Good Sister is scrambling to find an electrician to get all the outlets working in Mom's house. One of the contractors ran into an issue, and GS tells me that niece E had found non-functional outlets months ago at least. Oh by the way, since those are (mostly?) the original outlets from 1974, they look unattractively old. GS already had GFIs installed, which weren't there originally: if memory serves, they weren't required until 1975.

My sister has already gone through the informal hiring route — a co worker of E's, as I recall — and found it wanting. There may be an open house this weekend, so the pressure is on. However, our agent is sanguine, and Good Sister says that interest in the place is robust.

But y'know, it just sort of figures that there'd be one last damn thing having to do with Mom and her house. I'm honestly amazed that GS limited her venting to maybe a minute; she's certainly earned more.

She wanted to know what price ranges I was willing to accept. I'm deeply unwilling to be a hardass because a) I don't feel like gambling with stakes this high, and b) I don't want my poor middle sister to have an aneurysm because I dragged this out too long. I don't know what Evil Sister's feelings are on the subject, but I'm pretty sure there are limits to her evil.

I got around to something that I'd been meaning to for years: I finally rode Miss Indigo Bike across the SR 520 floating bridge*. The current bridge there opened in 2017, complete with a lane for peds & bikes, which the previous bridge there lacked. It took me eight years, but I did it.

How'd it go? Well, getting onto the trail involved a few wrong turns and backtracking. There isn't any signage on the Burke-Gilman Trail** telling you how to even go south, much less get on SR-520. The pedestrian-and-bike overpass that gets you safely across the 6-lane arterial has been there for ten years***, but neau, there's no sign telling you how to find it. This looks like a job for a guerrilla.

How's the actual ride? It's a fantastic way to zen all the way out. Bike traffic was light, with a high proportion of serious cyclists, and the weather and the view were right on. And the high rises at the east & west ends aren't that bad, at least if you're used to Phinney Ridge. I stopped at the east end and took a picture, natch. How long did I take? About two hours, including all the doubling back and the break at the far end.

Thence to brunch on the Hill at Lost Lake with Comfy Lady! Her job, in public health, is under direct threat from Trump's gangsters, which... urgh! But otherwise, it was lovely. Happiness is eating outdoors this time of year.

Went home, read, got groceries too delicate for a messenger bag, made dinner, and crashed hard. Seriously, I lay down at about 1930 thinking I'd nap for a couple of hours. I ended up sleeping over nine hours in my clothes & makeup with the blinds & bedroom door still open. I guess the ride caught up with me. Welp, now I know how to cure my own insomnia. Luckily, I didn't have any firm evening plans.



*That's right, kids, a concrete pontoon bridge. We have three of them here in Washington state: two across Lake Washington, which borders Seattle to the east, and one at Hood Canal on the other side of Puget Sound.
**The Burke-Gilman used to be a railroad right of way that got turned into a paved trail not quite fifty years ago. It hugs the waterfront in Seattle's north end, including the University of Washington, for which it's a commuter artery. It runs up the west side of Lake Washington all the way to its northern end.
***The overpass over Montlake Blvd. was built as part of the project for the University of Washington light rail station, and it was an excellent idea. The station is right next to the sportsball stadia. Across from the station is the bulk of the UW campus, of course, and kitty corner is the enormous UW Medical Center. Just south of there is a drawbridge. So yeah, there's a high density and volume of irritated drivers at that intersection, just what you don't want as a bicyclist.

Four days no update? Well, I didn't have much to say until yesterday evening. LLMs have finally affected my work, and thus far it hasn't been positively. The sooner this bubble deflates the better. I feel completely justified in getting yesterday off, which I largely spent doing house & garden chores.

But! Yesterday I attempted to go to the women's munch, but the Wildrose was closed for the week after Pride. Do they do that every year? Maybe, and I just hadn't noticed. I can hardly blame them given how utterly bananas Pride weekend is for them.

And who should I run into just across the street from the 'Rose but P, whom I met at the Dykes on Bykes fundraiser a few months ago? The 'Rose was closed, but Vermillion wasn't, so I got some culchah with my beer and talked with an honest-to-goodness dyke on a bike. P is from Florida, which I can't believe I'd forgotten. P knows fellow Florida escapee Funny Lady, because Funny Lady knows everybody. The two of them have something in common: charm.

