So, let’s talk Heated Rivalry because I cannot get it out of my head.
I have been so good about not watching the show on repeat because whenever I have watched it, it gets my full attention. Kind of hard to put it on in the background and do stuff… I’m also kind of annoyed with it. I found my original Drarry plot / sketch notebook and it’s like Tierney and Reid went through it page by page. There are just too many hockey tropes that writers - me included - lean on, but they did it better. Yeah. I’ve been fighting with the Drarry hockey disaster for years so now I’m on draft three. I’m trying to get away from the tropes, yet still fit in the framework that people find familiar.
Honestly, as annoying as it is to start fresh, the writing is better this time around. Or, at least, I like it better.
I finished all the books and I’m also very annoyed at the people on Facebook who are asking stupid questions about things that happen in the books, but say that they refuse to read them. OR they only read the two books that center on Hollanov, and miss the subtle things woven throughout the six books. Like Ilya colllecting gay people… It’s this whole thing that you don’t really catch on to, but it’s there. REALLY subtle and nicely done.
I’m also annoyed by the Skip haters who, well, skip their episode because they ‘don’t like it’. My siblings in Christ, if it wasn’t for Skip, WE WOULD NEVER GO TO THE COTTAGE. I think the show did the book dirty because the relationship was weird and angsty and kind of beautiful in it’s own way. I have to say that during every reheat I yell “SKIPPY” every time I see them on screen, I like them that much.
The cats are starting to worry about my mental health.
They don’t even know the amount of crazy I can bring to the party.
I could go on, but let’s talk about the title of this entry. Which, oddly enough, has nothing to do with the two hockey players.
I’ve been in a weird place lately. Not quite depressed, not quite manic, but definitely not normal. I’d say I’m cycling but it doesn’t feel like that, either. I’m stuck in this weird off-center bipolar limbo. Even my shrink picked up on it when we met this week. I don’t know. It is what it is and nothing is fixing it. I’m just going to ride it out and hope I come out the other side soon. I thought I’ve experienced everything the bipolar could possibly throw at me, but this is new. And I don’t like it.
This weird little place my brain is residing in led to me to texting Mr. First Guy and telling him I wish we were watching the BOS-MTL game together. We’re both huge Bruins fans and our favourite player is Andy Moog, a goalie. He shares a birthday with Moog and I share a birthday with Bobby Orr, so it’s like we were meant to be. We have, however, in the years since high school become friends. Good friends. Besties. It’s not outside the realm of possibility for us to go to a game together, or even watch a game on TV. More importantly, it’s a completely valid emotional response to watching the biggest rivalry in hockey. (Which, OK. Fine. The rivalry in Heated Rivalry is also BOS-MTL, which lead a bunch of fangirls to watch that game. Whatever. It’s weird, but, you do you, boo.)
During this conversation, I brought up Mr. FNFTF and said how the two of them have really helped me survive through the years. Like they filled two holes in me. Which, thankfully, didn’t go anywhere further than ‘shared trauma’ being the glue keeping them in my life. They were both around when my mother died and they were there when my dad died, too. I know my dad’s death affected Mr. FNFTF because they used to hang out without me. Which is weird, but gives me the warm fuzzies. I’m just fortunate that I still have people around from that time period because I don’t have a lot of people left who were there. A lot of people only saw the fallout from my mother’s death or they saw me hit rock bottom after my dad died. The people that came in and out of my life in the 10 years between just don’t get me. Neither do the ones that came in after my dad. I don’t know how to describe it. I mean, those are life changing events and they really form the basis of who I am. To not see the whole picture…
When Mr. First Time told me he loved me in that text conversation, I broke down and bawled. Ugly cried. It was so good to hear it - unprovoked and knowing exactly where it was coming from. I didn’t realise how alone I’d been feeling until he reminded me that I still have some worth to people. (Depression lies. Period.)
