Maura's Illuminated Manuscript

Says my agent, the city hasn't issued my certificate of occupancy yet. That could in theory delay closing, which has been planned for Friday since my offer was accepted. He's not too worried because a) it will probably Just Happen in time, and b) even if it doesn't there's such a thing as a temporary certificate of occupation. At least it isn't anything I did to cause the holdup.

For the second bit of aggro, you need some context: I told my apartment building manager late last week that I'll be out of here by the 7th. No worries, he says, but they won't pro-rate rent. I wasn't expecting that anyway and I have in fact paid in full for May. I'll have all the time in the world to clean, I suppose.

Remember my loft bed, which nearly all my girlfriends* hated? On Saturday I disassembled it and, since there's barely any room to walk here in the Devil Girl Pad, I put it just outside my door, making sure not to put it someplace where it'll impede people walking. I figured it was OK, because lots of people in my building have stuff right outside their doors; the walkways aren't enclosed.

Yesterday I put the frame in the dumpster, which involved unpacking my saw and making some pieces short enough. But I plan to get the movers to dispose of the mattress.

Yesterday afternoon the whole building got a nastygram from the building manager asking who "dumped" the mattress. I confessed and moved the mattress back inside tout de suite, thereby cutting off access to some cleaning implements; it was the least bad option.

The building manager emailed me late last night to apologize. He didn't put two and two together to get mattress. Whatever.

I'm getting really tired of sleeping on my floor. I have matching bruises on my hips.

But! I have done what I hope are my last loads of laundry that required quarters for a long, long time. Quarters and maybe carrying freshly dried laundry in the rain.

I did the walkthrough for the house yesterday, though. I think I'm going to enjoy the morning light with the view of the Cascades, even if that view also includes Aurora. I measured for a washer & dryer. I need to measure the downstairs bedroom, though, because Ex has plans for furnishing the whole downstairs. I'm only too happy to accept if I can.

Edited to add: You know how some people stress-eat? I do whatever the opposite of that is. I've lost three pounds since the start of the Empackening.



*The only one who didn't complain about it was Temptress, who's the tallest of them and indeed is taller than I am.

There's one very nice feature of the goofy old apartment building that contains the Devil Girl Pad: its lawn and garden. It's a little patch of grass in the crook of the L-shaped building, bordered by a rockery* that's absolutely stunning in the springtime. There's a lady who's a little older than I am who maintains it beautifully. She was here earlier this afternoon, and I had to tell her that I'm moving soon and that I would miss seeing her handiwork every day.



*Non-Seattle people: a rockery is a garden that's basically planted on and among stacked boulders, often terraced. They're pretty common here because so much of the city is built on hillsides, often steep ones.

I have a working bathroom light again. My camping lanterns are back in a playafied bin, awaiting a next use that's more fun than the one just finished. But I'm proud of my ability to put on liquid eyeliner in less-than-ideal lighting.

Peeps: I went to the Wildrose, Seattle's miraculously surviving lesbian bar, and as ever tried to encourage people to join me. This time it worked! La Fashionista came with S, whom she met on a dating site but with the clear understanding that La F herself has just been through a traumatic breakup and isn't quite ready to date just yet.

Be that as it may, we had a fabulous time over Manhattans*. When La Fashionista & I got the munchies, I got to introduce her and S to the glory of late night drunk food that is Lost Lake, just a couple of blocks away from the 'Rose. Their poutine is passable, but nothing will ever equal Midnight Poutine at Burning Man.

As so often, I got to talking about... that subject I put under cut tags here. La F told me today that both S and our likely trans server at Lost Lake took a keen interest in what I was saying. It is to laugh.

Thing #1: I got my boots back from Swanson's with new heels. The original heels came apart on the plane home from London after having logged many miles on the stones and concrete. Excellent timing!

Thing #2: I have a new coffee table. It really ties the room together. No really, my apartment building was built in 1958, so there's a mid-century modern theme in addition to the devil girl theme. The old one was cheap, looked cheap, really showed dust, was too short... you get the picture. I hated it, and after a brief chat with my favorite enabler** the other day I ordered it. My son helped me pick it up, bring it in, set it up, and then clean up the inevitable explosion of packing material. I offered him dinner at least twice, but he refused, saying he hadn't slept well last night. Aw. Sometimes he's pretty great, you know. I really should think of a way to thank him properly.



*kathrynt once told me that Manhattans are what femme dykes used to drink to advertise to other dykes that they're dykes. I'd forgotten about that until today, and I bet La Fashionista did too. We just like them.
**cupcake_goth. What would I do without her?

I have a working heater in my bathroom! It even has a fan! I am not going to get eaten alive by sentient mildew while I take a shower! It's the successful end to a months-long quest.

What don't I have? Much salt in my cornbread. This is deliberate: I keep salted butter on hand because my son prefers it over the unsalted kind. That means I use it for baking, though, and it occurred to me that my mother's fabulous cornbread recipe calls for salt. So I decided to skip it this time and rely on what was already in the butter.

Is it enough? Well, not for my taste, but I will admit to not waking up way too early for my near-daily progesterone pee, which is known to contain more than the usual amount of sodium. I may split the difference next week.

