For Previous incarnations of Ireland, see entry here.
Ireland 3.1 does the following:
Attempts to ski.
I write attempt due to the fact that is what I am doing: attempting.
The first time I went skiing (FYI, I'm talking cross country, not downhill. Ireland doesn't go down hills. Or up.) was last winter, in January when it warmed up and Pilot Boy finally found himself in the same city as myself. We went to the special place where you need a special kind of card to get to, so it wasn't crowded. Plus, it was a week day. The area where the course was suggested I attempt my first try at skiing was also...groomed. And it was flattish.
Well, to make a long story short, I used my rented skis, did not fall down and acutally had fun.
Then the Pilot Boy went off in a jet plane and by the time he got around to hanging out at home, the snow was gone. So ended my cross country ski season last year.
This year, after my birthday, Pilot Boy announced, "We're getting you skis."
I did not believe him. Why? Last year he told me he was going to get me snow shoes. Snow shoeing seemed something Ireland 2.9 could achieve. I never got snow shoes. Pilot Boy bought himself another pair of cross country skis, these crazy things called back country skis, which he used twice last winter.
So, I kind of doubted him when he loaded me into the car and proclaimed we were going to Play It Again sports. Part of this was because I didn't believe Play It Again existed, but it did and had a TON of skis. All sort of skis.
To make another long story short, do not wear a mini skirt and leggings when buying skis. Or heels.
But, I walked out of the store with a pair of skis. And a pair of boots, bindings, and poles.
The next day, we loaded all these things into the Monstrosity and drove an hour into the mountains to a place that had enough snow to ski. I made it about twenty minutes before I was frozen, cranky and had fallen down twice due to hills. Pilot Boy assured me we'd try again in town somewhere flattish, as there is no where truely flat in Anchorage.
After the first major snow fall, Pilot Boy loaded me back into the Monstoristy and drove me to a local park and said, "Okay, this snow is perfect for skiing and I doubt the trail is groomed and used a lot, so there'll be good snow for slowing you down."
I have a fear of going down hill. On skis, on my bike, on skates, on my feet....
The second time I stepped into my skis, it was dark and snowing. It did go better than the first time I put my very own skis on, though. I fell a total of three times and none was due to going downhill.
The first time I fell over was because I went off the trail. Because I was sticking to the edge and just kind of fell over. The second time I fell over it was because I stopped suddenly and got tangled up in my own legs, which is funny in itself due to the fact I have short legs. The last time, though, was the best fall.
Pilot Boy and I were done and we glided into the parking lot. I had been unable to actually get my boots to dislocate from the ski. So I am gliding into the parking lot and Pilot Boy unsnaps himself and I suddenly realize, rather randomly, my legs are going two different directions and I can't stop them for some reason. In order to prevent myself from crashing to the ground, I dig my poles into the snow and prop myself up. I know I look all crazy, but I just don't want to fall face first into the snow by the car.
"Can you unhook me?" I ask Pilot Boy.
"No. You need to do it yourself. Learn to unhook yourself," he replies stubbornly.
"I can't. I'll fall."
"No, you won't."
"Yeah. Trust me. My legs are going in two different directions."
Pilot Boy snorts at me and ignore me. I stay in my awkward postion for a moment before he says, "You're getting yourself out of this mess."
So I let myself fall. It was...in slow motion. My legs flew out and I fell face first into the snow. I am not even sure how I managed it, but I felt like I was just dismounting my skis, only they remained on my feet, thus I ended up with my face in the snow.
Let me tell you, the parking lot is not the best place to fall face first into the snow. Even if the parking lot hasn't been driven in much and there's two feet of snow in it.
"How the hell did you just do that?" Pilot Boy asks and I can hear the awe in his voice.
"No clue. Help."
He finally aids me and unsnaps me from the skis. I push myself up and begin laughing.
"Well, I guess that's one way to dismount your skis," Pilot Boy comments, picking up my skis.
Since this point in time, I've only gone out one more time and I tied my boots too tight, or just strained my foot too much as I was in so much pain, I thought I was going to die. I honestly wanted to cut my feet off. For two days.
So I haven't gone again with Pilot Boy because he was really mean after the last time we went. He said he was never going agian with me because bascially I suck. Then he forgot he said this, as he keeps bugging me to go with him. He went again this weekend. Without me. He took Basil, who ran for two miles and can't talk.
So, while Ireland 3.1 attempts to ski, she can't go very far and she will always be outpaced by both Pilot Boy and Basil Bea Dog.
(I do plan to try this whole skiing thing again, but since the last time I went, it's been like....frigid, even by Alaska standards, so I don't really want to face plant in the snow when it's below zero.)
30 November 2011
02 November 2011
The World Turns, I Get Older
Last year, I kind of freaked out about turning 27. And by freaked out, I spent the whole day feeling old and...unaccomplished. Or I guess disillusioned would be a better word.
Well, I'm 28. And...I'm pretty much in the same spot I was last year. Only, I have more hair. And five pounds around my middle. (It comes with getting old, or so I am told every time I complain about it.) We also have more snow on the ground than we did a year ago. And I didn't shovel it. Unlike last year, when I went outside in a thin sweater and shoved the driveway without gloves. I whined this morning I can't find my gloves, so I can't do it.
Like last year, I am thinking about ten years ago. Why? Because I remember being 18, just as I remember being 17. When I turned 17, I honestly didn't remember being 7, as I don't remember much about being 8. Other than I had long hair. Useful, I know.
Anyways, when I turned 18, the following happened:
1. Monsters Inc came out. It was the ONLY thing I wanted to do for my birthday. Really, I want to go see a movie? On opening night? That's a cartoon, fine. It was all I wanted. I didn't get it. Due to teenage drama, the showing I wanted was sold out. So, I didn't see the movie till the following weekend and I was cranky. Because...of teenage drama. Today is Wednesday. No movies come out today I want to see. I have no desire to see movies. Because...I am old. And I am a hermit, so I'd rather stay in my house and use Netflix.
2. My best friend gave me a SUPER SIZED Hersey's bar. Seriously, it was like two pounds of Hersey's bar. And I kept it under my bed. Why? Because that is where I kept junk food when I was 18: under my bed. Gross, I know. Now days, at 28, I keep plastic bins, suitcases and boxes of junk that never got unpacked because it should have been left in Del Rio. (The Hersey's bar remained under the bed till the spring when my mother was like, WILL YOU DO SOMETHING WITH THAT?! So I made cookies. Or something. I don't remember. I just remember it was under my bed for the longest time and I was honesty tired of chocolate by the time I finally smashed it up to make cookies.)
3. I got my blue book back. Which I am currently staring at. Because a few months ago I had my mother send it to me along with all my other journals. I was a writing fiend as a teenager, especially at 18. I don't keep one now. I tried, but, I'm so boring and...not filled with teenage angst. I find keeping this blog hard enough.
4. I remember what I wore that day. And the fact I spent three hours curling my hair into tiny, tiny cork screw curls. The very ones one of the teachers asked me, with a look of awe on her face, "How long did that take you?" It took three hours and by the end of the day, my head hurt from the tug of the ponytail I wore my hair in with the complicated rolls I wore on top of my head. It was a very complicated style and I only wore it twice in my life. It was a total pain. And actually, kind of looked stupid.
5. I had never been in love. I thought I was in love at 18, but I really wasn't. I read a book last night that described falling in love perfectly. (Well a few, but this book really resonated with me, I'm not sure why, but I'm going with it.) You fall. You do not think about it. I just happens and requires no thought or doubt. At 18, I was filled with thoughts and doubts (I have five volumes of journals telling me so much). At 28, I just know. The first time I fell in love, I just knew. It wasn't dramatic. It was the simplest thing in the world. (The falling part, after that, not so simple.) At 18, I felt no relief, only angst and drama. I worried. I was paranoid. I listened to songs and the more angsty the lyrics, the more dark, more drama...the better. I...don't do that any more. I don't see relationship with Pilot Boy in angst-ridden, dark, dramatic songs. Now, I just see CHARACTERS that are in my head in songs I like. Seriously. I no longer have songs, my characters have songs. Stories get songs. My life, not so much.
6. Point six is mixed in with point five.
7. 18 was the first birthday I viewed as a total disaster that I remember. I honestly don't remember turning 15, 16, 17 or anything before that. Those just happened. 18 is the first birthday that burned itself into my mind and refused to let go. And until I turned 21, I had horrible birthdays. They were just...horrific. I always had a horrible day, there was always some sort of drama that unfolded that left me feeling like total shit by the end of the day. When I turned 21...nothing happened. I am serious. I was also deliriously happy, but on the actual day of my birthday, honestly nothing happened. Well, things happened, but nothing that happened due to the fact I was turning 21. I got up late, missed my first lecture, walked to my room in the early morning cold, changed for lunch and then just went about my day till I returned to my room on a hill and fell face first into my bed and fell asleep for an hour. I then woke up, made a Chinese instant meal, ate it in my freezing cold room, was dragged to a party downstairs for like five minutes and then fell asleep. It was...the best day ever. It was the day I fell in love with Glasgow. From that day forward, Glasgow was the best place on earth as far as I was concerned. So much so, I still write love stories about it. And...it's Glasgow.
8. I have something in common with my 18 year old self, though. At 18, I still thought, deep down, I'd be a writer some day. I was beginning to give up this goal, as I had realized sophomore year there was no money in it and I wanted lots of money, but I didn't really give up the writing dream till much later on in my life. And I didn't pick it up till roughly a year or so ago. And since then, I've been working. While Pilot Boy might not think I am "working" I think I am working. I might not be getting paid at the moment, but I write, edit and revise daily. I read for research. Hell, I do research. I never did that before. I just wrote. I thought writing was just about writing the story. I always wrote what I knew, but even doing that...research is needed. I have spent the past year researching colleges, cities, staring at maps of Glasgow, London, Dublin and Chicago. I research names, last names, first names, middle names, back stories, houses, floor plans, and meanings of words in dead languages that no one knows how to speak. I draw maps, I look at maps, and I create entire universes in my head. I spent a whole day figuring out the Scottish schooling system and then another four hours making a freaking class schedule for a character. I spend time scouring the internet for snip its of Scottish/English/Irish/French/Southern American/Etc in order to be able to write out what I hear. I read books I would never read in the name of research. My 18 old self...read Harry Potter.
9. I didn't feel any different when I turned 18. I was an "adult" and yet I did not feel very adult like. I honestly felt like I was not old enough to do the things that 18 year old kids are allowed to do. I didn't think I was old enough to be voting in elections and I had no desire for cigarettes or any of the other things 18 year old kids can buy. I still don't honestly feel like I am old enough to do some things. Something happens after you turn 25, though. You forget how old you are. I walked around this past year, when I was 27, thinking I was 28. Pilot Boy tried to convince me the other day he was only 25 and I was 26. I had to actually do the math to figure out how old I was. And was really confused to find out I was 27. I did the math like five times. At least, this year, while thinking I am 28, I'll actually be 28.
10. 18 year old me burned herself with the curling iron. Often. 28 year old me burns myself, but not usually with the curling iron, as I don't use one as much as I used to. I do, though, usually burn my fingers because I refuse to wear that stupid heat proof gloves that came with the rod thing I bought and use because it makes the most natural looking curls. No, 28 year old me (who was 27 when most of these things happened) just burns herself on the oven, the stove, and the iron. And sometimes the hair dryer. But not as bad as when I was 15 and I dropped it on the back of my neck. I used to balance it in a tissue box over the side of my dresser and then sit under it and blow dry my hair straight and flat. (This was before I knew what a straightening iron was.) One day, the blow dryer fill, right on my neck when I had my head bowed to dry the back of my head. (This was the year of the mushroom hair cut, so I had short hair.) Least to say, I had an ugly red mark on the back of my neck that looked alarmingly like a hickey. And I had no boyfriend to give it to me. I had to go to church and everyone saw it, as I didn't know it was there till I got to church. No one believed I had burned myself either, as it was on the back of my neck. How do you drop a hair dryer there? I had no clue why no one believed me, either, as I thought it was rather well known I had no boyfriend.
Well, there. My birthday entry. Today has nothing speical in store. Other than some eating. I ought to eat lunch today before three pm. Which was when I ate yesterday. Because I forgot. 18 year old me always ate lunch at 10.30 am. As I had fourth hour lunch. 28 year old Ireland, has no lunch time. Sometimes she forgets to eat lunch.
Well, I'm 28. And...I'm pretty much in the same spot I was last year. Only, I have more hair. And five pounds around my middle. (It comes with getting old, or so I am told every time I complain about it.) We also have more snow on the ground than we did a year ago. And I didn't shovel it. Unlike last year, when I went outside in a thin sweater and shoved the driveway without gloves. I whined this morning I can't find my gloves, so I can't do it.
Like last year, I am thinking about ten years ago. Why? Because I remember being 18, just as I remember being 17. When I turned 17, I honestly didn't remember being 7, as I don't remember much about being 8. Other than I had long hair. Useful, I know.
Anyways, when I turned 18, the following happened:
1. Monsters Inc came out. It was the ONLY thing I wanted to do for my birthday. Really, I want to go see a movie? On opening night? That's a cartoon, fine. It was all I wanted. I didn't get it. Due to teenage drama, the showing I wanted was sold out. So, I didn't see the movie till the following weekend and I was cranky. Because...of teenage drama. Today is Wednesday. No movies come out today I want to see. I have no desire to see movies. Because...I am old. And I am a hermit, so I'd rather stay in my house and use Netflix.
2. My best friend gave me a SUPER SIZED Hersey's bar. Seriously, it was like two pounds of Hersey's bar. And I kept it under my bed. Why? Because that is where I kept junk food when I was 18: under my bed. Gross, I know. Now days, at 28, I keep plastic bins, suitcases and boxes of junk that never got unpacked because it should have been left in Del Rio. (The Hersey's bar remained under the bed till the spring when my mother was like, WILL YOU DO SOMETHING WITH THAT?! So I made cookies. Or something. I don't remember. I just remember it was under my bed for the longest time and I was honesty tired of chocolate by the time I finally smashed it up to make cookies.)
3. I got my blue book back. Which I am currently staring at. Because a few months ago I had my mother send it to me along with all my other journals. I was a writing fiend as a teenager, especially at 18. I don't keep one now. I tried, but, I'm so boring and...not filled with teenage angst. I find keeping this blog hard enough.
4. I remember what I wore that day. And the fact I spent three hours curling my hair into tiny, tiny cork screw curls. The very ones one of the teachers asked me, with a look of awe on her face, "How long did that take you?" It took three hours and by the end of the day, my head hurt from the tug of the ponytail I wore my hair in with the complicated rolls I wore on top of my head. It was a very complicated style and I only wore it twice in my life. It was a total pain. And actually, kind of looked stupid.
