Oops, I did it again!


May 10, 2020 :: 10:35 AM

I will find my way, I can go the distance.

It’s Spring Quidditch time!

There’s a 15 mile / day limit, unless you’re running a marathon or something else with ridiculous miles during the 10 days of Quidditch.

Some people cap every day, some people try to cap and fall short, some people will kill themselves trying, and some people know they can’t so they don’t push.

Then there’s me.

I pledge low miles because I only do my Quidditch miles after work. Work never seems to behave itself during that week - if I wasn’t kicked out every day at 5PM, I’d probably still be at my desk right now. (Woo! for not having a key yet!)

I fell short of miles Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. I took Friday off. I had a 7 day streak that I was so proud of, but when your body says “absolutely fucking not”, you don’t push. I may be stupid, but I’m not that stupid.

Last Saturday, I needed to get out of my head for a little bit. I don’t really recommend my favourite way to do that (eyes closed, death grip on the treadmill, getting lost in music that is way too loud), but it works. Then, I read for a little bit. I did intervals to the Hamilton soundtrack. Whatever it took to keep adding miles. It was my first cap in almost a year.

Then, I capped again yesterday. Granted, I couldn’t do all 15 in one sitting, but most people who cap do it in chunks, too.

I’ll be back on the treadmill soon, aiming for another cap. I’ve never attempted that many miles back to back, but it will be good training for both Wine and Dine and Dopey. W&D, I’m running the 5K, 10K, and half (22 miles / 3 days). Dopey, in case your memory sucks like mine, is the 5K, 10K, half, and full (48.6 / 4 days). Capping this weekend puts me at 30 miles for two days. I haven’t done the full 13.1 miles in any of my attempts at capping, but 8 miles isn’t so bad.

Let’s talk about Wine & Dine, because I’m sure that people are wondering why on earth I’d sign up for that since I am neither a winer nor a diner. RTI was named a charity partner and I wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity to be there that weekend and meet all my online friends. We PHRC’d runDisney - they’d never gotten so many requests for charity bibs before! (Maybe because we didn’t have to fundraise to get a bib?) It was also awesome to sign up via them because the races sold out impossibly quick. I guess the Villains theme was a huge draw.

Of course, now I’m worried that we won’t have Wine and Dine - the registrations were open well before COVID-19 started to shut down the entire world. Will they be able to have that many runners on the course? What about the necessary number of health care folks / first responders? (I mean, that was the original reasoning behind cancelling Rival Run weekend.)

To make matters worse, Marathon weekend is selling out at an unprecedented rate, too. I’d been pushing off registering through a travel agent because of my employment situation and the fact that I needed to pay for Wine and Dine. I finally thought about it the same day the TA allotment sold out. Then, the early registration sold out. General registration is Tuesday and I’m trying to keep my hopes up that I’ll be able to get a bib, but… at least my TA put me on his list in case they get more bibs. He did tell me that, although it hasn’t been confirmed, runDisney is severely limiting the amounts of registrations just in case.

I get it - nobody’s been able to race IRL in a long time and A LOT of people look forward to Marathon Weekend. There’s a huge percentage of people who use this weekend as their vacation. There’s also a huge overseas contingent. (I kind of feel that, right now, maybe the races shouldn’t be open to international registrations. Bibs are non-refundable and non-transferrable and I wonder what that’s going to mean if there are still travel bans in place. Are they going to refund all the international runners and release the bibs? There’s just too much that’s unknown… and maybe I’m an asshole for even thinking it… but… )

I don’t know. I’m going to hope that I get a bib and if I don’t, there will be long distance races around here that I can run while I wait for my chance at 2021.

You can bet your ass though, that I’ll be getting my bibs through my TA from here on out since they get access to them so early.

I am so fucking disgusted right now


May 03, 2020 :: 3:34 PM

THIS IS NOT OK

My friend posted this on Facebook the other day and I literally got sick to my stomach.

Here’s the thing: we’ve known for a long time that he’s incapable of holding the job.

Every single day he shows a complete lack of empathy for what’s going on.

Every single day, he treats the presidency like it’s one of his businesses. Like it’s a reality show.

And it’s just getting worse…

The protests of people who think getting a fucking haircut is more important than my life, storming state capitals with fucking guns… it’s too much for me.

The selfishness of these people is unfathomable.

The fact that a bunch of WHITE guys storming a state capital with MILITARY GRADE weapons is upsetting to a level I don’t even have the words for. (And let’s not forget that if they were black… well….)

AND THE FUCKING PRESIDENT IS CHEERING ON THE PROTESTERS.

I can’t fucking wait for November.

 

- - - - - - - - - -

While I’m completely outraged, let’s talk about the book I just read.

