And I devoured that fucker in between bouts of swearing at iTunes / Apple Music / whatever the fuck Apple is calling it now. DEVOURED.
YES. IT IS SO GOOD IT DESERVES SOME SERIOUS ALL CAPS LOVING. AND THE REALLY GOOD LUBE.
There is something amazing about her writing, and whether it’s Steter / Stetopher / original characters, she always delivers. I think the majority of my AO3 Teen Wolf bookmarks are her stories.
I don’t remember how I found out about it, but now I see that she’s co-written an entire series of LGBTQIA+ stories with Discontented Winter. (And - rabbit hole alert! - this just made my entire fucking, um, 15 minutes.)
I’m going to need to get a tumblr account again just to follow those two.
Just like I had to get a new twitter account for the balloon ladies tracker.
Every time I think it’s OK to get rid of an orphaned account, AS SOON AS I HIT “DELETE MY ACCOUNT”, shit happens.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
An entire lifetime ago, when I bought the new MBP, I decided to shelve the old iMac. I didn’t need two computers on my desk; not when one of them basically served as a jukebox.
I took my little LaCie drive that had my iTunes library on it, (bought a FUCKING ADAPTER. For fuck’s sake, Apple. STOP IT.), and fired up the Music app.
Holy Jesus motherfucking crispy Christ on a fucking bike.
I had multiple versions of songs. And I don’t mean twelve different versions of R.E.M.‘s “It’s the End of the World…” - I have twelve of those because it’s on Best Ofs, bootlegs, and studio albums.
I mean I have six different “Spin, Spin, Sugar” files in my hard drive, each one sitting happily as a line in the iTunes song listing.
Apparently, the app made a habit of creating a music folder when 1) it downloaded a song and 2) every time it decided / forced me to “organize” my library.
So, I had music folders in music folders in music folders in music folders in.. you get the gist, yes?
And every single one of those folders held MY ENTIRE MUSIC LIBRARY.
I filled up a massive external hard drive with music because Apple decided to duplicate my music folder every fucking time it felt like it.
I’ve been cleaning it up in bits and pieces because when you have a dozen files named “01_Intro” you have to be VERY FUCKING CAREFUL. (Why do bootleggers all name their files like this?!?! I mean, I love the consistency, but I can’t tell if that intro is from Boston ‘95 or Boston ‘03. Just sayin’...)
I’m also overwriting the metadata on the music files - I HATE transliterated Ukrainian, so I’m putting everything into Cyrillic. Now, everything shows up in iTunes the way God intended it to. (But seriously, fuck record labels who use transliterated Ukrainian on albums.)
I’ve been buying new music on the phone and then downloading it to the computer. THEN, I have to go into the new, clean, pretty, hard drive, REMOVE THE MUSIC FOLDER, and put the songs where they actually fucking belong.
It doesn’t seem to like the fact that my music folder is “LaCie/iTunes/Music” - I’m pretty sure that’s what’s confusing things… but when I have the location as “LaCie/iTunes” Apple rejects the location and claims it can’t find my iTunes library.
I have some random files still to find and I am missing entire R.E.M. bootlegs, so that’s going to be a search. I also need to pull the playlists off the iMac at some point.
But, I’m considering the task done.
I can listen to music when I’m sitting at the computer again.
I’ll take that as a win.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
In other news, I only finished the 5K and the 10K this year. Dopey attempt #2 shat the bed.
(The husband was there to watch the epic fail, but that’s a story for another time… it only took a $50 gift card to Pure Hockey (which I bought before he became an unsupportive ass thankyouverymuch) for him to understand what it means to support someone. grrrrrrrrrrrrr)
I know there’s a lot of factors at play and the asthma seems to be the biggest issue. I was struggling to breathe after pushing myself for 9 miles and a medic practically forced me off the course.
I hated the pulmonologist I saw, so I have to find another one.
I’m also trying to figure out what I do about running… I had a goal to move every day, even if it’s just a mile on the treadmill in my jammies.
And I promptly threw that plan out the window and have been sat here, licking my wounds, and refusing to even think about the treadmill.