5. I had never been in love. I thought I was in love at 18, but I really wasn't. I read a book last night that described falling in love perfectly. (Well a few, but this book really resonated with me, I'm not sure why, but I'm going with it.) You fall. You do not think about it. I just happens and requires no thought or doubt. At 18, I was filled with thoughts and doubts (I have five volumes of journals telling me so much). At 28, I just know. The first time I fell in love, I just knew. It wasn't dramatic. It was the simplest thing in the world. (The falling part, after that, not so simple.) At 18, I felt no relief, only angst and drama. I worried. I was paranoid. I listened to songs and the more angsty the lyrics, the more dark, more drama...the better. I...don't do that any more. I don't see relationship with Pilot Boy in angst-ridden, dark, dramatic songs. Now, I just see CHARACTERS that are in my head in songs I like. Seriously. I no longer have songs, my characters have songs. Stories get songs. My life, not so much.
6. Point six is mixed in with point five.
7. 18 was the first birthday I viewed as a total disaster that I remember. I honestly don't remember turning 15, 16, 17 or anything before that. Those just happened. 18 is the first birthday that burned itself into my mind and refused to let go. And until I turned 21, I had horrible birthdays. They were just...horrific. I always had a horrible day, there was always some sort of drama that unfolded that left me feeling like total shit by the end of the day. When I turned 21...nothing happened. I am serious. I was also deliriously happy, but on the actual day of my birthday, honestly nothing happened. Well, things happened, but nothing that happened due to the fact I was turning 21. I got up late, missed my first lecture, walked to my room in the early morning cold, changed for lunch and then just went about my day till I returned to my room on a hill and fell face first into my bed and fell asleep for an hour. I then woke up, made a Chinese instant meal, ate it in my freezing cold room, was dragged to a party downstairs for like five minutes and then fell asleep. It was...the best day ever. It was the day I fell in love with Glasgow. From that day forward, Glasgow was the best place on earth as far as I was concerned. So much so, I still write love stories about it. And...it's Glasgow.
8. I have something in common with my 18 year old self, though. At 18, I still thought, deep down, I'd be a writer some day. I was beginning to give up this goal, as I had realized sophomore year there was no money in it and I wanted lots of money, but I didn't really give up the writing dream till much later on in my life. And I didn't pick it up till roughly a year or so ago. And since then, I've been working. While Pilot Boy might not think I am "working" I think I am working. I might not be getting paid at the moment, but I write, edit and revise daily. I read for research. Hell, I do research. I never did that before. I just wrote. I thought writing was just about writing the story. I always wrote what I knew, but even doing that...research is needed. I have spent the past year researching colleges, cities, staring at maps of Glasgow, London, Dublin and Chicago. I research names, last names, first names, middle names, back stories, houses, floor plans, and meanings of words in dead languages that no one knows how to speak. I draw maps, I look at maps, and I create entire universes in my head. I spent a whole day figuring out the Scottish schooling system and then another four hours making a freaking class schedule for a character. I spend time scouring the internet for snip its of Scottish/English/Irish/French/Southern American/Etc in order to be able to write out what I hear. I read books I would never read in the name of research. My 18 old self...read Harry Potter.
9. I didn't feel any different when I turned 18. I was an "adult" and yet I did not feel very adult like. I honestly felt like I was not old enough to do the things that 18 year old kids are allowed to do. I didn't think I was old enough to be voting in elections and I had no desire for cigarettes or any of the other things 18 year old kids can buy. I still don't honestly feel like I am old enough to do some things. Something happens after you turn 25, though. You forget how old you are. I walked around this past year, when I was 27, thinking I was 28. Pilot Boy tried to convince me the other day he was only 25 and I was 26. I had to actually do the math to figure out how old I was. And was really confused to find out I was 27. I did the math like five times. At least, this year, while thinking I am 28, I'll actually be 28.
10. 18 year old me burned herself with the curling iron. Often. 28 year old me burns myself, but not usually with the curling iron, as I don't use one as much as I used to. I do, though, usually burn my fingers because I refuse to wear that stupid heat proof gloves that came with the rod thing I bought and use because it makes the most natural looking curls. No, 28 year old me (who was 27 when most of these things happened) just burns herself on the oven, the stove, and the iron. And sometimes the hair dryer. But not as bad as when I was 15 and I dropped it on the back of my neck. I used to balance it in a tissue box over the side of my dresser and then sit under it and blow dry my hair straight and flat. (This was before I knew what a straightening iron was.) One day, the blow dryer fill, right on my neck when I had my head bowed to dry the back of my head. (This was the year of the mushroom hair cut, so I had short hair.) Least to say, I had an ugly red mark on the back of my neck that looked alarmingly like a hickey. And I had no boyfriend to give it to me. I had to go to church and everyone saw it, as I didn't know it was there till I got to church. No one believed I had burned myself either, as it was on the back of my neck. How do you drop a hair dryer there? I had no clue why no one believed me, either, as I thought it was rather well known I had no boyfriend.
Well, there. My birthday entry. Today has nothing speical in store. Other than some eating. I ought to eat lunch today before three pm. Which was when I ate yesterday. Because I forgot. 18 year old me always ate lunch at 10.30 am. As I had fourth hour lunch. 28 year old Ireland, has no lunch time. Sometimes she forgets to eat lunch.
01 November 2011
Just when I thought I'd stop lauhging....
Tonight, I spent a half hour trying to stop laughing after watching "The New Girl." Then, I came up stairs to get ready for bed, read, and turn off. When I wake up, I'll be 28 and that, if I am honest, kind of freaks me out. Then, I found this. And I was like, "WFT, he can freaking sing too?"
But, it did get me laughing again. Hopefully it won't be like the other night when I could not stop laughing. I was laughing so much and so hard, Pilot Boy thought I was crying. So, view at your own risk.
But, it did get me laughing again. Hopefully it won't be like the other night when I could not stop laughing. I was laughing so much and so hard, Pilot Boy thought I was crying. So, view at your own risk.
28 October 2011
We Don't Match, but We Always Go Together
Four years yesterday, I married my best friend, with whom I have next to nothing in common. I like to read, he hates books. He likes to do crazy things like climb mountains and run. I'd rather stay in the house and get fat. I like to talk about nothing in general, he never opens his mouth except when I'm busy. He likes really, really bad movies that I cannot stand. I like really bad pop music he cannot stand. Most of the TV shows I like he cannot stand. I like to be alone, while he likes to be surrounded by people. (He will deny this, but it is true. He is a little social butterfly, while I am a well dressed hermit.) But, for some unknown reason, we cannot get enough of one another, so we got married.
And we didn't have a rough first year. Our first move - from IL to the Dirt Hole- was kind of rough, but only because he wanted TO MOVE HIMSELF. Pilot training was easy. Once we actually got in the car to move to Alaska, it was very easy. The first deployment was actually not as horrible as I figured it would be. I only cried because the dog freaked me out by getting sick. At midnight.
So, four years ago, after forgetting his passport and birth certificate (both items claimed to be needed to get married most places) we got married. And five years after he broke my Fossil watch, and four years after I started begging him to replace it, I finally got a new watch.
I loved my Fossil watch. It was blue leather, had a medium sized cuff and a rectangular face. It went with everything and was perfect.
Till the battery died. Some three years after I got the watch off of eBay. (It was my first eBay purchase too.) And, for the life of me, I could not figure out how to change the battery. Now, I am kind of dense, but there was no real way to get at the back of the watch due to the leather cuff. The way the watch face was connected to the cuff band, there was absolutely no way on Earth to get to the back of the watch face to change the battery without ruining the gorgeous, blue leather cuff band. This was tragic on many levels, so ended the days I wore a watch.
But I missed my blue leather cuff watch. I loved wearing it with all the little blue seed bead bracelets I made to go with it. I missed knowing what time it was, as when I owned the watch, I was in college and I never carried my cell phone with me anywhere on campus. Tragically, this meant I never had a clue what time it was.
After I met Pilot Boy, I noticed he wore the most gorgeous watch. It was a Swiss Army watch, but it was elegant, not bulky and....sporty. Now, Pilot Boy has nice things, but his nice things always seem to have a hard life. By the time I showed up in Pilot Boy's life the watch had all ready been busted once due to him shoving his hand in a gigantic magnet or something and the battery was...flawed. At some point, the watch began working again, only the stop watch function does not work any more. Not that he uses it. Then, shortly after I met him, the band on his watch broke and for the life of him, he could not find a band for it. How hard is it to find a brown, leather watch band? Evidently hard when you want it to fit the Swiss Army watch face he has. When he finally got a new band, he then wore the life out of another battery. This was three years ago. I began to steal his watch last summer. It's way too big for me and Pilot Boy kept telling me, "That watch is too big for you. The face is HUGE."
I did not care. I reminded him he broke my beloved Fossil watch.
Pilot Boy never did like my Fossil watch as he viewed it as junk, so he wasn't too bothered it broke the day he decided to pry the watch back off while keeping it connected to the cuff band. He managed to get the back off, keep the band intact, but the hands on the watch....fell off. I am serious. The moment he got the back off the watch, the hands both fell off. So, I chalked the poor watch up as a lost cause and began to demand he get me a new watch.
He refused to buy me a new Fossil watch.
"Those are junky. Why do you want one of those?" he asked.
"My watch is not junky."
"It fell apart when I took the back off," he reminded me.
"Your stop watch function on your 300 dollar one doesn't work!" I countered.
"I put my hand into a super magnet."
"Why?"
"I don't remember."
"I want a new watch."
"Then buy a good one."
"I'm not paying 300 dollars for a watch!"
During this conversation, I had no idea where he'd found 300 dollars to buy a watch, as he was still in college and I didn't have a job yet. Well, I had a job, but I didn't even clear 300 dollar a week.
After we got married, I told him I wanted a watch for Christmas. I sent pictures. I sent links to watches. In return I got back all sort of ugly Swiss Army watches. I pulled him to look at watches in the stores when we'd go to the mall. He's roll his eyes and tell me to stop showing him junky watches.
Since we've been married, if there isn't something pressing I want, I have always told him I want a watch. One like his. Especially after I stole it and started wearing it, wishing the band had a few more holes so it'd fit my wrist.
I gave up hope after year three of not getting a watch. I wasn't even suspicious when I got an email a while ago asking me what I thought about white watches. Now, you might think this would set me off, alert me to what he was up to, but you do not know Pilot Boy very well.
I get asked random questions like this all the time and usually, they have something to do with someone he knows. Or sees on the street. I actually thought he was asking me what I thought about white watches because someone in his office was either wearing one/getting one/or talking about them. It's happened before. And usually, Pilot Boy does not ask me what I want. Or if he does, he ignores it completely. (This is how I wound up with a iPod, a heart necklace, a stainless steel tea kettle, a TARDIS cookie jar, a WWII pilot sweetheart bracelet, a jumbo sized photo of the inn we were married at, fleece socks, and mug of Queen Elizabeth's jubilee.) The only time he's listened to me was when he was trapped in OK for the fall and I got the pants and sweater I requested from Victoria's Secret. The other times when I get what I request, I drag him to get it. (This is how I got my Oakley sunglasses and Basil Bea Dog. Though, if he hadn't gone that day with me, I more than likely would have come home without a dog...I was overwhelmed. And he wouldn't have gotten Basil Bea if I hadn't wanted a small dog, as he wants a HUGE one.)
Other than that, he never listens. Or pays attention. Or remembers.
So, I was rather surprised yesterday when he handed me a paper bag with abstract artwork on it and said, "Here. Happy Anniversary."
It was heavy. The weight made me feel guilty (I got him underwear. I almost always get him underwear or something practical because...he never buys these things himself). By the time I pulled out the heavy box, I felt really bad. I still had no idea what it was till I unearthed it from the box with in a BOX it was in. OMG. The container the watch showed up in...is insane. It is so complicated and....a lot of packaging. After getting through the layers I found a....white watch. And then I felt horrible. I'll level with you, my anniversary sneaked up on me. I mean, I knew it was coming, but suddenly it was the day of and all I had was underwear to give Pilot Boy. My presents always fall flat next to what he gives me.
iPod - Woolworth's fleece blanket
WWII bracelet - chocolate and card telling him I am a monster (Because I hadn't gotten him anything for Valentine's Day because I thought we were going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. He woke me up before work and asked, "Do you want your present now or later?" Small panic, I chose later.)
White gold necklace - shampoo and socks
Jumbo photo - kitchen utensils.
Queen Elizabeth mug - nothing (I hate Valentine's Day. I've never wanted to celebrate it, so I had told him since we were moving to AK, we'd just forgo, but as usually, he didn't listen...)
Stainless Steel Tea Kettle - sweater
Fleece socks - a cardboard chest to keep things ( he had told me i couldn't spend more than five dollars on his first v-day gift after he gave me the sock the weekend before and I was like, WTH? We weren't exchanging gifts!)
I SUCK at getting gifts for Pilot Boy. Seriously, I really suck. I remember, at some point, I was really good at getting gifts for people. I would just walk into shops and WHAM, something would strike me as so (Fill in the black). And now....I just see things I like. It is horrible and self centered, but I try to go into gift mode and it never works. I also no longer know what to tell people I want. And now I'll have to think of something other than a watch to tell Pilot Boy...as I have a new watch now.
That is white and huge. Just like his watch, only in white. And with a smaller band.
And we didn't have a rough first year. Our first move - from IL to the Dirt Hole- was kind of rough, but only because he wanted TO MOVE HIMSELF. Pilot training was easy. Once we actually got in the car to move to Alaska, it was very easy. The first deployment was actually not as horrible as I figured it would be. I only cried because the dog freaked me out by getting sick. At midnight.
So, four years ago, after forgetting his passport and birth certificate (both items claimed to be needed to get married most places) we got married. And five years after he broke my Fossil watch, and four years after I started begging him to replace it, I finally got a new watch.
I loved my Fossil watch. It was blue leather, had a medium sized cuff and a rectangular face. It went with everything and was perfect.
Till the battery died. Some three years after I got the watch off of eBay. (It was my first eBay purchase too.) And, for the life of me, I could not figure out how to change the battery. Now, I am kind of dense, but there was no real way to get at the back of the watch due to the leather cuff. The way the watch face was connected to the cuff band, there was absolutely no way on Earth to get to the back of the watch face to change the battery without ruining the gorgeous, blue leather cuff band. This was tragic on many levels, so ended the days I wore a watch.
But I missed my blue leather cuff watch. I loved wearing it with all the little blue seed bead bracelets I made to go with it. I missed knowing what time it was, as when I owned the watch, I was in college and I never carried my cell phone with me anywhere on campus. Tragically, this meant I never had a clue what time it was.