It was about Chornobyl and written by a guy who was pretty obsessed with it.

It started out promising: a full overview of the mechanical and operational issues that plagued Russian nuclear reactors and submarines since the very beginning. A detailed, blow-by-blow description of that fateful night.

And then he started to describe his trip to Prypiat.

Dude, I could see his hard on.

His awe at seeing the ruins of the city verged on inappropriate. He was gleeful to be there.

It was so disrespectful that I wanted to smack him. With a brick. Repeatedly.

I ended up deleting it about halfway through. (Thank God it was on Kindle Unlimited.)

My memory is fuzzy - partly because I was 11 when it happened and partly because I blocked out a lot of my childhood - but I swear I remember sitting there in my grandparents’ house watching it on the news. I also remember hearing that we had some relatives in that area, family that died.

Whether or not that’s true, the fact remains that people died.

It’s not a fucking theme park.

I mean, when I went to Highgate Cemetery to see Douglas Adams’ grave, I treated it with the proper respect the dead deserved. There’s a time and a place for fangirling and the middle of a place of the dead is NOT it.

I don’t know. I’ve been in a shitty mood this past week and everything is just amplifying my unhappiness.

*sigh*

Made for this


April 26, 2020 :: 10:19 AM

oh, fuck yes

We’re into month 2 of the COVID-19 craziness.

We’re supposed to stay at home and stay six feet apart at a minimum.

I was made for this shit.

Who would have thought that introversion, general shyness, and social anxiety would turn out to be a blessing instead of a curse?

 

- - - - - - - - - -

There’s one other huge thing I was made for:

Working in construction as a cost accountant.

If the Cats hadn’t come along and the assistant controller hadn’t been such an ass, I’d probably still be at the HVAC contractor in New Hampshire. (Of course, she ended up being fired by the Board and I wonder if she would have taken me down with her.)

I left my last job because they were struggling to make payroll. Famous last words: “I’d rather temp than wonder if I’m going to get paid.”

Well, two days after that, I got a temp job with a construction company. They had a new CFO and a huge mess. I jumped right in and started identifying problems, trying to find solutions, blah blah blah.

I’d continued to interview that entire time; I was enjoying the fact that I could work without the pressure of a permanent role. The office had a weird vibe, too, and I wasn’t planning on staying. I couldn’t… I would have quit before the year was out. But it was a job at a time when I was desperate for a pay check.

Seriously, I am so lucky that, while I couldn’t work remotely, I had a job with an essential business.

And then it all went to shit and they offered me a job on a Friday.

Thankfully, I had just interviewed with another construction company. I got offers on Friday and Monday and took Monday’s.

This title is better (Controller), the pay is the same, the commute is better, the job is more or less the same. Cost control, working with PMs and Estimators, trying to set procedures and put other accounting controls in place.

I’m very good at working in companies that need to be straightened out.

This one… well, it’s bad.

I’m not going to go into details, because I can’t, but hooooooo boy. I’m feeling a little bit like I’m over my head. I’m wondering what the fuck I got myself into.

This is my normal, though.

This is where I thrive.

I couldn’t have asked for a better job.

Seriously.

I’ve spent too much money on professional organisation memberships and I’ll be taking a metric fuck ton of professional exams. Definitely the CMA exam and the CCIFP exam. I’m even thinking about getting some bookkeeping licenses.

I think they’ll go well with my current title and they might fill in some blanks - not every company books their transactions the same way and it feels like I’ve forgotten some of the basics because I haven’t used them in years - so it’s worth the thousands of dollars that these will cost me.

I’ve only been a Controller for a week, but I know this job suits me more than any other I’ve had in a long time.

I don’t know… for the first time since I left the Cats, I’m finally feeling like myself. I’m excited to get up in the morning and that’s a new feeling. One I haven’t have in a long, long, time.

Христос Воскрес! (like bread dough)


April 12, 2020 :: 6:14 PM

station of the cross :: lviv, ukraine :: november 2016

So… in Ukraine, for Easter, you say “Христос Воскрес!” - literally, Christ is risen.

Ukraine is full of religious icons, absolutely gorgeous ones, all over the place. In public! Oh, I was so scandalised by that.

Ukrainians - at least the ones I know - often have altars. My grandparents house had a Virgin Mary tucked in the corner. The relatives I met in Ukraine had one, too.

All that to say, I am not the least bit religious.

So, I find an inordinate amount of joy in the fact that wishing someone a Happy Easter in Ukrainian is basically a reference to a man I don’t believe ever existed, let alone rose from the dead.

I’ve been focused on what it means to be a Ukrainian more than usual lately… and it’s been weird.