2023 and I are not getting off to the best start.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Oh wait.
I lied.
I’m a lying liar who lies because…
I HAVE HIT A MUSICAL TRIFECTA.
I’m seeing Matt Nathanson (Mike Nickerson? Matt Petty? Whatever the fuck his name is.) in February. Dropped a shit ton on the pre-show hang, too. Love those extra moments with him. Even if I can’t remember his name.
I’m seeing БУМБОКС(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) in March. They’re finally coming overseas. I mean, I forgive them for cancelling on last March’s show, and I hate that this a fundraising / awareness raising tour, but they’re FINALLY coming.
And and and and and and and and and and and and…
MOTHERFUCKING ОКЕАН ЕЛЬЗИ IS COMING TO MIAMI IN APRIL.
Bonus: Антитіла is coming overseas in the fall. No idea where or when, but I’m there. Even if I have to get on a plane.
Still pissed I missed KALUSH because of Wine and Dine, but…
Бумбокс, Океан Ельзи, and Антитіла are the Ukrainian OG Three and I get to see ALL THREE OF THEM THIS YEAR.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more satisfied, music wise.
(Also, I think it’s time to be frightened by the amount of time I spend on the internet. I wanted to find out what “a trifecta but four” was and, wow, that was the first autofill suggestion google came up with. I don’t know if I should hang my head in shame over that or laugh hysterically.)
(Spoiler: I laughed hysterically. And fell off the damn chair.)
To be honest, I had forgotten about it and scheduled a dog grooming appointment in that time slot instead.
For what it’s worth, I was completely overwhelmed at the amount of information there was. It just seemed like too much work for a one-off. Yeah. Despite having a bunch of pocket friends who play, I’m just not interested.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I thought I’d end this with my most favourite songs from the four bands I’m seeing this year, but some of them have already been posted. And besides, how do I pick my favourite????
I’m just going randomize that shit and give you whatever the magic wheel spits out. (Just like a Mike Nickerson show!)
We’ll start with The Infamous Wheel just so you get the joke. (Bonus! We were at this show.)
When the sun is getting lower // and your wildest days are done // and they ask you ‘bout a photograph // from back when you were young // well, baby, you don’t have to tell ‘em // what we did when we were us // but when I think about it // I hope you blush, just a little bit…
Скажi менi, чому не можу // Забути те, чого нема.
Tell me why I cannot // forget what I do not have.
Хворі ми хворобою однією // На щастя ще не вигадали від неї панацею // На голову мов злива впала ця вразлива манія // Діагноз – меломанія, в нас з вами – меломанія
We are sick with the same disease. // Fortunately no panacea for it hasn’t been discovered yet. // This vulnerable mania has fallen on my head like a rainfall. // The diagnosis is melomania. We all have melomania.
[Melomania: A singular passion for music, that is beyond all reason. An abnormal love of music. A hobby or even an excessive fanaticism for music.]
Люби вільно, цілуй поволі. // Прощай швидко, або ніколи. // Часу мало, маєш дійти. // Хочеш правди? Мусиш знайти. // Люди далi прокидаються. // Люди далi не ховаються. // Нова глибина напроти нас. // Отакий цiкавий час.
Love freely but kiss slowly. // Forgive faster or never know it. // There’s a few time for you to come // You need the truth so find it now. // People keeping waking up. // People no more hiding now. // There’s new deepness here ahead. // Interesting the time we have…
I’m sure johnlock exists because Conan Doyle used ejaculate so much…
I haven’t run or walked since my disastrous finish at the Turkey Trot.
I deferred my entry for a 5K / Half Marathon combo this weekend.
I have the Dopey Challenge in less than a month and I haven’t successfully finished a half marathon since last January.
You can’t fake a marathon, so as long as I get a little further than when I was swept last year, I’ll be happy.
I keep thinking about why I chose to start running.
Why I chose to do Dopey two years in a row, knowing that I wasn’t going to train for it properly.
I don’t know if this is depression or weight gain or… something I can’t put my finger on.
I’m still shocked that I put in all that work with a running coach and didn’t even plateau.