After I met Pilot Boy, I noticed he wore the most gorgeous watch. It was a Swiss Army watch, but it was elegant, not bulky and....sporty. Now, Pilot Boy has nice things, but his nice things always seem to have a hard life. By the time I showed up in Pilot Boy's life the watch had all ready been busted once due to him shoving his hand in a gigantic magnet or something and the battery was...flawed. At some point, the watch began working again, only the stop watch function does not work any more. Not that he uses it. Then, shortly after I met him, the band on his watch broke and for the life of him, he could not find a band for it. How hard is it to find a brown, leather watch band? Evidently hard when you want it to fit the Swiss Army watch face he has. When he finally got a new band, he then wore the life out of another battery. This was three years ago. I began to steal his watch last summer. It's way too big for me and Pilot Boy kept telling me, "That watch is too big for you. The face is HUGE."
I did not care. I reminded him he broke my beloved Fossil watch.
Pilot Boy never did like my Fossil watch as he viewed it as junk, so he wasn't too bothered it broke the day he decided to pry the watch back off while keeping it connected to the cuff band. He managed to get the back off, keep the band intact, but the hands on the watch....fell off. I am serious. The moment he got the back off the watch, the hands both fell off. So, I chalked the poor watch up as a lost cause and began to demand he get me a new watch.
He refused to buy me a new Fossil watch.
"Those are junky. Why do you want one of those?" he asked.
"My watch is not junky."
"It fell apart when I took the back off," he reminded me.
"Your stop watch function on your 300 dollar one doesn't work!" I countered.
"I put my hand into a super magnet."
"Why?"
"I don't remember."
"I want a new watch."
"Then buy a good one."
"I'm not paying 300 dollars for a watch!"
During this conversation, I had no idea where he'd found 300 dollars to buy a watch, as he was still in college and I didn't have a job yet. Well, I had a job, but I didn't even clear 300 dollar a week.
After we got married, I told him I wanted a watch for Christmas. I sent pictures. I sent links to watches. In return I got back all sort of ugly Swiss Army watches. I pulled him to look at watches in the stores when we'd go to the mall. He's roll his eyes and tell me to stop showing him junky watches.
Since we've been married, if there isn't something pressing I want, I have always told him I want a watch. One like his. Especially after I stole it and started wearing it, wishing the band had a few more holes so it'd fit my wrist.
I gave up hope after year three of not getting a watch. I wasn't even suspicious when I got an email a while ago asking me what I thought about white watches. Now, you might think this would set me off, alert me to what he was up to, but you do not know Pilot Boy very well.
I get asked random questions like this all the time and usually, they have something to do with someone he knows. Or sees on the street. I actually thought he was asking me what I thought about white watches because someone in his office was either wearing one/getting one/or talking about them. It's happened before. And usually, Pilot Boy does not ask me what I want. Or if he does, he ignores it completely. (This is how I wound up with a iPod, a heart necklace, a stainless steel tea kettle, a TARDIS cookie jar, a WWII pilot sweetheart bracelet, a jumbo sized photo of the inn we were married at, fleece socks, and mug of Queen Elizabeth's jubilee.) The only time he's listened to me was when he was trapped in OK for the fall and I got the pants and sweater I requested from Victoria's Secret. The other times when I get what I request, I drag him to get it. (This is how I got my Oakley sunglasses and Basil Bea Dog. Though, if he hadn't gone that day with me, I more than likely would have come home without a dog...I was overwhelmed. And he wouldn't have gotten Basil Bea if I hadn't wanted a small dog, as he wants a HUGE one.)
Other than that, he never listens. Or pays attention. Or remembers.
So, I was rather surprised yesterday when he handed me a paper bag with abstract artwork on it and said, "Here. Happy Anniversary."
It was heavy. The weight made me feel guilty (I got him underwear. I almost always get him underwear or something practical because...he never buys these things himself). By the time I pulled out the heavy box, I felt really bad. I still had no idea what it was till I unearthed it from the box with in a BOX it was in. OMG. The container the watch showed up in...is insane. It is so complicated and....a lot of packaging. After getting through the layers I found a....white watch. And then I felt horrible. I'll level with you, my anniversary sneaked up on me. I mean, I knew it was coming, but suddenly it was the day of and all I had was underwear to give Pilot Boy. My presents always fall flat next to what he gives me.
iPod - Woolworth's fleece blanket
WWII bracelet - chocolate and card telling him I am a monster (Because I hadn't gotten him anything for Valentine's Day because I thought we were going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. He woke me up before work and asked, "Do you want your present now or later?" Small panic, I chose later.)
White gold necklace - shampoo and socks
Jumbo photo - kitchen utensils.
Queen Elizabeth mug - nothing (I hate Valentine's Day. I've never wanted to celebrate it, so I had told him since we were moving to AK, we'd just forgo, but as usually, he didn't listen...)
Stainless Steel Tea Kettle - sweater
Fleece socks - a cardboard chest to keep things ( he had told me i couldn't spend more than five dollars on his first v-day gift after he gave me the sock the weekend before and I was like, WTH? We weren't exchanging gifts!)
I SUCK at getting gifts for Pilot Boy. Seriously, I really suck. I remember, at some point, I was really good at getting gifts for people. I would just walk into shops and WHAM, something would strike me as so (Fill in the black). And now....I just see things I like. It is horrible and self centered, but I try to go into gift mode and it never works. I also no longer know what to tell people I want. And now I'll have to think of something other than a watch to tell Pilot Boy...as I have a new watch now.
That is white and huge. Just like his watch, only in white. And with a smaller band.
14 October 2011
And So I Got a Flu Shot
I don't remember when I began to get flu shots. I think I was in college. Maybe. Or high school. I honestly do not remember. I do remember getting one while I in college. It was a big deal or something. I also remember being sent to the doctor's office to get a flu shot while I was in college when I'd come home for fall break.
The first fall after I graduated from college, I got a free one provided by my employer. I thought it was a wee bit odd to be stabbed with a needle by a woman who I worked for who was a pharmacist. Before this point in time, I had been unaware a pharmacist could give shots.
They can.
After I got married, I didn't get a flu shot, because I quit my job a week before they had the free clinic. So I just didn't get one. My husband did. He was chased around the office so they could spray it up his nose. (Husband is against flu shots. Or shots in general, which is hilarious, as he gets more shots then I have had in a lifetime.) The next fall, I didn't get one again, as I was based in the Dirt Hole and never left my house. I didn't see the need for me to get one, as I never went anywhere. Plus, at this point, I was fully integrated into the "military family" so I had to get one at the clinic on base. And they were only offering the flu mist, so it was rumored. While I am all for this, my nose isn't. Due to the fact it was always clogged with snot, I didn't think this form of flu vaccine would benefit me much. So I just didn't get one.
The next fall, the only reason I got one was because my mother and father made me. (And by made me I mean they bugged me till I drove myself to Walgreens and had a battle with the pharmacist who wanted to submit it to the insurance company, which due to the fact I'm "military," I didn't want them to do, because I was sure it wouldn't be covered, as I could get one at the clinic. Well, not really, as I was located a few thousand miles away from the clinic, but whatever. The pharmacist didn't want me to pay for it and I had to force her to let me pay.) However, since that point in time, I didn't get one. Why?
Mostly because I avoid the hospital/clinic at all costs. I'm not sure what it is about this place, but the hospital/clinic is always hopping. I have yet to go there when the parking lot isn't filled or almost full. (Even at 11 pm on a summer night, there was an alarming amount of cars still in the parking lot.) Usually, one spends more time driving around the parking lot than doing ones business in the hospital/clinic. So, I only go there when things are dire. And getting a flu shot isn't dire, as I am a hermit. (The best dressed one, too.)
However, the other day, during my search for an Alaskan Postcard and discovering, like bears, postcards hibernate I wound up getting a flu shot. I am serious about postcards going into hibernation. A few weeks ago, I swear to god, postcards were EVERYWHERE. Then, when I need one, they all vanish. So, I decided to go to the BX (think Target, but for only special people with magic cards) as the BX has a huge tourist section. Every BX I've ever been in has always has "local" postcard racks.
Well, the post cards all went into hibernation even in the BX, as the only postcard rack there was for postcard DVDs. Seriously? I just wanted a flipping postcard (well, two) and not a DVD. I also didn't want a card, which was all I was finding. Seriously.
Before I made this tragic discovery, though, I was stopped at the entry to the store by a guy in fatigues asking if I wanted a flu shot.
I noticed the random table in the front of the store the minute I entered the "mall" the shop is located in. It was a table filled with quite a few guys and girls in fatigues, sitting around looking rather bored with a huge red box on the table, but I couldn't read the sign on taped to the table due to the fact I was concentrating on walking. (I wore my Seychelles Romance Boots for the second day in a row and my feet were rebelling. For image of shoe, see banner.) So, I was walking putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. As I walked into the store, though, one of the guys jumped up and looked excited.
And I thought, dear god, what the hell does he want?
"Ma'am?" he called over to me, as since becoming part of the military family I've become a 27 year old ma'am. Since I knew he was speaking to me, I paused in my careful walking. "Can I interest you in a flu shot?"
I stopped fully and stood in the Hollywood starlet pose in order to steady myself. (Legs crossed, stand up straight, hold your arms behind you.) I stared at the table and realized it was one of those bio boxes that was the red box. They also had tackle boxes full of flu shots. I am serious. Fish tackle boxes full of syringes.
Now, I know what y'all are thinking. Are you going to seriously get a shot in the front end of a store that is like Target? Located in a mall?
While I thought this was a wee bit odd, it wasn't all that odd at the same time. So I said, "Okay. Sure."
This caused a flurry of activity at the table. One guy leaped up and grabbed a handful of syringes and another woman grabbed a clipboard. She asked for the magic card, so I handed it to her. The other guy, the one who kept calling me ma'am and making me feel old (even though I wasn't dressed old, I was more than likely dressed too young for my age, but WHATEVER), asked me what kind of shot I wanted.
"We've got the mist and the traditional."
I looked at him finally and he looked really happy about this information. I was unaware they just simply offered the traditional sort to anyone, as for the past four years they've been chasing my husband down with the mist in hand. (And sometimes they seriously chased him.) I thought a moment, which one did I want? Well, I was not dressed for a shot. And by that I mean, I was not wearing a short sleeve or sleeve less top. I had a white dress shirt on, plus a blazer. And there was no way, I could roll my sleeve up to get a shot, so I said, "Mist."
This excited the guy yet again, so he handed me a plastic sheet and said, "Read this and if you answer NO to each question, we're good to go."
The girl who took the magic card handed it back to me, so I read the laminated sheet while stuffing my magic card into my bag. Since I had answered NO to each one, the guy grabbed a syringe and said, "Now, breathe like normal."
I tried not to laugh. As my nose was actually clear that day, thus I wasn't breathing like normal. Normally I breathe through a thick layer of mucus. (I bet you really wanted to know that.) So, I took a breath in and he shot some liquid into my right nostril. Then he repeated it in the other nostril. He then handed me a cheap, paper tissue and said, "For drippage. Don't blow your nose for 10 minutes."
To which I almost laughed again. As I don't usually blow my nose, but I almost always have the sniffles. Joys of allergies, people. So, taking my cheap tissue to press to my nose, I strutted off in my Romance Boots and found out the postcards at the BX were also in hibernation, so I'd have to buy a packet. So I bought a packet of postcards, strutted over to the clinque counter, got some eye makeup remover and eyelash primer and then left. (After getting my second Pumpkin Spice Latte of the seasons at the Starbucks down the way from the BX.)
So, that's how I got a flu shot. Because I wanted two postcards.
The first fall after I graduated from college, I got a free one provided by my employer. I thought it was a wee bit odd to be stabbed with a needle by a woman who I worked for who was a pharmacist. Before this point in time, I had been unaware a pharmacist could give shots.
They can.
After I got married, I didn't get a flu shot, because I quit my job a week before they had the free clinic. So I just didn't get one. My husband did. He was chased around the office so they could spray it up his nose. (Husband is against flu shots. Or shots in general, which is hilarious, as he gets more shots then I have had in a lifetime.) The next fall, I didn't get one again, as I was based in the Dirt Hole and never left my house. I didn't see the need for me to get one, as I never went anywhere. Plus, at this point, I was fully integrated into the "military family" so I had to get one at the clinic on base. And they were only offering the flu mist, so it was rumored. While I am all for this, my nose isn't. Due to the fact it was always clogged with snot, I didn't think this form of flu vaccine would benefit me much. So I just didn't get one.
The next fall, the only reason I got one was because my mother and father made me. (And by made me I mean they bugged me till I drove myself to Walgreens and had a battle with the pharmacist who wanted to submit it to the insurance company, which due to the fact I'm "military," I didn't want them to do, because I was sure it wouldn't be covered, as I could get one at the clinic. Well, not really, as I was located a few thousand miles away from the clinic, but whatever. The pharmacist didn't want me to pay for it and I had to force her to let me pay.) However, since that point in time, I didn't get one. Why?
Mostly because I avoid the hospital/clinic at all costs. I'm not sure what it is about this place, but the hospital/clinic is always hopping. I have yet to go there when the parking lot isn't filled or almost full. (Even at 11 pm on a summer night, there was an alarming amount of cars still in the parking lot.) Usually, one spends more time driving around the parking lot than doing ones business in the hospital/clinic. So, I only go there when things are dire. And getting a flu shot isn't dire, as I am a hermit. (The best dressed one, too.)
However, the other day, during my search for an Alaskan Postcard and discovering, like bears, postcards hibernate I wound up getting a flu shot. I am serious about postcards going into hibernation. A few weeks ago, I swear to god, postcards were EVERYWHERE. Then, when I need one, they all vanish. So, I decided to go to the BX (think Target, but for only special people with magic cards) as the BX has a huge tourist section. Every BX I've ever been in has always has "local" postcard racks.
Well, the post cards all went into hibernation even in the BX, as the only postcard rack there was for postcard DVDs. Seriously? I just wanted a flipping postcard (well, two) and not a DVD. I also didn't want a card, which was all I was finding. Seriously.
Before I made this tragic discovery, though, I was stopped at the entry to the store by a guy in fatigues asking if I wanted a flu shot.
I noticed the random table in the front of the store the minute I entered the "mall" the shop is located in. It was a table filled with quite a few guys and girls in fatigues, sitting around looking rather bored with a huge red box on the table, but I couldn't read the sign on taped to the table due to the fact I was concentrating on walking. (I wore my Seychelles Romance Boots for the second day in a row and my feet were rebelling. For image of shoe, see banner.) So, I was walking putting one foot in front of the other and not falling over. As I walked into the store, though, one of the guys jumped up and looked excited.
And I thought, dear god, what the hell does he want?
"Ma'am?" he called over to me, as since becoming part of the military family I've become a 27 year old ma'am. Since I knew he was speaking to me, I paused in my careful walking. "Can I interest you in a flu shot?"
I stopped fully and stood in the Hollywood starlet pose in order to steady myself. (Legs crossed, stand up straight, hold your arms behind you.) I stared at the table and realized it was one of those bio boxes that was the red box. They also had tackle boxes full of flu shots. I am serious. Fish tackle boxes full of syringes.