Everybody is fascinated by how easily I walked away from a relationship of 30 years, married for 26, but after all those years of riding the bipolar roller coaster with me, he still didn’t understand what I needed. And I wanted to move back to New England. Neither was something we could compromise on and I’d go so far as to state that keeping that relationship going was a compromise, but I wasn’t willing to continue doing it any more. We haven’t spoken in any way, shape, or form since his text asking how the drive to Maine was. I certainly didn’t go out of my way to text him on his birthday - I didn’t feel the need to. Unlike the other two, I don’t need him in my life and more importantly, I don’t want him there, either.
So. Yeah. It’s nice to be understood. It’s nice to be wanted. It’s nice to have, um, holes filled.
And on a completely random note, the breeder we got G-Man from has a new litter of puppies. I’ve wanted a dog, but I’ve been flip flopping over what breed to get. For $3,800 I can get an amazing German Shepherd. Good temperament, breed to be gorgeous, and smart as fuck. BUT that is a lot of cash I don’t really have unless I dig into my savings and my house really needs to have the vinyl siding replaced. Decisions, decisions. I think I’d rather spend the money on a dog, tbh. Not sure the cats will agree, though. The breeder hasn’t asked for a deposit, so I’m just going to wait and see if I make it to the reservation list or the wait list. I haven’t heard back.
Even more random, Fandom Running Club is doing it’s first Rumble of the year. I’m on a team (Razoom’s Back!) that’s fundraising for Razom for Ukraine. The race has three different groups with different caps (5K, 10K, 10 miles) to make it more competitive. My dumb ass has consistently been doing 10 miles since we started 16 days ago. I could drop to a lower level. I want to drop to a lower level, but I also want to win and doing 10 a day will keep us competitive. I mean, I can’t bitch about my teammates. We all have things going on and it’s easier to do lower miles. I’m not that busy. I can spend 4 hours on a treadmill, no problem. My feet don’t want me to - I have blisters EVERYWHERE. My toes are killing me and since 10 different blisters in that area wasn’t enough, they’ve moved onto my heel. I don’t care. I can live with the pain. Ukrainians are dealing with a lot worse than blistered feet.
Even even more random, I have FINALLY moved into the kitchen. I ended up ripping out one of the lazy susans and finding some pull out drawers on clearance at Home Depot. The cabinets are much more functional now. Every thing I can’t fit is in the dining room. That was on my agenda to clean this weekend, but I tore the living room apart instead. I needed more light and I needed more space between the couch, pellet stove, and treadmill. The good news is that the living room is spotless and the kitchen is finally livable. I’ll get to the dining room soon. I do need the house as clean as possible ASAP. I’m tired of living like this. It just sucks that my time is so limited. (Also, the puppies will be ready to go home in March, so I have extra motivation.)
Speaking of things to do… I should probably get to my to-do list. I’m hopping on the treadmill for the Stupid Bowl if only because I want to see how Green Day and Bad Bunny comment on the current state of the union…. which only leaves me 5 hours to try to do eleventy gazillion things.
becoming a Ukrainian citizen means renouncing my us citizenship… not sure that’s a bad thing.
I don’t even know where to start.
I’ve been profoundly depressed since the coup began and things are getting worse.
trump seems to think he can delete a whole bunch of people by forcing a gender binary on them. People are misgendering trans people on the daily and calling them by their dead names. Calling transwomen men.
It makes me sick to think that a Maine politician doxxed a trans teenager and became a maga darling, while the Governor is fighting for ALL of her citizens. mr. trump seems to think that his executive orders are the law. Gov. Mills was correct in saying that she follows FEDERAL LAW which is something that an executive order cannot override. But, you know, he doesn’t need to abide by the laws of this country because he’s the king or some shit. (btw, that article is unlocked if you care to read it.)
As someone who has struggled with being a cis female at various points in my life, this… is devastating to me.
However, I guess there’s a little bit of a silver lining for me? Everyone’s so concerned about ‘men’ playing women’s sports, they’re not paying attention to the women playing men’s sports. Dude, gender is not defined by what’s in between your legs. Gender is a societal framework that puts you in a pink box or a blue box. By reducing a transwoman to what equipment they were born with / gender assigned at birth, they’re completely missing the point. Most transwomen just want to be left alone to live their lives in the pink box, just like I want to be left alone to live my life in the blue one. (I guess mine is sort of purple since I’m a tomboy / butch?) It’s the CIS MEN who are the problem.