No. I couldn’t do something that actually makes sense.
Instead, I went on a downward spiral so brutal I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong.
And I really doubt it’s a simple as exercise induced asthma, although that’s a great excuse.
- - - - - - - - - -
In other news, last Sunday, I had my first nosebleed. (Seriously. Never had one before.)
Monday, I had my second and third.
Tuesday, I had my fourth, my fifth, and my sixth.
Wednesday, I went to Urgent Care looking for a quick fix or a reason. Had my seventh.
Thursday, saw an ENT who found the equivalent of a pimple in my nose and zapped it. Was told more nosebleeds were part of the healing process. (What the actual FUCK?!?!?!?!?!?!)
Friday, had my eighth right as a zoom meeting started. Ninth was so bad I freaked out. Tenth was annoying.
I haven’t had a nosebleed since Friday night, but I’m terrified of it starting again.
That’s part of why I deferred my race entry. I didn’t want to be on a course somewhere, not near a med tent, if it started again. It wasn’t like I could carry a box of Kleenex and a garbage can with me.
- - - - - - - - - -
I’m getting a very generous raise effective January first, and a nice Christmas bonus.
Except, since my longevity at jobs is so bad (can I call it shortgevity?), that the owner said it was a bribe to make me stay.
I wanted to tell him that hurt and that he could keep his money…
It’s not like I take jobs planning to leave in a year or two.
Seriously. Why the fuck would I do this myself?
More importantly, with the exception of Global Spectrum, who actually plans on leaving a place every few years? (At Global, it was the norm to look for better positions, at better arenas. Every week, they sent out an internal job posting email, and by the end of the 30 day posting period, most of those jobs were gone. I love the hire from within culture as long as it’s followed through.)
I really like it at most of the jobs I take, but I always end up leaving when something triggers the bipolar, or the politics in the office become unbearable.
For example: I kind of liked my job at an airport, but the owner was spending so much and the books were so bad, that payroll was withheld twice. I can’t work and not get paid.
For example: I liked the health care company I worked at, but there were two bullies who made everyone miserable. I was given a promotion, but no raise, with the entire job description being to keep those two in line. In the end, I guess the joke’s on them. I had been working with the Controller on a super secret project to prepare the financials needed to sell the company. The company was sold and everyone lost their jobs. I would have been one of them if I hadn’t left before that.
For example: I liked the HVAC company I worked for, but I hated the Assistant Controller. She was on a mission to get the CFO fired so she could take his job. When he retired, we were supposed to be co-Controllers, but she started doing some shady shit with the financials to get him out the door. I left for Florida, and she got fired by the Board because they didn’t like her. I still can’t help but wonder if she would have taken me down with her. My gut says yes.
For example: I LOVED my job with the Cats… but that was the third time I had stayed until I couldn’t fight the bipolar any more. We all know how that ended. It was the first time I’d ever been fired for losing control of it. Because I refused to let myself quit. That only confirmed that my pattern was correct… so I stuck to it.
All in all, it makes me wonder if I should give up. We can’t really afford the loss of my salary if I were to go on Disability, and I need to work or I’ll go crazy. (Which is awesome considering it is holding a job that creates issues.)
But.
I guess it’s nice to have that option in my back pocket… even if it’s going to be a battle to qualify.
- - - - - - - - - -
And finally, I’ve given up on my Ukrainian lessons for a bit.
I only want to learn from native speakers. From Ukraine.
Of course, Ukraine is still having problems with their electrical grid and rolling blackouts are a thing. I’ve had two classes that needed to be rescheduled because of Putin.
But I know my teacher needs the money more than I do, so I’ve been doing the best I can to work with it.
But for as frustrating as it is for me, I can only imagine what it’s like for her.
The strain of living there is obvious in the lines of her face, the forced way she says ‘good’ when I ask her how she is doing.
Related: I’ve been watching Sims YouTubers who narrate in Ukrainian, and that’s been helping my listening comprehension quite a bit.
So. On that happy note, I’m going to end it right here. Have the best rest of your day and I’ll see you all tomorrow.