Now, I know what y'all are thinking. Are you going to seriously get a shot in the front end of a store that is like Target? Located in a mall?
While I thought this was a wee bit odd, it wasn't all that odd at the same time. So I said, "Okay. Sure."
This caused a flurry of activity at the table. One guy leaped up and grabbed a handful of syringes and another woman grabbed a clipboard. She asked for the magic card, so I handed it to her. The other guy, the one who kept calling me ma'am and making me feel old (even though I wasn't dressed old, I was more than likely dressed too young for my age, but WHATEVER), asked me what kind of shot I wanted.
"We've got the mist and the traditional."
I looked at him finally and he looked really happy about this information. I was unaware they just simply offered the traditional sort to anyone, as for the past four years they've been chasing my husband down with the mist in hand. (And sometimes they seriously chased him.) I thought a moment, which one did I want? Well, I was not dressed for a shot. And by that I mean, I was not wearing a short sleeve or sleeve less top. I had a white dress shirt on, plus a blazer. And there was no way, I could roll my sleeve up to get a shot, so I said, "Mist."
This excited the guy yet again, so he handed me a plastic sheet and said, "Read this and if you answer NO to each question, we're good to go."
The girl who took the magic card handed it back to me, so I read the laminated sheet while stuffing my magic card into my bag. Since I had answered NO to each one, the guy grabbed a syringe and said, "Now, breathe like normal."
I tried not to laugh. As my nose was actually clear that day, thus I wasn't breathing like normal. Normally I breathe through a thick layer of mucus. (I bet you really wanted to know that.) So, I took a breath in and he shot some liquid into my right nostril. Then he repeated it in the other nostril. He then handed me a cheap, paper tissue and said, "For drippage. Don't blow your nose for 10 minutes."
To which I almost laughed again. As I don't usually blow my nose, but I almost always have the sniffles. Joys of allergies, people. So, taking my cheap tissue to press to my nose, I strutted off in my Romance Boots and found out the postcards at the BX were also in hibernation, so I'd have to buy a packet. So I bought a packet of postcards, strutted over to the clinque counter, got some eye makeup remover and eyelash primer and then left. (After getting my second Pumpkin Spice Latte of the seasons at the Starbucks down the way from the BX.)
So, that's how I got a flu shot. Because I wanted two postcards.
17 September 2011
I'm a Reading Machine, Hear Me Read
I just finished mowing the lawn. For the last time....this year. I hope. It was finally sunny. I ought to have gone out and mowed it...last weekend. Buuuuuuutttttttttt, I didn't. I stayed in and read. Which I've done. Daily. For. The last...month? I'm lame.
Books I've read in the past month:
The Circle of Magic (Sandry's, Deja's, Tris's, and Briar's book. There are four books and I read at least two of them (Sandry's and Tris's) when I was 14. The summer before I started high school, I think. I might have read Deja's book, I don't remember. I never read Brair's book. Anyways, I re-read or read them all finally, as they appeared one day on my Kindle search for Tamora Pierce. I was like WHOOOO. They are brilliant as usual. I fell in love with Brair. I didn't like him too well the first time I read the books, Tris being my favorite character, but this round, I found Brair fascinating.)
The Circle Opens(Another four books that have titles. But I am lazy. I don't feel like looking them up. I just mowed the lawn and feel like death. Anyways, I read them in order. I think. I started out with Sandry, who was the only one who remained in the town where they'd all been brought together in the first place. In the series, each new Mage gets a student. And none of them really want a student. Sandry and Deja kind of suck as teachers and are the ones who are least inclined with their students. Briar isn't inclined, but he winds up being the best teacher. And it is not because I am bias that I say this. He's the one who quickly accepts his role and embraces it. However, I can tell from reading about 14 year old Brair, he's going to be trouble as he gets older. And enjoys it. Tris's book, though, was my all time favorite out of the four. I liked her student quite a bit and I liked witnessing the changes in Tris.)
The Will of the Empress. (Totally a GREAT book to wrap up the whole Circle series. I know there's another one, but it doesn't feature Sandry, Deja, Tris or most importantly Brair, so I've not read it yet. Anyways, this book starts after the four have been apart for years upon years and have grown apart. They've cut themselves off from one another and then travel into hostile territory. Throughout the book, they finally manage to open themselves up to one another though, so it ends well. Well, for some of them. And I was right about Brair. That is proven in this book. And while it is perfectly understandable, it kind of annoys me. But I KNOW THERE IS A REASON, so I know it shouldn't annoy me. Not everyone can be as I WANT THEM.)
Faking It. (And ADULT BOOK. And by that I mean, it's aimed at Adult like people who want a romantic, introspective book to look at. Or read. It was pretty good...I was slightly frustrated after making one care so much about the two main character they never "got together." Oops, spoiler.)
Getting Caught. (This was okay. I liked that it was mostly about two former friends, who due to lack of communication started pranking one another. And hated one another for basically teh same reason, even though neither had done what the other hated the other for. Typical teenager. Cute. Not the best Mandy Hubbard, but she did write it with another person. So far, RIPPLE is the BEST Mandy Hubbard book. It was even better than But I Love Him.)
Beautiful Disaster. (I had low hopes for this book, after skimming the reviews. I was mostly interested it because it was about COLLEGE people. College Freshman. I haven't seen many books about college aged people, so I leaped. It was kind of long and it was kind of...stupid. But it was like crack. Or a soap opera. Like Passions. I miss Passions sometimes. It was like a train wreck and you just could not stop looking. That was this dumb book. It was like horrible accident that you just had to keep reading about. It was horrible. The relationship was...horrible. And then...the ending sucked. It was like Twilight all over again. Only with...sex.)
The Ghost and the Goth. (OMG. I read this twice in two days. It is...fluffy. But SO DAMN GOOD. I saw this in the bookstore when I went to get R her present for her July Birthday, which is still sitting on my dinning room table for no good reason other than....I am the laziest person known to man. Anyways, I saw it in the book store and I knew I was a gonner for two reasons: the uber popular girl and the outsider. I'm a total sucker for these things. I'm sorry. I knew it. Then add in teh ghost aspect and I was like, SQUEEEEEE. And it lived up to all my expections. Only, the publisher failed, as it's not on Kindle yet for Book 2. BAH. It's the last book in the Immortals series all over again.)
Between the Lines. (Yet another book after reading the first two lines of the description I bought without reading any more, as it was about...Hollywood. Acting. Movies. Add in a wee bit of Romance. I love these topics as well. My all time favorite books as a kid always dealt with actresses and TV or movies. So, I got this right away and read it twice in two days. I love that it's told from two perspectives, the guy and girl. I also like how it ends, which I always surprising. Endings are the worst for me. I can't write them, I hate reading them. Then, I found out there's another book in the series and I was dancing around the room.)
Epic Fail. (Another I got when I saw Hollywood in the description. The book was kind of an epic fail though...it was a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from what I could tell. Which must be some book, as several of the books I've read over the past year are basically re-tellings of that story. Elizabeth Bennett is a big deal and I have no clue why. Why? Because I've read four pages of PP and thought my mind was going to explode. I only know what it's about because I watched Lost in Austen after Claire told me to. But, while the other stories I didn't SEE the story line playing out for me, I did in this story. Even the character's names were close to the original names used. It distracted me throughout. Also, while I loved how we FINALLY got to know the main dude near the end, I was rather unhappy it just ENDED rather randomly.)
Anna and the French Kiss. (This has popped up in the recommends since I got my Kindle. Whose name is Kendi. I don't know if I told you that. Anyways, I've always looked at it, heard wonderful things about it, but something prevented me from hitting the BUY button. I have no clue what, but it did. Finally, though, yesterday, I hit the buy button. And the book ate me alive. I am serious. It ate me alive. It has EVERYTHING going for it. A great main character voice, a wonderful boy to fall in love with, and great supporting character and....Paris. I'm not a HUGE Paris fan. I've never had this undying NEED to go to Paris. Or learn French. Or know anything about French. Except the French Revolution because it MAKES LITTLE SENSE to me. Like Communism. Or Economics. Things that make no sense to me, I always want to know more about. In a sense, I want things to fit into neat little boxes. But, that's not the point. Paris is not London. Paris is not Glasgow. Paris is not British in other words. So, I don't care about it. In the title, on the cover, you can tell Paris/French/France will play a role. It does. It is an important role. But, I wish that hadn't prevented me from buying the book. Because...this book is AWESOME. I can't even put it into words. I think I might be able to read this book a million times. Like Harry Potter. Or Summer Story (which I wrote, and I've read a total of five times. And I still love it.))
Falling in Love With English Boys. (Duh, I got this book after seeing the title. It was kind of hard to get into, mostly because it is written as a blog written by a 16 year old in today's world, using today's slang, today's spelling and she write as I do. How she speaks. So thing are spelled wrong. I think if I read it out loud, it'd make more sense, but this was still pretty good. It was woven in with a diary of an 18 year old in 1815. Who knows a NICK. WHO ACTS LIKE A NICK. After this point...I kind of liked it more, so I read it too fast and missed a lot. I will read it again....after I read Anna and the French Kiss again. After I kill my barking dog. (Just kidding. I'm just going to wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she's not allowed to bark at the neighbor. She will look pathedic, I will go, "awwwww" and kiss her and hug her and she will cuddle up next to me and we'll forget she just scared the living shit out of me and more than likely who ever she was barking at out the front window.) Anyways, I love two viewpoints, and multiple story lines that weave together in the end, so duh, I liked this book. Plus LONDON. Tragically, it never out right told us who the 1815 chick ended up with, though it did tell us who she did not. Which was good, because I could sit there and be a dork.)
And that's it. Unless I add in there the stories I've written that I've read. (Mostly Summer Story. It's the only "complete" one. The others all need re-writes. Like RAB. RAB needs help I've decided. I have never been bored reading it till the last time I looked at it. I still loved the characters, but god, I was like, WFT was I thinking?)
Do people really say, in every day conversations, "BRB." Like say the freaking letters instead of "Be right back?" I had a friend in high school who said, "TTYL" And I always blinked at her. As my head doesn't work fast enough to figure it out. I've just noticed in the last few YA books, that in the actual conversations people have they are speaking in texting lingo. LOL, BRB. GTG. I am like, HUH? I AM OLD.
Oh, so I mowed the lawn. And I ignored the neighbors and people outside. Enjoying the fall day with my broken earphones, which one was stuffed into my shirt thumping and making horrible noises. Pilot Boy ran off with all earphones or lost them. We had three sets of BRAND NEW APPLE earphone, THREE sets of fancy ones and now the only ones I have find are the broken OLD APPLE EARPHONES that came with MY FIRST iSHUFFLE. SERIOUSLY?
I'm going to go die now. Or watch Doctor Who.
Books I've read in the past month:
The Circle of Magic (Sandry's, Deja's, Tris's, and Briar's book. There are four books and I read at least two of them (Sandry's and Tris's) when I was 14. The summer before I started high school, I think. I might have read Deja's book, I don't remember. I never read Brair's book. Anyways, I re-read or read them all finally, as they appeared one day on my Kindle search for Tamora Pierce. I was like WHOOOO. They are brilliant as usual. I fell in love with Brair. I didn't like him too well the first time I read the books, Tris being my favorite character, but this round, I found Brair fascinating.)
The Circle Opens(Another four books that have titles. But I am lazy. I don't feel like looking them up. I just mowed the lawn and feel like death. Anyways, I read them in order. I think. I started out with Sandry, who was the only one who remained in the town where they'd all been brought together in the first place. In the series, each new Mage gets a student. And none of them really want a student. Sandry and Deja kind of suck as teachers and are the ones who are least inclined with their students. Briar isn't inclined, but he winds up being the best teacher. And it is not because I am bias that I say this. He's the one who quickly accepts his role and embraces it. However, I can tell from reading about 14 year old Brair, he's going to be trouble as he gets older. And enjoys it. Tris's book, though, was my all time favorite out of the four. I liked her student quite a bit and I liked witnessing the changes in Tris.)
The Will of the Empress. (Totally a GREAT book to wrap up the whole Circle series. I know there's another one, but it doesn't feature Sandry, Deja, Tris or most importantly Brair, so I've not read it yet. Anyways, this book starts after the four have been apart for years upon years and have grown apart. They've cut themselves off from one another and then travel into hostile territory. Throughout the book, they finally manage to open themselves up to one another though, so it ends well. Well, for some of them. And I was right about Brair. That is proven in this book. And while it is perfectly understandable, it kind of annoys me. But I KNOW THERE IS A REASON, so I know it shouldn't annoy me. Not everyone can be as I WANT THEM.)
Faking It. (And ADULT BOOK. And by that I mean, it's aimed at Adult like people who want a romantic, introspective book to look at. Or read. It was pretty good...I was slightly frustrated after making one care so much about the two main character they never "got together." Oops, spoiler.)
Getting Caught. (This was okay. I liked that it was mostly about two former friends, who due to lack of communication started pranking one another. And hated one another for basically teh same reason, even though neither had done what the other hated the other for. Typical teenager. Cute. Not the best Mandy Hubbard, but she did write it with another person. So far, RIPPLE is the BEST Mandy Hubbard book. It was even better than But I Love Him.)
Beautiful Disaster. (I had low hopes for this book, after skimming the reviews. I was mostly interested it because it was about COLLEGE people. College Freshman. I haven't seen many books about college aged people, so I leaped. It was kind of long and it was kind of...stupid. But it was like crack. Or a soap opera. Like Passions. I miss Passions sometimes. It was like a train wreck and you just could not stop looking. That was this dumb book. It was like horrible accident that you just had to keep reading about. It was horrible. The relationship was...horrible. And then...the ending sucked. It was like Twilight all over again. Only with...sex.)
The Ghost and the Goth. (OMG. I read this twice in two days. It is...fluffy. But SO DAMN GOOD. I saw this in the bookstore when I went to get R her present for her July Birthday, which is still sitting on my dinning room table for no good reason other than....I am the laziest person known to man. Anyways, I saw it in the book store and I knew I was a gonner for two reasons: the uber popular girl and the outsider. I'm a total sucker for these things. I'm sorry. I knew it. Then add in teh ghost aspect and I was like, SQUEEEEEE. And it lived up to all my expections. Only, the publisher failed, as it's not on Kindle yet for Book 2. BAH. It's the last book in the Immortals series all over again.)
Between the Lines. (Yet another book after reading the first two lines of the description I bought without reading any more, as it was about...Hollywood. Acting. Movies. Add in a wee bit of Romance. I love these topics as well. My all time favorite books as a kid always dealt with actresses and TV or movies. So, I got this right away and read it twice in two days. I love that it's told from two perspectives, the guy and girl. I also like how it ends, which I always surprising. Endings are the worst for me. I can't write them, I hate reading them. Then, I found out there's another book in the series and I was dancing around the room.)
