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a weekend of social stuff & spending

Aug. 20th, 2017 09:35 pm
sistawendy: (contemplative red)
[personal profile] sistawendy
Friday: Dressed cute because a party that I thought was that night was in fact the following night, thereby conflicting with a date. Arg!

Saturday: The Goth garage sale by consummate saleslady [personal profile] cupcake_goth et al. including the visiting [personal profile] kambriel. They did indeed sell me things - nice plates, a little black ruffly skirt, an art nouveau necklace, spider web hose, earrings, an Art With Latex necklace that I'd wanted for years - that were Good To Have. I spent exactly my budget, i.e. all the cash I brought.

On to the apartment of the Siberian Siren, where her bouncy young dog destroyed the beaded necklace I was wearing. Le sigh. But at least she & I have reserved an AirBNB and bought plane tickets for our trip to the Folsom Street Fair. We have committed. This is totally happening and I. Am. Psyched. The SS needed to hunt for deals, and she taught me a useful thing or two.

Date with the Tickler! Lovely dinner at Itto's, followed by a few minutes of ahem, then a couple of hours of the Tickler's stomach going to hell. Yes, again. It was bad: plumbing fixtures were involved. It might be worth mentioning that whatever affected her did not affect me, and we split a gazillion tapas; this isn't any reflection on Itto's, which is a fave of ours. She noted that we partook of members of the nightshade family (i.e. tomatoes), which may be yet another food allergy for her. Poor Tickler. There were cuddles and reasonable sleep.

Today: After the Tickler's deluxe oatmeal, we tried to hit the Yayoi Kusama exhibit at the Seattle Art Museum with the Tickler this morning, but when we got there at 0930, half an hour before opening time, the line was already around the block. The tickler looked for parking for a bit, but then bailed, for which I don't blame her. I still want to see the exhibit, though. It looks way cool.

Slacking, walking around Green Lake, then eetz with J & R, which I always love. I just finished making a rock-bottom-tech pinhole camera for the eclipse tomorrow.
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
[personal profile] sistawendy
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)
[personal profile] sistawendy
I know the answer to the question in the subject: no more than two days, and possibly only one. The accounts receivable department, or whatever it's called, of the IRS must be the most efficient organization in the entire US government.

I mailed a four-figure back tax payment on the 7th to Ogden, UT via the usual first class mail. It was cashed on the 11th. There's no way it took fewer than two days to get there.
sistawendy: (Default)
[personal profile] sistawendy
I never thought I would unironically throw the horns, but I did last night at a benefit for the Satanic Temple at Substation. The ST is the organization that stands up for separation of church & state with great panache by inserting themselves into, say, prayers at high school football games (here in the Puget Sound area) and putting up goaty statues alongside the Ten Commandments on public property (Oklahoma, as I recall).

I gotta love that, so of course I showed, courtesy of R. I knew a few of the performers, including a lovely friend of Diminutive's. But the Satanist MCs said, "We're not promoters," and that was painfully evident during a couple of the interpretive dance numbers - really. However, the tunes live & otherwise were good, the black clad crowd had fun, and everyone threw the horns during the little ceremonial bit at the beginning.

Oh, and as surprisingly as sunrise, Eliza Gauger from Friday night was there with copies of her book. I saw her just minutes after I'd excitedly told R about it.
I have my real name on my Twitter profile, and as a result the Hubbell Trading Post followed me. I'll save you the trouble of googling it: it's a trading post at Ganado, AZ on the Navajo reservation and, at least formerly, several satellite posts. It was founded by a cousin of my great grandfather's, and my great grandfather and my grandfather and their families lived and worked at several of the trading posts at various points in their lives.

In 1965, shortly before she died and before I was born, my great grandmother Penny wrote her life story, fifty-seven neatly typed pages. Most of it deals with life at the trading posts. I offered a copy to the Hubbell Trading Post and they accepted it. I've got it ready to mail, with a fair warning about the racist bits - I re-read it yesterday - plus a few stories about my grandfather that Penny didn't write about.
From the weekly phone call with Mom, a bit of subversion from her. First, some background: my Evil Sister has moved to Texas, leaving my niece E behind to get the resident's break on college tuition. Mom had a picture of me - the real, female me - out where where E could see it. Mom asked E if she knew who that was, and she said no. Mom gave her the straight dope. E looked very closely at the picture, and when Mom said I was living as a woman, E said, "Good for her." So at last I have verification that the cat is out of the bag.

I'm amused, and I don't blame E a bit if she doesn't really give a damn: Mom reminded me that she was in a car accident a few weeks ago, for which she's struggling to pay bills, and she starts college in a couple of weeks. And of course I'm proud of my mother. I don't even care what her motivation was. A straight woman of nearly eighty from a small town in the Blue Ridge mountains just struck a blow for trans acceptance, and that is pretty nifty.