Mostly because I wasn’t brought up as Ukrainian. My mother wasn’t having any of it, so I was only exposed when I was at my grandparents’ house. I have a lot of fuzzy memories… stuff that comes to the surface when it’s triggered by something: a news article, a blog post, a random word on a website. Sometimes, I remember things that surprise me and sometimes I wonder how I never put two and two together before.

Wow. I’m in a rambly mood tonight. Possibly, a wee bit manic. (Wanna know a secret? The tone of my writing changes. (I get very parenthetical.) I ramble.)

Back in 2013? 2014? I decided I needed to find myself. (The last time I think I said that in all seriousness was the time I’d told my father that I didn’t want a summer job… that I wanted to take the summer off to go find myself. We’d just thrown my mother into a hole in the ground and gotten served with a restraining order. I was trying to wrap my brain around all of it and being stuck working retail didn’t sound like a place I needed to be right then. Well, he grabbed a napkin and a pen. Drew a map of the house. Put a BIG FUCKING X in the kitchen and told me I was found. God, how I miss that man.)

So yeah. Finding myself.

Fun fact: There’s a book out there called “Losing Your Parents. Finding Yourself.” It was given to me as a gift after I was orphaned. I ended up setting it on fire in the backyard. ( Here’s why.)

Pyromania aside - the title, and the little bit I read before my mother’s ugliness was put out there for all the world to see, really resonated with me. If they hadn’t used my mother’s FUCKING WILL to prove a point, I might have read the rest of it. I might have found solace in it.

But… fire. Fire is good. Fire is cleansing.

Like a phoenix, I rose from the flames.

(Oh, shit, maybe I should take an Ativan and calm down a little bit. Nah, fuck it. If you can’t handle me now, you don’t deserve me later. Better living through science, amiright?)

Anyhoo… My father’s side of family appears to have sprung out of the ground in Nowhere, Maine. A town so small that it doesn’t even qualify for the Census. So that left the other side. HER side.

I’d shied away from everything and anything that reminded me of either my mother or my aunt, and then decided FUCK IT (and, oh, if you didn’t see that coming, I’m utterly disappointed in you.)

I decided to learn the language, re-learn the culture, discover myself.

I’d been a casual learner, Even when I went to Ukraine, I wasn’t anywhere near fluent despite all the lessons.

I’d kept up the lessons when we got back from Lviv, but then we moved to Florida and everything went arse over tits.

Now, at my temp job, I’m surrounded by Spanish speaking people. Instead of making me want to learn Spanish (God, I hate that language. I took Latin and French so I didn’t have to take Spanish.), I’ve been inspired to re-focus on Ukrainian.

And now, it’s fucking Easter.

The last time I spent Easter with a family member (Ukrainian or not), was the year we went to LL Bean to buy kayaks. A certain family member called me, yelled at me for not going to church like a good Ukie, and then asked me to come to Easter dinner. Blocking that phone number was one of the best things I ever did.

But, I digress.

Again.

A few months ago, I got a weird Facebook “call” from my youngest cousin. Shocked that she’d reach out to me, I assumed the worst. Nah. Nothing that exciting. But before I knew it I was FB friends with her, her sister, and my godfather’s daughter.

All of whom are the children of Ukrainians.

My cousins have been slaughtering the Ukrainian language lately in their excitement to celebrate the coming of the Easter Bunny. I fucking hate when Ukrainian is transliterated. I hate it more when it’s transliterated and spelt incorrectly. If you’re going to use the language, use it.

Fuck, half the time, they don’t even know they’re actually speaking fucking Polish.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Polish, mind. My grandparents spoke both interchangeably, but at least I can tell the difference between the two.

OK. Rant over. I’m going to go watch a stupid horror movie and continue reading this amazing Scorbus fan fic. It actually makes the events of Cursed Child almost acceptable. Like if this chick had written CC? Oh, it would have been a beautiful addition to the canon instead of the trainwreck the actual CC was…

Run, Magic, Run!


March 28, 2020 :: 10:55 AM

Racery. In a nutshell

It’s time for Battle of the Fandoms IV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(The battlecasts are the best part, tbh. Where else can you get quality commentary and awesome Facebook translations?)

This time I’m on Run Magic Run. (Reads completely different with the commas, doesn’t it? English is amazing.) It’s a Labyrinth themed team. My other choice was Hamilton (Talk Less, Run More), but at the last minute decided to give up my place on the team to someone else.

I think I’ve talked about my love-hate relationship with Bowie before, but here, around the the 28th anniversary of my mother’s death and the accompanying reminder of the restraining order from my aunt, it might be time for a retelling…

If any of her family is reading this, well, I can promise you that you don’t know the whole truth about your sainted godmother or mother. I could bitch about my aunt all day, but I only want to talk about Bowie. (And maybe his enormous goblin.)

Where do I start?