Epic Fail. (Another I got when I saw Hollywood in the description. The book was kind of an epic fail though...it was a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from what I could tell. Which must be some book, as several of the books I've read over the past year are basically re-tellings of that story. Elizabeth Bennett is a big deal and I have no clue why. Why? Because I've read four pages of PP and thought my mind was going to explode. I only know what it's about because I watched Lost in Austen after Claire told me to. But, while the other stories I didn't SEE the story line playing out for me, I did in this story. Even the character's names were close to the original names used. It distracted me throughout. Also, while I loved how we FINALLY got to know the main dude near the end, I was rather unhappy it just ENDED rather randomly.)
Anna and the French Kiss. (This has popped up in the recommends since I got my Kindle. Whose name is Kendi. I don't know if I told you that. Anyways, I've always looked at it, heard wonderful things about it, but something prevented me from hitting the BUY button. I have no clue what, but it did. Finally, though, yesterday, I hit the buy button. And the book ate me alive. I am serious. It ate me alive. It has EVERYTHING going for it. A great main character voice, a wonderful boy to fall in love with, and great supporting character and....Paris. I'm not a HUGE Paris fan. I've never had this undying NEED to go to Paris. Or learn French. Or know anything about French. Except the French Revolution because it MAKES LITTLE SENSE to me. Like Communism. Or Economics. Things that make no sense to me, I always want to know more about. In a sense, I want things to fit into neat little boxes. But, that's not the point. Paris is not London. Paris is not Glasgow. Paris is not British in other words. So, I don't care about it. In the title, on the cover, you can tell Paris/French/France will play a role. It does. It is an important role. But, I wish that hadn't prevented me from buying the book. Because...this book is AWESOME. I can't even put it into words. I think I might be able to read this book a million times. Like Harry Potter. Or Summer Story (which I wrote, and I've read a total of five times. And I still love it.))
Falling in Love With English Boys. (Duh, I got this book after seeing the title. It was kind of hard to get into, mostly because it is written as a blog written by a 16 year old in today's world, using today's slang, today's spelling and she write as I do. How she speaks. So thing are spelled wrong. I think if I read it out loud, it'd make more sense, but this was still pretty good. It was woven in with a diary of an 18 year old in 1815. Who knows a NICK. WHO ACTS LIKE A NICK. After this point...I kind of liked it more, so I read it too fast and missed a lot. I will read it again....after I read Anna and the French Kiss again. After I kill my barking dog. (Just kidding. I'm just going to wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she's not allowed to bark at the neighbor. She will look pathedic, I will go, "awwwww" and kiss her and hug her and she will cuddle up next to me and we'll forget she just scared the living shit out of me and more than likely who ever she was barking at out the front window.) Anyways, I love two viewpoints, and multiple story lines that weave together in the end, so duh, I liked this book. Plus LONDON. Tragically, it never out right told us who the 1815 chick ended up with, though it did tell us who she did not. Which was good, because I could sit there and be a dork.)
And that's it. Unless I add in there the stories I've written that I've read. (Mostly Summer Story. It's the only "complete" one. The others all need re-writes. Like RAB. RAB needs help I've decided. I have never been bored reading it till the last time I looked at it. I still loved the characters, but god, I was like, WFT was I thinking?)
Do people really say, in every day conversations, "BRB." Like say the freaking letters instead of "Be right back?" I had a friend in high school who said, "TTYL" And I always blinked at her. As my head doesn't work fast enough to figure it out. I've just noticed in the last few YA books, that in the actual conversations people have they are speaking in texting lingo. LOL, BRB. GTG. I am like, HUH? I AM OLD.
Oh, so I mowed the lawn. And I ignored the neighbors and people outside. Enjoying the fall day with my broken earphones, which one was stuffed into my shirt thumping and making horrible noises. Pilot Boy ran off with all earphones or lost them. We had three sets of BRAND NEW APPLE earphone, THREE sets of fancy ones and now the only ones I have find are the broken OLD APPLE EARPHONES that came with MY FIRST iSHUFFLE. SERIOUSLY?
I'm going to go die now. Or watch Doctor Who.
11 September 2011
After all this why...
Ten years ago, on 11 September, I was seated in the cafeteria. I had no homework to speak of because I was a senior and just seemed to lack homework in general. So, I was writing in my "journal." (It is in quotes, because I had two journals in high school. A public one and a private one.) Here is what was going through my head the moment I hear the news:
September 11, 2001: I've come to the conclusion I will always have an odd ball obsession with That Guy. You see, most of my childhood crushes, they went away and the person left too. That Guy never left. He's always lurking around in the background, always there. And when he wasn't for a semester what happened? B. And now he's almost nowhere and on my mind 24/7. When I'm not pondering B, I'm pondering That Guy. I swear it is the last name. Generally when I'm thinking or talking about That Guy, it's always That Guy Insert Last Name, though after five years of him I still can't spell it. And now he's remotely cute and people like BF think so, I am just so grrred. And it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have B in my ear whispering, "i love you babe." Then I feel guilty for thinking about That Guy and those dreams... B either scares me or makes me melt by how much he loves me. At times I feel like a sap b/c I feel like a "7th Heaven" character. Then I wonder will I really marry him? Okay, they just made some announcement that I did not hear, but I bargain someone or people died. I did catch "mom of silence," "world trade center," and "airplane." But, I guess I'll hear later.
Anyways, back to B. I really don't know what to do with him. At times I love him, miss him, want him near, but then That Guy, who I have next to no chance with, floats into my head. I will never comprehend what that was all about. And then I'm not sure. And then there's this car thing. What is that all about? So what, BF can drive if you can. It's just a car, not a baby. Grrrr....it's hard to juggle people. You know, I'm a bad person. How can I love someone I can hardly ever say anything nice about? I'm one screwed up girl. You know what, I'll probably get an ulcer and it won't be from any pain pills or drugs.
"I need to get away and find something to do. Cause everything I do reminds me of you." -Goldfinger, "Counting the Days"
Later: Okay, big day in history. The two World Trade Towers collapsed after two airplanes flew into them. The Pentagon had a plane fly into it and another hijacked plane crashed in PA. My dad's stuck in San Antonio, thank god he wasn't flying. Third hour we watched CNN. It was surreal watching both towers crumble to the ground. Just thinking I was there and now it's gone. It was just odd. I don't think Dad was coming home today. Plus, all the planes that were hijacked were transcontinental, ie NY to LA. So, I'm figuring that he's just stuck in San Antonio. There's talk of war and such. I'm finding this all hard to believe. It's like straight out of a movie. That's what all the news footage I've seen has looked like. Like the second plane flying straight into Tower Two while the first ones burning. Then the two falling to the ground live on TV. I don't know. I just want to go home and see the news. I need pictures. Well, and I gotta call B. Oh god. I have to deal with this on the retreat. It's like (almost) Columbine. Well, large scale. To put it mildly I'm grrified. It's just surreal. I've never lived through something t his big. I mean, it was announced during school. They didn't announce Columbine. This will be in the history books. My kids might ask me where I was when I heard. I was sitting in my 2nd hour study hall pinning over That Guy and B, wondering what I was going to do. At least my dad wasn't flying. Stupid SBC. If they just followed their stupid travel ban maybe....grrr.....grr....grr. I'm just glad he wasn't in NY or DC. Thank God.
Well, there you have it. That is what Ireland Scott was doing ten years ago. And my reaction to when I actually heard what happened. You see, at the time, there were no speakers in the lunchroom, thus none of us who were in there heard what the hell was announced. We all just looked at one another in a confused manner and the two teachers in with us, kind of shrugged. When the bell rang, we were the ONLY people talking. The whole school was utterly silent. And none of us who were in 2nd hour study hall had a clue what was going on, as no one was speaking. Everyone was just walking around in silence. I went to my locker and then got my stuff. I walked to my 3rd hour class: US Government. I was beginning to get a bit freaked out, as NO ONE WAS TALKING. My teacher, Mr. E, was standing in all his Nordic glory, but he had the gravest, freakiest face on in the world. (he kind of looked like Erik from True Blood, now that I think about it, when he's being all freaky serious). Usually, Mr. E smiled and greeted me as I entered, but on that day, he just stared at me. I was like, "What the hell is going on here?"
The TV was on, and turned onto CNN or something. I don't honestly remember which channel Mr. E chose to watch. I just remember sitting down and staring at the TV wondering what movie he was watching. Then, I realized, it wasn't a movie: IT WAS REAL.
It never sunk in what I was looking at. I just sat there the whole hour, watching the live footage, watching the other footage of when the first plane hit. I watched the first tower and second tower crumble that hour.
Then I went to lunch. I think I wrote that second half of my journal entry at lunch. Or not, as I think I sat with someone that semester for lunch. It was just so surreal going through the day. All I wanted to do was watch the news, even though I knew after the second tower fell, there wasn't much else we could watch. I spent the rest of the day shocked we were still going through the day. Only one teacher actually held class that day. Our physics teacher went on as nothing was going on.
My mother also picked me up because my father (who was indeed in SA and was supposed to fly home the next day) was fearful what the nutjobs in our town would do to the Islamic Center that was behind our high school. The cops had the same fears as they were out in full force when I got out of school. They were there for several days after as well.
The other clear memory was when I heard the first plane after September 11th. I was walking home from school and totally freaked out because I had no clue what the noise was. You'd think growing up under a landing pattern for O'Hare, I'd know what a plane sounded like.
I've asked Pilot Boy several times his memories on September 11th, but he can't tell me much of anything. Which is normal for Pilot Boy. He doesn't remember much of anything that isn't about flying an airplane. He doesn't remember half the things I remember clearly....like the first time I drove down to Purdue for 24 hours just to see him, when I first showed up to LEAD...and sometimes he doesn't remember clearly the events of the day he asked me to marry him. At least he remembers me...
September 11, 2001: I've come to the conclusion I will always have an odd ball obsession with That Guy. You see, most of my childhood crushes, they went away and the person left too. That Guy never left. He's always lurking around in the background, always there. And when he wasn't for a semester what happened? B. And now he's almost nowhere and on my mind 24/7. When I'm not pondering B, I'm pondering That Guy. I swear it is the last name. Generally when I'm thinking or talking about That Guy, it's always That Guy Insert Last Name, though after five years of him I still can't spell it. And now he's remotely cute and people like BF think so, I am just so grrred. And it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have B in my ear whispering, "i love you babe." Then I feel guilty for thinking about That Guy and those dreams... B either scares me or makes me melt by how much he loves me. At times I feel like a sap b/c I feel like a "7th Heaven" character. Then I wonder will I really marry him? Okay, they just made some announcement that I did not hear, but I bargain someone or people died. I did catch "mom of silence," "world trade center," and "airplane." But, I guess I'll hear later.
Anyways, back to B. I really don't know what to do with him. At times I love him, miss him, want him near, but then That Guy, who I have next to no chance with, floats into my head. I will never comprehend what that was all about. And then I'm not sure. And then there's this car thing. What is that all about? So what, BF can drive if you can. It's just a car, not a baby. Grrrr....it's hard to juggle people. You know, I'm a bad person. How can I love someone I can hardly ever say anything nice about? I'm one screwed up girl. You know what, I'll probably get an ulcer and it won't be from any pain pills or drugs.
"I need to get away and find something to do. Cause everything I do reminds me of you." -Goldfinger, "Counting the Days"
Later: Okay, big day in history. The two World Trade Towers collapsed after two airplanes flew into them. The Pentagon had a plane fly into it and another hijacked plane crashed in PA. My dad's stuck in San Antonio, thank god he wasn't flying. Third hour we watched CNN. It was surreal watching both towers crumble to the ground. Just thinking I was there and now it's gone. It was just odd. I don't think Dad was coming home today. Plus, all the planes that were hijacked were transcontinental, ie NY to LA. So, I'm figuring that he's just stuck in San Antonio. There's talk of war and such. I'm finding this all hard to believe. It's like straight out of a movie. That's what all the news footage I've seen has looked like. Like the second plane flying straight into Tower Two while the first ones burning. Then the two falling to the ground live on TV. I don't know. I just want to go home and see the news. I need pictures. Well, and I gotta call B. Oh god. I have to deal with this on the retreat. It's like (almost) Columbine. Well, large scale. To put it mildly I'm grrified. It's just surreal. I've never lived through something t his big. I mean, it was announced during school. They didn't announce Columbine. This will be in the history books. My kids might ask me where I was when I heard. I was sitting in my 2nd hour study hall pinning over That Guy and B, wondering what I was going to do. At least my dad wasn't flying. Stupid SBC. If they just followed their stupid travel ban maybe....grrr.....grr....grr. I'm just glad he wasn't in NY or DC. Thank God.
Well, there you have it. That is what Ireland Scott was doing ten years ago. And my reaction to when I actually heard what happened. You see, at the time, there were no speakers in the lunchroom, thus none of us who were in there heard what the hell was announced. We all just looked at one another in a confused manner and the two teachers in with us, kind of shrugged. When the bell rang, we were the ONLY people talking. The whole school was utterly silent. And none of us who were in 2nd hour study hall had a clue what was going on, as no one was speaking. Everyone was just walking around in silence. I went to my locker and then got my stuff. I walked to my 3rd hour class: US Government. I was beginning to get a bit freaked out, as NO ONE WAS TALKING. My teacher, Mr. E, was standing in all his Nordic glory, but he had the gravest, freakiest face on in the world. (he kind of looked like Erik from True Blood, now that I think about it, when he's being all freaky serious). Usually, Mr. E smiled and greeted me as I entered, but on that day, he just stared at me. I was like, "What the hell is going on here?"
The TV was on, and turned onto CNN or something. I don't honestly remember which channel Mr. E chose to watch. I just remember sitting down and staring at the TV wondering what movie he was watching. Then, I realized, it wasn't a movie: IT WAS REAL.
It never sunk in what I was looking at. I just sat there the whole hour, watching the live footage, watching the other footage of when the first plane hit. I watched the first tower and second tower crumble that hour.
Then I went to lunch. I think I wrote that second half of my journal entry at lunch. Or not, as I think I sat with someone that semester for lunch. It was just so surreal going through the day. All I wanted to do was watch the news, even though I knew after the second tower fell, there wasn't much else we could watch. I spent the rest of the day shocked we were still going through the day. Only one teacher actually held class that day. Our physics teacher went on as nothing was going on.
My mother also picked me up because my father (who was indeed in SA and was supposed to fly home the next day) was fearful what the nutjobs in our town would do to the Islamic Center that was behind our high school. The cops had the same fears as they were out in full force when I got out of school. They were there for several days after as well.
The other clear memory was when I heard the first plane after September 11th. I was walking home from school and totally freaked out because I had no clue what the noise was. You'd think growing up under a landing pattern for O'Hare, I'd know what a plane sounded like.