I'm not feeling too patriotic today. Plan for today: hit Uwajimaya with Tacoma Girl for Asian eats, and then probably read books by dadburn ferriners*. Screw all my dumb, butt-kiss-craving countrymen.



*Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart, and Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir.

Saturday afternoon SFDs: short pink sparkly circle skirt, Camp Beaverton ("I ♥ graphic-of-beaver") tank top, but sensible hippie sandals because I'd trashed my ankles the previous evening. Oh yeah, I wore a whole lot of SPF 50 and packed a picnic lunch as well.

Went to the Broadway street fair as one does. Bought a book from the queer bookstore that is, ironically enough, within walking distance of my house. Spent too much money on a big pendant of a biblically accurate angel in Pride colors. Saw:

• Fellow Lambert House trans facilitator A-the-dude (A-the-lady is the one I've spent way more time with).
• vantablack from Mastodon. She doesn't live in Cal Anderson Park, but I've seen her there about half a dozen times.
• E, a more or less elder goth who lives near Broadway. I'm pretty sure she used to have an LJ, but damned if I can remember her old username.
• K and L, gement's little sisters! K has a storied history as a Burner and organizer of (ahem) parties to which I often wore latex, whereupon she had to remind me not to hug her because she's severely allergic to it. ("K!" "Noooo!!")

Seriously, Broadway on Pride Saturday is my happy place. So much queerness and peeps.

Went home. Ate leftovers. Turned around twice. Wriggled into my new latex LBD for...

Saturday evening: the Hot Flash Inferno night at Neighbours. As the name suggests, it's aimed at queer ladies of a certain age, two of whom independently invited me to go. I'm not fool enough to fight the universe, so of course I was the first one there by a wide margin. (The other four of us either have ADHD or live way the hell out in the suburbs.) In attendance: cupcake_goth's pal T, looking very dapper; Funny Lady; and the Siberian Siren and her lovely wife! I expressed my relief that the SS has finally found Ms. Right. As badly as I'd like to follow suit, I can't claim to have had breakups anything like the Siren's.

Said a brief howdy to one of the latex gang, who were showing up right after Hot Flash ended. Then Funny Lady suggested that we hit the Merc, which we did. Sometime around midnight we called it a night. I got ramen at Betsutenjin, where the staff have started to recognize me, and caught the last train northbound. Much win.

Pride Sunday: slept until 0900. Wore my customary Pride outfit*. (Mental note: get spirit gum for my reusable pasties. Toupee tape doesn't cut it.) Went to the parade to find Ken Shulman, director of Lambert House, because he had what I thought might be urgent business. He wasn't with the LH parade contingent, at least not at that time, so I headed toward the Seattle Center just in time to see the parade start.

You know what that means: the dykes on bikes. No, I didn't try to join them this year because see above. But the sound of a few dozen motorcyclces revving in the concrete canyons of downtown Seattle is impressive, to say the least, and I find it moving.

So I made it to the Seattle center, wandered around, ate & drank, and eventually ran into Ken. And our IT guy on the board of directors. And two or three of the yoof from Lambert House. I've mentioned here before that there's no such thing as a brief conversation involving Ken Shulman, and luckily, we were in the shade. Plus, Ken & Ray imparted much-needed info to me so I can do my database monkey thing. Oh yeah, lots of excellent queer eye candy in full sunlight.

Went home. Napped. Put stuff away.

It was all too brief. I wish I could do all the things and see all the people, but even when I was half the age I am now with seemingly limitless energy, there simply isn't time.



*Black Stetson, black leather harness from Apatico, Pride stripe nipple pasties, skirt belt from Chrysalis, black leather thong, knee-high Pride socks, white Docs that K in SF gave me, Pride stripe accessories. You know, the usual.

Good Sister is no longer, at least legally, the executor of my mother's will. As far as the courts are concerned, she's done. That means she doesn't have to periodically report to them anymore. (Yes, I just verified that.) She's relieved, and I have texted her mazel tov.

Does this mean that Mom's house has sold? Hell no. In fact, just the other day GS sent the other two of us a detailed list of the work in progress or planned to get the house ready for (mercifully quick, we hope) sale. Total cost: $16K. Even Niece E has pitched in, having refused our offer of compensation.

Now I have a mental image of my short, thin sister in a black, face-covering hood with a blood-stained ax. I'm sure she wanted to physically execute the will and a few people associated with it many times.