Nun gets some culchah.

Aug. 12th, 2017 06:36 pm
sistawendy: (drama)
[personal profile] sistawendy
After dinner & dessert with the Tickler & friends, I went to the book launch party for Problem Glyphs by Eliza Gauger. (Her last name rhymes with "pager". I'd been pronouncing it wrong.)

Gauger is an illustrator. A few years back, she asked people to submit their problems and she would draw a sigil to fix it. Yes, that's a little bit woo, and the drawings certainly look woo with their rich symbolic vocabulary and mythological allusions; Gauger's love and knowledge of several different mythologies are deep. Gauger says that she herself hasn't been into the woo since her teens and I never was, of course, but something about those drawings makes me keep wanting more. It seems almost like engineered magic, black and white drawings that are always mirrored. She's done hundreds so far, with no end in sight.

My favorites among the sigils are the more recent ones with more details and higher concepts: a cephalopod's tentacles drawing a map of land, or a sewn-together bride of Frankenstein holding giant sewing needles with lighting passing through the eyes.

One thing that's absolutely arresting about the drawings is the problems that got submitted: everything from scholastic angst to surviving rape to mental & terminal illnesses. Gauger, who's no stranger to mental illness or sexual assault herself, says she gets migraines from reading them sometimes, which isn't all that surprising.

Like so many artists she says she doesn't like talking about her art and isn't that good at it. I can attest that the second half of that is bullpuckey. She's really articulate, both in writing and in answering questions off the cuff. I can remember oh, almost fifteen years ago when she was an irritant to the Elder Goths on the Board. She's matured a lot.

Lots of People in Black were there, a few of whom I knew. I felt almost like a big city Bohemian. I now have my copy of the book, pre-ordered way back, signed by the artist, plus a small raffle prize.

Have I submitted a problem? Yes, and you know damn well what it is. As I told her, she may have drawn the sigil without my knowledge because a) I keep finding more of them in various corners of the internet, and b) she hasn't published, electronically or otherwise, anywhere near all of the ones she's drawn. There were even some in her slide deck that I'd never seen before.

Queer? Yes. Cute? Shyeah! Available? I don't think so, and that's a damn shame, quite possibly.

food, drink, and toenail voodoo

Aug. 11th, 2017 05:09 pm
sistawendy: (hopeful nun)
[personal profile] sistawendy
Eats with m'boy the last couple of nights. It's a little mysterious to me why pho tastes so good, but I know why my chicken in white wine reduction doesn't suck: years of practice, good ingredients.

Making progress on my birthday party plans. Banquet permit obtained, as is my booze shopping list. I've been trying to get in touch with a caterer I know for a recommendation. He doesn't do that kind of gig anymore, but he knows who does.

And now for something completely different: superstition. Remember my split toenails that have been healing slowly and painfully? Well, that's gone on for more than a year and a half. I suspect that the US political situation won't get better until I no longer get stabbing pains in my toes, which I predict will be right around the time of the solar eclipse. The right one is comfy in the boots I just bought, and soon the left will be too.

If this entry is too dull, I promise you there are weekend shenanigans planned.

I have a problem.

Aug. 8th, 2017 05:54 pm
sistawendy: (hand staple forehead)
[personal profile] sistawendy
Hi. My name is Maura and I have a boot problem.

It all started when Diminutive posted about these Fluevogs on a certain other social media site*. I was one of many ladies of a certain esthetic who swooned.

But I hear you say, "Good grief, those are expensive!" That's right.
"Don't you have a closet full to overflowing of black boots already?" Yup, I sure do.
And if you were psychic, because I apparently never posted about it, you'd remind me that I've already bought a pair of boots this year for my birthday next year, so I have not even that flimsy excuse for such an extravagance. Ah, but the ones above are absolutely perfect. That is, if I can last in the heels, which is a possibility only because Fluevog makes diabolically comfortable heels.

But they're beautiful. I love them. They're perfect for my birthday and plenty of other occasions. I'll use the earlier pair as a backup, I guess; they're more practical and would actually make a decent replacement for my black patent Docs, whose uppers are starting to crack.

The boot problem that faces me when I get home is finding space for all of them. Some will definitely have to go, and that will hurt my heart.

I'm contemplating not telling my mom about this. And I tell my mom everything. Yes, everything, until she tells me she doesn't want to hear any more, which is admirably rare. This is exactly the sort of frivolous, spendthrift behavior that she doesn't approve of. And she disapproves of femme things and people in general.

*The one whose preposterous founder is considering running for president.

February 2017

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