I've asked Pilot Boy several times his memories on September 11th, but he can't tell me much of anything. Which is normal for Pilot Boy. He doesn't remember much of anything that isn't about flying an airplane. He doesn't remember half the things I remember clearly....like the first time I drove down to Purdue for 24 hours just to see him, when I first showed up to LEAD...and sometimes he doesn't remember clearly the events of the day he asked me to marry him. At least he remembers me...
08 September 2011
you can't go on, you can't even talk
I always knew it was time to go back to school (or the school year was upon me) due to certain types of dreams I'd have. They'd always feature a few certain characters and always seemed to leave me in a slight panic.
For the first time in years, I had one last night.
I am serious. It was the strangest thing, as I have not had one in years. Well, since I left school behind me. Recenctly, something needed to trigger for certain people to appear. *coughs*
But, I had a school dream. In school, though it didn't exactly look like any school I've attended. It was like an odd combination of my high school and middle school. And I was "new" but not at the same time. The story line for the dream went as follows: I went to the school for two years, then transfered to Belleville East and then took a semester off. I appeared again and was behind lost. I did the wrong vocabulary exercise in the workbook while a girl I never had English with but was my friend ignored me and refused to help me. Meanwhile, the other guy sat across the room mocking me because I failed to do the work right. No one would help me. Then, during passing peroid, I could not find my locker. Then someone was nice enough to tell me since my last apperance at school, they had added a fourth floor. The fourth floor had green and white floors and looked a lot like Del Rio Middle School. Except with lots of windows, which Del Rio Middle School does not have. I explained my circumstancs to the teacher, who did not care. (They never do in dreams.)
I woke up in a panic.
Then I was confused, as I didn't have to go to school. I seriously wanted to go to school. I still feel like I ought to go to school.
For the first time in years, I had one last night.
I am serious. It was the strangest thing, as I have not had one in years. Well, since I left school behind me. Recenctly, something needed to trigger for certain people to appear. *coughs*
But, I had a school dream. In school, though it didn't exactly look like any school I've attended. It was like an odd combination of my high school and middle school. And I was "new" but not at the same time. The story line for the dream went as follows: I went to the school for two years, then transfered to Belleville East and then took a semester off. I appeared again and was behind lost. I did the wrong vocabulary exercise in the workbook while a girl I never had English with but was my friend ignored me and refused to help me. Meanwhile, the other guy sat across the room mocking me because I failed to do the work right. No one would help me. Then, during passing peroid, I could not find my locker. Then someone was nice enough to tell me since my last apperance at school, they had added a fourth floor. The fourth floor had green and white floors and looked a lot like Del Rio Middle School. Except with lots of windows, which Del Rio Middle School does not have. I explained my circumstancs to the teacher, who did not care. (They never do in dreams.)
I woke up in a panic.
Then I was confused, as I didn't have to go to school. I seriously wanted to go to school. I still feel like I ought to go to school.
12 August 2011
Writing Ate My Brain
I've been writing up a storm...so long I can't remember when I last was not working on the story that has consumed my life. It is literally all I can think about, all I can get myself to do in a timely manner. I can't write blog posts, I can't sew, I can't even eat. All I can do is write. It is insane.
The only thing not fallen on the way side due to the mind consuming story (which in some for has been consuming me since I was in high school. My journals from that era are filled with tasty, random tid bits that related to the story. They are also filled with a lot dumb things and massive spelling errors. Oh, and the most absurd things I thought were important enough to write down. I'm a regular comedian.) was my working out.
I KNOW! I couldn't remember to eat, to wash the dishes, get the mail, write my mother an email, but I did manage to work out for at least 40 to 45 minutes. During the week. Weekends are a lost cause. Even when Mad Man consumed me for awhile. (I watched the whole 4 seasons in like...five days or something insane like that, writing while I watched it. I'm talented. I wrote RAB while watching the "Gilmore Girls.")
Anyways, I've been doing these pilates/cadrio/dance type of workouts. The dance aspect is a failure for me as I'm the proud owner of five left feet. I am sure I look like a complete fool trying to follow the "dance" movements. These movements are so simple any idiot could do it, except this one. I like the pilates aspects of the work outs though. And they combine standing and mat workouts, which amuses me. What also amuses me....
After three weeks of doing this, I CAN SEE RESULTS.
Shocking. I never saw any results when I spent my life in the gym in the Dirt Hole. The only result I seemed to be getting was the fact my shirts no longer fit over my arms because I had muscles. Shirts still fit and I'm not as flabby in my arms. The best part, though, my stomach. Yeah, my a MAJOR issue is my stomach area. I hate it. Never have. You've heard it before. But, you guys! It's getting flatter suddenly. IT IS AMAZING.
I've also lost three pounds, but that's not really that important. What is important, I LOOK GREAT IN MY CLOTHES.
Now, I noticed after the first pilates based workout I did (Pick Your Spot Pilates) I suddenly was standing taller. If that makes sense. I felt my abs were stronger and pulling me up to stand up straight. I felt longer, leaner. It was so strange, I did the ab work out again the next day after walking way the pounds. I then branched out to other pilates based workouts offers by Crunch. I have three I use in a rotation. Burn and Firm pilates is a pretty good workout. I get messed up with the feet movements and I have yet to try it with the weights, but I do like it. It gets my heart rate going and makes me sweat. All good for me in my book. Super Slim Down is the one I do on days I don't want to really move around and look like a moron. It is an all mat based workout, but don't think that means it is easy. I'm still sweating pretty good at the end and I really feel my muscles working. The last one, the ones I really do like quite a bit, is Fat Burning Pilates. I can actually now almost get through the cardio section without tripping over my feet during the squat and leg pointing movements. Almost.
I like the results I am getting, as well as how I feel. I feel awesome. I always felt great after a good gym work out in the Dirt Hole, I'd just get frustrated because nothing on my body would be changing. I'd still look the same, so it wasn't all that rewarding. I tried everything in the Dirt Hole and nothing worked. This whole pilates thing, with the relaxing yoga workout on days in between, is really working for me.
Granted, I've been on a new diet as well. I don't snack any more, I drink a lot of water, and I eat a very, very, very light dinner. (Pilot Boy would not approve.) I eat a lot of fruit and try to get a couple veggies in at lunch. My biggest meal of the day is lunch. I don't know how this will work when Pilot Boy the Meat Eater returns either, as I'm not eating too much meat. I eat a cup of yogurt with fruit for dinner and have a glass of milk. Sometimes I also have a fiber bar at dinner time, if I didn't eat it at lunch. For lunch, I usually make something off this website: www.SkinnyTaste.com. They are Weight Watcher based, but I'm not counting my points. I just find they are easy to follow, have ingredients I've got around and she offers some veggie based dishes. Even Pilot Boy likes the meat dishes. Plus, she makes cookies. I like the cookies, the oatmeal chocolate chips ones are the best. Even Pilot Boy eats those.
That is what I've been up to: exercising and pouring words out of my fingers and laughing at my 13 year old self. (And my 15,16,17, and 18 year old self. By 19 I had stopped keeping written journal.)
I have some ideas for some thoughtful posts, I just have to write them, but I've wanted to right an Operation Jeans update for weeks. Because there was something to update.
The only thing not fallen on the way side due to the mind consuming story (which in some for has been consuming me since I was in high school. My journals from that era are filled with tasty, random tid bits that related to the story. They are also filled with a lot dumb things and massive spelling errors. Oh, and the most absurd things I thought were important enough to write down. I'm a regular comedian.) was my working out.
I KNOW! I couldn't remember to eat, to wash the dishes, get the mail, write my mother an email, but I did manage to work out for at least 40 to 45 minutes. During the week. Weekends are a lost cause. Even when Mad Man consumed me for awhile. (I watched the whole 4 seasons in like...five days or something insane like that, writing while I watched it. I'm talented. I wrote RAB while watching the "Gilmore Girls.")
Anyways, I've been doing these pilates/cadrio/dance type of workouts. The dance aspect is a failure for me as I'm the proud owner of five left feet. I am sure I look like a complete fool trying to follow the "dance" movements. These movements are so simple any idiot could do it, except this one. I like the pilates aspects of the work outs though. And they combine standing and mat workouts, which amuses me. What also amuses me....
After three weeks of doing this, I CAN SEE RESULTS.
Shocking. I never saw any results when I spent my life in the gym in the Dirt Hole. The only result I seemed to be getting was the fact my shirts no longer fit over my arms because I had muscles. Shirts still fit and I'm not as flabby in my arms. The best part, though, my stomach. Yeah, my a MAJOR issue is my stomach area. I hate it. Never have. You've heard it before. But, you guys! It's getting flatter suddenly. IT IS AMAZING.
I've also lost three pounds, but that's not really that important. What is important, I LOOK GREAT IN MY CLOTHES.
Now, I noticed after the first pilates based workout I did (Pick Your Spot Pilates) I suddenly was standing taller. If that makes sense. I felt my abs were stronger and pulling me up to stand up straight. I felt longer, leaner. It was so strange, I did the ab work out again the next day after walking way the pounds. I then branched out to other pilates based workouts offers by Crunch. I have three I use in a rotation. Burn and Firm pilates is a pretty good workout. I get messed up with the feet movements and I have yet to try it with the weights, but I do like it. It gets my heart rate going and makes me sweat. All good for me in my book. Super Slim Down is the one I do on days I don't want to really move around and look like a moron. It is an all mat based workout, but don't think that means it is easy. I'm still sweating pretty good at the end and I really feel my muscles working. The last one, the ones I really do like quite a bit, is Fat Burning Pilates. I can actually now almost get through the cardio section without tripping over my feet during the squat and leg pointing movements. Almost.
I like the results I am getting, as well as how I feel. I feel awesome. I always felt great after a good gym work out in the Dirt Hole, I'd just get frustrated because nothing on my body would be changing. I'd still look the same, so it wasn't all that rewarding. I tried everything in the Dirt Hole and nothing worked. This whole pilates thing, with the relaxing yoga workout on days in between, is really working for me.
Granted, I've been on a new diet as well. I don't snack any more, I drink a lot of water, and I eat a very, very, very light dinner. (Pilot Boy would not approve.) I eat a lot of fruit and try to get a couple veggies in at lunch. My biggest meal of the day is lunch. I don't know how this will work when Pilot Boy the Meat Eater returns either, as I'm not eating too much meat. I eat a cup of yogurt with fruit for dinner and have a glass of milk. Sometimes I also have a fiber bar at dinner time, if I didn't eat it at lunch. For lunch, I usually make something off this website: www.SkinnyTaste.com. They are Weight Watcher based, but I'm not counting my points. I just find they are easy to follow, have ingredients I've got around and she offers some veggie based dishes. Even Pilot Boy likes the meat dishes. Plus, she makes cookies. I like the cookies, the oatmeal chocolate chips ones are the best. Even Pilot Boy eats those.
That is what I've been up to: exercising and pouring words out of my fingers and laughing at my 13 year old self. (And my 15,16,17, and 18 year old self. By 19 I had stopped keeping written journal.)
I have some ideas for some thoughtful posts, I just have to write them, but I've wanted to right an Operation Jeans update for weeks. Because there was something to update.
21 July 2011
My Relationship with Irons
I like to iron. I have since I was a teenager and my mother handed me a stack of linen napkins after a major holiday and said, "IRON THESE AND GET OUT OF MY HAIR!"
OMG. I had so much fun!
When I was in 8th grade till my sophomore year, I ironed ALL MY CLOTHING. I am serious. The iron lived in my room. I ironed on the floor. I ironed shirts, tank tops, pants, skirts, and jeans. (Yes, I ironed my jeans....) This avid ironing lasted till I was 16. I was bad, sometimes I'd iron shirts and pants while I was wearing them. During the time I was 16, the mid-drift top was all the rage. All my tank tops were belly baring tops because that was the only length made. I had this white one, I remember it well. I hated wearing these tops, because at 16 I thought I was horridly fat down there. (Har har har.) Well, one spring morning, I was like, "I'm wearing my Gap outfit!" This outfit consisted of khaki pants, basic white tank top and a denim dress shirt that was short sleeved. After I was dressed and on my way out the door I noticed a huge wrinkle across the bottom of the tank top. I plugged the iron in, ironed out the wrinkled and left.
I barely noticed the fact my stomach hurt. It wasn't until gym 2nd hour did I realize what had happened. I was changing out of my gym suit and my friend Hilary asked, "What the hell is on your stomach?"
I looked down. There was a definite iron mark on my tummy. There were even holes. You could not mistake it for anything except an iron mark.
I had a scar there for years shaped like the edge of the iron.
After this, I stopped my relentless ironing of clothing. I don't remember why, other than I didn't have the time to do it...I also realized if you fold your clothes and put them away they don't get as wrinkled. And jeans...well, they unwrinkled themselves.
I did not have another disastrous run in with the iron until I began sewing when we lived in the Dirt Hole. Usually it was just small burns here and there on my hands. Then they started showing up on my arms. I have several light brown scars on my arms from where I whacked the iron with my bare arm. However, today, I did something really, really stupid.
I burned my whole left hand.
While holding a purse over the hand.
I don't know what the #@%^$ I was thinking. I guess it was like the days I'd iron my clothes while wearing them. But I held the purse on my hand, held up the iron, set the iron on it and steam came flying out of it and I yelped.
I burned my whole hand.
I ran to the bathroom, swearing up a storm and ran my hand under ice cold water till it was numb. Because it was my left hand, I was like MY RING WILL GET SWOLLEN ON MY FINGER! So, I spent ten minutes trying to pry it off. (It is all ready a bit too small. My finger is dis-formed from where its sat on my finger for the past two years unmoved....)
After I accomplished this task, I hurried downstairs and made myself an ice pack and have had it on and off my hand for the past.....six hours. My hand is still red, and some areas are beginning to swell, now that I've taken the cold pack off for the past 20 minutes or so to type this up. I figured since I have to drive somewhere tonight, I ought to get some use of my left hand before I leave. But this is pretty bad, you guys. My whole hand is still burning in pain. And my ring finger looks horrible. I'll have to wait till my hand heals to get my ring re-sized...but now that it's off, I know it needs to be re-sized.
In other news, I didn't get anything done because of my stellar relationship with irons.
I didn't even tell you about curling irons and me....we have an even more checkered past. And I mean checkered. My neck usually.
OMG. I had so much fun!
When I was in 8th grade till my sophomore year, I ironed ALL MY CLOTHING. I am serious. The iron lived in my room. I ironed on the floor. I ironed shirts, tank tops, pants, skirts, and jeans. (Yes, I ironed my jeans....) This avid ironing lasted till I was 16. I was bad, sometimes I'd iron shirts and pants while I was wearing them. During the time I was 16, the mid-drift top was all the rage. All my tank tops were belly baring tops because that was the only length made. I had this white one, I remember it well. I hated wearing these tops, because at 16 I thought I was horridly fat down there. (Har har har.) Well, one spring morning, I was like, "I'm wearing my Gap outfit!" This outfit consisted of khaki pants, basic white tank top and a denim dress shirt that was short sleeved. After I was dressed and on my way out the door I noticed a huge wrinkle across the bottom of the tank top. I plugged the iron in, ironed out the wrinkled and left.