Just look at our felon-in-chief. He said that he liked to grab women by the pussies. I’d rather share a bathroom with a transwoman than that fine piece of work. At least that way, I know I’d be safe.
Remember man vs bear? I’d take my chances with a bear any. fucking. day.
For the record - I narrowly escaped being raped in high school by a member of the wrestling team. I was raped by a guy I thought was a friend in college. #metoo isn’t just some hashtag.
Do you know I carried pepper spray AND a personal alarm when I ran laps around a track at a public park last year? Even when it was crowded? I prefer treadmills for various reasons, but it was moving into the apartment that made me quit running. I just don’t feel safe. Maybe part of that is Florida - I was never this paranoid in New England. It’s hard to say, but I’ll find out soon.
So, yeah. I’m conflicted about that.
Add to that the whole putin’s bitch attacking Zelenskyy during a televised conference.
I. Have. FEELINGS.
I don’t have the words, however.
Yeah, the girl who writes non-stop, doesn’t have the fucking words to describe how shitty the current administration has made her feel in roughly a month.
I just keep putting one foot in front of the other and pretending I’m OK, when all I want to do is hide in my apartment and cry.
Speaking of - I HAVE RESERVED A MOVING TRUCK! I leave this cesspool of a state in May.
I cannot fucking wait to be out of here - both the apartment and the state.
‘I say fuck a lot’ might be the understatement of the year.
I just like the word fuck.
I stumbled upon this completely fucking adorable book on Thursday and DEVOURED it on Friday, since I didn’t have anything (not a single fucking thing and not an exaggeration) to do at work.
Upside Down by N.R. Walker completely captured the asexual relationship I was trying to write perfectly. So, that’s totally my roadmap if I ever go back to that fic.
I’ve gotten into the habit of taking screenshots of my favourite bits as I come across them, and this one?
Holy. Fucking. Shitballs. Batman.
Thankfully, I got to this part at lunchtime. (Or unfortunately?) I laughed so hard, I choked on my sandwich.
It was doubly hysterical because I’d just gotten done having (roughly) the same conversation about my usage of the word with a coworker.
Fuck is one of those amazing words that fits just about any sentence. Intonation fills in the blanks that context doesn’t, too.
It’s just a fucking magical word.
- - - - - - - - - -
I am still riding the high from the Антитіла show.
I might still be watching the videos I took.
And I might still be listening to their albums and only their albums. At this rate, their music will be my Wine & Dine soundtrack.
Fuck my BPM playlist.
While I’m on the topic of live bands and concerts, next up is KALUSH. I’ve already seen them this year, but I do like the chaotic energy of their live shows. They remind me of Studio 158 and Gabe setting fire to his trumpet back in the day. It was always fun hanging with Scott-the-Roadie and getting to see the backstage shenanigans.
Hey, Mr. Soundman, I think there’s something on fire.
But anyway.
I forgot to mention that when I see SKOFKA in February that he’s splitting the bill with two other artists. One of which is KOZAK SIROMAHA. You might remember him from the video on this post. I might be looking forward to seeing him just as much as SKOFKA. (And what is up with the caps? KALUSH, SKOFKA, KOZAK SIROMAHA… *sigh*)
WHY THE FUCK is half the music I want to buy not available on the iTunes store? This might make me a shitty person, and probably a thief, but I’ve reverted to using Audio Hijack and pulling the audio off of YouTube. I mean, how do you add a YouTube video to a running playlist?
So… that’s my day sorted: pulling music off of YouTube, creating a new Ukie music running playlist, and world building.
Somehow, Aeon Timeline shit the bed and fucked up my hockey schedules. The dates have all shifted and it’s the weirdest thing. I’ve been using AT since version 1 and beta tested v2 (sort of - I didn’t have a lot of reasons to use it during the beta period but I did download it and play with it.)... I have never had a problem with it. NEVER.
