Meat. Ukrainian meat. Yum!

happy birthday, david ten-inch!

If you heard any sort of orgasmic sounding screams around 3 PM EST, that wasn’t me.

Nope. Nope. Nope. Nopity, nope, nope, nope.

I did not find a Polish deli within an hour’s drive from my house.

I definitely did not find a Polish deli within an hour’s drive from my house that sells kielbasa and kobanos.

I definitely, definitely, DEFINITELY did NOT find a Polish deli within an hour’s drive of my house that sells kielbasa and kobanos that tastes EXACTLY like my beloved Baczynsky’s.

Nope.

——

Tomorrow’s project is to make a paska and do Ukrainian homework. I’ll probably work on UkieGirl, too… but homework has to be the priority. I feel like I’ve fallen behind even though I really haven’t.

I’m not brave enough to attempt pysanky this year, but I found my (wicked old) kit with the beeswax and stylus. I just don’t have any dye. I suppose I could try the store bought stuff, but I have a feeling that - because the way the eggshells are dyed - it may not work as well as ‘traditional’ pysanky dye. Eh, who knows…

The bread will be enough this year.

It’s taken me almost 40 years to really dig into what it means to be Ukrainian, so waiting another year won’t kill me.

——

The husband is at the Bruin’s playoff game tonight, watching from one of the suites. Lucky bastard.

I’m sitting on the couch, in the dark, watching horror flicks and writing slash.

It’s my equivalent of running around the house nekkid, I guess…