I barely noticed the fact my stomach hurt. It wasn't until gym 2nd hour did I realize what had happened. I was changing out of my gym suit and my friend Hilary asked, "What the hell is on your stomach?"
I looked down. There was a definite iron mark on my tummy. There were even holes. You could not mistake it for anything except an iron mark.
I had a scar there for years shaped like the edge of the iron.
After this, I stopped my relentless ironing of clothing. I don't remember why, other than I didn't have the time to do it...I also realized if you fold your clothes and put them away they don't get as wrinkled. And jeans...well, they unwrinkled themselves.
I did not have another disastrous run in with the iron until I began sewing when we lived in the Dirt Hole. Usually it was just small burns here and there on my hands. Then they started showing up on my arms. I have several light brown scars on my arms from where I whacked the iron with my bare arm. However, today, I did something really, really stupid.
I burned my whole left hand.
While holding a purse over the hand.
I don't know what the #@%^$ I was thinking. I guess it was like the days I'd iron my clothes while wearing them. But I held the purse on my hand, held up the iron, set the iron on it and steam came flying out of it and I yelped.
I burned my whole hand.
I ran to the bathroom, swearing up a storm and ran my hand under ice cold water till it was numb. Because it was my left hand, I was like MY RING WILL GET SWOLLEN ON MY FINGER! So, I spent ten minutes trying to pry it off. (It is all ready a bit too small. My finger is dis-formed from where its sat on my finger for the past two years unmoved....)
After I accomplished this task, I hurried downstairs and made myself an ice pack and have had it on and off my hand for the past.....six hours. My hand is still red, and some areas are beginning to swell, now that I've taken the cold pack off for the past 20 minutes or so to type this up. I figured since I have to drive somewhere tonight, I ought to get some use of my left hand before I leave. But this is pretty bad, you guys. My whole hand is still burning in pain. And my ring finger looks horrible. I'll have to wait till my hand heals to get my ring re-sized...but now that it's off, I know it needs to be re-sized.
In other news, I didn't get anything done because of my stellar relationship with irons.
I didn't even tell you about curling irons and me....we have an even more checkered past. And I mean checkered. My neck usually.
19 July 2011
Smelling Things
I have a bad habit of smelling things and getting the items I smelled stuck up my nose. Often this happens with shampoo and conditioners. Or soaps. (Yes, I am that crazy lady who stands in the aisle and sniffs all the soaps before putting one in her cart.)
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
04 July 2011
Fishing With Ireland 3 dot 0
The past two weeks I've been rather silent due to the fact the family was in town. All three of them. (HA HA HA.) They flew up and then whisked us around Southern Alaska. One of the stops was Homer.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
So, on Tuesday morning, we woke up, lounged around staring at some mountains, then donned raincoats and had my parents drive us down to the Homer Spit. In our matching raincoats, we got me a fishing license and were told we might be put on another fishing charter because Bob didn't have enough people to take the boat out. So, after being driven to the docks, instead of going to C-17, we went to C-1. (Which wasn't as amusing as Pilot Boy flies C-17s for a living...)
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
So, there you have it.
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
Ireland 3.0 might fish, but she's not any good at it. I lost my bait a total of five times. I was just FEEDING the halibut. Josh liked to tell people my "secret" but he seemed determined I'd actually catch a fish. I wasn't sure why. I sure as hell did not care if I actually caught one. It looked hard. I had enough trouble casting the damn fishing pole and then pounding it on the bottom of the ocean. Yeah, halibut live on the bottom of the ocean, so you cast the stupid thing down some 200 feet, with a three pound weight plus the stupid bait. I was not surprised in the least I seemed to fail at life when fishing. This seemed to surprise Josh, as he couldn't figure out what the hell I was doing to keep loosing my bait.
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
"I think you did, Ireland," Josh said, picking up the line and bringing the flopping, ugly brute to the deck. He handed me the weight and took the fish off the hook. He then walked off with it and I simply stood there dumbly waiting for more bait. I secretly hoped that in all the excitement (someone else caught something) they'd forget about me and I'd be able to sneak away. But Josh returned a few minutes later and gave me more bait. Sighing deeply, I watched him cast it and then hand it to me to let it hit the bottom. It hit with a thunk and I bounced it a few times.
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
I know, the whole fishing part as supposed to be the "fun" part, but honestly, it was not the highlight for me. I was not all that excited when I caught the fish, I was more relieved. It was like, I had this goal of two fish and once I reached it I was relieved to just sit down. Halibut fishing is hard. Totally.
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
After we reached the spit, we split for home. After dinner, I took a very long shower and Pilot Boy drove four hours back to our house, as he had to go to work the next day.
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
 |
| View out the window in Homer |
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
 |
| The view from the boat |
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
 |
| I'm on a Boat |
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
 |
| The Big Fish |
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
 |
| Fish Guts on My Leg |
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
 |
| Fish Go Flying to the Gulls |
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
16 June 2011
Developments in Sizing
So....
When I was in high school, I wore a lot of stuff from Abercrombie. I had to wear the x-small because I was...well, extra small. Everywhere. I had no boobs. I had a tiny little waist. I was basically a walking skeleton that did not enjoy buying extra small shirts and 00 pants. Because I thought it made me unhealthy. (Which is true, my doctor kept telling me to put some weight on me, but it took a good ten years to sink in.)
Anyways, the last thing I got from Abercrombie was when I was 21 and I ordered a sweater. I had boobs by this point and had about two inches more to my waist and some hips.
I am currently sitting in my house wearing a LARGE sweatshirt from Abercrombie.
It does not fit like a large. I expected to be slightly swimming in this thing, if I am honest with you. Because while I would not put myself into an extra small these days, I'd think I'd at least maybe need a medium. I read the size chart before I ordered it too. My chest is not 37-39 inches. Okay? It's 34. What the hell do people who actually have that size chest do? Because this sweatshirt would be way too tight on them. According to the size chart on the website, I need a small.
I do not need a small. I NEED A FREAKING LARGE.
Now, this has occured to me before, where I follow the size charts online only to discover they are WAY OFF.
During my skeleton phase, American Eagle claimed I needed a size 6. Yeah. Guess what happened when skeleton Ireland put those suckers on? During my time in the dirt hole, I had many battles with Victoria Secret. The website claimed I was a size 8/10. I was like, SERIOUSLY? Everywhere else, I was a 4/6. So I ignored the website and ordered my usual size. For most items, the things fit. The shorts that were a size 6 were swimming on me. The shirts that were smalls, sometimes were too tight in the chest, sometimes were fine. If it was a tank top, it was fine. If it had sleeves, it almost always had to go back for a medium. In swimsuits (which were a whole different size chart all together) I was a large top and a medium bottom. (I KNOW LARGE TOP? ARE YOU SERIOUS?) I ended up with a medium top (which was kind of small, I guess I did need a large...) and a large bottom (which was too big, go figure?) Moral of the VS website: their swimsuit guide is correct. Trust nothing else.
I am very average, okay? I have probably the most average measurements known to man, okay? I do not understand why things are sized so wildly. I mean, I don't CARE what size I wear. I don't care I am wearing a large sweatshirt. The thing that annoys me is I wanted it to be BIGGER. Large is the LARGEST size Abercrombie sells. And, well, so sue me, I like their sweatshirts. I guess if I want a nice comfy one, I'll have to get a dude's one. But....what does a person with big boobs do if they want to wear Abercormbie shirts? They can't wear a large....because I don't have big boobs. They are average.
Or am I just totally out of the loop? I mean, I shop at like two places: Target and Old Navy. In juniors lines at Target, I wear a M. In everything else, usually a S. Their sizing is very consistent. If I buy a large, it will be bigger on me. At Old Navy, it's usually a S or M, depending on the item (Old Navy is totally wild in sizing things. They have no consistency in the least...it's the only place in the world I try things on before I buy them.)
This is why I like shoes. I buy and 8 1/2 and it fits. And if its too big, I just stuff an insert in and wear heavy socks. BAM. It fits. (I have average size feet too, it's almost impossible to find an 8 1/2 on the sale rack...and it's almost always the first size to run out online...)
Though, purses are the best. They have no size and they will always fit. Purse rock.
When I was in high school, I wore a lot of stuff from Abercrombie. I had to wear the x-small because I was...well, extra small. Everywhere. I had no boobs. I had a tiny little waist. I was basically a walking skeleton that did not enjoy buying extra small shirts and 00 pants. Because I thought it made me unhealthy. (Which is true, my doctor kept telling me to put some weight on me, but it took a good ten years to sink in.)
Anyways, the last thing I got from Abercrombie was when I was 21 and I ordered a sweater. I had boobs by this point and had about two inches more to my waist and some hips.
I am currently sitting in my house wearing a LARGE sweatshirt from Abercrombie.
It does not fit like a large. I expected to be slightly swimming in this thing, if I am honest with you. Because while I would not put myself into an extra small these days, I'd think I'd at least maybe need a medium. I read the size chart before I ordered it too. My chest is not 37-39 inches. Okay? It's 34. What the hell do people who actually have that size chest do? Because this sweatshirt would be way too tight on them. According to the size chart on the website, I need a small.
I do not need a small. I NEED A FREAKING LARGE.
Now, this has occured to me before, where I follow the size charts online only to discover they are WAY OFF.
During my skeleton phase, American Eagle claimed I needed a size 6. Yeah. Guess what happened when skeleton Ireland put those suckers on? During my time in the dirt hole, I had many battles with Victoria Secret. The website claimed I was a size 8/10. I was like, SERIOUSLY? Everywhere else, I was a 4/6. So I ignored the website and ordered my usual size. For most items, the things fit. The shorts that were a size 6 were swimming on me. The shirts that were smalls, sometimes were too tight in the chest, sometimes were fine. If it was a tank top, it was fine. If it had sleeves, it almost always had to go back for a medium. In swimsuits (which were a whole different size chart all together) I was a large top and a medium bottom. (I KNOW LARGE TOP? ARE YOU SERIOUS?) I ended up with a medium top (which was kind of small, I guess I did need a large...) and a large bottom (which was too big, go figure?) Moral of the VS website: their swimsuit guide is correct. Trust nothing else.
I am very average, okay? I have probably the most average measurements known to man, okay? I do not understand why things are sized so wildly. I mean, I don't CARE what size I wear. I don't care I am wearing a large sweatshirt. The thing that annoys me is I wanted it to be BIGGER. Large is the LARGEST size Abercrombie sells. And, well, so sue me, I like their sweatshirts. I guess if I want a nice comfy one, I'll have to get a dude's one. But....what does a person with big boobs do if they want to wear Abercormbie shirts? They can't wear a large....because I don't have big boobs. They are average.
Or am I just totally out of the loop? I mean, I shop at like two places: Target and Old Navy. In juniors lines at Target, I wear a M. In everything else, usually a S. Their sizing is very consistent. If I buy a large, it will be bigger on me. At Old Navy, it's usually a S or M, depending on the item (Old Navy is totally wild in sizing things. They have no consistency in the least...it's the only place in the world I try things on before I buy them.)
This is why I like shoes. I buy and 8 1/2 and it fits. And if its too big, I just stuff an insert in and wear heavy socks. BAM. It fits. (I have average size feet too, it's almost impossible to find an 8 1/2 on the sale rack...and it's almost always the first size to run out online...)
Though, purses are the best. They have no size and they will always fit. Purse rock.
09 June 2011
Stilletos and Fish
Some things....of interest.
1. I can walk in five inch heels. Like, skinny, platform, Victoria Beckham worthy heels.
2. When fishing in Alaska, if you walk 12 feet away from your fish, legally a bear can take your fish. (This produced several assuming images when Pilot Boy read about this little tid bit when he got his fishing license last night.)
3. In five inch heels I cannot walk as fast as Pilot Boy, even if I am almost as tall as him.
4. Editing on a Kindle is easier than on the computer. I don't know why. Ask Basil.
5. Basil is EXPLODING with fur. I think she wants to be bald.
6. There is an area of the "river" that is salt water. This area you can fish without a pole or something. Pilot Boy thought this was stupid when he first told me about it, but then 24 hours later decided he wanted to do it, so we had to go buy line and hooks to do this.
7. I still can't "style" my hair curly. It just wants to be a curly, straight, confused mess. No matter what. Dumb hair.
8. I found my Abercrombie shirt that my brother rejected, but I lived in during college. It still fits. This makes me happy. My favorite pants also still fit....even if they are a bit thin...but I never leave the house so it don't matter.
9. I've looked at my senior year yearbook like five times in the past 48 hours. I refuse to admit why I dug it out. Okay, it was for a bit of research. Okay? That's it. I couldn't remember something and I am stickler for certain details. Maybe, just maybe, that might make sense. More than likely not. BUT IT MIGHT.
10. I'm in the market for readers. Just readers. I just want you to read. That is it. I might even give you a choice on what you can read. I have several projects.
That is it. Bye.
1. I can walk in five inch heels. Like, skinny, platform, Victoria Beckham worthy heels.
2. When fishing in Alaska, if you walk 12 feet away from your fish, legally a bear can take your fish. (This produced several assuming images when Pilot Boy read about this little tid bit when he got his fishing license last night.)
3. In five inch heels I cannot walk as fast as Pilot Boy, even if I am almost as tall as him.
4. Editing on a Kindle is easier than on the computer. I don't know why. Ask Basil.
5. Basil is EXPLODING with fur. I think she wants to be bald.
6. There is an area of the "river" that is salt water. This area you can fish without a pole or something. Pilot Boy thought this was stupid when he first told me about it, but then 24 hours later decided he wanted to do it, so we had to go buy line and hooks to do this.
7. I still can't "style" my hair curly. It just wants to be a curly, straight, confused mess. No matter what. Dumb hair.
8. I found my Abercrombie shirt that my brother rejected, but I lived in during college. It still fits. This makes me happy. My favorite pants also still fit....even if they are a bit thin...but I never leave the house so it don't matter.
9. I've looked at my senior year yearbook like five times in the past 48 hours. I refuse to admit why I dug it out. Okay, it was for a bit of research. Okay? That's it. I couldn't remember something and I am stickler for certain details. Maybe, just maybe, that might make sense. More than likely not. BUT IT MIGHT.
10. I'm in the market for readers. Just readers. I just want you to read. That is it. I might even give you a choice on what you can read. I have several projects.
That is it. Bye.
03 June 2011
I Should Write a Post II
So, I should write a post.
I haven't written one in a while because I couldn't think of anything to say.
Which I still really can't. I like to kind of plan posts. Granted, I doubt anyone really appreciates the fact I sit around and plan blog posts, but it's my blog. I like to plan my posts.