But, you know, there’s only 82 hockey games in a season, and like 6 preseason games… for two teams. Granted, I ‘borrowed’ the schedules from Montreal and Boston, but they still had to be entered by hand because I couldn’t export them to a csv file or anything remotely useful. Annoyed doesn’t begin to describe my current mood. It is such a pain in the ass to go back and fix them.
And it’s not even getting the scheduled dates correct. It’s about remembering that for a 19:00 game, the players have to be there at 16:30 and they spend about 5 hours at the arena. There were a couple of games where the time shifted, too. So I had to do the fucking maths AGAIN to make sure I was getting the game day timeframe correct.
I’ve never been part of a team where the players didn’t play shinny somewhere in the arena as part of their warmup, so that’s an important detail I’m not leaving out, nor the fact that usually the ‘puck’ is a tennis ball. In college, sometimes the boys played with a ball of stick tape. The first time they did it was during a road trip because SOMEONE forgot a tennis ball (apparently, I only had ONE JOB and it wasn’t worrying about the boxed lunches, the uniforms, the extra blades, sticks, torches, the water jugs/bottles, nor the skate sharpener…). Joke’s on them, though, because they enjoyed whipping the tape at each other. Don’t think I didn’t notice that they played with the tape more than once. Even when I remembered the fucking tennis ball.
- - - - - - - - - -
I never seem to talk about when englishing is not hard and the words go good, but I am SO HAPPY with this that I’m going to share this as a reminder that I’m not a completely shitty writer…
Families are messy. It’s one thing when the people who are supposed to build you up only want to tear you down. It’s another thing entirely when the people who are supposed to love you can’t fucking stand the sight of you.
Write what you know, right?
- - - - - - - - - -
And finally, this is my new favourite song. Enjoy.
the secret to a successful nanowrimo is porn. lots of it.
As I’ve said before, I’ve never been the type of person who creates an outline and a plot.
I’ve been plotting like a madwoman. Pages and pages of plot bunnies. It’s insane.
Who knew writing a hockey au would actually be enjoyable?
We all know my history with hockey and how the last experience absolutely fucking broke me. (Still broken after all these years, thanks. Vegas put a nice band-aid on my boo-boo, though.)
So… it’s been weird to actually dig into things like the NHL’s Collective Bargaining Agreement and the Rule Book.
To remember things I thought I’d forgotten.
A skate blade to the back, the severed pinky, the slapshot to the nuts (the player was NOT wearing a cup… but that’s a story for another day.), the singing on the bus, Cooperstown, the dentist fixing a broken nose, the Stanley Cup, the octopus… that fucking mascot.
Reading all these stupid hockey romances has reminded me what it’s like to be part of the team, not part of the back office.
And THAT is where my love of the sport truly lives.
In the camaraderie of the players. Not the knowledge of how to write the Salary Cap journal entries.
I almost watched a Bruins game the other night.
Almost.
But before I could change the channel, I had a panic attack and decided it was safer to watch Simmers on YouTube.
I’ll get back to being able to watch the games and probably sooner rather than later.
But in the meantime, I’ve noticed some other things that are changing.
- The hubby took care of Guinness, not me. And G wasn’t a cuddle pup. He was sort of detached, aloof. I take care of the kittens and they are not like that at all. Sophie is still ridiculously skittish, but holy shit. When she wants love, she will NOT be denied. I need Sophie lovin’ more than I would have thought possible. Finn’s, too, although he’s grown way more independent.
- I’ve been listening to Bowie and the Stones. A LOT. I’ve struggled with their music in the past because they remind me of people who ripped me apart and then stomped on the pieces. Somehow, I’ve managed to get past that. Although, I do not recommend singing Star Star at work because it is very NSFW... whoops.
OH! Fun fact: R.E.M.‘s “Star Me Kitten” is named Star Me Kitten because of “Star Star”. Another fun fact: It is one of the very few R.E.M. songs that uses the word fuck.
- I’ve also been listening to a playlist I call BLG. BLG are the initials of the one, the only, Soulmate Boy and it’s all music I associate with him. Some of it is great for running and, I don’t know, kind of… comforting? Yeah, that’s the word I keep coming back to.