Dementia patient #1: Mom went about two weeks before clogging the pipes in her house again by flushing another diaper. It's at least the third time this year. I'm just grateful I was mostly done with napping when Good Sister called to ask if there was a "cleanout". Nope, as far as I know the plumbers have to climb onto the roof (?!) every time to unblock the stupid pipes, which I'm sure adds to the cost.

Dementia patient #2: Remember P my building manager? Well, he isn't my building manager anymore. It seems he's been 86'd from my building. His daughter owns the building and was letting him putter around here because he needed something to do. The last time he was here, he took down the fencing some of my neighbors put up in the courtyard so the kids could play soccer, yelled at some of the kids, and started "poking things with his shears" according to one of my neighbors. Yeah, he has dementia too. This would explain why he made such a hash of my plumbing situation a few weeks ago. I need to call a different number the next time I have an issue over here.

I feel sorrier for P than I do for Mom. There was more of P left despite his being four years older, he wasn't unpleasant to be around, and he didn't cost me and my sister piles of money. Maybe that's wrong, but I'm pretty much past caring.

Witchy Lady texted me to tell me she has Stuff Going On in her life – she used the word "messy" – so the the second date is cancelled. However, she did ask if she could get in touch after the mess is resolved. I agreed, of course, somehow managing not to use the words, "Hell yes." But I'm keenly disappointed.

But! The Tickler has booked a sleepover date here at the Devil Girl Pad two weekends hence. Is it too much to ask of my sweetie that they* try to induce my neighbors to call the cops? Given the poor record of cops in this town, though, I'm pretty sure we don't really want that, even if the Tickle does love a man in uniform.

My son is spending nights this weekend here because Exmother is occupying his room back at Ex's. Between work and brunch with cousins out on the Olympic Peninsula, though, I'm not going to see much of him.

I'm rereading Saga. It's even better than I remember, which is saying something.

Oh: This is the last paragraph about plumbing I hope to write for a long time. Dude came out, I explained the sitch, he poured weird chemicals down my kitchen drains, and now it doesn't fill up when I run the water full blast anymore.



*I am not to call them "girlfriend", "lady", or "she" anymore. Okey dokey, artichokey. That's right: my sweetie is non-binary.

A couple of weeks ago I got a leak under my kitchen sink. I called my building manager P as ever, and he came here to the Devil Girl Pad on Monday. His diagnosis? Something was backing up between my sink and the sewer connection, way below and well outside my apartment. He said somebody was going to come snake out the pipes this afternoon.

Fast forward to yesterday morning. There was water dripping from the basement ceiling directly below my sink. (I'm in the basement most days because that's where the bike rack is.) There was a note from my upstairs neighbor saying he'd called management.

On to early yesterday afternoon. G, whom P had mentioned as a contact at the property management company, stopped by and looked at thing. His take on things? A corroded "nipple", i.e. the short section of pipe nearest the wall leading from my sink & dishwasher. G got called T to come out and replace the nipple in ten minutes, max, late yesterday afternoon.

The dude from the company that P hired, whose name I can't remember, came early this afternoon. I caught him up on the nipple replacement. He turned on the water – not full blast – and concluded that the nipple had taken care of the problem and he scrammed.

About half an hour ago, P returned. I caught him up. He got cheesed off. He turned on the water, full blast this time, and the water did get deeper in the sink, but no more leak. So he got on the phone in a state of great animation.

Then a meeting started that I said I'd attend. It's still going on. P poked his head into my erotica-filled bedroom and waved goodbye. He didn't say whether anyone else would be here. I'm... kind of hoping not.

Me? I'm in good shape, I think. No more leak. Yeah, the sink fills up when the dishwasher pumps, but it has ever since I moved in here, as I told P ages ago. As soon as all the towels in my kitchen dry out, I'll put them in the wash and everything will be back to normal.

I spent a gorgeous, sunny spring weekend as one ought:

1. Riding my bike everywhere, namely
   1. Goodwill for a donation drop and
   2. circumflatulation supplies,
   plus
2. walking everywhere, including
   1. buying tasty hipster beer at Draft Punk, which I was afraid had gone out of business,
   2. Coyle's Bakeshop, hyped recommended by La Fashionista – very tasty, very popular, closes at 1500 hours,
   3. gelato at Nutty Squirrel, natch, and
   4. the house of my favorite Vampire Witch Queen for much-needed socially distanced socializing.

I wore new gladiator sandals for the first time and blistered my heel. Worth it.

One of the ironies of warmer weather is that now that my baseboard heaters no longer need to run, clothes take much longer to dry on the rack. Le sigh. At least I don't need them to be dry quite as badly as in the cooler months.

Thing #1: It took two nights' sleep, but I'm finally over the vaccine oog. I'm glad I took the advice from about three people and hydrated; that probably helped keep the intensity of the oog manageable even if it did last longer than I expected.

Thing #2: As of yesterday morning I have a new dishwasher, from an almost certainly Chinese brand that I've never heard of. We'll see how it works after I fill it up in a day or two. No more babysitting!

Thing #3: I had to get on the intertubes for work at 0700, so my boss lady has encouraged me to scram early. It is an absolutely perfect day in Seattle right now, 57°F (14C) and sunny. Hell yes, I'm taking off early. Let the Orb worship commence!