I got tired of answering message after message during Irma (which was our first hurricane as Florida residents), so I started posting #bluedotupdates on my Facebook page. Normally with a screenshot of the current conditions. Of course, hurricanes are hard to predict. They can change course in the blink of an eye. Like, for Irma, it was headed straight for Sunrise, so we decided maybe it would be smart to go north west. Well, Irma decided to go there before we could totally make our minds up. Probably a good thing that we were frozen by fear…
We’re located between Miami and West Palm. Closer to Boca than Fort Lauderdale. We are often in the Cone of Uncertainty. We are often nervous. We are often scared. The #bluedotupdates are often soothing. People know where we are and how we’re fairing. While I can get exhausted thinking about what could happen, and answering the same “Are you guys OK” day after day, I appreciate that people care.
I mean, it’s not like I have many friends… mostly acquaintances. People I want to meet up with when they’re near… then blow me off after making tentative plans. And I get it - I absolutely suck donkey balls at staying in touch with people. I hate the phone, but I would rather talk than text. Texting takes too long and I’m never sure where the conversation actually ends. Quick likes on Facebook are more my speed, but they don’t breed intimate friendships.
I’m a fucking walking disaster.
But anyhoo… that’s not the point.
The point is that I’m Facebook friends with three members of my blood family. Two that I was really close to growing up and one that I became close with recently. M & C are my aunt’s daughters and L is my godfather’s oldest.
I’ll give you one guess as to who reached out to see if I was OK.
I’m tired of being angry. I’m tired of being hurt. I’m tired of letting that branch of the family tree live rent free in my head. (...And if you read the archives, I tend to say the same things about my mother.)
The sad thing is that I know therapy would probably help with bits and pieces of that, but every therapist I’ve ever seen wants to dive into the minutiae of my parents’ alcoholism, the physical and mental abuse my mother put me through… and I know that that’s probably the root of all my problems that are outside the scope of the bipolar.
But.
It’s easier to work through that shit here than it is to talk to a complete stranger. I don’t know. Despite everything, I’m still a little protective of my family. Not that they deserve it. (Well maybe my father does. He tried the hardest to do right by me… but the rest of them can go fuck themselves.) Here I can edit my word vomit. Dial back the emotions. Engage in unhealthy behaviours. *shrug*
Maybe I like constantly feeling like shit.
Who knows.
- - - - - - - - - -
In other news, and not really in order of importance:
We went to Universal last weekend for Halloween Horror Nights. The only house worth the price of admission was the Halloween (1978) house. We had express passes - which is the only way to do the event, tbh - they’re great if we want to do certain houses more than once. (We can justify the cost of those since the HHN ticket is included in our annual pass.) Since we had early access, we were able to get into Halloween before the doors opened to the crowd. And it freaked me the fuck out. (That movie is the only one to consistently scare the shit out of me no matter how many times I’ve seen it. I hear the music and my blood runs cold.) We also got lost in the house. There was one room that was a hall of mirrors and… GAH! That, of course, was the one room we couldn’t find our way out of. We used the express pass to go through it a second time (when the wait was two-ish hours) and it scared me even more the second time, despite knowing where the jump scares were.
I’m running a ridiculous amount of races between now and Wine & Dine: 5K tomorrow, two 5Ks next weekend, a 5K the weekend after that, and a half marathon the weekend after that. Then, I take the weekend off for my first trip back to UConn in years. (And I almost got a room in Storrs before remembering that the football stadium is in East Hartford… I’m close enough to the stadium to walk to the game.) Have I mentioned that I HATE running?
My Stetopher fic is a struggle. I haven’t figured out the actual plot yet, so it’s eleven chapters of backstory / exposition. I’m oddly OK with the struggle; it means the characters are more in character than most of my fan fic. I’m also loving bouncing in between the three characters thoughts. It’s a fun project, even if it makes me want to tear my hair out.
