Fun facts about buying a house in a dying small town an hour from civilization:
1) Furniture only gets delivered there every two weeks. I either move heaven and earth to get there Friday or wait until July because all the June slots are booked. I had been planning on keeping my IKEA furniture, but I have two pieces that are so old that they are not interested in moving AGAIN. Plus, they’re heavy-ish and at the end of the day, they’re at least 10 years old and I don’t feel like paying to move them to Maine as temporary furniture. So, because I decided to chuck everything and furnish the whole house with new things, I leave Wednesday, as soon as the movers do. 26 hour drive with 2 cats. Fun times.
2) UMaine Hockey has a waiting list. I just dropped $50 to put my name on a waiting list for hockey tickets. They had a really good season, so my timing totally sucks. Plus, it’s MAINE. They’ve always had a good team and I’m not surprised that they’re sold out, but damn.
3) New Englander’s have long memories. I signed up for internet and cable. When I gave the girl my address, she says, “Oh you’re in the new development.”
The. NEW. Development.
My house was built in 1962.
This doesn’t surprise me - I’m used to hearing directions like take the left at Yoken’s. Yoken’s went out of business in 2004 and the building had been torn down forever ago. The sign, however, lived at it’s spot for years after that. When the ex and I lived in New Hampshire, I once told him to turn left at Yoken’s. He looked at me like I was insane. The sign was no longer there and he had no idea what I was talking about. Also, in a different small town in Maine, my dad was getting directions to a church, and his aunt told him to take the right at the old [whatever the hell their name was] place. You know, the white house. Well, dad had no idea who the fuck they were talking about and the house was no longer white. It’s hard to get lost in a town with one traffic light, but we did.
The movers come Wednesday and I am this very strange mixture of nervous, scared, and feeling settled. I still have a few things to finish packing, so I’m going to do that as soon as I finish lunch. I’ll be living on take out until then because I want everything packed before the work week starts again.
I know I have roots there even if I don’t know where the trees are.
April 05, 2025 ::
4:24 PM
Hail! to the victors valiant / Hail! to the conqu’ring heroes / Hail! Hail! to Michigan
/ I forgot the words / GO BLUE!
A while back, I had this crazy plan to fly in and out of Boston - go see my friends’ band in Albany-adjacent cities and then catch a Bruins game. A nice, low-key, all-me, 50th birthday long weekend.
Yeah. That did not go as planned.
It became fly into Albany, see the two BMS shows, go to Boston and watch them lose to BUFFALO (BUFFALO! ACK!), drive to Maine and buy a house.
Dude, I bought a fucking house.
It’s the third one I’ve owned outright and the fifth house I’ve bought. Buying a house doesn’t get any less stressful the fifth time around, let me tell you.
But, let’s start in Albany. Future me is going to wish I wrote this somewhere, so why not here? I share everything else important here. (This may be a long one. Strap in! (Strap on? Whatever works!))
I get to Albany to find out they’re charging me a $200 one way rental fee for the car. Not only that, they’ve decided me to give me a Hyundai Elantra. The Elantras are REALLY low to the ground. Like, really, really, low. Hated that car since the moment he gave me the keys. Grrr. Glad I didn’t get a nicer car - that fucking $200 would have made the car way too expensive and I was already pushing my budget.
(I bet this is the most expensive vacation I’ll ever take in my entire life. Altogther, I spent roughly $203,000.)
I have always had good luck with Super 8s in Upstate NY. I am sad to say that the original hotel in Cobleskill fucking sucked. It seems minor, but the room had a broken safe. (I had a laptop. I didn’t want to bring it to a bar in an unknown neighbourhood.) They tried to put me in a different room. Broken safe. Third room? So moldy, I couldn’t even walk in the door. I walked out of the hotel in full Karen mode. (Well, they must have thought that. I thought I was being nice about almost dying. Mold has become something I’m super allergic to. So, yeah, no thanks. You can poison someone else.)
So, I went ALL THE FUCK THE WAY BACK TO THE AIRPORT and stayed at the Tru by Hilton. That was ah-mazing. I’m only staying at Trus from this point forward.
Black Mountain Symphony killed it during that first show. I sat back and let the songs roll over me. It felt like the first time I could breathe in ages. All the stress. POOF! Gone. So nice to be home, surrounded by friends, and the best music ever. Oh, it was amazing.
I left the Tru to stay a little family run hotel closer to BMS’ second show of the weekend. It was a nice room. Nothing too fancy. (The BMS show was great, as expected, and I bonded with Bill’s mom a bit. Love her!) The absolute worst part of the night was when I was woken up by something. The bed was shaking. Literally shaking. Like someone was fucking with the mattress. And then, once the bed stopped moving, it felt like something got on the bed with me. (It could have been Guinness or the ex for the way the bed sunk.) The room got cold and I could feel someone in the room with me. This started at about 3AM and lasted until 3:30. I barely moved a muscle except to breathe and cracked my eye to look at the time.