I have been writing a lot. This is what I've done:
1. Finished second overhaul on 10p. I put it into Kindle format and spazed out for like a week.
2. I am almost done with the EPIC Fantasy/Sci story I started when I was 19. Then the computer ate it and I was only left with the first 60 pages, instead of the whole damn story. Last winter, I started re-writing it. I have the final battle scene to write. The End.
3. I am almost done with this crazy story I started before I went to Scotland. I was lonely. I let my mind get away from me and imagaine silly imopssobe things. I started thinking about the story again lately and was like, "Hey, I ought to finish it. It's very typical YA." Then I started writing and now it's kinda of...crazy. But I know it will END.
4. I've rediscovered Lifehouse thanks to trying to come up with titles for scenes for 10p.
5. Got chapter 2 edits form my mom. WOOT!
6. I fell in love with a fiction character. Pilot Boy didn't seem to thrilled with that. He can seem to handle my fixation with Doctor Who, but not the character in a book I read....five times. In the past four weeks.
7. I have plans to finish a few other stories....just need to find people to read them....
I haven't written one in a while because I couldn't think of anything to say.
Which I still really can't. I like to kind of plan posts. Granted, I doubt anyone really appreciates the fact I sit around and plan blog posts, but it's my blog. I like to plan my posts.
I have been writing a lot. This is what I've done:
1. Finished second overhaul on 10p. I put it into Kindle format and spazed out for like a week.
2. I am almost done with the EPIC Fantasy/Sci story I started when I was 19. Then the computer ate it and I was only left with the first 60 pages, instead of the whole damn story. Last winter, I started re-writing it. I have the final battle scene to write. The End.
3. I am almost done with this crazy story I started before I went to Scotland. I was lonely. I let my mind get away from me and imagaine silly imopssobe things. I started thinking about the story again lately and was like, "Hey, I ought to finish it. It's very typical YA." Then I started writing and now it's kinda of...crazy. But I know it will END.
4. I've rediscovered Lifehouse thanks to trying to come up with titles for scenes for 10p.
5. Got chapter 2 edits form my mom. WOOT!
6. I fell in love with a fiction character. Pilot Boy didn't seem to thrilled with that. He can seem to handle my fixation with Doctor Who, but not the character in a book I read....five times. In the past four weeks.
7. I have plans to finish a few other stories....just need to find people to read them....
15 May 2011
Agreeing with 13 Year Old Me
When I was 13 I read a book. Well, I read more than one book, but this book was so important, I wrote about it in my journal. The journal I was actually writing for my future daughter, an idea I got from another book I read when I was 13. Okay, so I read a lot of books when I was 13, but THIS ONE I REMEMBER THE TITLE OF.
Well, kinda.
I remembered the author.
Kinda.
Because when I decided I wanted to buy the book on my Kindle, it took me a few searches to get the named spelled right.
It was Tamora Pierce. Not Tamara Price. Not Tamora Price. Nor was it Tamaro Priece. (Spelling was never a strong suit in the first place.)
When I was 13, for reasons I do not remember, I decided to check out a book called Alanna: The First Adventure. I also checked out the book next to it called In the Hands of the Goddess. No clue why I did this, as if I am honest with you, I was not into these sort of books as a kid. At 13, I was searching for books about romance. Or boys. Or romances with boys. Or hair. Popularity. Stuff like that. So, no idea how the 13 year old me came across these books.
Actually, I know how I came across them...because after I'd do searches on the computers for books and not find anything, I'd go to the stacks, pick a spot and begin to look for interesting titles or books with bright colors.
Which this book did not have. So I still do not know why 13 year old me picked it up, but I did.
And they made a huge impression on me, to the point I began to consume books by Tamora Pierce. I read EVERY single book the local library had by her. FOR YEARS I would go to the spot in the library where her books lived and religiously checked for new books.
I had a favorite author and her name was Tamora Pierce and I always called her Tamara Price. (Because I was that lame.)
I believe the last time I checked the area her books lived in the library was when I was 22. It was right before we went on vacation and I needed books to read during our time in the middle of nowhere. I had learned the previous year books would save me. Tragically, I had all ready read the newest Harry Potter book, so I was at the library trying to find something to amuse myself with. I do not know what possessed me to walk over to the YA section, an area I had not visited since I graduated from high school, but I went over there. To only the section where the Pierce books lived. I don't remember what was there, or why I went, but I noticed there were two very new looking books sitting on the shelf. I picked them both up and discovered they were part of the series I had first fell in love with (well, kinda).
I checked them out.
I read them in a day.
A piece.
I fell in love with the characters from the original series all over again. I vowed I was going to start at the beginning and re-read all the Tortall books again (Tortall is the "land" where the books take place.)
I never did this.
I don't remember what happened to prevent me from doing this, as I honestly had no life that summer. I had no job and the only thing I did was re-write The Novel. First major overhaul, which oddly was inspired by reading the Trickster books.
Flash forward to today. I am not 13. I have very little in common with my 13 year old self. For one, I hate scrunchies. I am embarrassed I ever had so many. I also don't like to wear oversize t-shirts and don't wear pants that are two sizes too big for me and drag on the ground. I also will never wear clogs in the winter and think it is cool. I do not wear big old glasses nor do I have a mouth full of metal. (though, ironically, I do have braces at the moment...) I have boobs and hips. And I do not wear my hair in a ponytail on a daily basis, even though I paid over 20 dollars for a fancy haircut no one ever saw. (I pay for fancy haircuts still, but I wear them out and about these days because I know how to use a hair dryer.) I do not write in a journal any more and I have no clue where the volumes of journals are that I wrote for my future daughter. I bet my mom put them somewhere where I will never find them...like the trash can... or the box labeled IRELAND'S JUNK in the basement...
I am 27 years old (even though I keep thinking I am 28). But I still am in love with the books I read at 13. However, I have learned that even though I thought these books were the BEST BOOKS in the whole wide world, I totally did not READ them, as at 27, I had no clue WHAT THEY WERE ABOUT. If you had asked me last week, what these books were about, I would have told you something way out in left field.
Alanna is about a girl who decides she wants to be a knight instead of a lady, so she goes off to be a knight. That much 13 year old me understood. What 13 year old me failed to remember about the book was that a major plot point in the book took place. 27 year old me did not see that one coming. It was out of left field. (The other left field, not the one 13 year old me was standing in.)
In the Hand of the Goddess also was filled with many surprises. And things I never understood at 13, because I read fast and I only read the books once. (At 27 I know I ALWAYS must read books at least twice before I make any decision on them, as the first read through is always too fast. And I miss major plot points.)
Things in my 13 year old head were very jumbled up compared to how they actually occurred in the books. As I continued to read the Lioness series (the Alanna books), I realized I FAILED AT LIFE when I read them the first time. I did not understand or comprehend a lot of what was going on. I remember being pissed off at Alanna for not being queen. I had no clue who George was or why he was important. I honestly thought that in the books Alanna battled her twin brother, and sorcerer, Thom. Not the guy she actually battled, who when he appeared in my 27 year old read through, I was like WHO THE HELL IS THIS? I was making up my OWN STORIES about the books when I read them at 13. I did the same with The Immortals series, the next series I read by Pierce. That one I totally jumped ship as I had no clue when I read them at 27 what they were about other than I knew in the end the main character got together with the tall dude I called NICK through out the book in my head. His name was not Nick in the least by the way. I don't know WHY I even called him that. (Okay, I do. But I am NOT going to tell you.)
I spent the past week re-reading the Lioness and Immortal series. They are wonderful books, seriously, they are. I love the rich world Pierce creates. I love the characters for who they are and at 27, when I slowly read through them, I picked up on things that I did not see at 13 because I read through them too quickly. At 13, I got hung up on the various romances that Alanna had. (And totally missed one...go figure). At 27, I realized George was very important. On many levels. More important than Jonathan even (who at 13, I was madly in love with). I also noticed the sub-theme of how Alanna struggled to figure out her identity, which was something I totally flew passed at 13. I was mad at her throughout the last two books because she seemed to just whine about being a girl or something. I know I read the last two books, but until two days ago, I could not for the life of me actually tell you what they were about in the least. I just knew that in the end, Alanna got married. The end.
Anyways, one thing my 13 year old self got out of these books were they are GOOD. I am serious, they are good. So good, I went through a total of 8 books in a week. (A book and half a day. Or more.) I finished yesterday and was SO SAD that I was done with the first two series. (There is another four book series that takes place in Tortall and then the two Trickers books, but I am saving those for a later date. Or and then one that takes place before Alanna's time about a ancestor of George, but those are for a later date as well.) I am glad I bought them (even if I had to buy the last Immortal book through B&N and thus can only read it on my iPhone or computer...but I'll bitch about that later. Or not.)
If you are looking for a new series to get into (or get back into) check out the Song of the Lioness Series and The Immortals series by Tamora Pierce. Well worth a read or two.
Well, kinda.
I remembered the author.
Kinda.
Because when I decided I wanted to buy the book on my Kindle, it took me a few searches to get the named spelled right.
It was Tamora Pierce. Not Tamara Price. Not Tamora Price. Nor was it Tamaro Priece. (Spelling was never a strong suit in the first place.)
When I was 13, for reasons I do not remember, I decided to check out a book called Alanna: The First Adventure. I also checked out the book next to it called In the Hands of the Goddess. No clue why I did this, as if I am honest with you, I was not into these sort of books as a kid. At 13, I was searching for books about romance. Or boys. Or romances with boys. Or hair. Popularity. Stuff like that. So, no idea how the 13 year old me came across these books.
Actually, I know how I came across them...because after I'd do searches on the computers for books and not find anything, I'd go to the stacks, pick a spot and begin to look for interesting titles or books with bright colors.
Which this book did not have. So I still do not know why 13 year old me picked it up, but I did.
And they made a huge impression on me, to the point I began to consume books by Tamora Pierce. I read EVERY single book the local library had by her. FOR YEARS I would go to the spot in the library where her books lived and religiously checked for new books.
I had a favorite author and her name was Tamora Pierce and I always called her Tamara Price. (Because I was that lame.)
I believe the last time I checked the area her books lived in the library was when I was 22. It was right before we went on vacation and I needed books to read during our time in the middle of nowhere. I had learned the previous year books would save me. Tragically, I had all ready read the newest Harry Potter book, so I was at the library trying to find something to amuse myself with. I do not know what possessed me to walk over to the YA section, an area I had not visited since I graduated from high school, but I went over there. To only the section where the Pierce books lived. I don't remember what was there, or why I went, but I noticed there were two very new looking books sitting on the shelf. I picked them both up and discovered they were part of the series I had first fell in love with (well, kinda).
I checked them out.
I read them in a day.
A piece.
I fell in love with the characters from the original series all over again. I vowed I was going to start at the beginning and re-read all the Tortall books again (Tortall is the "land" where the books take place.)
I never did this.
I don't remember what happened to prevent me from doing this, as I honestly had no life that summer. I had no job and the only thing I did was re-write The Novel. First major overhaul, which oddly was inspired by reading the Trickster books.
Flash forward to today. I am not 13. I have very little in common with my 13 year old self. For one, I hate scrunchies. I am embarrassed I ever had so many. I also don't like to wear oversize t-shirts and don't wear pants that are two sizes too big for me and drag on the ground. I also will never wear clogs in the winter and think it is cool. I do not wear big old glasses nor do I have a mouth full of metal. (though, ironically, I do have braces at the moment...) I have boobs and hips. And I do not wear my hair in a ponytail on a daily basis, even though I paid over 20 dollars for a fancy haircut no one ever saw. (I pay for fancy haircuts still, but I wear them out and about these days because I know how to use a hair dryer.) I do not write in a journal any more and I have no clue where the volumes of journals are that I wrote for my future daughter. I bet my mom put them somewhere where I will never find them...like the trash can... or the box labeled IRELAND'S JUNK in the basement...
I am 27 years old (even though I keep thinking I am 28). But I still am in love with the books I read at 13. However, I have learned that even though I thought these books were the BEST BOOKS in the whole wide world, I totally did not READ them, as at 27, I had no clue WHAT THEY WERE ABOUT. If you had asked me last week, what these books were about, I would have told you something way out in left field.
Alanna is about a girl who decides she wants to be a knight instead of a lady, so she goes off to be a knight. That much 13 year old me understood. What 13 year old me failed to remember about the book was that a major plot point in the book took place. 27 year old me did not see that one coming. It was out of left field. (The other left field, not the one 13 year old me was standing in.)
In the Hand of the Goddess also was filled with many surprises. And things I never understood at 13, because I read fast and I only read the books once. (At 27 I know I ALWAYS must read books at least twice before I make any decision on them, as the first read through is always too fast. And I miss major plot points.)
Things in my 13 year old head were very jumbled up compared to how they actually occurred in the books. As I continued to read the Lioness series (the Alanna books), I realized I FAILED AT LIFE when I read them the first time. I did not understand or comprehend a lot of what was going on. I remember being pissed off at Alanna for not being queen. I had no clue who George was or why he was important. I honestly thought that in the books Alanna battled her twin brother, and sorcerer, Thom. Not the guy she actually battled, who when he appeared in my 27 year old read through, I was like WHO THE HELL IS THIS? I was making up my OWN STORIES about the books when I read them at 13. I did the same with The Immortals series, the next series I read by Pierce. That one I totally jumped ship as I had no clue when I read them at 27 what they were about other than I knew in the end the main character got together with the tall dude I called NICK through out the book in my head. His name was not Nick in the least by the way. I don't know WHY I even called him that. (Okay, I do. But I am NOT going to tell you.)
I spent the past week re-reading the Lioness and Immortal series. They are wonderful books, seriously, they are. I love the rich world Pierce creates. I love the characters for who they are and at 27, when I slowly read through them, I picked up on things that I did not see at 13 because I read through them too quickly. At 13, I got hung up on the various romances that Alanna had. (And totally missed one...go figure). At 27, I realized George was very important. On many levels. More important than Jonathan even (who at 13, I was madly in love with). I also noticed the sub-theme of how Alanna struggled to figure out her identity, which was something I totally flew passed at 13. I was mad at her throughout the last two books because she seemed to just whine about being a girl or something. I know I read the last two books, but until two days ago, I could not for the life of me actually tell you what they were about in the least. I just knew that in the end, Alanna got married. The end.
Anyways, one thing my 13 year old self got out of these books were they are GOOD. I am serious, they are good. So good, I went through a total of 8 books in a week. (A book and half a day. Or more.) I finished yesterday and was SO SAD that I was done with the first two series. (There is another four book series that takes place in Tortall and then the two Trickers books, but I am saving those for a later date. Or and then one that takes place before Alanna's time about a ancestor of George, but those are for a later date as well.) I am glad I bought them (even if I had to buy the last Immortal book through B&N and thus can only read it on my iPhone or computer...but I'll bitch about that later. Or not.)
If you are looking for a new series to get into (or get back into) check out the Song of the Lioness Series and The Immortals series by Tamora Pierce. Well worth a read or two.
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