I’ve taken a break from using italki for Ukrainian lessons. I’m not feeling it right now. I just haven’t found the right teacher and it’s frustrating. I found a (online, yet a true classroom setting) class based in NYC, affiliated with a Ukrainian group that I am familiar with and trust. When I was going through everything with the class organiser, I mentioned my struggles with italki. It boiled down to: there’s a huge difference between a native speaker trying to teach a language and someone who has been trained to teach that as a second language. I looked into teaching English as a Second Language a few years ago, and opted not to because I would essentially have to relearn English. Yeah. No. It tracks. Except now, I’m in the ridiculously odd position of using the Яблуко text for a third class. And, that book has been written in to the point where I have to retype the assignments because I can’t just take a photo of the page. Plus, the paper is C2S so I can’t write in pencil. It has to be pen, and it can only be one type of pen. (Staedtler triplus fineliner, if you must know. It’s the only one that doesn’t smudge… but who the fuck prints a textbook on coated paper?!?!)
At any rate, we have that basic chapter one conversation: How are you? Fine. (Як справи? (Добре!)) What’s your name? Wendell (Як вас звати? (Вендел)) Where do you live? America (Звідки ви? (З Америки)) What’s your profession? Accountant (Яка ваша професія? (Бугалтер)) How old are you? 47 (Скільки вам років? (Сорок сім)) —and next thing I know, I’m in Beginner Two. ACK!!!! Also, it is an absolute bitch to switch between languages on the keyboard. First world problems?
A photo of Lviv popped up in my Facebook memories today and I abruptly started to cry.
Fuck me. This war needs to end.
- - - - - - - - - -
Since someone asked, and it wasn’t really a Facebook post, here is - in a nutshell - my journey. (aka: WHY THE FUCK DO YOU POST THIS UKRAINIAN SHIT ALL THE TIME? Also: fuck you, former friend.)
My grandparents were from a village in Poland, which would become a part of Ternopil Oblast, Ukraine.
They were captured by the Germans and were forced labor in northern Germany, which is where my mother was born.
When she was 3, they came to the US.
She rebelled hardcore against the old school Ukrainians.
There’s a story that I’ve heard a dozen times, that when my mother first brought my father home to meet the family, it didn’t go particularly well. For him.
Supposedly, my grandmother chased him down Pine Lane, waving a broom, and shouting ‘я тебе дам!’ (which translates to “I’m going to give it to you.”)
I think we all understand what exactly it was that my grandmother was going to give him and it certainly wasn’t going to be a bowl of her borscht.
Oh God, to hear about the reactions… you would have thought the world was going to end because my mother married AN AMERICAN.
Anyhoo… they got married in ‘69 and I came along in ‘75.
She tried to get me to go to Ukie School, but I was painfully shy back then and remember being miserable. I can’t remember why I stopped going, but I stopped. With that, my formal Ukrainian language studies ended, and I was left to pick up as much as I could by osmosis.
(It wasn’t very much, as Future Wendell would come to learn.)
So.
1992. Mom died. I became isolated from the Ukrainian community in Hartford, for a bunch of reasons, but that was pretty much the last straw. Then, I got cut off from the woman who practically raised me.
2014? I can’t remember for sure if I decided before or after Russia invaded Crimea, but I was done feeling like something was missing.
I started Ukrainian lessons. I was terrible at sticking to it - and now, *cough* years later, I still struggle with it.
But.
I went to the Ukrainian Festival at Suzy-Q.
I went to the Ukrainian Festival in Toronto.
I hired a company to do my genealogical research and had them arrange a trip to Ukraine.
Then, we went to Lviv and Medvedivtsi.
It was all over for me after that.
Something clicked. It literally felt like a switch flipped. Something in my DNA woke up and it felt like coming home.
Seriously.
I’m in this village where I barely speak the language, standing on a dirt road, and feeling like twelve different types of asshole tourist, but damn, it felt good to be there.
It felt right.
And then I came home, stopped studying Ukrainian, moved to Florida, got fired for being bipolar, and had to deal with all that bullshit.
A few months ago, I decided to pick the language back up. I’m spending more time trying to read Ukrainian and watching Ukrainian videos… and I have been finding all kinds of new music, too.
So. There you go.
Я - українська.
Not at all what I wanted to write, but it’s what you’re getting.