Turns out there is a cemetery across the street from the hotel.
I guess someone just wanted to say hi.
From there, it was Boston. Battery Wharf Hotel. Eh. It was hard to find and they had valet parking. (I hate valet parking!) The restaurant didn’t serve me the first morning and I had waited for over fifteen minutes, made contact with three different people and was not acknowledged once. Grrrr. It was just… eh. It poured all day Monday so I didn’t leave the room except to go to the Bruins game. It was so weird being back in the Garden. Everything changed from how you get into the arena vs where the trains are. Bruins stank it up, but UConn and BU had boys on Buffalo. It didn’t help that Sweeney traded Marchy and Coyle right at the fucking trade deadline. Bastard.
From Boston, I headed to Maine.
Fell in love with a house in Dover-Foxcroft. $230K, 1.25 acres, river front, a she shed that was livable. I also fell through the floorboards. Too much work for that sort of money.
Ate at Bob’s Clam Shack, spent a good hour staring at the Nubble Lighthouse, and spent the night in a hotel at Long Sands Beach. Nice to reconnect with my memories of my father, even if I didn’t make it to Ogunquit.
Made my home base in Bangor. Millinocket’s about an hour north, but I had some rewards points to use and I didn’t see any Hiltons up there. Spent the next two days looking at houses. FIFTEEN HOUSES.
It was toss up between the emotional choice and the smart choice. The emotional choice had a beautiful view of Mt. Kathadin, but needed a lot of work. They were asking almost $200K for it, and I really doubted it would appraise at $150K. I offered a fair amount and they countered at basically what they were asking. Yeah, that’s a no. The view is BEAUTIFUL and well worth $200K, but a house with dated appliances and asbestos shingles is not.
I ended up going with the smart choice. A little three bedroom ranch, in move in condition, with a garage and a basement I can finish.
We close on May 9th. Movers come May 21st.
Had Chinese for lunch and my fortune was perfect: Trust in the journey of self-discovery; you are evolving.
That only took three tries and a panicked email to an EE developer I know… but I finally managed to upgrade the backend of my little blog. Finally.
So…
Detroit.
That was a trip and a half. So glad I went!
For as much fun as I had, there were a lot of bad things, but let’s start with the good:
Shannon picking me up and giving me Faygo pop (It’s a Detroit thing.) and promising to leave both my kidneys. It is fun to get picked up at the airport by internet strangers!!!
Going to the Red Wings game with Heather. The Wings lost and it was a shit game, but I was pleased to see a lot of familiar names on the Rangers’ roster. It was nice to be at a pro hockey game again. I am finally healing. Not healed, it will still be a long time for that, but healing…
THE SPIRITED FISTING WALKING TOUR!!! There’s a very famous statue called the Spirit of Detroit and a random statue of a fist. So… yeah. A bunch of us got bored and went on a trek so that we could get fisted. (God, even my pocket friends are weird!)
I ended up walking the 1 mile and 5K with Heather. It was nice to have the company, but the walk itself was odd. Instead of combining both races, like they’ve done at every one 1/5 I’ve gone to, you had to do each race SEPARATELY. Two bibs and about two minutes to change them out, if you were as slow as we were. It was nice, though. I can’t remember the last time I did a race with a friend.
The half marathon was the best experience of my entire racing career. It was cold as fuck that morning and walking up the Ambassador Bridge will forever live on in my nightmares. I’m kind of disappointed I didn’t get pulled over by the Border Patrols, because that would have made it even better. The sunrise over Detroit, the views from the bridge, doing the world’s only underwater mile… it was definitely a once in a lifetime experience.
Then, like idiots, we went on a ghost tour. Because after doing a half (or in one case, a full) marathon, the one thing we should do is go on a walking ghost tour. It was horrible. Absolutely fucking horrible. I’ve been thinking about sending a review myself. The girl didn’t know any of the good stories and it was… you know it’s bad when the highlight of the entire tour is a ghost cow. (Don’t ask.)
As for the bad (?): I cried as we approached Detroit. Like I didn’t even know how badly I missed the fall foliage until I saw it.
I was so energized by the cold that it was sort of terrifying. I know I miss the cold, but I didn’t realize I missed it that much.
I didn’t wake up with a barometric pressure induced headache the entire time I was there. Not a single headache all weekend, which is really rare for me during Hurricane Season.
I had the uber driver from hell. He asked how much the trip cost me (a 5AM trip to the airport) and I stupidly told him $80. HE BITCHED THE ENTIRE TRIP THAT HE WASN’T GETTING PAID ENOUGH. Like, dude, that is not my fucking problem. I tipped him too well - and got charged twice for the damn thing - and decided, yeah, never taking an uber again. Once was enough.