- I’m becoming less afraid to go places on my own. This became a HUGE issue after moving to Florida and then having the whole pandemic thing happen. I certainly don’t have the kind of life I had in New England, and I fucking miss it, but I’m trying to make a life here. Finally.
- - - - - - - - - -
And for something completely unrelated, I finally got my two breathing tests done AND scored a follow-up with the pulmonologist before Wine and Dine. (I couldn’t get an appointment with the doc until DECEMBER. I lucked out when there was a cancellation for next week.)
I failed. Miserably.
So, exercise-induced asthma is real and not in my head.
That actually makes me feel better.
I have an inhaler, but it’s not working for me. The therapist who did the test thinks I’ll respond better to steroids, but didn’t go into more details. Google’s not telling me much, so I’m excited to have the follow up so soon. Nothing new on race day… except asthma meds. Should be an interesting weekend.
- - - - - - - - - -
I also saw Антитіла on Wednesday.
So. Fucking. AMAZING.
It was everything I wanted and more. I had chills and tears. The first and only time I ever got emotional at a concert was Paul Simon, so that should tell you something.
I really hope I get to see them again.
KALUSH is up next and then, in February, it’s SKOFKA… who I only know because of the collabs with KALUSH.
I’m trying to see as many Ukrainian shows as possible so, even if I’m lukewarm on the artist, I’ll go.
I get to support Ukrainians and experience live music. It’s a win-win, even though I hate the fact that they’re on tour fundraising for shit like first aid supplies.
And on that note, I need to go research some more hockey things. November 1st is coming way too fast.
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Наша Батьківщина б’ється гордо
Ми не в пах, а в морду
Наша Батьківщина за свободу
Перегризе горло
Наша Батьківщина тільки наша
Не віддам нізащо
Наша Батьківщина б’ється завше
Збережи її, Отче Наший
Ненька наша рідна, ти потерпи ше чу-чуть
Наші Січові стрільці добре ворога січуть
Око за око наші хлопці точно пики натовчуть
Збройні сили України не дадуть задуть свічу
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Кулі дебіли полетіли, бо не мали права вони на слова
Воля - це дівчина, шо любить дім, тільки руским би не дала
Кулі дебіли полетіли, бо не мали права вони на слова
Воля - це дівчина, шо любить дім, тільки руским би не дала
Звідти, де волі люд не мали, звідти ті тихі голоси
А звідки чорнила виливали, явно, що там не чистота
Скільки вже наша пережила ненька, така ще молода
Жовте осіннє плаття зняла, а камуфляжне - ти вбрала
А на дев’ятий поверх упало не сонце
Дивлюся на двір через нове віконце
Ангел тут живе мій лише охоронцем, бо
На дев’ятий поверх упало не сонце
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Скільки не стріляй в наш край
Скільки не пали поля
Житиме вічно наша ненька
Вродить ще не раз земля
Око за око, зуб за зуб
Загризуть тут за тризуб
Око за око, зуб за зуб
Наші тихо підповзуть
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
Our Motherland fights proudly
We are not in the groin, but in the face
Our Motherland is for freedom
He will bite his throat
Our Motherland is only ours
I won’t give it away for anything
Our Motherland is always fighting
Save her, Our Father
Our dear Nenka, you will suffer a lot
Our Sich snipers cut the enemy well
An eye for an eye, our guys will definitely crush spades
The Armed Forces of Ukraine will not let the candle blow out
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
Bullets of morons flew because they had no right to speak
Volya is a girl who loves home, but she wouldn’t give it to Russians
Bullets of morons flew because they had no right to speak
Volya is a girl who loves home, but she wouldn’t give it to Russians
From there, where people had no free will, those quiet voices came from there
And from where the ink was poured, it is clear that there is no cleanliness there
How much our little girl has experienced, she is still young
You took off the yellow autumn dress, and you put on the camouflage one
And it was not the sun that fell on the ninth floor
I look at the yard through a new window
The angel lives here only as my guard, because
The sun did not fall on the ninth floor
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
No matter how much you shoot at our land
How many fields did not fall
Our grandmother will live forever
The earth will give birth more than once
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth
They will bite the trident here
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth
Ours will quietly creep up
