dance party

I just came home from a club-style dance party that I helped organize for small town, washington. We held it at a dive joint with a giant dragon painted on the warehouse side of the building and a reputation for bar fights. But no worries tonight. It was rad. I think close to 60 people came. I danced all night and made new friends. I'm working with a couple of folks on creating a space for artists and queers and whoever. Next month, I'm working on an event that I'm tentatively calling Santa's Elf Craft Fair and Holiday Flea Market.

breakfast conversation

This morning at breakfast, F stated very plainly that,"Wednesday always feels like such a special day because it's right in the middle of the week."

"Oh," I replied, "Did something special happen yesterday?"

She paused for a moment, and said, "Well today is special too."

"What makes today special?" I asked.

"I love you, Baba," she said.

"I love you too," I said with a light heart. Why shouldn't Wednesdays and Thursdays be special for absolutely no reason? F reminds me not to take things too seriously.

conquest over nature

Last year I built a compost bin in my backyard. It's nine cubic feet, as was recommended in the cute community ed class I took last year where I also learned the importance of browns and greens in balanced proportions.

This summer it became a little infested with a bee/wasp-like creature. I say a "little infested" because they had only taken over one corner. I learned that they were making a home in my compost a few months ago when I went to turn it and barely escaped being stung by a swarm that quickly former in one of the scrap wood corners of the heap. My first strategy to get rid of them was to dump some old potting soil dirt on them. This was only a temporary setback as what I've since identified as Western Yellow Jackets can dig and burrow pretty effectively.

Here's the description from the Audubon Field Guide to the Pac NW: "Body stout, wider than head; yellow with heavy black bands and spots. Aggressively defends nests in burrows, logs. Raids picnic food, trash cans; stings. Workers swarm in the late summer."

I tried to get rid of them first by continually dumping dirt and grass clippings on them, stabbing vigorously at the northeastern corner of the compost with a short-handled shovel a few times, and then running away. I thought they might get sick of the hassle. This strategy wasn't effective at all because they'd be right back at it in a day or two.

When the blackberries that grow all around the compost started to come in a few weeks ago, I had a little more incentive to evict the yellow jackets. I thought about spraying them with shit that would kill them, but I didn't want to introduce a gallon of poison into my compost. Then, I remembered that I had some leftover hippy wasp repellent in the shed that I had used to get rid of some hornets that were living beneath the peak of the roof when Gertrude and I were painting our house last summer. It worked on the Bald-Faced Hornets that had a softball size grey paper nest under the underhang. It has a propellant that is basically peppermint oil mixed with a few other things. I was able to soak their nest in this stuff, and they went on to greener pastures. Looking back, I don't remember them dropping like flies how they do when you spray them with actual chemical poison.

First let me say that those people who say if they had to do it all over again, they wouldn't change a thing are a bunch of liars. If I had to do it all over again, I would have worn a coat or sweater or something. Instead, I was wearing a thin, much loved t-shirt because it was a hot day.

I started by quietly cursing them and stabbing at them with my shovel. They quickly swarmed, as I expected they might. I dropped the shovel and picked up the hippy bug juice at my feet. I sprayed them for a couple of seconds and then felt a piercingly, momentarily debilitating pain shoot from my right armpit. The bastards stung the soft flesh of where my arm meets my back. It hurt.

I had to take a break from the battle to curse and nurse my little wound.

I returned after a couple of minutes, more determined than ever. Flailing my left arm around in an attempt to ward off other attackers, I emptied the rest of the already half empty can into their corner of the compost. When the can was cashed, they were still swarming around, just not as many of them.

I walked away, resigned to this being just another battle in the war. I figured I'd have to face them again and try to come up with a new plan. However, the end of this war isn't as action-packed as all of that. I haven't seen them in a few weeks. My theory is that they got tired of the hassle and decided to move on.

Or perhaps, that's as long as they live. Maybe these creatures only nest for a season and would have died or relocated on their own accord. I might never find this out though because I tend to be more confrontational.

September update

Things that have happened lately:

• The little one, aka F., started second grade.
  
• F allowed me to give her a haircut. This is a big milestone because she was quite attached to her hair.
• Joe slunk out of town. I saw him walking down the street while I was eating at my lunch, but decided not to call out to him. I thought it was better to just let him go.
• I went to Alaska for a week and hung out with some old pals from Chicago.
• Gertrude and I celebrated our 1st anniversary. It was very romantic and cool. We went out to dinner and had a great conversation about our goals and dreams. super gay.
• I've been stressing about the state of the economy and the responsibility of managing a non-profit.
• I got a long overdue haircut today and am feeling generally awesome.
  

I don't know what you should do

Joe came by my work yesterday after spending some time in the emergency room. He said he got beat up on his way home from work. For the past week or so he's been washing dishes at a high end, but still somehow cheesy, steakhouse. One thing Joe definitely has going for him is that he likes to work. He said that he got jumped and that a gang of dudes in a pick-up truck poured beer all over him and in his mouth. According to Joe, he didn't drink anything. But, the folks at the shelter gave him a mouth swab and he failed it. So they kicked him out. I don't know what to do for Joe. He's had his ass kicked three times in the past two months. Yes, he's a black man in a redneck town, but I don't think that's the whole story. He got his ass kicked in Seattle too and that's how this whole thing got started with me.

"I don't know what you should do Joe."

"Will you be my sponsor?" he asked.

"I'm not that into AA," I replied. What I really wanted to say is that I don't think he's even at the first step. What do you do with someone who's not even honest about how much they drink? And besides, I drink.

"Do you think I should go back to Seattle?" he asked, desperate for some direction. Desperate for a solution.

"I don't know. You know what they say, wherever you go, there you are. You got beat up in Seattle too," I said.

He acknowledged this with a nod a heavy sigh.

"Hey man, it's been close to a half hour. I've got to get back to work. Let me know what you decide. If you want to file a police report, I'll go down to the station with you." We talked about ways to corroborate his story but he didn't seem too interested.

He walked out of my office and said he'd come by later in the week. I think he wanted me to offer him a place to stay at my house, but I can't do that again. Nothing has changed. It would just be me waiting around on edge for the next drama. I don't want that. And I keep coming back to what it means to be family and why do I only hear from this guy when he's hurting. I invited him hiking and over to dinner and he blew me off both times. I want to be his family, but it's not easy.

Family, and what it means, is really hard for me sometimes.

3 am

I woke up at 3 am this morning and now it's nearly 5. I'm not sure I'm going to get back to sleep. I tried reading but I was too distracted. I had a super intense, back to back important meetings kind of day yesterday. Writing this makes me think I should try and get more sleep.

125-4

That's the outcome of the vote that the American Psychological Association just took regarding the effectiveness of so-called "reparative therapy." They overwhelmingly agreed that it doesn't work. Jesus can't make the queers straight.

In other news, the Christian fundamentalists have gotten enough signatures to contest the passage of Washington's expanded domestic partnership legislation. Now it's going to a vote. Referendum 71: vote yes.

Also, I've been getting a lot of people switching pronouns with me. Lots of "she...I mean he" at the bank and the car rental place, etc.