And… not only was I miserable to get off the plane in Fort Lauderdale, MY CAR BATTERY DIED. I waited three hours for AAA to get there and replace it. The guy was great, though. We had a really inappropriate conversation (Titties and a stick shift? I LOVE YOU!), but the test he did on the battery answered a lot of questions I’d been having. I’m due for an oil change, and was going to wait until then. But, my luck is shit.
I didn’t have much company during the half, so I spent probably ten miles of it deep in my head.
I decided that I was moving sooner rather than later, but now that I’m back in my shitty Florida life, I’m not sure I can speed run the move home. There’s absolutely no reason to stay, but I’m also very loyal to my boss. The man is a saint and I don’t want to hurt him. I can probably manage my job remotely, but I don’t even want to say that to him yet. There’s stuff and things going on at the day job and I’m not sure the timing is right for my exit. My lease is up on 6/25 so I have some time to think about it.
Oh well, like I told my shrinky dink, I need to break the cycle of staying in Florida for men who treat me well. But it’s not that easy and it’s causing me a lot of mental turmoil. She thinks I should leave now, but… She also thinks I should move back to New Hampshire or Connecticut, but Maine is calling my name. And, yeah, I am looking at Presque Isle which is about as far north as I can get. Which would mean I’m “isolated” again and working remotely won’t make the “loneliness” better. But she doesn’t understand. I like being “isolated” and I’m not lonely. The big thing she’s missing is that Presque Isle is only like 6 hours from Boston. Will it suck to still be a decent distance from my friends? Yes. But I’d rather be a car ride away than have to deal with airports and that stupidity.
I don’t know. I still have a lot to think about and a ticket to Epic Universe on Labor Day. So, maybe I wait until the fall to move home - it depends on my lease. If I have to renew it for a year, I will, but I won’t be happy about it. I don’t like renting and I definitely don’t like this place. I’d rather see if I can do a six month lease.
I don’t know. There’s too much going on right now and I just need to take a step back and breathe.
Trump won the election. Four more years of hell on earth and that’s all I’m going to say on that.
just like the real citgo sign, it only works about 85% of the time
Favorite American Artist: Matt Nathanson
Concert: 10 February 2023, Fort Lauderdale
Ticket Acquired: ✅
Favourite Ukrainian Band: Океан Ельзи
Concert: 27 April 2023, Miami
Ticket Acquired: ✅
Second Favourite Ukrainian Band: Антитіла
Concert: 18 October 2023, Miami
Ticket Acquired: ✅
Third Favourite Ukrainian Band: Бумбокс
Concert: 8 March 2023, Miami
Ticket Acquired: ✅
New Love: KALUSH
Concert: 10 March 2023, Orlando
Ticket Acquired: ✅
If you’ve been around me for any length of time, you know how much live music means to me. I mean, fuck, I used to drive to Upstate NY as much as I could to see Black Mountain Symphony. There were countless trips to Connecticut for Instrument and All Crazy shows. That doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I jokingly called “Scott-the-Roadie: Live at UConn” - all the BiG MiSTAKE, Frogboy, and Spring Heeled Jack shows I used to attend with him. Then, there were the nights at The Sting, and the nights at Toad’s Place. A random concert in Maryland. The day I went to a gathering at Bird’s that turned into an impromptu concert only to leave and catch BMS in Providence. (That, my friends, was probably one of my more ridiculous weekends: I drove through four New England states in less than 24 hours.)
Thinking about it, I’ve probably spent more of my life at live shows than I have engaging in any of my other hobbies in my life to date.
Of course, I don’t have the luxury of getting in the car and driving to NY anymore. It breaks my heart to think of the ridiculous logistics nightmare leaving Florida has become. There’s a plane ticket, and a hotel, and a rental car… I hate shit like that. I just want to get in the car and go. The drive itself is as therapeutic as the live show. All planes, hotels, and rental cars do is stress me the fuck out.
There is one unexpected perk of being exiled to Florida - the massive Ukrainian community in Miami.
I haven’t been kidding when I’ve babbled on about how thrilled I am about the opportunity to see ALL of my favourite Ukrainian bands.
Granted, I hate the reason why they’re all on tour, but… at the same time…
I GET TO SEE ALL FOUR OF MY FAVOURITE UKRAINIAN BANDS THIS YEAR!!!!
- - - - - - - - - -
I went on a deep dive in YouTubeLand to find live video of KALUSH and… expectations matched reality.
Seriously.
This video confirmed that I’ve been to too many shows.
When you can perfectly imagine a show just by listening to the recorded versions of songs, you know that shit needs to be a resume-level skill.
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?
