it caught me unprepared. My naked toes didn't finish thawing out until I got to work. Yeah, I was only ten meters from my front door, but I didn't want to miss any of it.
  2. When the sun is 92% covered as it was in Seattle, it's still pretty bright. Had it not been for the camera I wouldn't have guessed that we'd had more than maybe 50% coverage.
  3. It got super quiet. I could hear construction work going on nearby before the eclipse, but it stopped. Good for the construction workers!
  4. It all took longer than I expected.
  5. I figured the post-eclipse commute was going to be terrible, but neau, it was actually much less crowded and faster than average.
I'm still not sure whether it's too bad that the Wendling didn't want to go down to Oregon to see the totality. On the one hand, we missed an adventure. On the other, he's kind of a whiny-ass punk when traffic happens, and it sure did, according to several of my friends. Also, no cellular data, no SMS, etc., which would not have been good for his mood. He ordered eclipse glasses from Amazon and had them shipped to my place. He made a special trip to pick them up on Sunday, so at least he was ready, wherever he watched it from.
Ethiopian eetz at short notice with Funny Lady at Queen of Sheba on the Hill. That place is better than I remember; maybe it's changed hands since I was last there. And I more-than-kind-of love Funny Lady for not getting bent out of shape about my last minute suggestions. After all, I love hers too.

She proposes the following theorem: in the long run, S ∩ L = ∅ where S is the set of people you want to have sex with, and L is the set of people you can live with, ∀ you. I think this theorem is false, not least because I really want to believe it's false. Surely I know some counterexamples even if I'm not among them.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
I'd really like to sleep past 0600. I haven't managed that very often for the last few weeks, and my usual wakeup time on weekdays has been more like 0515. Is it summer, or is it just getting old? I'm hoping it's the former, natch. It's hurting my concentration at work, of course, and even on the way home: I got on the wrong bus yesterday, and I was late to make dinner for my son. And then I screwed up dinner, partially. (My son, unusually, didn't complain, but I wouldn't have blamed him if he had.) Tonight I let those fine professionals at Than Brothers do the cooking, as promised.

I think this must have been what Frodo & Bilbo felt like after wearing the Ring too much.
sistawendy: (skeptic coy Gorey tilted down)
This is one of those entries when I feel like I need to write something if only to ensure people I didn't get eaten by a grue, but I don't have much of interest to write about, I'm afraid.

I no longer have any excuses not to work on the Lambert House database schema & UI again; I have everything I need. I wish I were as enthusiastic about it this time as I was five years ago, but now it just seems like a bureaucratic (and programming) grind that may be pointless, depending on the whim of city officials. The reporting requirements never get any simpler.

The Wendling was at my place last night. I yelled at him when I got home from my bike ride and found the bathroom window shut because it's hot out and I was sweaty. He said the noise bothered him.
"I have earplugs. I'll give you some."
"They're uncomfortable for me."
Goddamn Asperger's.

Speaking of heat, despite or maybe because of all the smoke from wildfires in BC and relative warmth in the Seattle area, I've been sleeping really well. Or maybe I'm still making up for Saturday night.

Speaking of Saturday night, I have an... interesting night planned with the Tickler this coming Saturday. And by interesting I mean maybe a little terrifying. Longtime readers can probably guess what I mean; it's the sort of affair where I met her. Mental note: shave and trim all the things Saturday.
sistawendy: (flirty hippy)
On the way to get my hair done yesterday I ran into A, the seamstress who'll be doing part of my birthday ensemble. Fun fact: years ago, I dated A a few times. I knew A had just had a bad breakup and was looking for a place to live & sew. She still can do the commission and wants it. (Whew!) What I wasn't sure of was the identity of her erstwhile partner & apartment mate: N, who holds the distinction of being the only woman ever to grab me by the hair, get me up against a wall, and make out with me. As much as I love having several of my buttons mashed at the same time, the sensible side of me says I dodged at least one bullet.

Drinks on Phinney Ridge* with [personal profile] minim_calibre Tuesday evening. It was a bonding experience: two middle-aged queer ladies with kids and much else in common. This only happens once in a purple moon, and I wish it happened way more often. She walked me home down the ridge, and then asked which way back up to her car was least likely to trash her knees. Aw! And yikes!

Yesterday, an increasingly rare dinner at home with the Wendling followed by dragging him up the ridge to catch the sunset. Good: he whined about that less than he used to. Bad: he expressed the opinion that I'll never find Ms. Right. He makes the absolutely ironclad point that it gets harder as you get older. Thanks a lot, kiddo.



*Cocktails for me, mocktails for her, because reasons.
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: (mad woman)
Back into the work groove, which always involves fighting fires more than it ought to.

Lambert House last night. I finally got around to asking the director, Ken, what to do about folks in trans group who suck all the oxygen out of the room. This is a frequent occurrence, and I'm not proud to admit that I've never really known how to deal with it, so I didn't try.

Also, I told Ken about my tabling at Pride, especially that people wanted to know about the house's financial situation. He was hoping he could get some pro fundraisers on board before he had to message that, but he might have to reconsider, he said; props to him for being careful. As usual, I got an earful about incompetence and skullduggery at city hall, and stuff I need to do to the database to protect the house from it. I'm on it, but only time will tell if it's soon enough.

The Wendling is back with me for four nights to make up for when I was at Critical. I'd barely seen him for two weeks. Yeah, I missed him. He put his clean laundry away before I got home without needing to be reminded. That made me inordinately happy, and I told him so.

Other things that make me happy:
  • Making plans with the Siberian Siren to make plans for the Folsom Street Fair.
  • Planning a date with Much Younger Woman.
  • Getting a record recommendation from the Tickler that I have no doubt is solid.
  • Hearing from Ex that an old college chum has tracked me down, but doesn't yet know about my sex switcheroo.
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.

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