My aunt was always there for me when I was growing up. Her house was an oasis, a place of safety in the maelstrom that was life with my mother. It was, honestly, my favourite place to be.

She had three kids, a boy and two girls. The boy, forever in my heart as Inky, is also forever four years old. In a weird quirk of life, I am 7 years older than the middle child and 14 years older than the youngest. Middle child and I, I thought, always got along pretty well. In some ways, she was more like a younger sister than a cousin.

But I digress.

Home. Safety. There for me. All things that were important when I was growing up. All things I was desperately in need of, despite my father’s best efforts to provide them at our house.

There was always music at her house. ALWAYS.

I grew up with Bowie, the Stones, Mott the Hoople, Led Zeppelin, all the great classic rock. Then, hair metal joined the never ending rotation and I developed a love for Poison, Def Leppard, and strangely, Adam Ant. (I might be one of the few people in the world who knew all the lyrics to his albums.)

But Bowie and Mick Jagger… those were her men. They were almost always on repeat when the radio wasn’t on.

As much as I loved the Stones, it was Bowie that I really connected with.

Maybe it was his shifting personas. Maybe it was the two coloured eyes (which aren’t actually two different colours, by the way). Whatever it was, when I was at home, I devoured everything I could get my hands on. Let me remind you, back in the 80s and 90s it wasn’t nearly as easy as it is now. I had to save my allowance, get a ride to a record store, find something I didn’t already own. Now, if I’m craving a particular song, I drop two bucks, get points on my credit card, and move on with my life.

My parents were officially divorced, I think on March 13th, and then my mother died on March 18th. My aunt got something like 90 percent of the estate… none of which my mother rightfully had any claim to since she never worked. (That comment the other day about leaving nothing in death is an actual line in her will and I read it in a fucking book someone gave me. Fuck public records.That book was supposed to bring me peace after my father died and I ended up ripping it in pieces and setting it on fire. I also hired a lawyer to send a strongly worded letter, but that’s another story.)

My father had to take my aunt to court for a share of the estate - CT state law said that as a minor I was due a portion - and I got $2K. Nothing compared to the thousands she walked away with. I found out later that she also managed to get the other 10% from the other person named in the will…

And then there was the restraining order.

Have you ever been served?

It is a fucking amazing experience.

I highly recommend it.

As her story goes, she was being overwhelmed with the amount of mail my father was sending to her and she asked her attorney to ask my dad if he would send that stuff directly to the lawyer handling the estate. The lawyer “misunderstood” and well… the rest is history.

She also forgot my birthday that year.

I always made the excuse that it was because my mother’s wake was on the 20th and her funeral the 21st, but FUCK, WOMAN. It would have taken two seconds to wish me a happy birthday. (Then again, five years after my uncle’s death, the grave stone still wasn’t engraved with his information. FIVE YEARS.)

Then there was the time when she blamed Youngest Cousin for playing with the answering machine and deleting all the messages I would leave.

In the end, I don’t know who walked away from who first, but the relationship between us was over.

I mourned it for a long time and I broke up with Bowie. It was too painful to listen to him.

Even today, twenty-ish years later, it’s rare that I listen to his music. I generally do when I’m sad and need to cry. All the pain and confusion of 1992 - today, really, comes pouring out. There are few things that can create a spontaneous crying fit, but I always reach for Bowie at those times.

I rarely play Bowie when I’m happy.

I never forgive and I never forget. Not sure if that’s learned behaviour (thanks, mom!) or just hardwired in my DNA, but I don’t.

Especially when someone fucks me over.

So… what does this have to do with Racery? Why would I pick a movie that heavily features Bowie (and his enormous goblin)?

Because, simply, running when I hate the fucking world is the quickest way to calm me down and make sure that I don’t go manic. Anger is my default mode during mania - and being pissed is normally the way to trigger a visit to that other side of the equation. Mania makes me do and say things I should regret, but since I have no filter even when I’m stable, I normally just shrug it off. Whatever I wouldn’t say to your face (because manners), I’ll happily do when I’m manic.

Rage running. It’s a thing.

With all my IRL races cancelled or postponed, I’ve been slacking. This might be the thing I need to get motivated again.

Thank you, aunt.

I know you come for the scathing commentary on my life and openness about the bipolar, but I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t include the long awaited commentary on Bowie’s massive goblin.

But first…

OK. On to the scholarly commentary…

Critical analysis of David Bowie’s crotch bulge

Who Is Jareth In Labyrinth (1986) and Why Has He Got a Bulging Penis?

The Dick Debate: “Labyrinth” Edition

And, last but not least:

Crotch Magic - Tribute to David Bowie’s bulge in Labyrinth (link in case video breaks - bonus points for use of the words wang and dong.)

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