What Lies Beyond My Sleeping Refuge

Eats: I'd walked or taken the bus past Malaysian restaurant Kedai Makan for years. If I remember correctly, seelenschwester used to be a chef there. It had languished far down my to-do list.

But then the Tickler wanted a place to eat with lots of gluten free options, and they found it. It's fantastic! And not crazy expensive. Pro tip: make a reservation like we did, because nearly everyone else found out it's good before I did.

Beats: Thence to Chop Suey for a night called Sapphic Factory. Yes, there were sweet young things making out. And yes, we joined the entire club to sing along to "Red Wine Supernova" by Chappell Roan. The dance floor was crowded enough to make the Tickler claustrophobic, so we found a strategic spot for people watching, i.e. being dirty old femmes. We resolved to dress sluttier next time, since that seemed to be the vibe. Latex wouldn't have been out of place.

The Tickler had done homework (!) and listened to the artists on the list that the promoters put in their promos, but which the DJs apparently ignored. It is to laugh. I will say that electrolysis music* goes better when your surrounded by scantily clad dykes. And playing Chappell Roan atones for a multitude of sins.



*My erstwhile electrolysis lady, Ms. Zappy, used to play a lot of oh-so-current pop hits while working on me. I now associate that sound with having electrified needles inserted into my skin.

I knew when the news app on my phone chirped in the small hours of this morning that something bad had happened. The Wendling lost sleep last night about the brand new Iran war, and I find myself wondering if a 28-year-old with AuDHD is likely to get drafted. The Persian Princess, now living on the far side of the US from me, has mixed emotions to say the least.

And in a sign of approaching spring, the motorcycles are back on the highway near my place. Believe it or not, I like them, ss long as they're riding at reasonable hours as usual for the large groups.

When I drove out of Camp Beaverton for Wayward Girls in 2018, one of the two mayors said goodbye to me through my car window and offered me a leadership role. I declined, saying that the next time I was at Burning Man it would be for revenge.

Fast forward to this year. I got in touch with her via electronic means and told her I wouldn't be camping with Beaverton this year. "It's not them, it's me," I said.
"Oh, it's them, trust me," came the reply.
It was a long and sad story, she said. I neither asked for nor received any elaboration.

I've heard of Beavers having... conflicts, if that isn't too strong a word, between each other, but it was always about individuals, not the camp. Yes, it is a sad story. I wonder what I'll find when I get there.

But first, the leather dyke munch. Had an agreeable time talking with fellow trans folks. Yes, again. Finally asked B the organizatrix, "Where are all the people over fifty?" She said that she'd been considering throwing an event earlier in the evening for us elders. Sort of like the Hot Flash dance nights an Neighbours, she said, only freakier. Shoot, I'd go. I would have stayed later at B's fundraiser on the other side of CC's, but I had plans for today, namely...

...I took a bus route that was new to me a loooong way south to White Center for my first Burning Man camp meeting this year. In attendance were Burner R (not to be confused with any earlier R's) and leenerella. Neither of them are planning on going to the playa this year, but this wasn't just a meeting for planning for Burning Man; there are other Burner-flavored events various subsets of the crew are going to, some of which I'll be medically unable to attend due to surgery.

It's been eight years since I went, and unlike my last several trips to The Thing In The Desert, I don't have my own vehicle anymore. I've been worried about logistics because how could I not be? R put my transportation fears to rest: the gang is used to carpooling, and has a trailer for moving the vast quantities of gear and infrastructure that we haul into the desert.

As for my smaller worries – camp dues, if any, and gasoline for the inevitable generator, etc. – it's too soon to ask about those. I'll just have to do what doesn't come naturally and take care of those questions later.

But overall, it's an experienced group of people who know what they're doing and also have fun. Hell to the yes. I'm feeling even better about this crew – Astro Shack, by name – than I felt earlier.

Drinks with the latex folks. We three trans women ended up in the corner together. I didn't have a good view of the sweet young(er) things in their shinery finery, but I did laugh a lot. Je ne regrette rien.

The bus location system seems to be unusually imprecise lately. This meant running to catch one, which makes a little latex dress ride up. Good thing it was cold and I was wearing a long, puffy coat.

Got tax refund. Nuked debt and banked the rest because I have a funny feeling I need to keep my powder dry. Never mind how I feel about giving a zero-interest loan to this particular "administration"; you bet your butt I itemize deductions.